Wurhi the Rat tore through the forest as though the hounds of hells followed. Branches and thickets slapped her face, stinging her skin. The barking in her wake drew closer.

As she came to the pit, St. Cristabel rose quickly, placing her stylus and wax tablet on the hull of her boat. “You triumphed!” she gasped.

“No!” Wurhi ran for the tree with the vine coiled around its branch. “Did you break that fat, cheese-hided, goat licker’s arm?”

“That what’s arm?”

“The big oaf that leads these wretches!”

“Oh, him! Like a pigeon’s wishbone!”

The tiny Zabyallan scaled the tree. “Will you do it again?”

St. Cristabel gave her a stern look. “With relish.”

Avernix’s hounds bounded into the clearing, leaping for Wurhi. Claws scraped the tree bark and bone-shattering jaws snapped at their quarry as she desperately shimmied down a branch above their slathering fangs. Terror-stiffened fingers struggled to uncoil the vine. Bestial breath raked her skin from below. “I’m going to let you up! Help us!”

The saint gave no answer, but took up her vermillion bearing sword and circular shield. The golden mammoth head gleamed upon the sapphire-hued metal.

With a heavy crash and rough shouts, four pursuers burst into the clearing with spears readied, jabbing their fingers toward the petrified Zabyallan as she freed the vine. The lead warrior spat a battle cry and charged, her spear raised to skewer Wurhi, who cried out and dropped the verdant cord. It plummeted toward the pit even as the spear rose up.

Bronze glinted in the dusk.

Air hissed passed the razor point.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Thunk!

A vermillion bearing sword flew from the pit and skewered the Garumnan’s side.

Its edge split armour and flesh like water. Its bulk crushed hard bone and soft organs alike. Driven deep into the tree, its victim was left a twitching, crimson mess upon it.

In the stunned silence that followed, St. Cristabel leapt onto the vine with her shield on her back. Her armoured form ascended with the agility of a leopard. Only her powerful arms were used to heave herself up, her mighty legs dangled freely until her metal-clad boots touched the pit’s edge. She rose to her full height before the warriors. Booming out a jaunty laugh, her blue eyes came alight. “At last I taste freedom!”

Her gaze levelled upon the Garumnans. “Cast away your arms or die.”

They retreated fearfully, but kept grip on their spears.

The knight’s countenance grew grim. She brought her shield to bear and clapped down her visor. “Death it is.”

Wurhi could only gape as the knight fell upon her attackers.

The rim of her heavy shield drove into one’s chest, bringing forth a sickening crunch and fountain of red gushed from his mouth. Her gauntlet-clad fist drove into the face of another, collapsing it in a shower of crimson and rotted teeth. A rangy one cried out and charged, his spear levelled, but the knight closed on him without heed, letting the bronze speartip fold like cloth on her breastplate. Her hand shot up, her gauntlet grasping the top of his helm in a monstrous grip.

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Her hand closed.

Crunch.

Bronze and bone crumpled like papyrus.

Mewling like a freshly whelped pig, the last stumbled backward with eyes pleading, seeking a mercy he had granted no other. The Solidblade knight kicked one of the fallen spears into the air, snatched it, and cast it into his belly. He gasped, dropping to the ground, clutching at the reddening haft.

Snap!

The rim of St. Cristabel’s shield hammered into his skull, twisting it to a fatal angle. He slumped forward as she wheeled toward the hounds. The scent of blood and vitriol saturated the beasts’ nostrils and they cringed before her steely gaze. With a joined yelp, they bounded into the woods, perhaps to begin their lives anew in the ogres’ forest. The sainted knight strode to the tree and ripped her sword from the ruined corpse impaled there. A quick brandish flicked away blood and bark.

Wurhi slid down beside her, dumbfounded at the ruin that had fallen in mere moments. “My…” she murmured, pointing. “My friend’s at that tower. He fights for his life.”

The knight’s eyes blazed in her visor. “Then we shall go meet him.”

Schhhnk!

Kyembe’s sword slipped beneath the ribs of the roaring spearman, skewering up through his heart. The man’s battle cry died as crimson sprayed from the wound, and the Sengezian kicked his twitching body toward his fellows down the curved, narrow stairwell. A crash and tangle of limbs swept two more warriors from the precarious steps. Their despairing wails ended violently against the stone floor below.

Sweat shone on Kyembe’s form and crimson eyes swam in exhaustion, yet he had thrown down eight of his attackers despite his broken arm. The rest crowded on the steps with growing reluctance. None were eager to face the devilishly quick slayer.

Whish! Whish!

Arrows shot up at poor angles, clattering uselessly on the ceiling. Cursing, the lead man drew his knife and cast it.

Clatter!

Kyembe cut it from the air with a swipe of steel.

A roar of frustration sounded below. “Bring him down! Bring him down!” Eppon jabbed a meaty hand toward the Sengezian.

“He’s swift as a devil, lord!” the man in front cried.

“Swifter!” Kyembe’s lips twisted into a vicious grin.

The man recoiled.

“By the Three, I’ll do it myself!” the Bear-Breaker drew his heavy sword with his good hand. “Make way!”

The gigantic heir shouldered his way through his warriors’ ranks, nearly bowling some off the steep stairs to their doom. Kyembe considered firing with his ring, but the slow build of flame would allow the front man plenty of time to skewer him.

No, he would wait for the giant’s headlong rush then shear his neck open. With any luck, that would break the rest’s nerves. If they sought revenge instead though, it would likely be the end of him. Eppon took up place behind the front pair of men, but moved no further. Kyembe frowned uneasily. What was this?

“Shield!” the Bear-Breaker roared. One was passed to him, and he cursed. “My shield arm’s broken, you fool! Send it to the front!”

The shield was passed up the curving stairs to a front man. He hefted the heavy protector, so large that he needed to drop his spear to wield it. His fellows behind jutted their spears past the rim. “Advance!” Eppon roared. The shield bearer came forth cautiously and the column marched slowly behind. Beyond the shield, Kyembe’s vision was blocked.

It was not a terrible plan. Exhausted and crippled as he was, he doubted he could dislodge the great shield before those spears spitted him. That was, if he allowed them to get close. If they were to advance so slowly then how could he resist cracking the shell of such an obliging snail? He raised his ring toward the grinning demonic face painted across the shield and channeled the eldritch energies. Burns crept up his arm. The eyes of the ring flared with white hellfire, sputtering and slow. Yet his enemies advanced slower.

His ring flared.

“Foolish, Bear-Breaker!” he called. “Your death-”

“Now!” Eppon barked.

The front man dropped the shield and abruptly crouched.

The warriors behind him brought bows up with strings drawn.

Kyembe froze. “Oooh-”

Twang! Twang!

Agony seared into him. One arrow burrowed into his belly and the other his forearm.

His concentration broke. The hellfire sputtered.

VrooooshaBANG!

It erupted, searing his hand and blowing him backward onto the stones.

He dropped, his full weight landing on his broken arm.