Bang.
The door to Kevlin’s room shuddered under a heavy blow.
Kevlin awoke instantly, yanked on his boots, and grabbed his sword belt. The door splintered under another blow and several makrasha tore at the frame to get into the room. Kevlin yanked the blanket off the bed and flung it into the doorway.
Thwok! Crossbows fired, and one whisked past his cheek, missing him by a finger’s breadth.
Kevlin ripped the bar from the window, letting the soft light of dawn flood the shadowed room. He threw it back into the mass of bodies jammed in the doorway. One monster grunted in pain.
Another pushed through the door and lunged for him. He leaped through the window, barely escaping its grasping hengaruk, and fell to the flat roof of the bathhouse.
As he rolled off the far side, he wanted to howl with frustration. He had been so close to getting safely away. Maybe he should have paid the gods more respect before asking for favors.
At least the makrasha's Grakonian handlers hadn’t thought to station anyone in the courtyard. He raced for the door that led into the common room. He had to get away.
Several makrasha leapt from the window after him. They landed on the bathhouse roof, and their combined weight shattered the tiny building. They fell into a pile of tangled bodies and splintered wood. He didn’t look back, but sprinted through the common room, overturning tables and alarming early patrons.
“Get down. Assassins!” Kevlin shouted.
It was a useless gesture. No one would understand what he was talking about until it was too late. Even as he ran for the outside door, the makrasha charged out of the upstairs hallway and raced for the stairs to cut him off.
One of the terrified patrons screamed, “Makrasha!”
The hideous creatures hadn't bothered to hide their telltale hengaruk or cover their faces. People scattered from the foot of the stairs, forcing Kevlin to push through them as the monsters came hurtling down.
It was going to be a close race for the main door.
To block his escape, the lead makrasha jumped the last eight steps. An old man nearby shouted a battle cry in a thin, reedy voice,
“For Land and Lady!”
He threw his chair at the creature, striking it midair.
Knocked off-balance, the beast sprawled across the bottom step. Kevlin vaulted through the doorway just as the old man shrilled another ancient war cry.
That old guy was crazy. If he didn’t interfere, the makrasha would probably ignore him.
Shouting chased Kevlin up the street, and he slowed. He couldn’t let the villagers get slaughtered. When he turned, he saw makrasha pouring into the street after him. The best thing he could do now was to draw them away.
Great. They’re chasing me. So how in the name of the seven gods do I get out of here?
Shouts of alarm were spreading through town, but it would do little good. There was no militia to come to Kevlin's aid.
He had to get away.
Kevlin ran down the street, driving his legs as fast as possible. The sores on his feet reopened and pain flared all the way up his legs at each step. He gritted his teeth and cursed the makrasha for not giving him more time to rest. His only chance was to find a horse.
A quick glance back spurred him on. Strung out along the street behind him were at least thirty makrasha. He didn't spot the telltale robes of the shadeleeches yet, but they would be close by.
Hopefully no other enemies lurked in town. He’d been spinning the Wheel a lot lately, and it’d turned in his favor many times. If it spun against him today, he was doomed.
Arms and legs pumping, he ducked out of the main street into a narrow lane with buildings packed close together on either side. It was barely wide enough for wagons to pass, and an ominous foreboding raised goose-bumps on his arms.
This was a bad idea.
With no time to turn around, Kevlin continued up the narrow street, searching for a horse.
Nothing. Not even a mule.
In fact, the lane was empty except for a white-haired man in the unbleached woolen trousers and tunic common to several orders of stalwarts. In the early-morning shadows, the old man’s hair and neatly trimmed beard seemed to glow.
It figured. He'd been looking for stalwarts for days. Now he finally found one and didn't have time to stop.
He closed on the man, yelling, "Get away! For your own safety, run." He was going to add "hide," but the shuttered buildings were built right up against each other. The only option was to run.
The old stalwart smiled widely, as if spotting a long-lost friend. He raised a hand. "Hold, my son."
Kevlin attempted to run past, but the old man stepped into his path, nearly tripping him. The stalwart grabbed his shoulder in a surprisingly strong grip and dragged him to a halt.
"Are you crazy?” Kevlin shouted. “Run before we're both killed.” He attempted to shake off the old man's hand.
Still smiling, the stalwart held Kevlin firmly. "When flight will not free you, it is often better to stand and face darkness."
Kevlin looked back to see the first of the makrasha already turning the corner, only fifty paces away. Seeing him standing unmoving in the street, they shouted in triumph.
“Fighting those odds is suicide," Kevlin protested, pointing at the approaching enemy.
"I share faith with you that you may see clearly."
A wave of calm washed over Kevlin, enveloping his panic with a blanket of peace. He took a deep breath.
"Your faith must be blind, old man. I can’t defeat them all. You could never heal me fast enough."
The stalwart laughed heartily. "You have more allies than you expect, even in this tiny village."
The old man let go of his shoulder and faced the onrushing creatures. Kevlin took a step away, again intent on fleeing.
"You wouldn't allow an old stalwart to die alone protecting your back, would you, my young friend?"
Kevlin needed to run, to escape, to deliver the rock and fulfill the mission Antigonus had assigned to him. But the stalwart’s words seared his conscience and shamed him into holding his ground. He muttered a curse, glowering at the old man.
The stalwart called out loudly to the makrasha. "My children, you have a final opportunity to forsake darkness and turn to the Light. Will you be saved?"
The monsters slowed and clustered together about thirty paces away. Their leader bellowed, "Kill him."
A dozen crossbows fired in unison.
Kevlin tried to grab the old man to pull him to one side, but the stalwart didn't budge. Instead he grinned as if enjoying himself immensely, and snapped his fingers.
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A deadly war hammer appeared in his hand, and he took a step toward the bolts streaking straight for him.
He’s insane, Kevlin decided. He’s committing suicide.
The old man began swinging his hammer with blinding speed, and knocked the bolts out of the air. The whirling hammer left a blue glow in its wake.
Already half-turned to flee, Kevlin paused and stared in awe. He’d never seen such a feat.
One bolt broke through the old man's defenses and punched deep into his thigh. He grunted in pain and threw his empty hand into the air. A streak of blue light shot from his fingertips and exploded in a brilliant flash high above the town.
Then he cocked back his arm and threw his hammer at the mob of makrasha. It shot from the stalwart’s hand like a ballista bolt, spinning once before smashing into one of the makrasha, shattering its ribs and hurling its body back. Blood splattered the group and the monsters recoiled in shock.
"You should’ve hit the leader," Kevlin said as he strapped on his sword belt. They might just survive after all.
"I first had to administer justice for the bolt that struck my leg."
"You knew who that came from?" Kevlin hadn’t been able to track the flights of each bolt, having been focused on getting out of the way.
The angry makrasha leader roared, a singularly disturbing sound from its insect-like mouth, and the entire crowd of monsters charged.
The hammer reappeared in the old man's hand, and he threw it again. The deadly missile crushed the makrasha leader and bowled over several others, but didn't break the charge.
Kevlin drew his sword and heavy dagger, preparing to face the onrushing horde. The old man’s prowess was impressive, but too many of the creatures remained. Kevlin's mouth went dry, and he fought an urge to wipe his palms as he stared at the charging beasts.
He focused on the lead makrasha and the thrill of impending struggle set his arms tingling and his heart pounding. He raised his sword, but the ground began to shake with the unmistakable thunder of galloping horses.
Kevlin spared a glance behind to see the new threat.
Charging into the far end of the narrow street came row after row of mounted horsemen. After a frozen heartbeat of dread, he realized that they weren't Grakonians, but men wearing the colors of the Elite Imperial Guard.
“How. . .?” Kevlin breathed. It must all be a dream, a crazy dream.
Four abreast, the horsemen pounded forward in perfect formation, lances lowered, bearing down on the makrasha. Kevlin had never seen a more glorious or welcome sight. In the lead rode a compact warrior in silver-trimmed armor. Rather than a lance, he carried a wicked-looking mace with unusually long spikes.
The makrasha halted their charge and formed a line across the street, pulling small, round shields from their backs.
Kevlin grabbed the old stalwart and dragged him bodily to one side to avoid being crushed by charging horsemen.
The Grakonians loosed another volley of crossbow bolts, aimed mostly at the lead rider. The man shouted and extended his weapon. A blue nimbus gathered around it and expanded in front of him like a giant shield that deflected the bolts aside.
Shouting battle cries, the horsemen smashed into the makrasha with a crash of splintering wood. The center of the Grakonian line collapsed as the first rank of horsemen trampled over the creatures, leaving the remainder pressed back against the walls on each side as the horsemen galloped past.
Rank after rank of horsemen charged between the two lines of Grakonians, but only the riders at either end of each rank could engage the beasts as they thundered past. With more horsemen charging in behind, they couldn't stop.
Sound reverberated between the close-packed buildings, magnified by the echoes until it beat at Kevlin’s head like a living thing. The thunder of hooves, loud war cries, the crack of lances against iron shields, and screams of pain rolled together in a nearly overwhelming din. Dust rose like a cloud to choke him. He tasted dirt, and the coppery stench of hot blood filled the alley.
It seemed an eternity before the last of the horsemen galloped past and disappeared around the corner. A third of the Grakonians lay trampled and pierced after the initial charge. Most of the rest gathered into tight groups along either wall and turned to face the next charge.
A handful of them broke away and raced toward Kevlin and the stalwart, intent on fulfilling their duty before the riders could return.
The stalwart's hammer returned again to his hand and he threw it, taking down one of the beasts while they were still a dozen paces away.
Kevlin stepped in front of him.
My turn.
Despite the deadly power of the makrasha, the din of battle stirred his blood, and strength surged through his body. He snarled in defiance, though each of the makrasha stood easily a head taller, and probably weighed twice as much.
Their hengaruk reached longer than his arms, but were burdened by their spent crossbows and shields. In their human-like hands, they each wielded a heavy, single-edged sword. One solid blow from one of those would probably cut him in half.
Battle fury swept away fear and Kevlin leaped forward to meet the closest monster.
It raised its sword high to strike, but an arrow slammed into the middle of its chest, punching through the chain armor. It stumbled and fell dead to the ground.
Kevlin sidestepped the fallen makrasha, unable to spare time to look around for his unexpected ally. The second beast charged, but he deflected its swiping blade high, then jumped aside to avoid being trampled. As it skidded past, he slashed at the creature's legs, cutting deep into the unprotected flesh behind its knees.
It roared in pain and tumbled to the earth with a crash that shook the ground. A heavy blow from the old stalwart's hammer silenced the beast. Kevlin twisted to avoid a strike from the next enemy. It sliced the air so close, that it scraped against his shirt.
Before he could return the blow, the creature shield-smashed him in the face. He stumbled back a step with lights dancing before his eyes, and knees that felt suddenly weak. He struggled to clear his vision, only dimly aware that the narrow street was once more filled with the heavy pounding of a cavalry charge.
The makrasha lunged forward again, striking at his sword arm. He tried to block, but his body responded sluggishly, as if moving under water. Time slowed to a crawl as the creature's heavy blade swung toward his arm.
It was going to cut his arm off.
The stalwart's hammer swept around him and knocked the blade wide with a clash of ringing steel. The sound cleared his head and Kevlin rolled forward under the creature's arms. He lunged to his feet beside it and drove his sword through its chain-link armor with every ounce of strength.
As the blade plunged deep into its chest, its body shuddered and it screamed in agony, a terrible high-pitched shrieking.
Before he could withdraw his sword, another beast grabbed him with its hengaruk and hoisted him off the ground. In that instant, Kevlin saw two long columns of horsemen charging up either side of the street, lances lowered toward the remaining creatures. Behind them followed soldiers on foot to engage in close combat whatever enemies remained.
None of that mattered to Kevlin. They wouldn't be able to help him. He struggled mightily, but the hengaruk were too strong. The creature opened wide its horrible maw, revealing all its sharp teeth and long fangs coated with poison. It pulled him close to rip out his throat.
An arrow slammed into one of its three eyes, exploding it in a splash of liquid before punching through the creature's brain.
Kevlin dropped to the ground as the makrasha reeled away from him. Even as he regained his balance to face the two remaining creatures, a wave of arrows swept across them, riddling them with long, wooden shafts.
They were dead before they hit the ground.
Kevlin spun to see a group of archers, standing fifty paces away, dressed in the rough clothing of local hunters, each carrying long ash bows. In the center of their line stood a short blond woman carrying a bow taller than herself. She continued launching arrows even while sidestepping to make way for the charging horsemen.
Kevlin turned back to the fighting as the horsemen pounded past. The second charge had felled a few more of the Grakonians, but most of them had succeeded in deflecting the soldiers’ lances, and had turned to face the men on foot.
Movement across the street caught Kevlin’s attention, as a man in flowing red robes rose to stand on the rooftop.
Merab.
The shadeleech stood well above the fighting, positioned to wreak deadly havoc among the imperial troops. He wasted no time in raising his staff and throwing a large ball of crimson fire down at the soldiers below.
Kevlin started forward, trying to put himself between the unprotected men and the blazing death hurtling toward them. Their only chance was for him to use the power of the amulet to block the attack.
He’d never make it in time.
A bolt of blue-white lightning ripped the air over their heads. It struck the ball of fire, shattering it into a thousand glittering shards of light and shaking all the nearby buildings with the thunderclap.
Kevlin whirled to find the latest unexpected ally. An old man in sentinel white robes stood in the street. Beside him stood a woman in the hooded green robes of a Healer.
Behind her, rushing to catch up, was Ceren.
The sentinel’s hands were still raised from casting his spell, his eyes locked on Merab. The shadeleech shouted and pointed his staff at the newcomer, but before he could unleash his power, the old stalwart hurled his hammer. The shadeleech shouted a foreign word, and a shimmering shield of red energy materialized in the air in front of him, deflecting the hammer.
Merab spun his staff back toward the sentinel, just as another bolt of energy flashed through the air. It cut cleanly through the staff, which exploded into a cloud of splinters, then struck him in the chest. Merab rocked backward, his arms windmilling. Then he froze in place, surrounded by a nimbus of blue light.
The soldiers, led by their mace-wielding officer, charged into the ranks of remaining makrasha. Barely a score of the monsters still lived, but they fought savagely against the greater numbers of men. They towered over the soldiers, like bears among a pack of hunting dogs.
Despite his short stature, the leader of the men tumbled makrasha to the ground with his mace burning with blue fire. It smashed through shields and armor like they were made of clay.
Another volley of arrows streaked past Kevlin as the local hunters rejoined the fray. The missiles dropped half of the remaining creatures. The battle degenerated into a formless brawl, with each of the monsters surrounded by several soldiers, fighting in unison to bring them down.
Eventually only one creature remained. With two of its eyes gone and its tough hide covered with its own blood, it howled a ringing cry of defiance. Shouldering past two soldiers, it lunged at the mace-wielding officer. The little man calmly met it with an overhand blow that shattered the creature’s head and smashed its ruin into the dust.