Valor and Violence

Everything happened at once. The dark mage shouted and hurled a stream of shadow at them as a ball of flame sprung into Jasmine’s hands, her cry matching his. Asim darted in front of her and swung his halberd at the shadow, scattering it as Jasmine unleashed a roaring conflagration at the raiders. A wall of inky black smoke rose to meet it just before it crashed into their ranks, the fire splitting down either side. The raiders on the flanks screamed as they burned alive, but as the smoke and flame cleared, the survivors charged, more raiders streaming in through the opening behind them.

“Kill them all!” the black clad man roared, pointing at the marines as the raiders swarmed past him. Olic glared at the charging raiders and hawked phlegm onto the glass, then ashed his cigarette out on his palm.

“Asim, get Jasmine to safety. Marines… Kill.”

The Sixth roared bloody intent at their attackers as they prepared to meet the charge. Calris was glad the raiders weren’t piss farting around with their bows, instead trying to get to grips with the marines before Jasmine could roast them all.

Granted, they had a mage too, but after the initial magical exchange had seen precisely zero Calandorian casualties and a bunch of char-grilled raiders, Calris couldn’t blame them for thinking close combat was the safer option. He just hoped they didn’t realise said fire mage was currently being dragged away while hurling abuse at her guardsman.

Calris hefted his javelin, preparing to meet the charging raiders, when they suddenly parted to reveal the mage, once more wreathed in shadow. He extended a hand towards Calris, a sinister smile on his face, before a crossbow bolt slammed into his shoulder and sent him spinning into the wall behind him.

Eat a dick, arsehole.

The raiders didn’t skip a beat, obviously unconcerned about the mage’s welfare. They reformed and charged, but Calris was more concerned about the bleeding guy in black than the bronze clad warriors. His wound wasn’t fatal, he might rejoin the fight if someone didn’t do something about him now. Calris hefted his javelin and launched it over the heads of the charging raiders, watching it arc towards the bleeding mage. As it started its descent back to earth, he smiled. The mage was in shock from his wound and didn’t notice his death sailing through the air. This fight was about to get much easier.

And then the giant reappeared, moving with a speed Calris would not have thought possible from such a large bloke. He swatted the javelin out of the air, then pointed his tulwar at Calris, his face set, grim and determined. The marine locked eyes and smiled back, drawing his second javelin and sword while the raiders drew closer.

When the closest Emrinthian raised his sword, preparing to strike, Calris launched at him, leaping over the low wall between them. Ban shouted behind him, yelling to hold the formation, but the words fell on deaf ears as Calris ploughed into the first fighter, thrusting his spear through the man’s throat and blocking a tulwar blow from another on his sword’s cross guard. He kicked out the second raider’s knee, dropping the hapless man onto a razor-sharp protrusion of glass that cut through the underside of his arm, before finishing the last raider, feinting high with his javelin and thrusting his sword through the man’s unarmoured armpit as he raised his blade to parry.

As the surviving raider writhed on the ground, hand clamped over his bleeding arm, Calris gave the giant the finger and turned back to Ban. He gave his friend a shrug and a grin, Ban shaking his head in response, before his eyes widened and he screamed a warning.

Calris threw himself to the ground as a breath of air grazed the back of his neck, a tulwar missing by a whisper. He rolled onto his back, his javelin pinned beneath him, and found the raider with the bloody arm standing above him, blade pointed at Calris’ belly. It seemed his injury from the glass wasn’t as debilitating as Calris had assumed.

Before the raider could strike, Ban’s axe flew through the air and lodged in his face, jerking his head back at an unnatural angle and spattering Calris with blood.

Oh Gods, it’s in my mouth!

Calris scrambled to his feet, spitting and barely resisting the urge to paw at his tongue, before tugging the axe free and sprinting back to Ban with more raiders close on his heels. He decided that, perhaps, he shouldn’t have been showing off, as bolts flew over his head, Sparrow doing his best to keep the raiders from catching up.

Ban was hurling every expletive he had ever learned and Calris tried not to look sheepish as he tossed Ban’s axe back to him and leapt the wall between them. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he pivoted and launched his javelin point blank into one pursuer, then met the swing of another with his sword. Ban appeared beside him, his axe biting through the raider’s clavicle, before he ripped it free and kicked the body into the path of the others. The raiders barely broke stride as they leapt over their comrade, rushing the two men with their blades drawn.

With Ban beside him in the narrow space, they fought like demons, battling in perfect unison. Calris parried an overhead blow meant for Ban as the other marine swung his axe into the Emrinthian’s gut, then delivered a swift kick to the knee of a raider trying to move around Calris’ flank. The knee gave a sickening crack as the tendons and ligaments tore apart, the man’s strangled yelp cut short as Calris cleaved his head from his shoulders. He took a quick breather and cast a quick glance at the rest of the squad as Ban finished the final raider.

They were having similar success. He saw a raider disappear behind a low wall as Badger tripped him with his hammer, then brought it down on him with a sickening crunch. As he straightened back up, wheezing slightly, Mouse sprinted past him, hands a blur as she launched a flurry of knives into the crowd of raiders. Blades of that size were rarely fatal when thrown, but Mouse could find weak spots with unerring accuracy. Bleeding throats, eyes and fingers rendered the taller, stronger men defenceless as Mouse tore into them with her shortsword, darting in to sever arteries and airways before dancing back out of reach. The survivors desperately worked to corner the nimble marine, not realising the trap being set until Badger crashed into their rear, laying about wildly with bone shattering blows from his hammer.

Just beyond this slaughter, Viper and Sparrow, now down off their perch, were pressing an attack on another group of raiders. As Calris watched, two Emrinthians pressured Sparrow, forcing him back under a steady stream of blows. They never saw Viper appear behind them, cutting them down in the blink of an eye as Sparrow unleashed a hail of bolts over his friend’s shoulder. And just like that, another raider squad was down.

The final Mongrel Calris spotted was Sergeant Olic. The grizzled old soldier was the one person on the face of the planet that Calris feared, and seeing him now showcased why. Already covered in other men’s blood, he roared a challenge of pure fury and charged an entire squad of raiders alone. In his left hand, he carried his marine sword, while in his right was a tulwar taken from a previous kill.

Each of the Mongrels had a strength. Calris and Ban were savage fighters, strong and fast. Mouse and Badger were cunning. Sparrow and Viper had skill.

But Sergeant Olic had all this and more.

He spun as he crashed into the raiders, knocking swords aside and felling two of them in a blur. He planted his boot in the chest of another, then plunged both his blades through a fourth, before hurling the carcass, still impaled on the swords, into the squad, knocking men down from the impact and trapping them under the weight of the body.

Undeterred by his lack of a weapon, he grabbed the nearest raider and, clamping his hands on either side of the man’s head, brought his armoured knee into the warrior’s face with such force that the man went limp, killed by the blow. Picking up the dead warrior’s tulwar, Olic resumed his onslaught. Not a single swing was wasted.

It was over in moments, near a dozen dead raiders at his feet, the marine’s chest rising and falling in a powerful rhythm as he cast his wild gaze about for more victims.

Calris wasn’t the only one to see all this, and the surviving Emrinthians wavered, fear clear in their eyes. Though they still outnumbered the Calandorians, this advantage didn’t help in the intimate fights the terrain was forcing them into.

Like hungry wolves, the Mongrels advanced, the raiders jostling each other to keep their distance from the strange, pale-skinned devils who had slaughtered their comrades. Calris enjoyed the thought as he prowled, edging forward from the ring of marines at his back, legs tensing as he prepared to charge. His eyes roamed his prey. Now that the raider’s impetus had been thoroughly broken, he wanted to revisit his rivalry with the giant. Instead, he found someone else.

“Cowards!” the mage cried as he burst through their ranks, blood trickling between his fingers as he clutched his injury. His composure was gone, beads of perspiration covering his brow, now even more pallid than before. Seeing Calris standing close, he snarled and hurled a stream of darkness.

Calris didn’t have time to react before it struck him square on the chest. Pain unlike anything he had ever experienced lanced through him as he was buffeted by the shadow, like a thousand barbed whips flaying the flesh from his body.

He tried to scream, but only managed a strangled gurgle. Ban cried out in alarm and charged, but a group of raiders counterattacked, desperately hurling themselves at the short marine. Sensing their chance to reverse their fortunes, the rest of the raiders attacked too, swarming the Mongrels in a manic frenzy. Calris dropped to his knees as his vision dimmed.

So, this is how I go out, huh? he wondered as his eyes closed. I hope the others make it at least.

*

He woke face down on the cool glass. The sounds of battle around him were distorted and dimmed, as though he were floating underwater. That wasn’t a good sign, but at least the flaying pain had eased. He felt raw where the magic had struck him, and he put a cautious hand to his chest. When he pulled it away, it was wet with blood. Groaning, he rolled over and sat to inspect the wound.

The armour covering his chest was gone, eaten away by the magic, and it looked like the shadow had a decent crack at his flesh too. He cringed as he surveyed the jagged chunks of dripping meat, his torso a pockmark of craters.

Why did the mage stop?

His head lolled as he raised it and looked about, trying to piece together what was happening. He saw the black-robed mage, surrounded by a sphere of darkness wreathed in flame. Tracing the source, Calris found Jasmine standing atop a pillar of glass.

She looked different. The whites of her eyes had disappeared, replaced with a sinister red glow, carmine smoke trailing from her sockets. Her hair whipped about her head, stirred to a frenzy by the intense wind gusting from the flames that roared unbroken from her outstretched hands. She opened her mouth and let cry a piercing scream that Calris could scarcely believe came from a human throat. It had a power to it that sent an electric chill shooting through his body as he lay there, helpless and in awe.

Calris had felt a mage’s power when Ferez incinerated the assassin in Salazaar, but the pure force emanating from Jasmine was something else entirely. Calandorians and Emrinthians alike scrambled for cover as coiling ropes of flame lashed the room at random, leaving the glass blackened and cracked wherever it touched. Calris couldn’t help but think, as he lay there gazing glassy eyed at his rescuer, that he was watching a vengeful goddess in all her furious glory.

Movement in the corner of his eye drew Calris’ attention as Asim charged towards the dark mage, unheeding of the rampant magical energies as he effortlessly vaulted the low walls in his path. He thrust his halberd into Jasmine’s flames, and glowing crimson veins spider-webbed across its surface when he pulled it out. As he cleared the last wall, he pirouetted and swung the halberd in a wide arc, cutting through flame and shadow both.

Blood spattered the ground as Asim scored a shallow blow on the enemy mage, the pale man falling backwards and scrambling away with a pitiful wail. Asim gave no quarter. The head of his halberd burst into flame, and he unleashed his own roaring torrent, incinerating the mage and more than a few unfortunate raiders nearby. He continued his charge without slowing, crashing into the survivors with sweeping, powerful swings. The raider’s charred corpses fell in droves.

Judging the matter concluded, Calris flopped over, resting his forehead on the cool glass floor with a smile. He could scarcely believe it. He was sure he was done for when the bastard mage had scored a hit, but they had actually won!

His weary celebration was interrupted when two sandalled feet appeared a few inches from his face. Calris looked up to find the giant Emrinthian glaring down at him. The raider was worse for wear. A ragged burn ran down the side of his face and his patchy clothes smouldered. He looked mighty pissed.

“Shit,” Calris groaned as he felt around for his sword and dragged himself, swaying, to his feet. “Alright… Let’s have a go then.”

The giant roared and slashed at Calris’ throat, missing by a hair as Calris stumbled back. He barely kept his feet, feeling sluggish and dazed as the giant pressed him, raining blow after blow. The tulwar landing on his guard felt like hammer blows; the shock reverberating up his arm, his defence splintering under sheer brute force.

“We may all die here, savage. But if I claim at least one of you, I will die happy,” the giant growled, driving a kick into Calris’ exposed chest that sent him flying into a wall. Calris hissed in pain as he slid to the ground, trying not to think about what the kick had done to his already mutilated body. It burned, horribly, the kind of pain that sets your teeth on edge and curls your toes.

But Calris was grateful for it. It burned away the fog that had settled over him, the sights, sounds and smell of the battlefield coming back as the giant snapped into focus. He had wanted a one on one with this wanker. It was time to act like it.

“If,” he replied, fixing the raider with his best, sinister grin.

His heartbeat quickened as he stood, the heat rising in his chest as he charged. The giant brought his blade down at Calris’ skull, but the marine darted aside, closed the gap and slashed diagonally upwards into his opponent’s face. The tip of his blade dug deep into the man’s burned face, glancing off his cheekbone and tearing a chunk of skin and flesh away as it came free. Pressing the attack, Calris dropped his shoulder and rammed it into the raider’s sternum, then spun and kicked his feet out from under him. Before the Emrinthian had hit the ground, Calris launched himself on top of the giant, letting the force of his own weight drive the tip of his sword through the scale hauberk, through the Emrinthian’s heart, and out the back of his body. The raider twitched once, twice, and went still.

Calris stood to survey the battlefield and nearly pitched over. He put a hand out against a wall to steady himself and looked around. The Mongrels were all still on their feet. None of the Emrinthians were.

Calris had to admit, they had been ballsy, fighting to the last rather than surrender. That last spark, lit in their chests by the mage’s onslaught, had carried them all to an early grave. It may well have been his grave if it weren’t for Jasmine.

Calris turned to the glass pillar to find Jasmine lying face down, unmoving, one arm draped over the side. He started running, worried she was hurt, before he noticed her back rising and falling to a steady rhythm. She was asleep.

Asim climbed up and gently lifted her down, cradling her carefully with one arm while he lowered himself with the other. Mouse and Badger waited at the base to help the guardsman with his charge.

“Guess the poor gal tuckered herself out,” Ban quipped as he strode up beside Calris. Despite his light tone, his eyes were concerned as he stared at the mess of Calris’ chest. “Thought we were gonna lose you there.”

“Honestly? I thought you were too,” Calris replied with a dry chuckle that turned into a hacking cough. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, his body was realising just how fucked up it was. The two men stood regarding each other for a moment before Ban lunged forward and wrapped Calris in a bear hug.

“Cael’s cock, Ban, the wound! The wound!” Calris howled as Ban’s armour dug into his exposed flesh.

“Ah, shit!” Ban said, releasing the hug. “Sorry! Didn’t think that through.”

“You’re such an arsewipe,” Calris said through sharp breaths. “It was a sweet gesture though, really.”

He laughed once the pain had dropped from blinding to excruciating, but stopped when he noticed Ban’s eyes were glistening.

“I wouldn’t have made it in time, Cal.”

“It’s alright mate. The bastard was a mage. There’s only so much we can do. You did more than most! Rushing an entire squad by yourself.”

Calris felt guilty for worrying his friend. Though Ban was unconcerned by almost everything else, he was always fiercely protective of Calris. As Calris stared into his friend’s watery eyes, he knew Ban would beat himself up over this for a long time to come.

“I’ll do better next time, I promise,” Ban said, wiping his eyes.

Calris clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We both will.”

“I definitely owe Jasmine a drink,” Ban said, nearly breaking down again.

“I think I owe her an entire fucking brewery,” Calris replied, looking over at the apprentice, who was now drooling slightly in Asim’s arms. As the two weary marines began hobbling over to the others, Calris noticed a trickle of blood coming from a cut on Ban’s forehead.

“You alright, mate?” he asked, motioning to the cut.

“What, this? Na, it’s fine. I tried your tactic out, is all.”

“My tactic?”

“Headbutting.”

“Really? You would’ve needed to jump to reach them.”

“It was trickier than I expected,” Ban admitted.

“So, what went wrong?”

“He was wearing a helmet,” Ban said, wiping the trickle away with the back of his hand.

As they approached Olic, Sparrow, and Viper, Calris noticed they stood in a circle, staring at something on the ground between them.

“What’s so interesting?” Ban asked as they joined the circle.

“Survivor.”

Sure enough, lying on the ground, gazing up at the marines with fear and hate in his eyes, was an Emrinthian officer. His breathing was laboured, and he clutched a hand to a bloody wound in his gut. Judging from the stains covering his uniform, he had lost a lot of blood. It was unlikely he would survive long like this. The man fumbled for his sword, and Olic kicked it away.

“Here’s the deal, mate,” he said, crouching by the raider. “You answer some questions, and we’ll treat that wound. You may even survive. If you do, we’ll get you to Salazaar with enough coin to make your way back to Emrinth. If you don’t answer my questions, we stand here and watch while you bleed out.”

The officer stopped struggling and glared at Olic. “You expect me to believe you? More likely I tell you what you want, and you slit my throat!” he spat.

“We don’t do that. Despite what you may have heard, we don’t murder those who can’t defend themselves.”

The Emrinthian, however, didn’t speak, staring defiantly at the sergeant instead. After a few moments, Olic sighed and gestured to Sparrow. The officer started struggling again as Sparrow reached out to him.

“Be still,” Sparrow commanded as he pulled the man’s hand aside, exposing the wound as he produced a dressing from a pouch on his belt. He gently packed and bound the wound.

“It’s wide but relatively shallow. If he hasn’t lost too much blood, he will survive.”

“I’m sure he hopes so,” Olic replied, sparking a cigarette as the rest of the group arrived at their circle. “I told you and Jasmine to run after the fighting started,” he said to Asim.

“Believe me, I tried. She did not cooperate,” Asim replied, his mouth twisted into a grimace.

“Well… I’m glad. This would have gone differently if you hadn’t been here. I’m sure Hawk in particular feels grateful,” he said, nodding to Calris. At the mention of his name, Asim looked at him, eyebrows knitted together.

“Yes… although I must confess, I am surprised by your survival. Gladdened, but surprised. The mages call what you experienced an Umbrian Entropy Stream. It should have flayed you to oblivion within moments.”

“Maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he was?” Calris replied, jerking a thumb over to where the mage’s corpse still smoked.

“Look at what it did to your armour.”

Calris looked down at the hole in his leather jerkin. Even the steel studs had been obliterated.

“Good point. Maybe I’m just incredible?”

“Incredible, like a trained monkey riding a unicycle,” Jasmine mumbled, stirring in Asim’s arms. She cracked an eye and looked up at her guardsman. “Hello, Asim, did I pass out?”

“You did, Miss,” he replied, gently lowering her and helping her to stand. Jasmine looked a far cry from the avenging goddess she was earlier. Her eyes were bleary and unfocussed, with large bags beneath them. Her hair looked like a nest built by a particularly messy bird, and she stood slumped over as she rubbed her face. Seeing Calris, she stopped and let her hand fall by her side.

“You survived!” she said, confusion etched onto her face. “I thought I’d just imagined your voice… Wait, how did you survive?”

“No idea,” he said.

“No, of course you wouldn’t. Why did I bother asking?” she said, scowling at him.

“Charming,” he said, scowling back before his gratitude overwhelmed his attitude. “Thanks, by the way.”

Jasmine’s face went from pissed to shocked before she regained her composure.

“Do not think this means anything, Ape. Ferez will let the Flash Bomb incident go now that I saved you. Don’t mistake it for altruism or affection.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess,” Calris replied with a forced smile. He could suffer her, at least for a while. It was only fair.

She fidgeted slightly, though, something on her mind before she asked him. “Out of curiosity… how many raiders did you kill?”

“Hmmm,” Calris mumbled, eyebrows furrowed. “Five?”

“How many did you kill, Jasmine?” Ban asked with a grin.

“Twelve.”

“Oooft, more than double! That’s twenty silvers total, Cal,” Ban said, turning to Calris, who growled back at him. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with an out, when the sound of someone whistling interrupted him.

What the Pit?

The sound was coming from the entrance tunnel, the party turning in unison as a young woman sauntered in, whistling, of all things, a sea shanty.

“Hello, everybody,” she said with a smile.