John Gwynne - Valour

Now we just have to get out of here . He looked away, saw that his friends and companions had formed a loose line before them. Gar was closest, Dath and Farrell and Coralen beside him.

Gar turned to Cywen and gently cupped her cheek, his smile gentle, surrounded by the dead.

‘Time to get you out of here,’ he said.

‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,’ Dath hissed.

‘Am I dreaming?’ Cywen said through a grin, tears staining her cheeks.

A noise from deeper in the chamber drew all their eyes.

‘It might be too late for leaving,’ Farrell said.

Figures were rising, pulling themselves upright: the Jehar, those closest to the cauldron first. There was something different about them. Though they stood the same height and build there was a presence about them, as if their frames were filled with a new power, greater than the eye could comprehend.

One turned to face Corban and he heard Gar whisper a name.

‘Sumur.’

The man stretched, a ripple that flowed from head to foot, like a cat. Something was wrong with his face. It was moving, as if insects were crawling under his skin, or fingers were clawing for escape. He gripped his clothing with both hands — a leather cuirass of boiled leather, beneath it a coat of mail, and tore it off as easily as Corban would tear a loaf of bread.

Others were rising about him, performing similar rituals.

The one called Sumur smiled as his hands travelled his body, fingers stroking, probing, the skin pale, translucent, dark veins threading it, pulsing. Then Corban saw his eyes: they were black, no iris, no pupil. Sumur threw his head back and howled.

The whole room filled with the sound as others joined him. Hundreds of them. Corban put his hands over his ears, trying to keep the sound out; it felt like a vapour, filling his senses, creeping into every part of him, drowning him in anguish.

Others were rising now, the Jehar on the outskirts of the room. They looked different to the first — ordinary, appearing dazed, wearing expressions of confusion. One close by looked at Gar and frowned.

‘Garisan?’ he said.

Gar stared at him.

‘Akar?’

The Jehar drew his sword and took a step towards Gar. ‘I’m guessing you still follow your mad fool of a father.’

‘Who’s the mad fool? Look who you’ve followed.’

Akar paused and glanced towards the cauldron, saw his sword-brothers and sisters transformed. Colour drained from his face.

‘You’ve become the servants of the Black Sun.’

‘No, it cannot be. .’

‘Out of here, now,’ a voice shouted. Meical. He was standing, sword in hand, staring at the thing that had once been Sumur. About the creature more of its kind turned to face Meical.

Then they began to run. They moved awkwardly at first, lurching across the floor, quickly becoming smoother, like newborn animals, the process condensed into a few heartbeats.

Other Jehar were in their way. The first one that Sumur met was sent spinning through the air. At the second one Sumur slowed for an instant, lifting the man from the ground with a strength that did not seem even closely approximate to a man’s capabilities. With a savage wrench, a cracking and tearing sound, Sumur tore the man in two. Blood and gore drenched him and he hurled the two parts of the man in separate directions.

‘They are demon possessed!’ Meical yelled. ‘The Kadoshim are amongst you.’

That seemed to break the spell that Sumur’s grisly act had cast. All about, the untainted Jehar drew their swords, joined by Tukul and his company, uniting to face this new enemy.

Corban saw Tukul grin.

This is a fight they’ve waited for all their lives .

The two sides met, a thunderclap of sound, the Kadoshim powerhouses of destruction, the Jehar swirling about them in their skilful dance of death. Corban saw Tukul chop into ribs with his axe, in the same breath drive his sword into the creature’s chest, straight through its heart. It sagged a moment, shuddered, then backhanded Tukul, sending him spinning through the air. Corban stared open mouthed as the creature pulled the sword from its chest and tossed it away.

They cannot die .

A roar filled the room, echoing, and Corban saw a draig from faery tales stamping into the fray.

We cannot win this battle. We must get out .

He spun to look at his mam and Cywen, his friends about them.

‘Out,’ he said.

Then something crashed into them, sending them flying in different directions.

Corban rolled, staggered back to his feet. One of the Kadoshim had fallen into them, surrounded by a handful of Jehar, chopping, slicing, stabbing, then spinning away. It had a dozen wounds, all leaking blood, though even that was different. It was dark and thick, as if part congealed. And it was angry: enraged, lashing out, trying to catch the swift forms about it. Lifting its head, it bellowed, flailing its arms, a fist striking one of the Jehar, hurling him from his feet.

An arrow sank into its chest, making it stagger.

Dath . He was standing a dozen paces behind Corban, drawing another arrow to his ear, letting fly. It hit the possessed Jehar in the throat. It grabbed the shaft and tore it out.

Corban saw Farrell and Coralen attack it, Farrell smashing his hammer into its knee, Coralen darting in and sinking her wolven claws into its back. It just seemed to make it more angry, a white foam frothing from its jaws. Then Gar was there, his sword a blur, beside him Akar, the two of them working together now.

Corban snatched his sword from the ground, flexed his wolven claws and ran at the beast. As he did, he saw a flash of white to his side, Storm loping in close, then bounding away. With a burst of speed she hurled herself at the Kadoshim, slammed into his chest, jaws clamping around his head, teeth sinking deep. They both crashed to the ground. The creature writhed, great muscular spasms, Storm refusing to let go. Its hands sank into her fur, deeper, spots of blood welling about each finger. She whined, but still she would not let go.

Buddai appeared, bit into the creature’s knee, shaking it.

Corban saw the creature’s muscles standing taught, veins rigid. He screamed, remembering the man torn in two, and hurled himself forward, slashing wildly, hacking into its belly, its thigh.

Storm’s body spasmed and she shook her head, violently. There was a popping sound, then a wet ripping and she staggered away, spitting the beast’s head from her jaws.

Its body convulsed violently, feet kicking, arms flailing, blood leaking like oil from its neck. It stiffened, a black vapour boiling out from it, issuing from every pore, converging above the spasming body. It took shape, human-like, but with great leathery wings upon its back, glowing amber eyes like hot coals sweeping them. The mist figure screeched, a frustrated rage, then evaporated, melting into the air. The body on the ground collapsed, abruptly limp.

‘So that’s how you kill them,’ said Farrell.

‘Their heads,’ Gar yelled. ‘Take their heads.’ The cry went up about them, spreading through the chamber.

‘Ban, with me,’ Gar said to him, then turned to Cywen and Gwenith, standing close together again. He pushed them towards the exit, calling to Farrell, Dath and Coralen. They all ran, Storm limping after them, Buddai beside her. Corban saw more of the mist figures appearing about the room, swirling in the air — only a few, here and there.

The Jehar are taking their heads . The shapes screeched their fury as they evaporated, banished back to the Otherworld after only brief moments in the world of flesh.

Corban and his companions wove through the battle, calling to comrades as they passed them, gathering them, rushing towards the archway and safety. He saw Brina, still wielding her flaming sword, stabbing it into the arm of a Kadoshim that was busily pulling the limbs from a Jehar warrior. Flames rushed from the blade, engulfing the Kadoshim. It dropped the remains of the warrior in its arms and stumbled away, shrieking, a torch of flesh.