Don Bassingthwaite - The doom of Kings

He patted the ground beside him, and she sat. “A year ago,” she said.

Get looked back up at the Ring of Siberys, at the stars and the moons. “You remembered.” She’d been among the hunters who had attacked Bull Hollow.

“How could I forget? I’m sorry, Geth.”

“You’re a friend now, Ashi. You turned your back on the Bone-tree clan. There’s nothing to apologize for. Anyway, you’ve said sorry before.” He watched the sky for a little longer, then asked, “The hunter who killed Adolan-really big, fought with an axe- what was his name?”

Ashi looked at him sideways. “You killed him.”

“I know.” The memory of that kill, of driving his sword-not Wrath then, but a plain sword from his days as a mercenary-up through the hunter’s belly and into his chest, would stay with him for a long, long time. “I still want to know his name.”

“He was Hand-wit,” said Ashi. “He wasn’t smart, but he had a steady hand for tattooing and piercing.” She tapped the rings in her lip. “He did this for me.”

“Ah,” said Geth.

Ashi was silent for a moment, then added, “It will be a year tomorrow since Medala killed my father for failing to capture Dandra at Bull Hollow. She burned his mind out while he was talking to her.”

“I know,” Geth said. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Do you ever think about going back to Bull Hollow?”

He thought about it, then leaned back. “There’s nothing for me there but questions. Maybe I’m some kind of hero out here, but I don’t want to be a hero there-” His words were cut off by a bellow from the other side of the camp.

“Toh!” Beware!

A wet thump ended the cry, but Geth and Ashi were already on their feet. “Aruget!” shouted Geth, drawing Wrath from its scabbard. “Up! Everyone up!”

The sleeping forms by the fire thrashed and rolled from their blankets to grab for weapons, but dark figures were already rushing in on the camp. With screams of “Itaa!”-Wrath in hand, Geth heard “Attack!”-hobgoblins dressed in ragged clothing and armor came bursting out of the dry gully on his side of the camp.

“Grandfather Rat!” he snarled. The streambeds they’d chosen for protection of their campsite had become a path to lead their attackers closer. They still had to claw their way up the steep sides of the gullies, but that wouldn’t slow them much. Some of the hobgoblins were already helping to hoist others higher, and even more attackers were sprinting down the streambed, any attempt at stealth abandoned.

Geth jumped forward and swung Wrath at the first hobgoblin out of the gully. The heavy blade of the sword bit deep into his neck, nearly severing his head, before he even had a chance to rise up from his knees. The blow had nothing honorable about it, but Geth wasn’t an honorable fighter. He kicked the body before it could collapse, and it toppled back into the gully, knocking down two more climbers.

But attackers were swarming up the bank everywhere. Another crawling hobgoblin stabbed at his calf with a dagger. Ashi’s sword darted out, piercing the hobgoblin’s arm, then flicking high to slash across his face. He cried out and rolled away.

His thrashing almost brought Ashi down as well. She stepped back and nearly fell a second time as her foot caught on a root. “Ashi, get back to the fire!” Geth ordered. “Fight where you can see!” He swung Wrath again.

“I can see just fine!” Ashi protested.

Geth swept her feet out from under her and snapped his right arm up into the space where her shoulders had been. A hobgoblin’s sword crashed into his great gauntlet and went skittering along the black steel. Geth twisted, sweeping the sword aside and hacking upward with Wrath in the same motion. The twilight purple blade cut through leather armor and into the flesh beneath. The hobgoblin fell back. Ashi pushed herself to her feet and sprinted back to the fire without another word.

The others in their party were all up and fighting now, but their attackers were coming in from multiple directions and outnumbered them easily. Vounn was the only one not fighting, but she crouched by the fire, stirring it up into a blaze that threw light and shadows into the night as Ashi fought back anyone who tried to approach. Tariic and the soldiers Thuun and Krakuul stood shoulder to shoulder in tight formation. There was no sign of Aruget. Ekhaas fought on her own, beating back blows from an attacker wielding a heavy spiked mace. Chetiin leaped from shadow to shadow, striking low with one of the curved daggers he wore on his wrists and leaving squirming, wailing enemies in his wake. Geth glimpsed Midian standing still, a polished metal baton in his left hand, as a hobgoblin advanced on him-then the gnome snapped his wrist and a long, slim head swung out of the baton’s shaft, locking in place and transforming the baton into a deadly little pick. Midian spun, and the point of the pick punched into the meat of his attacker’s leg. The hobgoblin dropped to his knees. A second blow put a neat hole in his skull.

More attackers were coming over the sides of the gully near Geth. Three hobgoblins came at him at once, advancing in a wedge like Tariic and his soldiers, and Geth began to regret sending Ashi away. He spun to one side as the wedge came at him and swung Wrath in a raking arc. The nearest hobgoblin deflected the blow with a shield, but Geth followed it up by throwing his entire weight against the shield. The hobgoblin staggered back under the unexpected tactic, and the wedge collapsed. Geth put his opponent down with a punch that left the imprints of knuckle spikes on his temple, then rolled to his feet. The remaining two hobgoblins of the wedge had recovered and had been joined by two more.

Four to one with more enemies climbing up. Geth cursed and shouted, “I need help!”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ekhaas finish her attacker with a long slash across his chest, then turn to him. “Stand back!” she called, then drew a deep breath and sang.

The songs with which the duur’kala invoked her magic were wild and powerful, sometimes even primal, as if they echoed the legendary music of the world’s creation. The brief snatch of song that she sang now had a thick but flowing quality to it, like soap or half-melted butter. Geth jumped away-and saw the ground under the advancing hobgoblins’ feet shimmer, then turn greasy and slick.

His attackers’ legs shot out from under them, and they fell like children on an icy pond. The dark stain of the spell spread out behind them, too, dipping down over the edge of the gully. More hobgoblins yelled as they slid down the suddenly slippery slope.

“Paaldaask!” shouted someone-Spellcaster! — and the nearest attackers turned their attention on Ekhaas. Her ears folded back, and she sang another spell. The air around her folded, and abruptly five identical versions of the duur’kala stood on the defensive. Geth knew this magic. It was only an illusion, and it wouldn’t fool their enemies for long. He moved to help her but a hand wrapped around his ankle and he slammed hard to the ground.

One of the hobgoblins caught by Ekhaas’s spell had managed to reach out and grab him. Geth kicked at her but she rolled aside and pulled herself up his leg, slithering out of the magical mess.

Then Chetiin was there, appearing out of the shadows and leaping onto the hobgoblin’s back. He grabbed her hair in one hand, pulled her head back, and slit her throat. Her grip on Geth spasmed once, then relaxed. He pulled away from her and from the blood that flooded out of her body. Chetiin, however, jumped from her to one of the other thrashing hobgoblins, plunged his dagger into him, then leaped to the next and to the next, killing them all in moments without ever touching the slippery ground. He jumped clear of the magic again and looked at Geth, still sitting in the dirt. “Ekhaas?” he reminded the shifter before disappearing into the shadows once more.