David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

“Go back to the walls,” he said to the priests at his side. “Shout your praises to Karak. I will handle those at the castle.”

“As you wish,” the priests said in unison.

“Praise be to Karak,” Melorak said as he approached the castle. “Praise be.”

“B lock either side!” Dieredon shouted to the soldiers. “Funnel them to me!”

The soldiers formed two lines at the top with a gap in the center. Further back in the gap Dieredon stood, his bow drawn. He fired arrows three at a time from a quiver that never ran empty. Wave after wave of undead dropped, and those that made it to the top were either chopped down or pushed into Dieredon’s line of fire. Haern weaved between the sides, crushing any undead that looked like they might score a kill. They were a mere force of twenty, but over two hundred lay defeated on their steps, the bodies increasing the difficulty of the climb for the rest.

The fight raged on, and another hundred fell. The undead surrounding the walls drifted further into the city, each one headed straight for the castle.

“Dark paladins,” Haern shouted as seven raised their swords and charged in unison.

“I see them,” Dieredon said. He drew only a single arrow, hesitated, and then released. The arrow slipped past his target’s sword and into his throat. He fired another. The dark paladins ducked, crossing their arms as they climbed, but it didn’t matter. Dieredon’s aim was true, this time digging into the flesh just underneath the arm. Another pierced through the eyehole of a helmet. Haern swore as they split to either side, outside Dieredon’s line of fire. Blades wreathed in dark fire, they crashed into the line of guards.

Dieredon resumed firing at the undead climbing the steps, knowing he had to trust Haern and the others. If he paused to fight, they would all be buried. Behind him, Sonowin neighed, and he could hear her nervousness.

“Easy, girl,” he told her, drawing three more arrows. “No matter what, you’ll be fine.”

Haern squared off with one of the paladins, wielding a sword in either hand. It felt like fighting a slower, weaker Harruq, and as such Haern knew exactly how to react to every slash and every thrust. He twisted and dodged, blocking only when he must. It didn’t take long before the paladin grew frustrated and made a mistake. Haern made him pay for it, burying his sabers deep into his chest.

Haern rolled to one side, behind another paladin unaware of his presence. His sabers slipped around his neck and cut. He glanced about, and swore at what he saw. Most of the guards lay dead, and still two more paladins remained. One died as he chopped down a soldier, Dieredon pausing momentarily to bury an arrow in his throat. Haern leaped at the other, ignoring the stinging fire of his sword to get close so his cuts and weaves could not be matched by the man in his bulky plate mail. The paladin shouted the name of Karak, hoping for strength. Instead Haern rammed his saber down his throat and twisted. He kicked the body down the stairs and glanced at Dieredon. His look said enough.

“I know,” Dieredon said, releasing another wave of arrows. “Until death?”

Only four guards remained, their armor soaked with blood and gore. As their enemies continued up the steps, seemingly endless in number, they lost their initial cheer.

“Hold faith,” Haern said to them. “For the Queen, and yourselves.”

Dieredon grabbed his bow with both hands. Spikes shot out from the ends, and rows of blades jutted out the front. He joined Haern’s side at the center, the guards on either side.

“Enough arrows,” the elf said. “Let’s build a wall of bodies.”

A combination of tested and undead ran up the steps, stumbling over the fallen. The second they neared, Dieredon was upon them, spinning and twirling his bladed bow like it was a part of his body, a mere extension of his will. The magic on it was strong, and it cut through bone with ease. Haern stayed at his side, parrying away any attack that neared Dieredon, and gutting any that tried to ignore the elf and run past. The guards, in awe, felt hope renewed in their hearts.

“For the Queen!” they shouted, joining in the fight, pushing and shoving their enemies toward the spinning death that was Dieredon.

“Priest!” one of them shouted. Dieredon paused, and sure enough he saw a man in black robes at the foot of the steps. When the priest looked up, his eyes shimmering red, the elf felt his hopes sink.

“Get into the castle,” the elf said to the others. “Now!”

The panic in his voice was enough for them to turn and bang on the castle doors.

“What is going on?” Haern demanded.

“Take Sonowin and go,” Dieredon said. “I don’t know if she can fly or not, but don’t let her die here.”

“I can help you!” Haern shouted.

“The city is lost!” Dieredon shouted back, shoving the assassin. “Now get her to safety!”

Melorak pulled his hood off his head and raised his arms. High in the sky, the lion roared, and as the roar shook the city, the priest glowed with red fire. It did not consume him. The rest of the army stayed behind, not daring to come between their master and his prey.

“We come as conquerors,” Melorak said. “Step aside or be burned.”

Haern leaped atop Sonowin and wrapped his arms around her neck. Dieredon patted her side and whispered something into her ear. The majestic horse snorted and shook her head.

“Go!” Dieredon shouted to Haern. Sonowin spread her wings and took a tentative step. Her wings fluttered, and as their strength remained firm, she leaped from the steps, her wings flapping. She soared into the air, Haern on her back. Dieredon watched, a smile on his face to see his beloved Sonowin able to fly again. The smile faded as his eyes shifted downward, to where Melorak stood shaking his head.

“You should have gone with him,” the priest said.

“One more chance,” Dieredon said as he held his bow with its blades out. “I end you, and this world is better for it.”

“I end you,” Melorak said, “and my world is better for it.”

Dieredon leaped, the blade on the end of his bow aimed straight for Melorak’s throat. He stopped halfway down the steps, slamming into a wall of air that rippled into visibility at his contact. As he fell, Melorak cast a spell, bathing the elf in fire. He screamed and rolled across the steps, but could not extinguish the flame. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver vial, then smashed it against his chest. Cool blue light bathed over him, banishing the fire and softening his burns.

“Pathetic,” Melorak said, the fire swarming around his body pooling into his palms. “I expected better.”

Dieredon drew an arrow and fired. The arrow punched through the fire and flesh, its tip sticking out the other side of Melorak’s hand. The priest screamed, his concentration broken. The fire fell like lava to the ground, melting the stone. Dieredon fired a second arrow, but it halted in the air as if gripped by an invisible fist.

“We’ve played this game before,” Melorak said between gasps of pain. A clenching of his fist and the arrow shattered. “I won, remember?”

“It’s a new game,” Dieredon said as he stood. “You’re bleeding.”

Another clenched fist and the arrow stuck in his hand shattered. Blood poured down his arm and dripped across the ground. Dieredon was closer now, and he twirled his bow as he stared down Melorak, watching, waiting.

Melorak hurled a bolt of shadow. Dieredon somersaulted over it, his feet landing on Melorak’s shoulders. He twisted, locking the priest’s neck in his grip and pulling him down. As he landed he spun, ramming a blade straight for Melorak’s head. The priest shifted just enough so that the blade struck the ground, just grazing his cheek. As the blood dripped, Melorak shoved the palm of his hand against Dieredon’s chest and let loose all his fury. Shadows and fire blasted into Dieredon, flinging him several feet back. Dieredon twisted his body so he landed on his feet, jamming his bow into the stone to halt his movement.