T Lain - Return of the Damned

Pulling back his gauntleted hand, he made a fist. “I’ve had enough,” he said.

The metal of his gauntlet rang against the bones in the wizard’s face. A big, red blotch appeared on Naull’s forehead as she reeled backward, and blood gushed from her nose. The wizard rocked on her heals for a moment, then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell, landing hard on the wooden floor with a loud thud.

Regdar looked down at the crumpled form of the woman he loved. “Even I have my limit,” he said, then he turned around to join the fray.

Behind Regdar, in the middle of the room, the fighting came to a sudden stop. The few remaining soldiers formed a tight ring around Whitman, Tasca, and Clemf. They held their swords out menacingly, jabbing at the dwarf, elf, and human in the center.

The four jann stood behind the soldiers, making a second ring around the trapped fighters. They leered at the men in the middle.

Lindroos reclined against the nearest wall, smiling. “Well, Regdar,” said the blackguard, “it looks as if I win.”

Regdar gripped the hilt of his magical greatsword. “How do you figure?”

“Consider the situation,” said Lindroos, standing up from her comfortable position on the wall. “Your friends are completely surrounded, and you are outnumbered more than two to one,” she said. “I never was good at math, but still, I think that means I have the advantage.”

Regdar looked at Lindroos for a moment. First she kills Naull, he thought, then she returns as Naull’s lover. The big fighter narrowed his eyes.

“You aren’t good at numbers,” he replied.

Regdar took three huge, running steps forward, charging the blackguard in a sudden rush. With practiced flair, the veteran fighter swung his greatsword up and around in a blinding arc. Lindroos’s eyes flew wide, and she barely managed to get her jet black blade up in time to keep Regdar from taking her head off at the neck.

The attack had caught her off guard, and her minions momentarily turned their attention from the three fighters they surrounded to the crazed human charging their leader. That was all the opening that the trapped trio needed.

Whitman shoved the soldier in front of him. The man lost his balance and fell backward. The dwarf’s hammer struck down within a blink and clanged against splintmail. The downed soldier let out a strangled groan as his ribcage collapsed and broken bone ends pierced his lungs.

The janni behind the soldier stepped forward onto the dying soldier’s chest, adding to his agony. Clemf lunged into the hole and jammed the tip of his longsword into the janni’s ribs. The outsider shrieked and leaped straight up into the air, where it flew to the ceiling and out of sword reach.

Tasca also took advantage of the sudden distraction and gap in the enemy ring. The spry elf bent his knees and sprang forward, launching himself like a ballista bolt through the hole. Two soldiers and two jann swiped at him as he soared by, but all of them missed, unable to keep up with the speedy elf.

Lindroos retained her composure as she traded blows with Regdar.

“You can’t beat me,” she taunted, lunging forward and barely missing Regdar’s chin.

“Oh no?” countered the big fighter. “What makes you so sure?”

Lindroos smiled. “Them,” she said, pointing behind Regdar.

Regdar chuckled without humor. “You don’t expect me to fall for that stupid trick, do you?”

Lindroos stepped back, completely disengaging from their fight. “Oh, no,” she said. “Look for yourself.”

The sound of marching feet drew Regdar’s glance back over his shoulder. Coming through the door that Whitman had kicked in was another squad of Lindroos’s black-clad soldiers—perhaps two dozen or more in all.

“Like I said,” taunted the blackguard, “I never was good at math. I guess I made a mistake when I said you were outnumbered two to one.”

Regdar turned and charged toward the new arrivals, hoping he could bottleneck them in the narrow doorframe. His blade swooped down to split a soldier’s head, but it bounced away, blocked by a pair of crossed longswords. Pulling back, Regdar barely managed to evade several counterattacks. The tip of one blade caught him on the elbow but failed to find the gap in his armor’s joint.

“The luck of Pelor,” he said, and he waded in.

Whitman gritted his teeth. In three successive hammer blows, he’d managed to take three soldiers out of the fight. Only one of them was dead, but even if the others recovered their wits in short order, it was three blades he didn’t need to deal with right at this moment. The jann were another problem entirely. Clemf had forced one to take flight, but the other three had their scimitars out, and they were looking for blood.

Whitman heard a high-pitched whistle. The sound made the skin along his spine crawl. He’d heard that noise before, and he knew what it meant—duck! Rolling into a ball, the dwarf tumbled forward. He could feel a slight breeze rush by as a scimitar sliced the air where he had been standing only a moment before.

Getting to his feet, Whitman turned to face the janni and its curved blade. The bare-chested outsider had a look of contempt on its face, and it turned the blade around for another attack.

“Let me guess,” said Whitman, “you’re Tweedledum?”

The janni sneered and swung its blade. Whitman nearly tripped over one of the downed soldiers as he dodged away.

“I am called Shirzad,” said the janni. “I tell you this so you will know who to fear in the afterlife.”

The dwarf regained his full balance, and he glared back, gripping his hammer tightly with both hands. “And I am called Whitman,” replied the dwarf. “I tell you this so mine will be the last name you hear in this world.” Whitman swept his magical weapon behind him then up over his head. With tremendous force, the dwarf slammed down the hammer with all his might. It struck the janni’s sword and bashed it aside without slowing, then continued on into the outsider’s chest. The blow lifted Whitman from his feet, and a tremendous crack echoed across the room.

The janni’s knees buckled, and its eyes rolled back into its head. The exposed flesh on its naked chest rippled in waves like liquid as the sound jolted through the huge body. The outsider convulsed once again and vomited soupy, green liquid.

“Damn,” shouted the dwarf.

The janni collapsed forward to the floor, falling so that its forehead hit the ground with a great thump.

Whitman heard the high-pitched whistle too late this time. He screamed as searing pain erupted along his back. He spun around to see the other two jann behind him. One held a scimitar tipped in blood. The other swung its curved blade, obviously intending to take Whitman’s head as a trophy. The dwarf ducked, but the pain in his back slowed his reaction so that the blade connected with his helm, knocking it off. A heavy, ringing sound bounced back and forth between his ears, and his vision went blurry. He knew there were only two jann standing before him, but he could have sworn there were four.

His vision cleared quickly, but Whitman was momentarily unsure. He now saw three jann around him. He realized that the third, which had been flying near the ceiling, must have landed behind him, trapping the dwarf between all three outsiders.

“This isn’t good.”

One of the jann snapped its fingers, and in a blink all of them disappeared from view.

“Oh, this really isn’t good.”

Tasca backed himself into the corner and fired arrows into the fray as fast and as hard as he could. The metal arrowheads made satisfying pinging sounds as they punctured splintmail, and the screams of the men as they were shot was even more reassuring.