Chapter 142


    The Battle of Bluewater Wall


    Rusk moved through the smoke-choked battlements, bow in hand. He nocked an arrow, drew, and released in one fluid motion. The arrow sank into the chest of a rak as it clambered up the wall. The creature grunted and slipped back into the mass below. Another took its place in seconds, its iron chestplate scraping against the stone.


    “Hold the line!” a captain’s voice bellowed, thick with urgency. The call was lost in a moment, swallowed by the screams and howls of men and monsters alike.


    Rusk shifted, taking cover behind a broken piece of stonework, his eyes scanning the wall’s edge. He loosed another arrow into another rak cresting the wall, barely registering the creature’s fall as he reached for another from his quiver.


    To his left, a soldier screamed, the sharp edge of a hellhound’s claw raking across his chest, tearing through mail as if it were linen. Rusk turned, firing into the draega’s side. His arrow lodged between its black hide, barely slowing it as it pushed forward.


    A stonespear was flung by a runewielder, sinking into the monster’s shoulder. Then the blast of a cannon from the rear tore through the hellhounds chest, finally taking the beast down.


    Grenadiers hurled incendiaries down into the dark swarm below, their blasts illuminating a brief, hellish glimpse of the horde—a churning sea of bodies.


    “Reinforce the gate!” Another order shot through the smoke. Rusk stayed in his position and continued to fire, ignoring the stinging sweat that slicked his face.


    Rusk’s hands fumbled along his quiver.


    Empty.


    His heart hammered as he drew his sword, standing up from his covered position. He ran towards the edge of the parapet as he heard the shouts of the rakmen climbing the wall.


    Calls echoed up and down the line—cheers, shouts of disbelief.


    “The Reldoni!”


    “The Reldoni have come!”


    He barely registered the commotion, his focus sharp as a rak pulled itself up over battlements in front of him. Without hesitating, Rusk lunged forward, driving his blade into the creature’s neck. It gurgled and clawed at the air before falling backwards.


    An unfamiliar horn blared, its deep tone mingled with the frantic horns of Bluewater’s defenders. He knew he should step back, leave the line to fresher soldiers. But he couldn’t bring himself to retreat. Not yet. Not while so many of the men he’d trained with stood and bled beside him.


    Then he saw them, men armoured in sleek black and red dragonhide—the Reldoni. They were flooding the battlements. Amidst them, a single runewielder, clad all in black, seemed to glide over the battlements, landing with a poise as if he’d simply stepped off a gust of wind. His blade was a blur, cutting down rakmen faster than Rusk’s eyes could follow.


    There were rumours that the Reldoni had combat runewielders that rivalled the ancient Sorcerer Kings themselves. The Bloodshedders. Rusk had not believed it until now, until he saw this demon of a man unleashed.


    Rusk’s attention was arrested by the fluidity of the warrior’s movements. But a heavy growl behind him pulled him back.


    He turned too late.


    Claws as dark as pitch scraped over the stone, as a massive hellhound hauled itself up over the wall. It launched itself forward, jaws wide. Rusk tried to raise his sword, but the beast was far faster.


    The last thing Rusk saw was the hellhound’s maw.


    A flash of white-hot pain.


    And everything went dark.


    ***


    Puck’s pulse thrummed in time with the war-horns as he sprinted up the wall steps, his boots heavy on the stone. He glanced back, a sliver of guilt tugging at him. He knew he should’ve stayed with Daegan’s honour guard, but the fierce thrill of the fight called to him louder than any duty.


    He held his blade in one hand but his true weapon was the hum of his topaz, its fire singing through his bones.


    He reached the top of the wall and immediately fell into the rhythm of battle, dodging as a rak snarled and lunged toward him. A grin split his burned face.


    He was skilled.


    … But he was no soulforged.


    ***


    Commander Kashin fought with every last shred of strength he could muster, his breath came in rasps. His left arm hung limp, a deep gash running from shoulder to wrist. His ribs were on fire where the claws of hellhound had raked him.


    But he held his sword in his good hand, swinging with a determination. He would hold his position against the monstrous tide.


    His thoughts turned, unbidden, to his family—the image of their faces flashing in his mind. They’d left only a few days before, in the cold dawn light, joining the stream of townsfolk bound for Nordock. He’d watched them go, had kissed his son’s brow, had told his wife he’d see them soon.


    But they’d both known that had been a lie.


    Gods above and below. A bitter smile tugged at his bloodied lips. If you’re listening—if you’re anything more than the tales we tell our children—give them speed. Protect them from this… this hell.


    He wasn’t a religious man, had never put much stock in prayer. But as he looked at the nightmarish scene around him—the draega hulking over the battlements, rakmen scrambling over the stones in a dark flood, his men falling, one by one—he found himself praying.


    For his son. For his wife. For the people of Bluewater.


    He’d die here, he knew it. But let them make it to Nordock. Let them be safe.


    Through the blur of blood and sweat, he glimpsed them—the Reldoni in their black and red armour, pouring onto the wall.


    Too late for us, he thought, watching a lone figure in dark armour cut through the rakmen.


    A sharp pain blossomed in his side, and his legs buckled. He dropped to his knees, his hand slipping from his sword. It clattered onto the stones beside him. His vision began to blur, the cacophony of battle fading into a distant hum. He could feel the warmth of his blood on his skin, pooling onto the ground beneath him. Felt the life seeping into the bulwark below.


    Run fast. His wife’s hand in his. His world faded to black.


    Run fast and be safe.


    ***


    “Puck! Behind you!” someone shouted.


    He spun, just in time to see one of the crab-like draega—massive and chitinous, its insect legs digging into the stone. It reared, its black maw gaping, and for a split second, he saw himself reflected in those dead, glassy eyes.


    Puck threw up a wall of fire between them, his face going flush with the sudden cold as he poured out all the heat he had into the flames. The draega hesitated, its flesh blistering beneath its chitinous plates. But then it lunged, forcing itself through the fire with a high-pitched screech. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Puck stumbled back, raising his hands to throw more flames. But he could feel the weakness pulling at him.


    The strain on his burned skin.


    The exhaustion pressing down on him.


    With a desperate shout, he called every bit of fire he could muster, forming a blinding vortex of heat around his hands. He could feel the skin on his hands blister and crack with the fire but he didn’t care. He’d been burned by his own flames before.


    He struck a fist forward, the flames searing the draega’s underbelly, forcing it to recoil, shrieking in rage. But even that wasn’t enough to keep it down.


    “Fuck you,” Puck spat, breathless, as he reached for his last reserves.


    His vision was blurred. Every inch of him felt raw, but he charged forward, slamming his flaming hands against the draega’s leg.


    The fire surged up its body as Puck poured all he had left him into that fire. The creature convulsed.


    Even as the monster stumbled back, one of its massive pincers caught Puck in the side, tearing through his armour. It was dragonshide. Like all the Twin Garde men, he’d accepted it from their new allies.


    For all the good it did him now.


    Pain seared through him, and he staggered. Nearly lost his balance as blood poured from the wound. He tried to summon more fire, but the topaz around his neck was empty now, exhausted of its power. He felt cold. Colder than he’d ever been in his life. He knew he’d drawn too much heat from his own body.


    He was… dying.


    The draega was coiling on its back now like a dead spider. The flames spitting and cracking its carapace.


    Puck staggered forward, his hand outstretched.


    He tried to focus his edir on the flames.


    To draw it in.


    He knew that he could.


    But he stumbled. His vision blurring.


    He just needed more fire.


    The cold took him.


    ***


    Arlen couldn’t raise his shield in time before the rak spear found his throat, the force of it sending him sprawling. His last breath a sputtered gasp as blood filled his mouth.


    ***


    Noel’s arrows had run dry, he was clutching a broken sword when the hellhound’s massive claw swept across the battlements. His body smashed against the stone wall with a sickening crunch.


    ***


    Darin felt the heat of battle as he desperately tried to hold the line. But the rak that bore down on him was faster, a jagged blade piercing his gut, his vision fading as he fell to his knees.


    ***


    The horn still blared in Gavyn’s hand, his fingers frozen around it as a rak spear struck him from behind. The sound cut off as he crumpled, the horn tumbling beside him.


    ***


    Shayne felt a surge of hope as he saw the Reldoni reinforcements arrive. But it was short-lived—a rak throwing knife struck him through the eye, and he fell without a sound.


    ***


    Elric conjured a stone shield in front of him, but it shattered as the draega lunged at him, its powerful pincers snapping his arm before tearing him from the wall. His screams were lost in the chaos as he was flung.


    ***


    Merina’s hammer swung down on a rak’s skull, splitting it open. But she barely had a second to register her victory before another rak leapt at her, its dagger sinking into her neck.


    ***


    Niall stumbled back, wrenching his glaive from the kragling he’d felled. But before he could raise it again, a hellhound’s tail whipped across the wall, flinging him off the edge and into the darkness below.


    ***


    Ciaran braced himself as the draega bore down on him, his stonespear aimed at its chest. But it batted him aside with one powerful limb, and his body slammed into the battlements, limp and broken.


    ***


    Tamara gripped her curved blade, she was the best fighter in her squad. Good enough to be a bloodshedder. She whispered a prayer as she faced down an oncoming kragling, but a rak spear drove through her chest from behind.


    ***


    We’re going to die here. Tanlor realised.


    Even with the Reldoni they were simply too few. The rakmen and their draega just kept coming. They poured over the battlements like a crashing wave. Every time a draega monster fell, another was always there to immediately replace it.


    The ground beneath them a slick and treacherous mire of blood and broken bodies.


    Tanlor swung his greatsword, cutting down a rak charging up the stone steps, only to have to duck as a monstrous, chitinous claw lashed out inches from his head. Tanlor and the other Twin Garde men formed Daegan’s guard. The man insisted on joining the fighting alongside the first wave of Reldoni that reinforced the battlements.


    Commander Torvin had tried to stop him but Daegan had been having none of it.


    Tanlor jumped back as the crab-like draega advanced on him.


    A stonespear jutted up from the ground, impaling the creature. Tanlor’s head whipped and he saw Tar making his way over, flinging stoneblades with his edir at oncoming rakmen. But even Tar’s strength was already waning, his steps staggering. Armless, the man couldn’t wield a blade, he was reliant entirely on his edir and Tanlor admired that he still fought as fiercely and efficiently as the rest of them.


    A blaring horn from the Reldoni lines brought a flicker of hope, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming roar of an approaching rak. Tanlor sidestepped a blow, swung his greatsword, and finding its mark.


    His arm trembled with exhaustion.


    The Reldoni would be sending in their second wave.


    Torvin had sent his elite squads in first—mostly runewielders—to aid the tiring defenders. This second wave would be his pikemen, armed to the teeth to fight the draega. He also had two hundred riflemen. The objective was to clear the battlements and get those riflemen into line on the wall. They could then rain a shower of bullets on the attacking horde.


    He heard Daegan’s shout somewhere in the chaos behind him, rallying soldiers to him.


    Tanlor found himself alongside a Reldoni leftenant he didn’t know. The man bore one of the newly designed gunblades. The Leftenant was engaged in a series of blows against a large rak. Tanlor near shearing the head clean off rak as jumped to assist.


    “A fine day for a last stand, eh?” the Reldoni leftenant quipped, cocking the gunblade with a sharp click. A pair of rakmen attempted to pincer them and Tanlor found himself back-to-back with the man.


    “You Reldoni are nothing if not dramatic,” Tanlor replied. The leftenant fired his gunblade at the rak approaching him. The leftenant laughed then, “and you Rubanians are nothing if not stubborn. Just try to keep up.”


    Tanlor parried the oncoming rak’s attack, then splipped to the side. The long blade of the gunblade flashed over Tanlor’s shoulder, impaling the rak’s chest.


    There was no pause, no breath, always another enemy. A shriek split the air as a crab draega lunged, its pincers snapping like a monstrous blacksmith’s shears. Tanlor swung forward, greatsword raised, jabbing between the creature’s chitinous plates as the leftenant levelled his gunblade. A deafening shot rang out, smoke curling from the weapon’s barrel as the beast staggered back, its armoured shell cracked and smoking.


    “Nice shot!” Tanlor called, stepping in to drive his greatsword down with all his strength. The heavy blade slammed into the weakened shell, shattering it. The draega retreated with an ear-splitting screech.


    Tanlor heard Daegan shouting out across the battlements. Tanlor glanced at the leftenant.


    “Come on!”


    “You go, I’ll—” The leftenant’s words choked off, eyes wide with shock as an arrow shot right into his neck. Blood bubbled from his mouth


    Shit.


    Tanlor ducked low, and fell back, following Daegan’s voice. Daegan stood atop a cannon on the rear battlement, his new silver armour was already smeared with blood and the grime of battle.


    “They think they can break us!” Daegan roared. “Shatter our spirits!”


    “But they are wrong!” Daegan held his bloodstone dagger high, it was shining with that red light. He was using it.


    “We will not break! Will not bend! We will fight!” Daegan called out.


    Another hellhound crested the wall. This one had a rider on its back. It was the first rak chief Tanlor had seen since they arrived. It’s ghostwood mask bone white and ominous in the dark light.


    Tanlor tightened his grip on his greatsword, breath held as he traced the chief’s movements. He saw the other soldiers around flinch, some stepping back from the creature’s advance as the hellhound lowered its body, crouching to leap forward.


    Daegan raised the dagger, its eerie glow intensifying, drawing the chief’s attention like a moth to a flame.


    He raised his spear, pointing it like a challenge at Daegan.


    “I swear this to you,” Daegan called out, loud enough to be heard across the battlement. “No rak, no beast, no demon will push us back. If these monsters want to take this wall, then by the gods, they’ll find only ruin and wrath to greet them!”


    The rak chief suddenly twisted and began writhing in pain on the back of his hellhound mount. Daegan’s dagger flared with white light, and Tanlor thought for the briefest moment that he saw a stream of red light flowing from the rak chief into that dagger.


    “Charge!” Daegan shouted and in an instant, a score of soldiers—his soldiers—leapt forward. They surrounded the hellhound, spears bristling, swords glinting. The beast roared, snapping its fangs. With the chief’s influence gone, it faltered, leaving an opening for the nearest soldier to strike.


    Blades drove into the hellhound’s exposed flanks, and the creature staggered under the assault, unable to withstand the combined strength of Daegan’s soldiers. With a final, defiant snarl, it collapsed.


    Tanlor reached Daegan’s side. The man looked… changed. Crazed with bloodlust. His eyes were afire with the same eerie light that emanated from his dagger.


    Tanlor felt his instinct to caution his friend, to tell him to leave that accursed dagger, but he shoved it down. There was no space for second thoughts here, no time to weigh choices. Anything that kept the soldiers’ courage burning, anything that gave them the strength to stand against the assaulting rak… Tanlor would welcome.


    The walls shook, The rak were unleashing their runewielders. Their chiefs were joining the fray, and their power struck like a sledgehammer. They were flinging giant boulders against the wall which impacted with bone-rattling crashes. Dust and debris filled the air, raining down in thick clouds as cracks began to spread like spiderwebs along the stone.


    Daegan turned, meeting Tanlor’s gaze, and nodded. They would fight together until either victory or darkness claimed them.