That evening, Vergil got his first real look at the Rock itself and the land surrounding it. Climbing up onto the ramparts he was made to understand that he’d seriously underestimated the size of the place.


    The fortress stretched out for miles, and its wall encircled the mountain beneath which the city was built. He’d barely seen a fraction of it in the dark of the night, where only the pyres had broken up the night. Now he could spy for miles and miles, torches lit on tall, thick walls stretching out into the distance. Round towers stabbed at the sky with archers perched atop them. Many had ballistae glinting in the red light of torches.


    The Rock was a formidable sight that, in some ways, dwarfed even Valen and its many spires.


    There were no spires here, just brutal architecture that looked like it could survive the end of the world.


    And the world did look to be ending. Out from the walls, past the palisades, fortifications and ditches, an army mustered. The light from the pyres barely lit a portion of it, and he knew there were more out there, where the field ended and the forest began.


    A great mass of bodies milled about. Weapons glinted. Creatures like towers of muscle moved through the throng as if waiting for a call to engage. They were a sea of barely contained violence, a great many-headed beast that snarled, howled, threatened, and growled. The air was filled with the cries of this great monster waiting to fall upon the fortress.


    “Move yer arse,” a man said behind him. Vergil hurried up to the top of the stairs and several soldiers jogged passed him.


    Tallah was ahead, standing on a wider plateau together with the great figure of Vilfor and his trusted lieutenants. The wind whipped her hair and cloak about, but she was as still as the stone itself while soldiers flowed past. Vilfor relayed orders, gestured, and was obeyed. The men, all dressed in the white and blue colours of the Empire, armours washed and half-repaired, all rushed away to see to their own positions.


    What am I doing here? Vergil felt… lost. In this sea of people ready to fight, on the cusp of a battle that even to his inexperienced eyes looked impossible, what was he to do? He’d shown a brave face to Sil, but now he dearly wished for Horvath’s strength.


    What was down there would come up here. And everyone on those walls would die.


    And he’d freeze again. And die without even a whimper.


    Regardless, and against any sort of common sense, he approached Tallah and went to stand by her side. She gave him the barest nod of acknowledgement.


    “Fine night for a slaughter, Vilfor,” she said, eyes scanning the far distance.


    “Aye. Fine night. This be what we’ve been staring at fer the past forty days. Lovely sight, innit?”


    Vergil wanted to ask if this is how the battle had looked for so long… and how they were still here at all. But he thought better of it. It wasn’t his place to disturb the others.


    <ul style="text-align: justify">


    <li>Fear’s rot, sprig.</li>


    <li>Treat it like rot.</li>


    <li>It don’t help t’ spread it.</li>


    <li> Listen. Learn.</li>


    </ul>


    His hand went to his axe. Gripping it felt right. It chased away some of the terror. Horvath’s words were encouraging for once.


    But what if he froze again? What if that monster from before got up here? It could fly after all.


    Well, the answer to that was simple. And he didn’t need Tallah to voice it for him.


    If he froze again, he would die. Horvath kicked him in the shin with painful result.


    How is he doing that?!


    <ul style="text-align: justify">


    <li>Wrong thing t’ wonder at, sprig</li>


    </ul>


    What’s the right then?


    <ul style="text-align: justify">


    <li>Repeat after meh:</li>


    <li>How do I survive pissing mehself?</li>


    </ul>


    “How do I survive if I freeze again?” he whispered under his breath. Tallah raised an eyebrow in his direction.


    Well, the answer to his worry was simple enough. Her amused gaze pretty much confirmed it: poke the monsters with the sharp bit on the end of his sword. Or, as more often the case, hit them in the head with any part of the axe’s business end. That seemed to get most jobs done.


    “Do you have any men down there?” Tallah asked Vilfor, gesturing to the immediate field.


    “No. All pulled back for a wall fight,” Vilfor rumbled. He was armed with two axes of his own and no shield. Each one was nearly as tall as Vergil. The warrior kept them leaned against his sides, large upper arms crossed at his chest. His lower hand rested on the hilts of two long daggers at his belt. “We’ve bled before ye came. Best t’ let ‘em break against the walls.”


    “What happened to that berserker moron I knew back in the day?” Tallah gave Vergil a mischievous side glance. “The one that ran out of the gate to face the horde alone, hoping the others would follow?”


    Vilfor let out a rumbling chuckle and turned his head to the side, looking down at where the road led to one of the gates. “His commander died and he had to assume the mantle of leadership for this gods forsaken rock. Harder t’ make bad choices when they kill more people.”


    “Boy!” a voice snapped at Vergil from the side. He automatically turned to look. Boy generally meant him, and he resented that he responded so eagerly to the call.


    One of the archers beckoned him closer. “What’s your name?” he asked.


    “Vergil.”


    “Who are you with? What’s your unit? Why are you lolling about?”


    Vergil felt he should have sat straighter while the man spoke to him. He nervously glanced back and pointed a finger at Tallah. “I’m with her he said. I… uh… I don’t have a unit.”


    “Are you a mage?” the man went on, unperturbed.


    “No, sir. Just—”


    “If you’re not a mage, then you’re useless up there. Can you use a bow?”


    “No, sir. I—”


    The man turned, looked over the gathered ranks of archers, and pointed to the far distance, at a tower that jutted out from the battlements. “There’s a supply cache there,” he went on, pointing at the tower. “Go there. Present yourself to Kallil. You’ll be his helper tonight.”


    When Vergil hesitated, the man snapped at him. “Move, boy. I don’t care if you’re Cinder’s aid or not. On these walls nobody stands idle unless they mean to shoot an arrow. Move.”


    He did. Without even meaning to, he left the post at a jog, then a run. Tallah didn’t call after him. She hadn’t instructed him on what he should be doing, so this was… technically fine. Right?


    Kallil was surrounded by men no older than Vergil, all of them filling up quivers with arrows out of neatly stacked piles. He was another old man, dressed in light leather armour, with a bald pate and an impressive beard. He took one look at Vergil, nodded, and showed him some of the quivers waiting against a wall.


    “Runner,” the old man designated him. “When an archer drops down against the wall, you run to him. He’ll be out of arrows. Make every trip count. Don’t deliver to those too wounded to hold their weapon. Drag them away if you can. If not, leave them be and we’ll get to them later. Do you understand me?”


    Vergil nodded and took up three full quivers. They were heavier than he’d expected, the arrows packed tight inside.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    “Don’t carry them now, you daft child. We haven’t begun the fight yet.” Kallil showed him to a ladder climbing to the roof of the tower. “Get up there and keep your head down until the fun starts.”


    From atop the tower the sight of the battle to come was even more blood chilling. There were thousands out there, spreading to the horizon.


    But what if I freeze again? What if I’m out there, running, and I freeze out in the open?


    <ul style="text-align: justify">


    <li>An arrow splits yer skull.</li>


    <li>And I’d be done wi’h yer whining.</li>


    <li>Fear be a choice.</li>


    <li>Th’ choice be yers.</li>


    </ul>


    A call went out from the lines of archers. Like one, they all nocked arrows. Another call and they took aim at the sky. Finally, they loosed. A great black cloud of arrows rose into the air, arched over the field of battle, and fell on the attackers like hail. Monsters screamed in the night. From his vantage point it was impossible to know if many had died or not, the army too distant, the night encroaching.


    That’s weird, he thought.


    <ul style="text-align: justify">


    <li> It ain’t normal.</li>


    </ul>


    They weren’t advancing. Even with the masses braying in pain, the army remained where it was, weathering a second volley of arrows as if they were of no concern. They stood around like animals for the slaughter, making no effort to defend or retreat.


    Vergil swung his gaze towards Tallah. She was still on the platform, arms crossed, coat flapping in the night wind. There were orb of fire orbiting her, spinning in place and growing by the passing moment. They ignored the wind. Fireflies dotted the air farther out, like a defensive matrix around the sorceress.


    Vilfor was next to her, axes hefted, posture hunched. A towering guardian that Vergil wished he could be. He felt an inexplicable surge of… something. Looking at the four-armed warrior and his easy confidence in the face of what awaited down there, he knew he’d found what he’d like to become at some point. Not just a boy being ordered around, but someone to be a rock for others to cling to.


    <ul style="text-align: justify">


    <li>Feast yer eyes, sprig!</li>


    <li>Th’ man ye’ll never be.</li>


    <li>Guarding th’ bitch ye’ll never plow.


    </li>


    </ul>


    He ignored the dwarf as a third hail of arrows rose and fell. Still, the monsters waited.


    Another of the runners watching commented. “They’re afraid of Cinder,” he said, eyes wide towards the sorceress. “Maybe there won’t be blood tonight.”


    Well, now you’ve jinxed it, Vergil thought glumly. The daemons howled in the night. Scuffles were breaking out down there.


    Still, they didn’t march one step farther, as if tied behind the invisible line.


    “What are they waiting for?” he asked the boy next to him.


    “No bloody idea. They’ve never waited before. It’s the first time they don’t fall on us with the night.”


    Maybe they were indeed afraid of Tallah. Or there was something else holding them back. He thought of the creature in the city, the one that had frozen him to the spot, and shuddered at the memory of it. It could have killed them both if it had wanted, but something had also stayed its hand.


    It had utterly ignored him though.


    The night wore on and the chill deepened. Larger shapes crawled among the ranks of the daemons, towering monsters that walked on impossible legs. Crab-like. Centipede-like. Some carried others monsters on their backs, close enough to the pyres that Vergil could make out the scuttling beasts that awaited.


    Walking, breathing towers of flesh that carried braying beastmen atop their gnarled back, in a kind of basket of bones. Long arms reached into the mass of bodies, plucked up screaming, thrashing monsters, and tossed them into the baskets.


    Still, they made no move to attack even as arrows fell on them. The dead were mounting, their brethren eating those that fell.


    Were they wasting arrows? Or were the daemons wasting lives? Did it matter to them?


    Kallil called from below and all but one of the runners rushed back down the ladder. They each picked up several quivers and ran out onto the battlements to deliver to soldiers calling out.


    Vergil ran to four archers, delivered his load, picked up the empty quivers and started back when something popped with a loud crack in Tallah’s direction. Archers turned smoothly to the noise, took aim into the sky, and loosed. Screeches resounded.


    Small shapes descended from the night sky, converging like a flock of crows onto Tallah’s position. Her fireflies flew out and detonated, each one catching one creature and bursting it apart. The archers got many of the rest.


    Then the flock broke apart and swooped down on the ramparts, larger shapes breaking apart into smaller until Vergil could just make out the flying rat-like beasts that screamed down onto them. A war horn sounded and soldiers rushed to the defence of the archers, swords in one hand, torches in the other.


    Tallah remained immobile where she was, eyes still on the army, while her fireflies did the killing. Christina was likely aiding.


    “Arrows, boy,” one of the archers prodded him. A woman’s voice, rough and calm. She still had half of her quiver, but was quickly nocking, taking aim, and loosing. Each shot brought down one of winged monsters. They crashed against the walls with wet thuds and screeched as they died. “Get me arrows.”


    Vergil shook off the moment of fascination and took off at a run towards Kallil’s armoury. Two boys grabbed his load and immediately offered four more full quivers. He went out and delivered. His boots crushed some of the creatures that had fallen to the ground. They burst like maggots, sticky blood spraying as if from a burst balloon.


    It stank. Why did everything stink so much worse than the sewage on the Gloria? All of it was the sickly-sweet corpse miasma, like the bodies rotted even before they died.


    He didn’t stop to consider it further. Delivering arrows was his job now and he would see it done. The calm of all those around him as they killed was sobering. He borrowed their strength for himself.


    When the roar went out from the army, none reacted. Half the archers kept killing the flocks of the vermin, the rest turned their arrows back down into the black mass.


    Vergil stopped by another archer with an empty quiver and snuck a look over the edge.


    The daemons advanced. The tall creatures from earlier took the lead, advancing with lumbering gaits, monsters braying on their backs. Some of the daemons cast stones u[ at the walls from spinning slingshots. One hit the archer on Vergil’s left.


    The man’s head exploded in a geyser of bone, brains and blood, his helmet shattered. Many of the others leaned down as the strange rocks bombarded the walls.


    Vergil followed their example and cowered. Chunks were ripped off the crenellations and showered over them.


    Tallah’s fireflies let out a staccato rapping noise as they picked the projectiles from the air and turned them to dust.


    The night ignited.


    Vergil watched it happen. One of the flame orbs shot up into the sky and exploded into several others that rained down beyond the walls, like a shower of tiny meteors. Explosions followed. Then another orb. And another. The daemons screamed and the shower of stones ended. He dared a look over the rampart and saw smouldering craters where those creatures had been. They lay smeared across the frozen ground, great carcasses disgorging smaller monsters that rushed for the wall.


    The catapults inside opened their own assault and rocks flew to smash into the monsters. Some were covered in pitch and detonated on impact, spreading great lines of fire before they rolled to a stop.


    But Vergil had no more time to admire the carnage. All the other runners were already back at their job, and so was he. There was nothing to be done for the dead archer but grab his arrows and hand them farther up the line, the quiver sticky with cooling blood.


    And this was how sudden death could strike him. He found it an oddly pleasant realisation as fear drained away and grim determination set in.


    He hadn’t chocked when the monsters had begun advancing.


    He hadn’t crumbled when the archer had died. Something else must’ve happened when that monster had attacked Tallah.


    Fear is a choice, he repeated the dwarf’s words to himself. I can make the choice not to be afraid.


    It lightened his step as he ran. More rats squished beneath his feet. More of the small, annoying creatures swooped down from the night, clawing for eyes, smashing against the bowmen, making a useless nuisance of themselves


    On his fourth trip out he saw the boulder darkening the sky, sailing up from beneath at a lazy arch. It wouldn’t hit the walls but he still called to the ballistae crews beneath.


    The boulder spun in the air and began to break apart as it fell. The bits falling off flailed in the air, glittering with reflected torchlight.


    It took him and the others precious seconds to understand what it was that was happening. The flying rats were a distraction.


    Bodies. Bodies fell from the arching boulders and crashed to the battlements. Some missed the lines on the walls and fell to splatter on the ground. Most, however, littered the archer lines. They came up to their feet and howled as they set upon them with cleavers and axes.


    The daemons meant to take the walls.


    A bull-headed beast came to its feet just faces away from Vergil. It swung red eyes in his direction, bellowed, and charged forward. Two mighty horns bore down on him, their points shiny and sharp. Vergil rolled to the side, avoided the monster, and brought his axe to bear.


    <ul style="text-align: justify">


    <li>Ye cried when th’ ash eater denied yer kill.</li>


    <li>Luck provides a replacement.</li>


    </ul>


    If he had the time, between dodging the beastman’s cleaver and its horns, he might consider being offended at the dwarf’s disregard of him. But the mad ghost was right on one thing: luck provided a replacement. Vergil swung the axe and met the cleaver’s keen edge, knocking it aside. His sword whispered out of its scabbard in a perfect arc that cut across the bull’s throat. Blood sprayed. Foam errupted from the monster’s mouth and it redoubled its efforts to gore Vergil.


    Three more charged down the stairs, snarling and screaming in human-like tongues. They made no sense. Their weapons made a lot of sense.


    All in all, the night had started quite well.