Faith is symbolic to man, as is the betrayal of it. NaNo 2012 winner. {e:star} Still WiP |
Chapter 31 Gunfire erupted along the lines that stood adamant against the advancing beasts. Clouds of smoke poured out into the dark night, and obscured her vision. The burning smell of sulfur filled her lungs as she drew in a sharp, cold breath. Elaine returned the pistol to its banyan that hung at her side as her target slid to a grinding and bloody stop in the snow. Hundreds more ran forward past the dead beasts that tumbled in the snow. She knew there was no time to reload. Limbs flung about in violent chaos as lifeless corpses dropped. Blood sprayed from bullet wounds, and screeches, snarls, and growls echoed through the night. Steel rang out in high pitched tune as she pulled the sabre from its scabbard. The three that stood at her side pulled their own swords in unison, and metal shimmered in the dancing light of the fires that burned behind them. The wind slowed as the enemy came upon the wall. Many fell upon the sharp, splintered points of the palisade, and scarlet mist showered the defenders. Speckles of blood dripped down her face as the first attacker impaled itself upon the defenses. Still, they came. Clawed hands and feet ripped at the carcasses that dangled on the wooden spears, and flesh was torn as they climbed over the piling dead. She’d seen the first of them. The thing looked like a lizard-man with eyes like a cat in the moonlight. They glowed like fiery embers and sparks shimmered around round, black pupils. It snarled as it leapt for her, and her body reacted before her mind could make sense of the chaos. The tip of her sabre ripped through flesh as the thing fell upon her sword. She stepped to the side and let the body fall lifeless to the snow at her feet. Crimson blots swelled in the snow beneath it, and the metallic stench of blood filled the air. Others fell to the swords of Papal and Rialev as they scaled the makeshift walls, and Judaes slammed his elbow into the ribs of another that flanked him. In fluid, elegant motion, he spun and severed head from body. The first attacker was dead at her feet. She had taken another life, but more came. All around her, the defenders battled with what strength they had. The tips of spears slammed into ribs, and swords slice through flesh. Cries and shouts hung in the air as both friend and foe fell. She slashed at another that came at her, and blood spewed from the gash in its chest. It was wounded but it still came. Claws raked at her, and ripped through her arm in mid-swing. She screamed in agony as the point of Rialev’s sword drove through its eye. Blood seeped from the deep scratches in her forearm, but she ignored it. Pain filled her arm, but she knew she had no time to dwell on it. This was a fight for her life, and though it hurt, she would live, as long as she focused. Swords and spears clashed and rang in her ears, as ever more attackers came from the darkness. With each swing, another fell to the snow, but she knew it was far from over. Each one that fell was replaced with another, and another. As corpses piled in the cold snow, she stepped back. The line continued to shift backward toward the center of the city as the lizard-men continued to come upon them. Cries and shouts erupted behind her, and her eyes shifted toward their source. Wounded and sick alike ran from the shelter of the buildings into the fray. They wielded knives and swords; pots and rakes. They brought with them, anything they could use to fight. Others loaded firearms or reached for weapons of the fallen that scattered in the snow. All about, the small city exploded in rally against the attack. Blood sprayed across her face and she turned once more back to the threat that came upon them. Red rivers spilled from the gash in the neck of a demon that stood before her. It held its clawed hands to its gurgling mouth as it sank to the snow. Rialev winked at her before he ducked beneath one that dove at him. His forearm slammed into its abdomen and it somersaulted through the snow before his sword stabbed between its shoulder blades. Snarls fell upon her ears and she lifted the blade of her sabre to avoid the strike of a blade intent on cleaving her in two. Waves of shock jolted through her arm as the steel clashed against steel, and the wound in her forearm stung with sharp pain. She gritted her teeth and spun from its claws. Her sword arced in fiery wrath around her and caught the thing in its abdomen. It bent over as she ripped the blade free and stabbed through the gut of another. The sharp, rusty taste of blood touched her tongue and she wiped away small streams of crimson that ran down her face. Her muscles burned and ached as she continued to fight on. Fight or die, and die fighting. She would do just that. Gunshots burst out once more as those behind her took aim and fired. Beasts fell to the ground all about as blue smoke glided across the ground. It burned her nose and throat as she breathed in heavy, ragged breaths. It felt as though an entire army sat upon her chest as she fought on. They came in hundreds. Packs of the lizard-men ran on all fours while others dashed forward wielding large swords and spears. Jagged blades tore through the air in wrathful arcs and cries of agony and death spilled forth as more and more of the defenders fell to the onslaught. Their defenses were thin, and there was no end to it. Hisses and roars echoed past the chaotic screams and shouts as attackers piled the snow with bloody death, but they were not hindered. Horns and drums rose to rhythmic cadence and symphony as the chaos rose to new terrors. Wounds poured blood from all around, and those that stood at her side had their own gashes and injuries. Still, they fought with everything they had. She felt fatigue pulling her into the void of death as the fiery rage within slowly burned itself away. She was a dying beast that bled its life into the earth. Strength poured out of her as blows came upon her, and her sword ripped through the air. Soon, she would be spent. Fire erupted in the snowy plains before her and exploded in thunderous rhythm. Above the advancing attackers, the dirigible was dropping its artillery. Limbs and entrails flew through the air like geysers as bombs continued to fall. Blood mixed with the burning scent of sulfur and flames and stewed to an aroma of utter putrescence. Steel continued to clash but slowed itself as more of the attackers fell to the might of the ship in the skies. Cannons and rifles alike rained hell from above onto the lizard-men. Snow and dirt burst from the earth in a violent explosion of fiery anger. Wounded men and women crawled across the snow like worms. Trails of red followed behind as they bled upon the cold earth. As the beasts scattered into the darkness, the booms of bomb and cannon slowed to a pulsing thunder. Gunfire echoed but soon it quieted to nothing more than groans and cries as the last of the attackers fell to the ground. Dead and dying scattered across the ground in twisted nightmare, as snow melted to red slush. Steam rose from the lifeless bodies and blood continued to pool all about. They were greatly wounded, but they were alive. Though their numbers were quite less, the city and their homes remained theirs. They had won the night. She fell to her knees and icy chills coursed through her as she sweated what warmth she had. Her lungs struggled to draw in air and her throat burned as cold, sharp breaths stabbed into her. Her arm felt as though it were on fire, and she rubbed the bleeding gashes. Pain exploded through her forearm and soft, painful moans escaped her lips as her eyes shut tight. It was pain she’d never felt before, the rage that burned in her through the chaos had slighted it. Now, it came upon her like a torrent. Hot waves surged through her between the icy shivers, and she felt vomit in the back of her throat. Her stomach churned in painful rumbles as she spilled bile onto the red earth. Her eyes watered and her muscles burned, but she was alive. She wiped her mouth and opened her eyes to the nightmare that surrounded her. The people of the city trudged about as though they were lost in the darkness. Others knelt over wounded defenders or dead friends and family. Cries of anguish and sorrow echoed in the cold night air, and joined in with victory cheers. Waves of emotions came upon her from all angles. Hatred, anger, and sorrow filled her as she looked upon those that lay dead in the snow. Whatever these things were, had plagued these people for longer than she could ever dare imagine. Though they’d survived the battle, she knew it was far from over. She’d never seen such death. She was no warrior until now. Papal was right, Valimaar would have been proud of her. She’d never seen battle or tasted the anger that flowed through her. Before now, she was nothing more than a woman with a sword. Now, she was more than that. She was a defender; a guardian. She fought for people she knew nothing of. They were little more than strangers, but they were the people of Arlia, and they fought to defend what home they had, just as she. They were the same. They were one. They were the last of the free peoples of Arlia, as Papal had called them. Regardless if they joined in the defense of Lokken or not, they all fought for the same thing, and every one of them stood for what little good remained in the world. A large, calloused hand was offered to her, and she took the offering without question. The man pulled her up with little effort and she groaned as her muscles burned with new fire. Her eyes looked up into the tall man that stood before her. Baard looked down upon her. His brow was creased and he nodded to her as his hands rested upon her shoulders. “You are a Valkyrie.” His deep, throaty voice boomed through the chaos of cries and shouts. She wiped sweat from her face and nodded. Rialev staggered to her side. His hand clamped over the torn cloth of his trousers and blood trickled between his fingers. “It is better to live than die. The damn priest was right, but I’d very much care for a drink.” He smirked at her as he struggled to mask the pain that flushed his face. Papal and the Exarch gathered with them. Each had wounds of their own, though none were particularly severe. Papal grabbed her wrist and inspected her arm. He shook his head at the wound. “How am I going to explain this to Valimaar?” His voice came between short ragged breaths. Their playful tone was irritating to say the least and did little to lighten her mood. How could they treat what had happened as though it were a game. They had fought for their lives, and though they survived, many others did not. It was disgusting to ignore the fact. She ripped her arm away from him and offered a fiery glare. “We should see to the wounded.” She stomped through the snow and blood and knelt to the many men and women that lay bleeding. The others did the same, and they struggled to walk as they carried the wounded on their shoulders. They offered little more than comforting hands as others breathed their final breaths. She wanted to cry from the sight of it all, but she had seen death before. Perhaps it was nothing like this but it was still death. The dead knew but one thing as they passed: it was better to be alive. She wished to run through the darkness and hide her eyes from it all, but she didn’t. She remained there helping others to beds and fires. She offered water to those that could not move, and spooned hot stew to others. She was a warrior before, but that time was over. Now, she was a cleric. Though she knew little in the ways of healing, she did what she could, and the others did the same. Valkyries were the guardians of the living and the dead, and though the fighting was over, those that survived still needed a guardian. They spent hours lending whatever aid they could to those that needed it. The dirigible had returned, and the crew darted about the cluster of buildings carrying supplies of all sorts. Medicines, foods, bandages, and other essentials flowed from the ship, and though the demand was high, they could spare it. They brought enough with them to last the crew months. She knew that they would not spend such an amount of time in this place. These people needed help as did they, and she knew that only by giving aid would they receive it. They were the Valkyries. They stood with the strangers of Xalimfal in the common goal of defending their homes. Perhaps they would return the favor, but it was quite evident that they fought because they had no choice. They simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. She doubted that they would have ran had they the ability, but the thought remained. If they had arrived elsewhere, they would not have experienced the atrocities of the Dwergar attack. Perhaps it was a good thing that they did arrive. Surely, the people’s opinions of them changed from what they had done. They stood as one and fought as one. Surely they would recognize it. Baard certainly felt something. She could see it in his eyes when the fighting was over. She continued on through the night lending whatever aid she could to the many wounded that filled the ramshackle of buildings. She stopped only to accept a bandage herself. Papal wrapped it tight around the jagged gashes in her forearm, it ached, but she welcomed it. He did not speak as he worked at the dressing, and his eyes never met hers. Her anger had sparked tension between them, but what else could she do? Death was nothing to speak of so lightly. They treated it as though it were nothing more than another day. Such a disregard for tragedy was enough to make her want to scream. She clenched her jaw tight as he tucked the bandage in itself. Hot, throbbing pain drummed in her arm from the pressure of the wrapping, but it was better than getting an infection. He patted it gently and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I hope you don’t think that I don’t care about all of this.” She shook her head. She knew he cared. The past month on the ship was enough to learn that much. He was a priest of the Ecclesiarchy, but they too were once among its regimes. Their judgment was unjust, and she came to trust him as not only an ally, but a friend. “I know you care, Papal. It’s just –“ “A lot to take in.” He nodded as he completed her statement. “War isn’t easy for anyone.” She lowered her eyes from him. “It’s not that.” “What is it then?” “It’s seeing so much hardship. Ever since the plague, it seems that death is the only constant in the world. Ecclesia is claiming what little is left, and we came to this place in hopes that they could help.” She motioned to the wounded that lay in makeshift beds around her. “Look at them. Who are we to tell them what is best for them?” Papal nodded as his eyes scanned the lot of them. “They fight their own battles. I see that, but Ecclesia is everyone’s enemy. I’ve seen what they have done. I watched as their evil spread. This place has been overlooked, but it won’t stay that way. They need us as much as we need them.” He thought the same as she. It was relieving to know that someone else considered everything that she realized. She was sure that it crossed the minds of the others, but to hear it was comforting. “Why do we need you?” Haggra’s voice sliced through her thoughts as her eyes rose to meet her fiery stares once more. Papal turned to the woman. She wore bandages of her own, but she showed no pain, only hateful stares. “What is it that makes you so important, that we have need of you?” Was she blind? “What if we hadn’t come tonight? How many more of you would be dead in the snow, or wounded?” Papal shared his own burning glare. She stepped toward them. “Perhaps you saved us, but this is not your fight. This is not your home.” “It’s not your home either.” Elaine sent fire with her voice. She lunged at her, and before she could react, her fingertip was beneath her chin. “Say another word like that, and you’ll find yourself as dead as the Dwergar that lie upon the ground.” Papal snatched the woman’s wrist, and she recoiled away from him. Her eyes met his. “We appreciate what you did for us, but you came here uninvited with pleas for help. You claim that the world is falling to Ecclesia. Tell me, what do we get for helping you?” “The chance for life.” His voice rose as though he were chiding a child. She grew weary of this woman’s intolerable hatred. What was it about them that she distrusted? Surely, she knew something that they did not. “Don’t you understand?” Elaine shouted at her. “We are not enemies! Our enemy has taken all the other sovereignties. Their people are dead. Dead! War has come to you whether you invited it or not. What do you not get from helping us?” Haggra shook her head. “You know nothing of war. This land lives war. It breathes war. It is what and who we are.” Elaine nodded. “And what benefits has war brought you? What hardships has it ceased? What famines has it sated? Who has it healed? Tell me Haggra, where would you be without war?” The fire in her eyes dissipated and she offered a slight smile as she stared at her. “You’re not as stupid as I thought.” What did she mean? Papal shared a puzzled glance with her as Haggra stepped forward once more. This time, she held her arms out as Baard had done when they arrived. “Forgive my harshness, but I had no choice.” She placed a palm on each of their shoulders. “I cannot allow my sovereignty to go to war with an ally that does not understand it. You’ve come and claimed that you defend what is left of the world. You’ve proven that tonight. You're right, you need our help, but we need yours. This land is not perfect but it is my home. Changes must be made if we're to survive... Ecclesia or not.” She struggled to make sense of this woman. She had shown them nothing but resentment since they arrived, and now she reversed herself and spoke with grace rather than fire. What purpose did she have in her ways? “Baard will be willing to help you, so long as you defend us as you have. Eventually, the Dwergar will return and we will need the all the swords we can get. You’re skilled warriors and we welcome the aid, but the King will not be so easily convinced.” She turned and walked away, but stopped shortly after. “I suggest you do all you can to prove yourselves as strong allies. I’ll speak with Baard. He’ll want to see you.” She watched as the woman faded from sight. She was mysterious in more ways than one, but perhaps it was all nothing more than a test. Their argument was certainly convincing when they first presented it to them. The Warlord was more than ready to give them aid, but she was not. Now, she was the one ready to help. It made no sense, but the advice she gave was sound. Baard told them of the king, and of the hardships that had fallen upon the lands. War was all these people knew, and it had taken its toll. They needed their help, and if they had to prove themselves, she was more than ready. The battle with the Dwergar was over, but something told her, that the war had only just begun. |