Keystone (Gatewalkers) (22 page)

 
He made a sharp gesture with his sword and lengthened it into spear form.

Charlie nervously plucked her bow string, trying to keep the rain from weighing it down. She’d never tried to shoot in the rain before and though she tried to remember what she’d been told, everything was flying out her ears but gut instinct and muscle memory.

Bright orange light broke through the rainy darkness. Fire roared up to swallow down one of the smaller tents. Suddenly the camp writhed with activity, people bursting out of their tents, soldiers strapping on weapons and armor.

A shout went up, followed shortly by the extended
halloooo
of a horn.

“What’s going-” Charlie started.

A tall, muscled figure in crimson armor ripped out of a tent and into their path. No. Not crimson armor. Crimson blood painting silver metal. It turned on them with a snarl of sharpened ivory teeth and yellow eyes.

That’s no elf. It’s a blue skinned orc!

With a startled shriek, Charlie fired her arrow at it without thinking and without aiming. She didn’t see where it went but it was nowhere near the orc. In a burst so quick she couldn’t process the motion, the orc sprang at her. She saw flashes of metal, quick details like the snap of a camera flash. Axe blade. Bloody breastplate. Silver spearhead. Darkened helmet.

The heavy broadaxe tumbled from the orc’s grip as it keeled over, held stiff as a tree by the locked joints of its armor. Rhys jerked his spearhead out of its neck, from the junction under the helmet where spine met skull. He’d killed it before she could think about a second shot.

“You missed,” Rhys said, annoyed.

“You didn’t,” Charlie said. It was all that came through her frozen mind. Her hands shook as she pulled another arrow from her quiver.
 

“Ambush,” Rhys said. He’d already moved away by the time she registered that he’d answered her unfinished question.
 

All was confusion in the darkness, lit only by the burning tent. Charlie couldn’t tell the difference between attackers and defenders. She kept her arrow on her string, but couldn’t be sure of hitting anything anyway.

Rhys grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadow of a tent. He slapped a hand over her mouth before she could say anything. “Stay here,” he said into her ear, voice barely audible. “Do not move or speak.”

What?! Seriously?!

He slipped into the dark before she could protest. Leaving her alone in a camp being ambushed and burned!

Use your head! Stay calm.
She couldn’t freeze again. She wouldn’t stay put for some critter to stumble across her either. But if she dove headlong into this mess, she’d deserve her too-stupid-to-live death.

Charlie crouched down, thinking hard and fast. It looked like the soldiers were trying to group into a defense, and someone had broken out torches that hissed and sputtered in the rain but didn’t go out. She knew absolutely nothing about warfare or ambushes or tactics or anything.

But she knew archery.

She needed a blind to shoot from.

There was a pile of firewood near her hiding place. It would provide a bit of cover and maybe a height advantage too.

Dang. Am I really going to do this?

Something slammed into her side, knocking her to her knees and flinging her bow out of her hand. As it grabbed for her, Charlie slammed her elbow into the green creature's ribs then tried to slap at its face. The creature howled and released her as her nails found one of its eyes. It swung its deadly short sword at her, the blade darkened with blood.
 
She fumbled Mr. Pointy out of its sheath. Reflex from Rhys’ lessons brought her knife up to defend her face. Metal met metal with a sliding thunk. Charlie pushed the creature's sword away from her and it slid off her shorter blade, barely missing her flesh.
 

Charlie scrambled to her feet snatching up her fallen bow, trying to stay clear, her heart pounding and adrenaline rushing through her blood.

Her attacker, a short, big-eared goblin, shrieked a war cry as it rushed at her again, its short sword raised.

She didn’t have room to shoot and grabbing an arrow would mean dropping Mr. Pointy, but she realized with sudden clarity that if she didn’t kill this thing it really would kill her.

Blast!
Charlie ran, scrambling around the side of the tent. When the goblin rounded it after her, it met Mr. Pointy in its eye. The eyeball exploded in a wash of warm gore over her hand.
EEEEEEUUUUCCCH!
She snapped her hand back, leaving the knife in the goblin’s eye. Eye gore spattered her hand. Her stomach wrenched. The goblin fell to the ground howling and thrashing.

 
She didn’t wait for it to recover. She groped for an arrow, pinching it between two fingers to keep goo from getting on the fletching. Standing over the goblin, she nocked the arrow and drew. The instant her hand touched her jaw for her anchor point, she felt the warm, slimy eye gunk and nearly let go. But she didn’t have time to be squeamish. She held it as long as she needed to aim and fire, and shot it through the heart, nearly point blank. At least she couldn’t miss.

The goblin gave a last choked squeal and died. She tried to pull Mr. Pointy from its eye gingerly, but had to wrap her hand around the grip and yank.
 

Charlie fought to keep her stomach down as she wiped off the knife and stowed it back in its sheath. She whirled away from the goblin, trying to pull her scattered brain back together. Shuddering, she hastily wiped eye gunk off her hand onto the side of her trousers, and her jaw against her shoulder.

Firewood. Stack of firewood. Shelter to shoot from. It took her a few seconds to reorient. There! She ran for the stack, which came up past her hip. She dove behind it.

Charlie plucked the string of her bow, sending up a spray of water. She pulled out a fresh arrow and nocked it.
Steady. Steady hands. Relax.
She would be ready this time. Ready as she could ever be. She tried not to think about it, tried to steel her twanging nerves and writhing stomach.
 

***

Rhys had not fought as part of a unit since his training days. Today was not the day to start, but those first trained instincts pulled at him. The men fought in disjointed packs, meeting the enemy where they found them instead of choosing their ground, all direction lost in the fray. Where were their officers? Where was the captain?

The night suddenly brightened further. A creature of flame with vast wings roared to life over the camp. It swooped down, catching canvas tents on fire, snatching up creatures in its searing hands and throwing them into their compatriots.

“MAGE!” one of the terradi bellowed.

Jack! The dead mage finally made himself useful. The terradi clearly had not expected magical resistance. Rhys hurried toward the phoenix’s source, slipping between shadows and largely unnoticed in the skirmish. He saw a pair of goblins slip out of the camp and into the woods. That could not bode well.

Who is leading these men?

He found Jack at the center of a small knot of soldiers. The mage balanced one of his books on one arm, trying to read the pages through rain-smeared spectacles while a soldier held a torch over his shoulder. Another man cowered behind them, clearly a bureaucrat who should have been left behind in Iomara. The enemy seemed to be ignoring them for the moment, targeting the Healers’ tent and the tents on the other side of camp where most of the soldiers had been in their beds.

“Peace!” Rhys said as he approached them, holding his spear over his head with both hands, showing he was not one of their enemies.

“Rhys!” Jack said, relief blatant in face and voice.

“Expect re-enforcements,” Rhys said, clear and loud so all the men could hear. “On their part. Where is Captain Meryl?”

“No one has seen him,” one of the soldiers said, a dark, plains elf with war braids in his black hair.
 

Rhys swept the camp with his eyes, his night sight revealing details that none of the men would see. The assailants knew what they were about, striking quickly and moving on, not giving enough time for the men to rally and fight back before striking elsewhere. The camp’s numbers fell by the moment.

“Jack, get that phoenix over the camp so we can see,” Rhys ordered, not for himself but for the men. “Fall back! Center!” Rhys bellowed, carrying across the camp. A few men threw startled looks his way, but no one else was giving orders. They had to rally while they still had numbers.

The knot moved for the center of camp, where the cooking fire’s coals glowed dull orange even after so much rain. Others broke from their skirmishing to join them. Rhys recognized one of the guards from Captain Meryl’s tent, supporting the soldier with an arrow in his knee. That might throw a bit of conflict into the works.

“Rally to the mage!” Rhys called out, wielding the confident tones of authority like a well used and familiar blade. He pushed Jack into the center, still with the soldier holding a torch. Jack called his phoenix over the center of the camp, hissing and smoking in the rain, and brightened it with a fresh surge of power.

The men created a ragged circle in the center of the camp, protecting each others’ backs while facing the enemies on all sides.

The enemy continued picking off stray individuals, avoiding the growing center.

The younger Healer ran from the slashed tent, screaming, a goblin on her heels. The goblin jerked like a fish on a line, toppling backward with fletching blossoming from his chest. The sobbing girl flung herself through the line, the men opening to let her through.

“I didn’t miss that time!” Charlie called.

Rhys spun. She stood on a stack of firewood, already loading another arrow onto her string. Which was emphatically not where he put her. However, it was an excellent position for an archer.
 

Rhys picked out two melee fighters who looked like they had solid heads on their shoulders and sent them to guard her position. She could pick off targets from there and they could turn the tide back into their favor.

Unexpected quiet fell over the camp. The sounds of skirmishing stopped. The enemy had vanished like smoke on the wind.

Rhys turned his attention to listening. He could hear the faint creak of muffled armor. Subtle whispers of metal on metal. They had not gone. Only withdrawn. He did not trust it for a moment.

“Close ranks! They are regrouping!” Rhys cast a quick eye over his men. Nervous but holding. They were sluggish to move, starting to question now that there was no direct battle. The guard from the tent watched Rhys suspiciously.
 

With the enemy preparing another strike, and likely stalling for re-enforcements, he had little time to keep this from becoming a rout.
 

“Jack, how quickly can you open a gate?” he said in a low voice. They could not simply sit and wait to be massacred.

“A gate? To where?” Jack fumbled out a sodden piece of chalk, his fingers quickly turning pasty white.

“Anywhere but here.”
 

“Our orders are to search the Northern -” someone started.

“Your orders are not to die,” Rhys snapped. “There are too few to hold this camp. The enemy has sent for more.” The camp was cut off. This battle was a losing one.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s one of them,” snapped the guard from the tent.

Too much talking.

Jack hesitated. “Should I draw a gate?”

***

Is that something moving?
Charlie stopped paying attention to what the guys were saying. She could have sworn….

Charlie drew her arrow, centering her aim where she’d seen a shadow move. Chest height if it were terradi. But it could be someone from their side too. Or nothing. She had to be certain before shooting.

There!
Slinking in the shadows. If it were someone from the expedition, they wouldn’t be sneaking. The arrow shot across and found a target high in the terradi’s shoulder. It dropped its weapon with a roar. She heard a guttural shout from the dark woods.

They surged into the light cast by the sputtering phoenix. Terradi and goblins mixed together like cavalry and infantry, the terradi large and muscled, the goblins small and quick. They came from all sides of the camp, bursting out of tents or from the shadows, making an organized charge against the central circle.

Charlie sent arrows into the mass of them, but knew she missed more than she hit. She’d only ever practiced against standing targets, not ones that darted and dove and ducked. The goblins used hit and run techniques, running up against the line of soldiers, striking out and darting back, while the terradi hit like battering rams, trying to break through the circle.

“Steady hold!”

The sound of Rhys’ voice steadied Charlie’s spine, even when a pair of terradi broke away from the main group to fling themselves at her defenders. Charlie started to aim for the terradi coming after them, but quickly realized she couldn’t trust her aim not to hit her guards. She had to trust them to take care of themselves. And her.

She noticed several goblins sneaking around the perimeter, taking torches to the remaining tents. Charlie started picking them off, because they had to pause each time they tried to set things on fire. She could anticipate that moment and take them down.

The attitudes of the creatures suddenly changed, going from cautious to cocky. Charlie couldn’t see why at first, but Rhys changed his stance to face whatever had come. He tensed.

A large terradi in full plate armor strode into the camp, bristling with weaponry and confidence. He drew a long, wide, curved blade from his arsenal and advanced on Rhys. The terradi looked like he outweighed Rhys in muscle by double, but looks could be deceiving. After all, Rhys didn’t look like a vampire.
 

Rhys' defensive stance tightened, but he still made no move to engage the terradi commander himself. He still defended Jack and the other men. If he broke away, it would break the line. Charlie couldn't help but notice the similarity between Rhys and a gymnast, his motions controlled and graceful. He held his spear in a loose, ready stance.