Hierarchy (Book Four of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter Twelve: Against All Odds

The soldiers came forward, causing exhilaration to well within Fykes. He knew that it was fear, somewhere deep down, but that did not register at the moment.

The sound of metal entombed feet marching was ominous. It made it hard to think. He slapped Brazen's shoulder and set his feet. Ahlindrion glinted in the brisk light of the morning. The feeling of the blade was a comfort to his hands. He could hear breathing around him, small curses, challenges, and boasts. He had none to add, today. Only a silent prayer that he and his loved ones survived. He could leave the subject of victory to those more pious, and less selfish.

He heard Graiden's order and shifted, so the shield wall could form around him. It was a terrible feeling, being unable to see the soldiers approach. He heard the whistling of arrows, and the crackling of magic. But the soldiers made no sounds aside from the muted thumping of bodies in the dirt.

He took another breath and heard another volley.

Weapons struck the shields before him, and he was moved backwards with the power of the assault. He caught Brazen's eye for a single second and saw that his young companion was determined. Fykes hoped that what was to come would not hurt him too badly. Or scare him. He almost began to ponder what their genuine chances of victory were, but something stopped him. And that was for the better.

The shield wall steadied and seemed to block his view for an eternity until Graiden's voice rang out again. Like gears in a gnomish invention, the shields fell away, and he swung Ahlindrion as soon as he had the room. He swung without thinking, into a soldier's neck, a kneecap, anywhere he could cause damage. Finally, he had to turn to the defensive. He parried a spear and everything dissolved into a blur. It felt as if he was walking in place as bodies fell all down the line of both sides. But there were always replacements.

The squelching of his sword turned his stomach. For a second, it was all he could hear. But in this haze his feelings were distant, as he fought to survive. If he had wanted to be a farmer, he could have stayed at home. Something his father would never have allowed. That was not his destiny. Another soldier fell to Ahlindrion and his hand, but there was another body. Now he saw the bodies of his comrades in their leather, and their teal.

An arrow volley fell dangerously close, and he swayed back to avoid a ricochet. The line around him began thinning, began breaking, and he fought against the urge to push forwards into what broke them. That was death, and he had to remember he was not here to die. There was too much to do. Another soldier approached and this one Ahlindrion stabbed through the armor straps into the ribs. His blade came away glistening with blood.

Graiden's voice came again. The only clarity in chaos.

Fall back, his thoughts echoed. Nothing worse than being left behind in a place like this.

He searched for Brazen, and realized he was still forward, still fighting. With a lunge, Fykes grabbed his armor, waited for Brazen's parry to meet the enemy's blow, and tugged him back. The answer for his idiocy was a cut across side. One that caught him where his armor was stout. Something in his thoughts tried to tell him he was lucky. Brazen had been lucky too, though the broken spear point in his breastplate seemed to taunt the truth of that.

The scenery changed from roadside and cliffs, to buildings as barriers, and it felt as if the path behind Fykes was ever narrowing. The only face Fykes recognized now, was Brazen's beside him. Both of them were worse from wear. Brazen's nose bled and his shield had been dented at the top, so it was no longer circular. Fykes armor had its share of dents and scratches, and his breathing had become much more ragged. A spear point that caught in his hip dug at him, but removing it without help would only grant him death.