Death Loves the Brave Ones

Falling skies should have signalled a reprieve for Leonor City. Ash rained from grey smoke that hid beautiful blue horizons from war weary people in need of hope. Southern blowing winds brought worse. By the second day, tears of the heavens fell through the white detritus. Hell itself fell from the skies.

            Trudging through that nightmare would have been enough. Those who had been content to see out the night and hope it would all be better in the morning had to admit that the world was surely ending.

            Cruel winds whipped the muck in every direction. Veterans of many bloody slaughters kept their watch in vain. Unlike snow, there was no admiring beauty in weather that choked the joy from anyone out in it.

            Chanting from beyond the wall met Sir Danielle’s ears. Caked in filth she roared an order to inform the queen. The enemy had returned. The dreaded day had come.

            “Just another battle, right?” Said another soldier in their sodden armour by her side.

            “Just another battle.” She nodded, knowing it was a cruel lie. Everything they thought they knew about war was meaningless against the terror soldiers of the Empire of the Holy Proclamation had brought.

            Dark shapes slipped in grey mud beneath the walls. Their red uniforms were the same muddy mess as the defenders. She aimed her bow at one, hearing a scream after she fired an arrow into the curtain of damned tears.

The city, if not the world, had heard the thunder crack of the far-off volcano which was burying them all in ash. The mighty boom of the cannons was a worthy impression of that hateful sound.

            A man rushed to stand by her side as the warning bells rang along the wall. “How can we fight what we can’t see?” Asked a man with a long beard poking out from the bottom of his helmet.

            “If we can’t see, neither can they.” Danielle coughed, spitting out ash.

            “In case we die, my name is Connor Riverton.”

            “Don’t say that. We have to fight for every breath.”

            “Of course. Are you Sir Longbow? Everyone looks the same in this mess.” He craned his neck, brown eyes peering at her.

            “That’s me.”

            “What are those noises?” He asked in a tone of voice that told her his bladder was already empty, and for a while, his leg wouldn’t be so cold.

            “It’s just another way to die Connor. A new one.”

            Nodding, Connor drew his sword. He began rolling his shoulders, warming up for battle. Danielle kept another arrow ready, hoping to use it before a sword was necessary.

            Familiar screaming blew their way from further north. The piss in her bladder offered to make itself scarce. She declined.

            The wall below them was pounded by metal from nowhere with crashing bang. Granite that had not moved in hundreds of years trembled.

A magical tree, Leonor’s first and greatest line of defence, screamed in otherworldly agony. The thick trunk was ripped in half by whatever had hit the wall. Agony in the cries of trees all along the walls rang in her ears.

“They’re killing the curaduile. How is that even possible?” Connor asked.

Waiting to fight was an itching torture. Eventually victorious cries beyond the wall became a battle chant.

            “They’re coming in. We need to head them off. Go that way.” Pulling her bow over her shoulder, she picked up her shield. Danielle patted Connor’s arm and began to run along the wall top towards the noise. Wet feet slipped in slush. Granite caught her hard in the shoulder. Connor’s trembling hands helped her up.

            The wall that had been an endless loop ended in rubble. Thirty feet below, invaders were pouring in through the hole.

            “We have to get down there,” Connor ran to the stairs.

            “We should shoot them with arrows first.” She warned him, throwing down her shield, and drawing her bow.

            “I have to defend Leonor.” He kept going, bravely trying to turn back a tide of imperials.

            The bang of a round of gunshots below was followed by screams, one of which sounded like Connor.

            “I like your plan,” said a woman by Danielle’s side, drawing her own bow. “Fools rush in. No wonder there are no men left in Leonor.” Her arrow caused a scream among the throng below. “Do you have any red arrows?”

            “No,” Sir Longbow said. Even if she had, using the arrows that would turn enemy soldiers into curaduile trees within the city felt like a terrible idea.

            Defenders ran to be down the steps fighting the enemy. Danielle and her companion cheered every kill their comrades scored until they were shot or stabbed and thrown aside. Bodies piled in the shattered ruins of the wall.

            “I’m Anne,” said her companion. Another arrow hit someone below. Another arrow was drawn from her quiver.

            “Danielle.”

            “Longbow, as in Sir Danielle Longbow?”

            “That’s me.” Her arrows were running out with no end in sight to the enemy.

When her ammunition was spent, Danielle threw down the bow and quiver. She picked up her shield and watched Anne fire her last two arrows.

            “Ready to die?”

            “Never. But I’m ready to fight. Let them come to us. We have the high ground.” Danielle cupped her hands and yelled. “Hey morons. Look up.” Two dozen faces turned to look at her. “That seemed like a good idea at the time.”

            Two dozen imperials tried to roar as they raced up steps. Doing both proved impossible.

            “The idiots ran out of breath halfway,” Anne shouted. “What a shame to walk all this way and run out of puff halfway up the stairs. Fragile little northerners. You should have taken your chances with the volcano.”

            The first man heaved his feet up the last few steps. He looked up at the point of Danielle’s sword. She kicked him backwards and sent the rest tumbling. Armour hit stone and the wooden banisters. Banisters gave way, the fall wouldn’t have been fatal for any of them, but it bought time.

            “One dead imperial.”

            The guns of the empire crackled throughout the city. Rooftops blazed with flame. Children were crying somewhere. Another soldier untangled himself and climbed the stairs. He had to look up. Stabbing down was easy.

            “Two dead imperials.”

            Men behind the corpse on the stairs threw him aside with no regard for dignity. The body tumbled and landed over an empty weapon rack, folding like a sheet.

            “Three dead imperials. You know the way home if you want to live.”

            “Fuck you,” said an imperial who had taken off his helmet.

            “I prefer women.” She stabbed. “Four dead imperials. Who’s next?”

            “Save some of the bastards for me,” Anne said behind her.

            “Are there any more arrows?” Danielle stabbed. “Five.”

            “I’ll look.”

            “Six. You all just want to die? I don’t mind if you walk back out of the wall.”

            One stabbed towards her ankle. She cut his forearm, thankful that cheap imperial armour only covered the upper arms and legs. Her sword went through his open mouth. One more down. She couldn’t be bothered to count out loud.

            Her shield met a gladius blade which stabbed as a man tried to keep his distance. “If your emperor gave a crap about you, he wouldn’t send you to fight with those butter knives. Not a sword between you all.” She stabbed his throat. Blood sprayed back at her and then over the soldiers behind.

            “I found more arrows. No red ones.”

            “I have eight kills now. You need to catch up.”

            “I already killed five with arrows.”

            “Did you see them die though? Nine.” Sir Longbow kicked a man down the stairs and back into men behind who were white from ash and red with blood.

            “I heard them die. That’s enough for me.”

            “Then I have twelve.” She stabbed another neck. “Thirteen now.”

            “Need a break?” Anne asked.

            “Are you ready?”

            “Born ready.”

            Danielle kicked the next dead man hard in the face. He slammed into the men behind as she stepped back to let Anne defend the stairs with her sword. The stairs had been painted red beneath the ever-creeping centipede of imperial soldiers.

            “Six for me.” Anne’s voice told Danielle that she had a bitter smile on her face. “Seven. How many to go?”

            “How many of you idiots marched into Crann today?” Danielle asked. None of the men waiting for their turn at the blade had the good manners to respond.

            A crossbow bolt whizzed past Anne’s shoulder from the bottom of the stairs. Soldiers below had noticed the corpses piling up around them.

            “Where’s your shield?” Sir Longbow asked.

            “Leaning against the wall further south.” Anne grunted as she put her sword point into another man’s eye. “How many is that now? Eight.”

            “Switch places, get your shield.”

            Anne backed away, letting Danielle take over.

            TING!

            A crossbow bolt slammed into Danielle’s metal fronted heater shield. Danielle winced at the jolt that travelled up through her left arm. With her right she sent another foreigner to the next life.

            “That’s fifteen of you I’ve killed now.”

            Another bolt hit the shield. She looked at the endless tide of invaders still scrambling over their own dead to get through the wall. Familiar dread wrapped its hands around her stomach and squeezed.

            Every house she could see was on fire.

            “Anne? ANNE? Are you there?”

            Another crossbow bolt thudded against her shield. Another imperial bit the dust.

            They stopped coming to her.

Peering over her shield, Danielle saw four crossbowmen aiming at her.

            “Fuck the north!” She lowered herself to hide more of her body behind the shield.

            Two shocks of pain, almost simultaneous, passed through her body from her father’s loyal shield.

            “ANNE?”

            Peering over the shield again she saw a familiar beard poking from a helmet in the ash behind the crossbowmen.

            “Rest in peace Connor. I’ll be with you soon.”