Soulweaver 61: Dire Straits (Patreon)

Tarquin’s soldiers attacked the instant we entered the courtyard. A storm of arrow fire sailed through the air, and at this short range, they couldn’t miss. 

“Aerion!” I roared, but she was already behind me. I planted my tower shield into the ground and hunkered down. Luckily, that short range also meant the arrows flew horizontally, instead of falling from the sky.

They pinged harmlessly off my shield.

I looked around to see half of our company on the ground, writhing in the throes of death. The town guard who lacked shields looked like pincushions, and despite their metal plate armor, some arrows had managed to enter the gaps, or had penetrated their unprotected legs. A translucent golden dome covered parts of the City Guard—a shield of some sort—but it barely covered half their forces.  

This was bad. Unequivocally bad.

A few broke ranks from the enemy lines and charged. One made his way toward us, sword held high, roaring in battle-crazed fury.

I stepped forward, leveling my poleax at the man.

He dodged, but I swept the shaft of the long weapon into his stomach.

The force of the impact surprised even me. He didn’t simply grunt in pain, or crumple. My weapon’s wooden shaft canceled out all of his momentum and flung him back several feet.

He hit the ground hard… and didn’t get back up.

I whistled. Those points to Dominion and Vigor had been slow and incremental, but they were really starting to show their worth.

“Should I—” Aerion began.

“No,” I said, cutting her off. “It’d be suicidal taking on this many, even if we’re individually stronger than most. We’re at a disadvantage here. Stay behind my shield and drag whoever you can back to safety. We’ll retreat back to the door we came from.”

“Understood,” Aerion said, grabbing hold of a soldier who was whimpering in pain, having taken an arrow to the knee. 

Another volley of arrows struck us, but again, my shield protected me. It seemed like the rest of the soldiers who hadn’t been hit had a similar idea, beating a fighting retreat back to the door.

Having lagged behind everyone, we got there first. In the tight halls of the building, the enemy’s numbers mattered a lot less, even if they pursued. 

Which they did, of course. Over two-dozen sword-wielding brigands burst from the enemy lines, assaulting the shieldbearers, who became locked in combat and unable to retreat any farther.

At least that meant the archers couldn’t fire without hitting their own. I wish they would, because I could deal with arrow fire much more easily than armed men with swords.

“Incoming!” I yelled back at Aerion, who took up a position next to me in the cramped hall.

My large poleax might not have felt like a good weapon for a situation like this, but actually, it was perfect.

I held it out, keeping its speartip slightly to the left of the center of the hallway.

My gambit worked—not wanting to impale himself on the weapon, the approaching thug—armed with a shortsword—veered off toward Aerion.

Except Aerion had anticipated the move, and was lunging toward him.

Clearly not expecting such a move, the man stumbled to a stop… Right at the exact moment that I activated [Skunky], and Aerion activated [Shock].

The stinky jet collided with the brigand, forcing the man to jerk back, while Aerion’s shortsword slashed upward. With the cloth gambeson he wore, Aerion’s attack only managed to nick him on his wrist, but that’s alright. [Venom Strike] would ensure even that small attack did damage.

It’d just take awhile.

Not wanting to risk that, I kicked the man’s stomach, sending him falling on his ass.

Aerion was on top of him like a hyena, straddling him and slashing him over and over with [Venom Strike].

“Aerion. Aerion! That’s enough!” I shouted, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

That snapped her out of whatever had possessed her.

“S-sorry. I panicked a bit,” she said, standing back up.

“Did you use [Reave]?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. That was just… fear, I guess.”

“No problem. We got him. That’s what matters.”

I didn’t know if he was dead or alive, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. Yeah, we’d attacked his base, but he’d come after us personally. And Tarquin’s henchmen weren’t anywhere even close to innocent. 

Commander Tarth had given us all the information the Basecrest City Guard had about his people. He hired only the best specimens of the criminal underworld—which was to say, scum. This guy had definitely murdered someone. Or worse.

By now, several more city guard had entered the hall, blocking any further of Tarquin’s men to make it through.

By the time they pushed back into the courtyard, the situation had changed dramatically. Over a hundred City Guard had poured in through the other entrances, and Commander Tarth himself was at the back, barking orders as his men encircled Tarquin’s troops.

Vicious battles raged, but it soon became apparent that the City Guard held an enormous advantage. Both in numbers, as more and more flooded in, and in equipment and training.

“This is…” Aerion trailed off.

“A slaughter,” I completed. “Yeah.”

It was a gruesome sight, to put it mildly. Sure, I’d seen violence in media all my life. I thought I was desensitized to it. But seeing the real thing, up close and personal? It was on another level from most of what Hollywood put out.

The movie Blackhawk Down came to mind. I’d been traumatized for days after watching that, and if I hadn’t averted my eyes when I did, I felt like I’d have nightmares for a long time after today.

“Tarquin’s not here,” I said to Aerion, partly to distract myself from the killing happening less than a hundred yards away. “We need to find him.”

“How?” Aerion asked.

I looked over to Commander Tarth. “By utilizing our resources. Follow me.”

Together, we weaved through the throng of City Guard, ensuring we stayed well away from the chaos of the front lines. Eventually, we made our way to the Commander.

“Greg? I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

“I’m worried Tarquin will escape,” I said, getting to the heart of the mater. His time was precious, and I didn’t intend to waste it. “Have you made any progress learning his whereabouts?”

“I believe we are about to.” Tarth gestured with his chin to four of his troops, who were carrying a kicking-and-screaming brigand by each of his limbs.

They threw  their prisoner down, and quickly went about binding his wrists and ankles. 

When they’d finished, one of the troops saluted. “The prisoner you asked for, sir.”

“Good work,” Commander Tarth said, kneeling in front of the captured brigand.

“Now, this can go one of two ways. Either you cooperate, and you get to experience the warm hospitality of Basecrest’s jails, or you don’t, and the only thing you’ll experience is the sensation of your head leaving your body.” 

The prisoner’s eyes flew wide in horror.

The Commander shrugged. “Your call.”

“I’ll talk!” the prisoner blurted. “I’ll tell you everything!”

That was it? I couldn’t help but feel like that was a little anticlimactic. Weren’t prisoners supposed to spit at their captors and tell them they’d die before they spill anything?

Well, I guess these were just a bunch of petty criminals. And as I’d learned firsthand in the Trial, the human instinct for survival was a lot harder to overcome than people think.

“Excellent. Tarquin. Where is he?”

“In his office!” the prisoner replied, almost tripping over the words in desperate attempt to get them out fast enough. “Through there,” he said, gesturing with his head. “Down the hall, all the way at the end. Make a right, and you’ll find him there. He’s holed up with a Boonworthy and and a Blessed.”

“Ranks?” Tarth barked.

“Uh, an Emergent Blessed and a Divergent Boonworthy, I think. Sir,” the prisoner added, maybe hoping it’d help his case.

“Good. Take him away.”

The man was swiftly shuttled out of the courtyard, and Commander Tarth turned his eyes back to the battle. It had all but wound down by now, with most of the defenders throwing down their weapons the moment they realized victory was hopeless.

Aerion was already making her way to the edge of the courtyard, but I grabbed her hand.

“Hang on,” I said. “Look—he’s sending a squad.”

As I spoke, a dozen city guard filtered through the doorway the prisoner had indicated.

“We’ll follow behind. Alright? We’ll engage only as needed. Only when it’s safe.”

Aerion hesitated, then nodded. I could see her desperation just in the way she acted. But it didn’t matter whether it was us or the city guard or that took down Tarquin. She’d get her pendant back just the same. And rushing headlong into a room with a Blessed and a Boonworthy sounded like a great way to die.

Better to minimize the risks and let the professionals handle the hard stuff. We were just scavengers here. Or opportunists. I hadn’t found anything of value yet, but I didn’t doubt that Tarquin’s valuable would turn up once he was subdued and a thorough search of the premises was performed.

Right now, I just wanted to nab him.

We reached the end of the hall, just in time to see the guards burst through the door and into Tarquin’s room. 

A ball of fire slammed into the lead guard, setting him ablaze. He went down, screaming, as the buddies behind him stormed into the room. 

Neither Aerion nor I had anything that could help the burning man, but luckily the flames subsided as he frantically rolled. In just seconds, it was put out. The man lay on the ground, unmoving. I didn’t know if he made it.

Unfortunately, neither of us had the time to worry. 

Because inside the room, I saw both the Blessed and the Boonworthy locked in fierce combat with the town guard. Magic flew through the air, and it wasn’t just Tarquin’s men flinging spells. I saw a blade of wind lop off the arm of one of Tarquin’s people, and he went down soon after.

As horrible as that scene was, that wasn’t where my attention was focused. My eyes were locked on the third person in the room. One the man dressed in fine fabric and who wore no armor. Who looked like he’d be more at home brokering dome deal at a gentleman’s lounge than on a battlefield.

Tarquin. And he had just pushed open a bookshelf and disappeared from sight—presumably into a hidden passage.

Aerion saw what I saw, and we both knew what had to be done. With the guards fighting off the Blessed, they couldn’t pursue. I wasn’t even sure they’d seen him escape.

This was up to us.

“Behind me,” I said, bracing my poleax under my armpit like a lance. And then, holding my shield in the other, I charged.

To say that Tarquin’s Blessed wasn’t expecting a surprise lance charge from an unseen enemy was an understatement.

Forget bracing for the impact, the guy didn’t even see me—embroiled in combat with the town guard as he was.

My poleax nicked his arm, and an instant later, my shield slammed into him, sending him careening, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t even bother to check if the City Guardsman had capitalized on the opportunity—I didn’t need to. They were professionals. I bet the fight would be over in the next few seconds.

But those were seconds we didn’t have.

The passage was narrow. Too narrow—the shield would severely hamper my speed.

“Aerion! Go ahead,” I called. “You’re smaller and faster, and he’s alone. Take him down.”

She blurred by, and I followed as best I could, carrying my shield in front of me as I made my way through the passage.

The light that trickled in from the room soon disappeared, leaving me relying on the walls to navigate.

That was okay, because that was equally true for Tarquinl. It wasn’t like he could easily outrun us here.

I heard both his frantic footsteps and Aerion’s lighter ones in front of me, but we were closing the distance. I could feel it.

Then my foot caught on something and I tripped. I just barely caught myself, but Tarquin’s footsteps grew more distant.

I cursed in my head as I stumbled around a corner. A man shouted in the distance, followed by the sound of something clanging.

Finally, I turned the last corner, only to be greeted by blinding daylight.

Something crashed into my ribcage, cracking it, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground, seeing stars. My poleax and shield flew out of my hands and clanged on the ground nearby.

Dazed, I struggled to think. The fuck was that?

By the time my eyes adjusted to the sunlight, I saw Tarquin standing over the prone form of Aerion, his boot on her back. Gloating.

He wasn’t alone. A bear of a man stood next to him, his greatsword’s blade pressed against my chest. Another lackey of his. Was he Blessed? He had to at least be Boonworthy.

I began to hyperventilate.

“Looks like this is the end for you, Mr. Bodyguard.”

I struggled against the blade, but it was like a guillotine—unstoppable. It pressed into my neck, and I began to flail. I was barely even conscious from my fall, and now this? 

Fuck. This was not going according to plan. Tarth’s men were supposed to occupy his bodyguards. If we didn’t pursue, Tarquin would’ve gotten away. It was the right call, goddammit. It was—

The pain of my neck being cleaved in half cut through my delirium. I had to get away. But what could I do? My opponent was a Blessed. Moving my head at all would just cause his blade to dig more into my neck. 

I was out of options.

And then, salvation arrived. In the form of a black and white blur.

Salvation, as it turned out, looked an awful like a berserking elf.

Aerion? I fucking love you.