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Vol.5, Ch.4, P.7

 

“There he flies again…”

Only now had the mists begun to roll back in. But deep into them had Rolf already made a charge, headlong and yet unaccompanied. I myself had dared my own share of foolhardy charges, for true, but this lone leap of Rolf’s was too into the maw even for my tastes. No; never into one as bristling with magicks as that.

“Mayhaps some help be sent his way?” asked Monika. But, I shook my head.

“Nay, we hold,” I answered, “…and await some sign.”

Rolf was concocting something. He had to be. Reckless he may be at times, that I admit, but never without reason. Yes… behind that wall of white, with just his two shoulders, was he pushing the battle forwards. To this we all had to trust; any succours now would prove only a hindrance.

“Fräulein!” Monika cried asudden. “Spells! The sorcerers stir!”

My answer was swift. “Redouble the palings! Warn the van!”

And there we saw them. Within the mists ahead: flares numerous and bubbling, like torches new-lit—or woodlands aflame behind choking smoke. Again to assail us would be another Sċīmæsċ volley. This we dreaded, and so arrayed ourselves quick to receive once more the torment of spears.

Only… none came our way. Doubtless battle had broken yonder in the fog. Salvator sorcerers, desperate to quell some new threat in their midst, mayhaps. A threat by only one name I could think of…

“…It is rather quiet,” Monika noted, breathless with suspense. “The spears fly, but detonate not.”

Like a bomb immaterial the Sċīmæsċ is. A kindled spire, bursting into flames upon aught it pierces. But unless our ears had deceived us, no such detonation was to be heard in this present.

“Snuffed by his blade, I would bet,” I said. “Every one of them.”

“…”

Monika gave no answer. Ever calm and reflective a soul she is, yes, but at that moment, I saw a look seldom to mark her face—a look of disbelief, as though contending with a truth hard-swallowed. What she felt, I knew only too well. For many moons now had she known Rolf, and heard besides all the stories regaling of his feats. Yet, to behold them—for that, it seemed, she was yet unprepared.

All was settled into a restless lull. Sword and spear hung nervous. Into the fog had the enemy vanguard withdrawn, leaving ours to idle in caution. Not yet could we move. Not with Rolf yet unaccounted for. But at that moment, shouts and cries swelled asudden from over yonder. ’Twas clear: the enemy was plunging into panick. Though for once, I forgave them. Like a wolf in the dark of night had the black blade sprung upon them; what else was there to feel but gripping terror?

“…Fire…! Now…!”

Another voice, different from all the rest. Out of the fog it echoed, deep, clear… and unmistakable. Straightway, I pointed forth my longdagger and turned to our own forces.

“All wiċċan!” I commanded. “Full volley! Into the mists!”

Monika gave a gasp. “Fräulein!?” she yelped. “But the Herr, he’s—”

Panick, too, was in her gaze and voice both. And again, I had to forgive. Rolf was there, somewhere in the mist; we but endanger him, to so loose a rain of spells unto his fray. Madness, yes. But…

“He is fine,” I answered stern. “I know it.”

…in him, I had confidence. And so into the fog our magicks poured. Spheres of fire, hails of ice; all were swallowed into the great wall of white. But it seemed just the trick we needed. In no time, the enemy bellowed again, and louder still. Doubt vanished at once: they were all of them in disarray. Now was our chance.

“The way’s open! ’Tis time!” I cried. “Vanguard! With me! We charge!”

And with longdaggers in hand, I darted forth and crossed through the mirk.

 

∵

 

Full exploiting the cloaks of fog, I had hastened straight unto the enemy ranks, breaking through the Salvator vanguard and bolting up the uncertain slopes. There, the sorcerers had focused their conjurations upon me, keen to quickly quash the fly now in their midst. But armed with the soot-steel, it’d been the fly instead to mete out the quashings—of spells and their weavers both.

One after another, they expired: sorcerers slain by blackened blade. Within moments’ time, I’d felled no few of their numbers, earning me a stern answer from their infantry. Out of the fog they appeared, slipping sharp silver from all directions. But these Salvators, too, I had managed to unmake.

There in mazes of mist the lone stand endured, up to the present moment when, sensing the enemy adequately distracted, I let loose a roar from my lungs.

“Fire! Now!”

A command rather curt, but Lise nonetheless made good on it. Soon enough, a surge of magicks rang from beyond the brume. Standing so where I was—a zone soon to be spell-pounded—it ought’ve served a swansong to stop the heart. But mine only stirred with gladness, for gracing this ungraced were alliants ready to heed and cohere, to strive and stride shoulder-to-shoulder, to risk together the highest stakes for a shared vision. Indeed, for so fair and hard-found a force of fellows, this ungraced man had naught but the greatest of gratitudes.

And as though in show of their faith in me, blasting through the mists now were their myriad magicks—a rain, radiant and deadly. With desperation I danced, ducking and lurching between peltings of ice and fire, all the while fighting and fending off foes wheresoever they appeared. Yes; even in this storm, I dared not let the blacksword idle. And sure enough, rich were the rewards reaped: many in the enemy formations now floundered, scattering hither and thither in miserable throngs—a prime time to strike as any.

Or so I thought. I meant then to cry out another command, but as it happened, I found my situation too desperate to put off. This bombardment of magicks; it absolutely brimmed, it did. Too much so, even. The cup overrunneth, as they say. To have my call answered was a glad thing, sure, but never had I expected it to be done with such eager lethality. Why, a tiny misstep here, and I might find myself missing a limb or three.

But that was well enough. War is never easy. Tread its courses too cautiously, and it’s down into the death-ditches with us, soon or late. Thus, with all senses honed to their limits, I fought on, seeking out what scant sanctuaries I could and felling foes in the meanwhile. An eternity it seemed before it came: a halt in the hail of spells. Still, I did not relax my senses nor let down my sword. Onwards I struggled. For I was yet alone; all alone amidst a mire of enemies keen to claim my head. But in time, that, too, began to change. Off in the corner of my eyes so wide with alert, I then spotted them: the alliance, lunging wholly hither in a lightning charge. At last; the cavalry was come, as the saying goes, and none too soon, at that.

And right with that thought, there came piercing through the pale the fleet form of Lise. In her tow was a contingent of alliance vanguards, fighting fiercely in her following.

“Rolf!” Lise called. “There you are!”

“Just in time!” I answered. “Come! We cut through!”

Lise wasted not an instant. For in the next, her longdaggers lashed, setting off a slicing swirl and leaving in her wake a slew of Salvators ablood. A flourish fatal as it was ever fair to see, and surrounded by all the billowing brume, it nearly seemed to me a scene fresh out of a faerie tale.

 

 

“With the Fräulein!” chanted our braves. “With the Fräulein!”

And sure enough, they flooded in, steeled of step and spirit both. The Salvators, taken aback, could only answer in kind, and soon enough, friend and foe were enmeshed in close combat—too much so for the sorcerers to dare quell without danger to their own number. The checkmate was in sight; with the threat of their magicks greatly thinned, it seemed not long before this corner of the mountain would be ours.

“Well? What think you of that volley?” asked Lise as we battled side-by-side. “‘Fire’, you said! And so ‘fire’ I gave!”

“A fire and more! But I’ll not complain!” I answered wryly. “We’ve shown them a fine play, you and I!”

Few times in my life had I known greater relief than to be done with that dance with Death. Just hearing the hot word from Lise’s lips was enough to send a chill down my spine. But all’s well that ends well, as it were, and to emerge feeling all the more trusted was nearly worth the danger.

“Fräulein! Herr Rolf!” came crying another voice. It was Monika, helming the centre column. This was a glad surprise; not long had elapsed since Lise came bearing the vanguard, and yet arriving already was the main thrust of our numbers. Without question had Monika moved right when the Salvators displayed weakness, urging forth the frontlines and climbing high to these enemy slopes. Truly a military marvel she was, this aide of Lise’s. But as she hastened nigh, I perceived in her a hint of anxiety. “The enemy line here is lost!” Monika reported to me. “The same holds true at the rightward frays, much thanks to the Herr Sig! Only… only!”

Swiftly, I sundered dead a Salvator before turning a quick eye eastwards. There was little to see, of course, being so blinded by the fog, but it served enough to scry the meaning of Monika’s concern. For a shadow of dread loomed there yonder—and withal, distant but desperate and dying screams.

“…Our left. They languish,” I surmised. “They must be aided!”

“Please! And forthwith!” pressed Monika. “Reported there were magicks almighty…! The lordling mayhaps has made his move!”

The “lordling”. Renowned amongst the Salvators as their foremost sorcerer: Alfred, son of marquis-cum-commander Balbreau Isfält. But not merely a product of his noble position was his repute. No; strong Alfred was whispered to be. Strong beyond any to challenge.

“Right, I’ll assemble my braves! And shall be off at the soonest!” I declared. “Lise, you have the reins here!”

Lise nodded. “A stallion easy-tamed!” she answered. Confident her voice sounded, and trustful seemed her heart. Trusting to her in turn, I broke and bolted away into the embattled brumes east.

 

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