Crusader

Chapter 115

Vara

Day 223 of the Siege of Sanctuary

She could hear the dark elves as they battered away at the doors outside. It was nearly a miracle that the defenders of Sanctuary had managed to do what they had, fought back to within the halls of Sanctuary and barred them shut. Their enemies clattered at the big, heavy, wooden doors, but she knew when they retreated that it would take time to move the battering ram inside the walls, time to take it forward, to carry it up the stairs and position it to break them down. And it would appear that the time has come-and ours has run out.

She closed her eyes and could feel the fear around her in the huddled masses. “Nyad,” she said, and the elven princess came forth, startling her with her appearance. “Can you teleport us out of here-all of us? Somewhere safe, like Fertiss.”

Nyad was always pale; she was paler than usual, now. “No,” she said simply. “The dark elves have positioned wizards outside; this entire area is under the effect of cessation spells.

Vara looked at her in alarm, and held up her hand, casting the most elementary healing spell. There was no tingle, no power, nothing. “So this is it,” she whispered.

“Nowhere to run,” came the rumble of Fortin, standing just behind the door, arms folded, his chest a scarring of dark, oozing substance that was thick as magma. “I like it better that way.”

“I always prefer to have somewhere to run,” Vaste said, clutching his staff. “Of course, I’m not quite the fighter that you are, and perhaps a bit squishier, so that might have something to do with it.”

There was a scream as the battering ram hit the doors again and a crack appeared in the wood. Vara composed herself, closing her eyes for a moment, taking a breath. When she opened them again, she spoke. “There is no escape,” she said, loudly, to all of them. “They mean to have us dead, or worse, as prisoners.”

“Prisoners is worse?” Vaste asked, sotto voce. She shot him a blazing look. “Right,” he said. “Worse.”

“I mean to leave them with nothing,” she said. “I will fight for every inch of this place, and they will kill me before taking me prisoner. If you wish to surrender, go to the basement, lock yourself inside and await your fate there. If you truly believe that letting them score a painless victory here will do the world we leave behind one bit of good, then flee. I, for one, find the thought of letting them leave here without a gaping, bloody scar to be so unpalatable I’m willing to throw myself in the path of this meatgrinder, to put a stick in the eye of the Sovereign’s war machine.” She bit down on her spite, choked on it. “I will make this bastard pay for every life he takes with ten of his own, and I will not yield until the last breath has fled my body. When they have hurt me so badly I can no longer walk, I will crawl, dagger in hand, in the direction of their boots and bury my blade in their ankles, pull them to my level and murder them unexpectedly.”

There was a shocked silence before the battering ram hit the door again, and the door cracked slightly wider. “That’s the spirit,” Vaste said with false upbeatness. “Go for the ankles. They’ll need those for marching and stomping on our corpses. That’ll put a kink in the Sovereign’s efforts.”

“If you want to leave,” Vara said, “now’s your chance. None of us will look down on you because you don’t want to die here, like this.”

“Some of us actually will,” Vaste said, “but you should do it anyway, because embracing your inner coward in these last few moments will probably give you something to regret for the span of time it takes the dark elves to rape you to death. You know, like they do with all their prisoners.”

There was a shocked silence as the battering ram hit home. “Stop helping me!” Vara hissed at him.

The crowd grew quiet, no one daring to speak. Swords were drawn and clattered about against armor as people clutched them tight. Vara saw wizards pull daggers, druids grab logs from beside the fire to use as clubs, as her eyes slid over the crowd. Mendicant was nearby, clicking his claws together noiselessly as he shed his robes, joining a few of his fellow goblins nearby. They crouched low to the ground, skittering toward the doors, prepared to ambush the first enemies through. She felt a surge of pride in them. Andren was nearby, too, just behind them, a tankard in one hand and a knife in the other. Belkan and Thad, both bleeding profusely, stood just behind Fortin. There was a growling noise, a subtle one, and Vara noticed the wolves of Menlos Irontooth in the middle of the foyer, ready to spring. Alaric would be proud. We’ll not go down without a fight. Larana stood next to Erith and Nyad; the wizard and the healer held weapons of their own, a small blade in both cases, but the druid’s eyes were closed, a tear dripping down her cheek as she stood in utter silence, the very picture of despair.

Aisling slipped between them all, sliding into the shadows near the door, and all Vara could see of the dark elf was the glistening of her blades, ready to strike at an exposed back. Let her have at it. I need all the help I can get at this point.

She felt someone at her side and looked up to see Vaste, staring down at her, his staff in hand. “If it had to end this way,” Vaste said, “I’m glad it was you here to lead us. I can’t imagine a better voice of inspiration and fortitude than yours, here at the end of all our days.”

She stared at him briefly then blinked as her face dissolved into disbelief. “You utter arse,” she said. “Can you not be serious for even one moment now, at the end?”

His face stiffened in shock. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I actually was being serious. Just this once. Don’t tell anyone.”

The battering ram hit home once more and the brace that held shut the great doors of Sanctuary broke loose along with the doors themselves. There was a cacophony from outside as the dark elves started in, around the fringes of the battering ram, streaming in at the sides, and were attacked by Fortin on one side and low-to-the-ground goblins on the other side. The first wave of the enemy fell quickly as the crew of the battering ram tried to remove the giant obstruction from the battle.

“Why, Vaste,” she said, holding her sword high above her head, “whoever would I tell?” She let out a cry that was matched by a thousand more around her, and let her feet carry her forward, into what she knew beyond reason would be the last fight of her life.