Chương 40: Chapter 40: The Battle of Bellard: Part 1
I know the battle has started when the trebuchets let loose their volleys.
Under the dark clouds of the rolling storm, partially obscured behind shattered rooftops and crumbling walls; I see three spheres of raging fire launch into the sky from behind Morne's northern wall.
They trail like shooting stars in slow motion, entering into the storm clouds like torches into the night. Even obscured, their vermillion hues illuminate the vapor and fog about them; three fiery lines trace in parallel across the dark ceiling over Bellard.
I turn my head away before I can see where they fall; I wouldn't be able to see anyways. But I hear them land, and I hear the noises of metal ringing against metal, metal burying into flesh, and the roars of Agheel; amongst the wind and torrential rainfall, under the guise of booming thunder.
"Sounds like it's begun!" Blaidd yells next to me; his head is at the height of my shoulder. "A shame we need to miss it!"
He keeps pace with me, despite having only two long legs. Torrent moves swiftly, traversing these cramped alleyways with ease. I need to watch for any surviving clotheslines or low balconies, but I don't need to worry about the loose rubble or broken barrels at my feet; my spectral steed plows through it all.
We're going fast, really fast. And what baffles the mind, is Torrent can go faster than this. He moves at a speed Blaidd can keep up with, and even then, Blaidd struggles to maintain his spot next to me.
"Do you know where Darriwil is?!"
I shout over the howling wind; I'm already soaked from the rain. Thunder from unseen lightning rumbles over us; I'm getting unwelcome memories flooding back to me. Things have changed, but once again; I'll be face-to-face with a dragon in a thunderstorm.
"No need to worry about it mate!" He howls. "Darriwil will come to us!"
"How can you be so sure?!"
"A Bloodhound Knight never relents to hunt their prey! Seeing as how Darriwil was after you; he will return to finish the job!"
I'd be terrified to hear such a statement… but I'm not in that mindset. It sounds stupid, but my own speech hyped me up, and the Golden Vow makes me feel like I've never left a prime I didn't even know I had.
I flash a grin.
"So, I'm the bait then!?"
Blaidd drops low, using his spare arm to help him run; he begins to outpace Torrent.
"Right you are!"
Melina. How do things look up there?
She flies directly overhead of us, above the rooftops and near the base of the storm clouds. I can hardly see her dim glow, but she's there. She ducks and sweeps around the vapor, cursing to herself as the raindrops sting every inch of her semi-corporeal body. She keeps an eye on the battle raging on the center street, but she also keeps an eye on my target.
Agheel is being held back by the trebuchets. He is staying near the rear of the enemy. All according to plan thus far.
Darriwil?
No sign of him as of yet.
And our allies? How is Edgar fairing?
She looks that way; she almost smiles.
It is a sight to behold. I wish you could see it.
Morne's forces; a measly 3,000 against a number nearing 30,000; they drive into the enemy. No sly tactics, no strategic retreats. Edgar leads his army like the tip of a spearhead, and he digs them in deep.
The Morne soldiers are outnumbered 10 to 1, but they overcome those odds. The enemy might as well be wielding toothpicks for weapons.
Scraape click scrape click.
I cast my eyes skyward; Blaidd growls.
Scrape click scrape click scrape click.
I hear him, somewhere above. But I can't see him.
Melina! Darriwil is here!
I… I cannot see him. His runes are invisible to me.
That's a possibility?
"Blaidd-"
The wolfman leaps, landing atop a balcony, and practically deflects away, passing by over my head.
"On your way Lance!" He stabs his greatsword into a wall, using it as an anchor and pouncing, clearing the top of the roof with that massive blade lagging behind him. "I'll deal with him!"
He disappears from view, and with his receding footsteps, goes the scraping noises as well.
Blaidd's on him.
Yes… yes, I can see the Bloodhound Knight now. Blaidd has given chase.
…
Turn right here.
I don't need to worry about Blaidd. If anything, I feel sorry for Darriwil… Though only a little.
I turn right. I don't need to yank the reigns; I will it and Torrent performs it. He takes the turn sharp enough that I probably would've fallen off if my feet weren't anchored in the stirrups. I lean into it, feeling my leveraged sword dig into my right shoulder pad.
With the turn; the view changes; the winds blowing southward hit us at full blast. I need to squint to see, but I don't stop. Torrent doesn't stop. Even as we cut by the clashing battle, plowing right into the edges of the enemy's number; Torrent' doesn't even slow down.
Misbegotten, dead ahead. A Limgrave soldier is with them too. They see me coming, but I'm upon them before they can raise their weapons.
I've never swung a sword while atop a horse before, and I didn't think it would be easy. But I find myself bringing my blade down as I cross by that soldier, as he tries to stab at Torrent. His blade might've never reached; he was far too slow to intercept me.
But I attacked him nevertheless.
Swinging this greatsword with one hand; I'd think it wouldn't be easy. I can barely wield the thing with both hands; I'm simply still not strong enough. Yet the momentum I carry; the speed in which Torrent moves. My blade drops like a guillotine, and it connects at the soldier's shoulder.
He's dropped; the sword makes a mess of his armor.
Chainmail is useful; the stuff can stop a cutting blade, maybe even halt a piercing arrow if it's moving slow enough. But taking the force of a 30-pound sword; far too heavy to ever be practical back on earth. Taking that much weight, from a wedge-like axe of a blade, combined with the speed of my swing, the speed of Torrent, that speed of the soldier moving opposite of me; the chainmail might as well be loose fabric.
Links part; links come undone.
The surcoat does nothing; the gambeson underneath the mail compresses and tears. My sword splits skin, draws blood, and breaks bone. Punctures a lung, bruises the surrounding muscles, strains the neck and destroys more nerves and capillaries than I could ever count.
The soldier doesn't die; he can thank his armor for taking the brunt of it. The body can take more damage than most realize; I got my entire back sliced open, and I was still kicking two days later. But the soldier falls, wailing in pain and dropping his sword.
He's out of commission for the rest of the battle.
The misbegotten that my blade finds next isn't so lucky; it catches the tip at the back corner of the throat. Something that should never get damaged is cut; blood erupts out of its neck like a character in a violent cartoon. It doesn't try to cover its fatal wound; it chases after Torrent and I like the rest. But five steps in, and the misbegotten collapses, never to rise again.
Its runes find me, as Torrent outpaces our pursuers.
More ahead.
Any way around?
No.
Torrent, please; just a little faster.
"Yah!" I bellow, whipping the reins.
I'm punched by a wall of air. I learned from the first time; I duck. The world lurches away, and the sounds of the storm can barely be heard; the rushing wind drowns it all out. The rain looks like it's falling toward me, the houses we pass by become swimming blurs. I merely bring my sword out, and feeling nothing more than a sudden jerk, as I decapitate a Limgrave soldier who has his back turned.
I practically run over the enemy in these alleyways, as I carve my way toward Agheel.
Irina. Edgar bellows.
Irina. Edgar swings.
His halberd catches a Limgrave soldier behind the knee; he jerks his shaft back. The soldier falls; Edgar dislodges his axe head, and stabs the soldier dead in the chest with his spear tip, piercing the mail and impaling the heart. The soldier gags, convulses, and withers away beneath his feet, as the warden takes on another soldier, bashing that wrinkled face inwards with his halberd's shaft. The new soldier is dazed, with a broken nose, and gets only one wild swing off, before Edgar's banished knight's halberd lops his head off from the shoulders; the sheer leverage in that monstrous swing sends his head flying away, bouncing off a nearby wall like a ripe tomato.
Edgar keeps marching. He meets the next obstacles in the same manner; never breaking his dangerous composure. His entire view is a scene of his destroyed city, overcome by snapping maws and bronze skullcaps. The enemy overwhelms this street; they are like a wall. He will break through that wall.
Irina. My baby girl.
A misbegotten pounces; he grips his left hand near the head of his weapon. The right arm goes down, the left arm goes up. The axe head buries into the misbegotten's wide jaw, and Edgar turns and leverages his halberd over his shoulder. The whole deformed body of that mindless creature is brought along, crashing down with a culmination of snapping and cracking noises as it collides with the stone floor.
My pride.
Another misbegotten, and another. They aim to attack Edgar's exposed back, but the first finds a halberd's spear tip embedding into its chest, as the other is manhandled by the throat. The dying one is cast away, finished off by a Morne soldier, while the other is dropped, only able to get a single chuff off, before the warden's metal boot stomps its head flat.
My sunshine.
Before a straightsword even grazes his chest, the arms of the storm envelop him; he leaps. With a blast of wind, he launches skyward; the soldier that dared attack him stumbles from the force. When he lands, he lands like a tornado. Violent air sources from his swinging halberd like an unending well, forcing the very rain away in what could be considered an explosion. His attack lands, and its target never stood a chance. The soldier is dead, face planted into the ground, body torn into like it was ravaged by wolves.
My everything.
Edgar doesn't stop. Edgar doesn't relent. His men stay close to his side, assisting him in chewing into the enemy's number.
Taken.
He stabs a misbegotten in the gut; he kicks the bottom of his halberd's shaft to hoist the impaled creature up into the air. It writhes up there, nearly eight feet off the ground. It glares at Edgar, snapping its maw mindlessly an arm's reach away from his face. He stares holes into it, looking past the falling rain that partially bathes his face.
Taken by you.
When he drops his halberd, he does so like he's swinging a hammer. The misbegotten dies on impact.
All of you.
Not a moment later, and the next volleys of the trebuchets land. They're close enough that the warden can feel their heat as they pass by overhead; close enough that the falling rain around him become the color of molten gold for a fleeting moment.
Massive spheres of flaming fire, crashing into the ground like stars falling from the night sky. Exploding on the initial impact, before rolling, eviscerating and burning everything in their way.
He feels the blast waves hit him in the chest; his messy hair shifts about from each gratifying thump. The trebuchets aim far too close to Morne's front line, but Edgar does not stop.
He trusts his men.
The soldiers that cover his flanks, the soldiers that fearlessly step up to replace them when they fall; he trusts them.
The soldiers that take measurements from atop Morne's ramparts, that relay to the crews of the heavy weaponry of an adequate trajectory; he trusts them.
He puts his beliefs, his conviction, and his back into his men.
Agheel swoops by overhead, diving in to unleash his flames upon Morne's legions. The ballistae bolts and trebuchet volleys come not a moment later, beating the dragon back. One bolt finds its mark on Agheel's leg, the explosion makes the dragon roar in fury.
With a blast of wind, the beast retreats, banking away and retreating.
As long as Morne has the munitions, Agheel will not be a problem. But the castle is running dangerously low; Edgar knows he saw barrels and broken tables making up parts of those trebuchet projectiles. Once they run dry, nothing is stopping that dragon from laying waste to them. One good pass, and he could wipe out more than half of Morne's forces in a matter of seconds.
The Tarnished, does Edgar Trust him?
He left Agheel to Lance, because the boy had a plan. That spirit of his said something is controlling the dragon, and they plan to take that thing out.
But can they do it?
Does Edgar believe that boy is capable?
…
"Morne Warden!"
A voice; a gravelly and primitive voice rings out in the battlefield.
"Morne Warden!"
Edgar finds the owner of that voice… the beast is charging right at him.
The Leonine Misbegotten, wielding a large iron sword.
His feral eyes are for Edgar alone, and his fangs bare as he bellows.
"You are mine!"
It has been six days since they last fought; Edgar nearly died the last time. This red-maned monster is what started this whole mess in the first place, travelled here from an unknown land and incited the menials into rebellion.
The Limgrave Horde and Agheel were later additions, but it could be said this Leonine is responsible for the state of Bellard.
Responsible for this suffering, this destruction…
Responsible for Irina.
Taken by you.
Edgar grips his halberd shaft, hard enough that storm winds begin to curl about his silver gauntlets. The Leonine runs to the front of the enemy line; the warden's men close in around him to intercept. What Edgar fears most burns down deep in his chest; he bellows, beating out the wind and thunder and falling rain.
"Stay back!" He spins his halberd about, holding that nasty head parallel to the ground and away from him. "He's mine!"
He'll kill this Leonine; he'll mount the beast's head on a wall. He will destroy him, and be sure he adequately feels Edgar's wrath.
Dalia runs.
She runs as fast as her long legs are capable.
She is without her armor; she isn't worthy to wear Morne's coat of arms.
She is without her helmet; her monotone face is out for all to see.
She brings nothing but herself, her flimsy undercoat, and her sword.
Going out like this, she will most likely die. Running into battle with only her sword to truly protect her, she most definitely will…
Part of her wants to.
She has made grave errors, and she cannot hope to fix them. She desired to keep the Tarnished from leaving, but her idea to do so was foolish. She could have requested the Tarnished to stay, asked that he assist. She could've promised riches, could've promised a backing or something similar. She could've asked for his help.
He was; he was bringing the warden's daughter to safety. Wasn't that helpful enough?
She should've gone about it differently; she wishes she could go back in time and fix it.
Honestly, she feels foolish.
And now, she does something foolish yet again.
Why is that? Why is she out here? Does she hope to right her wrongs?
No, it's impossible at this point.
She had the chance to, when the warden sought to execute her. She was ready to make amends, so she bowed her head.
But that Tarnished stopped the warden, stole away Dalia's chance of redemption.
She shouldn't be alive at this point; she should've died then. Like an apparition, she still treads this realm, when her body should've been burned to ash by this point.
What was the Tarnished thinking?
What is she supposed to do with this horrible knot in her gut?
Irina's blood is on her hands, and that crimson stain is agonizing. She thought to throw herself into the ocean, maybe set herself on fire or leap into the bakers' furnace.
She wants to rid herself of this stain… and that's when it came to her.
The Tarnished doesn't want her to leave so easily; there's many other ways to make better use of her forfeit life. If such a thing was the boy's idea from the start, then Dalia has underestimated him.
She's come to that revelation: she has a way to make amends.
It is her fault that Irina was around for Trey to capture her… but it is Trey's fault that Irina is gone. Dalia's error caused it, but Trey's actions created it. She hopes to die, but this chance the Tarnished gave her; she will use it to the fullest.
She has only one target, as she sprints through Bellard's cluttered streets. She follows the path the Tarnished took, because she knows, somehow, that she will find her quarry if she follows that young man.
She will do whatever it takes; she'll use her teeth if she has to.
She will kill Trey, even if it kills her.
Wait.
What? What is it?
On reflex, Torrent grinds to a halt; we stand idle in the rainfall.
I somewhat make out Melina's glow high above; she slowed to stopping too.
That is not good.
Something up ahead?
Yes…
...
Lance, you need to promise me something, before we continue.
?
You know as well as I do that Agheel is of our utmost concern, we need to remove him from the battle if Morne desires any chance of victory.
Yeah.
If the dragon is removed from the equation, then the enemy are all land-bound targets. It's the same here, as it is in the modern day: air superiority is everything. Having something that can attack us from any angle, when we have limited options of a counter-attack, one could even consider it cheating.
If Agheel prevails any longer, then Morne will lose. And if we can somehow defeat him, victory will be possible.
Then promise me we will not become distracted, no matter what.
Just what could be ahead?
Yeah, I promise.
Do you mean that?
I-…
Yes. I do.
Then, continue ahead, but do not stop. It will only become more difficult if we stay.
"Tarnished!"
A voice, a familiar voice, rings out ahead.
I tense up.
"I know you're there! Blasted coward, show yourself!"
I-… Is that?
…Yes.
I grit my teeth; Torrent grows uneasy beneath me.
He's a target too.
I-…
I…
Melina watches me, slightly frowning.
You promised.
But-
Trey. He's close, dead ahead, waiting for me. I don't know how he knew I'd be taking this route… But.
Please, Melina. I need to. He... I need to be the one to do it.
You promised.
And? I didn't know you meant he would be here!
…
Look, I know we need to defeat Agheel, I know that. I'm not running away from it, but…
Should I assume your words will always be shallow then?
What?
Do you only break a promise when it benefits you? People will die, if we do not hurry. This kingdom may fall to ruin, because you cannot get your priorities straight. You play an integral role here. Everyone is counting on us, on you. We need to fulfill our role, the same as everyone else is. Now please, set your feelings aside.
Continue ahead and do not look back.
...
...
...
...Fine.
So be it. He will get his just desserts soon.
Torrent trudges ahead, as we make our way to a certain clearing. In this scene, where the storm feels lighter somewhat, a single knight stands firm, watching me behind that "t" shaped visor.
I take steady breaths, gripping my sword handle. One of the fountains of the city stands noble between us, seemingly untouched by the chaos this land has experienced. No soldiers or misbegotten in sight.
Trey scoffs, his muffled voice sounds like nails against a chalkboard in my ears.
"On horseback? I was certain Morne's stock of steeds had died out."
He jabs a thumb at his chest plate.
"I made sure of it."
He eyes Torrent's horns.
"Then again, you Tarnished swine never are without your secrets. All I know, is that steed could be a demon you conjured up."
He's gone full-blown villain. There's no grief in his words, his hatred for Tarnished hasn't dimmed in the slightest. If he's here alone, then he somehow knew I'd come here.
I'd suspect Morne has a rat, but I told nobody of that path I'd take to Agheel.
Was it a lucky guess?
…
Or something else…
Melina…
It takes everything I have, but I sheathe my sword.
Where to?
Continue straight. We will be behind Agheel after a few more blocks.
Then.
"So, you are a coward."
Do not listen to him. He knows he cannot hope to catch us on horseback. He seeks to provoke you.
I know.
Torrent continues on; I avert my gaze. If he tries to attack, I'll gallop off... I should right now...
I can...
Then...
Why am I lingering?
"A weak fool, who shies away from an opponent. Do you not care to know who is stronger? Does your warrior spirit not yearn for a fight? Or are you that inept?"
I grit my teeth.
Torrent, please. A little faster.
"After you failed the warden, failed Lord Haight, and failed Irina. Will you really shy away from redemption?"
...
"Keep her name…" I hiss. "Out of your mouth."
…
I shouldn't have said that.
"Who?"
Trey plays with his stiff words.
"The name of that useless girl? That blind welp? That tumor in Edgar's side?"
I…
I…
"So it seems, you cared for that repulsive child."
...
"Do you know what we did with her ashes? What we used them for after you turned and ran?"
Lance…
"Torrent."
I stare holes into the spectral steed, I only need to say one word, and Torrent will take off.
It only takes one word… that word gets caught in my throat.
Before I know it, I'm staring Trey down.
I can't see his face; I've never seen his face. I've never had a taste of his expressions, never known how he reacts or how he acts. I've never seen what goes on in his eyes. But somehow, I can see him smile.
"We turned her into soap, and I used her to clean off my own bare ass."
I crack a molar.
A chill runs down my spine.
My breath comes as a hiss; I want to kill him.
Eviscerate him. Destroy him.
Twist his neck, break each and every one of his bones.
Bury a knife deep in his gut, as I stand a step away, digging my nails into his shoulder. Mutter into his ear, as I slowly twist that blade; mouth close enough that he can hear my breath.
Whisper forlorn tidings, cackle under a weight of released ecstasy. Slowly drag that blade up, digging deeper and deeper into his ribcage, before I-
My sword is in my hands; I'm off Torrent.
When did I dismount?
I felt like I blacked out for a moment. Like something overcame me, and I was left reeling.
I've felt this feeling before.
Trey faces me, his sword and shield drawn. He looks somewhat uneasy, poised and hesitating to fight. Melina flies down from the sky, getting between me and him.
Lance, there is still time. We need to go. Now.
I taste blood; I spit out the broken chunk of enamel tumbling around in my mouth. It bounces and clatters across the wet stone, becoming lost in a puddle.
I don't want to run away from this, part of me won't let me.
I can't let Trey words go, I can't.
He needs to pay.
Trey growls.
"Just what are you? Where did you come from?"
Thunder rumbles; the rain falling between us sounds almost like white noise.
"Why have your eyes become golden? Are you truly a Tarnished?"
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
My eyes are dark blue; same as ever.
"Shut up and fight me."
A second passes between us, two.
I need to go, but I can't.
My legs won't move, and yet, charging toward Trey feels all the more enticing. Part of me looks forward to it, excited to start. Excited to lay Trey low, and make him suffer.
It's like this scene was made for me, like I was destined to run into him here. It's the universe giving me this opportunity.
Surely… right?
"Little Tarnished."
I break eye contact with Trey, he does the same. Melina almost sounds relieved, Torrent looks on curiously.
From the same alleyway I exited from, Dalia enters the scene, stalking toward our encroaching duel.
Her beautiful features look all the more extreme in the falling rain, her shortened hair sticks messily to her head and neck. She looks the same as ever, but her gait is off.
Slightly unhinged, like a ghost.
"Be on your way. Your duties lie elsewhere."
"You?" Trey remarks. "How are you alive? I was certain the warden would've had your head."
He seems to think other things; his visor stares at her disappeared stab wound the most.
Dalia, what is she doing here? Did she follow me?
"And what do you hope to accomplish without your armor? Have you come to die?"
She's wearing the same clothes I last saw her in, barely capable of stopping a kitchen knife. She doesn't pay heed to Trey's jabs, merely slowing to a halt next to me. She stares me down.
…
…
…
She turns on Trey.
"Trey. Traitor of Morne. I have come to lay you low."
He scoffs at that.
"You have already lost; we know who is stronger. Wander off Dalia, I wish to kill this Tarnished alone."
Dalia doesn't look at me.
"Go, Little Lance. Save Bellard. I'll hold this scum here."
"Will you kill him?"
She doesn't answer me.
Let us be on our way, we need to hurry. Once Morne's defenses run dry, we will miss our chance.
I go silent as well.
…
Can she win?
Will be able to avenge Irina for us?
For me?
…
"Roard." I say, speaking out into the void. "Arise."
A chilling sensation takes me. Like when I used Golden Vow, like when Melina created our chance, back in that dilapidated town, on the dawn of my fifteenth day. Like when the Knight of Limgrave last tread on this land.
A chunk of my magic is sapped away, before that magic takes shape. White light grows into being beside me, as a lone spirit returns to the world of the living.
Roard rises, wielding his shield, and signature spear; the same one currently strapped onto my back.
Daila merely stares; Trey takes a cautionary step back.
The spear-wielding knight rolls his shoulders, grunting.
"Now then, what's all this?"
He looks at me, before glancing over the other two knights. He stifles laughter.
"Well, who would've thought? Dalia and Trey. The two knights of Morne." He slams his spear into the ground, wedging it between the cracks of the stone bricks. "Isn't this just a fitting reunion."
"Roard?" Trey seethes. "What on Marika's name? You're supposed to be dead."
"Oh, I am, believe me." Roard jabs a thumb my way. "Thank the inept jester over there for that."
"Roard."
He looks down at me, his voice muffled behind his corporeal helmet.
"What's up boss?"
Don't call me that. It's weird.
"Trey is our enemy. I need you to assist Dalia in defeating him."
Roard looks back between the two.
"Can I trust you to do that?"
He seems to hesitate to answer, but he simply shrugs.
"Fight alongside a beautiful woman?" He looks skyward at the dark clouds and rainfall. "On such a beautiful day? Consider it done."
Dalia has an emotion: surprise. She looks between Roard and I. I nearly avert my gaze, but I lock eyes.
I'm not 100% sure why she's here, but I can grasp the idea.
She's looking for revenge.
…
I want to be the one to kill Trey, want it to the point that I'm ready to stay here. But I can't shirk my responsibilities; everyone's counting on me. I'm slowly convincing myself to leave.
In a way, I'm letting Dalia do what I want to do; I'm entrusting her with my ire. She will get my revenge for me, satisfying herself in the process. But I don't want to give Trey the chance to slip away, in the likely chance Dalia fails here.
So, I'll leave behind insurance.
I speak to Dalia, and only Dalia.
"Don't die. I won't allow it. There's still things I want to say to you, when this is all over." I sheathe my sword. "Roard, I'll leave it to you."
I turn to leave, to mount Torrent and not look back. I was foolish to get so easily provoked; I've wasted enough time already.
"Wait."
I halt, turn, and-
Dalia grabs me. I-
She kisses me dead on the lips.
…
...
...
Uh.
She pulls away; I'm stiff as a statue.
What… I…
"What the…"
There's a lingering taste in my mouth, a nasty one. It reeks of Bellard's local booze; a wayward taste of salt water and fermented wheat coats my tongue.
Dalia's been drinking heavily. Is she going to be alright?
Roard whistles, Dalia finds some form of pleasure from my lost expression.
Melina is dead silent.
"Call it insurance, Little Lance."
She draws her sword.
"I merely saw what I loved most about you slipping away. I had to take the chance before it escaped me at last. Be on your way, kill a dragon for me."
My first kiss…
I feel like I'm about to gag.
My first kiss tasted of horrible ale.
I wander to Torrent; I feel light headed.
Is there something between us now?
Is that how it works?
It is, right?
I don't want that.
I…
"Then…" I stare at Dalia and Roard, not bothering to look at Trey. "I… … Good luck."
Torrent takes off; one could possibly see the imaginary steam rising from my head.
Roard hoots, facing Trey down, dislodging his spear from the ground.
"So… got one of those for me?"
Dalia turns on Trey, her face reverting back to a stale stare.
"Die in a fire."
"Been there. Done that."
"What is this?" Trey snarls. "A naked dog and a dead spirit? My quarry is the Tarnished."
"Sorry bud." Roard says. "Annoying the boss is my job. If you want him, then go through the wet naked dog and I first."
Dalia hisses.
"Do you always insult your allies?"
"It's my charm. Now, shall we?"
The three knights charge without another word, their sounds of furious combat echo into the rolling storm.
When I reach my destination, Torrent jumps.
Jump now!
I feel bad doing so, but I loose my feet of their stirrups, and I plant myself on Torrent's back.
With all the power I can manage, I leap, clearing the edge of the rooftops.
Torrent falls away, but disappears before he hits the ground, returning to my ring before my own feet hit the layered tiles.
I quite nearly slip, the rooftops of these houses are sloped, and it's not exactly dry. But using my own sword as a form of an anchor helps. It doesn't pierce the black tiles, but it digs into their ceramic frames, halting my advance down the slope.
Up here, I can finally feel the intensity of the storm. The rainfall is torrential, brought about by howling wind that sends the water on these rooftops blowing away, kicking up and splattering my face. Occasional flashes of lightning pierce the heavens all around me, casting their thunder onto the buildings like seeds of sound amongst the destroyed fields of structural stone.
Melina hovers nearby, she looks like a lighthouse's beacon in a hurricane. From where I stand, I can see it all. The battle happening on the main street is a building away, and it's become fanned out.
Whether because of impatience, or a bold strategy; the back swathes of the enemy have circled around Edgar's forces, bleeding into the outer alleyways to flank Morne.
It makes the enemy army looks like a large beast's mouth, ready to encase the meager resistance whole. But, as if they truly were like the 300, each and every soldier fights with fury, with speed and with power.
The mouth of the beast encloses around them, but they forcefully pry that mouth to stay open, quite nearly wrenching it apart in places. Even with such thin lines, they beat back the enemy.
I can't see Edgar, but I know he's alive.
He wouldn't die so easily; it took misbegotten blades, dragon fire, and lethal poison to kill him last time.
As for Agheel; and as for my destination…
A black body the size of a basketball court rips by, making the ground beneath me shake, and my ears to pop, solely from the pressure.
Agheel barrels down the main street, wings mere feet form the rooftops, like a fighter jet conducting a ground attack. His maws opens; fireballs rising beyond Morne's front wall answers him. They close in, and the dragon banks away, just before three trebuchet projectiles tear through the space, missing Agheel by a hair.
The dragon roars angrily, flying away, before trying again.
He is testing the defenses.
By constantly charging?
If he is chased back by the trebuchets, then Morne's ammo supply dwindles. If he is not, he breaks through Morne's ability to lead their shots, and will have free reign to attack the soldiers.
Like constantly ramming into a barricade, knowing it will eventually fall. A war of attrition, one we cannot let Agheel win.
Luckily, such a straightforward tactic makes our job easier…
...
Just... jump on...
...
I'm getting second thoughts.
So, we're really just gonna run? And jump?
Time it right? Hope for the best?
Yes… you can leave the timing to me.
That does settle some of my unease… even still.
You do realize that only two weeks ago, you had to teach me the basics of fighting.
And?
Just… seems like a leap of difficulty.
If I wasn't fantasizing about falling after missing the jump, or straight up getting rammed by a dragon moving as fast as a speeding car; I'd say the pun was intended.
Melina doesn't quell my fears like she usually does.
She doesn't decide to ignore me either.
Well, you should have thought of that far before now. If you did not desire to put your life on the line, then we should have left last night.
…
Her usual way of speaking cracks for a moment.
Don't back out of this now, Lance Thompson. Not when everyone's made sure this moment is possible.
Edgar keeps the enemy army busy, the soldiers back at the castle keep Agheel at bay.
Blaidd's keeping Darriwil away, and Dalia swooped in to handle my debt with Trey.
They've all fallen into their roles; it's time I fall into mine. Stop Agheel, remove what controls him and kill him if it doesn't work. And while I'm at it, kill the large soldier that rides atop Agheel's back, the one who leads the army down below.
You could say I have the most important task. My allies are handling the enemy's claws. I'm handling its head.
Okay... So? How are we doing this?
I may be stronger, and faster, but there's no way I'm capable of clearing the distance between the final house, and where that dragon will swoop down from. The distance is too great; the elevation is too high. I we mess up the timing, Agheel's outstretched wing could clothesline me… More likely decapitate me.
There's really only one shot; that soldier will probably know what I'm trying after the first attempt.
This needs to go flawlessly.
For a start, mount Torrent again.
I do so; the spectral steed digs his hooves in beneath me. He takes a glance back at me, his mane getting drenched and flipped about...
What an animal.
"Sorry." I say, patting him on the neck. "About all of this. We haven't even been able to properly greet one another yet; it's just been so hectic."
He snorts.
...
Why am I talking to an animal? Again?
…
His eyes watch me with such a brilliant intelligence; it startles everything I know. It makes me feel uncomfortable… but in a way… I feel reassured. Torrent's an animal, yet he's an ally. He's saved me; took me away when I was battered and broken; outpaced Agheel's fire when I could do nothing but hold on.
I grip the ridge of his neck, fastening my trust between my soaked and freezing fingers. I'm thankful, truly thankful for these spirits that keep my sorry excuse for a warrior out of death's iron grasp.
Roard, a skilled spearman, ready to defend me and take on an army at my beck and call.
Torrent, my unlikely friend that I've known for such a short span of time, yet I already find myself creating solace with.
Melina, my other half. My guider, protector, and savior.
My spirits; my unlikely family in this hostile world.
Now, at the cusp; I feel like I'm not alone.
I never was.
"Once more, Torrent."
Agheel banks near Bellard's outer wall, lining up to test Morne's defenses once more.
The time is now.
"Take us to victory."
Now!
"Yah!"
The world speeds up, mute colors and dark lines mixing into swirling and sweeping blurs. Rain falls parallel; wind is torn to pieces. I grit my teeth. Torrent leaps, and we're out in open space.
Time moves in slow motion; the buzzing sensation of adrenaline spills from my rampaging heart.
My stomach begins to float; we begin to fall.
Like a colossal black bird of carrion; Agheel dawns upon us. My view of the northern horizon is taken up by him; his wings and scales and spines; his teeth and eyes and head…
We won't make it.
We're falling, even if I jump, I won't close the distance.
But before I can even recognize it, before I can even widen my eyes; something ruptures underneath Torrent. It's not an explosion, not a blast or cavity or rolling wave. Compressed air erupts beneath his hooves; he jumps off of thin air.
The sudden lurch gives me whiplash.
I nearly break my nose.
But, whether it be off a reflex or muscle memory of times long past; I loose myself of Torrent's stirrups, plant my feet on his back, and I jump.
Torrent disappears, the large inner elbow of Agheel's right wing swipes by just beneath my feet.
I reach, I extend my arm to its farthest limit. I clasp onto the only thing I can, a single wavy spine near Agheel's outer mid-section.
My fingers wrap about the cold hide, my arm nearly dislocates. I'm wrenched right, and time speeds up once more.
I'm swept away, becoming a blur to all who can see. I disappear from the space above the main street, as I latch onto the back of a fire breathing dragon.
The doors to a small chapel burst open with a blast of storm winds; the Leonine tumbles into the devastated sanctuary.
He growls, lifting himself to all fours, gripping his iron sword with a shuddering grip.
This buildings is in ruins; part of the ceiling has caved in. Agheel destroyed the steeple of this religious structure; it's cracked bell rests partly submerged in the destroyed stone at the center.
In the petrifying gaze of Marika's stone eyes, the Leonine spits.
"Foolish Morne Warden."
He snarls, locking his feline eyes on the figure that stalks through the front doors.
"Evil Morne Warden!"
Edgar holds his halberd close to the head, it's thin shaft rising up past his back. His helmet sports new shallow scratches and a dent; it doesn't hinder him in any way.
A few soldiers follow him in, giving the Leonine murderous looks.
"Coward Morne Warden!"
"Cease your tongue, beast." Edgar seethes. "Die like the dog you are."
The Leonine leaps back, clambering atop the chapel's bell.
"Why are you strong now Morne Warden!? Why will you not die!?"
The Leonine's hair stands on end; his red mane soaked with water and spilt blood. His face contorts with wrinkles of fury, his bare fangs grind against one another.
"Tell me why More Warden!"
The Leonine cannot understand it; he cannot comprehend it. The warden was strong, but the Leonine was stronger. He was sure of it. But the Leonine cannot land an attack now. It won't connect. The warden simply bats him away, as if he was toying with the Leonine.
"Why!?" He barks.
Edgar growls.
"Look around you! Look at what you have done to my city, my people! Would you think I'd ever let you get away with this!?"
"You lie! You lie Morne Warden! Look at what you do to my people! Look at what you do to them! You make them work! You make them die! You lie!"
The concept of slavery is deeply rooted in the Lands Between; nearly every faction utilizes it. Scorned races, prisoners of war, debtors, and the like. Any unfortunate being can become a slave.
To one such as Edgar, the misbegotten are traitors, backstabbers of the one they called the Hero of Morne: The seamster who grafted an entire clan of blades as one, who fought Godfrey on even standing, and resisted to bow even in Marika's divine presence.
His legacy is vast, his name was lost with time. He is the pride of Morne, and the misbegotten betrayed him. They colluded with the Primeval Crucible, disfigured themselves beyond recognition, all in an attempt to reject the rising Golden Order.
They, who were the clan of the Weeping Peninsula, turned on the Hero of Morne; turned on one of their own kin. They became monsters, and attacked the one fellow being who refused to join them in their self-mutilated sin.
They cursed their own existence; their standing in the Lands Between is of their own doing.
The Leonine's words hold no weight in Edgar's ears.
The Leonine doesn't deserve that red hair he wears.
"I will hear nothing else from you, beast. Die with what little dignity you hold."
The Leonine roars, a bone-shuddering roar, that makes the windows of the chapel rattle. Edgar prepares his halberd; his fellow soldiers ready their weapons.
Like an infestation, misbegotten appear from cracks in the walls, broken windows on the upper floor; they practically spill in from the gaping hole in the roof.
The Leonine calls for aid.
"No! You will die here, Morne Warden!"
He points one claw-tipped finger at Marika's statue looming over them all.
"Die now! Die before your false god!"
"Morne." Edgar says; his soldiers cast their eyes toward him. "Clear the way."
Golden Vow glowing in their eyes, their faces stricken with a shining hue. They roar, and they hit the misbegotten head-on, dividing the snapping waters; giving Edgar a straight shot at the Leonine.
Blaidd hops from rooftop to rooftop, effortlessly scampering along the slick tile.
Darriwil keeps a pace ahead, shifting in and out of reality as he clambers over the buildings like a possessed cat.
Darriwil can be hard to track; his skills render most of the five senses useless. But Blaidd keeps on him like a hunting dog chasing a bear. He won't let him escape again.
He says nothing; he has no words to say to Darriwil. The traitor has been a disgrace to Mistress Ranni's name for long enough. His story must come to an end.
They chase about all across Bellard, passing in and out of the fighting. Darriwil doesn't dare leave the city; Blaidd would easily outpace him in the open. He doesn't try for the sewers either, such obvious destinations would only spell the end of him.
He's weaker than Blaidd, far weaker. He'd never win in a fight with the half-wolf, and he can never hope to escape him.
For Darriwil, all he can do is run.
Their two blurring shadows appear in and out of view, treating this three-dimensional space as if it were flat ground. Darriwil dives down into the alleyways, Blaidd follows. The Bloodhound Knight attempts to clamber along the walls; the wolfman bounces between the two sides of the alley like a bullet shot between two steel plates.
They go up, they go down. They go left, right, then up again.
The world goes sideways as Darriwil skitters across Castle Morne's front wall; Blaidd practically runs along the slick stone. They go up, running toward the heavens as if they could reach it.
Fireballs volley over the wall directly ahead of Darriwil; he springs away from the wall near its top.
Blaidd kicks off; three trails of glowing vermillion pass by directly overhead as the two fall.
Darriwil shifts out of reality, and Blaidd lands atop one of Morne's Ballistae, situated atop a nearby house's destroyed rooftop.
The soldiers operating the war machine are startled by the sudden lurch and groan of the wheels, but they only get a split second to see the large man with a wolf's head atop their machine, before he disappears into the dark, as if he were an apparition.
The Bloodhound Knight is fast, Blaidd is faster.
Darriwil may have a large reserve of stamina, but Blaidd could run for days straight.
It's only a matter of time, before Darriwil tires himself out.
Blaidd needs only to keep pace and wait patiently.
And when the time comes, when this elusive traitor finally accepts his fate, Blaidd will be there to sink his fangs in deep.
Trey fights an unfair battle.
Dalia moves quickly without her armor, dancing with her greatsword as if it weighed as light as a feather. The spirit who calls himself Roard stabs at Trey's openings with pin-point accuracy, exploiting any and every mistake Trey makes.
Dalia could be easily killed by one good hit, but Roard constantly gets between them, using his shield to make up for her lack of defense.
Roard's spear doesn't feel like a real spear; it doesn't have the bite one should have. It feels almost fake, barely damaging Trey's armor when it connects. It only makes sense, a spirit's corporeal weapon cannot compare to steel.
But Dalia's blade digs deep into the slivers between Trey's armor plates, falling dangerously close to drawing blood.
If he were to fight Dalia alone, he could kill her in one stroke as her blade is occupied by his shield.
If he were to fight Roard alone, he could ignore his weak spear and simply beat Roard down until he returns back to the land of the dead.
He's stronger than these two, he knows it.
He shouldn't be wasting his time with them, he needs to kill the Tarnished. He needs to be sure he's stronger than the one Irina put her faith in.
He is Irina's only strong knight.
Him.
Him alone.
None else can hold that title.
He needs to hold that title.
If that Tarnished somehow repelled Darriwil, killed countless misbegotten, escaped Agheel's ire…
He needs to prove he's stronger.
He'd never even begin to consider it, there's no way he's weaker than a hideous Tarnished. A weak, dastardly, spineless Tarnished.
He needs to go, he needs get away from these weaklings. But they don't let him. They work hand in hand. They fight together like cowards, they face him like demihumans.
But he can't. Land. A. Decisive. Blow.
He's stronger, but he can't win.
"Bastards…" He snarls. "Out of my way!"
On Agheel, as he banks away from three balls of raging fire, I feel the effects of inertia gnaw at me.
It feels like I'm thrown against a wall with the turn; my legs swing free.
Agheel runs aloft on his large wings, firing away from the castle. The entire world moves and spins, as the black body I hold onto stays rooted in place. My perception of the castle, the city, even the Erdtree itself; it all becomes twisted as I experience the violent effects of flight.
Melina trails next to me, small particles of light ripping off her like she were a golden shooting star.
Lance! Hold on!
This is insane! How are supposed to make it to the neck!?
The danger signals won't stop flashing in my head, unease and confusion clouds everything I think of. Terror creeps up on my heart; I can hear nothing in the screaming wind.
The rain stings my skin where it hits me, the lightning curls around my world as Agheel rises into the clouds, thrusting me into a tumultuous mirage. It all feels so extreme, so overwhelming…
It's too much.
And now, as I see the world below as Agheel levels out, between the clouds…
Dear God.
I can cover all of Bellard up if I hold out my hand; Castle Morne is the size of my thumb.
It all spins, as the dragon turns away. I'm freaking out; I'd let go if I knew it wouldn't kill me.
I'm making noises of fear that I can't control; gasps and curses exit my lips… and… laughing?
I'm laughing?
...
No.
It's not coming from me.
It carries with the wind, partially drowned out by the constant howling scream.
But I can hear it. Someone's laughing.
That's when I look for the soldier, up by the base of Agheel's neck.
He's looking back at me.
"HAH! AHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH, YOU MAD BASTARD! DO YOU GOT A DEATH WISH!?"
He grins like a madman; Agheel's turned head encompasses his silhouette. The dragon spots me, and roars his shrieking roar, before breaking into a dive.
The soldier kicks Agheel in the neck; the dragon hisses and levels out once more. We're in the clouds, surrounded by wind and rain going every which way, berated by flashing lightning and booming thunder.
Agheel slows, and begins flapping his wings, sending powerful gusts of wind out as he flies in place.
At this angle, as his massive body lurches beneath me, I'm hanging on; falling now would mean falling past Agheel's drooping tail.
It's a steep slope, but I plant my feet; a hill of tall spines and black scales stand between me and my opponent.
Here, at the top of the world, where the air is thin and cold, surrounded by the raging storm, the soldier stands above me, looking down at my struggling form with a smile.
"Well!? Come now Tarnished!"
He draws one of the two swords on his back, planting his foot on a spine like it was a stepping stone.
"Let's see what the Vessel of Death is made of!"
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