Four Horsemen: Chapter 3 Part 2 of 2

He bashed another blade away from the left, a man to the right turning to stab him.

Petor pushed into the gap his spear stabbing through the side of the man’s neck, mana flowed as he channeled it into his muscles, fighting to protect Valter’s side.

Mya blasted one Valter had thrown back, Desari flowed between Valter and Petor taking off another’s limb.

Petor cut him down as an axe swung over her head.

Valter got the edge of his shield up, diverting the blow, and getting torn to the side, a red line across his arm.

Mya’s round shot left his ears ringing, the axe-fighter’s joyful grin as he swung for the deathblow a gorey hole.

Desari blinked against the blood in her eye as Petor stabbed over her, catching a fighter in the side, mana flowed through his spear, green and black veins sucking it into his hand as she aged before his eyes, her face twisting in pain as she pulled the spear free.

A man slammed his shield into Valter as he got his feet set and stabbed at Mya, cutting her pistol arm, she slashed out at his hand, but he’d drawn his blade back too fast. Desari drove her sword up and into his side.

“Kill the bastards!” A mercenary with the Jorai yelled.

“Karenthal take me!”

“Guide my blade!”

The attackers eyes turned crazed as they redoubled their attacks, not caring for the wounds they took on. Defenders fell back in surprise.

Petor was pushed back. Valter could only defend with his shield, Mya’s arm dripped blood as she fought off sharpened iron with her sword.

Desari countered and gave ground.

Petor gritted his teeth, power flowing through his spear from every wound he inflicted. He sunk into a daze relying on muscle memories without the memories of gaining them. He stopped trying to control the fight, sinking into that place of actions and reactions. That place where muscle and sinew, training and experiences took over before his brain could ever think or process it.

There was a purity, a freedom there. He stopped fighting, reacting, he started to read.

He shifted his foot, bringing balance, turning his hand adjusting his grip, using the shaft of the spear to hit the enemy blade away, kicking out and pushing them back as he turned, lancing out with his spear and turning at the same time, piercing their armor, he withdrew it, painting the ground as he adjusted further.

The enemy piled in, using numbers to overwhelm.

His blows broke bones, his feet set in the ground. Spear met necks, tore through openings, shield used as protection as much as weapon.

Blows that would have dropped another man were turned and weathered.

Frustration built, fueling his calm, focused with his anger, his expression dulled as he fell upon memories buried in his body, defending and attacking, weaving them together his mind inwardly focused on finding that flow those connections, those learnings in between.

He stopped trying to think his way through it and let a lifetime of fighting carry him.

Fighters fell under his spear as he brought his breathing under control, linking it with his movements, everything a building block of lethality.

Instead of relying on his strength and reaction he used his skill with the spear.

His lungs clenched with silent cries, once learned, now remembered. Not wanting to give the enemy a single hint of his attacks, carving a bloody path.

He saw it now, the fear that filled the enemy’s mind, his own mind turned to battle, to bloodshed, honed and finely tuned.

Theirs despairing at what lay among them.

Valter’s bloodied shield arm straightened with a yell, throwing his attacker back, he stepped into the new space, his sword shot out like a smithy’s bellows and retracted with two different yells. He advanced with cold finality, not a single motion wasted, his body low to the ground, protected by his large shield.

Desari drew her sword up, smacking away a spear aimed at her neck she turned along the length of the spear, drawing it with her other hand to pull the wielder off balance as she cut their neck she parried a flurry of sword attacks, kicking her enemy’s knee out, slicing through their side as they fell. Then she was among them.

A wolf among chickens, her sword shimmered in the light. Petor caught only glances, categorizing his allies actions, sensing if they required help as he knew they watched him.

Petor continued his attacks, not allowing pause, not allowing the fatigue in, adjusting his actions as he moved. To slow was to invite weakness in.

“Come on now, I got plenty for all of yah fucking varmits!” Mya cackled, her pistol throwing up clouds of smoke around her, firing from her hip with her wounded arm. Her sword deflected attacks as she cackled and taunted.

The rain pelted them, dark clouds covering the mountain, the dirt turning into churned mud that sought to steal one’s boots and their stance. As deadly as an unseen blow.

Thunder pealed through the clouds.

Mya spun, storing one pistol, drawing a second replacement, cutting down a fighter with a savage blow and three others with her pistol.

She sheathed her sword and drew a second pistol, unleashing a hail of round shot.

Petor felt the air push against him as two passed him, hitting opponents he tried to ambush from the side.

His feet stuttered, his spear brought high and to the ready in a haze, looking for the next opponent. his spear dripped in blood, men and women panted, mercenaries and those guards marked by the church of Jorai.

He tensed, action and thought fighting with one another as he released a breath, holding back from attacking.

“To the walls!”

He turned a circle, checking the others.

Desari rose and flicked her sword, laying two lines of blood on the ground unimpressed. Bodies, blood and gore covered the cobblestones.

She pulled out a piece of cloth and cleaned her blade. Valter looked around, flicking his blade absently with the look that one might read tea leaves of fortunes with.

Petor stepped forward, stabbing the bottom of his spear into the mud and checked Valter’s wound. His eyes flicked over Petor and back to the wall.

Cheers rose from mercenaries and guard’s voices, fear turned into elation. Those that had expected to breathe their last, alive in a way few could understand.

“Flesh wound,” Petor pulled out ointment, covering the wound, followed with a bandage and wrapping.

His core had advanced about a quarter of the way to Red mixed with Orange.

“Will you stop moving around?” Desari muttered, grabbing onto Mya’s bloodied arm. She’d sheathed her sword and armed herself with bandages and ointment.

“What do you--?” Desari smacked Mya’s hand out of the way as she ripped up her sleeve.

“Hey!”

“It was already mostly open,” Desari put on ointment and bandaged.

“Bedside manner is like eighty percent of the reason people go to healers you know!” Mya complained.

“And the other twenty percent?” Valter asked, amused.

“Mortal injuries and stuff y’know,” Mya waved it off.

“Stop moving!”

“Hey! Sorry I’m interested,” Mya kept on trying to sneak looks at her wound that went through skin and muscle revealing the moving parts underneath.

A man cleared his voice behind Petor, he whirled around, reaching to draw his spear.

“I come in peace lad,” One of the mercenaries held up both his hands with a grin, rivulets of blood tinted water turning clear under the rain.

“Just wanted to say thanks, you lot saved our asses.” He said. “Name’s Ornell, my band’s called the riders of Cadenfell.” He waved to several others moving through the dead, or helping one another. They wore similar helmets, bronze armor and green tunics.

Petor shrugged. “No problem. I’m Petor of the four horsemen.”

“Lets get to the wall,” Desari said.

“We’ll catch up with you,” Ornell said.

“Good to meet you,” Petor tapped his hand to his head and moved after the others.

“Good luck!”

They ran after the guards, signs of fighting in the city drew them away as Desari led them towards the wall.

A house came apart in a spray of wood and stone, torn apart by a catapult’s payload.

Fires flickered and smoldered against the rain. The lower slums were little more than burnt out husks.

A section of the wall shattered from a catapult impact, spilling guards, priests and adventurers.

Desari took the wall stairs two at a time, slowing once she reached the top.

Petor followed the others. It rose above the houses, in the distance he could see the remains of the cathedral, the dust dissipating under the rain. Thunder rolled in the distance.

“Lord Jorai, bless thy warriors that stand as you do, a protection against coming tribulations.” A priest guard had his hands pressed to a point infront of his head towards the mountain.

He shuddered and stepped backward, sweat dripping from his face, there was more there was fear in his eyes.

Petor hurried past him, the guards and adventurers on the wall, glancing past them on his way towards Desari.

Guards talked in low worried whispers, praying to their lord Jorai.

Over the wall were farmlands that reached out to the verdant forest beyond. Burnt patches marred the nearby fields. Between them and the wall were two hastily made camps formed of trenches and the remains of farmhouses.

From them catapults released their last payloads. Rocks were brought up but weren’t loaded.

“Well, Fuck.” Desari pulled a map out.

“Fucking Tuesdays,” Mya agreed somberly, rested her foot on a nearby crate and drew out a spyglass, to study beyond the wall.

“What day is it?” Petor asked.

“I unno,” Mya shrugged.

“What are the burns?” Petor asked.

“The remains of a teleportation spell,” Desari replied absently.

“Something must have gone wrong, they should have attacked with the others that were at the gates and inside the city,” Valter scratched his chin.

“They got totems set up and Priests out there empowering the catapults, no wonder they have more range than the ones on the wall.” Mya’s voice stretched, distracted and looked at the wall.

“And the priests here aren’t getting any power even though they’re in their sanctified city.” Petor’s eyes narrowed.

The other gods needed totems here to act as points for their power to flow through to their priests. Jorai should have been able to imbue his people. That priest had a backlash for trying to call a blessing.

None of that really mattered.

Petor checked around him and pitched his voice low. “I’m not seeing a way for us to get out.”

“Got riders in their camp, ready to sally forth, far enough back that they’ll catch anyone that makes a move,” Valter grunted.

“Are you looking for something?” Mya asked Desari who was scanning a new parchment and then up at the mountains.

“Trying to figure out where we are.” She kept glancing, turning the map.

“Can I see?” Mya asked.

Desari looked at the map and her, passing it over.

“Just don’t rip it.”

“Don’t worry a hair on your head. Maps and me are kindred spirits,” Mya grinned as she unfolded the map reading it and handed it to Desari again. She drew out a sextant, moving the dials before licking her finger and raising it, taking in a deep breath and nodding.

“We’re in Soreli,” She pointed to a city on the map, putting her gear away. Desari folded the map back up to show the city.

“Just at the edge of the Rekouth mountain range,” Mya tipped her hat with a grin. “A navigator’s never lost.”

“They want something in that mountain and they’re willing to fight another god and his faithful for it,” Valter said.

“Might want something from him, but that’s no small army, at least five thousand each.  Best way to win against another god, decrease the number of faithful they can draw from,” Mya muttered.

“Fanatics are the kind of enemy you can only wipe out to the root,” Valter’s voice hardened.

More guards ran up the battlements and to their positions.

“Alright Adventurers head to the guild for your assignments, guards spread out to take their positions!” A woman yelled as she stalked down the back of the wall.

Those with the copper plates moved from the wall.

“Come on,” Desari said, leading them away from the wall.

“Gah, missed out on all the damn loot!” Mya grumbled.

“We’re in a city surrounded by armies and under siege, not many places that we can go to now. We need to keep a low profile,” Desari said. “We’ll blend in and once we find an opportunity we make a break for it.”

“Once the enemy gets through the wall and head’s deeper into the city they’ll be distracted,” Valter said.

“Hide away and then sneak out in the heat of the fighting,” Mya nodded.

“What about the people here?” Petor asked.

“Their god, their city, their problems,” Desari said. “First thing we have to do is get some adventurer tags and a place out of the way.”

They reached the stairs crowding with others in mismatched armors.