Chapter Eighty-Five: The Battle for Wayrest, Part Four

Chapter Eighty-Five: The Battle for Wayrest, Part Four

Tom ran for all he was worth once more, straight into the gap Val had sown in the ranks of the orc army. Already, he could see the more densely packed orcs, towards the centre of the army, flowing to fill it. Second by second, it narrowed. Soon, it would be closed.

His foot slipped in a patch of blood- orc or human, he couldnt tell- and he fell to one knee. He snarled in frustration. A momentary delay could make the difference between being able to fight through to the Smith to join his mother and Val and Rosa, or being cut off, unable to help, fighting regular orcs and the odd Idealist with the rest of the Hunters.

As Tom pushed himself back to his feet, he caught a glimpse of the summer sky, incongruously blue when all around him was a sea of seething, rust red flesh. Instructor Glass and the Lord of Blood were still fighting, the Hunter far more powerful, especially with his dragon familiar, but the ageing Instructor far more nimble.

Tom wrenched his vision back down, fixing it ahead. The gap had closed. Hunters were trying to keep the path clear, fighting valiantly against the orcs, but it was a losing proposition. The orcs had the greater numbers by far. Their only hope was to kill the Smith quickly, rob them of their leadership, and throw them into chaos.

Tom needed to get there. He needed to help. Although there were ranks of orcs in between him and the now-embattled group that had broken through, he might be able to make it still. A determined charge could break through again. And he had just the thing.

Ready, Tom. Always ready, Sesame sent, steady as a boulder. Lets go.

Tom and Sesame picked up speed. The bear had his armour on, but not his tack, and Tom was beginning to regret it. He had not had enough time to learn how to ride before the battle, and it was a foolish idea to split their already tiny force and mount a cavalry charge when only perhaps six or seven of the Hunters had familiars that could be ridden anyway.

Right now, it would be the perfect thing to smash a hole through to the centre. Tom banished the thought. Sesame was already a wrecking ball. They would be fine. They just had to hurry.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he felt a strange, abrasive feeling wash over him. He immediately felt very slightly weaker, slightly slower. Luckily, the buffs from his poisons and from the other Hunters were still running strong, and they allowed him a split second reaction to lean backwards at the waist and avoid a thrown rock.

It had come from his right, and a quick glance showed him the head of an orc to his left exploding in a cloud of pink mist.

Tom skidded, turned and braced, his training, enhanced reflexes, and aerial view from Sere all coming together. Another rock whizzed past in front of him, disappearing into the crush.

Tom faced a massive orc. It was not so big as the chieftain, but was clearly a forged Idealist. It stalked towards him, a crude satchel of rocks at one hip. In one hand, it palmed another fist sized stone. In the other, it held a chipped sword. It looked more like a long dagger in the beasts grip.

Its form appeared to stutter, and two things happened at once: a rock was suddenly rocketing through the air towards his head, and the orc was suddenly ten feet to the right, and slightly closer.

Tom leant sideways, quick as a whip, and the rock sailed harmlessly past again.

Whatever Ideal this orc had, it was dangerous. Whatever debuff it had placed on him had not triggered Sweet Suffering, but Tom barely even considered it. All he knew was that it was slowing him down. He would not allow it.

He waited, relaxed, ready. Another rock came, another stutter-step. Tom immediately dodged again, and cast Hush. Two of Seres bodies flapped at the orcs face, distracting it, and by the time it had cleared them away, he had closed with it.

Tom struck out with his spear, recovered after his fight with the chieftain, and stabbed deep into the surprised orcs hip. It let out a silent roar of anguish, and swung its sword at him wildly, forcing him back.

A moment later, it had disappeared. Sesame, who had been lumbering up behind it, skidded to a stop. Sere picked the orc up again for him. It had reappeared a short distance away, to their right, back towards the rear of the army.

The orc must have had some skill to shorten the effect of debuffs on itself. Tom was torn. It would be utterly foolish to leave this enemy at his back while he ran, and yet everything in him screamed to make it to the Smith as fast as possible.

He compromised. Sus and Sol dove from the air, plummeting towards the orc, talons outstretched. Tom waited, trying to act as though he was simply preparing to dodge another stone.

The owls impacted, a split second apart from each other. The orc staggered, and the two owls wheeled back into the sky. Great gashes lay open, glistening, all over the orcs neck and chest and shoulders.

Tom looked further afield, trying to find some sort of hope to salvage the day. What he saw surprised him.

One of the siege orcs had fallen. Tom could just barely make out its massive, prone form, almost buried under regular orcs as they strained to get at the walls, but it was definitely dead. How?

The other, still alive, provided the answer. Several Watchmen were attacking it. The massive creature roared and swatted at them, but the Watch were chosen specifically for speed and precision, and their training only reinforced it. They flitted about, teleporting around the massive orc with an eclectic mix of skills, lashing out at it whenever one of their fellows distracted it. Several more Watchmen slaughtered regular orcs, or engaged Idealists, nearby, desperately trying to give their comrades enough time to pull down the living siege engine.

Not all was lost then. If only Tom could see some way to-

A scream tore the sky. Toms head jerked up. Instructor Glass and the Lord of Blood were still fighting, but it looked set to reach a conclusion sooner rather than later. The scream had been a scream of pain. The dragon was not in good shape.

The dragons flanks were slick with blood. It was difficult to tell, given the colour of its scales, but the owls could see the rivulets running down its hide from its wounds and raining from it as they fought.

Instructor Glass was a demon. Her face was set in a grim smile, though several new cuts leaked red down her wrinkled visage. She smote the dragon, over and over, with her enormous glass sword. Everytime she struck it, where it cut, it would compact, shrinking, pulling together, dragging and pushing shards of glass into the wounds it sliced open. Once it passed, it would reform and lengthen, drawing more mass from Glass glittering shroud.

The Lord of Blood looked pale. His face was furious. Whips and beams and bolts of blood sprayed from him, but most were deflected by overlapping panes of translucent material. After another few failed attacks, the dragon turned, and dove back towards the army.

No! Tom thought. Dont let it heal again!

But Glass was not an Instructor at the Academy because she was stupid. As the dragon dove, she flung herself after it. And as the dragon raised its massive, horned head, preparing itself to exsanguinate another thousand orcs to fuel its outrageous regeneration, she struck.

The glass sword fell on its arched neck from behind. As before, the sword began to compress, pulling in on itself, seeming to grow smaller, driving shards of glass into the beasts hide, burrowing between its scales.

It screamed as innumerable shards sunk into the soft underside of its neck, but the sound was abortive. It was a reflexive action, one made by a beast that threatened his city and belonged to an evil man, but Tom couldnt help but cringe anyway. The movement would have sent glass all up and down the interior of its throat.

The dragon, poised to swoop low over the orc army again, lost control of its flight. It crashed into the ground, ploughing a furrow through their ranks, sending orcs tumbling through the air before it like toys. Its sheer mass and momentum must have killed almost as many orcs in death as it did in life.

It gave a few, feeble screeches, and then suddenly collapsed in on itself. Red dust and disappearing motes of rusty red light were all that remained. It was dead.

Tom looked for Glass, and saw her dropping to the earth too. She looked so tiny, falling from the sky. Tom swore she looked relieved, as she fell. Pleased even. It made him glad.

She must have spent herself utterly to take down the Lord and his dragon. A control skill allowing her to puppet such an outrageous quantity of material must have been ruinously expensive. She had no mana left to keep herself in the air.

Tom had immediately sent Sus and Sol to try and intercept her when he saw her fall. There was no way they would make it. No chance at all.

She fell, and landed in among the orcs. She was buried in an instant. Tom sent a prayer to Goddess for her soul.

An instant later, orcs began to fall too. Not from the sky, but definitely to the ground. All around him, all in front of him, they slumped, keeling over.

It took Tom a second to understand. An orc just ahead of him toppled onto its front, a shard of glass a foot long lodged in its spine.

He looked up. The way was clear. In front of him, he could see his mother, Rosa, Val, Errol, and Cass, and more, immobilised somehow. The Smith stood, unharmed.

Glass had reopened the path. Tom intended to run it.