25 – A Girl Named Ash
"Here I come, and the hells come with me
Wreathed in flames that grow with my fury
And if I burn you will all burn with me" –Nalen Anthras, The Icewind Dale Saga
When Viconia and Imoen emerged from the gap between two huts and into a wider clearing the battle seemed to be winding down. Kagain was at the head of the little line of soldiers now, his ax slashing at the shields of a tight circle of hobgoblins that was losing ground fast. At either side of the dwarf stood Ajantis and Kivan, both splattered in blood and swinging hard at stragglers. In the close-quarter chaos Kivan had slung his bow and was once again wielding a long poleaxe. As terrifying as the elf could be with a bow, he seemed just as deadly if not more so with the ax; his blows had great weight behind them, and as Imoen watched she saw a meaty chunk of a hobgoblin fly off after a furious downward chop.
Glancing over Imoen saw that Viconia's eyes were on the night sky. Following the dark elf's gaze she caught sight of wide, billowing wings swooping down from above. Wind rushed against her face as the creature dove and sped over the nearby huts, its wingspan near the length of a cart and its body the size of a man. Though it was roughly the shape of a bat there was something sharp and unnatural about the creature's appearance; its fur coat was an onyx black that seemed to absorb the light, and Imoen was fairly certain she saw pinpricks of glowing red in its narrow eyes before it swept by. Viconia had summoned the creature moments before, and its fangs were already flecked with blood.
The great demonic bat twisted high into the air, then dove down upon the press of hobgoblins, rising a beat later with a squirming body between its jaws. It only lifted the kicking figure briefly before letting him plunge between his fellows, the body striking the ground with a sickening thump. The bat wheeled overhead briefly before tucking in for another dive.
A keening howl rose up across the battlefield, drawing Imoen's eyes past the remaining clump of hobgoblins. There between the huts came the largest worg she had ever seen, paws beating the earth at a full charge. It's coat was steel-grey, and atop the beast rode a hobgoblin with a bushy beard, billowing red cloak and a long spear leading the way. Behind the wolf a force of bandits and gnolls rushed to keep up.
Gods above and below! How many bloody bandits are there? Imoen's hand raced to one of her pockets and pulled out the wand of lightning they had pilfered from Silke. If there was any special occasion to use up the last charges it was now.
With a sharp crack-BOOM a streak of white lit the night, zipping through the air before her. As big a target as the worg made it was moving fast, and the bolt streaked just by its flank, the shot mistimed. Hot white sparks burst from the bodies of several of the warriors who were charging in behind the wolf, their limbs shuddering involuntarily. They fell to the dirt, smoking and convulsing, and behind the line of fallen humans and hobs flames rose from a hut where the path of the bolt had ended.
Blinking away the afterimage of the lightning Imoen followed the charging worg with her eyes and the sparkling end of the wand. Maybe she could hit him with the last charge-
Before she could shout out the wand's command-word a second time the tip of the leading hobgoblin's spear struck the first target it could reach: slipping past Kagain's shield as the dwarf turned and tried desperately to block. The steel at the tip of the spear punched through armor and flesh, and the oaken shaft bent as Kagain was lifted off the ground. For a horrifying moment that seemed to stretch and stretch Imoen watched her companion rise into the air on the end of the spear, which carried him along briefly before he fell away and slammed into the wall of a nearby hut. The force of Kagain's armored body crashing through the wall of hide snapped the support poles, and the whole thing collapsed on top of him with a groan and a flutter.
Not the first time I've seen him get impaled, Imoen reminded herself, fingers clenching tightly around the wand. Maybe. Just maybe. But alive or not he was on the other side of the battlefield and there was nothing she could do for him now. So instead she raised the wand, pointing at the hoard of oncoming bandits and searching for the thickest clump of the bastards she could find.
There was one more charge left, and not nearly enough of the camp was on fire.
Smoke, flame and singed leather parted before Ashura as she plunged through the gap and ran across the porch of Tazok's great dome. All around was searing heat, but sweat and fury protected her for the moment. She just had to push through fast. The moment she burst through the flames she felt the eyes of every archer upon her, twinges running across half-a-dozen points on her body where they were sighting, bowstrings taut.
She turned and twisted and ducked, pushing forward all the while. Smooth wood and sharp steel whistled by her cheekbone, the feathered fletching brushing her face. An arrow swished by beneath her left arm, and another grazed her right shoulder and bounced off the padded leather. Each step took her closer to the archers. Soon her swords would matter far more than their arrows.
More eyes. More bows being drawn. She hopped to the side to avoid a shot at her thigh. She bent her back just enough to wriggle away from an arrow aimed at her gut. Her shoulder-
The warning was there but she didn't move fast enough. Instead of whistling wind there was white-hot pain as steel bit into her left shoulder. A familiar sensation followed: the sudden wobbling as her legs went limp and useless beneath her. She managed a nerveless step forward before her feet fell away and her knees hit the ground. It was just like the time Imoen had shot her. Shot her and hit something vital.
Before she tumbled all the way forward pain bloomed from a different spot, the breath nearly punched out of her as an arrow struck her stomach. Fuck!
Ashura dropped to hands and knees, her swords clattering upon the dirt. Behind her the fire of the great domed tent was roaring, crisp furnace-winds lashing at her back. Before her bristled more arrows than she could count through her blurred vision. She only saw one of the archers clearly: Credus' boyish face was split ear-to-ear with a satisfied grin and he was taking aim, lit by the flames.
No way.
With all the strength she had left Ashura lifted her empty hand. No way am I letting that little shit be the one who kills me.
Compared to the light put off by the flames the white-blue glow of the ghostfire was nothing. Credus only noticed it when the light shot from Ashura's hand and struck him, his eyes bulging in shock and pain. Frantically Credus grasped at his chest and fumbled there, feeling his vitality yanked away, piece by piece, along a tendril of white light. Ashura felt it all as she greedily pulled it to her: her enemy's waning strength, his fading will, his hammering heartbeat. And his fear.
Fear. Yes. You bastards will learn to fear me.
With new vigor flowing through her Ashura pushed to her feet, and as Credus's heart fluttered and stopped she stretched her other hand out, found another target and lashed out with a second blast of ghostfire. It struck a hobgoblin; a thick, strong creature who was tough enough to keep drawing breath after she had pulled what life she could from him. The blast just knocked him back and sent him stumbling.
Still, what a fine dish his stolen strength made. Her regenerating wounds pushed the arrows out as they closed, and with swords once more in hand Ashura shot to her feet. Arrows were drawn but for the moment she felt no aim upon her; the power she had used had given the archers pause, and a collective gasp rose from the ring of men and women.
She took a step forward, then another, feeling the waves of heat follow her. From somewhere deep inside waves of a different sort arose; cold and sharp and driven out by her fury. She could feel them radiating from her body, see the shimmer in the air about her. And beyond that she could see the effect on her enemies. As she marched towards them they stepped back, gasping, and then recoiling. Her steps quickened.
Yes.
Some of the archers turned away. Others dropped their bows.
You bastards…
Some began to run. Others screamed and covered their eyes. She sprinted now, her swords behind her as she readied to strike, propelled by the strength she had stolen from Credus and by the turning tide as her enemies cowered before her. But more than anything she was pushed on by red-hot, blood-thirsty rage.
...will learn to fear me!
The first man she reached had turned to flee, and she closed the distance with a leap and a slash of her left-hand sword. Her momentum, the keen blade of the magical weapon, and the angle of the slash all conspired to slice through the back of the man's neck, cleaving through muscle and sinew and bone and out the other side with a spurt of red. The slash sent his head rolling off his shoulders, and the wave of panic grew.
A chaotic flurry of stabs and slashes and hysterical screams followed. Bodies hit the earth, one after the other, stabbed through the back or grasping at gaping wounds. In the end as Ashura charged towards the sounds of battle in the distance and the roaring melee nearby there were six dead or dying bandits in her wake and about as many fleeing into the darkness and fire before her.
Screams of terror pricked at Ardenor Crush's ears, pulling his attention away from the dying Flaming Fist soldier he had just speared. What in the name of Maglubiyet was happening at the back ranks? With a yank and a torrent of blood he pulled his weapon free, and a simple squeeze of his thighs brought his worg around. As he turned he raised his broad wooden shield up, covering the side that faced the enemy force.
He was glad for the reflexive precaution when an arrow flew in and stuck into the wood, rattling his shield arm. The enemy force didn't seem to have many archers but the redhead he had spotted in their ranks was relentless with her arrows.
The panicked wails of his soldiers were growing steadily closer, and as Ardenor turned he could see the source of the chaos. A woman in a plumed helmet was pushing her way through the ranks. He watched as arrows flew at her, one after the other, and she casually ducked beneath them and charged on. Soldiers tried to press in close to her after the bows missed, but the moment they neared her supernatural fear seemed to roll through their ranks, making many cower and flee. As Crush pressed his worg forward he saw one man shake the terror off and slash out with his sword, exchanging a few brief blows with the woman before she managed to catch him with a high guard and skewer him with a lunge all at once.
Shimmering waves rose from the woman's body much like traces of heat, though when one of the waves stuck Ardenor it sent ice through his veins. It was a familiar effect; a power he had seen employed many times by creatures from the lower planes. Many devils and demons, even minor ones, could radiate supernatural fear as they stalked a battlefield.
Trotting closer, Ardenor recognized the woman now; her black hair and icy blue eyes. Ash. The new recruit. Did she carry some sort of demon blood within her?
His mount rocked uncomfortably beneath him, bathed in the icy waves, but the hobgoblin simply pressed on and ignored the effect. It wasn't true fear, just an infernal trick. He had faced far worse, and mastered his senses and emotions long ago.
Aiming his spear at the approaching woman's chest Ardenor Crush snarled. "Traitor!"
"Slaver!" she barked right back. "Murderer! Your little band kills my friends and takes me prisoner and you expect loyalty?" The waves of fear seemed to be emanating from the woman's eyes, and despite their icy color Crush couldn't help but think that they were burning. Reflections of the dancing flames, perhaps.
Turning his mount a bit Crush tried to circle his foe. "Expect a bit of gratitude. We spared your life, after all. But what's give can be taken away!" With that he kicked his worg and closed the last few paces between them in a charge, baring down with his sturdy oaken spear.
Ash was a blur of leather and steel, dancing out of his way as swiftly as she had danced from flying arrows. The worg let out an ear-piercing cry as they passed and one of Ash's swords bit into its side. It lurched and bucked but stayed on its feet, paws skidded through the dirt before it whirled and turned to face the woman again, haunches close to the flames of a burning tent.
Crush aimed his spear once again but Ash didn't wait for the second charge. Instead she pitched her head forward and sprinted towards him, heedless of the sharpened steel pointed at her chest and the great wolf baring its teeth at her. With a kick Crush launched his mount forward again, but they had just begun to move when Ash closed the distance and leapt, clearing the snapping jaws of the worg and stomping on its head as she elbowed the shaft of the spear aside.
Steel bit into splintering wood as Ash's sword caught on Crush's shield. Their bodies collided and he let his spear fall away, kicking, punching and struggling for purchase before his hand went to the hilt of his sword and drew. He had barely managed to slip the weapon free when the bucking mount beneath them sent them both tumbled from its back.
As they fell Crush turned and twisted, and Ash took the brunt of it when they smashed against the ground. He tried to make it count by driving the pommel of his sword down into her face. There was a satisfying crack and a stream of blood from her nose, but it didn't seem to give his enemy pause. Within the next breath she delivered a blow with her own pommel before she managed to press both feet against his chest and kick him back. Crush rolled with the kick and onto his feet, rocking back on his heels and steadying himself. Ash was on her feet just as quickly, oblivious to the pain of the fall or her broken nose.
Some sort of berserker, he thought as he looked into her wildly burning eyes and got into a guarded stance, sword and shield ready. His scale armor was dented and torn open in a few places where her swords had bit in during their wild struggle atop the worg, and he could feel blood trickling from the shallow wounds. She won't feel any of this until the battle's over.
A deep intake of breath and then Ash simply launched herself at him, a flurry of lashing blades. Crush tried to turn and outmaneuver her, maybe catch her with a blow from his shield and get her off balance, but she was just too bloody fast. More and more he found himself backing and circling, pieces of his shield falling away as he fought defensively.
For a moment it seemed things would change when the woman's back turned towards the prowling worg, but as the wolf lunged forward and snapped its teeth at Ash she repelled it with her lefthand sword, drawing a red line across its snout as it whimpered and scuttled back. The worg even tucked her tail between her legs as she disengaged, perhaps overwhelmed by the magical fear at last.
Crush tried to take advantage of the distraction, delivering several fierce overhand blows, but Ash knocked each aside. It seemed she could attack on one side and parry on the other readily enough. It won't last though. He'd fought many a berserker before. He could wear her down, wait till her blood cooled, and then-
Instinctively Crush raised his shield and tilted his body a bit at the sound of a nearby bow creaking. He moved just in time to block the arrow, which struck his shield with a thunk. Ash pressed in to take advantage, launching another flurry of blows, but with a steady hand and focused will Crush batted each away. He managed to retort with a counter-blow across the edge of one of her blades that nearly caught Ash full in the face, the woman turning her head just in time. One of the straps that held her helmet on tore loose and the helmet tumbled from her head, a gash welling up along her cheek as her sweat-slicked hair tumbled free.
That gave her pause, and now it was Crush's turn to press the advantage. He braced his shield, raised his sword, preparing for a series of feints and overhand blows.
The thump of a crossbow and a sudden explosion of pain in his shoulder ended all hope of that. His charge became a stumble and bent scales flew as Ash hacked a swath across his chest. The next few blows rang against his sword and shattered shield. As he backed away from his opponent he tried to take in the battlefield with a quick glance.
The red-haired girl was closing in on the right, her bow leading the way and another arrow knocked. Behind her were perhaps two other warriors, neither of them his own. To his left Garrick, the other traitor, approached, reloading his crossbow.
And in front Ash was advancing, blood dripping from her blades and the fire still burning in her eyes. The worg was behind him now, and Ardenor knew that if he could leap atop it he could send the mount bolting over the fiery debris and escape. It suddenly seemed the only option; the only way he could see out of this tightening noose, for although he had shrugged off Ash's power easily enough, for the first time in years Ardenor Crush knew fear.
With a clatter Lieutenant Vai sank to the ground, her back resting against the wall of one of the bandit huts and her head light from blood loss. Wheezing, ragged breaths issued from her mouth as she pointed her sword out in front of her. It was a strain just to hold the damn thing up; she doubted she could swing it.
But perhaps she wouldn't have to.
Randal and Thavin –two of her soldiers- were still upright and fighting back-to-back, and there only seemed to be two enemies left trading blows with them. When the tide of battle had separated them from the others and Lesya had gone down with a spear through her eye it had seemed that they would be making a final stand against the wall of the hut. Now the hoard had evaporated.
Perhaps the battle was going well elsewhere and the enemy was fleeing. Perhaps there had been fewer than Vai had first guessed in all the chaos, and the four bandits she had managed to kill before taking a deep stab in the thigh had done more good than she would have thought.
Regardless, it would all be over soon. One way or another.
A gnoll with dark, amber-speckled fur swung its greatax at Thavin, breaking through the man's shield with a crunch that shattered wood and bit deep into the arm beneath. Thavin stumbled forward, in obvious agony, but with gritted teeth he managed to keep gripping his sword. The stumble became a sloppy lunge, and before the gnoll noticed that its ax-swing had left its body open Thavin's sword plunged deep into its sternum.
Both the gnoll and the Flaming Fist struggled for a time to stay on their feet, but the gnoll seemed to have gotten the worse of it, and its ax fell from nerveless claws. For several moments it snarled and growled at the man who had impaled it, until a slash from Randal's sword finally silenced the creature.
Randal had finished his opponent a breath ago, and that seemed to be the last of them, though screams and shouts could be heard on the other side of the camp. All three Flaming Fists drew a momentary sigh of relief, the two battered soldiers turning towards their superior. Thavin's arm looked bad and unnaturally bent, though Jessa guessed that she was the most in need of healing. Her armor felt impossibly heavy and her head felt as if it was trying to break free and float away. Perhaps that paladin from Waterdeep had a little healing magic left. If they could find him.
A great black shape swooped from the darkness and collided with Thavin, enveloping and lifting him with grasping claws and swishing wings. The warrior and the creature spiraled up into the darkness, faster than Vai's eyes could follow.
Randal turned towards the direction the monstrous thing had swooped in from, and at the same time a throwing disk flew from the opposite side, burying itself deep in the back of his calf. As Randal wobbled in shock and fell his companion plummeted from the darkness, striking the nearby earth with limp limbs and a metallic clang. The body of the bat followed, crashing into a pile of barrels where its wings beat once before going still. In an instant the bat's body dissolved into inky darkness, breaking apart and fading to nothing.
Thavin was very still, and before Randal could stand a figure leapt from the shadows nearby, a tan cloak billowing out behind her. As Randal gave the newcomer a dazed look and tried to raise his sword, the woman slammed her mace into his hand and sent it clattering away. The next blow knocked him onto his back.
The dark elf! Vai realized, scowling.
Viconia pulled her mace aside, and a red glow enveloped her other hand. Without hesitation she drove her glowing palm downwards and into Randal's face. Vai heard an ugly crackle from where she lay and saw the soldier's legs spasm and kick for a moment before they settled to the ground. Rising, Viconia shook her head and turned towards Vai, stomping forward.
"Did you think I had forgotten what you nearly did to me?" Viconia hisses as she stepped within striking distance. "You would have hanged me. Simply for what I am." Vai's sword was as easily batted away as Randal's had been. The drow's violet eyes where narrow slits, glaring right into Vai's. "Did you think I would forgive?"
All Vai could manage to do was shake her head.
"Then I hope you enjoyed the time my healing afforded you. I did give you your life. But now that I have the opportunity…" Viconia dropped her mace and a red nimbus flickered into being across both of her hands. "…I am taking it back." The hellish glow grew brighter and brighter, filling Vai's vision as the drow's fingers wrapped around her neck.
For the third time in a tenday Kagain awakened feeling like his insides had been ripped out, used in a game of treasure-seeker by a band of imps, and then stuffed back in by a blind gnome. Every muscle was knotted and aching, every square inch of his skin felt bruised and tender, and his throat was as dry as the Anauroch. Still, it wasn't as bad as some hangovers he had woken up to, and way better than being dead.
After rubbing his eyes and blinking a bit his vision slowly adjusted to the dim light. It was dawn or close to it, and he was sitting atop the collapsed wall of a hut, the caved-in ceiling near his head. Thankfully it was not one of the huts that the redhead had set on fire. Smoke still hung thick in the air, along with all sorts of other nasty smells, but there were no nearby moans or sounds of movement. He seemed to be alone.
Next Kagain reached down and carefully touched his chest, assessing the damage. He had a fuzzy memory of a spear-strike delivered by a worg-riding hobgoblin and followed by a short flight, then a bone-jarring crash. Fortunately the tip of the spear had missed his heart (well, it wasn't entirely luck, since he had twisted his body to keep the damn thing away from that spot.) His armor was just about useless now, gaping at the chest over a black splotch of crusted blood and tender flesh. In a few days that spot would just be a faint scar though.
Kagain allowed himself a slight smile as he got to his feet, the tip of his gloved thumb rubbing against the spot on his forefinger where the ring of regeneration rested. Best damn investment I ever made. Especially considering the fact that he hadn't paid a single copper for it.
The ring had been sitting on the mummified finger of some dead Illuskan king, doing the corpse no good. As soon as the sarcophagus had been pulled open the little adventuring band Kagain had been running with had started arguing over the king's treasure, especially the ring, but before they could resolve anything three false walls had swung open and a legion of undead berserkers had come spilling out. In the ensuing chaos Kagain had snatched the ring up and slipped it on, and when he had awakened in a pile of shattered bones sometime later, relatively whole, he was glad that he had. His companions hadn't been so lucky (poor sods,) but on the plus side dividing loot when you're the only survivor is pretty easy. The ring had served him well ever since, helping him regenerate his way out of a lot of nasty situations.
Finding his ax and getting to his feet, Kagain cautiously looked around the tent before poking his head outside. No movement; nothing but smoldering ashes, sprawled out bodies and broken crates. Maybe his companions had moved on. He kind of hoped so. This whole venture had been way too much trouble.
Taking each step slowly and carefully Kagain walked out into the open and began to explore the desolate camp. This was where all the stolen caravan goods had gone. There had to be something of value left. Gradually his scavenging was rewarded, first with a few gems here and there, and then with a half-full cask of ale he was grateful to draw from.
Ah, ale. It was about bloody time he found some.
A little while later he hit the motherload, in the ashes of the great ruin at the center of the camp. Despite the fire most of the chests were intact, and there were more than enough fine pieces of jewelry to carry. Some even appeared to be enchanted. There was nothing near as valuable looking as the ring on Kagain's finger, and he guessed someone had already picked through the treasure pile (the lack of platinum coins was a dead giveaway, though he found a few near the bottom of a chest.)
Still, he guessed the haul was at least worth enough to live off of for a good long while. Maybe he could even start up a new business, preferably somewhere far away from the bloody coast. As he wrapped up his collection of gems and jewelry in a large pack and secured it to his back he pondered which direction go from here.
Iraebor would probably be best. It was a nice, seedy place where he could pawn this stuff off without anyone asking questions. As he set off towards the east there was still no trace of life in the camp, and no sign of his companions, living or dead.
He didn't particularly care. At least he had finally made a profit.
Author's Note: If you've ever played Neverwinter Nights: Hoards of the Underdark you might remember the music that played during the giant battle scene, with lots of driving wardrums and blaring horns. The feel that music creates was what I was aspiring to when I wrote some of the big battle scenes in this and earlier chapters, or at least it was playing in my head when I wrote them. That and the Crossroads Keep siege theme from Neverwinter Nights 2. Great music.
And 'Here I come and the hells come with me,' is one of the battle cries from the game Icewind Dale.
Also Kyn: You were right that Ashura's thought in the previous chapter didn't quite fit. It was more of an 'old, grizzled adventurer' thing to say, and I ended up changing the line slightly. Really appreciate everyone's reviews!