Ko'kal gently placed another of the wounded beside Galen, whose healing hands were hard at work knitting flesh and breathing life back into flagging limbs. The paladin was being assisted by Dana and Warriv, who had assembled what remained of the caravan's healing supplies. Teamsters were helping guardsmen collect the bodies of their fallen comrades for burial, while clearing the camp of the enemy's remains.
"That's the last of the wounded," the barbarian grunted. "Everyone else is either dead or hale enough to get by with a few bandages."
"Thank you, blood brother," Galen replied. "What about your wounds?"
"Lots of 'em, but none too serious."
"Ko'kal, your face," The paladin exclaimed at seeing his companion's burns and milky eye.
"It can wait. Tend to the gravely injured first."
"You could lose your eye if you let it scar," Galen insisted. "I'll see to it as soon as there's no one left in critical condition. In the meantime, grab a potion from Warriv."
The northman complied and took a healing salve from the caravan master who was distributing them to those in urgent need while Dana dressed shallower cuts with medicinal herbs. The mood around camp was dour. Downing the crimson vial, he watched as dead foes were being dragged away to the side.
"What were those things?" he asked. "I've never seen creatures like them."
"The tall ones are sand raiders," the amazon answered. "Their kind is infamous for marauding along the trade routes in these parts."
"The sultans have tried to stamp them out for centuries, to no avail," confirmed Warriv. "After every raid they vanish back into the wastes before any retaliation can be mounted. There are many cities lost to the sands of time in Aranoch, and with each one the desert reclaims the raiders gain a new hideout. Still, for them to attack so brazenly, and in such numbers…"
"What's more surprising to me is that they've somehow allied with the Lacuni," Dana added. "The catfolk have never acted with such open hostility towards humans before, not even to rob caravans."
"This was no mere raiding party," Galen retorted, his harsh tone in stark contrast to the balm-like white radiance that emanated from him. "This was a coordinated assault. None of this is a coincidence, it reeks of the influence of Hell."
"You mean to say Diablo has managed to corrupt two entire races in such a short span of time?" Ko'kal said doubtfully.
"Maybe there's some truth to the old legends about the Lacuni," the Askari replied. "Perhaps they were once amazons who turned to a Lesser Evil for a promise of supernatural agility, and have been indebted to Hell ever since."
"The story of the raiders is not dissimilar," Cain interjected as he approached with Talia at his side. "They were men once, long ago; a warlike people that did not grow crops or raise livestock, but lived off pillage and plunder. War was their trade and their livelihood, but they yearned for more: they wished to become conquerors, and so made a pact with the fell powers that transformed them into what you see now."
"Bigger, stronger, better suited to the desert," continued the sorceress, "not to mention able to wield twice as many weapons as other warriors. They swept across Aranoch like a plague of locusts, and only the power of the Vizjerei was able to drive them back. My father told me stories about them."
"So the demon lords' puppets are rising in the wake of their masters' return," the paladin mused as he moved to yet another patient. "We should strike out as soon as everyone has recovered. There's no telling when the enemy will come back with reinforcements."
"But how?" the caravan master protested. "Most of our wagons are wrecked and we can't pull the ones that are left without beasts."
"I'll take care of it," Dana volunteered. "There's bound to be a few that haven't wandered too far, and their tracks should still be fresh enough for me to follow."
"Take some men with you, our foes might yet be lurking about," Galen told her as he rose to place his hand on the barbarian's burns to finish healing them. "Ko'kal, go with her."
The northman grunted in affirmation. The paladin's ministrations were soon finished, and he was glad to discover his depth perception was back. Shouldering his axe, he made his way to the amazon who was already mustering a small force for her foray.
"I'll go make an inventory of our remaining supplies," Warriv offered. "Much of it was burned, but we can pick up more in Mafqud."
"If there's a Mafqud left," Talia said worriedly.
"The sultan's men will have fallen back there to defend it," he asserted. "That must be why we haven't seen any patrols on the road."
"Then we have to get there as soon as possible," Galen declared. "We won't survive another assault like that."
There were worried looks among the wounded around him, and he felt the man he was tending to become a little agitated. Warriv spoke again in a reassuring manner, and though his eyes were on the paladin, the words were clearly not meant for him.
"Take heart! We should reach the village within the day, and with it, safety. Razan!" The youngest of his teamsters, who also seemed to be his protégé, popped his head from behind Talia. "Stop hovering around the womenfolk and come help me with the supplies, boy."
The sorceress giggled as Razan turned red under her gaze and rushed to his employer's side. With an indulgent smile the latter placed his hand on the youth's shoulder and led him to one of the intact wagons.
"I'm glad there's yet some cheer to be found in this caravan," Galen said as the pair walked away. "It was a long and bloody night."
"But we've outlasted it," Cain retorted, "and many yet live to see a new day thanks to you."
The paladin looked at the faces around him and saw only gratitude. Having finished healing his last patient, he rose to his feet.
"Get some rest, men," he suggested. "You've earned it. It will be some time before we're ready to move again."
Four mules and three horses. That was what Dana had returned with. It was enough to pull three wagons and leave her with a mount, which she used to scout ahead of the diminished caravan as it limped its way east again. Much had been left behind, but what could be salvaged of supplies and belongings was divided among the lead and middle wagons, while the third bore Deckard Cain and those who had not yet fully recovered from their wounds. The rest of the crew walked in the middle whilst the guardsmen marched in two parallel formations on the wings.
The sun climbed steadily up in the sky, beating down with increasing ardor on the stubborn procession and blinding the amazon as she played lookout. It was at its zenith when she finally spied something in the far distance, though it was hard to make out with the way the heat distorted the horizon. It looked like a cluster of low shapes sprawled over a wide area. Deciding it must be their destination, she allowed herself a sigh of relief as a westerly wind picked up around her, and she pushed her steed forward again.
Hours crawled by as the caravan single-mindedly trudged along the Rakkisroad, flotsam adrift in a seemingly endless ocean of sand. Man and beast were drenched in sweat, yet none of the armed escort dared take off a single piece of armor for fear of another attack. Thankfully, the sun grew less fierce as it followed its arc westward, and the wind blew stronger, taking the edge off the heat. It wasn't too long before Dana could clearly distinguish the outline of houses. Narrowing her eyes, she spotted movement among the buildings; slow, overt, unhurried. The sort of thing you would expect from villagers going about their business. Scanning the surroundings, she could see no hint of any enemies lying in wait.
Eager to share the good news, she turned her horse around to ride back to the others, but her eyes grew wide as they met the western horizon. She spurred her horse into a gallop with a kick and a yell, pushing it forward as fast as it would go.
Warriv, who drove the lead wagon, was the first to see her coming, and her frantic speed did not bode well.
"Sir knight!" he called to Galen, drawing his attention to the incoming amazon.
"To me!" The paladin called as he ran forward, thinking to meet whatever threat was on Dana's tail. Ko'kal and the men-at-arms rushed to his side, forming on him with the same intent.
"Pick up the pace!" the amazon cried as she rode up and pointed behind them. "We need to reach the village before it hits. Hurry!"
They all turned around the see what had spooked her so, and their hearts sank. The western horizon was a moving wall of sand that swallowed everything in its path as it rolled towards them at a terrifying pace.
"MOVE!" Warriv shouted at the top of his lungs, and everyone burst into action at the sight of the onrushing sandstorm.
The teamsters drove their already tired beasts harder, while others helped push the wagons along and Dana resumed her scouting duties.
"Why the panic?" the barbarian asked as he perfunctorily began to shove the lead wagon, which was the most heavily loaded, alongside the paladin. "It's just sand."
"That sand can bury you alive," Warriv snapped. "Or even flay the skin from your flesh."
"And we don't want to get caught out in the open," Galen continued. "Not with enemies lurking about. Put your back into it!"
The caravan pushed desperately onwards in a symphony of whinnies, grunts, and squeaking wood, but the further they got the more the wind picked up speed. Time seemed to shift like the sands, stretching impossibly as though they were caught in some Sisyphean task that would never end. Every muscle ached and every breath was labored as the desert begrudged them each step towards the distant village. Only the paladin's aura of might and vigor sustained them through their herculean effort…that, and the encroaching sense of doom.
Onwards and onwards they had pushed, closer and closer to their destination, but they could not outrun the wind. They were at the outskirts of Mafqud when the storm caught up to them. The world around them suddenly turned dark and orange as a maelstrom of sound and fury lashed their every sense. Their momentum faltered as they struggled to see, hear, or even breathe anything beyond sand.
"Stay close together!" Galen shouted amidst the chaos, hoping the others could hear him. He tried to spy the rear wagon but could barely see past the sand that stung his eyes. He and Ko'kal pressed on blindly, doing their best to push forward in a straight line.
Dana had ridden ahead to announce their arrival and potentially secure much needed shelter. She doubted she would find any of the villagers still milling about in the middle of a sandstorm, but she meant to knock at every door she came across until someone deigned to answer.
To her surprise she soon stumbled upon silhouettes shambling about, in that same unhurried pace she had spied from a distance, as though they were out on a stroll. She spurred her mount nearer the closest one, shouting a greeting over the deafening wind.
"Hail there, friend! Why are you still outdoors?"
The figure turned its head towards her unnaturally, as through it had suddenly been roused from a daze. The Amazon barely had time to register her instincts screaming at her before the thing lunged with a mournful wail. Her horse reared up and threw her to the ground, galloping away in a panic, though it did distract her assailant for but a moment. She recovered her breath just in time to put up the shaft of her spear as a barrier against the clawing hands and rotting teeth seeking her flesh. She kicked her opponent away and jumped to her feet.
The creature before her might have been a villager once, judging by its rags, but it was now nothing more than a mockery of life; it lunged again, but its attack was met with the flaming tip of her spear, skewering it and setting it ablaze. Its dying wail was swallowed up by the deafening wind, but other silhouettes were closing in, and by their gait the amazon could tell they too were undead; she kicked the lifeless corpse off her weapon and darted back to the caravans to warn the others.
Said others were still trudging ahead, heedless of any other danger than the swirling sands that threatened to engulf them. Talia and Cyrus had been assigned to reinforce the guardsmen on the flanks, the former on the right, the latter on the left. Almost simultaneously, the monotony of their respective vigils was broken by sudden movement and screams that were barely heard over the wind before being cut short. The escort stopped as few pikemen disappeared or fell dead before they knew what hit them.
"To arms!" the cry went up from several throats, but many parts of the procession could not hear it over the roiling tempest.
The guards raised their weapons to defend themselves; shadows moved just beyond sight, flowing with the storm as though they were part of it. They struck in a flash and moved away before any retaliation could be mustered. One of the shadows scored a bloody gash on the Zann-Esu's torso, her armor the only thing keeping it from being fatal. She kept herself from crying out in front of the men, inwardly thanking the paladin for his stubbornness. At the thought of him she turned her gaze upwards and channeled the biggest fireball she could produce in her hand before launching it into the air, where it detonated loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Alerted by the explosion, Galen and Ko'kal looked at each other and, without exchanging a word, each darted to a separate flank. Drawing his sword, the paladin soon joined Talia's band, where he saw more men fall to indistinct attackers.
"CLOSE RANKS! FALL BACK TO THE CARAVAN!" he shouted with all his might.
The right flank formed a line bristling with steel to shield the noncombatants huddling against the wagons, and every man protected his comrades to either side. The hit-and-run tactics of the enemy faltered and each blow was answered in kind, though the humans were stuck on the defensive. As some foes fell dead at their feet, they could now see it was none other than the sand raiders, back for more blood.
The barbarian had found this out the hard way; he had rushed ahead of the left flank to find himself immediately surrounded and attacked by a flurry of blades on every side, his four-armed assailants weaving in and out sight. Aside from a few lucky blows, his own strikes could find little purchase on his elusive foes, and he was soon covered in cuts that would have felled a lesser man. He could not fight both the raiders and the storm. He uttered an unintelligible cry, his mounting frustration turning to white hot fury.
Cyrus had no better luck finding a target for his spells. Cursing under his breath, he shielded himself behind the improvised line of spearmen. He felt utterly helpless, but as his mind churned with thoughts, he realized some were not his own. With a grim smirk, he began uttering a dreadful chant, its syllables sharp and dripping with spiteful venom; the voices in this land had been getting louder as the caravan neared its destination, keening with loss and woe, but also anger. He called upon them now to enact their vengeance, giving physical form to their vindictive rage.
And the dead answered.
Corpse light danced about the necromancer's open hands and from it a spirit coalesced, its spectral bones radiating with a deathly blue fire. It was a terrifying image, and Cyrus was glad the guardsmen before him were too busy fighting for their lives to pay him any heed, lest he spread panic in his own ranks.
He lifted his hands to release the spirit as one releases a bird, and with an otherworldly shriek it flew out into the storm, honing in on the lifeforce of the creatures responsible for its earthly demise, eager to feed. The priest of Rathma did not need to see the effect of his spell to know the nearest sand raider was in for a nasty surprise. He began summoning more bone spirits to seek out and destroy his enemies.
Meanwhile, Ko'kal was bellowing louder than the sandstorm, as if to challenge it. He swung at the wind, yet his strikes were not the haphazard flailing of a madman; the sand stung his skin, it stung his senses, but he twisted with it, his axe in one hand, his mace in the other, at once warding and striking in every direction. Faster and faster he spun, like one of the famed dervishes of Aranoch, until he became a whirlwind of death that carved through all the foes unlucky enough to be in his path.
He wasn't fighting the storm. He was the storm.
Dana had just returned to find the caravan under siege. A raider appeared out of nowhere to try to take her head, but she reacted viper-like and her spear pierced its gut as she ducked beneath the blow. Her sharp eyes spied Galen's rough shape as he anchored the right flank. The raiders there had given up skirmishing and committed to a frontal assault, but the line held firm. Still, the enemy was in his element, and had the advantage of speed and surprise.
The amazon closed her eyes and turned her focus inwards, and as she did so she opened her inner eye, tuning in to the energies of every living being around her. It was the ancestral art of the Askari, the one the rogues had founded their entire sisterhood on, and the amazon's legends asserted that it had been taught to them by the gods.
When she opened her eyes again, they were iridescent, the eyes of a predator in the night, and they gave her sight beyond sight. She could now see the outline of every living creature in a perimeter around her, clear as day. She rushed to the fight, charging the closest enemy and driving her spear into his neck. Speed and surprise were now on her side. The hunted had become the hunter.
She moved like a deadly wildfire among the attackers, striking unexpectedly; their already stymied assault began to flounder, and they were soon breaking away to vanish back into the storm. Seeing an opening to cast freely without endangering her allies, Talia charged a chain lightning spell and loosed it at the last visible fleeing raider. It struck him with a sharp sound, then jumped further onto his unseen comrades in a symphony of flashes and monstrous screams.
"Was that the last of them?" a nearby guardsman cried out hopefully.
"These desert wolves will not so easily give up the hunt," Dana shouted back as she gazed out into the swirling sand. "They're still out there, circling their prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce."
"We need to get to a more defensible position," Galen called out as he walked up to her. "Did you find shelter in the village?"
"Mafqud has fallen," the amazon replied regretfully. "It is overrun with the undead."
The paladin's heart sank, and his mind raced to formulate a plan. Light only knew how long the storm would last; they needed to find shelter fast or risk getting buried alive. Their wagon wheels were already halfway submerged in sand and if they didn't get moving again soon, he doubted they would be able to move them at all. Even if Mafqud were teeming with undead, they still had a better chance of survival if they could find a building to hole up in, one they could hold indefinitely against any foes.
"Talia," he turned to the sorceress, "you're in charge of this flank. Dana and I will secure the left. In the meantime, tell Warriv to get the wagons moving again and head for the nearest shelter. He knows the town better than any of us."
With that, the duo rushed to the other side of the caravan where Cyrus was busy raising the skeletons of some of his fallen enemies in order to fill the gaps in the defenses. Though the guards had suffered more casualties, it seemed there was a strange lull in the fighting here as well.
"We need to get moving! Everyone into marching formation, we make for shelter in Mafkud. Where's Ko'kal?" Galen asked, looking for his usually hard-to-miss companion.
"The oaf charged straight into the storm after the enemy," Cyrus responded. "His recklessness has bought us some reprieve, but I fear he is lost to us."
"Curse the northmen and their bullheaded pride! Dana, can you track him?"
"In this storm?" the woman in question asked incredulously. "Unlikely."
"You might have a chance if you follow the trail of bodies," the necromancer chimed in. "He left quite a few in his wake. I could sense the death he sowed even from here."
Dana looked out, her eyes honing in on a direction to start her search, before turning back to the paladin.
"Get the caravan to safety. I'll find Ko'kal and meet back up with you."
"No, I…" he started to protest, but she cut him off before he could finish.
"The others need you to lead them. Don't worry, I'll find my way back to you," she assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me."
He relented with a sigh and a nod, though his gaze held hers a moment longer, her strangely glowing eyes captivating him. A silent promise passed between them before she darted off into the howling sands.
He couldn't hear it, but she was grumbling something about fool northmen under her breath.
"Curse me for a fool!" Ko'kal berated himself.
In battle as in life, he had always relied on his instincts to guide him, something he both embraced and resented. It had gotten him into trouble on more than a few occasions, but he had always survived by the skin of his teeth, and it made him a formidable warrior, bold and unpredictable. This time, however, it seemed that his lack of forethought was going to be the end of him.
His little stunt had caught the raiders off guard and many had fallen in his path, but they had wisely backed off and waited for him to tire out. The only thing that was spinning now was his head; he couldn't tell north from south, he was surrounded, and he was completely cut off from his allies.
A raider appeared suddenly from his right, scoring two gashes along his arm and vanishing back into the storm before the barbarian could retaliate. Then another came from behind, slashing at his back. Then another, and another.
He was carrion, and the vultures were moving in.
He wasn't in the habit of formulating strategies, and he didn't have time for it anyway. He decided to simply trust his instincts as he always had, and their bidding came as an impulse from Bul-Kathos himself. His reason told him it was a waste of energy, but he gathered up his breath, resisting the urge to cough out the sand he inhaled.
If the wolves howl, then roar he heard his mother's voice say.
He unleashed an animalistic shout that echoed above the din of the storm, and the surrounding raiders recoiled at the sheer force of it. For a moment none dared to resume the attack, as if they were suddenly faced with some terrible beast that would tear them to shreds if they approached.
The first among the marauders to find his courage again charged at Ko'kal's exposed back only to be impaled on Dana's spear. The amazon had followed the trail of dead bodies until they had run out, and it had been the barbarian's shout that allowed her to pinpoint his exact location.
"When I'm done saving you," she declared, "I'm going to kill you myself!"
"Good to see you too," he replied with a grin.
They stood back to back, each guarding the other's blind spots, waiting for the inevitable onslaught.
The caravan's progression had turned to a running skirmish in the streets of Mafqud, the men-at-arms led by Galen fighting their way through undead villagers and sand raiders at every turn. Warriv guided them unerringly despite the low visibility; he knew the village like the back of his hand, what with it being one of his favorite pitstops along the Rakkisroad. Much of it was now in ruins, and the wagons had to carefully steer their way around the rubble, but they had soon made it to their destination: the stables, the only shelter big enough to fit the entire caravan.
"We're here!" Warriv declared with a tentative hint of optimism in his voice as the last enemy in their way was brought low.
The large doors lay shattered, and the interior was littered with slaughtered livestock and bloody stains, though not a single human cadaver was to be found. Said cadavers were probably too busy shambling around town, the paladin thought, or maybe they were part of the undead they had felled along the way. The only thing he knew for certain was that some of the townsfolk had tried to hold out in the stables when the village came under attack, to no avail. He hoped his band would be luckier.
As if to belie this hope a clamor arose from the rear of the caravan. The raiders had completely given up any pretense of subtlety and launched an all-out assault, hoping to crush the humans before they could fortify their position.
"Warriv, get the wagons and the non-combatants inside. Talia, Cyrus, secure the building and protect them at all cost. The rest of you, with me!"
With that he rushed to join the rearguard, which was already buckling under the press of the raiders.
He burst upon the melee with a fury that instantly turned the tide, cutting into the enemy like a scythe. His example and golden aura lifted his exhausted troops, who pushed forward, driving back the marauders and giving the rest of the caravan time to shuffle into the stables.
The raiders gave ground, and it looked as though they would flee at any moment. The men pushed on with the rabid strength of a cornered animal, eager to drive away the danger that had been hounding them without reprieve. Yet as the enemy's center folded, they were simultaneously enveloping the guardsmen on the flanks.
Galen realized the stratagem too late. The raiders halted their feigned retreat and pressed in on all sides, surrounding and isolating the defenders. Even worse, the din of battle seemed to attract the undead like moths to a flame, and they began swarming in from all sides. The fighting devolved into a chaotic, desperate melee, and many were cut off from their companions in the confusion. The trap had been sprung and every man was now frantically fighting for his life.
Warriv had just managed to get everybody inside when the undead arrived, many making a mad rush for the stables. Talia stood at the entrance, unleashing a steady stream of fire to incinerate them en masse as they lined up obligingly. More shambling corpses began breaking through the windows, but Cyrus had gathered quite the cadre of skeletal minions over the course of the engagement, and he placed them at each opening to beat back any intruders.
There was a lull in the onslaught when suddenly a zombie smashed through one of the necromancer's skeletons and crawled up to the rafters with incredible speed. It didn't move like the other undead, and it wore tattered and bloodstained robes that Cyrus could tell had once been a mark of high office. He called upon the spirit of Trag-Oul and unleashed a volley of spectral fangs at the creature, yet it was too fast, skittering like a spider before leaping down with a shriek.
"I could use your help, sorceress!" he exclaimed as it tore through the skeletons that tried to protect him.
Talia could not use her magics freely in such confined spaces, and the thing moved too quickly and erratically for her firebolts. One of her missiles came a bit too close for comfort to one of the merchants huddling in fear with the others, who squealed. She cursed, and the ghoul took advantage of her hesitation to rush her. She teleported just in time for its claws to swipe at air.
"We need to slow it down!" she shouted to her companion, but he was already uttering a decrepifying curse at their enemy.
Necrotic energies surrounded it, and for a moment, it seemed like the old man it had been in life; it moaned pathetically and moved agonizingly, as though they had simply stumbled upon an elder who had stayed a bit too long in the sun. It was more than enough time for the Zann-Esu to cast a beam of concentrated frost at its legs, freezing them in place. The combined decay and cold would have completely immobilized a normal foe, but this thing seemed unnaturally resistant to magic and it was already breaking free from the effects of their spells. Cyrus placed his palms on the ground and started chanting; bony tusks burst forth around the zombie, forming an ivory lattice.
It clawed at its prison futilely as the two approached. Talia had stopped by Mafqud on the way to Khanduras a little over a year ago, and she now recognized the creature before her as the village sheik, or what was left of him. She felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of her father, whom she had made the journey with. How could the world have changed so much in so little time?
"I'm sorry, elder," she whispered as she struck her staff on the ground and a localized pillar of fire sprang underneath the ghoul, which shrieked as it burned in its cage. The two watched on silently as the screams died out and a relative calm settled over the stables.
The situation outside, however, was still dire. As Galen hacked down a marauder a pair of eyes as scorching as the desert sun appeared in the whirling sand, soon followed by the equally blazing outline of four curved blades. The sand raider chieftain approached menacingly, flanked by a group of four warriors, heading straight for him. He cut down a couple of guards that stood in his way with disconcerting ease and was soon upon the paladin.
"Did you really think you could escape my sight?!" he spat with jubilant venom, his burning scimitars arcing down upon his target in a deadly dance.
Galen deflected the blows two at a time, trying to keep up with the furious onslaught, but the arithmetic of swordplay was implacable: his foe had four blades and he had one. The fiery-eyed raider began to strike true, leaving scorching gashes on the paladin's armor and flesh. This demon was much faster, stronger, and more skilled than his kin, and the flashing of his fiery weapons half blinded Galen. The knight of Westmarch remembered the first lesson every squire learns at the hands of the order's master-at-arms: the best defense is a good offense.
His only advantage was the reach of his sword, so he put it to good use, matching his opponent blow for blow, making sure every strike from the chieftain was a trade in blood he could ill afford.
The raider backed away as Providence pierced his side, doubt creeping into his formerly assured countenance. He was no longer certain of coming out on top in the exchange.
As if to vindicate the demon's fears, Galen placed a hand on the most grievous cut he had received and white light radiated from it, sealing the wound.
"You cannot win a war of attrition against a paladin of Zakarum," he taunted. He wanted to goad his prideful foe into making a foolish mistake.
Yet the chieftain's hubris was matched only by his cunning. It was he who had masterminded the attacks on the caravan and every stratagem employed by the raiders. He ignored the bait, and instead barked orders at his bodyguard, who had killed the pikemen on Galen's flanks. They moved in on either side of the human who was now utterly alone.
They came at him all at once, and he backed up while strafing diagonally, trying to keep his opponents in a line so as not to be overwhelmed. The tactic worked for a quick second as the raiders got in each other's way and the first one to attack lost a hand in the attempt. Yet the chieftain and his champions were quick as locusts and the paladin started to lose ground fast. Soon it was all he could do to simply parry the deadliest of blows while being bled by a rain of slashing steel. There was no time to counterattack.
Time seemed to slow as the voices of dying men and demons mingled with the ever-present howl of the sandstorm. To Galen's ears it almost sounded as though the desert was howling in delight, relishing in the blood that now watered its arid soil. His would soon feed the hungry sands, he reckoned. He would have liked his last thoughts to be for the brave men behind him likely suffering the same fate, for the people he was failing and leaving to die, but his mind was filled with thoughts of Dana; her face, her touch, her voice.
He could almost hear it...
In fact, he could hear it. That was Dana's voice, as well as Ko'kal's, uttering a battle cry. The raider champions turned to meet the charging duo that appeared out of nowhere. The chieftain turned back to Galen, enraged at being thwarted once again. The paladin was barely standing, but he saw pride and anger eclipse cunning in his enemy's eyes, and the mistake he had been waiting for finally came.
The chieftain lunged, all four arms crossed, desperate to deliver the killing blow. The paladin thrust Providence in retort. The two lower scimitars parried the thrust downwards while the upper ones sought the human's head, yet Galen ducked beneath the stroke and with a mighty heave pulled his blade upwards, breaking the demon's guard and scoring a bloody gash from navel to head. One of the chieftain's fiery eyes was put out by the slash, but he didn't have time to worry about it as Providence came back down and split his head in twain.
Breathing heavily, the paladin went down to one knee, using his sword to stay upright. His aura switched from fierce gold to gentle white as he began to heal his many wounds. The barbarian and the amazon had dispatched the dead leader's bodyguards, but when the latter made to help him up he lifted his hand in a placating gesture.
"I'll be fine," he asserted, though his voice said otherwise. "Go help the men."
They nodded and charged past him. The arrival of foes from behind and the apparent death of their leader broke the remaining raiders' morale; they fled, leaving the survivors to contend with a handful of undead. By the time Galen rejoined the others the enemy was dead or routed, yet there was no celebration among the remaining humans, no sense of triumph; only grief and overwhelming fatigue. Men stumbled about, helping the wounded or else looking for signs of life among the dead. Dana rushed over to him and put her arm around his waist to steady him.
"I have you," she said as she guided him indoors.
"You have me," he echoed back as he leaned into her, and the weight of the world was in those words.
