Runeguard 048

“Night, tell me what you see,” I ordered as we neared the bottom of the hill. The black dragon spirit was flying in the air above me.

“There are twenty ratkin directly in front of you. All sleeping.”

“And further in the camp?”

“No movement yet.”

“Alright, alert me at the first sign that the creatures are rallying.” 

Ten yards from the ratkin Night had mentioned, I drew to a halt. Drawing my sword as silently as I could, I turned around and nodded for the smiths to do the same.

I studied our immediate targets. They were heaped together in a snoring pile and oblivious to the world. Silently, I gestured for the smiths to spread out.

When we had reformed into a rough line, stretching nearly twenty yards across the base of the hill, I gave the order, and we charged.

It was only after the first blade bit into them that the ratkin awoke. And then they screamed fit to wake the dead.

Near instantly the camp was in uproar. 

Two paces behind the front of the line, I winced. I had not expected such an immediate response. “Night,” I ordered, “keep the ratkin from massing near us.”

The black dragon spirit swooped down, burning a long line of flames in the ground.

“Dace,” Juyorah screamed, his eyes a little wild, “do we retreat?”

“No!” I shouted. “It’s too early. Remember we still have the advantage. They can’t see in the dark. Kill as many as you can before they mass together.” I hesitated. “But keep a man back. Tell him to be ready to give the signal on a moment’s notice.”

Juyorah nodded, and wading forward, joined the line of smiths hacking down into the smaller ratkin. I took a moment to watch the smiths at work. 

There was nothing elegant about their blade and hammer strokes, yet the smiths were strong—much stronger than me I suspected—and each of their blows were sufficient to cleave the ratkin in two. Their armor served them well too, making them nearly impervious to the smaller creatures’ attacks.

I heaved a relieved sigh. The smiths and I would be fine. As long as we were not overrun, we could hold here indefinitely. Not that, that was our purpose, but it gave me comfort, nonetheless.

Hefting my sword, I moved forward to join the others on the line.

✵ ✵ ✵

We kept at it for nearly five minutes, our arms rising and falling as we killed the ratkin that threw themselves against us with abandon. 

Behind the first line of ratkin, Night swooped down time and again and burnt bright red lines of fire into the ground, causing the ratkin to eye the pitch-black sky fearfully. Her actions served both to kill the creatures and keep them from overrunning our position.

But inevitably, more and more of the camp gathered together and gravitated our way. Eventually they became too tightly packed even for Night to shift off course. Eyeing the numbers of ratkin pressing down on us, I knew it was time to retreat.

“Juyorah,” I bellowed, not looking away from the ratkin I struck at, “its time. Give the signal.”

“On it, Dace,” he yelled back.

A moment later, a blue flame shot into the air, launched by the lone smith to our rear.

“Retreat!” I called. “One step at a time.” This was the trickiest part. If the smiths and I couldn’t pull off a fighting retreat, we were going to be in trouble.

The smiths stepped back, not altogether, and not all the same distance. The line grew ragged, but not too distorted as to fall apart entirely.

Hastily, individuals adjusted their positions and before the ratkin could exploit the gaps, the line snapped back into a cohesive whole.

I breathed easier. That had gone about as well as could be expected. An eerie whistling cut through the ratkin’s screams of rage and fury. I glanced up. A flight of arrows was screaming through the night sky. 

Not that the ratkin could see them.

I smiled a bloody grin as invisible death fell down on the creatures. The ratkin’s cries turned to tortured screams, full of pain and confusion. 

The weight pressing down on our defensive line eased. “Retreat,” I shouted, seizing the opportunity to pull our line back further.

Once more the smiths stepped back, pulling off the maneuver much more smoothly the second time around. Another flight of arrows winged through the air. And again, we retreated.

We kept going in this manner, retreating up the road to the amphitheater while the Wardens rained death on the ratkin.

“Night,” I called, “tell me what’s going on. Are we ready for the next phase?” 

With most of her mana depleted, the black dragon had long since stopped her strafing runs against the ratkin. Still, she kept watch on their numbers and disposition.

“We are, Dace,” she replied. “The ratkin are not going to get more tightly packed than this.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, I turned to Juyorah again. “Next signal,” I shouted.

A second blue flame rose in the air.

The eighty Wardens reloaded their bows. But this time, it was no ordinary payload their longbows were delivering.

Anxiously, I glanced up at the sky. Everett had assured me his people could still fire accurately, even with the tip of their arrows weighted down. I hadn’t been so sure but had been willing to trust the Warden’s expertise.

I measured the distance between the line of smiths and the archers and winced. If this went wrong, and the Wardens’ arrows fell out of the sky quicker than Everett anticipated… well then, death would come swiftly for me and the Hammers.

But the Wardens guildmaster wasn’t wrong.

Flawlessly, eighty arrows, each loaded with a firebomb, sailed high overhead and into the middle of the ratkin host.

A series of deafening explosions rippled through the night as the firebombs detonated. Mushroom clouds of flame and smoke burst into the air, and ratkin were flung asunder. 

Immediately the tide pressing down on the smiths and me receded as our foes were stunned in momentary inaction.

“My god,” Juyorah breathed.

I just nodded, unable to find the words to express my own feelings at the destruction we had wrought, but running my gaze across the ratkin I saw it had not been enough.

Even though some appeared panicked, many more seemed to dance with berserker fury. The ratkin hadn’t been broken. Not yet.

“Send the next signal,” I ordered.

The Hammers guildmaster gaped at me. “Are you sure, Dace?”

“I am.”

He nodded mutely and another blue flame was sent up.

The Wardens raised their bows and let fly again. But this time, only forty of the eighty arrows carried firebombs. We had expended our supply in two extravagant volleys.

After the second set of concussions rippled through the ratkin ranks, I studied the enemy.

It was still not enough. 

I bit off a curse. Would we have to kill them all?

“Retreat,” I ordered. “All the way to the trench line.”

✵ ✵ ✵

My predictions proved correct. The ratkin did not break or flee. 

It did take them a while to regather themselves—this time in a noticeably smaller mob—but when they did, they charged straight up the hill, seemingly unaffected by the nearly one thousand of their kind that we had slaughtered.

“Damn, you were right, Dace,” Everett muttered.

I said nothing, glancing down at the wide shallow trench at my feet. It had been dug hours ago by the miners in preparation for just this moment.

Everett walked back to the line of arrows. “Alright people,” he yelled, “let’s have at it again. And this time, we don’t stop firing until they are all dead.”

Arrows rose in the air and fell into the mass of ratkin surging up the hill. This time it was not just the eighty Wardens with cat’s eyes who fired, but all hundred and fifty of them. Half of them were firing blind but shooting downhill and with the ratkin packed as tightly as they were, the Wardens could hardly miss.

I glanced left and right along the trench line. Smiths, each looking noticeably more formidable now in their blood-spattered armor, stood at the ready. I nodded approvingly. We were ready to repel any of the ratkin that made it through the trench.

Someone stepped up behind me. It was Bayan. “The mages are ready?” I asked.

The Paragon guildmaster nodded. “Lining up behind the archers as we speak.” He glanced at the screaming horde rushing towards us. “This better work, Dace,” he said, his expression deadpan, “or I’ll kill you myself for letting it come to this.”

I grinned and spotted an answering twinkle in the normally grim-faced mage. “Well, if it doesn’t, I can’t claim it’s been a pleasure knowing you.”

That surprised a laugh from him. With a shake of his head the Paragon walked back to the line of mages. “Good luck, Dace,” he called.

✵ ✵ ✵

The ratkin’s neared the edges of the trench and attempted to leap across.

But we’d anticipated the maneuver, and the trench had been deliberately widened for that reason—much to the disgust of the miners who had been forced to do the digging.

I watched carefully as the first ratkin landed into the center of the trench. With barely a pause, the creature rushed forward again, paying no heed to what lay beneath it.

I smiled. The ratkin were in for another surprise. But not just yet. 

More and more ratkin filled the trench. “Steady,” I called to the smiths and other players chosen to reinforce the line, “remember we don’t have to hold them long.”

The first ratkin reached me. I struck it down easily, and the two after that. From my elevated height it was almost laughably easy. 

Three more ratkin leapt at me. Then four more. Things became trickier after that. I stole a glance at the trench again. It was nearly full to bursting.

“Now,” I called to Night, who had saved the last of her mana for just this moment. 

Swooping down silently from the sky, the black dragon spirit roared out a bright jet of flame and set the oil-drenched debris in the trench alight.

Fire burst into existence all along the trench, burning its occupants alive. The ratkin howled, their voices blending into one formless sound that screamed of pain and death.

But the dying had only begun. The flaming trench was the signal the mages had been waiting for. 

From the rear of our lines, three hundred mages—the bulk of our combat force—released their spells with eerie synchronization.

Untold magical destruction was unleashed on the ratkin, albeit that the spells the mages used were of the simplest kind—flame darts, psi bolts, ice shards, and shock bolts—the sheer amount of magic the mages collectively released in a single burst had a majesty of its own.

The ratkin were frozen in shock. 

In that moment, nearly every ratkin, in some way or the other, was subjected to our wrath, be it in the form of the flames in the trenches, the Wardens’ arrows, or the mages’ magic missiles.

It proved altogether too much.

And as one formless mass, the creatures broke and fled.

We’d won. 

Congratulations, you have fulfilled the task: defend the town. As reward, you have gained +6 Essence Points.