“Get to the gate! It’s still open!” Vanto ordered. Three of the Mercuries closest to the gate broke from the group and rushed forward towards the open country. As one, the group moved with a painfully slow shamble to the exit. The Bodyhunters kept their distance.

  Torrance noted their behaviour. “Why aren’t they attacking?!”

  “Who cares?!” Boras snapped as he hoisted Sitra back up on her good leg. “As long as we’re out!”

  Cries of shock and panic came from outside the walls. All looked to the gloom of the dark and saw only one of the three Mercuries sprinting back in fear.

  “Back inside!” He screamed. “It’s a trap! It’s-” But that’s all he got to say before a javelin was flung from the dark he ran from and skewered him from behind. He cried out and dropped dead.

  “MOVE IN!” Came a commanding bellow. And a shout of many voices replied.

  Torrance, Reeva, Boras, Vanto and the rest stared in further fearful surprise as a hundred and fifteen men in battle armour charged into and through the gates of the fortress, led by a burly man in a suit of dirty, blackened armour with a mace and shield on his back. It was the Fist, Markus's private battalion, fully armed with swords, pikes and war hammers, rested and ready for combat.

  The rescue team and their quarry panicked, and scrambled backwards, tripping over themselves in the attempt to keep distance from the men that started full half of the courtyard. They formed into a battle formation, barring any way towards the gates.

  The rescued group pushed backwards towards the flaming keep, but kept their distance from it for the same reason. The last of the Bodyhunters lined up on the other side and remained in their positions. But they had their weapons ready and made sure there were no gaps in their lines.

  The group saw it now. They were boxed in on both sides.

  The burly man with the mace chuckled. “Well done, Baron Markus. His traps always work. Like rats in a bucket…”

  Hacker breathed out a hoarse whisper. “Sergeant Steer…”

  Steer patted his mace and used it to gesture to the group. “If you would kindly return our property and subject yourselves to punishment without further bloodshed, my Baron would be very grateful.”

  “How?!” Torrance blurted. “How? You’re supposed to be up in the North!”

  Steer grinned. “No, we weren’t. We were underground this very fortress, waiting for you lot. Special tunnels dug by Baron Markus himself in case we needed to beat a hasty retreat from the place or ambush fuckers trying to take this place. Like now, actually. You fucks didn’t even see the trapdoors outside by the fort on your way in, did you?”

  Vanto narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You were waiting? For us? How could you have known we were coming, unless…” He widened his eyes. “No. No way…”

  “Now he’s getting it.” Steer snapped his fingers with a metallic crack. Pushing through the battalion, two Fist soldiers dragged a limp figure by her arms and threw her into the dirt before the group.

  “MALKA!” Hacker cried out.

  It was Malka. She had been beaten. Beaten with such barbaric severity that her jaw was dislocated. Her lips split into pieces.

  Her face was covered in purple swells and lesions.

  Her hands were stamped with such brutality that all her fingers were broken.

  Her leather jacket and shirt ripped open, exposing her chest and revealing vicious lacerations and bruises on her stomach where she had been kicked.

  She was ruined.

  She coughed out blood and tried to say something, but could not because of her jaw. She shuddered and whimpered. Hacker lunged out from the group and grabbed her. He held her close as he pulled her back into the safety of the group.

  “Oh Gods… Malka!” Hacker glared at Steer. “You psychopath! Why??”

  Steer shrugged. “I don’t like traitors. What? She’s the one who sold you all out. Why are you having a strop about her?”

  All eyes locked onto Malka. Reeva blinked in shock. “Are you serious?”

  Hacker stared at Malka with disbelief. “Malka? You… you betrayed us?”

  Malka had shut her eyes and cringed with pain. She whimpered and said in a broken whisper:

  “I’m… sorry…”

  Steer chuckled. “All it took was a bag of gold and a promise that we’d leave you alive, Hacker. She really thought that the Baron would honour this agreement. Dumb bitch.” Steer shook his head. “We changed our minds about both. Now, I ask you lot again, surrender our property to us and prostrate yourself in the name of the Oligarchy. Or be killed like the fucking pests that you are. That goes for you as well, Darius…” Steer pointed his mace at him. “You, your wife, and son are going to suffer for this. Markus has some special plans for them.”

  Darius, his sickles slick with the blood of his fellow Bodyhunters, snarled. “I’ll die before you lay a hand on them, you scum.”

  Steer laughed. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point I’m making, you twat.”

  Torrance clenched his fists, his claws extended, and his face took on a grim stare.

  “I’ll cut you lot a path through them,” he snarled. “Reeva, Boras. You get the people out. Vanto, Darius, take the Mercuries and Waywards to support them.”

  “Torrance, we’re not leaving you!” Reeva protested.

  “Yes, you are.” Torrance advanced and emerged from the circle. He stared down the Fist and Steer. “I’m ready to die for the Black.” He warned his foes. “Are you ready to die for your Baron?”

  Steer laughed. “This fucking dolt…” He raised his fist to signal the attack.

  But before he could let his fist fall, there came an animal’s roar. Long, loud, and filled with anger.

  It split the night air and echoed across the fortress. Everyone— Bodyhunter, escapee, and Fist— all looked around in sudden confusion.

  “What in the name of—?” Steer began to ask.

  Sitra cut him off as she pointed up at the top of the gate’s battlements. “What the fuck is that??” She cried out.

  All who had a line of sight looked up to where she was pointing and saw a large, four-legged creature wrapped in dark shadows— No. Not wrapped in dark shadow. It was dark shadow.

  It shifted and then dove down from the battlements with another blood-curdling roar. It slammed down into the Bodyhunters on the group’s left and tore into them with claws the length of knives. It howled and ripped through the Bodyhunters in a wild circular motion to attack the other side.

  The surviving Bodyhunters, already fatigued by the fight, fled back in terror. Seeing the Bodyhunters driven back with nearly all their numbers torn apart, the creature leapt with great strength over the heads of the group and landed next to Torrance and roared majestically at the Fist. Torrance tried not to piss himself at the sight.

  It wore armour on its legs, torso, neck, and head, allowing its pair of ears to poke out of two holes. The armour was as black as the fur it displayed. Its four silver wings were coated in draped chainmail that did not restrict its movement. And the golden eyes leered at all the soldiers before it with a lion’s hiss. It whipped its head around to look back at the rescue group and spied Reeva and Boras. It suddenly mewed and chuffed softly at them. It was then that the two recognised the creature as a Sarku and, more importantly…

  “Courageous!” They cried out in joyous wonder.

  “Arcos’s pet??” Barnabas gaped. “What’s with all that bloody armour he’s got on?”

  Courageous howled to the night and extended his claws, digging them into the dirt. He glared at all the human soldiers before him that would dare to attack his clan. He glanced at Torrance.

  Torrance raised his hands in peace. “I’m a friend. Don’t eat me, please.”

  Courageous chuffed and hunched his shoulders before returning his glare at the enemy.

  The Fist soldiers looked nervously towards Steer, who was trying to understand how this just happened.

  “Sarge?” One of the soldiers asked. “What are we doing?”

  Steer spat at the ground. “Bah! Who cares! Just one mangy Sarku! We still outnumber them! Forward!” The Fist battalion readied their weapons - with some hesitation - and pushed forward.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Having only a few bolts left, Reeva hoisted her crossbow over her shoulder and pulled out Bonebreaker.

  Boras twirled his axes and gritted his teeth, his courage resurged by seeing a familiar face.

  “For the Black?” Reeva looked to Boras.

  Boras smiled sadly. “For the Black.”

  Barnabas lowered Nerisity down next to Margret and Sitra and, cracking his knuckles, stepped forth with Vanto and Darius and the rest of the surviving fighters.

  “Good luck everyone.” Vanto wished in vain.

  Torrance stood by the Sarku and murmured, “I don’t suppose you brought any friends with you?” Torrance could have sworn the chirping that the Sarku made in response was a bloody laugh.

  There came a horse’s neigh next. It sounded out from the open gate.

  The Fist halted their advance and looked over their shoulders towards the sound.

  The horse neighed once more.

  And then a voice, a woman’s voice that Torrance, Reeva, Boras and Barnabas thought they would never hear again, cried out in a shrill and powerful command: “FOR THE BLACK!”

  A flurry of sounds, like the calls of birds, erupted from the gloom. Those sounds were instantly accompanied with a storm of small steel blades flying through the air, peppering and stabbing into the first line of Fist soldiers nearest to the gate.

  The soldiers, utterly unprepared for the attack, fell back in screams and shouts. Knives stuck into faces, hands, arms and legs. Some were dead, with knives embedded in their mouths or necks.

  No sooner had the knives found their marks, the sound of a horse’s hooves galloping grew. And charging through the darkness and smashing into the ranks of the Fist was a fully armoured black Tashiishan warhorse with a horned spike on its elongated helm. All who knew the woman who rode upon it knew that horse. It was Gaxidon!

  And Gaxidon’s rider, wreathed in a cloak of black and wielding a shining black Scar-Sire over her head, was none other than Tilda Foxhunter herself.

  “Tilda??” A stunned Torrance blurted out.

  Following her charge was a roar of voices. A surge of people sprinted into the gateway. Twenty-five fighters dressed in the dark clothes that Tilda wore and wielding shining weapons with malicious intent.

  Reeva, Boras and Torrance gaped. It was impossible.

  It was the Children of the Black!

  And supporting them were a group of villagers led by a screaming woman, wielding a crossbow in one hand and a war hammer in the other. The woman was Jimiza, the last hunter of Silverstreak.

  “FOR SILVERSTREAK!” She cried out, leading the rallied Silverstreakers after the Children.

  As one, the seventy-five strong mustered force smashed into the Fist.

  The Fist, utterly caught unawares by this ambush, crumpled against the surge. But they soon regained some footing and the frantic fighting began in earnest.

  The remaining Bodyhunters saw no choice but to charge into the battle. They now realised that they weren’t fighting for Markus anymore.

  They were fighting for their survival. They were dead otherwise.

  Torrance whipped his head to the people behind him. And grinned. “What are we waiting for?? Tide’s finally turning!” He spun on his heels and launched into the fray, closely followed by a bloodthirsty Courageous.

  Vanto and Barnabas charged as well, leading the last of the fighters into the fray. Reeva and Boras looked to Margret and Sitra.

  “Go!” Margret said as she held onto the exhausted Nerisity. “We have it handled.”

  Sitra drew out her knives as reassurance. Reeva nodded to Sitra. “Protect them.”

  “Don’t worry about us.” Sitra said. “Protect yourselves.”

  Reeva turned to her best friend and offered her hand to shake Boras's.

  “See you afterwards.”

  “Damn right!” He grinned.

  The pair let out a battle cry before they leapt into the fray after their friends.

  It was madness. A controlled madness if you would, as it slowly became clear that the battle was decided. Flanked on both sides by two forces and harried by a violent Sarku too fast to hit and too angry to die, the Fist battalion began to lose their formation and the battle started to spread all around the gate and the battlements with a complete lack of coordination.

  Reeva saw in the fight - as she smashed in the face of one soldier with Bonebreaker - the twins Vance and Custio, fighting side by side with Valari, using their hammers and Valari with a sword that was strangely more whip than blade. Reeva stared. They were here! Actually here! They were breaking oaths by doing this. As were all the other Children. Tilda brought them here. How did she manage to do that?

  “You little shit!”

  Reeva turned and saw the Sergeant of the Fist, Steer, bearing down onto her.

  Reeva yelled and jumped back, narrowly avoiding the slam of his mace as it crashed through a wooden post of the remaining unburnt stable. The roof toppled and fell. Reeva leapt away as wood, thicket and hay collapsed onto the ground. Reeva rolled onto her back and brought out her crossbow and fired her last ten bolts.

  Steer growled as he blocked the assault of arrowheads with his shield. They ricocheted off the steel plating and Steer bellowed.

  He charged for her and leapt up with his mace held up high.

  With no time to stand or flee, Reeva pulled back her feet in that moment and timed it.

  Steer came down, landing his feet before her. But as he swung down his mace, Reeva rabbit-kicked out her boots, connecting into his stomach and flipping him up and over her. The mace swung down and Reeva gasped in pain as a corner of the mace chipped a piece of flesh from her forehead.

  Steer rolled into the dirt and staggered back up, hissing.

  “My Baron’s worked hard to get us to where we are. I’ll be damned to let a group of pests destroy what he built. I was nothing before him!” Steer shrugged off the mud and stalked towards Reeva as she leapt back and whipped out Bonebreaker. Blood poured in a trickle by her eye.

  “Seems like you’re still nothing.” Reeva replied.

  “Ignorant foreigner.” Steer spat. “What do you know about our people?”

  “I know when it is right to punish those responsible. And not beat helpless women to near-death!” Reeva screamed as she swung Bonebreaker in a wild spin and sent it flying at Steer.

  Steer deflected the blow with his shield and then batted away another attack with his mace.

  "I'll be sure to do worse to you, girl..." he snarled.

  The pair duelled it out, mace against flail, abuser against defender, clashing and smashing.

  Steer showed no sign of tiring.

  But Reeva, having done so much that night, was faltering.

  Her attacks became less frequent and her flail was less powerful. Steer saw this and pushed his advantage. He charged her and used his shield to bash her into the ground.

  Reeva collapsed, gasping from the wind knocked out from her.

  Steer roared triumphantly and bore down onto her.

  Reeva stared. She was going to die. She was-

  A bellow of what could have been a bull sounded and a man barrelled into Steer with just as much strength and speed. Steer was carried off his feet and sent smashing into the wall.

  The man stood back panting and growling. He looked down and Reeva stared up with a smile.

  “Barnabas!” She said as the tavernkeep yanked her to her feet.

  “Get out of here, Reevy.” Barnabas snarled. “This little shit is mine. I owe him a proper beating.” Reeva was about to argue so she would stay and help.

  But she noticed the pair of war hammers that Barnabas had. They, and much of his hands, arms and torso, were covered in gore. And Barnabas had that same look in his eyes. The same look that he had during the revolt in Silverstreak.

  Reeva knew better than to get in his way when that bear-like glare appeared.

  She thanked him and ran as Steer staggered back to his feet, but was too late in seeing Barnabas coming down on him with the hammer’s pick.

  Reeva didn’t turn to see what happened next. But Steer’s delicious squeal of pain was all she needed to hear.

  Torrance spun around in a wild dervish, opening up the necks of three Fist soldiers as he did so. Sprays of blood painted the ground, his clothes and his face. He laughed hard and heartily.

  This was the fight he wanted. A fight that mattered. No more killing in the shadows for those who would never know who to thank. This was a fight against those who do harm. Exactly what Torrance wanted and what he believed in his heart that this world needed.

  But having Tilda here? And the Children? That was a surprise. A very welcome surprise.

  A person bumped into his back. Torrance whipped with his claws and clashed blades with—

  Tilda.

  Tilda stared up at him with those blazing violet eyes as her black blade Scar-Sire sparked against his claws. The pair were locked into that stare. A stare that was a second or so in the battle, but a minute or an hour for them.

  “Hello there.” Torrance greeted with a grin. “Thank you for coming. And may I say you look more beautiful at nighttime.”

  Tilda rolled her eyes. “Shut the hells up and fight, Carpenter.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  More soldiers came at them and the pair defended and attacked as one. Keeping back to back, as they had done so in many fights before, Tilda jumped and attacked high whilst Torrance ducked and attacked low.

  Legs and arms were cut down to the bone. Blood sprayed.

  Screams and curses filled their ears.

  Cuts and nicks found their places on their persons, but none of them debilitated their speed.

  Separately, each was brilliantly skilled. Together, they were unmatched.

  The dead and dying of those that attacked surrounded them.

  Panting, they looked around and saw that most of the Fist were surrendering already. Soldiers dropped their weapons and dropped to their knees. Silverstreakers were collapsing from exhaustion or injuries incurred.

  The Children, still retaining their full number, immediately set about clearing the dead from the dying and helping the prisoners leave the fortress. The fire spread with increasing fervour. No one had any intention of being trapped in this place.

  The Bodyhunters were all dead. Not one, save for Darius, was left alive. It seemed that they had such loyalty to Markus that they would have died rather than surrender. Tilda and Torrance respected that decision, even if it was based on evil…

  “Tilda!” Boras ran up to them. He was alive, thank the Black. Even though he had scored a gash on his cheek and a bloodied nose.

  “Well met, runaway.” Tilda noted him with a small grin.

  Boras had no time for talking, it seemed. He grabbed her arm and pointed back at the fortress.

  “Arcos is still in there!”

  Tilda’s eyes widened and her face grew grave. “What?”

  “He’s fighting Markus. He… he’s bloody lost it. We have to go save him!”

  “No!” Tilda grabbed him and pulled him away. “You stay here with Reeva. Get the people out. That was your mission, correct?”

  “But-”

  “Initiate!” Tilda snapped. “I will bring him back. I swear it! Now run!”

  Without another word, Tilda cleaned her blade and ran for the furnacing keep. And running by her side was Torrance. “What are you doing?” She asked.

  “He’s my student as much as he is yours. He is my responsibility too.” He said.

  Tilda did not argue.

  There was no point with the man. She smiled. This stubborn, irritating, and brilliant man.

  The pair rushed through the battlefield, jumping over small rivers and pools of blood and the dead that would feed the crows and rushed up the steps. They felt the blaze, but thanks to the rain, they were soaked in cold water.

  Without a moment’s pause, they ran and jumped. Over the small barricade of fire and into the entryway of the keep to save their final lost pupil.