A Surge in Resolve

Prior to the Age of Incursion, Goldhome-In-The-Dell had existed as a small mining town straddling the border between two kingdoms content with the reach of their dominion, who for many years maintained a quaint peace. Deposits of iron and copper ores encouraged folk to stay and build their lives around a miner’s life, but, for the most, faces one saw drinking in the taverns or bartered with for goods were transitory, the town viewed as little more than a safe bridge to cross a scarred land riddled with crags, gorges, and deep ravines drunks would occasionally wander into; at least, until the first traces of gold were discovered.

Then, the first deposit, followed by the second, third, fourth, fifth, all the way into the digits most peasants had no mind to consider. Silver, too. In any other tale a war might have broken out for control of the settlement. Kings were notoriously greedy. Hundreds of years of recorded history supported that. But, just as often lighting strikes one caught in a storm, so must a royal head be reasonable, their brain not cut off from oxygen by a crown laden with gold. As it happened, this part of the world bore two – one for each neighboring kingdom.

Desiring peace, a deal was struck. Gold and silver mined from the rich terrain soon flowed to the kingdom’s coffers like ale down a drunkard’s throat, the cask of which whose valve was stuck in a permanent open state, the nectar within seemingly incapable of running dry. And so, the two kings drank their fill for years to come, finding new and exemplary uses for their precious metals once coins, jewelry, gilded tableware, and gold-inked and leafed propositions to royal confidants had lost their luster.

A kind of rush began, sparking waves of emigration as fanciful tales of endless treasures in the deep earth reached every alehouse for miles around, transforming the once small settlement into a jeweled trading hub where a life of wealth was a few swings of a pickaxe away – so long as the kingdoms received their cut – by the end of the decade.

The party’s arrival was received by a thick odor of sulfur, ash blanketing the bridge leading to the city, the residue from countless fires mixed in with the ruddy vines interwoven with the wood. Sections of the bridge were scorched, and gashes made by razor claws marred the bridge above which a thousand-foot drop yawned wide; a cauldron for mist. Given crimson stains wept onto the wood, Ol-Lozen figured a fair amount already swam in the grey sea below. He’d looked at the wagon with trepidation with its weight and hard wooden wheels, then to the long stretch of bridge with one entrance and one exit, as all bridges had, concerned for risk here in ways he’d never been in his world.

“Neither will our passing be subtle.” Daigay had said. “We can only hope the vine growth is enough to muffle our presence.”

“And if the Incursion happens to hear us?” he’d asked.

“Then a long fall is the friendliest end we could ask for.”

Past the bridge was a high wall of mortared stone, topped with battlements. Chunks of wood and metal reinforcement had been smashed outward from the gate littering the pathway in, and splintered pieces of door still hung on great hinges squeaking slightly in the breeze. Ol-Lozen nudged larger debris from the wagon’s path with his foot. One armored torso gave him trouble. He wrinkled his nose, trying not to let the smell unnerve him, while he dragged his boot through the dust in efforts to brush off crimson smears.

“Mouse, keep your head inside,” he said, but a small gasp told him his warning had come too late. Joshua, who had stuck his head out as well, covered his mouth with a hand.

Bodies, or pieces of them, painted the gate’s entrance red. Peasants young and old, armored soldiers with weapons in hand or no hands at all, animals from chickens to horses, were laid out and scattered like autumn leaves. Not even the vermin or corpse-eating birds had been spared. Judging from the scene at the bridge, few, if any, had managed to escape, so swift had the Incursion overwhelmed the bustling city. The bodies were pallid now, the fires cold.

At sounds of shuffling, Ol-Lozen turned to see Joshua had jumped from the wagon and now walked beside it hatchet in hand. On the other arm he carried a wooden buckler more decorative than useful, wood flimsier than a moneylender’s morals. The boy’s head darted around taking in every mote of destruction wrought by the Incursion.

“You should return to the wagon, boy,” Daigay said.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stop being ignorant to threats my family wrote off every day.”

“Fewer footsteps will make less noise. Keep us from being noticed.”

“So will fewer words,” the boy replied.

“My magic, or the demon. Which would you prefer?” Her hand lifted with palpable menace.

Joshua made a noise halfway between a sigh and a bark. After a moment’s thought, the memory of her grabbing him still fresh, he returned to the wagon. “I hate this… useless feeling.”

“And you’ll accomplish – what – exactly here to change such an emotion? The city is long lost. It serves no purpose.”

“There might be survivors, Grandma.” Mouse’s voice floated from the wagon. “Can they all be dead? What if they’re only hiding, like us?

“Don’t be absurd –”

A shriek echoed through the supposed empty city. It was a high-pitched noise of terror.

Daigay seized the reins and brought the wagon to halt, her eyes wide. Ol-Lozen’s hand flew to his sword. Joshua leapt from the wagon again, grim determination written on his face, hearing the sound of a woman in need. Mouse stuck her head from the wagon, her own gaze locked to Ol-Lozen. A word was already forming on her lips.

“Grandma –”

“Quiet!” hissed Daigay.

One of Ol-Lozen’s ears twitched, and his mind raced through instincts born to every Orkan. The sound, he believed, was coming from the east, though if the person were on the move too great a distance was there to notice.

Then, the shriek cut off, and the city returned to relative silence.

“They’re still here,” Daigay muttered. “Both of you – back to the wagon and stay silent. The Incursion will not pay us mind so long as we remained enshrouded.”

Ol-Lozen bumped against the wagon’s flank, muscles in his hand standing out with the force of his grip on the sword he carried, frightened no insignificant part may catch the wrong breeze piercing the flickering barrier that separated him from certain demise, and give away all underneath.

His clothes felt too tight. The city streets had pressed in against them; the road becoming an alleyway. Yellow wings abuzz with malign intentions were threading near with scabbed talons, but he would go down fighting if it meant the others would live. He made a severe gesture for Joshua to seek shelter.

“Hello? Is anyone out there?”

Ol-Lozen turned to the source of the voice. He knew not the words, but recognized the desperate tone. It had come from a pile of rubble across the street where a building, lower level eaten by flame and combat, had slumped over under its own weight.

“Is anyone there? Please!”

Though different from the first, the second voice cried from the same direction. Quite possibly from the same pile. Upon narrowing his eyes, he saw what appeared to be a set of doors built into the earth, like a cellar. The barrier’s shimmer made it difficult to tell for certain.

Two blurs sped past him: one short with robes, the other young with sandals slapping the road.

A swarm of shimmering chains shot from Daigay’s hand. A burst of light from Mouse’s hand shattered them like sugar glass. The two heroes passed outside the safety of the shroud, and became shimmers as well.

“Catch. Them. You. Dolt.”

The city loomed in full clarity outside the barrier, all the wreckage of the Incursion unmitigated. Ol-Lozan saw perfectly how the church’s belltower had been fallen from its height and punctured the ground with stones, bronze bell cracked in half, never to be rung again. Myriad temples of another sort opened like birthday presents lay in the road, reeking. Ruins had watched their passage, supports exposed by flames rose into the sky like blackened whale bones. Signs that hadn’t melted or broken off to rest in the dirt swayed on their last chain: smithies and breweries, stables and apothecaries and boarding houses.

He reached the two heroes as they struggled to remove rubble from atop the cellar doors. When the building had fallen, two solid beams of the structure’s undamaged second floor frame landed on the doors and barred them closed, trapping those who now beat on the portal from within inside. Joshua wound back his hatchet and began hacking away at the sturdy wood.

“We’ve almost got you,” the boy lied, trying to calm them, unable to hide his own nerves showing through. He struck the wood again and again, but the supports laughed at his efforts as his axe merely nibbled the supports to raucous noise and little progress. Mouse had made deeper gouges with sharp slices of wind, but the damage was unfocused, dealt over an area in hatch marks, panic making her efforts appear a cat taking the supports for a scratching post. On Ol-Lozen’s arrival she turned to him, eyes alight, gloved commanding hand clenched tight.

“Demon, help us move this.”

“Yeah, demon,” Joshua panted, delivering an overhead chop. “Help with saving these poor sods.” The boy’s focus spared him sight of Ol-Lozen’s true master, and the runes glowing around the Orkan’s throat, as green hands took hold of the supports and lifted them away. The doors were flung open.

Out of the darkness spilled a raw, earthy scent, and a trio of three filth-matted peasants – two women, one man – hunched and trembling like beaten pups. Ol-Lozen watched the three devolve into tears and thanks to the children, eyes nervously twitching to the Orkan giant behind their saviors. He felt warm, despite the mistrust, at having provided assistance to those needing it, until a noise pricked his ears: a sound no soul in the tumult of thanks and calm hands and wracking sobs could perceive.

His ear jolted at a low hum – a hum that grew into a buzz.

Around the structure’s corner flew a pair of Incursion, yellow bodies glistening. Their heads whirled on the mirth of rescue, now become the cries of fear.

“Demon, protect us!” Mouse cried.

In a flash Ol-Lozen’s hand was on the bloodsword. With allies too close he dared not risk the Tankbuster. Its flashiness would only draw attention and see his order failed. He charged forth in silent rage, silver blade in hand glittering in the light. Cardinal organ, cardinal organ, where will you be? Exposed, the buttery sac stuck out like a sore thumb, but in the blur of yellow limbs and wings he’d be cutting blind.

Sever the claws. Render them harmless.

He homed in to the monster on his right. Empty of subtlety, its outstretched arm gave away the game and where it would target. He feinted to draw the lunge, then dove to his knees and cut upward, bisecting the Incursion at the hip, bloodsword splitting the tendrils easily as warm butter. Both halves spiraled to the ground spurting gold and lithe threads, reaching for the other – the cardinal organ was still intact.

The second Incursion blazed past him. Joshua stood, empowered by the courage to protect, and swung his hatchet towards the incoming threat. It stuck into the torso, making barely a dent. Jerking of the demon’s body tore the hatchet free from his fingers, and a claw arced for the young boy’s head – his buckler was low, forgotten in the moment of action. He watched the deathblow descend with stunned senses.

But Mouse was ready. Hands in the image of a shield, a shimmer of magic formed in the claw’s path. They sunk into her force of will and were halted, razor tips inches from his face. The boy scrambled back for his hatchet, raising it as a massive shadow fell upon the demon, silver blade iridescent in the light.

The bloodsword sunk into the creature’s back, stopping at the tendril facsimile of a ribcage, caught by black scabs of its shell.

The demon’s free claw angled back towards Ol-Lozen as he tore the sword free, resistance holding the weapon for only a moment; a moment too great. Fire split up his arm. Iron scent filled his nostrils.

Roaring in pain he sliced downward, spattering gold and crimson alongside the monster’s arm, claws stained with his blood. Joshua reared back his arm and heaved a mighty chop, grinning madly as he removed a yellow leg. The Incursion didn’t so much as hiss over the loss of limbs. On the ground, the other demon reconnected its severed parts and rose again, wings fluttering, root-and-scab skull angled towards the frightened peasants.

Screams erupted from their throats at the demon’s lunge. Mouse swung her hand and called a blade of wind, halving its head, but impressing nothing on the demon whose claws sought soft, defenseless flesh, continuing through an attack that would have slain any mortal man.

An explosion echoed in the living ears, bursting like a thunderclap, and reduced the demon to a golden paste. A second rang out and took the Incursion before Ol-Lozen, thoroughly obliterating his foe in the time it would have taken to blink, cardinal organ and all.

Mouse’s shocked expression told him the saving blow hadn’t come from her, Joshua certainly had no magical ability, and the peasants were still noisily expressing their fear… He looked up and saw Jackbee and the wagon, the donkey’s tail whipping peacefully. One ear jerked at the air.

He saw Jackbee. The barrier of bent light had dissipated – and not a few feet away shook a visibly infuriated Daigay.

Grimacing, he pressed down on his arm to apply pressure. Blood sluiced through his fingers. Deep in his mind he knew the severity would require medical attention beyond this world, but Daigay had mentioned healing magic some time ago, an idea giving him hope of not losing an arm to an unlucky fight. He considered asking the magus storming over, but thought better of it.

“I will not die here,” she managed through gritted teeth. “I refuse to die here, and you have all but guaranteed our lives exceedingly difficult to keep. That was a damn foolish act, child.” She grabbed Mouse by her ear and hoisted the squealing girl.

“Were we supposed to leave them to die?” Mouse shot back.

“They may still.”

One of the women coughed, intending to speak. “If I may –” she started, before Daigay snapped a shimmering muzzle over her face.

“You may not. All of you chain yourselves to our wagon. You too, child. Every single Incursion will soon be dogging our steps.” She gave Mouse a gentle shove towards the peasants.

“How many?” Joshua asked, fingering his stained hatchet.

“Oh, have you enjoyed your first taste for battle? There will be another, and more than any of us can stomach, I assure.” Her voice twisted lower. “Oh, you know so little of what it is you war against.”

“I didn’t need know too much to take it apart. If they come, we’ll stand against the tide. All of us. We killed those two together! We can take on two hundred!” He waved the hatchet proudly, yellow drops running down his arm.

Daigay smiled like he’d just presented a delicious peach. “May that heroism stand as tall in the face of two hundred thousand, boy.” Her gaze dropped to Ol-Lozen’s wound. “And we’ll need you more than ever. Give that here.”

As he handed over his arm, familiar sound rose into being, and more intensely than previous. A winged pack crested the church, silhouetted by the sun.

“Or perhaps not. Can you use the arm?”

“I am not left-handed, so I must,” the Orkan grunted. Counting quickly, he numbered ten Incursion all on approach with none too close together for the Tankbuster to catch more than three in a single swing, leaving fourteen different claws for shredding him to the bone. It would make for a quick death. “I will buy you time to flee.”

“Mouse will be beside herself over his choice to hold the line,” Daigay spoke aloud.

Joshua stepped beside Ol-Lozen, staring at the Incursion. His hand quivered, but he spoke resolutely. “Wager she’ll like mine even less, but a line can’t be one man alone.” He shot Ol-Lozen the kind of grin one shared with a comrade when death drew close with pointed focus, but the not-man was drowning in considerations at the winged demons seeking their heads. They’d hardly noticed Daigay already halfway to the wagon.

Some are low enough, but most fly far out of reach. Waiting might see them bunch up, mitigate the risk to myself, but by then I’d jeopardize Mouse and the others. The Tankbuster doesn’t discriminate when it comes to collateral damage, and those flyers will avert any damage.

Unless they hadn’t needed to be closer. He just needed to be faster.

That girl, the magus, as if hearing his thoughts leaned from the wagon, one foot planted firmly on its edge to throw more weight outside its cover, taking in the battle he intended to fight, and matched his shout with her own, glee regained in the wake of rescue.

“Mouse! Command me now! Demand from me the fleetness of gods!”

“Protect us, demon! Strike swiftly, and preserve the lives we’ve saved this day!”

On hand and throat their runes ignited with unearthly light, and the world through Ol-Lozen’s eyes was submerged once more in the sapphire of battle thrill. Time turned to a slow crawl through mud, and his vision sharpened.

Once slippery as a fish, the pulsing target nestled within yellow tendrils constituting alien bodies stood out like a juicy apple, ripe for plucking. With preternatural grace he swung once for each of the four demons close to the ground, the bloodsword dividing the cardinal organs cleanly in two, ease of their slaughter tickling him to roar with laughs. To onlookers he had stood in one place the first moment and splashed in Incursion entrails the next, bathing triumphantly in the rain of golden gore, smoke from his healed wounds spewing forth in an effervescent cloud.

And every living Incursion head – all at once – from the vicinity of Goldhome-In-The-Dell to the far corners of the ravaged lostlands, in the cold skies and the inhospitable, vine-ridden earth, the driven and presently engaged, snapped to Ol-Lozen; one simultaneous action spanning millions of eyeless limbs.