A Wizard's War - 8. The Fall of Westwood

Warm candlelight illuminated the dim space around Auren Quall’s desk. Over his desk were stacked books and various potions and tinctures he had created by experimentation. In his hand he held a letter from Lord Byron expressing his distinct displeasure with Auren’s current course of action. Byron and his forces had successfully eliminated the town of Eastwood and were waiting not far to move upon their next target. Auren sighed before burning the letter and then he pulled a handful of runed stones from the inner pocket of his gray robes.

The stones clattered into his washing basin, and he peered over the semi-reflective surface to observe the auguring. Touching the runes that were now face up he gathered a sense of their directions and let Belothemid speak through them from beyond the void of death. “He’s coming,” Auren heard them whisper like snakes in his mind.

“Jeleko-ohn,” Auren whispered as his eyes rolled back in his head, “it’s about time.”

There came a knock on the door and Auren’s attention snapped back, a sly smile spread across his face.

“Abbot Qualls,” Simon whispered from the other side, “I… I didn’t know…”

Auren opened the door and a convincing mask of concern had replaced his smile.

“Simon?” Auren asked, “Whatever are you doing at this hour?”

Simon came rushing into the room in a full panic. Out of breath and clearly in a state of shock he began pacing around the room, his clasped hands fidgeting before him. Auren already knew what had finally happened, it was only a matter of time before Bronn’s urges got the better of him, and after Simon’s display at dinner. Belothemid never failed Auren, he had allowed the traitors to warn the town of Eldwood, Jemma Eldwood had managed to avoid capture, leading to Simon Lorall, the Jeleko-ohn. Everything was falling into place, as long as Auren could complete the next part delicately.

“Please, my boy. What is wrong?” Auren poured from a nearby pitcher, “Have some wine, calm your nerves, and breathe.”

Auren let slip a small vial into the wine he had poured and then cast his aura around him. The spell was etched into a ring Auren wore around his little finger and produced a calming effect that allowed others in close proximity to be more susceptible to suggestion. He placed a reassuring hand on Simon’s back and handed him the goblet. Simon drank and little rivulets of red wine dripped from his chin, but he did not seem to notice.

“I… or rather Yi… Haizoth…” Simon lowered the goblet and his whole body was trembling. Auren took the goblet back to prevent him from spilling.

“Come sit,” Auren cooed and led Simon to a chair by the desk, “Take it one word at a time. Tell me what happened.”

“Bronn, he came and…” Simon’s voice hitched, and tears fell from his eyes, “By the gods, what have I done?”

Auren took a calming breath and resisted the urge to backhand the dumb boy extremely hard. He replaced the goblet in both of Simon’s hands and indicated he drink some more.

“He’s dead.”

“Who’s dead, my boy?” Auren feigned surprise.

“Bronn,” Simon stared off distantly as he paused to drink again, “I think I killed him.”

“Your power,” Auren nodded knowingly, “I told you the power could be great.”

“I stole it,” Simon seemed to touch tentatively his swollen muscles that now filled out his clothes, “I stole his life.”

“I understand you are in shock,” Auren tilted up Simon’s face so they could meet eye to eye, “but I will help you.”

“Thank you,” Simon whimpered as tears spilled from his eyes.

“You cannot stay here, you’ll have to go immediately, this very night. The other people in this town won’t understand.”

“Amos,” Simon moaned, “he lost one parent and now I’ve taken the other… he’ll never… forgive me.”

“You can’t worry about him now. Focus on how you can survive. Please, drink some more.”

Simon took another drink and Auren could sense his heart rate slowing and his worried face growing more slack. Auren took hold of both of Simon’s hands and looked into the boy’s eyes.

“Haizoth,” Auren spoke, “I summon you, come forth.”

Simon blinked lazily up at Auren, but nothing else happened. Auren tried again to call forth the demon to command it, but nothing happened. He realized the boy had given him a fake name. Auren smiled, truly impressed for the first time. No matter, there were other ways. He went to his bed chamber and returned with a stack of books and a large sack with drawstrings.

“I cannot go with you, when you leave,” Auren spoke, “You must travel to the land of the Votu Alliance where the last great wizard wars were fought.”

“Why must I go there?”

“I took the same journey once,” Auren explained, “the Bastion is the seat of power for the Wizard Council, and they can finish what we’ve started. I was hoping to prepare you better, but I will send you with several books so you can read and continue your learning on your own.”

“I’m dangerous… I killed…”

“No,” Auren stroked the young man’s face, “I’m sure you acted to protect yourself and it was not you, after all. You gave over control, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Simon brightened, “Wasn’t me…”

“You must learn to control the power and not let it control you. That is how you avoid future catastrophe.”

Auren emptied the contents of the drawstring bag onto his desk. A collection of heavy chains and unique enchanted items clattered upon the surface. He then took the goblet from Simon again and placed the bag in his hands.

“I have stitched symbols inside this bag that allow the contents to weigh half of their normal weight. You can use this for all the books I’ve given you and any other heavy items you need to pack. We will go together to your room now, since I’m sure that is where Bronn still is.”

“Yes,” Simon looked afraid to return, but Auren had his own purpose for going there. He ushered Simon through the halls and up a flight of stairs to the room he had been staying in. Sure enough, Bronn’s naked body was on the floor and the early signs of decomposition showed that he had been completely drained of life.

“Impressive,” Auren marveled internally, while externally, “Quickly, boy, pack only what you will need. We will go to the kitchen’s larder next to find you preserved food.”

Auren crouched next to Bronn’s corpse while Simon was distracted with packing. Reaching out Auren found the chain around Bronn’s neck and the small key attached. With a quick tug Auren broke the chain and then pocketed the key. He smiled at how easily everything was working out. Simon moved in a hypnotized daze down the stairs after packing and Auren helped him stock up food for the road ahead while continuing to issue orders.

“Tell me again what I instructed,” Auren reviewed.

“I take the east-bound road to Belamere’s Crossing,” Simon recited expressionlessly. Auren eased off the aura so that Simon might be more alert for his journey.

“Very good,” Auren placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder, “Someone can help you find your way from there, but what is your final destination?”

“The Bastion,” Simon answered. Satisfied, Auren led the boy to the front door of the manor and expelled him into the night. Simon looked back briefly, a deep sadness in his eyes.

“Thank you for your help,” Simon spoke uncertainly, “I know you want something from me, but I don’t yet know what it is.”

“I want you to fulfill your destiny,” Auren answered, not sure how else to respond. Beyond this point Simon’s journey would be in Belothemid’s hands.

“I will do my best,” Simon nodded and then turned and walked away down the sloping path toward the town, the heavy drawstring bag slung over his shoulder. Auren watched until he had disappeared completely from sight, then he crept back up the stairs.

Inside Bronn’s office, Auren used the key to open a small lockbox that was housed on the shelf. Tilting back the ornate lid with the Hawthorn crest emblazoned upon it, Auren discovered a wealth of gold coins as well as a mechanical heart. Auren tentatively touched the powerful object and felt a shiver run down his spine. Finally.

__________

The dawn was just breaking, and Amos had yet to sleep. His eyelids were heavy, but he rolled out of bed and began to dress himself. He kept thinking about Simon kissing him the night before and how exhilarating it had felt, how liberating. Amos couldn’t sleep all night and he had finally concluded that Simon deserved the truth. Amos had to tell someone, or he’d tear himself apart. Time to be brave, like Simon had been.

Fully dressed, Amos left his room and walked down the hall toward the room Simon was staying in but he was shocked to find a pale Cuthbert with his back to Simon’s door clutching at his chest. Cuthbert was panting and tears had clearly fallen down his cheeks.

“What is the matter, Cuthbert?”

“Oh! Young master!” Cuthbert jolted in surprise as if he had not seen Amos there even though he’d clearly been in his line of vision.

“What is it?” Amos pressed as he approached and steadied the old man.

“It’s awful,” Cuthbert wheezed.

“Is Simon alright?” Amos was suddenly alarmed as he considered his father’s anger the evening before. He began to push past Cuthbert and into the bedroom. Cuthbert suddenly clung tight to his arm and tried to keep him away.

“No, young master!” Cuthbert begged, “Don’t look in there!”

It was too late; Cuthbert was not strong enough to stop him and Amos had already pushed on the door with one hand, so it swung inward. The smell of death was clear in the air and a naked body lay upon the floor within. Amos felt his blood run cold, but it wasn’t Simon, it was an older man. Very old by the look of him.

“Who is it?” Amos asked in alarm.

“It’s Master Hawthorn,” Cuthbert choked and began to sob again.

“That’s impossible, this man is too old.”

“It…it’s not natural,” Cuthbert stuttered, “Something horrible happened here.”

Amos walked into the room, quickly covering his nose with his shirt collar to ward off the smell. He drew closer to the body and peered down to confirm it was indeed his father. The face was gaunt and the eyes empty in death. Already extreme signs of decay were evident, even though that was impossible, but Amos recognized his father as he looked down. It was the stuff of nightmares and although his father was a tough and unforgiving man, no one deserved this.

“And Simon?” Amos asked.

“He was not here,” Cuthbert answered from out in the hall, “I only decided to check on the young master, when I noticed the door slightly ajar. Thought he could use some breakfast, but then… there was the smell.”

“We should get the town’s healer to look at him,” Amos spoke, “Perhaps some poison caused this quick reaction.”

Amos couldn’t stand looking at the grisly face of his father anymore and he swiftly left the room and lightly closed the door behind him. Amos steadied himself against the wall for a moment and then unexpectedly he fell to his knees and vomited.

“I’m sorry,” Amos apologized to Cuthbert.

“Don’t be,” Cuthbert placed a reassuring hand on the large man’s back, “I’ll take care of that mess. You get Suzanne to fetch the healer, and there is Ellina to consider.”

“I will tell her,” Amos managed as he wiped his mouth, “It has to come from me.”

“I know you are strong, young master,” Cuthbert ventured, “but don’t hold it all back.”

“I’ll grieve later,” Amos gritted his teeth as he rose back to standing, “We need to find out what happened, perhaps more of us are in danger.”

Amos took several steps away toward the stairs then he turned back to Cuthbert, “What of the abbot?”

“I’ve not been to check on him yet,” Cuthbert responded.

“When you’ve cleaned there, I’d be curious to learn if he is around. I never fully trusted that man.”

“I will check, young master.”

For the next several hours, time seemed to move at a snail’s pace for Amos. It seemed an eternity waiting for the healer, Salman Frye, to arrive. Another eternity for his examination. During all the waiting Amos tracked down Ellina and spent another eternity with her stunned silence and a greater eternity with her crying and sobbing against his shirt. It all seemed so surreal, like a bad dream. Why did all these bad things keep happening to them? First their mother, then their brother, and now their father. How much did they have to lose?

“I’ve finished my initial assessment,” Salman Frye had come down the stairs and entered the common area where Amos was holding the shaking Ellina.

“Was it poison?” Amos asked.

“None that I’ve seen,” Frye answered, “but it is definitely not natural because he looks like he’s been dead for three days, but that is not possible.”

“There is no sign of him,” Cuthbert came down the stairs not far behind Frye, “but many of his things were left behind.”

Amos pondered the disappearance of the abbot not long after his father’s death. It was certainly suspicious, and Amos had caught a glimpse of all the potions and mysterious liquids the abbot had collected on his desk. The abbot was undoubtedly involved, but what about Simon? Simon had harbored hatred for Bronn, but was it enough to commit murder? Perhaps if he’d been cornered, Amos knew his father’s proclivities, and after last night’s show of rebellion…

“They had been spending quite a bit of time together, weren’t they?” Amos asked aloud, then clarified upon seeing Cuthbert’s puzzled expression, “The abbot and Simon.”

“Now that you mention it, Simon was in the abbot’s study frequently over the past week or so.”

“I suspect our guests had a hand in my father’s death,” Amos frowned.

“Must we discuss this now?” Ellina moaned from Amos’ arms.

“I’m sorry, sister,” Amos rubbed her back, “but I’m afraid we must act quickly.”

“Come with me, my lady,” Suzanne spoke from the nearby door to the kitchen, “I’ll brew you some tea and we can avoid these unpleasantries.”

Ellina glanced at Amos to make sure it was alright, and he nodded for her to go. She walked in a daze and followed Suzanne into the kitchen. Amos rose from where he’d been sitting and made his way into his father’s study. He surveyed the room and quickly discovered the lockbox was out of place and laid open. Oddly enough the gold was still inside. Why open the box, but not empty its contents?

“Your father kept a key around his neck…” Cuthbert spoke from the door.

“I noticed it missing,” Amos nodded, “but they didn’t take the gold. Any idea if something else was here?”

“I’m sorry, young master,” Cuthbert looked dismayed, “I do not know.”

“Did the abbot leave some of those liquids and vials behind?”

“Yes.”

“Have Mr. Frye take some of them for observation,” Amos suggested, “Perhaps something there is linked to my father’s death. Some new poison from a distant place.”

“Yes, young master,” Cuthbert bowed and went to collect the items as requested.

Amos paced the study and ran his fingers along the back of his father’s chair. Amos had always been so terrified as a child to be called into this room. His father was always a large and commanding presence. He reflected on an early incident when he was still just a boy:

“The Hightowers are becoming too much of a competitor,” Bronn had spoken, “You will get to know their son, Gregor.”

“I already have friends in town,” Amos had answered.

“But they are not friends that will benefit us in any way,” Bronn had answered disgustedly, “If you get close to the Hightower boy, you might learn something that is actually useful. Something we can use against them if needed.”

“If you say so, Father,” Amos had conceded glumly.

“In business and in life, there are those who take what they need to prosper and those who are made to serve. You need to decide which you want to be, son.”

“We’ve definitely prospered, Father,” the adult Amos spoke into the empty study, “but what has it all been for? So, you could end up dead and stripped of your dignity?”

Just then the alarm bells began to sound in the town.

Gregor was standing on watch in the tower when the goblins began to charge out of the forest. Arrows and spears executed three people working outside in a matter of seconds. Gregor shot to his feet and shouted to his fellow officer in the tower. When there was no response, he looked up into the higher sections where the alarm bell was situated. His fellow city guardsman, that Gregor often jokingly called ‘Pidgeon-toe Pete’, was only looking down in disbelief and not responding.

“Pete!” Gregor shouted, “Sound the damned alarm!”

Pete continued to stare vacantly and then Gregor noticed the blood red blade protruding from Pete’s chest as it began to be pulled back out of the man. Gregor just managed to step back as the young guard’s body toppled over the high railing and fell through the tower. Gregor’s stomach clenched as he heard Pete’s body make a sickening smack against the railing just in front of him before tumbling further below. Gregor drew his blade and looked up to locate the murderer within, but there was no one.

Ascending the tower steps, cautiously rounding each corner, Gregor knew he needed to reach the alarm bell and alert the rest of the city guards. Already the goblins below were setting fire to the outlying buildings and many people were not yet aware of the imminent danger. Gregor was nearing the top when a soldier in black armor suddenly lunged out at him. Gregor narrowly avoided being impaled with a quick parry. Then he was fighting for his life.

Gregor had learned one thing from his time with the Order of Belothemid, that they had far superior training than the soldiers of the city guard in quiet, uneventful Westwood. These soldiers had not just practiced at fighting, they had fought battles, and many had killed men in combat. It was everything Gregor could do to not die. Fighting on uneven steps, with the attacker on the high ground, was only adding to the enemy’s advantage. Then something unexpected happened, the Order soldier’s blade narrowly missed Gregor again but embedded itself in the stair’s railing.

In that tiny, miraculous moment, Gregor slipped in, and his blade ran through his attacker just between the chinks in his armor and with all his might into the soldier’s chest. The man coughed blood and then went limp. Gregor had never killed a man before and he felt his stomach twist again at the sight, a thing he could never unsee. And to make matters worse he had to practically step on the man’s chest to wrench his sword back free from the man’s corpse. The sword made squishing sounds and splattered sickening gouts of blood as it finally pulled free. Gregor turned and regurgitated his last meal.

Panting, horrified, but grateful to be alive, Gregor held to his duty and made it to the alarm bell for the city. He began to pull desperately on the rope and sound the alarm. He had a view of the city below and the destruction that was already underway. The goblins were not the only ones murdering innocent citizens and city guards in the streets, but more of the treacherous Order soldiers were cutting people down.

With the betrayal of their new allies, Gregor knew the city would soon be lost.

As Amos left his father’s study, he looked at the old weapons displayed upon the wall. He felt the blade and was satisfied to discover it was still sharp, before hefting the large battle axe from its position. He tested the balance and it felt just as comfortable in his hands as the old log splitter he used so often. With the recent goblin attack and his father’s murder, Amos was not going to be left defenseless again. He would die before being captured this time or worse, allowing Ellina to be captured.

Returning to the main hall, Amos discovered an alarmed Ellina had returned from the kitchens with Suzanne, and Frye was heading for the door.

“If there is danger,” Frye spoke, “I need to get to my own family.”

“I understand,” Amos nodded. Amos followed Frye to the door and looked out toward the town, but he could not see the threat from where he stood.

“What do you think is happening?” Ellina asked.

“If I’m right about the abbot betraying our father,” Amos spoke hesitantly, “his soldiers may be attacking the town now.”

“Young master,” Cuthbert had returned with several vials, “What is happening?”

“I don’t know yet,” Amos spoke, “but I think we need to get out of here while we can. Cuthbert, can you go to the stables and inform Selby we need horses made ready?”

“Yes, master,” Cuthbert set the vials aside and moved quickly out the door.

“Ellina,” Amos observed her elegant garb, “change into something more fit for travel. You need to have the freedom to move quickly. Go now, Suzanne will accompany you.”

Looking back out the door, Amos saw smoke now rising on the horizon from the outer edges of the city. He tried to recall if Gregor was on duty that morning. He remembered the first time he was forced to follow his father’s orders and he approached young Gregor in the attempts to befriend the man. Gregor was taller than Amos back then, although they had changed quite a bit, and after a significant growth spurt Amos had surpassed him. But on their first meeting, Amos was intimidated by Gregor, he was tall and handsome and even at a young age had a whisper of a glorious moustache that was the envy of many.

What happened between Amos and Gregor was not expected and they became fast friends. It seemed they both shared the common trait of having a tough and ambitious father. Amos also loved being doted upon by Gregor’s mother, Gretta, since she reminded him so strongly of his own mother. The Hightowers became an integral part of his life and as his only act of true defiance to his father. Amos never betrayed their confidence, never revealed their secrets. Amos discovered there could be another way to do business, by working together.

“I hope you’re ok,” Amos whispered prayerfully to the distant Gregor and that’s when the alarm bell was silenced. The sudden unnatural hush allowed Amos to hear for the first time the distant sound of screams.

“Master Amos,” Cuthbert had returned in a running panic, “Stable master Sebly has been murdered as well! Several horses are missing.”

“Gods damn it all!” Amos spat, the rising tension inside was almost more than he could bear, but he had to keep his wits about him.

“There are only two horses remaining.”

“Do you remember how to saddle them?” Amos asked, considering their options.

“I have one ready, but I can’t find the tack for the other.”

“You will take Ellina away from here as quickly as you can ride,” Amos decided, “Through the forest and out of the town. Then southeast to New Mayweather. They have significant defenses in their city and if I make it out, I can meet you there.”

“Master, that is several days’ worth of travel! And I cannot leave you behind. Suzanne could easily take Ellina.”

“I adore Suzanne,” Amos grasped Cuthbert’s shoulder in confidence, “but she is weak, and I know you would lay down your life for Ellina if it came to that.”

“You speak true,” Cuthbert looked down feeling honored that Amos could see him in a way so much clearer than the previous master of the house. Cuthbert had secretly longed for the day that Amos would oversee the manor, but not like this. This day was filled with too much loss and now they had to flee.

“Take as much gold as you need from that lockbox,” Amos ordered, “and then gather food in the kitchen. Leave as soon as you are ready.”

“What are you going to do?” Cuthbert asked nervously.

“I’m going to try and help a friend,” Amos answered.

Amos urged the others on and soon he had Cuthbert and Ellina on horseback and riding down the path toward the forest. They disappeared as they crossed the stream. Amos offered a prayer to Esther to light their way and guide them to safety.

“Suzanne,” Amos spoke to the nervous woman in the doorway, “You’re with me.”

They made their way down the path and immediately they could see the farther end of the main thoroughfare engulfed in flames. All the vendors and carts had been abandoned or overturned in the square. A grunting and growling group of goblin warriors came running with spears when they caught sight of the pair that had descended from the manor. With quick and rather fluid movement for such a big man, Amos cleaved them all asunder with the large war axe. Suzanne was screaming at the grisly sight.

“Get it together!” Amos barked at her, and she blinked in surprise, “We move toward the Hightower residence, down this alley.”

It did not take long to reach the wood cabin, but Amos froze a moment when he saw the front door wide open, broken in. A blood stain smeared the door frame and a body lay just within. His breath caught in his throat and he gripped tighter on the axe to steady himself. As they approached, Amos identified Gregor’s father, Dominik, lying in the entryway. There was a crashing and alarmed cries of women within.

Amos hid Suzanne just inside of the house and told her to stay out of sight before rushing toward the source of the commotion. On the upstairs landing three of the Order soldiers were hammering against a door, attempting to break inside. Amos took the first one by surprise and sent his mangled corpse flying and crashing down to the first floor. The other two reeled in surprise and came at him.

Amos narrowly missed being impaled by a sword as he backed away, but then he pressed forward again, swinging his mighty axe. Another soldier fell, but the second managed to block Amos’ downward swing at the last moment. The blow was still so strong that the soldier was driven to his knees by the force and Amos took the opportunity to change direction and sink his axe blade deep into the man’s neck. Amos was sickened by the way the man’s eye bulged, and his face and body twitched as he crumpled. So much blood flowing out over the man’s black armor. Something he could never unsee.

“Gregor!” Amos called toward the door they were attempting to breach, “Are you here? Gretta? Mirva?”

The door opened slowly and Mirva cautiously stuck her tear-streaked face out, “By the gods, you’ve saved us.”

Gretta followed Mirva out and another servant named Oscar. They all looked bewildered and afraid, but completely unharmed. It seemed Dominik had been the only casualty, but where was Gregor?

“Suzanne!” Amos called down, “Come up here.”

“Have you seen Gregor out there?” Gretta asked almost not wanting to know the answer.

“Not yet,” Amos spoke solemnly, “but I intend to find him.”

“What should we do?” Mirva asked.

“I sent Ellina to the city of New Mayweather,” Amos responded, “I think you all should escape out the back way into the gardens and then out into the forest. Make your way there and alert the town. They have a much more defensible position along the river.”

“It’s as good a plan as any,” Gretta was wringing her hands nervously, “Mirva and Oscar can gather what we need for the journey. Quickly now.”

Oscar stepped uneasily over the mangled corpses of the enemy and then vomited.

“Try not to look my dear,” Mirva patted the young man’s back as she ushered him down toward their supplies.

“Suzanne will go with you,” Amos informed Gretta as the mousey woman arrived, “Feel free to have her help carry any supplies you may need. Do you know where Gregor was on duty?”

“The tower,” Gretta answered, and Amos felt a chill run through him. He recalled the sound of the bell and then the sudden lack of sound. He could not dwell on that, he simply needed to act.

“I have to go,” Amos spoke, and the two women nodded their thanks, “Keep yourselves safe.”

“Good luck, my boy,” Mirva spoke to Amos as she passed him on the lower level, “I hope we meet again soon.”

“We’ll have a stronger drink than tea if we do,” Amos grinned at her.

“Damn right.”

Amos was back in the bloody, burning streets of Westwood. It was heartbreaking to see so much of his home in ruin and the bodies of people he knew haphazardly piled on the ground. He picked his way along down less common routes and alleyways as he made his way to the tower. He could handle small groups of enemies, but he avoided larger groups if possible. He had no intention of being overwhelmed and then subsequently murdered.

Amos did not hesitate to kill any of the goblin scum that he encountered though, and his axe blade was now heavily covered with blood from those he felled. As Amos rounded a corner, he saw his friend lying in the street. There was a large gash across the young man’s cheek that would undoubtedly leave a scar and he was not moving. Amos rushed toward him and was nearly impaled upon a spear point due to his intense focus on Gregor.

The goblin attacker called to others in his guttural language as Amos narrowly avoided being skewered at the last moment. Amos cut down the goblin and then prepared himself as two others came upon him. He was so full of rage; they never stood a chance and soon two more goblin corpses littered the street. Amos at last reached his friend and shook him.

“You look awful,” Gregor managed a smirk as his eyes blessedly fluttered open.

“Right back at you,” Amos laughed in relief at seeing his friend alive and tears fell freely from his eyes. Gregor was alive, but Amos could see upon closer inspection that he had been severely injured. Blood was seeping from Gregor’s side and onto the ground.

“Survivors! Over here!” someone was suddenly shouting down the street. Amos looked up in horror as about ten of the Order soldiers began to march in his direction. There were far too many for him to fight alone.

“You should run,” Gregor managed to wheeze.

“Like hell,” Amos growled as he began to lift Gregor as best he could. He was practically having to drag the man.

“Over here,” someone whispered from a nearby doorway. Amos looked around to see the baker beckoning them inside. Amos grunted as he pulled Gregor along and they made it inside just in time for the enemy to slam upon the other side of the door as it closed. Amos put his back to the door until the baker could once more secure it with furniture from his home.

“That’s not going to last,” Amos looked around the cramped space and realized there was no other way out. The baker and his wife did not look much like fighters and unless they wanted to throw the countless books that filled one side of the room, there was not much in terms of weapons. The baker’s wife was kneeling beside Gregor and observing the wound at his side.

“He’ll bleed out if we don’t do something,” she said. Amos helped her remove Gregor’s armor plating and then his shirt. Amos looked over Gregor’s hairy muscular chest at all the bruises he had sustained. It broke his heart to see his friend so damaged and filled him with hatred. The wound at his side went deep into his body and blood was everywhere.

“Sugar will stop the blood,” the baker’s wife began applying the substance over the wound, “but it is only a temporary fix.”

Sure enough the blood began to coagulate as the sugar was packed over the wound. Amos cradled Gregor’s face in both of his hands and stroked the cheek that had not been gashed open.

“You look like it’s the end of the road,” Gregor spoke to Amos.

“It sure feels that way,” Amos answered as he listened to the pounding and shouting at the front door. The sound of wood cracking and splintering was becoming more frequent.

“You shouldn’t have come back for me,” Gregor groaned, “I’d have been glad if you were safe.”

“I woke this morning with the intention of confessing my true feelings,” Amos shook his head and couldn’t help the tears that were beginning to leak from his eyes, “I met someone brave enough to admit how they feel, but I’ve been afraid. I couldn’t care for another person, couldn’t be with another person, because all my thoughts were for you.”

“What are you saying?” Gregor was puzzled as he grasped Amos comfortingly by the arm.

“This…” Amos leaned over and kissed Gregor’s mouth. Amos could taste the blood and sweat on the man’s face, feel the bristles of the man’s beard. As first kisses went it was probably not the best, but Amos had never experienced a sweeter, more wonderful moment in his entire life.

“Wow,” Gregor blinked in surprise as Amos pulled away, “Today is definitely a day of firsts for me.”

“I couldn’t die without telling you,” Amos blushed.

“I love you too, you big idiot,” Gregor weakly pretended to punch Amos’ cheek, “and I still wish you’d have escaped instead of coming back here for me.”

Amos felt the emotional weight he had been carrying slip from him as he stood, he took up the battle axe and faced the door to the small home. The enemy broke through the defenses and Amos killed two in quick succession, but they were flooding into the home too quickly and overwhelming his ability to fend them off. If they managed to get to the side or behind him, it would all be over.

Suddenly, a force of wind seemed to suck all the air out of the small space and the enemy soldiers outside were scattered in every direction. The rest of the Order soldiers clutched at their chests as they fell over, dead. Another had his helmet crumple and crush around his skull until blood poured out onto the floor. Amos stepped back in horror at these sudden attacks from an invisible force.

A small slender figure in forest green clothes covering their entire body and a hooded cowl concealing their face appeared in the doorway. Then she spoke, “Come with me.”

Amos and the baker got on either side of Gregor and supported the injured man as they followed the mysterious woman. Any enemies that barred their path, she would dispatch with swift hand movements. Amos realized he was seeing true magic for the first time, and he was in awe.