By the Moon’s Last Light

By Sean Kane

 

A budding public historian and author, Sean is a simple dude from North Carolina with a passion for history and speculative fiction, often blending the two together in his writing. He loves heavy metal music, arguing about who has the best BBQ, noodling on the guitar, bad puns, buying books that he’ll never read, and making/wearing historic garb.

 

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Cannonfire thundered and roared in the night, the mountain valley air was thick with powdersmoke, the light from the waning moon barely poked through. Below in the valley, a massive army of demons had gathered to lay siege. Thick leather boots marched on the valley floor, tromping their way to the fort that stood at the mountain pass, likely hoping they would crash through the defenses and continue their deadly slaughter in the countryside.

At the base of the mountain pass, a weary elf stood within the redoubt of Fort Anvil. Major Howl wore a green threadbare uniform of the Caldrayn Royal Rangers. Frayed gold epaulettes sat on his shoulders, with the major’s insignia of a crescent moon on the buttons. His natural silver hair was tied in a long queue that ran down his back. He sighed and shivered as a brief chill ran through him, unsure if it was from fear or the cold mountain air.

He glanced down the trench, seeing the thin lines of exhausted blue coated soldiers of Caldrayn. They seemed more like husks than living creatures from the two straight nights of fighting. Their eyes were bloodshot, faces blackened from powder, their firing motions purely from mechanical memory.

There was a murmur next to him, he turned to face a grey-green skinned orc. She had spoken but he had not been paying attention. “I’m sorry, what?”

“They’ll likely be at the gates tonight,” said Major Keg. The two had fought alongside each other since they were mere privates in the Caldrayn army. Where Howl may have preferred cunning and precision, she didn’t mind an outright brawl. Years of service gave her a few lines of scars on her face and a chipped tusk. The star and grenade badge on the grenadier cap she held under the crook of her arm marked her as a war mage, a specialist in explosive magic.

“Good, we’ve been waiting for days,” said Howl. Three miserable days at this backwater fort out in the ass end of the kingdom. He looked up at the fort. The defences were old, nearly ancient, but they guarded the only pass through the mountains, the only way though to the last free kingdoms.

A grunt came a few feet away where the two of them stood. A stout dwarf soldier leaned on the wall of the rampart, Serjeant Major Cord, a veteran of many wars and had been a trusted comrade of Howl’s for many years. A scar ran along his forehead like a second set of brows and another on his clean-shaven chin. He wore the dark blue of the Caldrayn army, adorned with silver laced cuffs and lapels befitting his rank. “Tonight will be a night of proper soldiering,” said Cord.

Keg hefted her blunderbuss. “Ain’t that every night, Cord?”

Cord snorted.

Howl heard chanting from beyond. Thousands of voices shouting through the cannonfire. He could make out the words in the Dark tongue. “Death! Death!” He imagined the redoubt would soon be swarmed with the grey and black uniforms of Vakhrus’s army. But they would be ready to defend.

Howl gripped at the hilt of his sword. There were maybe less than a thousand defenders against what he could only guess were tens of thousands. In all his career he hadn’t faced against odds like this, especially not without reinforcements. They should have been here by now. Where are they? Dammit, Lock. “Have them make ready.”

The cannonfire abated, the last of the guns echoing in the pale lit night. Serjeants barked orders as the defenders rustled into readied lines, muskets loaded and bayonets fixed. Heavy boots thumped in the nearby grass, snapping small twigs. 

An orderly approached, a human junior officer, looking as haggard as anyone there. “Major Howl, the colonel wants to see you and Major Keg.”

Howl gave him an incredulous look. “Now? They’re right on our bloody door!” 

The orderly shrugged. “Says it’s urgent, sir.”

“Of course, he’s the damned colonel.”

A hand patted him. “Don’t worry, we can hold the war for you until you get back,” said Cord, a smirk on his face.

“If I’m not back in about ten minutes, just wait a little longer.” He sighed and followed the orderly to the “command post” in the rear of the redoubt, where the staff officers stood to make their commands. Technically Howl belonged with them as a brevet colonel, but he always preferred to be with his rankers. 

Colonel Ironhand stood especially tall for a human, the near model of an army officer. Amid the tired and ragged soldiers, he was immaculate, his uniform cleanly brushed and his face close-shaven. A great white owl flew off with a missive clutched within its talons. The colonel turned to Howl and Keg. “Major, I’ve got news. Good and bad.”

Howl frowned and rolled a hand at the colonel, beckoning him to continue.

“Reinforcements are late but will be here.”

“Great, what’s the good news?”

“That was the good news.”

Howl deflated and scratched at his chin. “Oh.”

“They likely won’t be here until dawn.”

“Well, then let’s hope that if we’re still here, he brought coffee and pastries for all of us,” said Howl.

Keg didn’t take it as well. “Dawn? You said they’d be here by nightfall and it’s midnight! The horned bastards out there are just getting started, our soldiers are worn out.”

Ironhand sighed, his mouth pressed flat. “And we shall have to hold until then. Those are our orders.”

“Hold? We’ve been lucky the last two nights, are we pressing it a bit much? Why’s he late? Did he stop for tea?”

The colonel frowned. “Major, he’s a superior officer, you-”

“And he ain’t here!” she snapped. “I’ve not slept in two days, so I’ll beg some pardon, but if he’ll take any offense and court martial me, then he’ll have to get here first!”

“Major, please,” the colonel put up placating hands. “I understand, I-”

A huge volley of musket fire erupted. Ironhand’s mouth snapped shut and he glanced back out to the frontlines, whipping out his spyglass. “They’re pressing on the center but we’re holding firm for now.”

“We’re heading back, sir,” said Keg. “We’ve got some devils to kill.” She and Howl darted back to their line. Tall orc grenadiers hurled big gobs of magic fire, ripping apart masses of devilkin. Rangers took more careful shots, aiming for enemy officers and mages. Cord was humming an old soldier’s tune as he swung his halberd into any devil that managed to make it over the rampart.

“They’re confident tonight, sir!” the dwarf yelled. Blood had spattered one side of his face, giving him a grisly look. “They’re bold! They hope to break us tonight! But we’ll break them, won’t we lads?” He gave a hoarse, barking laugh as he swung his halberd again.

Howl glanced up, seeing the pale moon peeking through the clouds that blanketed the stars. “Tonight will be a night for the annals for sure.”

“Then let’s show them how proper soldiering is done!” Cord pointed at the next wave.

 

“Bloody hell that’s a lot of them,” said Keg, loading up her blunderbuss with a heavy charge. She held up a large lead ball, painted and inscribed, and rammed it down the wide barrel. The blunderbuss roared with fire and the ball zipped into a mass of devilkin. As the ball slammed into the chest of a soldier, it exploded into fragments hitting the soldiers next to him in a wide circle. “That’s at least eight.” She grinned.

“Is it a competition now?” Howl sighted an officer and fired. The bullet took the devil right between the eyes. The rank and file started to waver, shrill cries in protest. Serjeants with decorated horns shoved the rankers back into line, pressing them on, until they too were shot from sharpshooters.

“Over there.” Keg pointed out in the distance toward the rear of the enemy army. “What’s that bastard doing?”

Howl gazed across the killing field and trenches, behind the mass of enemy soldiers, spying a Dreadmage, garbed in tattered robes and bone fetishes. The mage waved his hands into the air, circling and grasping at an invisible rope with his fingers. There was a slight pungent smell in the air, like a bitter copper taste that made Howl cringe. Some kind of dark sorcery was afoot.

He flicked his rifle up, aiming his sights at the far off mage. It was a shot only possible with his rifle and elven eyesight. He arced the barrel up slightly to compensate and fired. Through the puff of smoke he saw the bullet soar over the field towards the mage, muttering a curse as the bullet slapped at a magic shield and bounced away. “The night is just getting better and better,” he muttered.

Sickly green energy surged and cracked above the Dreadmage, creating a small tempest of dark magic above him. The energy flashed and crackled. The sky seemed to be torn apart as a thunderous tearing sound made Howl bend over and cover his ears.

A hulking figure lumbered from the dark rent in the air, one giant snout followed by a long serpentine body with several thick limbs. Its leather wings were tattered looking, its skull horns protruded in grotesque fashion. Rotten gray scales splotched with black spots that webbed throughout its body. A sharp horn protruded from the end of its long tail.

The dragon swooped down to the fort. Green fiery breath disintegrated the soldiers into ash. It snatched some into its jaws, snapping them in half with its large teeth. Screams and cries emanated from the lines as soldiers scrambled to get away.

Howl’s chest tightened. The center lines were faltering as the dragon plowed through. He looked down to the right flank, spotting enemy soldiers swarming the lines. Someone fired a shot, but the bullet only smacked into the dragon’s thick hide and bounced away. Howl’s stomach clenched. How the blazes are we going to hold?

A beam of fire arced from within the redoubt, smacking into the dragon. It reared from the force, tumbling and spinning in the air. It righted itself with a snarl as another slammed into its chest, tearing a gaping hole. Colonel Ironhand stood on the ramparts, his arms bright with magic. He cocked a fist back and lashed out another fiery beam, puncturing the dragon. The beast roared and unleashed a spray of its own fire at the colonel. Howl ducked down from the build up of heat.

The fire abated, tendrils of smoke wisped away from the redoubt. Ironhand still stood upright, unharmed from the dragon’s fire, his hands outstretched above him. His breathing was ragged, and Howl could see his chest heaving from exertion. 

“He can’t keep it up for much longer,” said Keg. “He’ll wear himself out.”

 

“We can’t let up either, we need to fend the rest off the other bastards and give him some room,” said Howl.

Ironhand hurled another beam at the dragon. The dragon gasped, its body lurched and then stiffened before falling to the ground with a large crash, landing on several devilkin. 

A cheer broke out from the fort in between the fire of muskets and cannons. Even Howl couldn’t help but grin at the small victory. Perhaps there’s still hope then.

The grin faded as the dragon twitched. Sinew and flesh began to knit itself back together, the gaping holes became only scars on renewed hide.

“It’s Tethered,” said Keg. “The robed bastard bound it to him. We can’t kill it no more than we can shoot a ghost.”

Howl cursed himself for not realizing the Dreadmage had summoned not only an undead dragon, but a Tethered one, this was only a physical manifestation of itself from another plane, bound to the mage’s own soul. Howl turned to his company. “We won’t have enough ammo to keep it at bay, much less fend off the rest of the army.” He pointed off in the distance. “We need to cut its strings.”

Keg blinked, glancing out to the field and then back to him. “You don’t mean to go out there, from the defense and sneak behind enemy lines to shoot that mage do you?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

“It’s the only way.”

“Why not artillery?” asked Cord.

Howl shook his head. “It might hurt or interrupt him, but if he has defenses, the rounds won’t do a thing. Plus if we divert the guns to hammer away at him, we’ll just be pulling too much away from our own defenses. This needs to be closer.”

Keg opened her mouth to say something but caught herself. She gave a grim nod and pointed at a magic earring, which would allow her to communicate with him over a longer range. “We’ll give you some cover, but don't hesitate to shout if you need more.”

Howl selected a company from his rangers, some of his best marksmen and mages. They were tired but determined, eager to take a more direct approach at the enemy. Howl didn’t blame them. He hated being on the defensive.

War mages summoned their arcing blasts to create covering fire for the rangers, making a gap big enough for the rangers to slip through, followed up by a thick screen of smoke. Howl led them through an old entrance tunnel in the defense works, one that connected to a much larger web beneath the ground. He could only hope they were still secret to the enemy. The tunnel led out to a cave that overlooked the lower half of the valley from a hill. Far enough from the demons, but still within rifle range. The rangers lay prone on the ground, their enchanted wool uniforms blending in with the environment. They would be nearly invisible unless someone walked right up to them.

The Dreadmage stood within a small circle of defenses. Flickers of energy danced about his body as he moved his arms. Two other minor mages accompanied him, along with a handful of sharpshooters that lined the defenses. Howl guessed they were there to protect the Dreadmage from attack. It would be futile to directly charge them, either the sharpshooters would catch them or the mages would. 

“As a volley, pick your targets,” said Howl. The rangers nodded in acknowledgement and brought their rifles to bear. Hammers pulled back with a series of clicks, and they counted off.

“Six.”

“Five.”

“Four.” 

“Three.”

The last two were counted off silently, everyone firing at “one.” Bullets clipped the sharpshooters, the carbines falling to clatter at their feet. The two mages just as soon snapped their heads to the rifles’ report as bullets found their mark. A flicker came from one of the dying mages and Howl saw a shimmer dissipate over the Dreadmage. Within a moment of the others he fired his rifle. The Dreadmage inclined his head as his comrades were shot all around him. His eyes widened and he flinched at an unnatural speed.  His body jerked and he clasped his face. The dragon off in the distance twisted as if struck. A shriek came from both the dragon and the mage, as the mage crumpled to the ground and the dragon thrashed in its death throes.

“By the Huntress, we got him!” a ranger whispered, her voice nearly cracking with excitement.

But the dragon did not disappear as Howl anticipated. It writhed, clawing and snarling. A tempest of energy whirled around it, surrounding it in a blanket of flickering green and black. The body of the Dreadmage jerked and twitched, his arms thrashing on the ground like a child with a tantrum. Magic glowed around him, the body hovered in the air and a small string of magic shot off towards the dragon.

“What’s going on?”

Howl gaped. He had underestimated the mage. Again. The mage was linking himself with the dragon in a last ditch effort, it would mean the end of his own physical body but he would manifest into the dragon. “Shoot the bugger before he’s done!” The rangers hurried to reload.

“Too late!” a ranger shouted.

The body dropped and a roar came from the direction of the fort. Blazing eyes glared at the rangers, teeth gnashing as it snarled. Its long tail flicked, thrashing at the earthworks and the defenders, and it lumbered into a charge towards them. Howl noticed a contingent of soldiers forming at the redoubt below them, likely trying to rush their exposed position.

Well, at least the attention is off of the fort for the time being. 

Keg’s voice squawked in his ear. “Did you get the mage? The dragon is still here!”

Howl touched his earring to respond. “We did but there seems to be some complications.”

“What?”

“No time. Give some covering fire, please.” Howl snapped

“On the dragon or on the devils?”

“Yes."

A few moments later shells and magic projectiles streaked from the fort, battering at the dragon and the surrounding area. Howl turned to his rangers. “Let’s make like the wind."

He ran as fast as his legs could move. The ramparts were just in sight as the dragon hurled itself into the rangers, bowling them over. Howl felt his breath fly out of his lungs as he rolled on the ground, his rifle flung from his hands.

The dragon recovered, all of its feet back on the ground and moving. A ranger shrieked in terror as the dragon’s maw snatched and crunched him in half. Razor-sharp claws swiped at other rangers that had yet to push themselves up from the tumble.

Howl groaned and rolled onto his arms, pushing himself up. His lungs were on fire, he could not muster breath to yell for his rangers to fight or even run. He coughed and patted at empty grass next to him, realizing his rifle lay just a few feet away from him. A few feet too far.

He felt the rush of air behind him and he flung himself away as talons dug into the spot he had just occupied. Still breathing ragged, he scrambled back and darted for his rifle, a free hand frantically digging into his cartridge pouch.

“Get to the line, we’ll cover you!” shouted Keg.

Keg and the war mages blasted shots at the dragon. The bursts of magic and shrapnel knocked at the dragon, a few of the hits burning up a part of the creature’s wing. The leather started to shrivel, the wing looking more skeletal, and the creature toppled down onto the ground with a thud. It stirred and thrashed on the ground, one wing furiously flapped to attempt to gain air again, but in vain. Jaws snapped at any approaching attackers, claws and talons slashing wildly. War mages continued to try to break through its tough hide. 

Howl reached into his shot pouch for some of the enchanted bullets. His thumb brushed on the etchings made on the ball, marking it as an explosive round. He rested the rifle on the edge of the trench and gently placed his finger on the trigger, slowing his breath. His eyes concentrated on the dragon’s maw, its head centered within the sights. 

The dragon thrashed its arms, slashing at more of his men. His heart pounded like a dull drum. 

“Now or never!” yelled Keg.

The rifle cracked fire and smoke, kicking into Howl’s shoulder as he squeezed the trigger.

At the last moment, the dragon moved. It shrieked and jerked as a small fiery cloud erupted from the side of its head. The smoke cleared, showing a pit of gore and cracked bone where one of its eyes used to be. The dragon snarled and turned towards Howl.

His heart dropped into his stomach. Sweat slicked the palms of his trembling hands. He fumbled to his pouch for another round. 

The ground quaked all around him as the dragon charged towards the trench. Muskets fired, the rounds popping in vain. It reared its head back with a roar, breath sucking inward. Howl shut his eyes and ducked down. Flames licked overhead but Howl felt no pain. 

He opened his eyes to see Keg and a few other war mages standing over in the trench, holding out their arms. Magic crackled in the air as the flames deflected away with a barrier.

“Reload, dammit, sir,” Keg groaned, straining with her magic.

Howl rammed the bullet down and poured powder. “I only need a few seconds.” 

“You’re only going to have a few seconds,” Keg said with gritted teeth.

A long arm of fire erupted from the rifle barrel, thrusting through the dragon’s own cone of flame. The round exploded as it impacted the dragon’s maw. Flames dissipated, the dragon roared and contorted in pain. It slumped to the ground, one last gasp, and, for a moment, all was still. Howl’s heart thumped loudly, his rifle still pressed on his shoulder as he stared. 

Then its nostrils flared as it roared. Howl flinched back. Its one good eye glared straight at him and it lashed out wildly, slashing both devilkin and human in its frenzy.

The dragon staggered as more shots peppered at its ragged body. One of its forearms was in tatters and most of its head was nothing but shards of bone and undead flesh. With one of its remaining claws, it swiped at the defenders. 

Keg shouted in his direction. “Take the grenade!” She pointed at a blessed grenade that lay just within reach of him.

“I haven’t a light!"

“Use your damn head, sir!”

The dragon roared once again, clawing away at more soldiers. Shots pecked away at its flesh but it continued to stand. It reared its head back, sucking back air. Howl sprinted toward its maw, his hand gripping the grenade tight. As it started to lower its head down, Howl said a prayer to the Huntress and hurled the grenade. It arced into the dragon’s mouth just as flames began to spew. 

The air cracked with a high-pitched explosion and a blinding light. Explosive force threw Howl back and he tumbled to the ground. Streams of demons darted away from the sprawling brightness.

The dragon stood, headless. One of its arms flailed at nothing. A gun from behind in the redoubt fired and the round slammed into the body. The corpse landed hard, a cloud of dust puffing out from the heavy mass, and lay smoking from the embers of the holy fire, leaving behind a charred skeleton. 

A grateful cheer broke out in the redoubt. Howl let out a heavy sigh of relief as he still lay on the ground. He felt the urge to just close his eyes and sleep. A strong hand pulled him up.

“Not bad, sir,” said Keg, dusting him off.

Howl made a weary smile. “Couldn’t do it without you though.”

Cord came stumbling over. His uniform was a mess, he had a bandage over his head, a dark red spot bleeding through. “Sir, the left wing is breaking! We just don’t have the men anymore! They’re coming through the lines.”

Howl looked past him, seeing a small stream of Caldraynians stumbling back, many of them hurt and wounded. “Where’s Ironhand?”

A forlorn look broke through Cord’s usual stern face. “He went down fighting with his men, as any of us would all want.”

“Who’s in charge?”

“You are, sir. Shall we send more to the lines?”

Howl gritted his teeth, trying to fight the urge to shout and grieve. He had no more good reserves at the moment that he could spare. Sending them out would just create a thin, fragile line. If that collapsed, it was all in. “Keg, I hate to say this, but we need to fall back.”

Keg’s face paled. “Yes, sir.”

 

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The garrison made a hasty retreat to the inner bastion walls of the fort. It had a sloping wall to help defend against cannon shot and bastions, but much of the inner structure was still almost medieval. Soldiers braced the main gate with timber and carts and whatever they could find. Howl ordered anyone that could still load and fire to man the walls. Others could help load muskets for the designated shooters to keep the pace of fire. Howl joined his sharpshooters in taking out enemy gun crews and officers. 

A devilman stood in front of Howl on the wall, his sharp teeth bared and pale eyes wide with fury. Howl slashed with his sword but the devilman parried with his bayonet and lunged as a counterattack. It just barely missed Howl’s stomach as he twisted out of the way, the edge of the bayonet just cutting at the cloth of his coat.

Howl grimaced and snatched at the barrel, pulling it towards him, causing the devilkin to stumble. With the other hand, he plunged the sword into the devilman’s gut, and yanked it out with a twist of his hips. The devilman toppled and Howl set to work to fend off more attackers. He saw Keg brawling, large arms shoving and throwing devilkin off of the walls like a whirlwind of death. Her uniform was cut, showing blood beneath, but her face showed an uncaring ferocity, fully immersed in her bloodlust. In a way, it scared Howl just watching, no matter how many times he had seen it before over the years.

 

We need time for a reprieve. Even just a few minutes. Howl let out ragged breaths. All he wanted was to lie next to a babbling brook, letting the songbirds serenade him to sleep.

Instead, he was here with the din of death and battle among the throes of a world-ending war. He pulled away from the wall and rushed over to the dwarven artillery major, Yedin. “Do we have any artillery here other than the main guns?”

Yedin tilted his head. “Some howitzers, though no rounds left. We do have one of those damn finaggly rockets though. It’s not quite out of testing.”

“A rocket?” A light sparked within. “Fetch it. And Harthen.”

“Right away, sir.” Yedin sped away as fast as his stocky legs let him. They gathered the rocket and its stand, the cleric following Yedin. 

Howl took out his canteen, staring at it for a moment and then taking a swig. “Harthen, you studied enchantment and transmutation, correct?”

Harthen scratched his head. “Well, yes, I did. Not too bad with it, though maybe not exactly wizardly.”

“That’s fine. I need something more priestly at the moment.” Howl pointed at the rocket. “I need you to bless it. I’m going to drop the blasted sun on them for a few moments at least. They don’t like holy light very much, most of them. It should buy us some time.”

“Oh.” Harthen’s eyes widened in realization. “I can do that. Can you buy me a few minutes? This might take up quite a bit of my magic though.” He took out a small flask and a leather pouch of spell materials. The gun carriage was wheeled out with the blessed rocket.

“This is the only one, sir,” said Yedin.

“I realize that,” said Howl.

Howl snipped the fuse and then grabbed the lit linstock, gingerly holding it to the fuse. As soon as he saw the fizzing sparks he hopped up and backed away several good paces. The fuse hissed and the rocket screamed into the sky like banshee, causing a few soldiers to stop and turn their necks at the noise.

At the zenith of its arc, the rocket burst leading to a sudden brightness in the sky. Howl covered his eyes for a moment as his eyes adjusted. It seemed like daylight now. 

The devilkins shrieked almost as loud as the rocket. Those atop the walls wailed, covering their eyes. A few of the wicked demons sizzled from the holy light in the air. The attackers scrambled back in a retreat to the darkness of the forest, their boots a cacophonic thunder.

A thunderous cheer came from the fort. 

Keg clapped Howl on the back. It stung. “Still see you have enough elvish tricks.”

Howl winced. “I’m hoping I’m not all tapped out.”

“How long will this last?”

“A few minutes perhaps.” Howl shrugged. “Enough to give us a bit to catch our breath.” But not long enough for reinforcements from Lock to show up.

Keg rubbed at her eyes. “I could go for a bit of ale and a piss, by Grakh. It’s been all night. It should be dawn soon.”

A minute later a blast of magic energy zipped to the flare. A small wave of light burst from the flare, followed by a puff and fizzle as the light burned away. The white light turned to a dull gray once more and the remains dropped down back to the ground. Howl tasted the copper in the air as magic started to filter through the sky. Thick shadowy darkness that slowly crawled all over the sky, blanketing the remaining stars. 

Howl’s heart sank. “Shit.”

 

A horn blared a deep crescendo and the war drums started to beat again. The world seemed to rumble as the thunderous march outside the fort started anew. 

“The Scourge will come upon us,” a soldier muttered. “The darkness will take us all.”

“I’m low on ammo. I thought we were going to have reinforcements?” a private asked aloud.

A general groan of dismay started to murmur among the defenders. Even Howl felt his shoulders sag. He rubbed at his eyes. “By the goddess…” Resting by the water only seemed to be a dream now.

“Howl, what’s your order?” Keg looked at him. There was a sort of soft look to her even with the tusks from her mouth and the scars across her face. Howl would almost think she was nervous. The same grenadier who stared down entire legions without flinching.

Howl looked at the darkening sky and the marching enemy looming towards them. I have failed.  The black sky would blanket the world, the Undead Lord along with it. Dammit Lock, where are you? Did we really have a chance? “We’ve lost,” he lowered his head. “It’s too late.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I didn’t think I would ever hear that from you.

He shook his head and spread his hands. “What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?”

Keg said nothing for a moment. The marching was getting louder. She bit her lip and put a hand on his shoulder. “Remember the Battle of Tentakh?"

His mind searched through his peoples’ history. “From the First Orc War? The one where a small elven army stood against a larger orc horde?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “They were very brave.”

“They were slaughtered to the last.” 

The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently. “But they were remembered. And, as I recall from my grandfathers, they were avenged at the Battle of the Two Rivers.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“There is hope,” Keg said. “Maybe not for us, but… for the war.”

Howl grimaced and reached up at her hand on his shoulder, returning the squeeze. He took a step atop near the wall, overlooking his soldiers. Keg inhaled a breath to call for attention but he held up a hand. The chatter quieted, all eyes and ears turned to him. The only sound was the marching feet outside.

Howl remained silent, removing his hat, his gaze scanning across his soldiers. He saw the fear, the worry. Their faces were sallow and tired, their bodies sagging from exhaustion and sleep deprivation. Fighting had taken its toll and he was about to ask the world from them. But he saw the embers of determination within them that only needed to be stoked.

“My soldiers, my countrymen, my friends. A hard fight it has been and a hard fight it shall be. A relentless enemy is outside our walls and at our gates. I know we are tired, we are scared, but we shall not be broken. We’ve seen horrors of war, all of us. Lost our family, our homes to this Scourge. They have laid waste to everything, and we cannot let it happen any further, can we?"

There was a small murmur among the soldiers, their eyes still fixed on him. Not one foot shifted. A deep thump hit the main gate as a heavy battering ram started to pound on the thick timber.

“We are all that stands in the way of the dark tyranny and the destruction of life and freedom. Just beyond this pass is home! We shall not let one foul foot step onto that precious soil! Not one step! They want to take a stroll like they own the land. Will we let them?”

Grumbles of no’s and hell no’s came from the crowd.

 

“They lack something that we have: spirit, heart! They fight for nothing other than their very nature, for the sake of destruction. But we fight for duty, honor, compassion. We know what we shall sacrifice tonight. The fate of our world is upon us! They will sing songs of this, our children and grandchildren.”

The murmur came to a boil.

“If this is to be our last night, then I gladly fight at your side. We will show them our mettle. We will fight for the free kingdoms, to every man! We will fight to the moon’s last light!” He pulled his sword from his scabbard and held it high, the steel glinting from the sliver of moonlight.

A roaring chorus of cheers broke out. Boot and buttstock thumped on the ground, and orcs let out their war cries.

“Not one step for them! To the walls! Not one step!” Howl bellowed. Soldiers surged to the walls, counter attacking the enemy that dared to scramble up their walls. The attackers were becoming a steady trickle. Howl stood atop the wall, slashing and stabbing and Keg hurled devilkin back down the glacis.

Wood thumped with each heave of the battering ram against the gate. The gate’s timbers started to crack. The crossbar gave way with a deep groan. Cries and roars from the other side grew louder. 

Howl slashed and kicked a devilman down, only to see more take his place. His arm was starting to tire but duty dictated he continue. He swapped the sword to his other hand and resumed.

The pounding at the gates grew. Wood cracked, splinters popping off the timbers. With another heave the gate burst open. Howl’s face paled as devilkin flooded the gateway.

Howl heard a shout from the wall. “Back! Back ye bastards!” He watched in surprise as Cord leapt in the gateway, swinging his musket like a club, which stock snapped after a few furious swings. Without missing a beat, he snatched an axe and carved a circle around him, cutting down those that tried to get past him. Others jumped to join in, fighting back the intruders.

“Sir, I’ll hold them off!” Cord hacked and slashed away, enemy blades and bayonets sliced back at him. His comrades next to him were cut down. He heaved the axe into the chest of a downed devilman, roaring a battle chant. A burly devilman officer leapt in with a sword. Cord dodged and countered, swinging the axe back at the officer. The devilman went to parry but Cord’s axe broke the blade in two. The officer stared in disbelief just as Cord’s axe swung into his midsection.

“Fall back from the walls! Form ranks!” Howl bellowed. The remaining defenders scurried from the walls, back down to the parade grounds in the center, forming three ragged ranks. The war mages and skirmishers stood either behind or around the flanks. It was a good position; the enemy would only be able to come towards them… for the moment.

A few more defenders pressed in at the gate hoping to hold the enemy back. Encouraged by Cord’s battle chant, they pushed towards the gates, firing and bayonetting into the mass of devilkin. 

“Battalion…charge your bayonets!” Howl roared, the chorus of metallic clinking answering him a moment later. Rows and rows of footlong steel gleamed for a moment as the darkness overhead consumed the last of the moonlight. Howl felt a knot in his stomach start to grow. He gripped at his sword and started to move forward to the gate.

A hand grabbed him from behind. “Sir, if we break formation, we won’t be able to hold them back,” said Keg. Her jaw was clenched as if she had trouble saying the words. “We’ll be too exposed. This is our best tactical position.”

“But Cord-” His voice nearly cracked.

“Is giving us time,” she said, the edge of her mouth quivering.

Howl’s heart wrenched, a cry building in his throat. He wanted to leap in and save his old friend, to bring him to a cleric to heal him. But the walls were falling, the gate was gone.

Cord chopped and carved, his uniform soaked in sweat and blood. The blade bit into the back of a wretched demon and stuck. Cord yanked it out and started to swing again as a bayonet pierced his side. He turned and slashed at the demon holding the bayonet. Blood gushed out of the wound, but Cord continued his fight. His moves became slower, his legs started to stumble like a punch-drunk fighter. Another bayonet pierced him, and then another. He roared and slashed as he toppled into a pool of blood and bodies.

A flutter of wings caught Howl’s ear. He turned and saw a small bird, perched on the corner of the wall above him. It bobbed its head and fluffed its wings. A grim smile came to Howl’s face, melting away just as fast as the bird flew away from the noisy din. 

His face hardened to a frown and he faced the enemy ahead. “Fire by rank! Make ready!” Officers and serjeants echoed his orders all down the lines. Thumbs pulled hammers back with rows of clicking noises.

Within moments devilkin rushed forward with shrill cries and screams, bayonets and swords at the ready.

Howl waved his arm down. “Front rank, fire!” A wall of bullets cut down dozens of intruders. The front rank started to reload as the second rank levelled their muskets.

“Second rank, fire!” Another volley slammed into the wave of devilkin. Heaps of corpses littered the gateway.

“Third rank, fire!” The enemy wave started to buckle.

The front rank frantically reloaded, scrounging for ammunition from their cartridge boxes, and then brought their muskets to bear. The continual volleys cut the devilkin to pieces. A shrill cry came from outside, a chorus of ululations answering it. A war horn blared once again. 

Enemy bullmen grenadiers marched in a shield wall of thick iron and enchanted hide. The volley of musket balls panged harmlessly against the shields. A mass of devilkin crowded behind them. Howl looked at Keg. “Please tell me you have some grenades.”

She held up a single grenade.

“And the rest of you?” Most of the grenadiers shrugged, holding empty hands. Only a couple others held up grenades. “Damn.”

“War mages are about tapped out too, sir,” said Keg. “I’d say hold them off until we think we really need them.”

That might be sooner than you think. He waved his arm forward. “Break that shield wall before they get too close. Short fuses.” 

The grenadiers grunted as they hucked the small round explosives into the air. Small trails of fizzling sparkes as grenades arced above the ranks of soldiers. Metal shards splintered into the bullmen. One or two grenades missed and bounced off the shields, shrapnel flying and pinging off of the metal. The bullmen hardly lost any momentum.

Howl frowned. His stomach felt like a tempest.

“Sir, do you have a Heat Round?” asked Keg.

Howl raised a brow and nodded. “Yes, but wouldn’t do more than maybe heat their shields up, and I don’t think they’d really care.”

She hefted a small powder keg. “I had something different in mind.”

“Eh?” He blinked and then grinned. He reached into his shot pouch and pulled out a red bullet. With a quick motion, he rammed the ball down and aimed the rifle up.

“This might be close.” She rocked back, holding it up with two arms and then hurled it at the enemy. The barrel soared over to the shield wall, just above their heads. 

 

Howl squeezed the trigger and a small fire ball burst from his muzzle, streaking towards the keg. An orange ball burst and several of the bullmen reeled away from the fiery explosion above their heads.

Caldrayn soldiers fired a quick, ragged volley, creating a gap in the shield wall, but by then the enemy were within charging distance. The devilkin surged forward. A second volley crashed into the charging devilkin, but the third had no time to fire as the front rank clashed with the attackers. Soldiers from the second rank stabbed over the shoulders of their comrades. Howl grabbed his sword and jumped into the fray.

Devilmen started to burst through the front rank, pushing through with bayonet and fists. Soldiers fell in the trampling push. The air reeked of acrid gunpowder and gore. War mages blasted explosive spells behind the enemy. 

“They’re trying to flank us!” yelled Keg.

Howl yanked the bayonet out of a devilman. “Take Second and Third Company and create wings. Rank fire and cut them down! The center has to hold!” 

Enemy soldiers started to mass within the fort walls. Howl saw a sea of hide helmets and mottled uniforms just beyond the ranks of his own men. Waves of devilkin pressed against his ranks. Howl’s heart fell as he looked around the chaotic melee, hearing the screams of soldiers being cut down. His foot brushed against the dead body of one of his rangers, the green coat darkened with patches of wet blood, unseeing eyes staring up at him in anguish.

His side started to burn. He whipped his head around, seeing a devilman’s bayonet had sliced through his coat and through his side. The devilman showed his sharp teeth in a wicked grin. Howl bared his own and clubbed the devilman in the chin with the butt of his gun. The devilman reeled back, wiping blood from his mouth, and then pounced back. Howl shoved at him, trying to land a kick but the squirrely devilman dodged out of the way and headbutted him. He reeled back, his foot tripping over a fallen body, sending him down. 

The devilman cackled and held up his musket, bayonet pointed down. He gloated in his hellish tongue and then gurgled blood as a sword point pierced from his back. Keg appeared over Howl, flicking the bloody blade. 

“If I keep having to rescue you, they may not think much of you as a leader,” she grinned. Half of her face was covered in blood but Howl had no idea whether it was hers or someone else's. She grasped his arm and pulled him up.

“May not be much of one here soon,” he said with a grimace. “Not much of the garrison left.” He looked around as more soldiers fell. They were getting cut to pieces.

He looked up, seeing a singular figure standing above the gate. A tall man dressed in a dark uniform. The general, Vakhrus, had come to see the final moments of his victory. He raised a hand and without a word, the army slowed to a stop, crowding around in a ring around the last of the garrison. A smirk crept on the general’s face. Boots clacked on the ground as the demons presented their guns in one synchronous move.

“Showy bastard,” said Howl.

“That’s one way to command, I suppose,” said Keg. “Any hope for reinforcements?”

Howl caught a glimpse in the sky of a white owl hovering in the air. It circled around a few times before heading back northward. He smiled. “I’d reckon so.” Just not in time for us.

A chorus of horns blared in the distance, but not the deep reverberating note of the demon army. It was bright, cascading into a harmony of higher notes. A bright light flashed in the sky and the darkness started to ebb away, peeling back corners of black to show small rays of the new dawn. The enemy army began to grumble and murmur. Vakhrus cocked his head up at the sky but did not seem to give any inclination of anxiety. He clenched a fist and the army fell into silence. 

The light started to grow brighter in the sky, but the army remained.

The garrison fell back into ranks, making two thin ragged lines of the remaining motley of soldiers. Howl felt his cartridge pouch. He was down to one last round. It was one of his special rounds: a Blessed round. It was hard to resist a chuckle at the fortune.

 Hundreds of blackened steel muzzles faced him and his garrison. He grunted with a cynical smile and started to load his last shot. He bit off the cartridge and hurriedly poured powder into the pan.

“You may want to hurry,” said Keg. 

He frantically dumped powder down the muzzle, fumbling to ram the ball down. The devilkin pulled back the hammers into full cock.

The garrison did the same. 

Howl cursed as he hammered the ball down the barrel. He wasn’t going to make it in time.

The world seemed to thunder with hundreds of volleys going off all at once. The garrison all around him were cut down, bullets zipping through wool and bone. Howl stood, shocked. He looked at his hands and his body, no bullets had pierced him. A faint glow wavered in front of him like heat, a moment later it vanished. A heavy thud fell by Howl’s feet. There was a heavy silence amid the large cloud of black smoke and the stench of powder. A hand tugged on his leg and he glanced down in front of him.

The last wisps of arcane energy trailed from her hands. The front of her uniform was dark with blood. “Better make it count,” said Keg. She closed her eyes and slumped down, a soft smile on her face.

Howl stifled a sob. He steeled himself, gritted his teeth, and levelled his rifle, aiming up at the general. The wind was still; he didn’t need the flip up sights. He slowed his breath. Time seemed to slow as well. The only sound he heard was the distant warbling of a songbird.

Darkness started to peel back in the sky. A slaughter was starting in the distance, triumphant horns were blaring. The devilkin presented their muskets as hundreds of hammers clicked back once more.

Howl exhaled and squeezed the trigger. 

The bullet cracked out of the barrel. 

Through the small cloud of smoke wisping from his barrel, Howl saw the enemy general jerk, a spray of dark crimson erupting from the side of his head. His body toppled and slumped. Howl allowed himself a grim smile, his task complete.

A moment later the air in front of him cracked with musket fire and everything burst into white light.

 

 

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