Tangwen sprinted through the woods illuminated by the beams of moonlight the thick branches of the burned trees let through. She kept the flames from the campfire to her left, trying not to look directly at it as she changed position. She knelt down, dropping the two arrows she had already taken from her quiver to the ashen earth next to her. She watched as three warriors advanced on Teardrop, two with spears and one with an axe. The swollen-headed man was holding his own, parrying the spears with his crystal-tipped staff, but the axeman had his weapon held high and was waiting for just the right moment to strike.
It didn’t matter that he had trained as a warrior as well as a shaman. It didn’t matter that he had been in battles before. Whenever he was attacked, Teardrop was always aware that he was fighting for his life. Fachtna never let the thought of defeat enter his mind, so he said, but Teardrop always felt he was one mistake from death. He always felt the rise of panic within him and had to fight not to succumb to it.
The axeman was cagey, biding his moment as the spearmen pressed him. The sound of wood and metal on wood filled the air. Both spearmen thrust at once. Teardrop swept both spearheads to the side but they pushed against the staff, trying to force his guard down. Then the axeman charged.
Tangwen had one of the arrows nocked. She loosed and then grabbed the other arrow, nocked and loosed that before the first arrow had even reached its target.
The arrow caught the axeman in the side of the head with sufficient force that the arrowhead burst out of his skull on the opposite side. The momentum of his charge kept him moving forward even as he collapsed to the ground. Another arrow appeared in the back of the neck of one of the spearmen. He hit the ground before he was aware of what had killed him. The final spearman made the mistake of glancing towards his dead friend. When he looked back at Teardrop he saw the butt of Teardrop’s staff flying towards him.
Tangwen heard the crunch of Teardrop’s staff caving in the final spearman’s face. He turned and raised a hand to her in thanks.
‘Oh, Teardrop!’ Tangwen moaned as one of the lime-covered, gore-streaked Corpse People charged him, sword raised high. Tangwen nocked another arrow but she had her own problems. Three of the enemy were sprinting into the burned forest heading straight for her. How they could see her so well she did not know, and they were running in with the fire directly behind them, which would affect her aim.
Teardrop only just managed to spin out of the way of the swordsman’s blow. He continued to spin in a full circle, and his staff caught the man in the back of his head with sufficient force to lift him off his feet. Teardrop quickly closed with the swordsman as he rolled over. All but standing over him, Teardrop slammed the butt down towards the warrior’s head. The swordsman parried the blow two-handed. Teardrop slammed it down again. The swordsman rolled to the side and then smacked the staff out of the way, knocking Teardrop off balance. The man rolled to his feet and grinned at Teardrop, drooling. Teardrop knew he was outclassed.
Teardrop pointed the staff at the swordsman and called upon the crystal. He felt it creep further into his head. He screamed as it went directly to the pain receptors in the soft matter of his brain. Suddenly he saw things in a different way, in a way that mere humans were not meant to see. He reached out with impossibly long limbs only notionally attached to him and made a tiny change before he snapped back into his own body with its agony-filled mind. The swordsman’s scream drowned out Teardrop’s. It looked as if the hilt of the enemy warrior’s sword had slipped through his hand to fuse itself into the man’s arm. Fighting the pain and the seemingly inexorable advance of the crystal tendrils in his mind, Teardrop spun again, using his staff to sweep the man’s legs out from underneath him. The agonised warrior hit the ground. Teardrop stood over him, raised his staff and put the man out of his misery.
An arrow flew through the fire-blackened wood. It took the first man in the throat. Tangwen loosed the second arrow from a standing position in a hurry. She barely had time to curse as it hit the man in the leg. The third was almost on her. She tried to distract the charging warrior by throwing the bow at him. This gave her time to grab the hatchet from her belt as the man batted the bow to one side and charged. Tangwen had long ago learned the pointlessness of trying to fight much larger opponents head on. As he reached her she sank to one knee and swung her hatchet hard at the side of his knee. She felt the blade bite deep into flesh and hit bone. The man screamed even as his sword sliced into her wood and wicker snake’s head helm and opened the side of her head. She lost hold of the hatchet as the man barrelled into her.
Tangwen found herself lying on the floor fighting pain, nausea and unconsciousness, the side of her head wet, sticky and covered in dirt. She managed to push herself up as the man rolled towards her. She threw herself on him, grabbing the stone dagger from his belt and ramming it into his mouth, breaking teeth and, with a scream, pushing it up into his brain. The corpse bucked under her and then was still. She caught her breath.
The kick caught Tangwen in the side of her chest, picked her up off the body of the man and slammed her into a tree, burned bark crumbling under the impact. Then he was on her, hands around her throat, bestial look on his face as he squeezed the life out of her. It was the one she had shot in the leg. She dimly wondered why he hadn’t run her through with sword or spear. As things got darker, as she lost the fight for breath, as she clawed at him, she was horribly aware of his stench – of decay and the corpses he tried so hard to emulate.
The blade of the sickle dug deep into the warrior’s stomach as Britha wrenched it upwards. His war cry choked out and was replaced by the screams of the eviscerated. Britha yanked the sickle out. She staggered back as another of the Corpse People seemingly appeared out of nowhere, charging her, axe held high. Sidestepping, she fish-hooked the axeman in the face with the sickle and used his momentum to guide him into the fire. There was an explosion of sparks as the screaming man rolled around in the flames, his hair and trews catching fire. It looked like he was writhing around in the shadow of the Dark Man. As if his own god was consuming him. Good, Britha thought.
Wetness sprayed her face and the fingers around her throat fell away. Tangwen opened her eyes and saw Teardrop standing over her. The black-bladed knife he held in his hand was dripping. He raised a foot to kick the now-dead strangler off her.
Fachtna moved the shield rapidly between the blades of the two swordsmen. The shield shook with each impact. A third warrior stabbed at him with a spear. He turned the point with his sword and then swung to counter-attack. The spearman brought the haft of his weapon up to block. The singing sword cut through the wood and sliced the warrior open diagonally from hip to shoulder. Fachtna sidestepped rapidly, knocking the falling man towards the swordsmen. Fachtna bisected one of the warriors’ heads as he tried to move out of the way of his dead companion. As the other one charged him, Fachtna ducked behind his shield and rammed it forward, putting all his force behind it, battering the man’s sword strike out of the way and knocking him back. Fachtna reached around the front of the shield with his sword and slashed the blade across the man’s legs. Flesh just seemed to open up at the touch of the ghostly blade. The man fell into Fachtna’s shield and the Gael braced as he slid down it. Fachtna finished him by running the blade through the back of his neck.