Here Shines the Sun (39 page)

Rook let the force of the impact tumble him and he rolled back to his feet. The Saint ran at him, his golden Caliber glowing brightly around him as he leapt into the air, his star-metal broadsword poised for a deadly strike. Rook ducked, spinning his sword around over the top of his head as the Saint landed upon him. Starbreaker’s incredible might struck sparks off the Saint’s sword and tossed it away. The black blade tumbled through the air, its enormous weight cracking the far wall when it hit. Rook rolled with the Saint’s landing and whirled his sword around him in a wide arc that caused Galavriel to flinch back as Rook spun up to his feet to face him.

Bringing his sword in close, Rook danced forward. The weaponless Saint threw a punch but Rook ducked low as he whipped the blade around over his back as if it were a staff. Starbreaker cut across the Saint’s breastplate and Galavriel staggered backward. Rook drove forward, his thrumming blade a dizzying array of flourishes. Galavriel had to step back as Rook came upon him. The Saint kicked high and Rook tumbled beneath it, pulling a dagger from his boot as he came up on his knees. He plunged the dagger up Galavriel’s star-metal skirt where it sunk deep into the Saint’s thigh.

Galavriel screamed as Rook now pressed forward as he rose to his feet, cleaving his sword downward. Purple and gold sparks exploded off Galavriel’s raised bracers and he was knocked against the iron mouth of the furnace. Rook dashed in and knocked his left forearm against the staggered Saint, square in the chest. Once again the energy disc crackled into brief life, sending Galavriel tumbling backward into the furnace’s coal-filled maw.

Before the Saint could react, Rook grabbed Galavriel’s star-metal boots and pushed for all he was worth. The Saint slid the rest of the way into the large furnace and Rook slammed the steel door shut. The locking mechanism clanked into place and Rook pounded his hand down upon the brass ignition button. There were a couple pops and then the furnace roared to life. From within Galavriel screamed.

Rook now spun to face Ertrael, but the Saint was still on the floor where he had left him. There was something wrong. Ertrael’s Caliber blazed with a strange intensity. Golden plasma drifted from his hands in billowy plumes.

“It… it’s happening again!” screamed Ertrael, looking at his hands. His Star-Armor, once black, was beginning to glow with silvery light, as if it were coming to life.

From behind Rook there was a terrible pounding on the furnace door. Rook spun just in time to see Saint Galavriel’s star-metal boot kick the door from its hinges. Within, the Saint was consumed by the glow of his Caliber, and so intense was the light that it drowned out the flames that engulfed him. Galavriel pulled himself from the oven but past the white glow of his Caliber Rook could see he was unharmed by the flames.

The Saint was about to lunge for Rook when the hum of Starbreaker broke the air. Rook whirled in, Galavriel deflecting one strike off his bracer and then another. But then Rook swept his sword out and Galavriel’s head tumbled backward into the furnace. His body stood for only a moment, blood pouring from the fleshy stump protruding from his breastplate, and then collapsed.

Rook turned again to Ertrael. From behind, Rook heard the terrible pops and cracks as Galavriel’s body was consumed into his armor. Ertrael was on his hands and knees. Golden plasma drifted from his back. The light from his armor was intensifying, the very star-metal burning like a white-hot sun. For whatever reason the Saint seemed to be incapacitated. Rook raised his sword. The Saint turned his head, fixing Rook with those ruby eyes. “I know who you are! Help me!” cried the Saint. “Help me!”

Rook paused. His hand squeezed the handle of Starbreaker tightly.
Should I help? Should I just kill him while I have the chance?
Rook pursed his lips, and then he heard the screams and he remembered why this all started in the first place. But this time it was not Kierza’s screams. These were the screams of Callad and Sierla. Rook bolted for the door.

Outside, Rook noticed all the knights pointing to the sky, gasping. He chanced a look upward as he raced toward the cottage. In the sky a constellation of a serpent was traced. Its light blazed despite the azure skies, but Rook had no time to watch. He kicked open the cottage door and burst into the house.

There was blood. The dining room table was dripping with it, the walls and ceiling painted in it. Ribbons of flesh and clothing clung to everything. Rook’s breath caught in his throat and he froze. The King sat in his chair laughing, his eyes wide and maniacal; his form darkened by an otherworldly shadow, giving him a purple cast. He turned and looked at Rook. “Aren’t they precious!”

The Sisters wheeled around, fixing Rook with eyes like pale, fractured marbles. These were not the same beautiful women they were when Rook had left. These were hunched, lanky, ragged hags. Their hair was like dry straw; their flesh antique porcelain, cracked and veined with blue. Their nails were curled talons, each dripping with blood and gore.

Rook’s eyes looked past them. On the floor behind them lay Kierza. Or, at least, what was left of her. She was just a limp, curled body covered in blood-soaked rags. Beside her lay Sierla. It was hard to tell which were strips of flayed fabric or flesh amongst the blood that soaked her back. Her hands clutched at the floor and she struggled for a moment to stand before collapsing into a pool of her own blood. “M-Mother…”

“Run, Rook!” Rook was snapped back to attention by Callad’s voice. He struggled against the two female Saints who held him. His arms were ripped and bloodied. He got one of his large arms free from the Saints and twisted, impacting one of them in the face with a giant fist. “Run, son!” They grabbed him by the hair and held a sword to his throat even as he continued to struggle.

“Join us, our prince!” hissed the Sisters. “Join us!” One of them held its hand out to Rook, vulturous fingers curling.

“Aren’t they precious!” laughed the King. He stood up, having to hunch so that his crown would not break through the ceiling. He was taller and more menacing than ever before, his form dusted in purple shadows. The walls around him, once made of fine cobblestone, were now dull clumps of plaster. The table before him was no longer made of fine oak, but was now warped planks of cheap cedar. The silverware and china that had once been set upon it was now crude iron and dull pottery; the chalices tarnished tin. Everything in his presence was an ugly reflection of itself. Crude and cheap. “Join us, prince! Join in the merriment! Aren’t my daughters precious!”

Rook’s face twisted into a hideous mask of rage. His hands squeezed the handle of Starbreaker. Anger, hot as the furnace of his smithy, welled inside him. He roared out his fury and the world dissolved into a realm of blood and the thrumming of his sword.

The two female Saints, Paniel and Rael, dropped Callad and shot forward as Rook’s blade tore its way into the room. Purple sparks rained. The table broke. Rook spun, star-metal flashed. More sparks. His blade whirled and hummed. More star-metal sparks. But he wasn’t quick enough to face two Saints and tears blinded him as much as his rage. He felt a powerful kick upon his side, the Saint’s star-metal boot hitting him like a charging bull. He tumbled, his body breaking through furniture, his sword fell from his hand. He rolled to his back just in time to see Saint Rael leaping through the air, her black sword ready to impale him.

And then golden light streaked across the room. Star-Armor cracked against Star-Armor as Saint Ertrael intercepted Rael and the two went sailing across the room where they crashed through the cobblestone wall of the cottage. Timber and plaster rained. Rook grabbed his sword and kicked himself to his feet just as one of the Sisters came at him. He flourished his sword and spun, but the hag’s talons were too quick and he felt the leather armor of his left arm rip; felt a gash open down the length of his arm.

Ertrael shot back into the house. Saint Paniel spun to meet him a moment too late and Ertrael’s sword cracked against her’s, knocking it from her hands. A quick spin-kick and Paniel flew across the room, breaking through the opposite wall. The Sisters wheeled to face him but Ertrael raised his arms, his hands flaring with brilliant, white Caliber energy, and the two were blasted across the room where they were knocked into the King.

Callad scooped Sierla’s limp form into his arms. Tears rained down his face. “Sierla!” he wailed. “What have they done!”

“We have to go!” Ertrael grabbed Rook by the shoulder. Behind him Rook saw the King’s face twist into an angry mask as the shadows around him deepened. The entire cottage began taking on a decrepit countenance. The Sisters cowered behind him.

“Not without her!” screamed Rook, pointing to the body of Kierza.

Ertrael turned and frowned. He dashed forward and rolled, scooping Kierza’s limp, blood-soaked body into his arms. The King lunged for him but Ertrael jumped and kicked himself off the wall, rocketing himself to where Callad knelt with Sierla. He grabbed the large man by the arm and hoisted him to his feet. “Bring her!” he yelled. “Hurry!”

Callad wiped at his eyes as he lifted Sierla over his shoulder and lumbered after Ertrael.

Saint Ertrael ran toward the back of the house with Kierza on his shoulder as Rook grabbed Callad’s hand and whisked him forward. Ertrael jumped and kicked as he neared the far wall. Plaster and stone broke over his star-metal boot and he tumbled through the hole with Kierza over his shoulders. Rook pushed through, still holding Callad’s hand.

They now stood in the bright sun of the afternoon. Rook could see that blood from Kierza darkened the glassy sheen of Ertrael’s armor. The Saint’s head whipped back and forth. “Where to?” he yelled.

The King’s retinue had broken formation and seemed to be in a state of disarray, looking around in wild confusion. “Seize them!” cried Saint Paniel, pointing their direction. The knights all snapped their heads toward Rook.

There was nowhere to run. To get to the city they’d have to go down the hill, right through all the knights and Saints Paniel and Rael. To either side were just the fields and Rook’s smithy, but that was no fortress. “The barn.” said Rook. He turned, tugging Callad with him, and found green goggles staring at him from beneath a black cloak. Rook paused. A bolt-thrower was raised.

“Get down, boy.” croaked an ancient voice.

“Diotus?”

JINK!
The bolt-thrower roared to life just as Rook pushed Callad away. Saint Paniel flourished her sword as she came running, the steel bolt exploding off her sword.
JINK! JINK! JINK!
The Saint whipped her sword back and forth, two bolts exploded off her blade but the third impacted her breastplate and she stumbled. But now Saint Rael was coming for them, as well as one-hundred charging knights. Diotus raised his bolt-thrower again. “Get out of here you fools!”

And then the cottage exploded as King Dahnzeg burst through. Stones and timbers flew in all directions, sending knights tumbling. Saint Rael stumbled. The King roared out in anger. Upon the hill he was a monster cloaked in shadows that the sun dared not dispel. He stood twenty-feet tall, his face an ogreish reflection of what it once was. All around him the lawn became weeds and crabgrass. He grabbed a knight by the collar, and the knight’s armor turned into crude iron, pocked and pitted. “GET THEM!” bellowed the King, his very voice shuddering the earth. “GET THEM!” He threw the knight across the field. He picked up a chunk of broken wall, the colorful cobblestones turning to unsightly gray pumice in his hands. “GET THEM!” The chunk of wall crumbled in his grasp.

“If we’re going to run, this would be the time.” said Diotus.

“To where?” yelled Rook.

“At them, of course.” said Diotus, handing Rook three metal spheres. “Remember your training. The surest way past your opponent is through him.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” said Ertrael.

Rook looked at the Saint and the limp body he held, blood dripping off and running down his armor. In Callad’s arms Sierla looked just as bad. Rook couldn’t tell if either of them were alive. He had no idea why this Saint was helping him, but he did know that if he could not attend Kierza’s and Sierla’s wounds soon, both would surely be dead. Rook grabbed Ertrael’s arm. “Get them to safety.” said Rook. “Get them out of here. Heal them.
Please.
”

Ertrael looked at the limp form in Callad’s arm with those ruby eyes of his. Then he turned his gaze to Rook and nodded once.

“No!” Callad boomed, his head shaking as he held Sierla closer. “No!”

“It’s the only way.” said Rook. “Saints can run with the wind. He can get them out of here. He can heal them.”

Ertrael put his free hand on Callad’s shoulder. “I shall die before I let further harm come to your wife. If I can get her to safety, I might yet be able to save her.”

Tears rolled down Callad’s face as he helped place Sierla over the Saint’s other shoulder.

Diotus jogged forward. For an old man he moved fast. Both Saints Paniel and Rael were back up and coming for them. Diotus raised his bolt-thrower as if to shoot but yelled, “Throw one now!”

Rook tossed one of the metal spheres at the Saints as they flourished their swords to block shots from Diotus. The sphere impacted the ground in front of the Saints and exploded with an earth-shaking
boom!
that sent them flying in opposite directions.

“We can lose them in the city.” said Diotus. “Make for my shop.”

The knights came charging. Diotus picked a couple off with his bolt-thrower as they ran. Rook chucked two more of the spheres into their ranks, violently opening a path as armor and limbs flew over their heads.

Rook turned to Saint Ertrael. “Get them into the city! Tend their wounds!”

Ertrael nodded. His Caliber flared brilliantly around him and he took off fast, flying past what remained of the knights.

Rook overtook Diotus now, Starbreaker thrumming through the air as he cut down any knights that got in their way. The King lunged for them and Rook pushed Callad aside as he danced out of the way, his sword shearing through four more knights. Diotus yelled something about cover. Rook looked up just in time to see Diotus chuck a cylindrical object into the air. Diotus barreled into Rook and Callad, throwing them to the ground as the bomb exploded into a dozen spheres that belched noxious, black smoke as they rained to the earth.