first hit, but the second slipped beneath and into his side. Praying it wouldn’t be fatal, Gregory flanked the elf, thrusting for his spine. Instead, the elf weaved back and forth, blocking and parrying both axe and sword with stunning speed. Gregory tried to match it, but he found himself unable to position his blade correctly. What was supposed to be a killing thrust turned into a weak chop, and the elf suddenly lunged at him, smacking the attack away with ease. Defenseless, Gregory tensed, his left arm pulling up as meager protection.
The elf jerked sideways, then fell, a crossbow bolt lodged in his neck. From one of the windows above, he heard a crossbowman cheer. Turk drove his axe into the dying elf’s chest, just to be sure.
The elves pulled back, their sudden retreat leaving the remaining thirty guards off-balance and unsure. Of the initial ten elves, six remained. In similar smooth motions, they pulled the bows off their backs, drew arrows, and fired. Gregory turned sideways, to minimize himself as a target, but they were not aiming at them. They were aiming at the windows. Two volleys later, the guards finally had the sense to rush forward, before the elves could turn that deadly accuracy on them. Gregory tried to be on the front line, but Turk took a few steps before staggering. Refusing to leave him behind, he stopped, one eye on the fight, the other on his squadmate.
“Goddamn arrow,” Turk muttered before coughing up blood. He fell to one knee, and would not stand despite Gregory’s help. Glancing back at the fight, he watched the elves cut down the initial wave. Without their firm lines, the guards had even less chance of victory. Gregory felt his heart sink as he watched discipline waiver, then break. Those who turned to flee found swords stabbing into their backs. Even worse, coming round from the back of the mansion were at least twenty elves, linking up with the six and shredding through the remaining human forces.
“Get into the house,” Turk said, shoving Gregory away. “You got a chance there.”
“I’m not…”
“Now!”
Turk hit him with a backhand, and that was enough to finally make Gregory let him go. Looking once more to the broken lines, he knew he alone could do nothing to help. Saluting Turk, he ran toward the front gate. Behind him, Turk managed to stand, and he lifted his axe defiantly as the elves came rushing by. Gregory refused to watch the ensuing execution, and he hoped the giant man might find plenty of fun in whatever world awaited them after.
Bodies littered the ground as he hurried, and he felt strangely alone on the battlefield. Reaching the door, he found the majority of the city guard gathered together, at least two hundred. They had spread from the gate, for the elves had avoided it entirely. The gate itself, though, was open, and the sight horrified Gregory to no end. Lord Egar’s men were nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Egar?” he cried as he joined their ranks.
“Fled, the little bitch,” said their captain. “How many?”
Gregory nodded behind him.
“Twenty-five, maybe thirty.”
“Shit.”
Elves appeared from both sides, Gregory’s twenty-five, and another forty from the other direction. Outnumbered four to one, they should have been easy prey, but instead the city guard tightened their lines and prepared for a slaughter.
“Be brave,” several shouted, but when the elves readied their bows, Gregory knew they were in a dire situation. Break ranks and charge, or suffer the arrows. Either way meant death. This time the guards held their ground, and the few with shields did their best to protect the rest. Arrows flew in, deadly accurate. Volley after volley hit, until the elves were out of ammunition. Their opponent’s ranks softened, they drew their swords, cried out in their native tongue, and charged.
Gregory had never considered himself a man afraid of death, and as the elves came rushing in, he tried to remain true to that. He stood on the front line, and he braced himself to swing, trying to guess the timing instead of reading his opponent, since he’d seen how near impossible that was with the elves’ speed. When he swung, he struck air, but not because his timing was off. Instead, the area before him erupted in a chaos of gray and red cloaks. The elven charge faltered, for a pair of enemies had landed amid them in an explosion of blood and gore. Not willing to risk losing such a huge advantage, Gregory rushed forward, barely aware he was screaming at the top of his lungs.
The rest of the guards followed, and they slammed into the elves with wild abandon. Many of their attacks were parried or blocked, but they were a wave, and even as one fell, two more surged forward with blades already swinging. Gregory managed to cut down one too focused on dodging a man to his right. A second turned on him, kept him at bay with a shallow thrust, then tried to flee. One of the unexpected allies, a woman with a red cloak and strange, tightly wrapped clothing, dove upon the elf’s back, her daggers shredding into flesh.
Gregory had no idea who she might be, but as the other slipped through their lines to aid the opposite side, he saw the man’s garb and knew him.
“Watcher?” Gregory murmured aloud. Without thinking, he followed. The woman remained, and seemed to have that side under control. The other, however…
The Watcher dove into where combat was at its thickest, seemingly unafraid of the flailing weapons and press of the elves. His sabers twisted and danced, cutting down elves who were yet unaware of his arrival. He tore through the city guard, like a phantom come to their aid. When he finally reached the elven lines, he let out a cry. Gregory followed, knowing the cloaked man was their only hope of survival, and he was far from alone in thinking so. The rest of the guard rushed ahead, and though the elves cut them down, the Watcher formed their spearhead, and because of it, they did not break. They did not falter. Gregory kept to the Watcher’s back, hoping to help where he could, but most often merely finishing off opponents the man left bleeding on the ground.
Without any signal he could hear, Gregory saw the elves they fought initiate a full retreat. He let out a whoop, and held his weapon aloft. With their speed, he couldn’t hope to chase, and it seemed the Watcher had no desire to, either. He turned, and from what little of his face Gregory could see, he was smiling. Of the initial two hundred men, a third remained, but they’d held.
Gregory looked to the mansion, wondering how the people within fared. At a window, he caught a glint of light, then camouflage. Without thinking, he leapt forward. The arrow struck him in the chest, and he let out a gasp. As he hit the ground, the rest of the guard took up shouts, their heavy footsteps rushing into the house, where elves had no doubt entered through the windows and back entrances. Gregory felt a reflex to cough, but the pain was too incredible, and he forced it down.
The Watcher leaned over him, and he mouthed a question Gregory suddenly couldn’t hear. Gregory tried to speak, to tell him that it was his life the Watcher had saved from the Wraith several nights ago, but the words were silent on his tongue, his muscle spasms beyond his control. His vision darkened. Not long after, he left to join Turk.
As the fires spread, Madelyn watched from the window of her room, sleeping Tori clutched to her chest. When the door opened and she saw it was Torgar, she had to bite her tongue.
“Our walls are secure,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “It seems we are not their target.”
“Nor should we be. Laurie helped them, after all. We do share a mutual enemy in the merchants.”
Torgar grunted. Madelyn refused to look at him, instead staring out the window. She rocked Tori a few times, trying hard not to show unease at the huge mercenary’s presence. When he didn’t leave immediately, she turned and glared.
“Do you have something you wish to say?” she asked.
“I do, not that you’ll listen. The merchants pulled out all their ships, and no doubt got their fighting men with them. You know what’ll happen, don’t you? The elves will kill Ingram, and with him dead, those boats will sail back in. Just like that, we’ll have a new ruler. How long do you think we’ll survive once that happens?”
Her anger grew along with her panic. How dare he try to frighten her so?
“No,” she said. “Ingram has many men at his disposal. They won’t kill him, I know it. The elves will lose, and then they’ll pay for their foolishness, as will the merchants for such cowardly behavior.”
Torgar shook his head, and his voice hardened as his patience ended.
“Even if they don’t kill him, Ingram will still want to know why we didn’t help. Why we stood here and hid while the lord of our city fought for his life. Either way, you risk the noose. We
