until they stilled, then closed his eyes and curled against them. Sleep came to him only minutes later, and his thoughts did not once stray to the coming battle.
13
With every passing moment, Jerico felt his nerves rise. With every piece of sun that vanished beyond the horizon, he sensed the wolf-men closing in. The gentle warning of Ashhur sounded in the back of his mind, though he had no need of it. He knew the wolves were coming. The town’s defenses were prepared. Their fighters, what few they had, were in place. And after sharing with them in prayer, he felt ready to die.
Jerico stood in the doorway of the tavern, leaning against one side. He wore his full set of armor, his shield slung across his arm. It glowed softly, and he took reassurance in its light. Ashhur was with him still. Within, he guarded a scattered remnant of the town’s people. Those with children and families were deep in Hangfield’s estate. Daniel guarded the entrance with his remaining soldiers. The lieutenant stayed at the front, the rest wielding long, bladed polearms. Across the street stood Darius before the inn, the sick and wounded being cared for by Dolores inside.
Clouds gathered above, stealing away what little light was left. It did not look like rain, and for that Jerico said a word of thanks to Ashhur. The last thing he wanted was to battle in the soaking wet. That, and it would have destroyed the many torches they’d lit throughout the town.
“It’ll disturb their vision,” Darius had explained. “Blind them to the ditches and pitfalls.”
Jerico caught Darius staring at him, and he saluted with his mace. Darius saluted back, his greatsword wreathed in dark flame.
“You all right down there?” shouted Jon, his assigned archer atop the tavern.
“I’ll be fine,” Jerico shouted back. “You have enough arrows?”
“So long as my aim is true, and you don’t leave me more than forty.”
Jerico glanced around the corner, saw both Pheus and another archer standing atop the Hangfield home. It was the largest of the three structures, and had the most villagers crammed within. It also had the most openings, though the soldiers had done well boarding them up. Of Daniel’s ten soldiers, seven were inside. With them, plus the archer on top, and the dark priest, they might have a chance.
“So they’re going to show up soon, right?”
“Getting impatient, Jon?”
From above, he heard the archer chuckle.
“I just don’t want to be sitting here for four hours waiting. We’re all geared up and ready for a slaughter. Is it so much to ask they show up for it? Besides, this roof ain’t the most comfortable.”
Jerico swung his mace lazily through the air, feeling similar sentiments. They’d been preparing for two days, and the whole while, he’d felt his patience growing thin. As much as he feared the wolf-men, there would be at least some relief in knowing the pivotal moment had come, that his test of skill had arrived.
In the distance, a wolf howled. It seemed the entire village turned silent, the only noise that of the flickering torches. A second howl joined it, then a third, and in moments a great cacophony rolled through the streets, hundreds of howls of such volume it hurt the ear. Jerico felt his hands grow cold, and his throat tighten.
“Holy shit,” Jon muttered.
“We’re hoping for a miracle here,” Jerico said, shouting to be heard. “Care to keep the blaspheming down a little, eh?”
Despite the terror, Jon laughed.
“Sure thing. I’m better at killing, anyway.”
The chorus of howls thinned, the wolf-men no doubt on the charge. Jerico’s mace shook in his hand, and he closed his eyes for a moment of prayer. No fear. No cowardice. He thought of the many hiding behind him, with only his shield and mace to keep them safe. His failure meant their death. He would not fail.
He saw the first wolf-man for only a moment before an arrow plunged into its neck. It had stepped around a nearby house, and Darius’s archer had spotted it with ease in the torchlight. The thing let out a cry and fell to one knee. A second arrow thunked into its chest, and it lay still. The rest of the pack took up a cry, for they surely smelled the blood spilling across the dirt. Jerico braced himself as scattered groups of wolf-men rushed into view. The first of many spotted him, and it leapt toward him with a deep growl. It tripped along one of the ditches they’d dug and, off-balance, Jerico found it easy prey for his mace. The flanged edges smashed in its skull, and he kicked its body back, just another obstacle for the rest of the pack. Breathing heavily, he swallowed and tried to calm his nerves. The battle of Durham had begun.
His heart leapt into his throat when he heard the sound of tearing wood and breaking doors, but he realized it was only the many abandoned houses. The wolf-men hadn’t realized yet that all the survivors had gathered together, and they were busy searching throughout the town. This first assault would be the weakest, the most scattered, and he vowed to build a wall of dead around his door. A group of three wolf-men spotted him, and they charged in unison. Jon unleashed arrow after arrow. Without their armor, they were large, vulnerable targets, and he buried two up to the shaft into the leftmost’s chest. The other two vaulted over one ditch, only to crash into the second. Jerico winced, hearing wood snap, and one cried out in pain and did not get up. The other limped toward him, its eyes mad, its leg bleeding from a gaping wound in its thigh.
Jerico stepped into the doorway, knowing the creature would need to duck to enter within, therefore hurting its momentum. It swung its claws, and he blocked with his shield. At their contact, the wolf-man stepped back, yipping in pain. The light swelled on his shield, and taking a step forward, Jerico smashed the wolf in the face with the glowing steel. Blood splattered from its nose, and this time it fell to one knee. Jerico swung, his mace ending its life. The body lay beside the first, another building block for his wall.
An arrow sailed over his head, ending the struggles of the wolf still in the ditch.
“Two to two,” Jon cried. “I’m not impressed, paladin.”
“Long night left. I got time.”
What meager amusement he felt vanished as the rest of the pack appeared. They ran in groups of ten, howling and growling like mad dogs. They numbered in the hundreds, and against such numbers Jerico felt insignificant. His body flooded with adrenaline. This was it. He braced his legs, raised his shield, and prayed the others would endure.
“Fuck,” he heard Jon yell. “I don’t have enough arrows for that! ”
The wolves flowed over the ditches and spikes like floodwaters over a dam. Many collapsed, and he heard bones snapping and howls of pain, but they were too few. It only slowed the charge, and only just. Jerico saw two jump at Darius, who cleaved one in half, then engaged the other, his blade blocking claws. Hangfield’s was too far to his left to see, so he could only hope they fared well. Arrows sailed from all three rooftops, but it seemed like spitting onto a campfire.
“To me, you monsters!” Jerico cried. “Bring your teeth, your claws, your blood!”
Half the swarm heading for Darius broke off. They flowed over the ditches, accepted Jon’s arrows, and slammed against the inn. Jerico braced himself, trusting his shield. The wolf-men slashed at him, but his armor was thick, and he shifted and pushed, refusing to let them pierce through. The power of his shield continued to harm them, and he heard their cries as wolf after wolf could not endure the pain. His arm throbbed, but he ignored it, just as he did the pain in his shoulder. Careful, methodical, he shoved with his shield, swung his mace in the brief opening, and then stepped back in retreat. Nearly every time, his mace drew blood. Too many of them pressed together, Jerico knew, unable to dodge or parry. They expected to bury him with sheer mass and muscle. They were wrong.
Piles of bodies built before him, until the wolf-men had to climb over. That was when he made a rare attack, wading into his opponents, his shield and mace slamming with brutal fury. He would not fail. He would not let them die. His shield struck a wolf in the chest, and as it staggered back, he cracked its skull from the top, dropping it into a heap before him. Standing atop it, he leapt at the next, blocking its desperate slash with his shield. Its other arm made it past, and it cut a deep groove in his breastplate. No blood, though the same could not be said for Jerico’s counter. He broke its jaw, swung again, and blasted an eye out from its socket. The wolf-man collapsed, and for the moment, Jerico could see out his door to the space between their buildings.
