him.
Nodding his head, James just says, “Let’s get off this damn wall.” He sees a couple of the guards are getting back up from where they had been thrown backward along the top of the wall.
They let James go first and then Scar with Potbelly coming last. When James reaches the ground, he says to Jiron, “What I did up there is going to be like a beacon for every mage in the city. They’re going to know where we are.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here!” Jiron says as they start to race toward the main gates to the city. A squad of five men turns into the street ahead of them, coming in their direction. When they see James’ group running toward them, they let out a cry and draw their swords as they rush to attack.
A slug strikes one, felling him before they even get close. Jiron takes the next one, knives flashing as they parry and strike.
Potbelly and Scar face the remaining three; Scar’s two swords quickly take out one while Potbelly holds his own with the second but is unable to gain an opening to finish him. Scar engages the remaining one and soon has him on the ground as well. “You got him?” he asks, looking over to Potbelly as he continues exchanging blows with the guard.
“Yeah!” he replies as he blocks and holds his opponent’s sword with his knife, while following through with his sword, taking him through the chest. His sword gets caught in between his opponent’s ribs and is unable to pull it free. Leaving the sword there, he grabs the dead guard’s sword just as Jiron’s opponent falls to the ground. Then they’re off again for the gate.
This area is relatively clear as most of the guards and soldiers have gone to the inner section of the city to hunt for them. They’re able to run quickly through the streets without fear of being attacked and it isn’t long before the gates appear ahead of them. “There they are!” Jiron shouts to them as they race for freedom.
They come to a quick stop when they see at least thirty soldiers in formation before the gate, as well as a mage. “You cannot escape!” the mage hollers to them where they’ve stopped in the middle of the street. “You are greatly outnumbered.”
James takes a slug and throws it at the mage who erects a barrier, causing it to ricochet off harmlessly.
The mage just smiles, as he makes ready to cast a spell. James counters with a spell he’s been devising for just such a time and is able to release it before the other can cast his. The mage knows James has done something but can’t detect anything. He releases a bolt of power and the shield he erected around himself to ward off the slug suddenly turns orange as the bolt of power bounces off the shield, turning back onto the mage.
With a scream of pain, the bolt blasts through the mage before hitting the shield again and then bounces back. The bolt then proceeds to fly from one side of the shield to another until finally running its course. James releases his spell on the shield and the mage, now a charred corpse, falls to the ground.
In stunned silence, the guards at the gate stare for a second at the smoking remnants of their mage lying there in the street and then a cry erupts from then as they charge forward.
Crumph!
James releases the power again and the ground under the approaching men explodes upward, tossing bodies and debris in every direction. A few men were forward of the area that erupted and are thrown forward by the blast. Jiron and the other pit fighters quickly take them out before they have a chance to recover.
Behind them, they can hear running feet as hundreds of guards and soldiers, who had been in the inner area of the city, race to catch them. “To the gate!” James cries as he begins running through the devastated area littered with dead bodies before them.
“But it’s closed!” Delia cries as she hurries behind him.
“Leave that to me,” James tells her as they race toward the gate.
From atop the wall, crossbowmen begin raining down bolts at them. But by luck’s good grace, they all fail to hit their mark.
At the gate, they turn to see the courtyard beginning to fill with soldiers, hell bent on engaging them. “There’re too many!” shouts Scar.
“James hurry!” Jiron yells as he and the other pit fighters turn to face the oncoming men. Being so close to the gates, the crossbowmen on the wall are no longer able to fire upon them. He glances back and sees James standing next to the gates with his hands resting upon them.
Then with an ear deafening crash, the gates fly open and James sags to the ground. On the other side, two guards stand in stunned amazement at the opening of the gates. Scar and Potbelly quickly turn and move through the gate, taking them out in short order. Jiron helps James up and half carries him as they hurry through the gate.
Behind them, a swarm of men armed with swords fill the streets as they race for the broken gates, hot on their trail. Crossbow bolts fly at them from the walls again once they’ve passed beyond their protecting cover, but none find their mark.
Suddenly, they hear horses approaching from the southwest, hooves thundering toward them across the bridge that spans the river. Getting set to sell their lives dearly, they’re stunned to see Shorty and Yorn racing toward them. Behind them are Ezra and Stig, as well as extra horses for each of them.
“Come on!” Shorty yells as they race toward them. He gets down and helps assist Jiron in getting James in the saddle as everyone mounts. Once done, they quickly get in the saddle and then begin racing back toward the bridge. Potbelly cries out from his saddle as a bolt strikes him in the side.
“Potbelly!” Scar yells as he slows to come to his friend’s aid.
“I’ll make it!” he yells back to his friend as he holds his side, bursts of pain exploding from where the bolt is sticking out with every stride his horse takes.
As they cross the bridge, James slows his horse and then comes to a stop. He begins to dismount when Jiron hollers to him, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Delaying them,” he replies. “I may not be good for much after this, so be prepared for that. I need a few minutes.”
Looking back at the mass of soldiers running toward them, he says, “You ain’t got a few a minutes!”
James ignores him as he concentrates. Jiron watches as the center of the bridge begins to glow and then becomes dark again. James suddenly sags to the bridge, unconscious.
“Damn!” Jiron says as he dismounts. Coming to his side, he puts James back onto his horse and secures him to the saddle with rope. He gets back on his horse, grabs the reins to James’ horse and then leads him quickly over the bridge to where the others are waiting for them.
“What did you stop for?” Scar asks as they approach.
“I’m not sure,” he replies. “Let’s get going!”
As they gallop away, the first of the pursuing men gain the bridge.
Crumph!
The concussion wave washes over them and they turn to see the bridge exploding into the air. A twenty foot gap now separates the two sides of the river.
“Damn!” Scar says.
“Let’s move,” Jiron says. “We don’t know how long we’ll have before they manage to get around that.”
Potbelly groans and then begins to topple off his horse. Scar jumps down and hurries over to his friend’s side, catching him before he hits the ground.
Potbelly looks up to Scar as he lays him on the ground, “I guess this is my last fight.”
Scar sees Delia there and she bends down to examine the wound. “It’s hit nothing vital,” she tells him. “If we can get the blood to stop, he should be alright.”
Jiron looks back to the river and can see that they’ve already started moving some boats toward the broken bridge to begin ferrying men across. “We don’t have much time,” he tells her.
“Won’t need much,” she says as she tears a strip of cloth off her shirt.
Jiron looks again and sees ten men disembarking from the boats. They begin running to close with them. Two knives fly in quick succession as Shorty takes out two of the attackers.
“Hurry please!” Jiron says as he and the others move to engage with the oncoming men. Side by side, the pit fighters stand, giving Delia the time to administer to Potbelly. Scar is a terrible foe as his anger for what happened to his friend finds an outlet, his two swords weaving a pattern of death no soldier willingly enters.
As she starts to bind the wound, leaving the bolt in his side, Roland asks, “Aren’t you going to take it
