“Good job,” Giselle said. “Now maybe you could stop celebrating and focus on the work at hand.”
Feeling decidedly more confident now, Simon took cover behind a thick oak tree and took aim. The Grenadier was magical in nature, allowing it to generate a nearly inexhaustible supply of ammunition.
He squeezed the trigger again and again, knocking down targets as fast as he recognized them. Most of the Darkspawn died on impact. Few required a second shot.
Giselle and the other Templar fought on, using the incredible strength and their swords to lay waste to the Darkspawn that challenged them. Blades flashed and demons lay stretched out on the ground.
One of the Templar was on the ground, though, and Simon knew from the posture that the man wouldn’t be getting back up. His sword lay before him, only inches from his outstretched fingertips.
Clipping the Grenadier to his hip, Simon raced for the fallen Templar’s sword. It was a broadsword, much like the one Simon had forged for himself.
Throwing himself forward, Simon slid across the muddy, snow-covered ground. Mud splattered into his eyes and temporarily blinded him. He grabbed frantically for the sword and pulled it from the ground just as a shadow fell over him. Whirling, coming up to one knee, Simon held the sword before him in both hands.
Green energy sparked and winked along the blade’s edge.
Feeling more confident, Simon lashed out at the hand. The blade cut through the demon’s forearm with ease. The creature’s arm dropped to the ground. Before the hand came to a rest, Simon was in motion again, circling around to the right. He launched an attack on the demon, reminding himself that he wasn’t clothed in armor.
Simon cut the backs of the demon’s legs, hamstringing the creature. It whirled, trying to deliver death, but its unresponsive feet landed it facedown on the ground.
Spinning the sword in his hand, reversing the way he held the weapon, Simon sank the sword through the demon’s chest and into the ground beneath. The demon opened its mouth wide to scream. Before it could, Simon kicked it in the head with his boot. The Darkspawn lay there shivering for a moment, then relaxed completely as death claimed it.
“Look out!”
Simon moved as he saw the shadow on the ground lurch toward him. He rolled away from it, picking up cold mud, and came up with the sword in his hands. A Darkspawn flailed for him, throwing a Grappler toward Simon’s last position.
The Grappler was Templar magic and technology, too, and the Darkspawn had probably claimed it in battle. Blocky and thick, the barrel an upended rectangle, the Grappler spat a tether made from spun palladium alloy that would wrap around an opponent and pull him into range of the user. If the tether had locked on Simon, he would have been yanked toward the demon.
Roaring in rage, the demon took aim again. Simon surged up from his knees and drove the sword before him, following it with his weight. The blade passed through the demon’s stomach, deeply enough that Simon knew it had passed through the creature’s back. He felt the spine grate along the edge, then used it as a fulcrum to get the leverage he needed to disembowel the demon.
The Darkspawn emptied in a slithering tangle. Noxious fumes filled the cold air, tightening Simon’s breath in his lungs. Almost overcome by the foulness, he stumbled back and lifted an arm across his mouth and nose. He kept the sword ready before him.
As he looked around the broken ground through the trees that still had some of their leaves, he saw that the Templar owned the battlefield. Several Darkspawn lay in unmoving heaps on the ground. Steam rose from the cooling bodies as approaching winter claimed them, too.
Even the gunbattle along the coast had quieted.
Fearing what that meant, thinking of all the women and children he’d helped escort into the dinghy, Simon charged through the trees.
Fourteen
A ided by the armor, Giselle quickly caught up to Simon and pulled ahead.
“Idiot,” she snapped. “You want to be a hero? Heroes are always the first to get killed.” Her voice broke. “We’ve had enough of those lately.”
Before Simon could say anything, she left him behind. He ran harder, but the other surviving Templar passed him as well.
Minutes later, they reached the coastline. Gunsmoke hung in the air, mixing with the thick fog. In the distance, Dauntless sped away, climbing the horizon as the ocean rose away from the coastline. Two fires danced on the deck, but even at the distance Simon could see the crew battling them.
Godspeed, Simon thought, and wished them well. Then the ship disappeared over a wave, although the flicker of flames hung in the air for a while longer before the fog swallowed it.
“Going to stand there all day?” Giselle asked.
Simon looked at her.
“There’s work to be done, love,” she said quietly.
Surveying the coastline, Simon watched as the other Templar walked among the dead and the dying. Most of them were demons, but some of them were human.
A middle-aged man groped feebly. Horror tightened Simon’s stomach when he saw the man’s legs had been burned off at the thighs by one of the demons’ beam weapons. The cauterized stumps were charred black and bloody.
The sight and smell of battle was nothing like Simon had envisioned. Even what he’d done to the poachers back in South Africa paled before this. This was carnage, raw and vicious.
Giselle went to the man and knelt beside him. She removed one of her gloves and held the man’s hand in hers. Her helmet visor retracted, allowing the man to see her face.
“You’re…you’re an angel?” the man asked.
“No,” Giselle told him quietly. “Not an angel. Just a woman.”
“Not like any woman I’ve ever seen.”
Simon kept his distance, unwilling to go any closer. He tightened
