Dreamer's Throne -
Chapter 43
Equipped with axes, shields, rough chainmail, and helmets, the Ghoul’s Tooth gang looked more like soldiers than members of a local gang. Under Garrett’s direction, they had spent every last copper they had on outfitting themselves with weapons and armor, trying to increase their survivability as much as possible. Though their chainmail was old and in many cases starting to show spots of rust, so far it was doing its job of turning aside the short spears and blades of the Swamp Sharks.
On the other side of the spectrum, the Swamp Sharks barely had a single piece of armor between them. It was a capital offense for gang members to be found with armor, since it could be seen as a direct challenge to the crown, so gangs tended to avoid wearing it as much as possible. Furthermore, the Swamp Sharks tended to operate on the water a lot, where chainmail was nothing more than a guaranteed trip to the bottom of the river if you fell in.
That meant, though, that every time a Ghoul’s Tooth axe fell, the Swamp Sharks would feel the pain of their skin being split or worse. There were so many enemies that the ones closest to the front line were constantly being pushed forward into the waiting blades of the Ghoul’s Tooth gang, to the point that the fifteen men were starting to grow tired from swinging their axes. More bodies began to pile up and Ryn, remembering her role in this fight, called out to the gang members with the crossbows.
“Group one, switch!”
The five men who had just loaded their crossbows placed them down, picked up their axes and shields, and rushed forward to replace the five men who were falling back. Fresh compared to the men who were retreating, the five men in group one spread out along the battle line, swinging their axes with force to push the enemy back, taking some of the pressure off their companions. Group one dropped their shields and axes and picked up the loaded crossbows, sending the bolts into the tightly packed enemy before starting to load them again.
For the last two days the inn had been closed and the great room cleared as Garrett made them practice their formations over and over again. The constant drilling had been tough, but nothing compared to an actual battle, and now as their bodies naturally reacted to the orders Ryn was calling out, they were undeniably grateful for the difficulty they’d gone through.
Each bolt that ripped into the crowd dealt tremendous damage, destroying flesh, bone, and morale alike. Though there were only five crossbows, the regular twang of their strings caused the Swamp Sharks to flinch every time, killing their momentum and making them hesitate to press forward. Dead and dying lay thick on the ground, but the Ghoul’s Tooth gang had yet to lose a single person. Almost all of them were wounded, but rather than slow down, their wounds only seemed to make them fight more aggressively.
In the center of the battlefield, Hollice and Obe were still duking it out with reckless abandon. Each smashing blow that Hollice threw was dodged or deflected by Obe who wasn’t shy about launching attacks of his own. Both of them were skilled fighters, but their styles were well matched and neither was able to get any advantage over the other. Obe fought defensively overall, since Vic was still lurking at the back of his forces, urging them forward. At the back of the Swamp Sharks, the gang boss was grinding his teeth, furious at the way the fight was going. He wanted to charge forward and attack, but the sight of Garrett sitting at the back of the crowd gave him pause.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that the battlefield, which had turned into a stalemate, was primed for a change, but he had no idea how or where it would come. Garrett’s calmness when they’d last met had left a strong impression on him, making him think the young man had something up his sleeve. Glancing backward, his eyes caught a flash of color near the floor, but before he could look closer a figure stalked out of the passageway, a black cloak covering his body.
The hood of the cloak was pulled up, hiding most of his face, but the bloodthirsty air that surrounded him couldn’t be hidden. As he walked forward the cloak he wore shifted, allowing Vic to get a glimpse of a bloody cleaver. Blood drained from his face as he realized who had appeared and he lifted his sword. Long and narrow with a basket hilt, his rapier was feared for its dizzying attacks, but going up against Henrick’s simple slashes set his heart fluttering.
“I should have known this was a trap,” Vic snarled, dashing toward Henrick.
His blade flickered in the torchlight, seeming to appear and disappear as it stabbed toward Henrick. Moving toward his enemy’s heart, Vic switched targets at the last moment, the tip of his blade shooting up toward Henrick’s throat at an impossible angle. Just when he thought he might actually score a hit, Henrick’s cleaver moved like lightning, drawing a silver line across the air. Ducking to avoid having his head removed, Vic changed his stab to a slash as he slid past Henrick’s side.
With a casual turn, Henrick’s cleaver fell, slashing diagonally down at Vic, who bounced to his feet, turning a handless cartwheel even as his flickering blade stabbed into Henrick’s chest. With a grunt Henrick fell back, blood oozing from the gash left by the tip of Vic’s sword. About to press his advantage, Vic dodged backward, barely avoiding a backward slash. For a moment the fight paused as the two men glared at each other, but in the next second the battle was rejoined.
Hacking this way and that, Henrick’s fighting style was simple and direct, while Vic’s was the complete opposite. Like a dancer with perfectly measured steps, Vic slipped, ducked, dodged, and wove through the web of silver slashes Henrick was throwing out, occasionally launching attacks of his own that left bloody spots on Henrick’s body. Yet no matter how Vic poked at him, Henrick stood as unmoving as a mountain.
All across the chamber the fighting was fierce, and while the Awakened all appeared to be evenly matched, the same wasn’t true for the two groups of gang members. The Ghoul’s Tooth gang had already killed or wounded at least thirty of their enemies, but there were almost double that number pressing in behind. The problem wasn’t that they were getting hurt, as their armor protected them, it was that they were growing too tired to keep killing. Swinging an axe over and over again was exhausting, to say nothing of repeated swings while also holding a shield and wearing armor.
Garrett’s rotation tactic had been working well to extend their energy by giving them short breaks, but it was clear to Ryn that their exhaustion was simply growing too heavy. The only reason they hadn’t already been overrun was the enemy’s fear of death. Had the Swamp Sharks run in without regard for casualties, the tired Ghoul’s Tooth gang would have been completely overwhelmed. As it was, that hesitancy was granting them a lifeline.
Mentally reviewing what Garrett had told her, Ryn stepped forward and picked up one of the crossbows, beginning to load it up. It was a strain, as she didn’t have the strength to pull back the tight string, but wedging it against the ground as she’d been taught, she leveraged it up with the winch on the side of the crossbow. Though it took her twice as long to load it, it was better than doing nothing. Lifting the loaded crossbow, she sighted down it and shouted to the front line.
“Stage two! Stage two!”
With relief visible on their faces, the fifteen men up front stumbled backward, making sure not to turn and run. As they backed up they moved closer together, forming a tighter shield wall. Ten of them peeled off to pick up crossbows while the five who’d just finished loading their crossbows handed them off and picked up their shields and axes again. With their new formation there were ten of them together up front while ten of them stood in the back, rotating shooting the crossbows.
The sudden retreat caught the Swamp Sharks off guard and for a moment they milled around, unsure what to do. The first person to try and chase got caught jumping the pile of bodies, taking a crossbow bolt through his chest courtesy of Ryn. Thrown back over the crowd, his highly visible death caused those about to follow him to crouch, hiding behind the ruined barricade and the piles of bodies that decorated it.
This, in turn, bought the Ghoul’s Tooth gang a desperately needed moment of respite, and nearly a full minute passed as the two sides stared at each other. It didn’t take long for the Awakened who were still fighting in the middle of the room to realize something strange was going on, and they quickly broke off, retreating to their sides. Doing a quick count, Obe was relieved and amazed that they hadn’t yet lost anyone, but it was clear that if the fight restarted, that would no longer be the case.
A number of his men were barely holding on, their bodies so tired they were shaking. Others were only managing to stand by leaning heavily on their weapons. Blood streamed down from their bodies in multiple places, despite Ryn’s hurried ministration. She was slapping pads of cloth soaked with a numbing paste they had prepared onto their cuts, trying to stem their blood loss as much as possible.
At the other end of the room, Vic and Henrick separated, finally noticing that the fight had begun to lull. The leader of the Swamp Sharks was in disarray, a patch of his hair and the tip of his right ear missing from a slash that came a bit too close. On the other side, Henrick’s cloak was soaked in gore, sticking to his body in a dozen places where Vic’s blade had cut open his skin. Panting, Vic’s eyes narrowed when Henrick looked away. Following his enemy’s gaze, Vic saw that he was looking across the chamber at the robed figure in the wheelchair. Rage boiled in his heart as he saw the state of the battlefield, and Vic spat on the ground.
“Well played, Henrick. But it doesn’t matter how you squirm, Ghoul’s Tooth dies here today!”
About to give the command to charge, Vic was stunned when Henrick suddenly moved, dashing into the thick crowd of Swamp Shark gang members. His cleaver rose and fell twice, slicing through whole swaths of terrified men. As blood splattered, he charged across the newly cleared path like a bulldozer. Letting out a roar of rage, Hollice lifted her war pick and hacked out toward him, only to see him lift his other arm that had been hidden under his cloak. As his cloak fell back, the hooked claw on the end of his arm was revealed for all to see and terrified screams rang out.
Blocking her attack with his hook, Henrick returned a slash, intending to take her head off. Just before his cleaver could reach her a silver blade stabbed into his neck, intending to punch through his throat. With a tsk Henrick diverted his attack, using the change in momentum to pull his body out of the way. As the silver blade cut through the top of his shoulder, he hacked out with his claw, trying to rip Vic’s stomach open. Seeing him attack her boss, Hollice erupted with strength and brought down her war pick toward the top of his skull, intending to pierce straight through.
“Annoying!”
Dodging to the side, Henrick ignored Vic and pressed forward, moving in on Hollice. His foot lashed out, catching her in the stomach and throwing her back. Even as she flew, he spun, blocking Vic’s attack with his claw and landing a slash on Hollice’s chest that laid bone bare. As she tumbled backward he unleashed another slash at Vic, forcing him back. Throughout the fight his cloak had been shredded and, with a hiss, Henrick pulled it off, revealing his strange vertical eyes and the hooked claw where his left hand should have been. His monstrous features were on full display, his eyes flickering with crimson light like they were lit with the flames of hell. The sight of it caused those around him to cower, and Vic was no different.
Seeing that Vic was backing up, Henrick spun on his heel and charged toward the Ghoul’s Tooth line. Despite their exhaustion, the gang members all started to raise their weapons when Ryn shouted at them, her expression agonized.
“Stage three! Stage three!”
So tired that their minds were hazy, the gang reacted as they had been trained, dropping to the ground and scrambling away as fast as they could. No one had understood it when Garrett had demanded that they train this way, but he’d drilled it into their bodies so that no matter what they were doing, if he yelled “stage three” they would drop and scatter. Now, watching an unstoppable force charging toward them, Obe realized just how far ahead Garrett had planned. Henrick favored horizontal slashes to clear his way, so by dropping and moving aside, he lost his targets, preserving the gang members in a situation that should have been certain death.
His every instinct was screaming at him to run, but Obe couldn’t allow Garrett to fall. About to charge forward, he suddenly felt arms wrap around him, causing him to stumble. Looking down, he saw Ryn, who was holding on for dear life. With the way clear, Henrick arrived in front of Garrett’s wheelchair like a devil from hell, his blood-stained teeth glinting evilly in the torchlight as he lifted his cleaver up into the air. With a taunting voice, he spoke even as his cleaver fell in a vicious slash.
“I told you you couldn’t escape!”
With a crash, the cleaver cut through the chair and sank into the earth, slicing it so neatly that it stayed standing. In absolute shock, Henrick tried to understand what had happened, but it had been too fast for his brain to process. The cloak he’d cut through collapsed onto the seat, revealing the man who’d just dodged his strike. A crimson mask covered his face and the white flower on it stood out starkly in the darkness. Henrick’s gaze followed the man’s outstretched arm, continuing on when it reached his gloved hand and the handle of the sword that was buried in Henrick’s heart.
Miles away, above the earth in an inn that sat along a dark street, Garrett sat at the table that doubled as his desk, a quill gripped lightly in his fingers. Staring down at the papers he’d been writing out, he felt a tug on his mind and a dangerous light flashed across his face. Closing his eyes, he opened them to the sight of the Dream. Feeling the comfort of the Dreamer’s Throne beneath him, his lips curled in a smile.
“Game over.”
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