A slight fog had blown in. While it did not completely obstruct TJ’s view, it made it difficult to pinpoint details. “Light!” he shouted, raising his fist into the air. A dazzling brilliance sprouted from it, giving him his first clear look at the area. Allison reached for her helmet and mace; she had been sleeping in her breastplate. Jimmy was also on his feet and had his sword out in front of him, his back to the campfire.
Most disheartening was the number of enemies that had begun to crowd their camp. A quick count showed a dozen or more in just the front row, and movement in the trees behind suggested at least that many in reserve. They were large, hulking brutes, with knotty foreheads and arms that nearly reached the ground. They wore no armor and carried thick wooden clubs as wide as a man’s thigh. Despite their lack of sophisticated weapons, they looked plenty formidable.
Jimmy took two steps forward to meet the first rank and cut at them with his giant sword. Cries of pain and rage followed the tip of his blade as trails of red opened up across arms, chests, and abdomens. Unaware or indifferent to his greater reach, they continued to press in on him and received another slice for their troubles. One toppled, and then another. A third staggered toward Jimmy, club raised high, but the berserker pirouetted, his sword a silver streak that severed both arms and head from the creature’s torso.
Stu continued to fire arrow after arrow, but it seemed that his first shots had been lucky to drop the creatures. He now found himself having to fire two or more at the same target to get it to fall, and he was running out of both arrows and space to fire. One stepped close, and he spun his bow around like a staff, catching it on the side of the head. The shaft splintered and the creature merely shook its head in confusion before advancing once again. Stu reached down to grab his sword from where it lay next to his bedroll and brought it up just in time to parry a club crashing down at his skull. The shock from the blow sent pain shooting up his arm, nearly causing him to lose his grip. Another of the beasts had stepped up beside his fellow and swung at Stu as well. Again, his blade turned aside the club, but this time his fingers went numb and the hilt dropped from his grasp. The first one’s club came crashing down upon his head.
Allison had taken up a protective position in front of TJ, since she had her breastplate for protection and he had only robes. A small voice inside his head wished that game designers would let wizards wear real armor, but he quashed it. Three bolts of energy sprung from his hands, surging toward the attackers directly in front of her and striking them in their hairy torsos. Their targets each staggered back a step or two, but they didn’t seem terribly put out by the attack. He sent a second volley toward the beasts, then a third, and it was the last set that brought them down to their knees. While they were dazed, Allison stepped forward and made quick work of them, bashing in their heads one at a time.
“Well, that was the last of those spells,” he said. “I hope there aren’t many more.” As another rank stepped into the light, he sighed and sent a ball of flame toward them, just as he’d done with the brigands at the camp. Unlike the brigands, when the flame struck them and exploded, the creatures did not look particularly worse for wear. One of them, he could swear, actually smiled. “Really?” he said in exasperation. “Immune to fire? Really?”
“How bad is it?” Allison asked.
“Really, really bad. I specialize in fire magic. I don’t have a whole lot else at my disposal.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty bad.” She gritted her teeth and readied her mace.
Behind them, Jimmy was still holding his own. He had gotten into a rhythm—swing, stab, swing, stab—that kept the monsters at bay. The length of his blade made it impossible for them to get close enough to do damage with their clubs; the ones that tried to sneak into his sword’s radius lost limbs, heads, or both. He made a mental note to ask TJ more about the sword’s history—if they managed to get out alive. It seemed to have taken on a life of its own. Swing, stab. Swing, stab.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stu go down. While the part that was still Jimmy wanted to aid his friend, or at least to avenge him, his warrior instincts told him to keep his back to the fire and his eyes on those in front of him. He knew that as soon as he let his guard down or tried to turn aside, one of them would sneak through his defense and score a hit. It wasn’t that he was afraid of a club hit, or two, or three. He could remember taking much more damage than that and laughing it off. But a lucky shot could break a rib or an arm, or catch him on the head and stun him. And that would be all the opportunity needed to take him out. So he continued to swing and stab, occasionally stepping forward and catching one of the creatures off guard.
Behind him, Allison and TJ were hard-pressed. She had no shield to ward off the blows and cursed herself for turning down the one her uncle had offered from the wardrobe department. At the time she had thought it was overkill, too heavy to lug around all weekend. Showed how little she knew. But she did know that it was only a matter of time before her defenses were overwhelmed. While she had quickness on her side, they had reach. She could dodge in and land a blow and duck out of the way of their slow, powerful strokes, but she would eventually fatigue, and they would get lucky. She had already taken several blows to her shoulders that she had somehow managed to shake off. The ring, most likely. But she couldn’t help remembering that she had only a single meager point in the mace skill, and basically nothing else to help her survive the melee.
TJ mumbled some words and pulled a dagger shining with a fey glow from his robes. As he stepped forward to slash, the light emanating from the blade seemed to extend at just the right time to score a cut. “This is a bad thing,” he said, huffing and puffing in exertion. “I can’t remember how many times I’ve said that if I had to fight melee we were doomed.” A club crashed into his weapon hand, sending the dagger clattering to the side.
“Get behind me!” Allison hissed. She reached out with her left hand and grabbed at his robe, trying to pull him back. He let her pull him, partly because he knew he had no business trying to fight these things hand to hand, and partly because she was quite a bit stronger than he was, and he knew he wasn’t going to win.
The effort of moving TJ set Allison off balance, so when the next blow came at her, she wasn’t able to parry it. The wooden club slid down her mace and caught her on the wrist, eliciting a gasp of pain. She reached out with a smite, which pushed the creature back and stunned it long enough for her to regain her balance and send a small healing surge into her wrist. That turned out to be a mistake. The energy her body used to heal sent her vision swimming, and she didn’t see the club coming from her left side. It crashed into her shoulder and she heard her arm snap, the pain driving her to her knees. The last thing she saw was TJ standing over her and shouting, holding her mace awkwardly with two hands. He barely lasted ten seconds.
Jimmy, unaware that the last of his allies had fallen, continued to stay focused on those in front of him and, to a lesser extent, to the sides. As a result of the latter, he was taken unawares by a creature who tackled him from behind. With a whoosh of air from his lungs, he dropped his sword and was pinned to the ground, where he was kicked savagely with steel-lined boots. For once he regretted his ability to withstand damage; unconsciousness didn’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER 12
Chuck, up in the tree, was awoken by the sound of TJ rustling around. His body had long since learned to rouse at the slightest sound. While it had caused him quite a few restless nights, it had also saved his life more times than he could count. By the time Stu’s bells began to chime, he was fully awake. The first thing he did—the first thing he always did when confronted with danger—was to make himself very, very small. He had found over the years that the smaller he made himself, the less likely his enemies were to spot him. And were they actually to notice him, they’d undoubtedly underestimate him. He preferred the former to the latter, but either worked.