"Kruvas̆." Nissilât leaned weakly against the wall and spat out a mouthful of blood. With her left arm hanging limply at her side, she struggled to open the bag swinging at her right hip, searching for a potion.

"Here, take mine." She glanced up in time to snatch the potion out of the air that Toril had thrown at her.

"Thanks."

The commander grunted in acknowledgment, but his attention remained focused outside the walls. "Selene's Grace, they've got more of those cursed potions?"

Her arm snapped back into place as she choked down the potion, and Nissilât rose shakily. The battle had been short but fierce, as a dozen of the transformed brutes had swarmed the tower Tōrîl commanded. They were dead now, their bodies stained green and black from the dozens of poisons she'd been forced to extend on them, but the victory had come at a cost.

Only three of the thirty soldiers that had been stationed with them had survived, and one of the survivors was down an arm. "There's another wave coming, there's another wave coming!" Tōrîl panicked, and Nissilât closed her eyes.

Did I really survive the eṭemmu just to die two days later? It was a cruel twist of fate but, then again, fate was rarely kind - and Nissilat doubted they could withstand a second wave. But if they were doomed, they might as well go out with a bang.

Mustering the dregs of her strength, she opened her eyes. The second row of bandits was still convulsing from the effects of the potion, their bodies not yet fully transformed, but she knew it would only take a few more seconds. If only I had time to make a sacrifice. As much as she'd tried to abjure the dark rites her former god had forced on her, right now, Nissilât wouldn't hesitate to use them again. Not if it meant saving the thousands of villagers sheltered behind the walls. But she had no time.

"What in Selene's name is Uzzîl doing?" Her dark thoughts were interrupted as Tōrîl leaned over the edge of the parapet, staring down at the commander who was walking toward the gate.

She followed his gaze in time to see the man reach the sergeant manning the great pulleys that lifted the portcullis. The sergeant and the men around him snapped to attention, and that was when Uzzîl struck.

Two men were done before she realized what was happening, bleeding out on the pavement as the commander tore into the rest.

"Uzzîl? Uzzîl?!" She barely registered Tōrîl's hoarse scream of anger and confusion as she watched the commander betray them. Instincts flaring, she lurched into action, jumping over the edge and skimming down the side of the tower toward the stairs thirty feet below.

The sergeant was still holding out when her feet hit the ground. Despite his age and the bit of extra weight around his waist, Nabulîl fought with dogged determination, parrying the commander's strike and delivering a blow of his own that scored across Uzzîl's waist. He cried out in pain as he blocked the next blow, for his arm shattered beneath the higher-leveled commander's overweening strength. His sword slipped from his limp arm, but somehow, he managed to duck beneath what would have been a decapitating blow, and, grabbing his dagger with his off hand, he jammed it into the crack in the armor between the hauberk and the pauldron. Uzzîl roared in pain, but his arm swept down before the sergeant could move, severing his hand at the wrist.

She vaulted down the stairs, ten steps at a bound, but she was too far away to save him. Despite the loss of his hand and his shattered arm, the sergeant still tried to fight, tackling Uzzîl to the ground with a feral howl, but an armless man had no hope in a grappling match. Within seconds, Uzzîl had flipped him over and smashed his skull against the cobblestones.

As he rose to his feet, Nissilât reached the bottom of the stairs, but there were still a few hundred yards between them. She could do nothing to stop the commander as he reached for the chains and pulled. His first heave rumbled the portcullis a quarter of the way; his second, to the height of a man. She wheezed for breath as she pushed herself harder, and finally reaching the edge of her range, flung a dagger toward him.

It caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around, but he recovered before she could reach him and pulled one last time. As the gates clicked into place, he raised his sword toward the rampart above.

"Ēpis̆dāma!" The commander raised his voice. "I fulfilled my part of the bargain - now fulfill yours!"

"Shut up!" She skidded to a halt beside him, staring in horror at the open gate and the ranks of transformed stoneflesh charging toward it. "You're going to help me close this gate, or by S̆ams̆a's light, I swear I'll stuff your balls down your throat."

Nissilât dodged to the side as a sudden tingling sensation rippled down her spine in time to see the mage emerge from a hazy mist behind her. Damqa floated beside him, wrapped in a dozen bloody tendrils buried deep into her flesh. "Indeed you have," the mage purred, and with a twitch of his fingers, the girl dropped to the ground.

With a strangled cry, Uzzîl dove toward her, and, at the same time, Nissilât surged forward as well, whipping her dagger toward the mage's unprotected throat. But she was thrown backward as a red barrier flashed in place between them, shattering her dagger and riddling her arm with its shards.

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The mage stared down at her as she rolled to her feet, and then shook his head. "Boring," he muttered, and turned to walk back into the red haze. She only had a second to think before he reached the haze, a second to stop him from disappearing. I can't hurt him, but the commander's still fair game.

With a guttural howl, she leapt on the commander's back, stabbing him in the shoulder a second time. He shrugged her off with a well-placed elbow to the ribs, and she rolled out of his reach as he tried to grab her. "Ēpis̆dāma - help me!"

The mage paused beside the mist, a smirk on his face as he glanced back. "Why?"

Uzzîl ducked as she swiped at him again, and staggered out of her range. "We had a deal. I let you in, you let me go."

"And I have," the mage turned his back on them, "but I never promised to protect you from the fruit of your own treachery."

"I should have known-" Full of fury at the mage, the commander was just a touch too slow to react to Nissilât's strike. He dropped to his knees as her dagger plunged into his chest, staring up at her with uncomprehending eyes.

"No, please. You don't understand. I had to save her, I had-"

A spray of blood spattered her armor as she whipped her knife through his jugular. "You should thank the gods above I don't have time to cut off your balls," she hissed as she stomped past him toward the girl.

She paused above the commander's daughter, glancing at the long chains holding the gate in place. She wasn't strong enough to brute force them on their own and, even if she were, there wasn't time. Hoarse warcries greeted her as the charging stoneflesh reached the gate. "Pull back!" she screamed as she bent down and, scooping Damqa off the ground, began to run towards Tōrîl's keep.

The walls were lost.

What Nissilât lacked in strength, she made up for in speed, and she quickly left the brutes in her dust as she raced back into the small village, heading toward the steps that led to Tōrîl's keep. "To the keep! Fall back to the keep," she screamed as she ran past the cottages, but she flinched as a shadow flickered above her. Fearing it was the blood mage, she dove for the cover of a nearby porch until a man's voice called out.

"Damqa?!"

Tōrîl was dropped to the ground unceremoniously as Tsia landed in short, jerky movements.

"What do we do…they broke through the gate…there are so many dead…" As the princess started to babble, Nissilât glanced over her shoulder and saw the brutes had delayed their pursuit of her long enough to finish off the soldiers still fighting on the wall, and judging from the bright fireball bursting into view, Jasper, at least, remained in the battle. If we hurry, maybe we can save the villagers.

Old instincts flaring, she took command. "Tōrîl," the man staggered as she shoved the unconscious woman into his arms, "take the girl back to the keep and gather whatever soldiers you can from the south wall. Tsia, help the soldiers on the north delay the brutes as long as you can. Every second you can buy me is a villager we can save. I'll hold back and try to herd them into the keep. Understand?"

Her sharp tone seemed to snap the girl out of her shock, and the princess nodded grimly. "I'll do what I can."

In a burst of wind, Tsia took off, her flight erratic as she headed toward the gate. Lightning streaked across the sky as she descended on the stoneflesh, but Nissilât turned away; there wasn't time to watch.

Running to the nearest cottage, she beat against the door. "You need to get to the keep now - the walls have fallen. If you stay here, you'll die." The door swung open as she pounded on the frame, a scared face peering out, and she grabbed them by the shoulder. "Come with me."

Lightning and fire cracked behind her as she raced up and down the street, breaking down the doors of the villagers too paralyzed by fear to act. They swarmed out of the cottages like termites fleeing a fire, and as she herded up the steep path toward the second walls, she kept a sharp watch for the blood mage.

She knew she had no chance of defeating Ēpis̆dāma if he should appear, which only made it all the more strange that the mage seemed content to let her live. Unless it's all just some sick game to him, she realized, and cruelty is the point. Shoving the discomfitting thought aside, she ran to the last building she hadn't reached.

It was dark inside, with no smoke rising from the chimney, so she thought it likely abandoned, but she pounded on the door anyway. "If there's anyone in there, you need to leave, now!" She waited a beat before, satisfied there was no one there, turning to go, but the door squeaked behind her.

A small, ragged girl peered out of the door, her side clutched tightly by an even smaller lad. Their faces were wan and thin, their clothes stained, their hair unruly.

"Are you by yourself?"

The little girl shook her head shyly. "Daddy's sick. We can't leave him-"

Nissilat pushed past them carefully and nearly threw up as the overwhelming smell of rot hit her. There was indeed an adult in the room, covered in a pile of blankets on the only bed in the cottage, but judging from the flies resting on his face, he'd been dead for at least a few days.

Her heart sank in pity as she stared at the rotting corpse, but she didn't have time to explain death to the children. Ignoring their screams of protest, she scooped them up in her arms and bolted out the door, only for her steps to falter as she saw a band of stoneflesh gathered at the base of the path leading to the keep.

Before they could see her, she ducked into an alley and crouched down. "Shhh!" she hushed the crying kids. "Did you see those bad men?"

They bobbed their heads silently, their tear-stained cheeks trembling. "We're going to have to go around them, but I need you to keep really quiet - okay?"

She smiled as they nodded again, willing them to be brave, but it was hard to keep her own spirits as she dared another peek around the corner. There was no doubt that she could easily reach the keep on her own - the shadows bent to her will, after all - but how was she going to manage it with two kids?

Kruvas̆.

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