Ana woke before sunrise in a pleasant tangle of limbs. She didn’t get up. This had become a ritual of hers, a kind of meditation where she woke an hour or more before Messy, then spent that time just lying there, enjoying the stillness and warmth, and the soft rhythm of Messy’s breathing.
Today, all four-hundred-something of them were leaving the outpost. They’d be living out of tents for the foreseeable future, until they won or died. For that reason, and because Messy deserved it, Ana had wanted their last night there to be special. So she’d left a note, and hoped and prayed that everything would go off without a hitch.
Ana had waited in a roped off part of Petra’s common room. She would have liked something more private, but it wasn’t like there were any fancy restaurants in the outpost. Besides, Petra’s was where their relationship could be said to have begun, even if it was only a few weeks ago, and that had some value in itself.
When Messy showed up she’d been a work of art, in her green dress and with her hair in a single pull-through braid instead of the usual multitude. Ana had greeted her at the door and noted, with admittedly unreasonable satisfaction, that her three-inch heels versus Messy’s flat sandals made it so she could simply lean in to kiss her, instead of going up on her tip-toes.
When Ana led the way to their semi-private table she made sure that Messy got a good look at her in her purple dress, which a Laundress and a Seamstress together had somehow restored to practically brand new. She knew that she looked damn good in it. The heels only magnified that. And while all she had for makeup was her mini kit, even that was so far beyond what was available to anyone else that she might as well have had it done professionally by comparison.
Ana had always been vaguely uncomfortable with dressing to be noticed, but last night had been about Messy. And Messy liked to look at her, so Ana had given Messy something to look at.
Dinner had been simple, but Petra had borrowed a cook from another inn to make something other than stew. Conversation had been light and consisted mostly of Messy drinking Ana in like she was trying to commit every detail to memory. Afterward they’d met Valena, the Memorist, in the square. All she had needed was for them to pose, and she promised to present them with a finished painting in two hours.
They’d spent those two hours at the baths, open late into the night to let everyone who wanted have a chance to go. Ana had reserved a private room, with fancy soaps and oils, and they spent far longer than necessary washing each other, then simply soaking and lazily kissing and touching each other in the relaxing water.
When they passed through the square on their way home, Valena had been waiting as promised. Her painting now stood on their small table, leaning against the wall. It wasn’t photorealistic, but the colors were vivid, the figures sharp, and the gesture and expression captured Messy’s adoration for Ana perfectly. As much as Messy had loved it, though, it almost didn’t survive their return to the apartment. Ana had only barely managed to set it down where it now stood as Messy carried her bodily to the bed.
It was far from what Messy deserved. But Ana had almost no experience with dating, her resources were limited, and Messy… Messy had expressed her approval enthusiastically. All in all, Ana was quite pleased with herself.
There had been one small hitch when they lay together afterward, relaxed and happy, and Messy slowly broke into tears.
“Swear to me, Angel,” she’d sobbed. “Swear to me that this all wasn’t because tonight is our last night together!”
Ana hadn’t understood where that had come from. Not in the moment. She’d just held Messy and promised that it wasn’t their last anything together, not by a long shot, that everything was going to be okay, and that seemed to be what Messy needed.
Now, with the benefit of a night’s sleep and a clear mind, Ana thought she understood. She’d been too focused on everything in front of her to see how much strain the woman beside her was under. Ever since Touanne got Ana off bed rest, she’d relied on Messy. For moral support, to run interference with people she didn’t want to talk to, to remind her of the names of those she did, to drag her to meals and to the bath, and probably a dozen other little things that Ana couldn’t remember now because she just hadn’t paid attention. She’d looked at Messy and only seen her confidence and competence, not how much fear and stress and anxiety there was bubbling under the surface. She’d leaned on Messy so much, and while she’d appreciated the support more than she could possibly express in one evening, she hadn’t seen her slowly cracking.
Maybe that was because Messy was really good at hiding it, but Ana still felt like she should have noticed.
When Messy woke, the first thing Ana did was to kiss her and whisper, “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”
“Mmm? Wha’ for?”
“For not being a better person.”
Messy hadn’t even bothered trying to respond to that in words. She’d kissed Ana right back, then again, and then those kisses started going places, and before Ana knew it… well. She happily obliged. It felt like absolution, and it made Messy happy.
Once they managed to leave the bed, they packed up everything they wanted to take with them then went to Petra’s for breakfast. Probably the least optimal choice, since they’d be eating a lot of Petra’s cooking in the coming however many days, but it was a question of loyalty to a friend more than anything. And there was something to be said for cooking the same thing for breakfast every day, for months on end. The woman had her weird porridge down to an art.
Then they went to help Touanne with her stuff, but the Healer already had a small crowd volunteering, so they left with a “Good morning” and went to make sure that Jisha was all set. She was, mostly. She was together with the two Ters sisters — she was staying with them, apparently. Having two other women closer to her own age to talk to had done her some good. She was a little brighter than she had been, a little more lively, and she’d especially latched onto Sendra. Jisha liked to talk, and Sendra liked to listen, and the two were getting along just fine.
The girl was missing two important things, though: a good set of shoes or boots, and a knife. They spent some time taking care of that. Then the crowd in and around the square started getting thick, and it was time.
The militia, volunteers included, was now over two hundred strong. A hundred more had reported as willing and able to fight, and she wished she could have armed them; they just didn’t have the weapons.
Three hours after sunrise, every person with a weapon, and every mage with anything resembling a spell that might help in combat, were ready and formed up on the square. They were formed up by Party, with some higher-Level non-officers having been given their own Parties of volunteers or armed civilians, just to make sure that there was someone who knew what they were doing.
Off to one side stood Pirta, with Marra Falk, Drisa, and several others gathered around her. The elf was wearing chain-mail and had a… Ana wasn’t sure what it was. A spear? A sword-staff? A polearm that must have been twelve feet long, with the last two feet being a straight, double edged blade. She held it with a comfortable ease that spoke of years upon years of familiarity.
They were all looking at Ana. Some with awe, some with apprehension, some with adoration. A very few, like Pirta, with curiosity. Ana stood before the Waystone wearing her armor, the cream white leather spotless inside and out thanks to Sendra, and without a scratch thanks to whatever magic lay on it. Someone had found a pair of matching shin guards and passed them her way via Messy. Add in the platinum white of all but the last half-inch of her hair, and she figured she must be pretty eye-catching.
Everybody was waiting for her to speak.
Ana took a deep breath, and the crowd fell silent.
God, she hated this.
“It’s time,” she said.
“We’re as ready as we can be in the time we have. I would have preferred another month to prepare. I would have preferred that this never happened. But it did, and we can't wait. The Tarlons, still holding out in their farm, can't wait. Our friends, trapped in a Delve somewhere to the south, can't wait.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“It’s time.
“In a few minutes, half of us in this outpost will go outside the wall. The plan is simple, but it will not be easy. We will move quickly, secure the Tarlons, then fall back to the wall. There we will make our stand. We will let our enemies crash against us, and they will break. And when the final wave has broken, we will push back. And we will drive them back to the forest, if they have any sense of self preservation left, or we will annihilate them.
“Simple. But not easy.
“We’ve not lost anyone yet, but I cannot promise that the same will hold true today. I would be surprised if it did. I want you to be prepared for that. And while it's a cold comfort, I want you to remember that we are living on borrowed time. Unless we win today, we will all die.
“Look around you.” Ana paused, waiting until the assembled crowd actually turned their heads to look at the people beside them.
“Friends. Neighbors. Colleagues. Lovers. Family. If you fall today, it is for their sake. If they fall today, it is for your sake. And when we win, it will be thanks to the sacrifice of the fallen.
“Cold comfort, I know. But I hope that it gives comfort, nonetheless.
“We can do this. We will do this. We have proven that on no less than four occasions, every one an unconditional victory. Today will be number five. A little bigger, sure, but in the end it will be one victory in a line of victories.
“Some of you fought in all of those victories. Does anyone remember what I told you before we went to relieve the Servemels? What to focus on?”
“Don’t lose!” someone called, and a ripple of nervous laughter spread through the crowd.
“Right! Don’t focus on winning! Focus on not losing! They have no Classes. They have no Multipliers. We are stronger than them. We have Skills, and Abilities, and Enhancements, and Perks. We have strategy and tactics and courage. We have ranged support. We have goddamn magic! This is our fight to lose, so what will we do?”
“Don’t lose!” the crowd chorused.
“Right!”
“Of course, right!” a few scattered voices shouted back, to more laughter.
“Of course, right!” Ana echoed. “Now let’s do this! Anyone who’s assigned to the wall, move out and to your posts! You know what to do!”
With a dispersed, “Yes, Marshal!” a small portion of the crowd, mostly less experienced support mages and ranged fighters, filtered out of the crowd and south down Main Street.
“Alright. We’re forming up in front of the south gate, Partywise, in a column. Party leaders, you should know your Party’s position in the formation. From left to right, move out and form up! Once all the Parties are on their way, ready the platforms! Go!”
This time the “Yes, Marshal!” was considerably louder. One by one the Parties left the square, forming up along Main street. Ana herself ran down the street past her soldiers, leaping up to take her place above the gate as they assembled. Beside her on the wall, people who’d never seen her in action before gaped at the feat.
Finally everyone was assembled. Ana gave the command to open the gates and vaulted over the edge to the outside. Behind her, the sixteen Parties into which they’d organized everyone not on the walls filed out, taking their places in the formation. On the left, Wandak and his people, strong enough to hold that flank. Simt had the right flank; between her kinetic blasts and the melee fighters in her Party, they should hold. Behind the more experienced fighters of the conscript Parties were the new Parties of inexperienced non-combatants, people with spears and other polearms and the raw attributes to make a difference.
As they all formed up, unarmed laborers and craftsmen hurriedly carried out and assembled tiered platforms, setting them up only a few feet behind the frontliners. That had been Simt’s idea, and Ana had supported it enthusiastically. Ranged firepower was one of their advantages, and Ana wanted her backliners to be active for as much of the battle as possible. This would allow them to fire over the heads of the frontliners, softening up the incoming enemy before they hit and reducing their numbers.
“Relief party!” Ana shouted once they were all formed up. “Form up!”
Eight full Parties, her own included, stepped out of formation and closed ranks in front of the others.
“You know what to do! The Tarlons are waiting! With me!”
And with that, Ana jogged toward the Tarlon farm, the last one still holding out against the crazies surrounding it.
The rescue was as undramatic as a clash with one side being smashed to pieces could be. Move up, let the crazies come, wear them down, repel, repeat. Break them, bring the Tarlons out, bring them back to the outpost. Almost routine at this point. Only this time, once the Tarlons were safe, the gates closed behind them, and their rescuers went back in formation, the backliners taking their places on the platforms. And from the forest, from every side of the outpost, the crazies kept coming.
How many? Ana asked, half to herself, and half to the Wayfarer. Hundreds? No. At least a thousand that I can see. More. Two thousand, total? Three?
Enough to be a problem, the Wayfarer whispered. Not enough to break you.
Not enough to break us, Ana agreed, then raised her voice so that it would carry over the wall, to the unarmed civilians inside. “Here they come! Not enough! They won’t break us! We’ll break them! Support mages, prepare the ground!”
At Ana’s command mages began to Shape, and in a deep semi-circle around the defenders, extending from the wall, the ground changed. Pits and trenches appeared. The ground in and around them turned to churned earth, bog, mud, and quicksand, all overgrown with thick, thorny brambles and snatching ground creeping vines.
They’d done the same on all of their farm rescues, and it had worked well against dozens of enemies at a time. Facing thousands, Ana hoped that it would be enough to slow them, and for the stuck and fallen crazies to create a new obstacle for the ones that followed.
It was a mile to the forest. A quarter mile to the Tarlon farm. The crazies and the demons among them had reacted when the relief force was almost done, and now they were passing that same farm. A minute at most before the first of them hit the defensive line. A minute and a half before the horde truly arrived.
God, there were a lot of them. Objectively, Ana had seen larger groups of people on uncountable occasions. Of course she had. In London or New York you didn’t even need to try all that hard to find a few thousand people in the same place. This was different. The oncoming crazies had a different weight to them. It was different when they wanted your blood.
Their feet were distant thunder, growing louder by the second.
“There are demons among them,” Ana shouted. “Possessed and revenants. Backliners, if you’re most effective against single targets, focus on them! Once they reach your range, fire at will!”
Looking along the line, Ana was distracted by how few helmets she saw. Where were all the helmets? Nobody wore helmets here! Even Ana didn’t have one, she—
She was nervous, and she’d been letting her mind wander to try to ignore the stress. She did that sometimes, and it never worked. Much less now, when Split Focus let her have two thought processes at once. Helmets. Fine. Later. For now, she used that line of thinking to draw mana from the earth and Shape it so it covered her head and neck. Then she sent mana into her shield and her weapon, and the Engravings pulsed with a soft light. Ana marvelled at how she could feel the mana in there, waiting to be used whenever either item took damage. Then she went back to what she should be doing: checking on her troops.
Ana had Messy to her left, then Tellak, holding a longsword rather than the shield and axe or hammer Ana had seen her with before. Beyond her were Halmer’s people. To Ana’s right was Petra with her shield and hammer, then Waller with a shield and axe and, past him, Pirta’s Party, the captain with her long bladed staff three feet taller than anyone else in the line. Behind Ana were four new conscripts with spears; the rest of her Party were all on the nearest platform.
Along the line and on the wall, people talked in hushed voices. Armor creaked and clinked as they shifted nervously. “Oh gods,” Messy whispered beside her, her voice choked with fear. “Oh, gods beyond!”
Ana had promised herself to pay better attention. Messy had been so badly shaken the first time she’d gone out, but here she was, her sword in her hand and already bloody. She’d come to rescue Ana, she’d been in the relief force just now, and she stood in the line. But from the moment they’d gathered at the square, she’d been distant, quiet, fidgety. Now, it was obvious that she wished she could be anywhere else than in this thin line of defenders.
“Hey,” Ana said softly, looking up at Messy. Messy didn’t react, her eyes locked on the incoming horde. “Hey,” Ana said again, transferring her hammer-axe to her shield hand and running her hand up the back of Messy’s head. “Mess, babe, look at me.”
This time Messy looked, but she was still half out of it. “What did I promise you last night?”
Messy blinked then mumbled, “Not our last night.”
“Right. I promised. Tonight you’ll see that I take my promises seriously. Alright? And I wish you didn’t need to be here, to do this, but I need you, okay? One blade could make all the difference. We need you. Just keep it together and stay with me.”
The horde was almost on them. The first shots passed above their heads, then turned into a storm of arrows, crossbow bolts, and magical projectiles. Ana wished she could have justified just one shot with Kaira’s arbalest to see how it felt and what effect it had. Later.
“Alright,” Messy whispered, then shook her head to clear it. “Alright!”
Ana nodded, took her weapon in her hand, and turned to face the enemy. The crazies hit the prepared ground, sticking, stumbling, and falling as shorter ranged backliners opened up with spells to further break up the charge. Crazies died by the dozens, people of all ages and ethnicities shot down or just trampled. The horde lost none of its momentum. The pressure was still there.
It was only ten feet between the last trench and the defenders. Spears lowered past Ana’s head. The first of the enemy left the prepared ground, and from Ana’s right Pirta’s whatever-it-was licked out. A head sailed through the air.
The crazies crashed into them.
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