Arc looked at the depleted reserves of the armoury with the Right Hand of Obsidian. He didn’t want to take more than he needed considering they weren’t his reserves to take. At the same time, he didn’t want to find himself without bullets and end up with his limbs being picked clean by orcs.

  He sheepishly walked up beside Isabella who was lining up the precious remaining revolver rounds. She gave him a side-smile and flicked her head to the side, beckoning him closer.

  “You can take what you need,” she said, taking out one of her three revolvers.

  “Valiance SK-17,” said Arc. “A nice little piece and tricky to come by in good condition these days. How’d you get three of them?”

  “I have my ways,” replied Isabella with a wink. “Gideon Bodyguard. And it’s the original model, not based on the blueprints of the police version.”

  “Good eye,” said Arc, whipping out his own revolver. “I thought you might have been all about the showmanship, but you know your guns, Isabella.”

  “Showmanship?” she asked, suppressing a giggle. She snatched up a single bullet and threw it into the air. She opened her revolver cylinder and caught the bullet inside with ease.

  “Not a bad trick,” said Arc, mildly impressed, “but can you throw six in the air and load the full gun without letting one hit the table?”

  Isabella opened her mouth as though to say that she could and then shook her head, making her long curls bounce. “No. And I’m not going to make a fool of myself trying. Load up, Arc.”

  With a laugh, the spellslinger added two dozen rounds to his meagre stock. He had used almost everything he had fighting off the eye fiends, but he still had his six spell cartridges to fall back on. With any luck, they would prove far more effective than any of the revolver bullets.

  “How many times have you been in life-or-death situations?” Arc asked.

  Isabella feigned counting on her fingers. “Too many,” she said. “Far too many. You?”

  “Far too many and then many more. Julie seems to think I’m a magnet for trouble.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh?” asked Arc.

  “No. The trouble is fire and you’re a heatseeking missile speeding towards it. If I’ve got you figured out, you love nothing more than finding the trouble and smashing into it, looking to cause as much damage as possible.”

  Arc rubbed his neck. “Yeah…yeah, that sounds like me.”

  “What made you choose spellcasters when you’re so handy with a normal gun?”

  “It was less about choosing and more about being chosen. My master said that if I wanted to stay, I needed to learn the ways of the spellslinger. The ways of magic and its value.”

  “If you didn’t have that, we may not have made it out of the city. It may be selfish to say, but I’m glad you were chosen.”

  “I don’t think it’s selfish,” said Arc, tapping the top of his spellcaster. “I’m glad I was chosen too. For many reasons. It got me a kiss.”

  Isabella rolled her eyes. “That was a one-time deal.”

  “If you say so,” shrugged Arc. “If I save you again, I reckon you’ll not be able to stop yourself.”

  “So confident,” said Isabella in a sultry voice while looking him up and down. “And what if I’m the one saving you next time?”

  “It all ends the same way.”

  Six clicks sounded from across the room and Arc looked over his shoulder. Charlemagne had filled the magazines of his six handguns and he looked rather pleased with himself.

  “Why the grin?” Arc asked him.

  “We had the exact number of bullets I needed to come out fully loaded,” said the scavenger, clasping his hands together. “This is a sign that we’re going to win, my friend. We can pull this off.”

  “I have faith,” said Alfonso calmly, slinging his shotgun over his back. “We have a home worth fighting for and that will see us through.”

  “Is everyone ready?” asked Lancelot, sounding a lot less cheerful than his companions.

  “Almost,” said Isabella, scooping up the rest of the bullets she needed and placing them in a pouch on her belt. “Ready now.”

  “Good,” said Lancelot. “We will speak with the king and then make our move. There can be no room for error in our execution or a lot of lives will be lost. I do not want to see our beloved town turned into a lake of blood courtesy of the Iron Axes.”

  Arc walked over and put his hand on Lancelot’s shoulder. The claymore-wielding brute’s eye twitched at the brazenness of this. “Lancelot,” said Arc, “we will see Cliff Town through the storm by this time tomorrow.”

  Lancelot flicked Arc’s hand from his shoulder. “I wish I could share your optimism,” he said. “Come. King Obsidian awaits us.”

  With the armoury drained of everything they could use, they departed. Lancelot informed the guards that what was left could be passed out to those who manned the walls. The five then marched through the halls until they reached King Obsidian’s chamber, where he was sitting with his chin in his hands, deep in thought.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Ah, I was hoping you would be here soon,” said Obsidian, standing up. His subjects bowed before him and Arc followed suit quickly after. “Arise, my friends. We can forget the formalities for we do not have time for them. The orcs know they only have to wait us out and every second is now precious to us.”

  Charlemagne stepped forward. “Sire, we are ready to make a move whenever you say the word.”

  Obsidian threw back his cloak, revealing a sheathed black sword with a V-shaped crossguard. He drew it and revealed the blade to be as black as the rest of it. He swished it a few times and then sheathed it. “It will be nice to use my sword for the first time this year. The Nightshade seeks the blood of the green ones and it shall have it, my friends. It shall have it.”

  Arc had to admit that it was an impressive sword, but it would be useless if the orcs were all using guns. Closing the distance would not be easy. As though his thoughts had been read, Alfonso walked up to the king with a hunting rifle and passed it to him.

  “Thank you, Alfonso,” he said, holding the rifle to his shoulder. “We make for the vehicles and then for the tribe who will fall by dawn.”

  King Obsidian walked across the room and led the way outside to the car park where four of the pickup trucks were already filled with six armed guards each. One of the remaining trucks was intended for the king, Lancelot, and Alfonso and the other was for Charlemagne, Isabella, and Arc. The spellslinger spied Jack and Julie sitting in the back of the truck waiting for him. Julie waved with a bright smile while Jack sat there sullenly. He walked over with his two passengers and addressed his young companions.

  “What are the pair of you doing?”

  “We’re here to wish you luck,” said Julie. She lowered her voice to a whisper and slipped something out from under her t-shirt. “And to pass you this.”

  She shoved a box of revolver rounds at him. “Where did you get these?” Arc asked.

  “You paid Chance a visit?” asked Isabella.

  “Got him to cough up his personal stash, eh?” chuckled Charlemagne.

  “How’d you know that?” asked Arc.

  Charlemagne took the box and held it up to Arc’s face. “He marks his boxes with his signature. He’s a good man, but…”

  “Peculiar,” said Isabella.

  “Yes, peculiar,” agreed Charlemagne, turning to the twins. “How’d you convince him to give you these?”

  “I’d rather not say,” said Julie.

  Jack sighed. “We fed him a few lies about being sent directly by the king and how these were for the war effort.”

  “Which isn’t a lie.”

  “Only the first part is,” said Arc.

  “Right. It balances itself out, doesn’t it?”

  Arc laughed. “Not really, but I’ll take these and pay him on your behalf when this business is all over. Thanks, you two.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Julie as Jack flashed a faint smile of acknowledgement.

  “What’s eating you?” asked Arc.

  “I’m fine,” he replied, but Arc gave him a light slap across the head. “Alright, alright. It’s just that I know staying behind is the right decision, but I wish I was capable of helping more directly.”

  “You were so certain of the plan earlier.”

  “I still am.”

  “Don’t wish your childhood and what little innocence you have left away. Trust me, you’ll miss the times when you weren’t washing blood from your clothes on a regular basis.”

  Julie winced at this. “I already miss it,” she said quietly.

  Arc drew the Golden Hawk and tapped it on the twins’ shoulders in turn. “I do hereby proclaim you Guardians of Cliff Town and Defenders of Nuvaria.”

  Jack smiled more sincerely this time. “I won’t let you down, Arc. I swear.”

  “I know you won’t, lad,” said Arc. He suddenly lunged, startling Jack, and wrapped his arm around Jack’s torso, wrestling him out of the truck bed. “Now get out of here and keep an eye on the walls.”

  “Did you need to be so rough?” grumbled Jack, rubbing his shoulders upon being released.

  “To the walls,” said Julie merrily, clapping her hands together. “Remember what I said about dragging your body back if you don’t return.”

  “How could I forget such a heartwarming sentiment,” said Arc, making Charlemagne and Isabella laugh while Julie frowned.

  She and Jack made themselves scarce as the two members of the Right Hand took their places in the back of the truck while Arc hopped into the driver’s seat. Charlemagne had previously been lined up to drive, but Arc insisted he was the better driver and could shoot from the window with greater accuracy than the scavenger.

  “Ready, men?” called King Obsidian from his own vehicle. Once everyone confirmed themselves, he gave the order to roll out.

  They drove through the town, which was more sparsely populated than when Arc had first arrived. Many people were in hiding, in fear of retaliation, while others had fled, deciding to take their chances in the wasteland rather than risk death by orc. The water rations were holding strong, thanks to the river below, but food was increasingly in short supply and the scavenged food supplies from New Carlington were already depleted.

  The radio buzzed as the convoy approached the wall. “King Obsidian, King Obsidian,” came the voice of Briggs. “Reverse! Reverse!”

  The trucks all came to an abrupt halt with a couple of them bumping into each other, leaving everyone confused. Why had they been asked to reverse? Arc, who was at the back of the convoy shifted the car into reverse and started moving backwards, but his reversal was cut short.

  An explosion rang out as the iron panels that made up the walls were torn apart and flung into the air forcefully, along with many of the guards. Arc’s ears were ringing and he ducked low as a body slammed into his window, cracking the glass. He glanced over the dashboard and saw the limbless corpse of one of the guards sliding down the bonnet and onto the ground. What had caused that explosion? Whatever it was, Briggs had just enough time to warn the king that something was coming.

  Arc kicked burst from the car as Isabella and Charlemagne jumped to the ground, each holding a pair of their guns. Arc drew the Golden Hawk, knowing that a lone explosion was not the end of whatever was going on. The three rushed alongside the convoy to the front car. Before them, there was a large gap where the wall had been and the flickering remnants of fire were starting to peter out.

  Lined up down the road were several cars and trucks, all of which were manned by orcs. Standing atop one of them was a figure thickly clad in iron and holding a bazooka over his shoulder. He dropped his weapon and jumped to the ground, walking towards the city without fear. The men all raised their weapons and fired at the orc, drowning out the king’s order to not shoot.

  The bullets pinged off the orc, barely leaving dents in his suit of iron. As magazines ran dry, the king held up a hand and demanded that his men cease firing.

  “Do not wate your bullets!” he roared, furious that his men had acted so rashly. The only ones with the good sense to not shoot were the Right Hand of Obsidian and the spellslinger accompanying them. Arc knew he would struggle to land a shot in the slit of the orc’s helmet, so narrow was it, and his spells could not reach him at this distance. There was one he could use that could move forward further after the initial casting, but with all of the orcs ready and waiting, it too would likely be wasted.

  “Obsidian!” barked the ironclad figure, stopping his movements. “This is your final warning. Your defences have been breached with ease and you lost half a dozen guards in an instant. Surrender Cliff Town to me and I’ll permit you to flee.”

  The orc needed no introduction. Arc knew that the ironclad figure was none other than the chieftain of the orcs; Azuk. He was fearless as he brazenly stood before the row of armed warriors.