Meek - Chapter 89: Shattered

Eli didn’t listen to the dying man. He ran for Cristonel instead. To help her against Four Arms, to save one of the only weapons that could injure these monstrous angelbrood.

He only got halfway there when he realized he was too late.

The mage was dead.

Her guard was dead.

And the road behind Cristonel was congested with bodies. Farther on, it was thick with battle as Four Arms waded through what looked like an entire army, driving toward the Keep.

If Eli wanted to get his arse to the valedamned church, he’d needed to go around. So he swerved into a parallelling street then sprinted for the inner gate. He ran for three steps then threw himself forward twenty feet. Ran for another three steps, threw himself again. Racing for the inner wall while two of his sparks watched the street where Four Arms was fighting hundreds of soldiers.

Not fighting.

Massacring.

Eli forced himself to keep running. If Four Arms broke through the inner wall–when Four Arms broke through–it would massacre even more people. Families, children. The bakers and grandparents, the footmen and kitchen maids, the haywards and coopers and scribes.

Listening to the soldiers die was hard enough but Eli couldn’t bear the thought of all those civilians, as unarmed and untrained as his own family, facing the horror of the angelbrood. He needed to coordinate with Pym to take this thing down.

By the time he reached the clearing in front of the inner wall, a two-block stretch of empty space, he’d left the battle behind him. Not very far, but the soldiers throwing themself at Four Arms had slowed even that monstrous brood’s advance.

Soldiers stood at the battlements atop the gate in front of Eli–soldiers and Lady Pym.

“Arcuro!” she called. “Here!”

He ran halfway to the wall and shoved off the ground with two sparks. He snagged the battlements with another two, then yanked himself upward. He landed a few feet short, unbalanced by his mace, cracking his kneecap against the stone. He grabbed the edge of the wall with his free hand and all his sparks, and dangled there while his knee healed.

Then gauntleted hands reached over to drag him upward. The captain of the guard, again.

“Two of them are still alive?” the captain asked him.

“One,” Eli said. “But it’s bloody big.”

Pym looked toward the sound of battle. “The priests suspect this angelbrood can enter holy ground.”

“Well,” Eli said. “Blessdamn.”

“Yes,” Pym said. “So we’ll stop it here.”

“How many ballistas?”

“Two.”

“Not good. How about C-steel weapons?”

“My bow and Ty’s halberd. And Ricard and Lyle have my father’s swords.”

Eli glanced at her. She hadn’t mentioned those before.

“They were guarding my mother. Well, they still are, but from here instead of her suite.” She gestured to the two men standing behind her, who at first looked to Eli like all the other soldiers. “They’re good,” Pym told him.

“And wearing steelsilk beneath their mail,” he noticed.

“You’re wearing my father’s.”

“What? This was your father’s?”

“You heard me.”

He didn’t know what to think about that. He was wrapped in the Marquis’s armor? The man who’d had him tortured, the man he’d killed? And now he was fighting a threat to that man’s Keep alongside his heir, wearing his own personal armor.

Eli frowned. He felt coopted. Used. Like he’d been pressed into service for a cause not his own. Except those people at the church behind him would die if he didn’t act. And keeping them alive … that was his cause.

Pym watched the emotions play out on his face, then said, “What do you need?”

“Luck,” he told her. “I don’t know. Me and the swordsmen and Ty will get in close, you and the–”

“Ty’s staying at the church. Last line of defense.”

Eli looked at her for a moment. “Fine. You and the ballistas take any shot you see. Feed your soldiers at it, try to keep it occupied. And … ” He glanced at Ricard and Lyle. “And tell them to grab the swords when these two die.”

“We sent runners for rope,” Pym told him. “To snare its legs.”

“And nets,” the captain added. “To throw from the wall. If it gets–”

He stopped when Four Arms stomped into view from the side street. Humming loudly, a different tune, an almost harmonic one, while covered in gore. The blood wasn’t all from the soldiers, either. A few slashes had opened on the brood’s legs and back. It was wounded, but not badly.

Not nearly badly enough. The creature spun and, with an almost casual gesture, backhanded the final few soldiers who had followed it from the street. They fell dead and dying and Four Arms started across the clearing.

Two ballistas fired, one from either side. Both bolts hit Four Arms–and both bolts crumpled on impact. They didn’t even scratch the overgrown angelbrood’s hide.

“We can’t stop this one,” the captain said.

“We have to,” Pym told him.

“We need to evacuate, Marchioness. Leave the church and–”

“It’s eight hours til dawn!” Pym snapped. “If we evacuate, it’ll massacre everyone within–”

She stopped talking when hoofbeats sounded, echoing from somewhere in the city streets. Though his sparks, Eli scanned the area behind him, between the inner wall and the Keep stables. He didn’t see anything coming from toward the church, but–

Oh! The horses were approaching from in front of him, from between the inner and outer walls. Either Rockbridge cavalry had hidden with mounts to attack the angelbrood from behind or–or this was another monster. One with dozens of hooves, galloping closer for the final assault.

“No,” Pym breathed.

A moment later, Eli saw what she must’ve realized. It wasn’t a hoofed angelbrood. It was a cavalry charge … led by her brother Ty. So much for the ‘last line of defense.’

Nine riders galloped into sight, eight with lances and one with a halberd. Eli whistled between his teeth. Give the Marquis credit. He raised brave kids. Stupid, maybe, but brave.

Pym braced against the wall and fired her crossbow and the two riders to either side of Ty spurred forward, moving in front of him. Clearly a coordinated move, to keep the lordling safe. Or safer, at least.

Their lances struck Four Arms and shattered without penetrating. The brood swatted one knight off his horse and Ty slashed his halberd across the inside of the brood’s elbow. A stream of black blood splashed the ground and the horse, and three more lances shattered on Four Arms before one lodged a few feet into its belly.

That seemed to anger Four Arms. It took the knight’s helmed head in one hand and swatted two more off their mounts while it kicked a horse across the clearing. Then it punched another knight so hard that Eli winced.

Ty and the remaining knight wheeled to attack again as two of the unhorsed knights–the only two still able to stand, pulled their swords.

Four Arms crushed one and hurled the other at Ty, slamming him from his saddle.

The final mounted knight didn’t hesitate. Despite having lost his lance he charged Four Arms, his sword flashing to meet the brood’s punch. His sword broke and the massive fist swatted him to the ground.

Ty moaned where he’d fallen. He grabbed his halberd but failed to stand and Four Arms stepped on the head of another dying knight. The sound was horrible. Then the brood paused to hum as a horse trotted across the clearing, dragging a dead knight by the stirrup.

When that horse disappeared into a side street, Four Arms scanned the bodies surrounding it and its hum changed again, to an almost lilting melody.

“No,” Pym whispered.

Four Arms noticed movement and turned toward Ty, who was still trying to push himself to his knees.

“Arcuro,” Pym said. “Please.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eli said.

“Please!”

He swore at her–but jumped off the wall and shoved himself at the massive angelbrood.

Before he hit the ground another of Pym’s crossbow bolts pierced Four Arms’s neck, but it was like a pinprick on a bear. So Eli shouted as he landed and raced forward. A dozens more bolts–not C-steel–snapped on the brood’s head and neck and upper chest, the soldiers careful not to hit the dazed figure of Ty on the ground.

With a reverberating hum, Four Arms raised a foot to stomp Ty into jelly but Eli got there first. He yanked the lordling toward himself with five sparks, using the momentum to hurl forward. Which worked to distract the brood, and to move Ty from the immediate threat, but it also put Eli inside the brood’s range.

Not a great plan.

A massive fist clubbed him.

Elitook most of the force on his mace and two sparks–but was still flung away. And even worse, his mace hurtled far beyond him. Too far for his sparks to reach.

Then Four Arms charged. The ground trembled with every step, and Eli tumbled aside, but reversed direction with his sparks a moment before the brood kicked him.

As that massive body whipped past overhead, Eli anchored sparks against it and kept himself moving, shooting along behind it. He shoulder-rolled with the help of a spark then sprang to his feet and dodged again, without turning his head.

The brood had spun far too quickly for something that big, and was already bearing down on him again. Another ballista bolt shattered against Four Arms’s side. Eli juked and ducked and dodged, he spun and dove. And for a minute, maybe even two, that was enough.

Then Four Arms caught him a blow that would’ve crushed his head if it hadn’t been wearing a steelsilk coif.

The blow rocked Eli. He fell to his knees dazed … and Four Arms pivoted away from him, to face the wall.

To face the two men–Ricard and the other one–flanking the creature with their C-steel swords. One of which was dropping with angelbrood blood. Eli breathed for a moment, giving his head at moment to heal, and realized that one of the brood’s swings must’ve caught him in the hand, because his wrist and thumb were broken.

He took a few more seconds and–

In those few seconds, Four Arm killed one of swordsmen. Then the other one gave it an ugly slash on the leg before the brood elbowed him, breaking his neck.

The humming deepened into a dissonant chorus of hums.

Four Arms leaped.

Over the wall.

Toward the inner Keep.

Toward the church and all those people.

A ballista bolt splintered against Four Arms’s back. A hundred arrows and bolts failed to pierce its hide. Then it fell from Eli’s sight behind the wall.

Eli heard cobblestones shatter when it landed.

He didn’t remember standing, but he was already sprinting. He didn’t slow down when he flicked one of the C-steel swords at himself. He caught the hilt in the air then vaulted the wall. At the apex of his leap, he saw Four Arms barreling toward the church, smearing a bloody path through half-trained spearwielders and terrified, doomed, courageous servants.

Then he landed and leaped again, crossing the rooftops with every ounce of speed.

He was too late.

Four Arms had already crushed a swath of civilians outside the church. People screamed and wept and Eli launched from a rooftop behind the angelbrood, as high and hard as he’d ever done before.

He plunged the C-steel sword deep into the creature’s back.

The unearthly hum became higher pitched and one of brood’s upper arms reversed direction, the elbow joint pivoting the wrong way. Eli’s sparks gave him a moment’s warning, but not enough.

Four Arms’s huge hand closed around his chest.

He managed to move five sparks between his body and the brood’s palm. That’s the only reason the first squeeze didn’t kill him, crushing him like an overripe tomato beneath a bootheel.

That and steelsilk.

Still, his ribs broke again as Four Arms pulled him around front. Then he was face to face with the angelbrood.

Eli felt his pelvis break, he felt organs rupture.

Pain swamped him. His vision dimmed and he heard nothing but that inhuman, endless humming. The sound flowed around him, thick and endless like an ocean of oil, coating him and pulling him downward. Drowning him in the droning Celestial hymn.

Though blurred sparks, Eli saw the brood’s black-veined face three feet in front of his own. Watching him with white eyes, mouth open while that horrible hum came from … from somewhere else entirely.

Another massive hand closed around him, taking him more firmly in an impossibly powerful grip.

His collarbone shattered.

His spine cracked.

His heart stopped.

His breath stopped.