The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.29 (Patreon)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Faster

“Fall back!” The call woke them in the middle of the night, feet pounding past the tent flap as lights came on all around the camp. “Fall back into the city! Everyone! Fall back into the city!”

“Up! Up! Up!” Peterson was pulling on his armor even as he shouted. “Take everything not nailed down and get your asses in formation next to the door!”

“It’s a flap, not a door,” Ben’Ta offered as she climbed out of her cot.

“Quit yapping and get packing!” Peterson yelled.

Wesley and the others loaded everything they could get onto a pair of bunks, and they moved out as a unit, falling in with a flood of people heading for the city gates.

“What happened?” Mental asked one of the flood of passing soldiers. 

“The south line collapsed, and everyone is pulling back to the city on Ernshaw’s orders.” the man mumbled as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. “We still gotta hold for three days, man.”

“We’ll make it,” Mental patted the man on the back.

“I hope so.” The man held out his hand, “Parsenon, everyone calls me Lucky.”

“Mental, happy to meet you.” Mental shook.

“Mental?” Parsenon asked. “I really wish you hadn’t told me that. I was feeling better there, for a moment.” He pushed away and vanished into the tide of people. 

“Strange guy,” Mental shrugged. “Wonder what he meant.”

“No idea, keep moving,” Peterson urged them on, and they soon passed through the city’s open gates.  

They headed over to the waiting gaggle of officers, but everyone was like a chicken with their heads cut off. The whole thing was a disaster, which Peterson assured them was utterly normal in these situations. Everyone knew it could happen, but no one ever actually prepared for it. 

The same fresh-faced officer was hovering around the edges of the group and seemed as lost as everyone else, at least until he saw the squad. You could almost see the light go on in his head when he saw Split and Wesley standing with the others.

“Stand the wall until someone comes to relieve you,” the young officer strode up and down as if he were addressing hundreds of soldiers rather than a ragged and slightly bored squad. “I will ensure you are supplied with all necessary… supplies.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Mental offered. “Throw insults?”

“You melee, and short-range fighters are here to protect your ranged members and any others on the wall within the space between these two towers.” He pointed up and down the wall.

“Fair enough,” Mental grinned. 

“I’ll send more people as soon as I can round them up,” The man nodded to them and walked off the wall, floating gently to the bottom before hurrying off into the city.

“Mages,” Split sighed. “They can never just use the stairs.”

“Bloody show-offs,” Mental agreed.

“You two get your eyes over that wall,” Peterson snapped. “We’ll watch your back.”

Wesley turned to the sight outside the walls, and it was not a pretty picture. The Den Mother’s forces were marching closer by the minute, and there were a lot of them. In only a couple of hours, they would be within range with their siege spells, something he had only seen from afar up until now, and he was feeling the fear of what he knew would be coming. 

The conventional wisdom was that the scariest thing is the unknown, but that was something said by people who had never seen anything tangible to be scared of. The mind can conjure a thousand threats, horrors, and worries, but none of them was even a hint as terrifying as looking at something that will most likely kill you and knowing that running will make no difference. 

“Hey! Are you guys Wolf’s Bane squad?” A voice called behind him.

“Fuck me, are we?” Mental asked.

“I guess so,” Peterson said with a grin. 

“We’re assigned to stand the wall with you,” A trio of men came up the stairs to the wall, “Our squad got….” 

“Yeah, we got you,” Mental said with a nod. “You three boys, just take your spots, we’ll keep your asses covered.”

The three were young, with sweat on their faces and blood on their uniforms, none of which actually fit them properly. Wesley guessed they were too young to be stuck in all this, but it seemed no one got a choice. They filed anxiously onto the wall and paled as they looked over at the approaching enemy as the light started to come back into the world. 

“I bloody hope you three can shoot,” Mental added.

“Doesn’t matter,” Split called back. “With how many are coming, it will be hard to miss.”

“You’re scaring the kid,” Peterson smiled. “Be nice.”

“We aren’t kids,” one of the new guys demanded. 

“He meant me,” Wesley chuckled. 

“Aren’t you the Wolf’s Bane guy?” another of them asked.

“In the flesh,” Ben’Ta grinned as she bumped her shoulder against him.

“Any more of those fuckers turn up, it’ll be in a pair of brown trousers,” Wesley laughed, and the others joined in.

“Fuck me, we’re all gonna die,” the archer hung his head.

“Not today,” Mental said as he slapped the man on the back.

“We hope,” Split grinned as she stared over the wall.

By the time the advancing forces came to a stop just out of spell range, the wall was starting to fill out with various archers, casters, and a few melee thrown in. A few minutes later, hot food and drink arrived, along with some supplies. Mental ‘went for a walk’ and came back with stories of the young officer pretty much running the whole damn city ragged to get people onto the walls and ready. It paid off, too. Within the next twenty minutes, the first small parties started to separate from the main force and make probing attacks against the walls. 

“On the left!” Split called, and Wesley swung his rifle sights, seeing the caster hiding behind the nearby tree as he cast a complex spell. Three bullets took out the caster, and the spell crashed; the magic unraveled in a wave of fire that took out three more attackers. 

“Show off!” Split stuck out her tongue at him.

“I do what I can,” He got back to firing over the wall; the fifty or so attackers remaining were starting to fall back, so he shifted his fire to those attacking the nearest section to theirs. The rifle had plenty of reach, and Hawk Eye let him aim at that distance, so why not?

Split kept firing at the retreating forces until they were out of range, killing as many as possible. She had meant it about not any of them live. The woman’s anger seemed to be bottomless, and it was chilling to see the half smile on her face as she saw one of them fall to her arrows. 

“Three more days,” Peterson said as he came to stand between Wes and Split. “We can do three days.”

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Wes ducked behind the parapet, feeling the whole wall shake as the giant fireball exploded against it. The air seemed to turn into an oven around him in a flash, and then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. Only the rapidly dissipating heat in the air assured Wesley that it had not been some kind of nightmare.

That, and the stones of the wall ticking as they cooled. 

Wes straightened and aimed again, waiting for the next wave to arrive.

It had been like this for hours now. Starting with that first sortie of attackers, the armies of the Den Mother had continued to throw numbers and then spells at the walls. 

The casters who had stood the wall with them were now gone. Their combined mana and spell charges were poured into constantly repairing the walls they stood on, keeping them strong despite the sheer number of artillery spells slamming into them.

Now, darkness had come again. 

“Flare!” Wesley yelled and fired his Improved Flare high into the sky. All up and down the wall, others did the same. The dark landscape lit, the creeping attacking force was revealed, and they opened fire again. A commotion broke out near the north tower of their section, and Peterson called out for backup. 

Mental and their few melee fighters rushed down to his position while Wesley and Split kept right on firing at the shadowy figures below.

Now and again, someone or something got onto the walls. It was simply a fact of life now. Some of them were too fast, getting to the wall and starting to climb before the defenders stood again, while some were immune to the attacking spells and came over the top while it was still dissipating. Either way, the melee fighters called it out, and everyone went to deal with it. 

A couple of minutes later, Wesley heard someone calling his name, so he slung his rifle and hurried up the line until he found Peterson. The Captain was holding his hands over a wound in Mental’s leg, just the way he had told them to. Blood was still leaking out, but not enough for the crazy guardsman to have bled out before they had a chance. 

“Move!” Wesley yelled, pushing aside a bow wielder who was standing too close and kneeling down. Emergency Heal had two charges, with a third coming up in two minutes. The wound on the leg was nasty, so Wesley used both charges and crossed his fingers that they would not need another for two minutes. 

The healing energy made the leg glow, and the blood flow slowed almost instantly. That meant it was likely an artery that had been severed. Only that would concentrate the energy that quickly into stopping blood flow. What remaining bleeding there was… well, he quickly patched the wound with a bandage and checked that Mental looked okay.

As okay as he ever looked, anyway.

Peterson nodded to him, and Wesley trotted back up the wall to his position, slipping in beside Split again.

“Who was it?” Split asked. 

“Mental, he got it in the leg. He’s fine.”  Wesley said as he started scanning the area ahead of them. The light from his improved Flare would be gone soon, and they had to make sure they had taken out the worst of the attackers.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Split and Wesley were finally pulled off the wall for a couple of hours. They were given food and drink and then told to sleep for at least an hour before heading back onto the wall. Neither of them wanted to be too far from the rest of the squad, so Wesley rested his back against the stairs up, and Split leaned her back against his shoulder. 

They were asleep almost instantly.

“Aww, ain’t they sweet?” Wesley heard Mental’s voice just before the cold water hit him in the face. 

He opened his eyes to see the guardsman standing with Ben’Ta and Peterson, all grinning tiredly.

“What the hell,” Wesley wiped the cold water off his face, noting that none of it had hit Split, who was yawning. “Why the hell did I get all the water?”

“Are you kidding?” Mental laughed. “No way I’m throwing water on Split. I’m mental, not suicidal.” 

Peterson smiled wryly and told them both to head back onto the wall, it was the other’s turn to rest, it seemed. 

Something big had definitely happened while they slept. A section of the parapet near their section’s south tower was simply gone, leaving nothing but rubble and the flat top of the wall behind. 

Wesley also seemed to have a new neighbor, a caster, if the robes were any indication. 

“They send those archer kids to rest, at last?” Wesley asked the woman as he took his spot on the wall.

“No,” she replied dryly. “Two got killed, and the third just kind of cracked.”

“Fuck,” Wesley grimaced. “I’m Wesley; this is Split.” He nodded to Split.

“Don’t bother,” the woman said without even looking around. “This is my third assignment tonight, and I would rather not have more names to mourn tomorrow.”

“Ooh, bitchy,” Split grinned. “I like her.”

“Everyone needs a nickname,” Wesley grinned back.

“Don’t you dare,” Bitchy snapped but seemed to be smiling despite every effort not to. 

The attacks slowed a little as the light returned, and people up and down the wall took a chance to rest a little as food and drink were brought to the top of the wall so everyone could get a little boost. 

The familiar sight of Sling Hand Ben came by, his face grey and drawn.

“Hey, Ben,” Split waved. 

“Split, Wes.” Ben looked exhausted, swaying on his feet as he handed out something hot to drink. “Do you know where Peterson is?”

“They went to rest a few hours ago,” Wesley offered. 

“Well, you’ll have to do then. Boone’s dead.” Ben said in this half-choked, half-stunned voice. “He got hit helping out on the northern wall. A massive spell took out about ten feet of the parapet, along with everyone behind it. Including Boone.” He looked at Wes as he handed him a cup. “Tell Peterson, will you? Those two went way back.”

Wes nodded mutely while Split drank from her mug and pretended she wasn’t crying.

“Some bugger got his progress report in the barracks,” Mental was complaining a few hours later. “Can you believe that?”

“Shit, I haven’t had one of those in… fuck. Weeks?” Wesley had simply lost track of time.

“Yeah, well, you can only get them when you, like, feel ‘safe.’ Who feels safe in the middle of all this?” Split shook her head. 

“Right?” Mental asked. “Probably one of those nutters who goes for a piss in the middle of a battle and Tiers up behind a bloody tree.”

“If any of us survive this, we’ll all Tier,” Peterson said grimly. His mood had been pretty dark since hearing about Boone, not that any of them were precisely feeling cheerful today. “I just wish we could do it now.”

“You can’t trick the system,” Mental countered. “People have tried for years to find a way to Tier up during a siege or something. But if you don’t feel safe, you don’t Tier.”

Wesley listened to them talk, finally getting why he always seemed to Tier up when he had just finished fighting something. 

He had to feel safe to Tier up. 

Why the hell didn’t they put that in the orientation booklet? That was something people actually needed to know. It also probably explained a bit about how he had always managed to get stuck with tempering. It was rare that Wesley wasn’t completely out of his depth in this world, so it wasn’t surprising that he ended up getting enough essence to temper before finding somewhere safe. 

Long story short, Wesley needed to find some measure of safety in this crazy world if he ever wanted to stop lurching from one death flirtation to the next. 

If he ever managed to get out of this particular exciting chance to be violently murdered and eaten, making something close to plans for the future would be the very first thing he did.

“Just hope no one has to Temper,” Wesley said with a grimace. “That would make this whole thing just a touch worse.”

“Yeah,” Mental laughed. “Like any of us will get to a high enough Tier to get a totem and worry about shit like that.”

“I don’t know,” Peterson said thoughtfully. “It can’t be anywhere near as bad as people claim. I mean, who would risk it twice?”

“Yeah,” Split asked. “That would take a complete idiot.”

Ben’Ta winked at him. Oh, right. She had probably seen the tattoo when they slept in the same bed that one night.

He wondered why she had never asked him about it but never got the chance to ask. A strange prickling sensation erupted on his skin, reminding him of the death stare a Flat Horn Deer had given him what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Killing Intent.

“GET OFF THE WALL!” Wesley yelled, dragging and pushing Split and the others toward the stairs. “EVERYONE! OFF THE WALL!”

The top half of the wall vanished in a flash, a blastwave knocking them all flat on the ground. Wesley stared up at the glowing shape of a set of massive jaws.

“We would be dead,” Bitchy said, wide-eyed. “How did you know?”

“Killing Intent,” Wesley said, feeling shaky as he stared at the annihilated wall. “I’ve felt it before.”

“Thank fuck the kids a trouble magnet,” Mental said, wiping a hand across his forehead.

“Did everyone make it?” Wesley asked. 

“Yeah, we got ‘em,” Peterson said calmly. “You saved people, rook. Well done.”

They were all shaken from their stupor when a certain not-so-fresh-faced young officer came running through the growing crowd. His previously immaculate uniform was stained and askew, but he stared at the assembled soldiers with shock.

“We got off the wall in time,” Peterson nodded to him. “The kid felt it coming.”

“Very good!” The officer seemed to pull himself together on the spot, straightening his clothes as he tried to appear calm and in control. The relief on his face was almost palpable, but none of them said anything about it. “I think it is safe to say the Wall is compromised; please array on the nearby rooftops and prepare to engage invaders as necessary.”

“Sir,” Peterson nodded. “All right, lads and lassies. You heard the nice officer. GET MOVING!”  

“Fine, but he has to climb like a normal person!” Split demanded, pointing at Wesley. “No going floaty and cheating!”