Bartolo drew in a slow breath and let it out in one strong stream of air. “I appreciate your bravery, and your loyalty. I really do. But lads, to go up there is to die. We’ve got armorsilk and zenblades. They’ll kill you.”
“Bladesinger Bartolo,” Martin said, lifting his chin, “I’m not going home. You say there are too many for two bladesingers. Five more of us could turn the tide. No, listen.” Martin shook his flaxen-haired head when Bartolo opened his mouth. “I haven’t trained at the Pens since I was six years old just to go home when the going gets tough. What have we trained for, all these years, if it isn’t for a day like today? I’ve got a sword, and I have my friends by my side. We need to do this.”
Dorian met Bartolo’s gaze and raised one eyebrow.
Bartolo sighed. “Who among you agrees with Martin?”
Every recruit raised his hand. Dorian chuckled.
“Then I thank you, lads. I . . .”
“Enough, Bartolo, just tell us how to kill them,” Dorian said.
“All right,” Bartolo said, his voice firming. “Here’s how we’re going to do it.”
Bartolo and Dorian walked directly into the ambush, both with zenblades held out in front of them, poised to activate their armorsilk the moment they sighted the enemy.
It was close to midday, and the sun shone fierce rays down on the exposed mountain. Bartolo had considered using shadow but had discarded the idea; Dorian was too new, and there was no darkness to hide in.
Ahead, the walls at either side of the cleft loomed in Bartolo’s vision. Looking up at the mountain face, he wondered how he’d ever climbed the sheer wall. He once more pondered the strange experience with the boulder, but whatever it was, it couldn’t help him now. Bartolo and Dorian took three more steps, and still the enemy hadn’t revealed themselves.
Dorian began to chant under his breath, and his armorsilk came steadily to life, runes lighting up on his hood, his chest, his arms and legs. Bartolo couldn’t blame him, but he saved his breath, feeling the tension grow as he entered the gully.
With a series of grunts and roars, the enemy attacked.
Bartolo took only enough time to register their numbers: they were all here, and there was the necromancer sending them forward. These warriors had once been Petryans, he saw now, with swarthy skins and some wearing red, flat-topped hats. The symbols on their skins glowed softly, their white eyes showing eerie stares.
“Run!” Bartolo grabbed Dorian, and they sped back down the mountain away from the warriors.
The revenants were fast, and Bartolo opened his stride, pumping his arms as he sped across the loose gravel and dodged around bigger rocks, hoping he wouldn’t stumble. Bartolo felt grasping hands on his back and whirled, cutting into a creature’s side before resuming his run. He risked a glance at Dorian and saw the younger man’s armorsilk once more dark as Dorian put everything into running.
Bartolo had laid his own ambush carefully. He sped between two huge boulders and ducked behind the rock on the left while Dorian whirled to the right.
The five recruits held their ground and took the first two revenants down with savage blows, sending blood and bits of skull flying in all directions. Bartolo activated his armorsilk and zenblade and charged back into the fray.
The gap between the boulders channeled the enemy, but those at the back circled around, and soon the seven Alturans would be pressed on all sides. Bartolo’s voice came strong, rising in a deep baritone as he activated the fierce heat pent up in his zenblade and fended off a frenzied series of blows from two revenants. He cut off one opponent’s limbs and tore a second revenant in two, leaping forward and taking off a head, rescuing Martin who was hard pressed. Dorian had his back to a rock and fought three at the same time, his wide eyes betraying his fear.
Bartolo saw Timo thrust deeply into a revenant’s chest, but it simply snarled and lashed a fist into his face, moving faster than any human. The reedy recruit fell onto his back, and the creature leapt atop Timo’s chest, grinning as it scrabbled at Timo’s body, both hands squeezing the recruit’s neck until Bartolo heard a resounding crack.
There was fighting on all sides now. With Timo down and Dorian pressed, Bartolo and the four other recruits fought in a circle, guarding each other’s backs as they fended off lore-enhanced limbs with steel swords and courage.
Bartolo watched in desperation as Dorian’s song faltered and his armorsilk dimmed. Bartolo couldn’t leave the recruits; they were only still alive because of his whirling blade. Whenever a revenant came at them, Bartolo moved to meet it, protecting the recruits even as they protected his back.
As he fought, Bartolo looked up past the boulders and saw the necromancer, watching and guiding his minions. There were too many revenants for the Alturans to hold. Soon they would be overwhelmed.
Then in a flash of bright fire, the necromancer burst into flame.