Brewer King 22 (Patreon)

“Sweet Senta, sweet Senta!” Elgava was crying as the buzzing filled the air.

San’s ears ached from the noise; he worked his jaw trying to ease the pressure that seemed to have changed. Elgava continued to mutter prayers and shiver. San pulled out the bottle and gave it to her.

“Drink,” he said.

She looked at him uncomprehendingly and sniffed the bottle, reeling back from the smell.

“I’m not looking to get drunk,” she said.

“It’s courage,” he said.

She snorted hysterically, but the took a big swig of the drink. It took a moment, but the fear in her eyes steadied and she blinked.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Courage.” San said.

“How?”

“Elgava, I need your hand!” the healer cried. Endaha screamed in pain and San flinched. This world didn’t have Epidural or pain killers. The healer had moved Endaha toward the back of the kitchen. Azios and Pavano were upstairs, in case the battos came through the windows or through the roof.

Bostarion and San stood in the kitchen, weapons drawn. San could feel the fear trying to grip him, but every time it tried to grab a hold of him, he would slip away. San tried to focus on the feeling, what was it? Was it real courage or was it a drunk man’s courage? San didn’t know, but his fear had ebbed.

He was tense and ready, but not fearful.

The buzzing grew louder, drowning out everything. Endaha’s screams were drowned out and San could barely make out the distant booming of rifles as the battos hit the military camp.

The need to rush out, to fight along the soldiers, was strong. They were in danger, they were fighting for their lives in a fairly exposed position. If they failed, then the farmhouse would be also destroyed and everyone within it killed.

“An extra blade will do little,” Bostarion said to San. “They have Havatair, he has the most levels of any man I’ve known. He is an army of his own.”

San nodded, his grip tightening on his sword.

He wasn’t afraid, but he was still on edge. His nerves strung tight as the buzzing continued to grow in volume, drowning out any noise of the fight occurring.

He looked to the firepit and cursed.

“They need the fire,” he said.

“The fire? The Magecraft?” Bostarion asked.

“Yeah, it will keep the battos at bay, I think. They’re void monsters, aren’t they?”

“Aye, they are.” Bostarion stopped San as he grabbed a torch and the helmet he had taken from Poxi. “Lad, that’s suicide.”

“They need to survive if we’re gong to survive,” San said.

“Hetvana’s cunt, son. Do you wanna die?” Bostarion demanded.

San smiled grimly. “Not anymore,” he said. “Those men are going to die if we don’t do anything. They’re going to be swarmed, maybe the fire can help them.”

“Your sword arm is more helpful here than it is outside,” Bostarion growled.

“You better not open that fucking door!” the healer snarled. “If one of those things get in here, there’s only old men and a boy to protect us.”

“I’m here!” Elgava shouted.

“You don’t have any weapons or gear!”

San shoved the torch into the firepit.

“Fire in the Night,” he said and flame roared for a moment.

“Fucking hell,” Bostarion muttered, but readied himself. “Run fast and hard, don’t stop for nothing.”

“I’ll be back,” San said.

“You fucking better,” Bostarion snapped. “I cannot hold this house alone.”

San gripped the torch in his left hand and the sword in his right. He took a breath, adjusted the helmet on his head and then nodded to Bostarion. The older man gripped the door handle and yanked it open.

San exploded outward, torch in front of him. He heard the healer yelling something, but it was cut off as Bosatarion slammed the door shut behind him.

Chaos filled the air around San. The buzzing was deafening, a deep throbbing that felt as if it were shaking his very marrow. San clenched his jaw tightly and heard the screeching of the battos as they flashed by him.

One such creature flew to close to him, suddenly rearing back as it saw the flame. The battos screamed and tumbled out of the sky, knocking into another. They both clattered to a heap on the ground, hissing and spitting from their under-the-body mouth.

Standing around just staring was suicide, but so was running several hundred feet to the military camp to light a fire. San had to laugh at the foolishness of the entire thing. When in his previous life had he done something so utterly stupid and dangerous? Was this the courage that was overtaking him? Was it making him do stupid things? San didn’t know. What he did know was that he couldn’t just stand still while everyone was fighting.

The near frozen mud squelched under his boots as he pounded toward the military camp. The torch guttered in the wind, but did not go out. It was a solidly built one made by Pavano.

The battos screeched and hissed as they saw the flame, veering away or trying to lash at him with their long barbed tails. San dodged the flapping leathery wings and used his sword to bat away any of the creatures that came near him.

There was shouting, the soldiers pausing for a moment to see San burst into their camp. They had pushed the wagons together, throw wooden planks on top and every spear and crossbow was pointed to the heavens.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Havatair demanded. The big man was standing out in the middle of the camp, a pair of long swords in his hands and fully armored. The long blades flashed like lightning and struck down any battos that came near him. There were bodies of the battos surrounding him.

San didn’t answer, instead rushing toward a campfire that was still burning. A cluster of troops were using it to light the area around them, but the battos were beginning to swarm them. Spears and swords flashed in the light, half the men screaming as they attacked.

“Fire in the Night!” San shouted. The flames of the fire roared and the battos screeched, falling momentarily back from the power of the fire.

“Sweet Senta! What is that?” Havatair demanded, slashing away a large batto.

“Power. It keeps the void creatures at bay, it’ll give us a chance,” San gasped.

“You! You!” Havatair pointed to two armored Guards. “Get his mad foreigner to every fire. Light them all up! We might actually survive the night” Havatair began laughing as he strode back into battle.

One of the Guards was wild eyed and barely acknowledge Havatair’s orders. San rushed up to him, pulling the bottle from the small satchel he carried.

“Drink,” he ordered. The man barely registered his voice or presence, but immediately downed a large swallow of Courage.

He gagged, coughed, and nearly doubled over. But when he straightened, his wild eyes were clear and he stared at San with surprise.

“Let’s go!” the other Guard shouted, already moving toward another campfire.

San slashed a batto that tried to snatch at his torch. The creature crashed to the ground and it was immediately speared by a soldier. San rushed after the guard, reaching the next campfire.

“Fire in the Night!” he shouted and the fire roared.

They got to three more fires, but as they reached the last one, a massive creature rose out of the darkness. San and the Guards skidded to a stop, staring in horror as the monster tore through the tent of the Mage Lieutenant.

It was a batto, but nothing like San had seen. Where the every one he had seen were the size of medium dogs, this one was the size of a hippo. It was massive, but it still took the same shape of a batto. Thick bristle fur, limp leather wings that had to be vestigial, and a massive tail that held a long scythe like blade at the end of it.

The soldiers that stood by the fire stared in horror, their terror welding them to the spot.

“Hold!” Havatair shouted, appearing out of nowhere. The big man grabbed the nearest man as he tried to flee. “Hold, you sons of whores! We break and they’ll overrun us!”

Panic and fear was overwhelming the men. San lurched forward.

“Fearless Flame!” he shouted.

The campfire roared into a red flame, climbing nearly double it’s height and burning hot. The soldiers seemed to sag slightly, as the tension and fear was burned away. Thier grips on their weapons grew firm and they began to orderly prepare to fight the monster that had appeared.

“Hetvana’s cunt, lad! What Power have you been hiding!” Havatair shouted.

He grinned and charged the monstrous batto. The Guards joined him, San wanted to rush along with them, but he turned to look at the farmhouse. It was barely visible in the night, the four bluish fires creating enough light to illuminate it.

San saw creatures swarming around it and then a blast of smoke as a pistol or rifle was fired. The decision wasn’t difficult. Stay and fight with the soldiers or defend the farmhouse, Azios, Pavano, and the others. San grabbed one of the Guards who had been accompanying him. He shoved the bottle of Courage into the man’s hands.

“Give any one who is scared a drink. It is Courage.”

The man nodded. San turned to run, but then something caught his eye. Havatair’s tent was half demolished, but standing along among the wreckage was the magical brazier that San had seen when he was called to his tent. The flames were still burning and San made another decision.

He rushed toward the brazier.

“Fire in the Night!” he cried and the flame within the brazier flashed and grew. San could feel the heat coming off of it and staggered back.

“That’s impossible!” a voice shouted. San turned to see the Mage Lieutenant there. “That is a magical fire, not a real fire. Fire in the Night only works on actual flames.”

San looked at the Mage and then shrugged. The sounds of battle grabbed their attention, pulling them away from the intense questioning that was about to begin. The soldiers with the Mage turned and stared at the monstrous batto.

San took the distraction and raced back toward the farmhouse. The torch held high and his boots pounding across the mud and snow.

A batto slammed into him, the force knocked him down, causing him to lose his grip on the torch. It spun away from him, sticking flame first into a snowdrift. San cursed and rolled to his feet. The stunned batto was trying to get to its feet, but San slashed down and cut it in two. The air grew thick with more buzzing

San cursed again and raced back to the farmhouse. Only a hundred feet away.

“Open it up!” San shouted as he was twenty feet from it. He didn’t slow down as the sound of the battos behind him grew louder.

The door was flung opened as San neared, he leaped through the opening and crashed into the floor, rolling and then slamming against the far wall of the kitchen. Cracked plaster and clay fell on him.

“Senta, lad. I thought you’d died,” Bostarion grinned, pulling San to his feet. “The soldiers?”

“Holding their own,” San said. “The fire helped.”

“Good. Good.”

The farmhouse was suddenly assaulted with the sound of scraping and scratching.

“They’re trying to get in!” Pavano’s voice shouted from upstairs.

The doors were strong, made of thick planks and iron hinged, but the walls, they were wattle and daub. Sticks that were covered in a clay and straw mixture, sealed and plastered. They kept in warmth and were fairly tough, but San knew they weren’t tough enough to fend off a determined enemy.

The scratching on the door grew in volume, the cries from Endaha seemingly combating the noise. He couldn’t’ hear the roars of gunfire anymore, but through all the buzzing he could hear the shootings of the soldiers.

A loud thumping began, cursing dust to sift from the rafters.

“One of them’s ramming the house!” Azios cried from the stairs. “Back room!”

San pulled open the door the back room, within it was only darkness and cold air. He pulled on his headlamp and watched as a portion of wall began to deform, the clay and plaster cracking away, revealing the long slender limbs that were weaved together make the wattle of the walls.

“Kill it once it gets through. The body might plug the hole,” Bostarion said. San nodded. They would survive if the battos couldn’t get in. If there were small defendable gaps that could be held by one of them, they would make it.

A sharpened leg punched through the wood and stabbed into the dirt of the floor. It was wrenched back and more long claws began scrabbling at the hole that was formed. San stepped back and waited, the hole grew larger and a pair of eye stalks were shoved through.

San struck, ramming his sword into the flesh between the eyestalks, puncturing the body of the creature. It squealed in pain and tried to pull back, but San shoved the blade in deeper and felt it dig into the ground. Red ichor spouted from the wound and the eyestalks waved around frantically before they finally drooped and went limp. San pulled his sword out and stepped back, the limp body of the batto plugged the hole.

“Good,” Bostarion said. “I thought it might not work.” He chuckled and slapped San on the back.

The roar of a pistol going off filled the farmhouse. San and Bostarion rushed back into the kitchen, shouting.

“The fucker tried getting through the window!” Pavano shouted. He coughed loudly a moment later. “Got it though.”

“This is the worse child delivery I’ve ever been in,” Elgava said, not flinching at the drawn weapons and bloody sword. “But not by much.” She laughed as the healer glared at her.

“Is she drunk?” the healer demanded.

“Nope, sober as Ilagio, but San there has an awesome drink that fills you with courage,” Elgava stated.

“This is no time to be drunk,” the healer glared at San and the woman.

“I didn’t-“

There was a crash and screeching. San and Bostarion rushed back into the storage room to see that the previous batto corpse had been pulled back out and another was taking its place. This time it’s long poisoned tipped tail was lashing within the room.

“Fucker is coming in ass first!” Bostarion shouted. He lifted his crossbow and sent a bolt into the rear of the monster. It squealed in pain and pulled itself out of the hole.

Another took its place, using it’s bulk to tear out a bit more of the wall. San sliced downward and took its eyestalks and then a portion of it’s body. Red ichor gushed out and the creature tried pulling out but was dead within moments.

“They know there’s an entrance there,” Bostarion stated. “They’ll be attack that spot until they make it through.”

“What about upstairs?” San asked. “They tried going through the window.”

“Pavano is good with his spear and shot,” Bostarion added after a moment. They both glanced to the ceiling, where they heard another roar of a pistol and the sound of movement and cursing. “Perhaps…”

“Go,” San said. “I have this under control.” As he said that, another long leg of a batto began chipping at the wall. San crouched down, grabbed a spare crossbow and sent the bolt through the hole. He was rewarded with a screech of pain, but the legs vanished.

The sounds of battle erupted upstairs, San was about to move, but then another long limb tried pulling itself into the back room. San waited until it was fully committed and then killed the creature.

Pavano began laughing hysterically from upstairs.

“Begone, foul fuckers!” he cried. “You cannot get pass me!”

More scrapping caught San’s attention and he faced the hole in the wall once more.

***

Hours passed and San was exhausted. The high of the battle had ebbed and the battos had retreated to regroup. He sat on a stool and drank hot tea. The hole in the back room, the holes in the roof and upstairs windows were letting in a draft.

Endaha was still groaning in pain, the child unwilling to come just yet. He noted Elgava’s tired movements and the healer’s own. When Julia had been born, it was nearly a thirty hour delivery, whereas when little Sanjay was born, it had lasted only three. Julia had been a big baby, nearly nine pounds, whereas Sanjay had only been seven and a half.

That world seemed so far away now. San sat on his stool, the smell of woodsmoke, gunpowder, blood, and dead battos was overwhelming. The buzzing was growing louder again as the battos returned, the distant booms of the soldiers firing their rifles and pistols, and an occasional laugh from Pavano as the old man shot his crossbows at the battos flying by.

A month ago he had been lying on his couch, surrounded by empty bottles of whiskey and vodka, staring at the television all day and doing nothing. Now, everything was so different. He didn’t know what to think about it, how to think about it, all he could do was go along day by day.

“Fuck, fuck!” Pavano clattered down the stairs, practically dragging Azios with him. The boy was clutching an arm, blood seeping through his fingers.

“What?” San demanded.

“A big fucker is coming this way!” Pavano shouted.

Bostarion leaped down from the stairs, pulling out his sword and tossing another shortsword to Elgava.

“What kind of bi-“ San began, but he was interrupted by a great thud and crack. The entire farmhouse shuddered, clouds of dust rained from the wooden beams and cracked walls.

San coughed and hurried to check on Endaha. The woman had been covered in a blanket by the healer, who was also coughing in the cloud of dust.

“It’s gonna break through,” Pavano shouted.

The back room wall was bulging out. The corpses of various battos had filled the room somewhat, the creatures being unrelenting in their efforts to use the ‘easy’ way to get within the farmhouse. Now they had called in a tank.

Bostarion shoved a rifle into San’s hands while the man prepared his own. San immediately began loading the weapon, days of practice drove his hands in the right order. Dumping a small packet of gunpowder into the barrel, the lead ball, ramming it home, and then checking the lit match cord to see that it still glowed red.

The wall continued to buckle and San raised the rifle. A great cracking sound came from the wall as the scores fo horizontal limbs bent inward and all snapped at once. The room filled with plaster and clay and shard of broken wood. San flinched as the rain of debris hit him, but he immediately turned back to see the massive batto trying to shove its way into the hole. Long vicious legs were reaching out.

San pulled the trigger of the rifle. It was followed by Bostarion’s rifle, then the pistols Pavano and Azios carried. The room was immediately filled with smoke and obscured their vision.

“Back out,” San shouted.

The massive batto was screeching and in the swirling gun smoke, San saw a long limb flash out.

“Watch-“

Pavano screamed in pain. San used the rifle as a club, slamming it down upon the long limb. It snapped like a piece of dry wood, eliciting another scream from the monster.

“I’m okay,” Pavano cried. “Fucker just stabbed my calf.”

Bostarion and Azios dragged him from the back room and into the kitchen where the air was slightly cleaner. The healer rushed over and ripped open his trouser leg, revealing a pretty deep laceration that was bleeding heavily.

“Will I live, healer?” Pavano asked, a grimace on his face.

“Unfortunately,” the woman said and began wrapping up the wound. “You won’t be able to walk until I get it stitched and treated. Perhaps a few weeks.”

“Hetvana’s cunt. Why is it always the leg!” Pavano cried.

The wall cracked and shuddered again, while the others cared for Pavano, San pulled his sword out and faced the incoming creature.

“Reload those guns, guys!” San shouted.

Bostarion cursed and rushed back to join San. The smoke was still heavy, but they could make out moving shapes, the stacks of stored foodstuff and equipment had been scattered all over, but there was no mistaking the massive figure that was struggling against the far wall.

“It’ll break through,” San said.

“Aye,” Bostarion muttered while reloading his rifle.

Azios handed San a reloaded pistol, then he rushed back and began reloading another. San marched forward into the smoke and walked to the wall, he saw the broken limb flailing about and fired the pistol. The batto screamed, San tossed the pistol away and pulled out his sword.

He began hacking away at the massive batto. The creature screamed and a moment later the sound of Bostarion’s rifle going off filled the room. Ichor splattered against San, but he ignored it.

The batto struggled and struggled, finally it wrenched itself free, pulling itself backward and out of the hole. Along with the monster, came a large chunk of the wall, creating a whole twice the size of San’s width.

“Shit,” San said.

“Back!” Bostarion yelled. The interior door was flimsy at best. It wouldn’t hold against this creature.

San charged forward, out of the hole. The batto was tossing it’s body around, trying to remove the bits of wall that were still clinging to it. It’s focus wasn’t on San.

“Mad bastard!” Bostarion shouted, but came after him.

The sword flickered in the night, slicing cleanly through a leg and then another. The monster screamed, the legs on one side of it’s body suddenly gone. San didn’t stop moving, aiming for the long thick tail that hadn’t been used yet. He brought his blade down on it and there was a sickening resistance and then the tail flopped to the snowy ground.

Bostarion stabbed his short sword between the batto’s eyes, piercing the brain.

San let out a sharp bark of laugher, breathing the icy air in and looking at Bostarion. The older man grinned and then frowned. San heard the buzzing and then the two ran back through the hole into the farmhouse.

“They’re coming in from the roof!” Azios shouted. He fired a crossbow up the stairs, causing something to scream in pain.

“The back room has a hole in it, they’ll be in there too!” Bostarion added.

“We need to get to the barn,” Pavano said.

“Azios, grab a torch. Healer, Boss, help Pavano! Elgava keep Cassa safe!” San tossed her the short sword she had set down. She grabbed it and nodded, pulling the small girl into her arms. .

San walked to Endaha, she was looking at him frantically. Fear and terror in her gaze.

“It’s going to be alright,” San said. “I’m going to pick you up and take you to the barn. It’s going to be all right.”

Endaha gasped in pain and fear as San picked her off the floor.

“We run.” San said and the others nodded. The noise from the backroom was growing louder and San saw legs starting to come down the stairs. “Now!”

They burst out of the farmhouse.

***

San pushed open the barn door, it creaked on its hinges and the body of a batto was also pushed aside.

“Is it over?” Elgava asked.

The sunlight was pouring in from the east and as San blinked away the bright light, he could see the smoke still rising from the military camp. At first all he saw were the black bodies of the battos, but soon he saw the stirring forms of the soldiers.

“They’re alive,” San breathed.

“Sweet Senta,” Elgava whispered.

The healer pushed her way pass San and blinked at the bright light. “There are injured. I must go!” She began moving toward the camp. Elgava shrugged and followed.

San looked back into the barn and saw Endaha holding her new child, Azios and Cassa sleeping beside her, Pavano wincing as he sat on a bed of straw, and Bostarion nodding off as he leaned against the barn wall, crossbow still in hand.

“I’m going to the camp,” San said.

“Aye, be careful lad.” Pavano said.

San nodded and eased out of the barn. The day was mockingly clear and bright, the sun warm against his cold skin. Smoke rose from the military camp and already San could hear the noise of the after battle cleanup.

***

The wailing of the injured filled the camp. San grimaced as he helped lift a man with deep lacerations across his arms and legs and move him toward the healer’s makeshift tent. Elgava groaned as she lifted the other end of the stretcher.

The battos had done their damage, nearly fifteen men lay dead and another fifteen were in no state to do anything but moan with pain. The battos had paid a price though, as more than three hundred of the creatures lay dead or dying in the morning light.

What soldiers that were still mobile were moving bout the piles of corpses, stabbing and killing any that remained alive.

The greatest pile of battos lay around the still burning brazier of magical fire that Havatair had brought with him. The fire was an enchantment, one that San heard was a hundred years old. A fire that would never need fuel and would always burn hot, used to keep a tent warm.

It was a waste, San thought. If there was magic to create such things, why make it only to heat a tent? He couldn’t understand it, but that was the way of the world. Luxuries trumped necessities, sometimes. Yet its flames were what saved the soldiers. Where the battos had snuffed out the other fires, that singular flame had burned all night and prevented the makeshift barricade from being overrun.

The healer was bloodstained and exhausted. The fight during the night and the delivery of Endaha’s child. They took their toll.. She wiped her forehead and looked down at her bloody hands.

“Sanitize,” San said automatically. The blood on her hands and arms seemed to peel away and vanish.

The healer looked at him, the exhaustion replaced by questions she had asked the night before but still hand’t received an answer for.

“Later,” she said. “You have anymore of that moonshine?”

“Yeah, a couple of gallons,” San said.

“Bring it, if it does as you say, help keep festering wounds at bay, then it will save many of these soldiers lives.”

San nodded, looking at the wounded. The battos weren’t powerful, but their long limbs and tails could do damage. The main injuries were lacerations, along the legs and arms. The battos strike didn’t pierce the brigandines the soldiers wore or the steel sallet helmets. But the exposed arms and legs were cut with the sharp claws of the monsters.

Was it cowardice or prudence that he didn’t offer the gems he had. He could hear the moans of the men and women, but he still hadn’t offered it. He could remember telling Winter’s Lament that he was saving it, saving it when it was needed to help someone. Yet he hadn’t pulled it out even though many of the people were injured and a few would likely die.

He was selfish, he knew. He would have willing given the gems to Endaha, Cassa, or Azios, even Pavano and Bostarion if they accepted, but these soldiers… San didn’t know. Was he being cruel by letting them suffer when he had the means to only help one person?

Was the world getting to him. The cruel and callous nature of mankind in this place. Where life was valued so little and monsters roamed, making monsters of humanity? San was stuck in a loop of thought and could not escape it.

“Get moving!” the healer snapped, bringing San out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry.” San muttered, leaving the tent.

In the daylight, the farmhouse was an utter wreck. The roof was collapsing and there were multiple holes in the walls. The smoke from the fire pit was still exiting the smoke-hole and by some miracle the whole thing hadn’t erupted in flames. San pushed open the heavy door and looked at the batto bodies littering the floor. They gave off the foul stench of dead things, but not recently dead things, but something that had been baking under the hot humid sun for days.

San coughed and found the amphora he had been storing his moonshine in. He hefted the clay pot and returned to Zomia.

“Is he dead?” Elgava asked, standing beside the healer. On the blankets before them was a man stripped of armor and weapons. Havatair.

“No. He’s got a lot of poison in him,” the healer said. Her hands floated over the man and her eyes were closed. Somekind of Power?

San noted all the small wounds covering his body. The double pricks that were caused by the barbed tail fo the battos. The poison they used on their prey to make them docile and sleep. San counted dozens of them.

“How does a man survive that?” San asked. “Shouldn’t he be dead?”

“Levels,” the healer said, shaking her head. “He’ll have to clear the poison himself. I can’t do anything for him.”

“He’s our leader, ain’t he?” Elgava asked.

“No, he’s not,” a voice announced.

San looked to see the exhausted Mage Lieutenant enter the tent. His pristine armor was marred and he was covered in red ichor. He had been in the battle and San felt a twinge of regret for just running off when they were fighting the big batto.

“I am the leader of the White Tower defenses. This batto scourge must be destroyed. The nest must be eradicated. This attack is only a sign that it will soon be strong enough to endanger all the komais and settlements in the region. All wounded are to be left behind, those who are able, will follow me to destroy the nest!”