The Greyfield Chronicles

William

William Carver considered himself a level-headed man, loyal to the Lord of House Greyfield and diligent in his duty as one of the Grey Guard. Theirs was a small group, considering the importance of the man they served, but they'd been trained by one of the greatest soldiers in the Empire: Lieutenant Adam Vosmer himself.

It was all he could do not to protest as he overheard the man he respected and obeyed listen to the advice of Lord Greyfield's young daughter who was the same age as his son. He'd heard the lass had a boyish streak to her, but hearing her advise Vosmer about how to conduct battle bothered him.

It was almost enough to question orders, but before anything else, William was a Greyfield man. And if Adam Vosmer, right hand of Lucius Greyfield, told him to do something, he'd listen.

If he had to bash a bird's brains out with his mace, he would. Lord Greyfield could have cleared the monsters out by himself, but his little girl's words rang true: If they waited for him to do it, the farm would be ruined before the battle was over.

His bludgeon was not like a sword. It was a stick with a hefty piece of metal at the top. His bludgeon was hefty, made to fight slow enemies in heavy armor. These birds were anything but. He'd seen the archers try to shoot them out of the sky, but most of the arrows either bounced off or barely penetrated.

Normally when something moved fast and swords couldn't really hurt them, the pikes and spears were deployed, but these were too light and agile for that. To be blunt, William felt like these were the kind of enemy best fought by magic, not that they had any in their current company besides Lord Greyfield's magic sword.

Still, if Vosmer thought his shield and mace could save these people from a gruesome fate, William would fight the good fight, like any good son of Astamarr would.

"Alright," he said. "Have at 'em, lads!" he bellowed to his fellow mace-men as they charged forward, shields and heavy weapons ready to do just that.

A farmhand who'd been trying to herd the animals into their shed suddenly found himself surrounded by three of the feathered fiends, but William and his mace-men were ready. They charged right at the birds and brought their heavy weapons down, bones cracking as they made contact.

The young Greyfield girl had been right: Their maces were just as effective against these monsters as they would have been against steel plate. Perhaps even more. Steel didn't dent as easily as these monsters did.

With renewed confidence, their group proceeded to hammer the monsters down any time they came close, taking down with numbers more birds than Lord Greyfield could on his own.

Around them, the other soldiers with less effective weapons helped the farmers usher their livestock to safety. Their blades could not harm the enemy in any real sense, but they made the beasts hesitate.

Rather than fleeing like sensible animals, the monsters seemed to grow agitated at their resistance. A cacophony of shrill, dreadful cries rang out from their beaks.

His body froze, his limbs locked up, as a deep-seated fear suddenly bound his mind and body like a coiling serpent.

Unable to move, he could only watch as one of the black-feathered monsters swooped down from above, straight towards him. Its wicked, blood-soaked beak lunged for his neck, and all William could think of was his wife Josie and their boy Wilson.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes.

The sharp beak never came. Instead there was a gargled sound in front of him, and William found the courage to open his eyes.

Lieutenant Vosmer stood before him, the tip of his spear plunged into the Bloodbeak's throat mere inches from William's face. As the life left the monster's body, William found that he could once again move.

"You alright, Carver?" the Lieutenant asked, pulling his blood-tipped spear out of the creature's neck.

"Sir?" he gasped, staring at the spear. It had a faint blue glow, but only at the pointed tip. "But how?"

"Thank Venza's new friend," Vosmer answered. "Managed to magic my spear in time. Good work holding out until now."

His mind couldn't quite process the words. The little brown-haired girl? Doing magic at her age? He took a glance at the carriage where he thought the girls were, then shook himself. Now wasn't the time for this. He had a battle to win. "Where do you need us, sir?"

"Cover each other," Vosmer said. "They can't freeze us all."

"Aye, sir!"

Venza

The two of them watched from behind the soldiers, eyes wide as Vosmer cut a deadly trail through the remaining Bloodbeaks.

"I knew Vosmer was good, but-" Venza trailed off, watching as her father's long-time friend delivered a precise sweep with the spear, getting the tip to slice three birds at once. "This is-"

He's probably stronger than my father in single combat, Venza thought, but didn't say out loud. In a fair fight, of course, without the Revenant Arm and other magic items that came with Lucius' position as Lord Marshall.

Aiela, however, seemed to think the same thing. "Is Captain Vosmer of common birth?" she asked, her tone more hushed than normal.

Venza nodded.

"I wonder how far he could've gotten if he'd been highborn," Aiela mused. "With all the advantages that confers."

He'd asked the rank and file to cover him, but they could only watch as Vosmer cut and stabbed through the enemy, the makeshift weapon in his hands like an artist's brush painting a bloody masterpiece.

In the span of ten minutes, the battle was mostly over, with most of the birds either dead or routed. Roughly, Venza estimated the Greyfield soldiers had defeated about two dozen of them. Her father, on the other hand, had defeated another two dozen on his own. Such was the power of a Lord of Odolenia.

Vosmer leaned against the side of the carriage, utterly exhausted. The spear lay at his feet, Aiela's spell expended.

"Was he the one who taught you how to fight those children?" Aiela asked Venza.

Venza sputtered. "I did not- How is that-"

The girl's blank stare only frustrated her more.

"I did learn how to fight from him, yes."

"That makes sense. He's quite talented."

"Says the nine-year-old who enchanted a spear tip for ten minutes," Venza shot back.

Aiela shook her head. "It'll be a while until I grow enough to do any real magic."

"I'm both excited and terrified to learn what you consider real magic," Venza quipped.

"Well, good thing you're going to be there to make sure I turn into an upstanding citizen of the Empire, no?" Aiela quipped.

Venza stared at her. "I can't tell sometimes if the blank expression and monotone are just really good acting or-"

"Truly, a mystery," Aiela deadpanned.

"Watch out!" a man's voice suddenly cried out, and Venza's eyes darted upwards. A Bloodbeak was coming down right on top of her, wicked talons outstretched. She had no weapon and nothing to put between herself and the foul, feathered fiend.

A soldier stood in front of her, his tall frame barring the Bloodbeak's path. He had a buckler in one hand and a mace in the other, prepared to take the hit and then retaliate.

But the monster was cunning, changing course at the last second. It slipped behind the soldier's guard, claws digging into his shoulder. It let out a frightening cry at the same time the soldier howled in pain.

Time seemed to slow down as Venza could only watch. The monstrous bird lived true to its name, digging its blood-colored beak into the soldier's unprotected nape.

Why wasn't anyone doing anything? She glanced left, and right, saw soldiers' bodies frozen by the Bloodbeak's shriek.

A glimmering blue blade materialized above the Bloodbeak, slicing horizontally. It cried out in pain as Lucius' blade of light severed its connection to this mortal coil.

But the damage was done. The soldier slumped backward, Venza planting her feet firmly in the ground as he fell on her. It took all her strength not to fall herself, at least until the nearby men snapped out of their stupor and managed to grab hold of their comrade.

"Medic!" Venza yelled, her voice shrill. "We need a medic!"

In a matter of moments, soldiers with medical training arrived, inspecting and cleaning the wound with Aiela's assistance.

"William?" Vosmer's concerned voice broke through the gathered crowd. "Is he alright?"

One of the medics shook his head. "We can treat the wound, but-"

"His nerves have been damaged," Aiela said plainly. "It will impair his ability to function."

Venza stared at Aiela, partly in horror. How did she speak about it so calmly? And why did she know that in the first place?

"Can he be healed?" Vosmer asked.

"I can try," Aiela said. "But I lack the power. A more experienced Nature Mage could do it, but we don't have time. It needs to be done now, while the damage is fresh."

They carefully placed a stretcher under him, and Venza could only watch as Aiela knelt above his body.

"Regrowth," she heard Aiela mutter. A green light poured from her hands, touching the wound in his neck. Then she staggered where she knelt, nearly falling over, but Venza was ready, and quickly caught her new friend.

Aiela had turned ghastly pale, as if she'd transferred some of her own life to William. Venza knew that wasn't how it actually worked, but it might as well have been.

"Did it work?" Venza asked.

"Time will tell," she said. "I think he'll live, but-" Aiela trailed off.

"Thank you," Venza said. She meant it. If that man had died because of her-

She could never have forgiven herself.

"Father," Venza said as he approached. "He should ride in the carriage. There's enough room."

"Aye, I was going to suggest the same," Lucius said, his face dour. Clearly he blamed himself for William's injury as much as she blamed herself.

Back in the carriage, Lucius, Vosmer, Venza and Aiela were notably less quiet than before. William lay on one seat, resting, while the four of them occupied the other.

"I've never seen so many of them at once," Lucius muttered.

The matter on both the military men's minds that they didn't voice was clear: If those beasts had hit Rentley in such a large number, the settlement would have been doomed.

And there was no telling they wouldn't strike again.