The Song of Roland Ch. 20

The blonde bowman shuddered, his body going limp against the overturned table as the makeshift barricades upon his demeanor eroded. He stopped blinking as he stared at her. "You don't." He said, his hands falling limply to the floor, "You need my help."

Kelsea reached out with her hand, her fingertips brushing aside the trailing locks of hair that separated his broken countenance from her own. She pursed her lips, leaned forward with her upper body, compressed her waist to give the hint of her physical form in close proximity to him.

"Come with me, Carl." She whispered, the tip of her button nose touching his own as she hovered, unbearable in her adjacency to him. "I can't do this without you." She allowed the cobalt lie of her eyes fade to their red-rimmed reality. She watched him fall into them, his facial expression slackening, his pupils dilating as his senses dulled. She could see the beads of tears in his eyes.

"I'll do..." She trailed off, holding her tongue to her upper lip as she intonated both the word she was forming and an implicit innuendo. "Anything you ask of me."

"Th-" He started to say, but he looked away, his body hunching forward as she leaned her forehead against his own. "Then leave me be..." He muttered. He sounded so uncertain, the crack in his voice a lingering scar of vulnerability. She took his hand in hers and led it to her breast. She exaggerated a pleasured sigh.

"Come with me." Kelsea responded, turning his face to hers. He met her gaze, and she wiped at his tears with her thumb. "I want you. With me. With Roland... Together." She smiled, "Safe."

Carl held her gaze, then let out a strained breath, picking himself up slowly off the ground. He retrieved his bow, saying nothing as he circled back around the bar counter to slide his discarded quiver behind his shoulders. Carl paused. "...You don't even remember his name, do you?" He said, staring at the floor. "The man I told you about; the one I killed for you, back on the High Road." She didn't answer. "His name was Albert. He was from Grovnheim, on the western borderlands with the Elves, near the Eternal Groves. He left after the Vinewart plague swept through, maybe six years ago."

Carl composed himself. "The man sent half his wages in a letter every month to some relative, an aunt, or sister or something. He said her name several times, but for the life of me I cannot recall it. I never paid him any mind when he'd start gabbing on about her."

"She won't see another scrap of coin anymore, I'd expect." He shrugged, "Just as well: he told me that she'd hated the fact that he went off to war, instead of living the peasant's life. He played the harp, you know. Not bad in a fight; couldn't drink for shit, though."

Carl chuckled, he shook his head ruefully. "I don't know why I'm telling you any of this." Heedless, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his arm, his inhales ragged and his exhales a clear eviction of pain. He turned to her, still on all fours, and nodded in her direction. "Let's just be off, before you start believing your own falsehoods."

Kelsea said nothing as Carl brushed past her, unlocking the door, cracking it open just enough to establish that there were no Imps in the immediate area. The snowfall had abated, and the fog was slowly beginning to clear, but the night was still filled with the smog of smoke and ash and soot. Confident that they were alone, Carl pushed open the door with his shoulder, fingering the small knife at his hip in a way not dissimilar to how Roland would habitually lift and lower his own dagger in its sheath. Kelsea followed quickly after him, the alpine winds howling as they sent a chill breath across their faces.

"We have to hurry." Kelsea said, feeling anxious and afraid for how long she'd been away from the battle. She had no idea what had been going on in the time they'd been gone. "Almyra's fighting at the front gate, and we've got to find Roland-"

"You need a weapon." Carl said, matter-of-factly. "The blue pyres you conjure won't hurt any of these things, and if they get ahold of you-"

"I know what will happen." She said, trying to silence him.

"-You'll make me the slave of a slave." He finished his thought anyways, gesturing to his left as they stepped out into the open. "The blacksmith's just down the street."

"Are you sure there'll be weapons there?" She asked.

"Of course." He said, flashing her one of his cocky grins, although his customary gall was missing from the act. "It's not like they had time to pull everything back into the center of town; It's where I found all of Roland's rusty razors, after all."

They proceeded down the narrow avenue, the dull drone of outside noise rising to a roar as they emerged from the relative insulation of the tavern. The sounds of shouting and inhuman cackles spread themselves across the whole of the village, and Kelsea could now see the night sky lit up with a hellish blue tint. It was like an otherworldly sunrise emerging from the west, but scattered as starpoints rather than concentrated into a single, luminous ball.

The other side of the town was on fire, and there was a great rustling and tumult near the opposing gates of the Inner Cloister. There was a soft tremor in the earth, one that sent both of them reeling for a moment before righting themselves.

"The Cult is in it bad, aye?" Carl remarked, his footsteps silent as he carefully picked his way forward through the murky half-light. To Kelsea he was simply a grayish shade surrounded by splotches of azure-tinted snow. The heat and smoke and haze was making it difficult to see.

"-Which is why we needed you earlier." She replied, but garnered no immediate response.

"Perhaps you did." He at last said, stopping at a squat, one story building with an out jutting veranda nearly the same size as the building itself. "Though to be honest: I don't know how much use I'd have been... or will be, for that matter." There was a second quaking motion beneath their feet, and both exchanged a long look before proceeding onwards towards the smithy.

Within the awning sat the blacksmith's forge and working area, replete with his abandoned tools and an anvil. A nearby water bucket was filled with a hunk of half-hammered metal, doused in a rush as the owner made for safety in the midst of unexpected danger. The coals were still in the furnace, the molten fire still glowing white-hot though it was slowly fading. Ignoring the absentee owner's work area, Carl tiptoed instead to the door where a small lantern hung, swinging in the mountain air as snowflakes swirled about. He listened for a moment at the keyhole before rapping hard against the oak portal.

Dead silence. Kelsea snuck up next to Carl with a concerned look on her face. She did not like the closeness with which she could hear the monstrous cackling. "...What should we do?" She asked, realizing the predicament that they'd found themselves in.

Carl tapped lightly upon her shoulder, a wry smile on his face. "Smash it open. I'm sure your sinful sinew will hold up to it."

Kelsea batted away his hand. "Are you mad?" She hissed, "They'll hear us!"

"...And?" Carl asked, "What is the point of collecting a weapon if you're not going to use it?"

"We have to get back to the others." Kelsea responded, giving him a look, "I'm not looking to fight those things before we absolutely have to."

"Look around you, Succubus." Carl said, gesturing to the sounds that echoed and resounded all around. "I'd say that hope died before you even met me at the tavern." Seeing the cold stare she set upon him, the mercenary let out a derisive chuckle and shook his head. "...Fine, I'll find something to break the lock. Try not to fornicate with any hellspawn while I'm gone. I'll be back in but a moment."

Carl crept around the side of the building, disappearing from sight as Kelsea privately prayed that he really was just searching for tools to break the lock. If he just up and left her out here, alone...

"No." She whispered firmly to herself. He is mine, he wouldn't dare to leave me. He couldn't even if he wanted to. It was strange for the Succubus to find herself agreeing with her own inner thoughts, for once.

Such concerns became moot the second she heard the sound of a multitude of charging little feet. A sudden, senseless panic rose in her stomach and she scrambled over to the Blacksmith's crowded workspace, slamming her back up against the flat of the anvil. Her lungs caught in her throat, and she did her utmost to remain scarce. A horde of nearly a dozen Imps surged past, running at full tilt like a seamless pile of undulating flesh down the roadway. They were headed in the direction of the northern gate, back the way Kelsea and Carl had just come.

They snapped and snarled and gurgled and growled at one another, slashing with razor claws at their fellows if one came too close to another or got in the way of their own momentum. It was like a rolling ball of infernal menace, a constant deluge of Demonic hatred spewing forth in all directions as the great swarm scattered and dissipated like the dying momentum of a wave crashing upon the beach. Packs of the little brutes chipped off and spread from house to house, ripping at locked doorways or smashing open ones that had been foolishly left unbarred or ajar.

Kelsea shrank back behind the anvil that screened her presence. They were hunting, pursuing new victims and fresh debaucheries. But then... why hadn't they come here?

The question answered itself when Kelsea heard a sudden, bone-chilling snarl. She looked up, and found herself face to face with a dog-faced demon. It draped itself across the top of the anvil on its stomach, reaching down with four, digited fingers to rake its claws through her cropped, human hair. Its yellow eyes regarded her before widening to dinner plates.

It licked its chops and spread its lips wide, showing rows upon rows of sharpened fangs. Kelsea jerked back, letting out a shameful shriek of fear as she scooted against the building's stone face, the still smouldering forge to her left as she trembled in the face of her abiding nightmare.

The red-skinned mongrel dropped down from the anvil and advanced, his distended pecker pointing straight at Kelsea like a libidinous accusation. It sniffed the air, the overlong grin on its face widening as it seemed to sense her very essence. Kelsea, caught off guard, merely recoiled as the thing advanced upon her. A second Imp showed up in the awning. Then a third. Then a fourth. They cackled to one another, the dog-faced imp putting a spindly finger to his face and puckering his jowled lips. Indicating his companions to be silent: they did not want to have to share their precious prey.

They advanced from several angles, Kelsea's eyes going wide as she found all avenues of escape cut off. Carl was nowhere in sight, and the door behind her was locked solidly. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. For a single, horrible moment, Kelsea became that scared, helpless girl cowering in Grevich's cave again. Her inhuman heartbeat slowed to a crawl, her eyes dilated and she felt her body try to clutch against itself, to sink into nothingness. But as she watched the evil creatures advance upon her, a buried memory came to mind: a long-dead friend's words, given to her at a time when she should have heeded the advice:

You're stronger than this.

Kelsea heard the words like she was still there, standing with her at the precipice between uncertain freedom and the ultimate fate that had befallen them both. She felt hot tears build upon her face, the aftereffect of a lifetime's worth of guilt and remorse compacted into the last two years. She wouldn't hesitate again. She would not!

As the dog-faced Imp advanced upon her, Kelsea reached out, as if to implore it to an embrace. Misunderstanding the intent, the Imp leapt at her, seeking a pliable victim. What it found instead was the implacable grip of a being whose strength was as unnaturally augmented as its own. Using the momentum of his leap, Kelsea shoved it to the side, diverting it down into the burning heat of the forge as the Imp took a nosedive into the very heart of the magmatic embers.

She planted her hand against the back of its head and pushed. It screeched. There was the sound of sizzling meat and a smell of burning flesh. The creature's face disintegrated, its skin bubbling like boiling liquid as she held it there, unyielding. She could feel the scalding heat against her hands while the thing squirmed and squealed, her skin registering the same agonizing torment as it too began to suffer serious burns. Soon enough the monster stopped struggling, its body going limp as a small line of smoke began to rise from its cooking corpse. Ignoring the pain, Kelsea pushed the rest of its body atop the growing pyre as the three other Imps charged her, roaring in bestial rage.

Kelsea did not wait to meet them. She scrambled to her feet, pushing off the wall she'd been sitting against with the heel of her foot as she leapt into the nearest Imp. The two rolled across the ground as Kelsea bit and kicked and scratched back at the equally vicious creature, whose smaller stature and equity of strength precluded it from getting an advantage over the enraged Succubus. She gave in to her instincts, snarling back at him as she felt her humanly facade crumble in the face of her abiding rage. Her tail slithered out of her, her skin shifted to its purple stain, and her eyes blazed red with effluvient fury.

"Rrraagh!" She screamed, locking the Imp's head in the crook of her arm, ripping with her fingernails at its exposed soft spots. She found purchase against its pencil neck, digging hard into the flesh on either side of its throat and pulling hard. A spray of boiling red blood shot into the air as she ripped out his larynx with her palm, her fingers clenching as she felt a ferocious rush of ecstasy pulling apart the muscle and bone and stringy veins. There was an audible pop, and suddenly an essential part of his rapidly expiring person was free and in her hand.

She did not have time to savor the carnage. The third Imp was upon her in seconds, slashing at her neck with its claws. Kelsea jerked back, the spontaneous reaction saving her life as the thick black talons pierced instead deep into her shoulder, digging against her collarbone as it marred her on the inside. She cried out in pain, falling onto her back as she reached for the thing's arm.

It sat atop her, swiping its other hand across her face as it carved her cheek and upper lip asunder. Kelsea could not disentangle its stuck nails from her arm, so instead she grabbed its elbow and twisted, snapping it at the joint. Rolling to her side, she only just avoided getting skewered by the fourth Imp, whose hands were at her ankles, scraping her leggings as it tried to pull her back towards it.

Kelsea rolled to her hands and knees and crawled forward, dragging the injured third Imp by the arm across the ground beneath her as her hands fumbled for something- anything to fight with. Blood was in her eyes, across her face, dribbling down her chest. She bumbled into the blacksmith's crowded workspace, the sound of Demonic growling following her every frenetic movement.

The world was a dark cacophony of motion and action as she gave in to panic, her fingers closing around something hard and wooden, like the shaft of a hand tool. Without thinking she took it in hand and swung hard down against the Imp beneath her, connecting solidly with the oblong top of its deformed head. The force of the blow collapsed its head inwards, a loud squish leaking its way into her ringing ears as the blacksmith's hammer caved in its skull.

She let out an aggrieved gasp, taking the thing's limp arm and ripping the embedded claws from her shoulder, her other arm giving out on her as a flash of pain trembled across her form. The final Imp did not give her time to recover, kicking her hard in the ribs and shoving her to her side. Kelsea, her arms momentarily useless, reached out with her prehensile tail, wrapping it tight about the thing's leg and flinging it as hard as she could away from her. It bounced off one of the veranda's support beams, righting itself in an instant and leaping towards her again.

A twang sang through the chill air, heralding the thud of an arrow placed in the center of the Imp's crumpled and wrinkled face. It stuck like a dart into the center of its forehead, the beast's concentrated assault devolving to lifeless momentum as it cartwheeled across the ground and sprawled itself at an unnatural angle, unmoving. Kelsea wiped the blood from her eyes and stared up at the gaping door of the Blacksmith's home.

"If you're done fornicating with Demons," Carl said, placidly impudent, "You should probably get inside."

It took a long moment for the haze to fade from Kelsea's vision. "C-Carl..." She groaned out, pushing herself to her feet as blood trailed down her face and stained her clothing. You came! Were the words she could not bring herself to say. The genuine relief was mitigated by her dire circumstances. Carl ignored her, drawing another arrow from his quiver and pulling it back onto the string. At first she thought he meant to end her, but instead he fired out into the impenetrable night, the sound of a Demonic roar cut short by a murderous retort.

"Now, Succubus!" He shouted, all joviality gone from his voice this time. She staggered to her feet, stumbling towards the entryway as Carl stepped aside to let her in. There was the sound of dark laughter as Carl slammed the door shut behind her and bolted it tight. Kelsea fell back against the doorway, breathing heavily as she struggled to steady her heartbeat.

They were in a murky armory, the small wick of a half-dead lantern glowing in one corner of the room. It cast only the barest shades of pale luminescence across the uneven and half-vacant rows of assorted weapons, tools and implements. There was farm equipment here, as well as stacked animal cages made from pounded black iron, and a small assortment of crafted weapons. Kelsea looked about the room with a dull sort of insouciance.

"...How did you get in?" She asked, before the sudden bang of something against the door caused her to jump in place, her head snapping around as she shrank back from the portal. Carl smirked at her, pointing to the other side of the room.

"Back door. The fool left it unlocked." He swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, "Stop fidgeting, Succubus. The door will hold, for now."

"It's... Kelsea." She said, but her heart was not in the protest. She wobbled away from the sound of scratching at the doorway, sinking to her knees as she shook in place. "Huuuh-!" She said, feeling all at once the crash of emotions that she had been unable to experience during the terror of combat. Carl paid her no heed, tiptoeing his way across the room as he stared upwards at the ceiling, searching for something unfathomable in the tiling. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

Her fingers clenched at her thighs, a dull throbbing pain burning in her shoulder and across the lower half of her face. When, after a moment, she had collected herself, Kelsea gave the blonde bowman a sharp glare. "...W-what took you so long?" She demanded, perhaps a bit too harshly.

Carl spared a glance backwards in her direction. A dubious smile grew upon his face. "What's wrong, worried I'd finally left you to your well-earned fate?" He laughed at the hard look she returned him. "Cool your crotch. Look." He gestured over a few rows over, indicating a pair of Imps lying dead upon the ground with arrow shafts perforating their bodies. "I'm at least loyal to my word. I said I'd be back."