Elf-Made Man

"Just one guy," Tom grumbled, staring out at the plaza from behind the Temple wards. One of the town guard, presumably a puppet of Quazulin, paced back and forth, like an animal looking for a way past an obstacle.

"One guy with a whistle," the acolyte standing beside him pointed out. "Priestess Deepwell told me to remind you not to try to leave."

"I know, I know, but this stalemate can't hold forever."

Tom fumed. He could keep practicing with his magic-ish sword, but it was hard to concentrate knowing that Quazulin was making progress taking over the town. Which will happen first? Will Quazulin solidify his grip on Oak Mill, or will those idiot mages finish making their sealing things?

Is there anything I can do to slow him down?

What's happening with the elves? I wish Piper would come by again and tell me what's going on.

He kept eyeing the guard, which is why he quickly spotted a stranger approaching. A short, dumpy-looking man with sandy hair was walking quickly towards the Temple. The man veered off when the guard saw him, but turned back and broke into a run the moment the guard's gaze turned elsewhere. Oh. Tom took a couple of steps back to make sure there was room.

The man ran up to the Temple entrance and stopped short. His eyes widened in terror.

"You're about to win," Tom encouraged him calmly. "It's scared now, and fighting hard inside you, because you're about to win. Come on in, and rescue your soul. You can do it. It was hard for me too. Be calm. It hates it when you're calm. Come on." He kept on repeating things like that as the man struggled against the demon.

The man stepped forward, sweating heavily, as if leaning into a storm wind, then stumbled. Tom caught his arm and watched the nasty dark shimmer in the air left behind the man's passing. "You did it! Good job! You made it. You're all right. You're all right."

The man gasped for breath a few moments, then stared at Tom incredulously and yanked his arm free. "You knew? You knew and you didn't warn everyone? I have to save my wife!" Before Tom could stop him, the man ran back outside and started bellowing.

"DEMON! DEMON! Captain Forester is a DEMON! Run to the Temple! DEMON!!!"

The guard started blowing his whistle, then ran at the man who had just freed himself from possession.

Tom groaned. That rips it. He looked quickly at the nearest acolyte. "Tell the Priests!" Then he took a deep breath, drew his sword and charged outside.

He had already thought it through and decided how lethal to make his attack. The guard was wielding a truncheon, not a sword. Apparently, a hate demon didn't want to kill people, so much as keep them around to keep on hating each other.

On the other hand, a possessed person was supposed to be stronger than normal; he couldn't rely on being able to knock him down and keep him down with his fists. And they were right outside the Temple, so even serious wounds could be mended so long as he didn't make an immediate kill. Plus, his sword was maybe-almost enchanted against Quazulin.

Also, more guards would be coming quickly, and the elves were in danger. Their safety was most important to him, so the decision wasn't hard to make. Innocent people die in demon wars. It was terrible, but so were all wars.

The guard was intent on silencing the man screaming the warning, and Tom sprinted up to him—it, he told himself. A quick slash across its back drew blood and got the demon spawn's attention. It gasped in pain, then whirled around to face him. It jumped back a pace to avoid Tom's second swing, then parried the third with its truncheon. On instinct, Tom stepped in close and threw a punch with his left hand, causing the possessed to wheeze even as it lashed out at Tom's knee. Tom shifted to take the blow on his thigh instead, grunted, and stepped back a little.

In the heat of battle, Tom had forgotten to try to give his sword power. He didn't have time for any lengthy preparation; he could already hear a lot of footsteps approaching. He held his sword straight out, aimed at the guard's heart, and lunged while pushing with his soul, trying to feed the blade. The guard parried, knocking his sword down, but Tom used the deflection to stab the man in the thigh.

The guard screamed.

Eyes wide, the target's hair suddenly stood on end while he quivered in place for a moment. Tom could feel his concentration fall apart at the surprise and the guard recovered, backing up frantically. "Kanal keh!" It screamed in an eerie tone that sounded like two or more people talking at once. "Kanal keh!" Tom backed up as well to look at the situation.

There were faces at windows now, watching the fight in the street. More people were coming out of their front doors. The newly-freed man was still screaming warnings. A few people were running towards the Temple, while some were running away from the fight. And several men with dark, hateful expressions had been running towards the Temple, but slowed, looking uncertain.

A flash of white robes made him look to the Temple entrance, where Priestess Deepwell had just stepped outside to look around. Frowning, she turned and hurried back inside. Tom wondered whether to follow her.

I've got a magic sword that kind of works, and apparently it scared the demon enough to scream something in his own language. Deepwell is safe in the Temple. I think it's time to go meet up with the elves.

From the Temple, he wanted to go north and east. His choices were north or west, and the road north had several demon spawn, judging by their reactions. Tom sighed, stepped back a couple more paces, and ran west. The one he had been fighting started to limp after him, but was quickly lagging behind.

The Temple bells started ringing. Clang-clang-clang-clang. Clang-clang-clang-clang. Everyone knew that double-strikes announced a fire in a town. Tom wondered whether four strikes was a specific code for demons—if so, it probably wasn't well known, which kind of defeated the purpose. It had been many years since the last demon war.

He ran to the next street leading north and turned up it, already starting to breath heavily. I hate running. The first building on the right was the Wandering Ax. As he ran past, he wondered where Summer Daring was.

There were a lot of shops on this road, but Tom didn't have time to pay much attention to them. His eyes were on the pedestrians, trying to see which were threats. He saw more confusion than anything else, but perhaps a slight overall trend in moving towards the Temple.

Where is he? What would I be doing now if I were Quazulin? Tom thought about it.

Stealth is gone. I'd just start grabbing people and infecting them. Some will succumb at once and join his army, others will run to the Temple to be purged. Eventually, everyone outside the Temple will be under his control.

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So, he's moving through the town slowly, surrounded by copies that are grabbing everyone. He's at the heart of a loyal mob.

Right. Avoid the mob. Got it.

Tom reached the high point of the road, where it crossed the main street running east all the way from the town gate. He needed to turn right to head towards the house he'd rented, where the elves were waiting for him. He looked that way, and saw a large mob at the next intersection.

Oh, for the love of the gods!

Tom sprinted across the street, hoping that he wasn't noticed, then paused to peer at the mob, trying to see which way it was headed. He stared, puzzled by what he saw. It didn't look as if the crowd was moving at all.

Well, we are pretty close to the middle of the town. Maybe he's staying here and having his minions bring...what the...?

The mob was splitting up, heading in all four directions, and emptying the intersection rapidly. Why in the world would he split his forces all of a sudden? What changed? Tom's mind raced as a half-half of the mob approached him at a run. He started retreating west. Why? What is he trying to—? Tom got it.

Somebody powered up one of the wards early. Oh—that's what the four bells was for! It was the signal to the mages to put up the wards! But, Quazulin can feel it. He's going to destroy the wards or get past them. He's going to get away!

The Temple was on the south side of town. One of the wards would likely go up near there, and be well-defended. And the others would be at the compass points, including...the west gate. And Tom was currently backpedaling between the gate and the part of the mob headed there.

He turned and started running for the gate, huffing. Well, at least it's downhill, he consoled himself, as he sprinted entirely too quickly for safety. Ahead, he could see that the gate was still open, as was normal for daytime. Got to get that closed. The ward must be mounted somewhere nearby, if not on the gate itself. He could hear the mob gaining on him.

Dark Quorth below, if I have somehow offended you, I earnestly apologize, but I think I've already got enough bad luck today! Surely someone else needs your blessing right now?

For a brief moment, he wondered what was happening at the north and east walls, and who was protecting the seals, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. The gate was fast approaching, and Tom steered himself at one of those obnoxious guards—Geoff, he thought the name was. The man's back was to him as he was hitting someone on the ground with a truncheon. Tom decided to use the guard to brake his ill-advised charge.

He led with his shoulder and jumped the last few feet, slamming Geoff and himself into the right hand section of the gate. He heard "OOF!" coming from at least three people, but didn't have time to think about it. Geoff was down, and unfortunately lying in the path of the gate, so Tom hurriedly hauled the body to one side, grabbed the gate door, and started swinging it shut.

The mob was almost on him, and some people were already streaming out of the town. There was no way he could finish closing the gate in time. When the left door swung to without him doing anything to it, Tom blinked, then looked at a man with a badly bruised face grinning at him. Tom matched his grin and together they slammed the gate shut.

A howl of dismay beside him made Tom turn right, and the sight made him blink. A few feet off the ground, a small woman in scholar robes was clinging to the gate for dear life. Beside her, the biggest sheet of paper Tom had ever seen was tacked to the gate. It was too close for him to see what was on it, but it didn't look like writing. Is that the seal? I must have smashed the woman flat if she was behind the door when I hit it. She was probably working on it. He spared the diagram a worried glance, hoping that he hadn't damaged it.

"My brush! My brush!" she shouted frantically. Sorry, Miss, but I don't have time, Tom thought, turning to face the mob. He prayed that other people would do their jobs and that somebody would bring the lady mage her cursed brush. Meanwhile, he stepped in front of her and prepared to do what he did best.

He also took a deep breath, trying to will his magic into his sword. He must have succeeded, because the mob came to a frantic, stumbling halt when it reached him. Broad swings of his sword kept them all at bay. Desperately, he tried to maintain his focus and not change a thing.

He wasn't quite surrounded, because on his left, there were a couple of people bumbling around, getting in the crowd's way—possibly the mage's helpers. On his right, the man who had closed the left side of the gate was guarding it, bare-handed. With his left hand, he drew his dagger and held it out behind him. "Dagger?"

"Thanks!"

He felt a tug and released his grip. He swiped again with his sword, concentrating as best he could. "Tom."

"Ward." Tom's eyes flicked to the man for an instant in surprise. The guy smirked. "I know, Fate is funny."

A group started to rush Ward, and Tom sliced the air in front of his ally, causing half of the rush to stumble. Ward kicked, stabbed, and punched, buying a moment.

"Who wants to get burned to ash, huh?" Tom taunted the crowd, bluffing.

"Get things to throw at them!" Forester shouted. Some of the crowd peeled off and scattered. The demon himself ran for the nearby Guardhouse with a couple of possessed as escort.

Ahhh, shit. I hate it when the other guy is smart.

For a minute it got easier, with half the crowd gone. There were still enough of them to get in each other's way. Focusing hard, Tom lunged and managed to make another possessed scream and do the weird hair-on-end thing. That scared the rest into hesitating more.

One man stepped forward with a short sword of his own, but the moment the blades crossed, he yelped and disengaged, dropping his weapon in the street. Tom smiled. I have no idea what kind of magic this is, but I like it.

"Are you going to be finished any time soon?" he called over his shoulder.

"If you don't want scribbles, don't rush a scribe!" the woman snapped in annoyance. From the sound, she was still up in the air next to the giant paper. "Two days I've worked on this, and they couldn't wait ten more cursed minutes..." she grumbled. "I'm not a damned squirrel! Ink!"

"Here, Lady!" a boy's voice called.

Tom was holding the crowd back, but it was a lull before the storm. He didn't see how he could protect a fragile piece of paper once rocks and things started flying. He had a minute or two at most to think of something.

Wish I could open the gate again, hide her behind the wood and let her work, well-protected. But I can't let possessed start running outside, or Quazulin will jump to one of them and escape. If the demon is really smart, he'll take his chances without a host and go through the wall in spirit-form before the ward goes up. It all depends on how confident he is that he can take the town.

Abruptly the crowd parted, and Tom saw a big man with a shield charging towards him. Ah, shit. Can't even let him hit the gate, got to—

Mid-charge, a brown-haired child suddenly jumped in the man's path and crouched, causing him to stumble and fall. Tom lunged forward and grabbed the shield, which had hit the cobblestones edge on to him. With a twist he yanked it off the man's arm, and tried to get back into position, but wasn't quick enough. Then, he was brawling, unable to concentrate on the sword, fighting shield, hilt, boot, and at one point a head butt. He couldn't get a moment to focus.

One mage assistant squealed as a possessed yanked him away and into the crowd. Tom lurched this way and that, helped that the people in the mob didn't want to touch him, because of his amulet. He caught a glimpse of Ward fighting nearby, out of position. The man had been smart, though; two people, dead or unconscious, lay sprawled against the base of the gate, making it hard to open until the bodies were dragged aside. He had a few precious heartbeats.

"NO!" the mage suddenly screamed. "NO—!!" Her cry was cut off.

Tom spun and looked up, to see the mage straddling the paper, blocking it with her body. A crossbow bolt was sticking out of her back, her robe rapidly staining red. She fell.

The other mage assistant tried to catch her, but only managed to make her flip to fall face-first. That might save her life—if she'd landed on her back, the bolt would have been driven deeper. Tom turned quickly and searched over the heads of the crowd. He spotted Forester across the street, snarling as he started to reload his crossbow.

Without the mage, we can't finish the ward. Without the ward, we can't hold.

Tom stepped over the fallen spell caster, and stood directly under the giant paper. He couldn't draw a ward. He didn't know how. He couldn't even see it, this near. In desperation, he reached up and slapped his hand against the paper, hoping to empower it somehow. To his horror, he felt wet ink under his fingers. I just ruined it.

I ruined the ward.

Near despair, he pulled his hand away, a wet finger sliding across the paper despite his best effort. He slammed his fist against the gate in frustration. With nothing left, Tom closed his eyes and prayed.

Barsel. Darath. Sir Kurt. Elven spirits. Anyone. Please.

Please.

He reached out with his soul and poured everything he had into his fist touching the gate and the edge of the paper. Something tugged at him, hard. He refused to move as bodies briefly slammed into him before recoiling. His world shrank down to nothing but the ward.

He felt an awful tearing in his soul. There was a flash of light.

Tom's world turned white, and then black.