Line

Riley was fighting valiantly in the breach. Despite his reluctance to kill, his drive to defend the city won out. He struck down foe after foe, trying to leave them incapacitated but alive when he could. It was a grueling task. Killing each would have been easier; his father's fighting style was honed to be lightning fast and deadly.

Slowing enough to avoid killing blows was costing him both energy and defense. He grimaced as the tip of a spear grazed his collarbone.

Those blasted spears had more reach than his sword. The wooden palisades became almost more of a hindrance than a help; while they channeled the Rhone inward, the Klain army couldn't stay close to them for cover from the arrows or a spear would jab through unexpectedly.

The battle was one of attrition. The archers on both sides were taking heavy losses from targeting one another. The ballistae continued their onslaught at the soldiers on the wall, but Riley was safe from the bolts here in the breach; the two armies were intermixed enough that the Rhone did not dare shoot here for fear of hitting their own men.

Spinning again as two Rhone tried to flank him, Riley realized that the Klain troops were thinning. He glanced backwards. Had the line broken? Were the Rhone getting through into the city?

No, another horn would blow if that were the case, calling any remaining reinforcements stationed throughout the city at other tasks to come to their aid.

Riley swung his sword to deflect another spear's jab. His collarbone stung where the last one had struck him. A chilling thought broke through the melee into his mind. If their spears were coated in some sort of magical poison, the Fae's magic-cancelling barrier would stop it from working, wouldn't it?

Using the full momentum of the swing, he let the tension in his body pull the sword back towards him to cleave the spear in half. Better just to not be stabbed anymore than to find out for sure.

The black eyes of the enemy were unnerving, moreso because they were the only part of the Rhone's faces that were visible. Were their visages disfigured, or inhuman? The ones who burned his village, he had only seen from afar. The spy impersonating The Provider had looked otherwise normal, hadn't he?

Riley took a chance and feinted back before thrusting forward in a flash. He caught the edge of the nearest Rhone's face covering with the tip of the sword and sliced it off, leaving a small, nonlethal wound on the man's cheek.

Well, that answered that question. The man roared in rage and barreled toward Riley. Though his spear was broken, in a flash a curved sword was in his hands.

Riley's eyes widened in concern. He'd just gotten used to fighting the spears. This weapon was unfamiliar, as was the fighting style it used. Riley widened his stance and shifted his weight forward.

He felt a presence behind him and shuffled to the side just in time to avoid a spear tip that would have pierced his heart. Quickly raising his arm and then clamping it down on the shaft of the weapon, he caught it before it could be withdrawn, then spun, wrenching it from the enemy's grasp.

He used the spear as a javelin, throwing it at the quickly retreating enemy he'd just stolen it from. He wasn't used to the tools; the spears of Klain were largely ceremonial in nature, not primary weapons of warfare.

Still, since the distance was short, his aim was true, and the spear pierced the man's thigh. Assuming no major arteries had been pierced, Riley had hopefully taken the man out of the battle without killing him. He didn't have time to dwell on that, and continued his turn back to his original opponent.

He saw just in time that the curved blade was now sweeping down towards his skull, and ducked to swipe a blow at the Rhone's unguarded midsection.

The slash met its mark a little too deeply, and the man gurgled out a cry of pain and his black eyes searched Riley's for mercy. Riley winced but had no time to mourn the imminent demise of his enemy.

Having realized he was in danger and capable of being surrounded, Riley retreated quickly to the line Klain now held, deep within the breach. The wall was thick, and so the hole blasted through it created a wide trench where the troops held their ground as well as they could... but the more men that fell, the further Klain was pushed back.

The Rhone were almost within reach of punching through the line and into the city. The reinforcement horn rang out in the night, confirming just how dire the situation was. Riley raised his sword and let out a battle cry. The men closest to him joined the sound of fury, hoping to reinforce their waning courage as, in the distance, more Rhone soldiers poured from the Darkness.

_____________

Peter roused from his sleep at the sound of the distant horn. He ached terribly, and sat up in the dim light of a lamp in the corner. Looking around the area, he saw that several cots were occupied by other injured soldiers. He did not recognize the room he was in.

A cup was on the table near his head, and he reached for it. He grimaced as he lifted his arm, and looked down to see a clean bandage surrounding the gash on his bicep. He briefly blushed and blinked at it. Had he dreamed that Mayra had torn her petticoat and wrapped his wounds in it? What a strange and embarrassing thing to have imagined.

Just then, the girl from his musings walked in the door with a tray holding a fresh pitcher of water and clean bandages.

"Oh! You're awake, Peter," She whispered, so as not to wake the others. "You look flushed," She went on with concern, placing her hand on his forehead, which only deepened the color. "Are you feverish?"

"No, um, I'm fine." He whispered back, attempting to smile. "I need to go. The reinforcement horn just sounded."

"Go?" Mayra's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Where would you go? And how would you be any help there?"

"To the breach," Peter said, as if it were obvious, "I would help fight." He still had one good arm. He could wield a sword.

"Haven't you saved enough lives for one day?" Mayra refilled his water cup and held it forward for him to drink. He took it with his good arm and drank deeply.

"It's night now," He gestured toward the window. "Time for more saving."

Mayra chuckled softly. "You're something else. I tell you what. You seem to be in a fair mood, so I'll help you get dressed--"

Peter noticed with humiliation that his bloody shirt had been cut away to properly care for his wounds, and grimaced.

"--And I might let you sit in a chair in the front room. You can be the last line of defense for the wounded soldiers here. But you're not going out to fight on the front lines. Dr. Sherman would skin me alive if I let a patient escape." Mayra grinned at him.

"You're going to help me get dressed?" He tugged the sheets higher on his chest, causing Mayra to roll her eyes.

"I have five brothers. You'll be fine." She retrieved a fresh shirt from the drawer and held it forward by the shoulders, open, so that he could easily slide into it. She even daintily turned her head away and closed her eyes to preserve his adorable teenage modesty.

He sat up with a groan and stood, squinting to make sure Mayra's eyes were tightly shut as he shimmied his injured arm, then his healthy one, into the sleeves. The bottom buttons of the shirt were easy enough, but when he tried to lift his hands to get the higher ones, his bicep strongly protested.

Reluctantly, he turned around. "Mayra, do you think you could--" but she was already deftly fastening each button, then patted him gently when she was done.

"That was fast." He blinked at her.

"Five brothers, four of them younger. I have done up more shirt buttons than most people have dreamed of." She smiled at him, but he frowned.

"I'm older than you." He was fairly confident of this, given that she was his own height, and he was quite short for his age.

"Barely. Ashley said you joined the minute you turned 16. I'm fifteen, and a button is a button." She swiftly filled the water cups of the other wounded in case they awoke, and checked each for signs of distress or immediate medical need, then gestured for Peter to follow her.

"Where's my sword?" He asked as they entered a sitting area with a table and chairs.

"Please, you think I'm a moron? I'll give it to you when I think we might be in enough danger to rely on your injured skills to protect us."

Another horn sounded from the breach. The reinforcement horn called desperately for aid.

"Let me go get it."