The Hedge Wizard

Bud gazed up at Goldcross Keep, heart pounding. He glimpsed figures atop the battlements—demons, devils, imps, and gods knew what other foul evil awaited them.

Two days had passed since the battle for Fort Nordric when they had repelled the demonic assault, and he had barely stopped since. There was no rest for the Chosen. They had a duty to protect, serve, and purge the demonic plague that had come to their land.

Exhaustion meant nothing. There was only the mission.

This small group of monsters had not been part of the main assault. Many such clusters had spread across the land, claiming vacant forts and farmhouses before launching attacks upon the roads and nearby villages.

While only a small fortification, Goldcross Keep was an important one. It was one of perhaps two dozen that guarded the Golden River, all of them vital to holding back the constant tide of beasts from the Fallen Lands. They could not allow this one to remain in demonic hands.

Bud swept his eyes over his company—ten heavy infantrymen, five light, eight archers, two sorcerers of Kelisia, and a warrior priest of Lady Light, serving as their healer, along with his assistant. All in all, they were just shy of thirty soldiers, all of them people of which Bud had complete faith. Most were not Chosen or practitioners, but simple soldiers, their mettle tested in the forge of battle.

“Are you ready?” Bud asked quietly.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Emilia said.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dylan said. “I could really do with a nap.”

Bud chuckled. He glanced over at the other squads. Isolde led the second company. She was a tall, sturdy woman with striking silver hair, clad in plate and mail armour enchanted to be light yet durable. With her was a group much like his own, a mixture of soldiers and Chosen.

And then there was Faelan—a hunter—leading his party of scouts and spies around the rear of the walls. Their task was to sneak in during the chaos and disrupt enemy fire.

Bud turned to the hill at his back, where Overseer Oswald and his advisors watched on. It was sheer coincidence that had seen Bud and his company assigned to his command—the same Oswald that had been in command at Bledsbury Dungeon. Bald headed, with a great gash through his left eye that left his iris white, he had a face that could send a bull running. He was a tough old wolf of a man, with a face marred by battle scars that showed a life of experience.

Even after a year and a half, Oswald had recognised him immediately. The man was no Chosen—he was a soldier that had worked up the ladder through sheer skill, strategic thinking, and leadership. He was the type of commander Bud wanted to follow, and he’d proven that much in Bledsbury.

Oswald raised an arm straight overhead, and then lowered it sharply.

It was time.

He breathed, feeling the beat of his heart. His fist clenched tightly on his longsword. He took in the sounds of his nervous soldiers at his side, of Isolde’s shouts across the road, of the distant mutterings of the demons.

A great horn trumpeted behind them, carrying with it a power that made Bud’s blood rage. The beat of drums boomed. A powerful voice joined the music, resonating and full of energy, the blessings of the god of music, Seta, carried in their singing. The air filled with streaks of multi-coloured light as his essence spread through the air, whirling to the beat of the drums.

Suddenly, any fear or apprehension was gone from Bud, replaced by serene focus.

Bud’s gauntlet clinked against his helmet as he lowered his visor and stared out through the slit at the keep before him. The wooden gates were closed, but that wouldn’t be a problem.

“Advance!” Bud roared.

He was the first to move, marching to the beat of the drums, leading his company from the front. He felt power in the music. It pounded through his veins, pulsed through his soul. Fully armoured in plate, he feared nothing. He was a fourth circle Chosen of Kelisia—a Knight of Frostfire—the demons should fear him.

The sound of metal and feet filled the air as his men moved at either side of him. The heavy infantry remained in line, while his sister knight, Henrietta, led their light infantry up the left flank. They carried two wooden barriers with them, blessed by Gideon to resist magic and designed to give the archers some cover. Isolde’s company mirrored their movement from across the road, targeting a damaged section of wall where the demons must have first breached the keep.

As they neared the walls, Dylan channelled his Aspect of the Bear blessing. The astral form of the magnificent beast towered over him, eclipsing him for just a moment. Dylan became larger, his muscles swelled.

“Let’s do this!” he snarled, his voice deeper now. Then he released Nature’s Spring, filling the air with the green and natural essence of Krioc, enhancing the strength, stamina, healing, and durability of everyone there.

The chant of Gideon, their warrior priest, joined the music, channelling the blessings of Lady Light and adding to their enhancements. It shrouded their weapons and shields in a golden aura, imbuing them with magical energy. Henrietta did the same, using Frostfire Veil to shroud everyone’s armour in a layer of ice.

The result was a concoction of blessings from four gods, all working together to enhance them. Surrounded in such power, even the most ordinary soldier was a terror to the weaker demons, and they knew it.

Bud heard their cries of alarm atop the walls. Fear spread through the keep and the battle hadn’t even started yet. If there was one thing he had learned of these beasts in his time in Fort Nordric, it was that the only thing that could measure up to their evil was their cowardice.

“Do not falter!” came an inhuman bellow, loud and powerful. “Hold the walls. Death to those that falter!”

A faint ripple ran through Bud’s soul at the sound, but the blessings surrounding him weakened it to almost nothing. Still, it was quite powerful.

“What do you reckon?” Dylan asked.

“Sounds like a fiendlord,” Emilia said. “Don’t know what one would be doing out here though.”

“It won’t matter once it’s dead,” Bud said.

A moment later, the battlements brimmed with fireballs, gathering in the air above. So many, the wind howled, and a fiery roar came with it. The imps threw them. Flaming streaks descended upon them, becoming twisted and weak as they passed through the musical veil before crashing into blessed shields and armour.

Bud glanced down the line to see none injured from this wave, but more would come. Soon, the air was thick with the acrid, bitter smell of burning, and that rotten egg stench that always came with demons.

Henrietta had the barricades in place now. Archers rushed in behind them as Beatrix called for them to take up positions.

“Arrows!” she shouted, loosing her own. “Bring them down.”

They whizzed overhead, felling the demons above. The walls filled with pained cries, followed by the cheers of Bud’s own troops.

They were near the gate now and well within projectile range. They had to move faster.

“It’s your turn, Dylan,” Bud said.

A monstrous grin spread across the druid’s face, one that didn’t fit the man. He broke pace, speeding up until he was full on running at the gate.

“Charge!” Bud roared, trailing behind him with his own men.

Dylan didn’t slow down as he reached the gate, lowering his shoulder toward it, essence gripping him as he barrelled straight into it. There was no resisting a fourth circle Chosen. The wooden gate was blown from its hinges with a thunderous boom, flying back into the waiting demon force, felling many in a moment.

A second horn bellowed within the castle—Faelan’s squad was on the walls. Bud caught a glimpse of them. An imp was thrown from the battlements, screaming as it fell before going silent as it hit the ground. A figure of shadows moved, a whirlwind of daggers carving the demons apart—Lysandra, another Chosen amidst Faelan’s party.

And then the wall obscured them from sight. Bud turned his gaze back to the gate and the frantically gathering demons. Bloodhorrors, imps, hellhounds, winddevils—all sorts of creatures gathered there, snarling and screeching. Some had swords, others teeth and claws.

“Two lines!” Bud ordered his men. The heavy infantrymen on the outside falling back a step, and taking up positions behind the front row.

Demons crowded around Dylan, but the druid slammed into them with his staff, wielding it like a club. Emilia roared at Bud’s side, rapier and buckler in hand as she sped up. Red light gleamed from her blade, and then she was upon the demons, lunging and stabbing. Wind thundered with her speed.

Bud and the other heavy knights caught up with them then, Heart of Frostfire rising around him, granting him strength and lashing out at any nearby. Demons screamed as the ice crept up their bodies, clawing at their feet and gripping them in place. He swung his sword at anything he could, lopping off arms and heads, piercing hearts, purging the filth before him.

“Fight!” came another monstrous roar.

Bud’s eyes found the fiendlord. It towered over the other demons, eight feet tall. It had pink, scaly skin, and arms that were far too long for its body. Spikes of bone protruded from its forearms, leading to five long claws.

Channelling Frostfire Surge, Bud shot toward it, carving through the demon line and leaving a trail of cold fire in his wake. He thrust for its heart, trying to kill it before it could react, but the creature was fast. It managed to block the blow with its bone spikes, but screamed in pain as frostfire licked at its flesh. It lashed out at Bud with its other arm, but his Armour of Ice was ready. A piercing shard of ice crystalised and erupted from his arm, stabbing through its flesh.

It fell back, screaming, but Bud did not slow. He stepped into it, slicing apart a helldemon that threw itself at him, before following it up with another swing. His blade found the creature’s chest, carving it open down the centre. It screamed, falling to the ground where it writhed as ice formed along the wound, crystal shards pressing deeper into its flesh until finally it went still.

The fiendlord was dead. Turning to the rest of the keep, the already panicked demons were in complete disarray now. The keep was as good as theirs.

***

Bud strode through his company, congratulating the men, clapping them on the shoulders, and checking all were okay. They’d suffered a few injuries in the battle, most being superficial with a Chosen of Lady Light with them, however one of the younger guys, Len, had suffered a broken leg and some bad burns. He’d be alright but it would be a while before he saw battle again.

“Oh, that doesn’t look good,” Dylan said, nodding toward the walls.

Oswald strode toward them, Isolde and Faelan both with him. His face was dark. It was the look of someone that had realised they had a problem.

“Kelisia give me strength,” Bud muttered under his breath. “It never ends.”

“Go on,” Emilia said. “You’d best see what’s going on.”

His chest tightened. It was a feeling he was getting used to. Every time Henrietta came to him with something to complain about, or when his company was short on rations, or when one of his men were wounded. It made his stomach twist into a knot that just didn’t leave him.

That was the price of being in charge. Every problem was his now.

Isolde looked wide awake. Her silver hair was bloodied from the battle, but she wore a smile on her face. She was a leader Bud respected. She led from the front, fighting shoulder to shoulder on the front lines with a longsword, much like him, only she was a Chosen of the wind god, Seres.

Faelan was a lean, rugged man with unkempt brown hair that cascaded wildly over his head and shoulders. He was a martial practitioner, expert hunter, and one of the few that commanded a party of Chosen.

“What’s happened?” Bud asked.

“There was an ambush on the North Road,” Oswald said. “Demons were in the woodland nearby and caught six squads of the king’s men while out on patrol—all of them were killed.”

Bud sighed. “Oh no.”

“The demons will still be in the area,” Isolde said.

“General Daston agrees,” Oswald said. “He’s ordered me to send men to assist.” He glared out across the rocky landscape. Beyond it was the road. “I want you to find them and take them out. They couldn’t have made it far.”

“Could they not?” Isolde asked. “Seems they could be anywhere.”

“Wherever they are, we’ll find them,” Bud said. “The gods are with us. And we have Faelan.”

Oswald gave another shake of his head. “You will need to make do without Faelan.”

“Sir?” Faelan asked, sounding confused.

“Your talents have been requested in Fort Nordric. It seems the demons managed to infiltrate the fortress and the inquisition are beginning an investigation into how. You’re to be involved.”

“Can it not wait?” Faelan asked.

“I’m afraid not. It seems they suspect the demons may have had help getting into the city.”

“Human help?” Bud asked, a rekindling anger in him.

“Possibly. The inquisition are involved. I know nothing more, but Faelan and his party will be helping with this investigation. He’ll be returning with me. Robert, Isolde, can you make do?”

The image of demons appearing in the streets behind his squad was still a vivid memory. The bitter stench of fire. The snarls and cackling. And the screams. Kelisia help him… the screams.

Burning eyes gleamed orange in the night as the red flesh monsters came at them. Bud had taken control of the breached wall, pushing back a wave of demons that had flooded in over the moat. They were gaining ground until they’d been ambushed from the rear. One moment, victory was in their grasp, the next, his people were dying all around him. Ten more of his company had fallen. Fourteen in three months.

No more.

Bud nodded. “We’ll find a way to make it work.”

“My own scouts should be able to track them down,” Isolde said. “We’ll manage.”

“Good. Then I shall look forward to your safe return this evening.” He nodded a goodbye, and then made preparations to leave. The wounded would need to be escorted back to Fort Nordric, and a few reserves were needed to hold this keep.

Bud’s attention went elsewhere. He turned back to his company. Most of his men were resting, celebrating the victory. He hated that there was still more for them to do. Dylan, Emilia, and Henrietta were all watching him, each looking exhausted. They were going to love this.