This is Episode 2-11 of a serial urban fantasy & paranormal story.

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Part 2-11: Knights

I got to my feet, polearm braced against my left arm and held out, rapier ready on my ring hand. There was no time to think, to wonder if I was even holding stuff the right way. The first knight charged at me, heaving its blade in a great diagonal swing, meaning to halve me from shoulder to thigh.

I cringed and put the polearm in the path of the attack. The sword cut right through it and through me; I shrieked at the speed of it. The knight finished its swing and stumbled, off balance. Its sword was gone and I was still holding a fully intact polearm. Some dark feathers flitted past. The knight’s sword had been feather-ified. Superpowers confirmed.

“Hell yeah,” I said. I twisted and jabbed the knight with the rapier. It pushed through the armor like it was made of cotton candy, and the knight started to dissolve like it as well, spewing a mess of feathers as it did.

A flash of yellow caught my eye. The other knight was locked in combat with the Jailer. Our guide blocked slashes and jabs with his bare hands, sparks flying off him with each impact like he was made of metal. His face strained with the effort, and a big overhead strike from the knight sent him to his knees.

“Hey asshole!” I said, and ran at it, blades facing forward. It turned, squaring off with me. I had a quick debate on whether to try and throw the polearm with my awkward left arm or keep running at it—then the polearm spit a few bolts of light from its tip. They missed the knight, but it flinched and half ducked. It looked toward the centre of the room. I skidded to a halt, looking as well. Two more of them advanced, with more caution than the first keeners. Behind them stood the giant knight from the field. The Keeper, I presumed.

I pictured my rapier as being the length of the room, and slashed it in a wide arc at the incoming knights. A stream of puffy golden jets fanned out, like an overloaded roman candle. I cheered as they went diving to avoid them. One clipped a shoulder, sending up a cloud of plumage.

“Alena!” said the Jailer. He’d gotten back up and was struggling again with his opponent. Little sparks floated around its head, dancing and jabbing like wasps. The knight swatted at them with its free arm, while hacking and slashing at the Jailer. I wanted to be sure this time, so I dashed over and rammed the polearm into it.

As it crumpled in a heap of clanking metal and swishing feathers, I turned to the others, trying to spot where they’d ended up. I saw only the Keeper, stock still, watching.

“Walls, along the walls,” said Persi. She had crawled near, and pointed.

One scuttled from the left, and the other came from the right. They were about a third of the way up, picking along, deft as spiders, probably hoping to get the drop on us from behind.

“I’ll take the left,” said the Jailer.

I nodded, and lifted the rapier, trailing the tip of it along the knight’s path, leading it by a hair. I pictured it flying from my hand and impaling it. I felt my whole arm tingle—maybe it had been tingling the whole time—and bright explosion blew the knight off the wall. It crashed into the floor and rolled, but it didn’t die or dissolve.

I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. The left knight was stuck and squirming, its torso seemingly fused with the wall. The Jailer grunted, arms outstretched and trembling.

“Allow me,” I said, and pointed again.

This time, the explosion blasted it into the familiar fluff.

My knight was getting back to its feet. I aimed again, but before I could fire, it turned a bright shade of blue and started to melt.

“That’s new,” I said.

“That’s not you,” said the Jailer.

The Keeper took a heavy step forward as the knight became a blue puddle. The liquid swam over to her and snaked up one massive leg. It split in two at the chest piece, moving along her arms, pooling in her hands.

“Not this again,” I said, bracing to shield myself from another bombardment. “Get behind me.”

But the Keeper didn’t fling any hellfire. The blue light in her left hand expanded into a large flat shape—a huge, towering shield the size of the Keeper herself. The other light protruded into a stubby haft, sprouted a glowing chain, then bloomed a misshapen, spiked ball that looked like a frozen glassy sea urchin.

I pointed the rapier.

“Wait, Alena, no!”

It tore out of my hand, flying straight at the Keeper. With a casual underhand swing, she batted it back to us with the spiky mace. The rapier spun in a lazy arc, and hit the floor in front of me, blasting into dust as it did.

“Oh,” I said.

The Keeper stretched her weapon arm toward me, palm turned up. Her middle finger curled off the handle.

 

Continued in Part 2-12

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