Chapter 27: The Battle of Ember Ravine, Part 3
The Wardens did not break.
The first wave had stumbled into mines, torn apart in the fog, but the second came steadier. Shields overlapped, torches raised high, boots crunching in rhythm as if the deaths before them had been no more than rehearsal. The ravine's choke glowed with firelight, smoke curling thick, the smell of iron and ash clinging to every breath.
Hale stood at the front with spear braced, eyes hard, voice steady. "Shields up. We hold."
Lysera flicked her wrist, a veil sliding across the mist to bend torchlight into lies, making the path ahead shimmer wrong. Noll tightened his ward until his teeth rattled, sweat pouring down his temples, but the barrier held like a wall of glass. Elvi crouched on the ridgeline, arrow nocked, waiting for the moment a throat showed itself between iron plates. And Thorek, hammer black with blood and soot, leaned forward with a grin that looked more like madness than joy.
The Wardens came anyway.
The first shield slammed against Noll's ward, ringing it like a bell. Sparks spat from the strain, Noll's knees shaking as he shoved both palms against the weave to steady it. Hale's spear darted through a gap, the point striking low under a man's arm, blood running hot down steel. The shield wall buckled, then surged again, boots pounding in rhythm.
"They learn," Lysera said, voice tight. "They push smarter this time."
"Then we push harder," Hale snapped.
Another impact rattled Noll's ward. He coughed, arms trembling, but before fear could take root Thorek bellowed a laugh and shoved past. The dwarf raised his hammer high, then stopped just short of swinging. His free hand dipped to his belt, where a rough steel orb gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
"Time she sang," Thorek growled, and he hurled it.
The grenade arced through the dark, a crude thing stitched together with rune scratched casing and powdered core dust inside. For a heartbeat it looked like a rock lobbed by a child. Then it struck the center of the shield wall.
The blast tore the ravine open.
Light flared white, the sound slamming into the rocks and echoing down the choke like thunder in a canyon. Shields splintered, bodies thrown back in sprays of dirt and blood. The air itself rang, hot shards peppering armor and skin alike. For a breath there was silence except for the ringing in their ears, and then men screamed, stumbling, broken.
Noll sagged with relief as the pressure on his ward eased. Lysera's veil rippled, almost breaking from the concussion. Elvi blinked smoke from her eyes, lips parting in shock, before loosing a clean arrow into the chaos.
"By the Forge," Thorek roared, chest heaving, beard blackened by soot, "did you hear her sing? That's a hymn worth bleeding to!"
Elvi spat on the ground, not taking her eyes off the next target. "One day you'll kill us all, dwarf."
"Then I'll do it smiling," Thorek barked back.
The brief reprieve ended fast. More Wardens pressed from the fog behind, driven by horns and chants. Their captains shouted orders, voices cracking over the chaos. The shield wall reformed with brutal discipline, even as men lay groaning in the dirt behind them. They shoved forward, boots slipping on blood slick stone, but the chant steadied them, hard and unyielding.
Hale's jaw tightened. "They've seen worse. They won't stop."
Another volley of spears arced overhead, hissing through the fog. Lysera wove a veil midair, scattering most wide, but one struck Hale's shoulder hard enough to dent steel. He grunted, teeth gritting, and tore it free with blood running down his arm.
"They're testing the choke," Elvi called, loosing again. Her arrow slipped between two helmets, dropping a torchbearer. The light sputtered, shadows bending wild, but another flame flared behind it to fill the gap.
Noll looked to Hale, panic in his eyes. "We can't hold if they press like this."
"Yes, we can," Hale growled. His spear caught another man in the thigh, driving him into the shield behind. "We hold, or we die. Simple."
The Wardens slammed into them again, shields hammering against ward and steel. Noll screamed with effort, the barrier cracking like ice under weight. The boy's arms shook so badly it looked like he'd collapse any moment.
Then Thorek grabbed another grenade.
"No, not yet," Lysera hissed, sensing the strain in the weave.
The dwarf ignored her, grin savage, and rolled the orb low this time. It clattered across stone, slipping under the front shields before a boot could stop it.
The blast blew upward, flame and dirt engulfing the first two ranks. The pressure slapped Noll's ward like a hand, but instead of breaking it gave him room to breathe. The front line shattered, men falling with armor blackened and faces screaming.
Hale seized the moment. "Forward! Break them!"
Thorek barreled into the gap with hammer swinging like a festival bell. Hale stabbed left and right, precise and ruthless. Elvi's arrows sang, each one threading chaos into clean death. Lysera's veil lashed out, dragging a spear aside so Hale's counter could pierce a throat.
For a heartbeat it looked like the ravine belonged to them.
Then horns sounded again, closer this time. More shadows pressed through the fog, more torches gleaming like angry stars. The Wardens did not falter.
"They'll keep coming," Lysera said, voice flat. "They have numbers enough to drown us."
Thorek snorted, sweat steaming off his face. "Then we drown 'em first."
Another grenade gleamed in his palm, but Hale lifted his spear across the dwarf's chest to block him. "Not yet. We use them when it counts." His eyes cut to Noll, who still trembled but stood. "Ward steady. Veil tighter. Arrows sharp. We make them bleed for every step."
The squad shifted, wounded but unbroken. The ground in front of them smoked from the blasts, corpses scattered among shattered shields. The ravine stank of blood and powder, a hell they had forged with their own hands.
And still the Wardens came.
The smoke didn't linger. Thornveil's damp air carried it away too quick, leaving only the stink of powder and blood. And in that clearing haze the Wardens came again, shields raised, boots thudding in rhythm like a drum they'd all sworn to.
"They don't stop," Elvi muttered from the ridge, bowstring tight. "Not for fire. Not for thunder. Not for their dead."
"They're Wardens," Hale said, spear braced, voice as steady as stone. "Stopping's not in the hymn."
The next volley of spears arced high. Lysera caught most with a twisting veil, turning their angles wrong so they clattered harmlessly against stone, but one slipped through and scored her arm. She hissed, blood streaking pale skin, then pressed harder into her weaving, eyes bright in the torchlight.
Thorek barked a laugh, hammer dripping. "Still breathing, elf? Saints, you're tougher than you look."
"Keep pushing," Lysera shot back, cold as the veil she snapped across a Warden's throat. "And you'll find out how much tougher."
The dwarf grinned wider.
Noll's ward shook under another shield slam. The boy clenched his jaw, muttering half learned mantras as if words alone could hold it steady. Hale's hand pressed briefly against his shoulder, a silent anchor, then Hale was gone again, spear thrusting clean and sharp.
Another grenade rolled low, clattering against boots. The Wardens jerked shields to smother it, but Lysera tugged a veil sideways, tricking them into leaving the real one untouched. The blast lit the choke like lightning, throwing two men clear into the fog.
But this time the rest didn't scatter. They surged forward, shields locked, using the bodies of their fallen to brace the line. Blood slicked the stone, but their rhythm didn't falter.
"They're adapting," Elvi called, loosing two arrows in quick succession. One found a gap in a helm, the other skipped uselessly off iron. "They'll take the blast if it means they get closer."
"Then we make close a bad idea," Hale snapped. His spear darted through a gap, catching a thigh, then withdrew as the shield slammed down.
The Wardens shoved harder.
Noll gasped as his ward cracked like glass under a hammer. His arms trembled, threads sparking in the air around him. "I, I can't"
"Yes, you can," Hale said, iron in his tone. "Hold."
Rook snarled low at the boy's feet, hackles high, silver eyes blazing. Noll grit his teeth, fed the fear into his threads, and the ward steadied with a hum that shook the air.
"Good lad," Hale said. Then his spear lunged again, pinning another soldier against the rock wall.
Thorek wasn't patient enough for pinning. He charged, hammer swinging in brutal arcs. The first shield cracked, the second bent, and the third man caught the flat of the dwarf's weapon across his jaw hard enough to fold him. Thorek roared with the effort, sweat cutting rivers through soot on his face.
"By the Forge, this is living!" he shouted.
Elvi loosed another arrow into the chaos. "It's dying if you don't watch your flank."
Thorek pivoted just in time, hammer smashing down on a spearhead aimed at his ribs. Sparks flew, the shaft snapping in two. The dwarf shoved the broken weapon back into its wielder's face and barked another laugh.
Lysera's veil flicked sharp, bending torchlight until the Wardens stabbed at shadows. She wove fast, but her arm bled freely now, dripping dark down her sleeve. She ignored it, lips pressed tight, eyes sharp with focus.
"They're pressing harder," she said. "Another line behind this one."
Elias wasn't here. No commander resonance, no voice in their bones. Just them, holding a ravine while the world threw iron and fire into their teeth.
"Then we bleed them dry," Hale said. His voice carried through the fog, calm and unbreakable. "Step back one pace. Keep the choke. Make them pay."
They stepped, precise, trained in the fire of necessity. The Wardens surged forward, shields slamming into the ward again, boots crunching on corpses underfoot. The ravine echoed with screams, steel, and the hum of threads straining against each other.
Another grenade in Thorek's hand. He grinned, thumb brushing the etched runes, then paused. His eyes flicked to Hale.
Hale nodded once.
The dwarf tossed it high this time, arcing over shields to land deep in the second line. The blast lit the ravine, thunder rolling, men thrown like dolls. The front line faltered, pressed from behind by their own wounded, and in that chaos Elvi's arrows found throats one after another.
"Push!" Hale barked.
Thorek smashed forward, hammer breaking shields like rotten wood. Hale's spear darted, sharp and merciless. Lysera's veil snapped again, blinding the next torchbearer so Elvi's arrow could finish the job. Noll screamed, voice cracking, but his ward held steady, burning with a brightness it hadn't known before.
The line wavered.
But horns sounded again.
From the fog came more torches, more boots, another line of shields. The Wardens were endless.
Elvi swore under her breath. "How many more?"
"As many as it takes," Hale said. He didn't falter, didn't blink, spear still ready. "But they'll remember Ember Ravine before they're done."
Thorek spat into the dirt, grinning like a man too far gone. "Good. Let the bastards sing about us."
Another slam against Noll's ward, another arrow loosed, another veil snapped into place. The battle was a rhythm now, brutal and endless. But the squad held, smoke and blood thick around them, the ground beneath their boots shaking with every blast and every step.
They were the line. And the line hadn't broken yet.
The caravan was chaos.
Shouts of Wardens clashed with the shrill cries of the children penned in the crude cage, the stink of sweat and iron heavy in the air. Elias stood in the mud, chest heaving, spear buzzing faintly with the rhythm of his Resonance Sense. The hum sang in his bones, sharper now, more insistent, like the Loom itself was testing him.
He had already cut down six men. Their bodies lay scattered across the path, torches guttering in the muck. But fourteen still pressed in, shields lifted, chants rolling low in their throats.
Too many. Too tight. Too disciplined.
The first lunged, shield forward, spear angled low. Elias pivoted, the point whistling past his ribs. His own spear hummed as he dragged vibration into the shaft, drove the tip down into the gap above the man's boot. Bone cracked, the Warden screamed, and Elias shoved him hard enough to send him sprawling.
Another came from the side, blade raised. Elias felt the thread in his ward snap into place a heartbeat before the strike landed. He cut it mid air, the weave unraveling like cloth undone. The man's swing slowed, faltered, and Elias rammed his spear butt into his jaw. Teeth cracked, blood sprayed, and the Warden crumpled into the mud.
Two down. Twelve left.
His chest burned, lungs straining. He wasn't dying like at Ashvale, but every cut dragged at him, each thread he severed pulling a piece of him away. Training had bought him time. But not enough.
"Hold," he growled to himself, knuckles white on the shaft. "Just hold."
The children whimpered behind the cage. One voice rose, a boy, sharp with fear. "Saint Caelus," he gasped, clutching the bars. "He's really cutting threads like Saint Caelus!"
The Wardens heard. Their rhythm faltered, eyes flicking to Elias with something sharper than hate now, fear.
Elias spat into the mud. "Not your saint," he muttered. Then he charged.
He drove into their line before they could reset, spear vibrating at a pitch that set teeth on edge. The first shield cracked, splitting like rotten wood. He shoved through, swung the butt into another man's throat, then stabbed clean through a third's ward before it could fully form. The weave shredded like wet parchment, his spear bursting through the man's chest.
Three more dropped. Nine left.
But they closed fast, cutting him off, torches painting the mud in hellfire orange. One slammed a shield into his shoulder. Pain flared white hot down his arm. Another struck low, blade cutting his thigh. Elias snarled, twisted, dragged fire into the air itself. Oxygen fed the blaze, heat surging into his palm. The spear's point flared bright, the edge a brand. He swept it in a low arc, and fire ripped through the mud, forcing them back in a crackling line.
The Wardens snarled like cornered wolves, but none stepped through the flame. For a heartbeat, the cage of children glowed in the firelight, wide eyes staring at him as if the Loom itself had risen to protect them.
The fire guttered. His strength guttered with it.
The Wardens roared and came again.
Elias stumbled back, boots slipping in muck. His thigh burned, blood soaking his pants. His ribs ached from the shield slam. His chest heaved, every breath dragging knives through his lungs. He cut another weave, a shield this time, and rammed his spear into the opening, but the strain blurred his vision, the hum in his chest deafening now.
Eight left.
A spear kissed his side, shallow but hot. Another slammed into his shoulder, biting deep into muscle. He gritted his teeth, twisted, and drove his spear down into the man's foot. The soldier howled, collapsed, and Elias finished him with a hard thrust to the throat.
Seven.
The next came from behind. Rook wasn't there. Elias spun too slow. The blade caught his back, shallow but cruel. He staggered forward, vision sparking. The cage loomed close. Small hands reached through the bars, as if they could steady him.
"Don't stop," the boy whispered. "Please. Don't stop."
Elias grit his teeth. Pain burned. Threads sang. His Resonance Sense flared, louder than before. He felt the weave in the ground, the tension in the air, the press of their wards closing around him. For one heartbeat, he saw it all, a net tightening, a dozen lines ready to snap shut.
And he cut.
Not one thread. Not one weave. A dozen, severed in a single violent breath. The world shuddered, the Wardens staggered, their chants breaking as if their own voices betrayed them. Weaves unraveled mid cast, light sputtering out.
The children gasped. One cried, "The Loom answers him!"
Elias snarled. "It's not the Loom. It's me."
But his knees buckled. His chest burned like fire. His spear felt like lead. The cut had cost him, more than he could afford.
Seven Wardens still circled, shaken but alive. Their eyes no longer burned with simple duty, now they gleamed with something dangerous, fear, and fury.
One raised his horn. Another drew a sigil of binding, shaky but forming.
Elias spat blood, lifted his spear with trembling arms, and laughed, low, bitter, defiant. "Come on, then. Let's finish it."
The Loom hummed in his chest, taut as a bowstring, ready to snap.
And far away, across the fog, the battle at Ember Ravine still raged.