Alric watches the battlefield grimly.

  Militiamen thrust their spears wildly, boots slipping in churned snow and mud. Lines are frayed, broken in the chaos, but they still press forward, jabbing at skittering limbs and snapping mandibles, spurred on the the golden flame of their goddess. Arrows whistle overhead, some finding mark in bloated abdomens, others bouncing off hardened carapace. Gandre’s strategy lingers in motion—flank the beasts, delay them with shield and spear—but with barely two days to instill, the execution is poor at best..

  Brigands, sensing opportunity, dart along the periphery. They steer clear of the spiders but seize on distraction, cutting into militia flanks, dragging men down with axes and hammers. Confusion and chaos tear through the battlefield.

  One spider lunges, launching over a half-toppled shield line. Its legs clamp tight around a screaming youth. His spear clatters uselessly to the ground as mandibles sink into his chest. He thrashes, screaming until it becomes a bubbling gurgle, his insides melted to slurry. The creature drinks deeply, ichor and gore dripping from its fangs.

  Alric lowers his head at the sight, cold eyes closing as he repeats his prayer.

  O blessed Lumina, lady of light and virtue, grant thy strength unto these humble souls. Let thy fire dwell in their steel, that it may not falter, though their arms grow weak. Let it purge the vileness from this fielde of blood. Burn away the corrupt and the wretched.

  He does not look up, though he hears the steel, the screams, the screeching monstrosities. Still, his prayer remains paramount. So long as he continues, the faithful fight on. Lumina’s flame will aid their blades, a ward against the foul sorcery at work here.

  "Gnnnrghh!!"

  Without warning, a spider bursts from the side, leaping with unnatural speed. Alric barely registers the movement before it slams into him, breaking his prayer. They crash into the snow, its jagged legs locking around his body as they tumble.

  Lumina, shield me.

  Mandibles stab downward, scraping across his mail, each strike glancing off with a flare of golden fire. The beast recoils with a screech, smoke hissing from its scorched fangs.

  Alric rolls to his knees, face grim with disgust. The old cleric rises slowly, snow clinging to his mail, flail hanging low in one hand.

  He looks at the creature coldly, voice ringing with imperious authority as he speaks not just to the beast, but to the dark will behind it. “To strike at the faithful mid-prayer is sacrilege, even for the damned.”

  Alric steps forward through the snow. The spider hesitates as he approaches, bestial instinct raging at the sight of him.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  "But take heart, wretch, for the mercy of Lumina the Magnanimous extendeth to all. I shall free thy creature from its monstrous shell. May thou repent now in its stead."

  Alric closes in on the retreating spider, mumbling a low prayer. He feels the weight of his faith settle into his arm. Fierce and absolute.

  The spider, finally cornered, lunges, legs splayed to engulf the priest once more.

  "HRmmm!!!"

  But it meets his flail instead, the weapon snapping up in a brutal underhand swing, catching beneath its mandibles and shattering them with a sickening crunch. Alric steps in, hammering again, this time into the the top of its head. Its eye splatter, crushed under the weight of the thin priest's mighty blow.

  Golden flame erupts from the wound, devouring the creature in a burst of divine fire as it collapses in a heap of curling smoke.

  Be freed, creature.

  Alric stands over the smoldering corpse, muttering thanks to the goddess. But as his eyes lift from the fallen foe, he sees the grim result of its interruption.

  All around him, men begin to falter, shrinking back, eyes wide with terror. The light has fled their blades and their bodies, his broken prayer leaving them bare to face the dark sorcery.

  Alric watches in silence, expression blank, his eyes cold as stone. He lowers his head once more.

  “Forgive them, O Goddess, for the frailty of their hearts, for the sin of weakness. Grant them thy light once more.”

  A faint shimmer kindles in a few blades, his blessing renewed... but it is too late. The men are broken. The light dies again, smothered by the creeping dread, the fear coiling around and choking their faith. And without faith, the goddess's blessing can do little.

  Already, nearly a third have broken ranks, fleeing through the broken gate, only to be run down by the crawling horrors. With the tide turned, the spiders and brigands now outnumber the men of Ravencroft, almost two to one, and more fall by the minute.

  “STAND FAST!”

  Edwin roars, his voice cutting through the chaos like a clarion. His sword blazes with divine fire, ichor crackling as it burns away on the holy blade. Sparks leap from it as if answering his fury.

  He hurls Edric back with a shoulder, then lifts the greatsword high above his head. “FOR YOUR FAMILIES, FOR YOUR HOMES, FOR RAVENCROFT!”

  A golden glint ripples down a few blades, courage creeping back into trembling hands. Though many still back away, despair closing in around their hearts.

  But then, another voice resounds, bold and clear, echoing Edwins.

  “FOR RAVENCROFT!”

  Daniel barrels into the courtyard at the head of his guardsmen, blade raised high. Behind him surge fresh militiamen, faces drawn but unbroken, their arrival slamming into the chaos like a wave. On the walls above, his archers take position and let fly, arrows raining upon brigand and beast alike, cutting them down mid-fight.

  A roar of panic spreads through the enemy ranks as one militiaman hoists a bloodied spear—Bran’s severed head mounted at the top. The brigands waver, eyes wide at their fallen leader and the onrush of new fighters. They step back, half at the brink of retreat, murmuring among themselves—"Bran..." "The lieutenant..." "They killed him..."—their voices trembling with fear and disbelief.

  “ANY MAN WHO RUNS WILL BE FED TO THE SPIDERS! STAND AND FIGHT, YOU MOTHERLESS CURS! FIGHT!!”

  Edric bellows across the field, crashing his blade against Edwin’s in renewed fury.

  Alric stands watching once more as the battle flares anew. The brigands spurred on by fear and greed. The men of Ravencroft fuelled with determination and faith.

  Steel clashes. Voices roar. The shrieks of monsters echo across the yard. No man flees. Neither side willing to yield, throwing forth all that they have in the name of victory.

  He tightens his grip on the flail, watching as the tide crashes again, readying another prayer.

  For the battle is far from over.