Part 2 is now up. Read it here
Then finish the story with Part 3
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“Put up your wards! They’re coming,” Bight shouted, dropping off the top of the stone wall and back into the fortress. He drew his pair of long daggers and cast a glance over his shoulder.

Behind him, a cloaked figure facing away had a long, white staff raised over its head. Chanting filled the air, a stream of strange words with no meaning calling to the sky.

“Better hurry, they have a mage leading their attack.” As if the staff had heard Bight’s command, it began spewing liquid-like silver streams. The fountain shot twenty feet into the air, where it stopped and began forming a large, transparent dome.

“What’d you see? What’s their plan?” A young woman stepped through a freestanding archway. Pointed ears stuck out from Deep black hair that hung loosely around her shoulders. A thin silver band set with a single glowing emerald held the raven locks close to her head. Shining mail covered her torso, hanging almost to her knee-high leather boots. At her side hung a sleek shortsword and in her hand she grasped a white bow.

“I counted five of them. A Mage and two Archers. The other two had to have been the Knights; they were well armored,” Bight said.

“Yeah? Which Mage? They have an Icecaster and a Firecaster, don’t they?”

“They do. I didn’t get a good look though, too many shadows.”

The woman turned toward the cloaked figure. “Better prepare for both types of magic then, Serk.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, Div,” the Wizard said, breaking his chanting. “Let me concentrate.”

“Wasn’t one of their Archers magic as well?” Bight asked.

“Yeah. Better prepare for that too, Serk,” Div said.

The Wizard didn’t respond, having taken up his spell once again. When the silver dome reached the ground around the fortress it disappeared completely. Serk lowered his staff and turned around. His young green eyes were clouded with exhaustion.

“Alright, rest up, we may need your abilities again during the fight,” Bight said.

“Definitely will.” Another young man bounded around one of the walls. His full suit of bronze-colored plate armor clanged as he bobbed to a stop. The helmet grasped in his hand bounced on his broadsword’s scabbard.

“Pross, why aren’t you at your position?” Bight asked.

“Three more of them are flanking us, including their Firecaster. They brought their Thief to help them scale the walls.”

Bight cursed. “Alright, change of plans: Serk, you’re with me and Pross to fight off those three. Div, you’re in charge up here with Scrie and Sig.”

“Why does she get to be in charge?” A female voice called through one of the archways.

“Because I said so. We don’t have time to argue about this. Everyone into positions.” Bight jogged along the outer wall of the fortress, skirting the dark building sitting in the center.

“Good luck, yeah?” Div said to Pross.

“Yeah, you too,” he said, grinning at her. After fitting his helmet back over his head, he followed Bight. Serk groaned as he took up the rear.

“Think the others made it through to their base?” Pross asked as they ran.

“I hope so. If they did, then they should be able to take it, four on two is pretty good odds. We just need to hold out until they get back,” Bight said.

“And if they didn’t?”

“Then we have to hold the enemy off anyway. Quit worrying about them and worry about our problems. You said their Thief and their Firecaster are flanking, who’s the third?”

“I don’t know, he wore a cloak. I think it was an elf though.”

“Probably their Healer.” Bight slid to a halt under an arch and fixed his eyes on the top of the wall a few yards ahead of them. A masked figure hoisted himself on top of it and stared at the three companions. “Serk.”

“I still need to recharge,” the Wizard said.

“Fine, I’ll get him.”

“Sure that’s safe?” Pross asked.

“He’s just a Thief. And as long as the Firecaster is outside the ward, he can’t hurt me. Assuming Serk’s wards are strong enough.” Bight twirled his daggers and ran at the Thief. The other man ignored him, reaching an arm over the outside of the wall. Bight stopped underneath his target and frowned. He couldn’t reach high enough to do any damage. Sheathing both of his weapons, he grabbed a protruding stone and began his climb.

The Thief hoisted one of his allies onto the wall before Bight could finish his climb. The newcomer’s body was hidden in the folds of an orange robe. Rolling out from under the bright hood was a nest of hair of nearly the same color. A wicked grin split the Mage’s teenage face as he raised his arms.

Bight cursed and dropped to the ground. He stumbled away from the wall and looked up into the burning glow of a fireball. His skin crawled under the heat and his lungs screamed as the flames stole their oxygen. Just as the hairs on his face burned away, a burst of silver hit the fireball from the side and both vanished.

Serk lowered his staff and leaned against it.

The opposing Firecaster grunted. A spark ignited in his palm and grew into a convulsing orb of fire.

Bight took off along the wall. The ground behind him exploded with heat as he slid through an archway. He scrambled behind the pillar and took a deep breath.

A chill ran up his spine, bringing with it a sudden fatigue. He leaped into the air, landing lightly on the nothing that solidified beneath him. After pausing for only a moment suspended above the ground, he jumped a second time. A third put him on the top of the wall.

A quick survey told him the Mage and the Thief were no longer his sole opponents atop the bulwark; the cloaked elf had joined them during his climb. The Thief crouched between the others, knives drawn. The elf was brushing chips of stone from his cloak. The Firecaster had his back turned to Bight and was nursing a new fireball to full size. He thrust his arms forward, propelling the flames at Serk. The Wizard caught it with the end of his staff, where it fizzled out. Both magicians stepped back and crouched, their chests heaving.

Bight took the opportunity to slide a knife from his belt and hurl it at the enemy Mage. Despite his lingering fatigue, the throw was strong. But not strong enough. A blurred form plucked the projectile from the air.

The shapeless mass of color stopped, taking form. The elf, no longer hidden by his cloak, grinned at him, then disappeared back into a swirling pallet. Light glinted off the blade of the knife as it shot from the vortex, tip aimed at its owner’s chest.

Bight’s spine froze. A cloud fell on his mind. The weapon aimed at him slowed to a near stop. Behind it, the elf reformed in the midst of a backward leap. The other warriors slowed as though the air had turned to syrup.

Bight reached out and grasped the tip of the knife. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it spinning casually back toward the elf. Its new target watched, hands behind his back, until it came within arms reach, then he snatched it up and redirected it at Serk’s hunched form. In return, Bight hurled a second knife at the Firecaster.

The elf’s hand shot toward the new threat. Inches away from the blade, it hit syrup. His lips pursed in slow motion as the knife passed by his fingers and buried itself in the Mage’s shoulder.

Bight bounded across the wall, drawing one of his daggers. Just before he reached his mark, the rest of the world sped up to meet him. The Firecaster spun to engage him, only to find the dagger already piercing his eye.

Withdrawing the still shining blade, Bight danced backward. The move brought him out of reach of the shortsword now wielded by the elf. A swift kick connected with his opponent’s leg, tumbling the warrior off the wall and to Pross’ feet.

His celebratory cry was cut short as a knife plunged into his throat.

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Read Part 2 here