Hugo came upon two
Lazular guards, poised with spears, and an old, fevered woman in rags. She was lashing out at the two with her nails, alternating between this and grasping the wall. So far, they merely kept her back with the shafts of their spears.
"Strike her!" one of them cried, a young boy with curls seeking to escape his helmet.
"Knock some sense into her."
"If you're so keen, why don't you strike her?" the other spat, a middle-aged woman with pauldrons shaped like two sphinxes, calm in their gaze when she was anything but.
"She's old enough to be my grandmother, I can't strike her!"
"What, and I can? What's that supposed to mean?"
"'Bout same age, aren't you?"
The female guard seemed about to strike some sense in the lad instead. But before she could satisfy her honour, Hugo stepped in, a shadow untethering from the wall. Both guards pointed their spears in his direction.
"Stand back!" the boy cried.
"Don't come any closer!"
Hugo studiously kept his hands on the pommels of his sheathed swords. His eyebrow perked up like a coil-spring, noting the poor state of their crinkled tabards and dirt-stained armour. Their discipline seemed about equally maintained, standing too far apart as spearmen.
The
drow attackers dwarfed him in both number and experience. It would be suicide to confront them by himself. The key to balancing the scales of this conflict was to marshal Lazular's defences. Whatever state it might be in.
"The woman is cursed, but not a threat. Bound by drow witchcraft." He nodded at the old crone, currently in the process of scratching out her nails against the wall.
"We can free all the citizens here. But I shall need the assistance of Lazular's finest."
Nevermind that the 'finest' Lazular seemed capable of producing was trigger-happy soldiers. But he wouldn't get anywhere if he named the truth.
"Gods' death, who in the blazes are you?" the female guard spat, shaking her spear at him. Hugo eyed her, and the bloodshot gaze of his potion-induced eyes silenced her. His blood was pumping frenetically through his veins, but he forced his poise to be calm, still as a rock.
"A stranger," Hugo said simply, holding her gaze.
"But one with the advantage of intelligence on your enemy. Gbáyọ̀dé and Monifa send me with this warning: They have come to make a twisted ritual of your city, turning Lazular's cradle into a bloody altar. They attack from the dark, killing any who cannot see them, herding the rest for their webs near the baobab tree. There lies the core of their dark power."
The two guards glanced at one another with recognition and alarm. Hugo's chin dipped, catching their look.
"You know this place. I need you to show me where it is." He pointed at the maddened crone, before his finger turned to the younger guard.
"You will assist me with securing her. I have found a house nearby where they can be safely stored. Then, you will show me to this tree."
He rounded on the older guard, who raised her weapon instinctually at him.
"You, find any comrades you can. The more superiors of your batallion, the better. Tell them to flood the streets with light - lamps, candles, torches, I don't care which. Avoid the darker alleys. The drow stick to them like rats. Tell them to meet us at this baobab tree."
The younger guard spat on the ground before him, near his boot. Hugo's glanced down at the spittle, his eyes narrowing before he sought the young, brash face that had produced it.
"Clear off! We don't listen to stray dogs. Why should we heed your words?"
Silence hovered about Hugo like a dangerous omen. Then, quicker than a snap, he drew his blades, keen edges and tips pointed down - for now. This rattled the guards, who stepped back nervously.
"Because if you don't, I shall end your miserable lives here and now. You would only be a hindrance." He stared at them both in turn, gaze feral with alchemy-induced impatience. His poise remained formal, straight as a pole, though one foot subtly shifted before the other.
"And trust me, I'm of no temper for hindrances. So which will it be?"
The guards stared at one another, considering. Should they fight this additional enemy, or humour him for now, at least until they could gather reinforcements?
The answer came from the woman's lips.
"Long blasted night, this. I don't need it longer." She threw her head in Hugo's direction.
"Go with him, Ato. I'll get the others. If he lies," her gaze trailed dangerously towards the dog bearing its fangs.
"Then he'll be sorry once the others are there."
Ato looked like he might complain, but no space was given for his protests, before his colleague ran off into the dark, armour and belts clattering, and Hugo had seized the crone by her shoulders, pushing her towards him. The boy sighed deeply, eyes closing with regret, and aided Hugo.
Hugo had gathered what survivors he could find. Now, the time had come to end the incursion itself.
***
"There," Ato said, pointing at the old baobab tree at the end of the street.
"Lazular's breath, it's flooded with them."
The boy was right. Drow teemed the square like stalking spiders in the distance. Behind the tree, the abandoned house loomed, winking with sporadic lights of a magical nature. Herds of other shadows, lugging around ponderously like addled sheep, made it to this building.
Hugo and Ato were hiding behind a stack of crates and an empty booth, below an awning. At day, it served as a stall. Tonight, it served as their cover.
Hugo planted a large hand on the boy's shoulder, and the boy startled.
"Good work, Ato. We are near to settling this. Now, we should--"
The approach of heavy boots, clattering armour and cocking hand-cannons interrupted him. Hugo and Ato turned, watching the force that the female guard had managed to gather.
Two dozen or so, heavily armed with pikes, axes and spears. Hugo had hoped for more. Their leader stepped forward, a man as broad as a cart, his gut spilling over his double belt, though his trunk-like arms bristled with muscle. Hugo was surprised to see him eschew armour, but couldn't blame him in this clammy heat. A turban-like headpiece swirled a broad, loose strand of satin cloth past his shoulder, like a half-cape. A fierce moustache grew past his mouth and covered his cheeks, twitching like a living creature as he spoke:
"So, you're the errant sellsword ordering my forces about, hm?"
Hugo rose reluctantly, afraid the drow would see them.
"I wa--"
"I care not two shits about your reasons, stranger. I've heard your intelligence, and I'm here to slaughter these drow, like a pack of soot-covered swine. They've butchered enough of my lot." The commander stared menacingly at Hugo, daring him to open his mouth again.
"Now your information best be true, or I'll be hanging you by your entrails. Are we clear?"
Hugo bowed his head. He knew this man's sort. An officer out to prove his worth, seeking to rise in his rank. He would broker no disrespect or challenge to his ways, and the amount of weapons at his back meant Hugo would be as good as dead if he offended him.
"We are, sir. I will add my blade to your cause."
The commander's stare lingered on him, searching for any dissent in his tone. Hugo kept his gaze lowered. Satisfied he could find none, he grunted, and led his soldiers forward with a flick of his hand. They formed a front of spears and hand-cannons, preparing to stab and blast anything in their path.
"Good. Watch our rear and flanks, then. We shall finish this now."
Hugo's eyes widened. That fool! A frontal assault? The drow reveled in trickery and traps. Did this commander know nothing of them?
But he knew it already futile to change the man's mind. He had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Personal experience would have to teach him, rather than Hugo's uncouth words.
So be it, he thought, pressing his lips together in anticipation, drawing one of his blades. He would make the most use of whatever distraction Lazular's soldiers could offer.
The commander's arm swung down like a headsman's axe.
"Charge!"
His roar prompted his soldiers to rush forward, spears and firearms at the ready. A frontal, brutal assault, direct and blunt, meeting the darkness of the drow. Hugo kept to the rear guard, already grimacing at the outcome.
Ato fumbled for his spear and rushed to join this ramshackle vanguard, but once again, Hugo's hand fell on his shoulder. He shook his head at him, keeping him at the back.
"Stick with me, lad. This'll get ugly fast."
Monifa Oya