Emily

A dozen shots, and they hadn't hit anything. Which was entirely the point.

Emily only had four people with her now. Jerome Eslign, facial hair sparse and irregular, like the first seeds sprouting in soil. Sarah Casslan, a nervous wreck of a woman muttering about her children back in Barleybarrel. Private Sarina Salvar, who hadn't said more than a single word since she had to be taken away from a torch at the end of Salamander barrel. And Raeth, who still hadn't given any of them his first name, had been the one pointing that Salamander.

Not the gunnery team Emily would have picked for a rearguard stand, but there was a reason no one had an expression for picky beggars.

"Gun's clean," Jerome said. He stepped to the side, holding a long mop upright as he stepped away. Specks of light flickered in the brush at the end of the metal rod; glistening pieces of glass from the casing of the charge. The bits were the remains of the charge used to launch the cannonball. The casing, which normally evaporated, occasionally left bits clinging to the inside of the gun's tube, which were easily removed if you did it before the gun cooled.

Once that was finished, Raeth stepped up to the gun, with what looked like a ball of fire held inside a glass jar. For all the frightening beauty of what he was holding, it was still strange for Emily to see it, and only think of it as the charge. Like the gunpowder the City used to use, only safer to transport and quite a bit more potent. He dropped it into the barrel, and stepped back. Jerome spun the mop around to the other end, which was a ball of tightly-wound linen. Pushed it in, until he couldn't shove any further.

"Charge is set," Jerome shouted.

Sarah was next, carrying an iron ball just a little too large for her fingers to touch, which hung on her straight arms like a child on a swing. She staggered over to the gun, and only then let her arms bend to lift the ball into the barrel.

Emily grinned, seeing it. Sarah likely understood that she might lift Valkyrie shots a lot more today. And each one weighed twenty-four pounds.

Jerome followed her, and pushed the rod into the barrel until he couldn't. "Shot is loaded, gun's hot," he said.

Which Emily needed to correct. "Jerome, I didn't hear that," she shouted.

"Shot is loaded, gun's hot," he bellowed, overcompensating a little.

"Better. Remember, Valkyries howl, so anyone using one is to do the same." Emily stepped over, beside the gun, and laid her hands on the wheel of the gun's carriage. "Private Salvar, on the sights. Raeth, opposite, you'll turn counter-clockwise on my mark. Salvar, we're turning to your right, five degrees."

Both of them answered quickly. Raeth was entirely too quiet, but Emily let that go. Raeth was the hard steel keeping this little company from breaking under a mountain of stress. Focused, eyes and hands on whatever task he had, Emily was fairly certain there wouldn't have been anyone at the gun when she had needed it, chased by that mob of Gloamtaken.

Also, she was quite prepared to admit, she might be afraid of him. A little. So to signal to Raeth that she was ready to turn the gun, she only made eye contact, and nodded.

The gun didn't want to turn. The metal carriage wheels were too thin, sunk into the ground too easily. So what should have been a quick maneuver took nearly a quarter-minute of hard pulling, until Sarina Salvar shouted, "there! Five degrees."

Raeth looked down at the ground, and flinched. "We won't move it much past this point."

"If we have to move it past this point, we probably should have been running for our lives," Emily replied. "Jerome, you haven't actually fired this thing yet. Get on the firing cord."

A cord, rather than a lever or a switch, because the damn gun had a formidable kick. The frame of the carriage might keep the gun from rolling backwards, but a hand caught just a few inches behind the gun would be broken. Jerome stepped behind the Valkyrie, and stretched the cord until it no longer touched the ground. "Ready, ma'am."

Ma'am. As if Emily were some kind of abyss-touched officer. She cringed, but nodded. "Fire."

Jerome pulled the cord, and the Valkyrie howled again. Bright white fire seared the edges of Emily's vision, and the gun crashed against the springs and frame holding it to the carriage. A moment later, Sarina had picked up the mob Jerome had left beside the gun, and was already swabbing inside the gun.

The virtues of repetition. Hopefully, the habits would survive contact with the Gloamtaken.

"Good. That's at least one round on every task," Emily said, and she pointed down at the ammunition piled into the nearby trench. "We'll load the next one with canister shot. Grab the charge."

As she gave the order, the sight she had been waiting for — and hoping she wouldn't see again — stepped through the edges of the Gloam in the distance. A dozen at first, then more.

Many more.

Emily froze up, breathing stopped, as she saw them emerge in their hundreds. Something icy cold seemed to reach through her chest and grip her heart, making her hands drop to her sides, and her legs burn. She bit her lip hard enough to bleed, if only to keep herself from running. "Spit and burning ash," she whispered.

"Charge is set," Raeth said, and the fact that the man shouted for the first time jerked Emily out of her terror.

"Right, Jerome, remember that trick I showed you about canister shot?"

"How I can use the ram to spin the canister's case around, so the grooves are horizontal?"

"Exactly. That is to make sure the ball bearing spread horizontally, and don't just smash into the ground or fly off into the air," Emily replied. "Which is going to be really important right now."

"Got it," Jerome said, as he shoved the ram into the barrel. He frowned, and twisted for a moment. "Okay, shot is loaded. Gun's hot."

Emily took the firing cord, and waited just a moment for everyone else to get behind her. Then she closed her eyes and pulled the cord.

Closed her eyes, because she was starting to get sick of having her sight flash-seared by the light that came from the gun's muzzle.

The gun howled it's now comforting defiance, and Emily opened her eyes in time to see the creatures reel, stagger, stumble, and fall in droves. Even those that weren't struck directly were knocked over by those that were, or had to step around the fallen. She allowed herself just a moment, barely more than a heartbeat, to appreciate it working. "Reload, canister shot," she shouted, as much to get herself moving.

They scrambled to the task. Jerome was already cleaning the barrel, as both Sarah and Sarina retrieved the charge and shot. Raeth had taken a step back, and took the salamander off his shoulder, opening it and checking the fit of the shot already inside.

A moment later, Jerome was stepping away from the barrel, with the mop held up. "Gun's hot!"

She pulled the cord, and let the gun scream her defiance into the fields.

More of the creatures poured from the Gloam, trickling through like the first crowds waiting for a train, coming in greater numbers no matter how many fell. It even looked like a mob now, with the spattered groups beginning to link together.

Four more shots in, and the crowd was so thick that even as they fell, they only revealed the mob behind them. Fear began to reach through her chest again, Emily could feel it like breathing in icy-cold water. Sarina's eyes were wide again, and she fumbled as she carried the canister shot. Sarah's muttering had begun to grow louder. And Jerome bashed the mop against the muzzle as he tried to stick it in to push the canister down.

"They're going to slip through on the right," Raeth said, quietly enough that Emily doubted anyone else heard him. "We're not dropping them fast enough."

Emily would have thought her mind would be racing right now. Whirling through her limited options to respond to this impending breach of their line. But all she did was nod, and point over towards the right side. "I'll get them working a little faster. In the meantime, go skirmish on that flank. Anything that gets through our cannon fire. Use your Salamander, don't get close. Run if you think you're going to be overwhelmed."

Emily then drew her sword, and stepped in front of the Valkyrie. She scanned the horizon, marking the fallen Gloamtaken, and picked the one furthest to her right. She drew a line in her thoughts, and struck the sword through that imaginary line. The blade rested in front — and slightly to the right — of the cannon. "Raeth, if the muzzle of the Valkyrie is to the left of the muzzle, you're in our line of fire."

"Got it," the man departed with an unnervingly nonchalant wave.

"As for the rest of you," Varnell said, as she scrambled down to pick up another charge. "Time you all started working like my life depended on it. Sarah, grab another canister shot. Jerome, why the burning hell isn't that swab in the gun? Start swabbing, or by every shrivelled vine beneath the Gloam, I will use your head to do the job."

Emily wasn't sure shouting and swearing at her gunnery crew would make any of them move faster. But it felt good to let a bit of her frustration out, and Jerome at least moved with newfound vigour. He was shoving the charge in almost as soon as she slid it in, and had the mop out before Sarah reached the muzzle with the canister shot.

All three of them stepped away from the gun, and Emily spared a glance at the oncoming mob of Gloamtaken. Still larger, almost a solid mass, the creatures still only advanced in an awkward, shuffling gait, furrowed between the rows of burning shrubs, some pressed together in the irrigation trenches.

A slow moving horde of enemies who didn't dive for cover, and couldn't fire back. In some ways, Emily knew she wouldn't get a better opportunity.

"Fire," Emily bellowed, and closed her eyes.

The Valkyrie howled, the creatures fell, and their enemies kept advancing.

They managed another three shots, as rapidly as Emily could have hoped for. Nearly as quickly as a properly trained gunnery crew. The enemy were falling, Emily occasionally risked leaving her eyes open, despite the flash of the gun, and saw them topple in their dozens. But more and more of them were creeping to the edge of their line of fire, and Raeth had already started picking off the ones closest to him.

Another two shots, and Raeth had to start taking risks to keep dropping the creatures that crossed their line of fire. Three of them rushed along the irrigation trench, crouched low as they ran. Raeth dropped the first one with a shot through the chest, and reloaded with a strange calm, like he was reading the steps from a manual rather than in the middle of a battle.

But much like someone reading the instructions from the manual, Raeth wasn't reloading quickly. The second one was nearly on top of him by the time he snapped the chamber closed and fired. His shot was a little too high, tearing through the creature's shoulder, and though it staggered and stumbled, it didn't fall.

The third was on him before the flash of the Salamander faded. And more of the creatures had passed their line of fire.

"Fire another two shots," Emily said as she rolled her Salamander off her shoulder. "Then turn the gun halfway to Raeth. Keep using canister shot, I'll tell you when to fire."

"Halfway? The next shot will kill him!" Sarah exclaimed.

"And me, unless you do what I burning tell you to," Emily shouted, and she pointed her weapon at the oncoming mob. "Two more shots. Hurry up."

She turned and ran towards Raeth, who was lunging backwards, pulling the creature trying to grapple him off its feet. With surprising ease, the kind of ease that comes with familiarity, he twisted and grabbed it by its head, and slammed it into the dirt.

Raeth dropped with it, ramming his knee into the creature's back to pin it in place. With his hands free, he pulled a knife from somewhere in his clothes, and punched it through the creature's side, deep enough Emily could hear ribs cracking against the knife's guard. A heartbeat later, the knife flashed as Raeth pulled it out, and the creature stopped moving.

Then the other one, the one missing an arm, tackled Raeth from behind.

Down and up an irrigation trench, Emily kept running. She switched her Salamander to her left hand, and drew her sword with her right. Halfway to him, she heard and felt the Valkyrie roar, and the wet crack of the shots smashing against the ground, trees, and the Gloamtaken.

"That was one," Emily muttered to herself.

Raeth rolled, managed to get his legs underneath the creature's chest, and kicked it away. Before it could rise, Emily skidded to a stop in front of it, planted a foot on its chest, and stabbed. In and out, the blade disappearing only a hand's length before she pulled it away, and the monster was just another victim of the Gloam.

Raeth, to his credit, rolled to his feet, and snatched up his Salamander, his eyes over his shoulder. "Not sure they'll keep up that pace without you," he said.

He wasn't wrong. "Bring the closest ones down, you ungrateful speck of ash, and let me worry about that," Emily said as she stepped beside him. She stared down her Salamander's sights as she spoke, aiming down the irrigation trench as several of the creatures shuffled along it.

Emily fired, her shot cutting through one, and bringing down both it and the one behind. "That's burning it, line up for me," she muttered while reloading.

A flash of light to her right, and another creature fell.

The Valkyrie roared again.

"They're turning the gun," Raeth said. His remark was mild, with only a hint of distress, as if he were commenting on an odd choice of clothing.

"Part of the plan," Emily said as she fired.

"You plan on taking metal ball bearings to the face?"

"Don't insult my plan. It's going to save your stupid life. Ungrateful farmer."

"Mason. I build the walls."

Emily glanced back at the cannon. Sarah and Sarina were standing still, staring their way. Jerome was waving his hands like he was angry about a train not stopping. "Judging by how well they keep the Golems out, you need to build better walls."

"Now that's-"

"Hit the dirt," Emily cut him off, just as she raised her arm, and brought it down in a whirling chop.

Raeth threw himself to the trench, and Emily did the same.

A howling crack, a chorus of hissing, and then a noisy patter like rain falling on the street. The Gloamtaken Emily could still see were smacked about as if someone had walked up and struck them, with gouts of desiccated flesh spraying out like shrapnel.

"I'm still not okay having a Valkyrie pointed at me," Raeth said, as he sat up and turned around. Without standing, he raised his Salamander and shot one of the survivors of the last barrage.

"Stop being such a baby," Varnell grunted, rising to her feet. "You're still alive."

There was another flash of light, and the last standing Gloamtaken near them toppled over. Varnell frowned, and looked over to Raeth. "Fancy shooting."

"That wasn't me," Raeth admitted.

Another flash of fire spun through the air, disorientatingly swift, like someone had fired a torch out of the Valkyrie. The fire cut through the distance in barely more than the blink of an eye, and landed in the dirt at Varnell's boots, it's tiny feet leaving small black prints in the soil.

Bird feet. The fire in front of her was in the shape of a bird.

The fire flashed, and glowing letters were seared into the dirt.

Help is coming. Barleybarrel is secure. The Rangers are on their way to you.

Varnell stared at the letters on the ground, reading them without comprehending.

"Crafter," Raeth said. "Thank you for your assistance."

And strangely, impossibly, more letters appeared on the ground.

Sorry, should I be addressing you? I figured she was in charge, since she's the highest ranking officer I can see.

"Wait, you can hear us?"

I can. The Rangers are about a mile south of the far end of your fire line.

Emily grimaced, and was half-tempted to slap herself in the face. She didn't have the luxury of being this bemused. "Okay. Just let me put my shock aside for the moment. I saw an ash-bitten Golem fall, the Gloam flood a causeway, but taking to a bird made of fire the strangest thing I've seen today. You're a Crafter?"

Vincent Hearthsward. Attached with the Rangers, working on evacuating Barleybarrel.

He didn't quite answer her question. In a quieter moment, she might have pressed on that evasion. "Right. So if it's the Rangers, is that Captain Dremora coming for us? If it is, tell him there's about two hundred and fifty civilians and six soldiers stretched along what's probably a mile of burning brush. Suggest that he take a squad and start lighting the fields towards the east causeway, should help screen the Gloamtaken while we all make a run for Barleybarrel."

Can you hold here?

"My odds are better here than anywhere else. The only thing I have plenty of is ammunition for that gun."

I'll pass that on. Burn brightly.

The bird stretched its wings, and took to the air.

"Okay, Raeth. If we get back to Barleybarrel — and I have a good feeling about that — you need to tell me where you've seen a Crafter do that before."

"It's Douglas. My first name is Douglas," Raeth said. And as if to mirror how hopeful Emily was feeling, the man had cracked a smile. It was an awkward thing to see, as if he had forgotten how. "Arrived during the initial evacuation of the work camps further out. They all just call me Raeth because there's six other guys named Douglas in the work crew."

"Douglas the trench digger, your name's almost a bad joke. I can see why you're happy to stick with Raeth," Emily said.

"Stonemason."

"Nope. It's funnier my way," Emily said. "Now let's get back to the others before they fire the gun before remembering to turn it back."

Raeth looked back at where the Valkyrie, and flinched. "Good call."