Valen

Something caught his eye, in the distance.

A sudden speck of shadow, an inversion of looking for light and movement. The horizon was dotted with small patches of fire and strands of smoke from when the Rangers had crossed the fields and set it alight. Those fires were what held the Gloam so far back, so that they could see the mob of Gloamtaken so clearly now. And for just a moment, Valen swore one of those specks of fire had disappeared.

And so he watched the horizon. Or at least as much of it as he could see, as the Gloamtaken were still pouring into the trench, throwing themselves into the death trap in the middle of their wall of burning brush. The Rangers at the gap had fallen into a nearly casual rhythm of murder, spotting each other as they thinned the horde out with Salamander fire and felled the survivors with swords. The bodies had piled high enough on the sides of the bridge that they were starting to fill the trench.

As for the Rangers, they spotted each other with the precision and flow of a brand new train. From gunner until a whistle blew, to swordsman at the front, to the relief crew taking a breather, and back into the fray. It was strange to Valen, to be looking at something else while the war was being fought so close. Strange, but surprisingly easy.

Having the Rangers nearby did feel a lot like having a solid wall, and burning torches, between himself and the things that marched beneath the Gloam.

"You looking to spot in, soldier?"

The man speaking to him was wiping both sweat from his brow, and debris from his sword. Strangely, the man was wearing two scabbards, and the sword that was still sheathed bore the insignia of an army's lieutenant.

"No, sir," Valen replied, and he pointed back to what he could see of the horizon. "Something caught my eye out there."

"Shame. Wouldn't have minded seeing you at work. Redgrave, wasn't it? Captain was rather pleased to have plucked you from the fields," the lieutenant said, and extended his hand. "Lieutenant Fredrick Sandson, Second Platoon."

"Sir, your people are extraordinary."

"We're supposed to be. We are the Rangers," Fredrick replied with a shrug. "So what's got you so distracted that you can ignore a horde of the long dead right in front of you?"

"It just looked like some of the fires out there had gone out suddenly," Valen explained. "I might just be getting jumpy."

"You were a part of the watch at the last walls before you joined up with us, weren't you?" Fredrick asked.

"Yes, sir. We were on the walls to first see the Golems."

"Your job there was to be jumpy." Fredrick squinted at what could be seen of the horizon. "Gloam looks closer than I remember, but that's not too strange."

"I also don't see as much smoke," Valen said, surprising himself that he only realized it just as he spoke. "And it's old smoke, it doesn't connect with the ground."

"Like the fires that fed it had gone out," Fredrick concluded.

Something else caught Valen's eye at that moment. Far to his left, a drift of grey cloud sweeping in front of the causeway pillars. The suddenness of it, and how swift it was despite the distance, left Valen chilled. "The Gloam, it's moving."

And then the wall of fire they were standing behind vanished.

Not extinguished. There was no hiss of steam or puff of changing air. No smoke rose from the half-seared branches. The torched brush looked as if it had stopped burning days before, and there was nothing to suggest a wall of fire had ever been in place.

The Gloamtaken surged forward, scrambling by the hundreds all along the bank of the trench, ripping apart the now cold wall of brush. The Rangers at the front fell back, spreading out with swords and Salamanders cutting down the closest creatures as fast as they could. Lieutenant Sandson was bellowing orders, drawing the soldiers back to him, ordering those at rest back into the fray, and calling for the captain.

But there was something else coming, that the fire had been holding back. Valen stepped forward, unslung his Salamander from his shoulder, and drew a torch from his belt. He pointed it at the nearest Gloamtaken, with the end of the torch held beside the gun, and fired.

With his fingertips touching the barrel, the heat stabbed at Valen's fingertips, and he nearly dropped the torch. He cursed, waved his hand as much as he could, and then knelt to plunge the torch into the ground like a stake, so that it burned beside him. He stepped in front of it, and drew his sword.

"Light your torches," Valen bellowed into the maelstrom of panic and noise. "The Gloam is coming, light your torches!"

He stepped as far forward as he dared, and met the Gloamtaken with his sword. Even so many, hundreds now scrambling over the trench, didn't put the fear in him like it would have even yesterday. Blade in hand, he stepped into the simple forms; the very first stances he had learned as a child, and cut them down as they tried to reach him. First to a thrust that cut no deeper than his hand, the second to a sweep started from pulling the sword out. Two more by stepping to his left and cutting wide, slicing between the ribs just hard enough to cut about the length of his thumb.

Even as some of them managed to reach close enough to pull at his sleeves, he didn't step back. Even as one managed to grab his coat and pull him to the side, he didn't give an inch of ground. He had to hold, to buy the soldiers behind him a few seconds. The Rangers needed time to realize the danger they were in. Not from the Gloamtaken, no matter how many now struggled over the ones piled at his feet. They needed time to prepare for their real enemy.

Salamander fire flashed at his sides, and the creatures in front of him died as quickly as they approached. Valen pushed forward, cut down a few more, then slipped back into the gap he had made, allowing himself a chance to look around.

Rangers were lighting torches with their Salamanders, rushing out into a thin line around where Valen fought. Captain Dremora and the other Rangers were rushing forward, with only Gwen staying behind to stand next to the young boy who had lead him out here.

Valen managed to step back and reach the torch, just as Lieutenant Sandson joined him. "You and the corporal should make a break for it, and take the boy back to town," the lieutenant said.

The lieutenant meant well. And with any other enemy, Valen might have been inclined to agree. "No," Valen said instead. "We can't outrun the Gloam."

And as if to prove his point, the Gloam washed over them.

the Gloamtaken vanished first. The grey mists devoured their ranks so completely it was like they disappeared; all the quiet groans, shuffling, stepping over dry grass, it vanished as soon as the Gloam covered them. It rushed forward until it looked like it would swallow them, as well, but shied away and wrapped around them.

Their world was now the space a dozen torches made. And that world was still under siege.

"Sandson," Captain Dremora said as he approached. "I want Molly's platoon leading us out. Have her take us from one bridge to the next, if possible. Corporal Aranhall and the boy are to accompany them. Special detail will hold at the core, and everyone else will have to skirmish in pairs."

The lieutenant whistled, pointed to someone down the line, and made a half-dozen hand gestures that Valen only understood because he had been learning it as part of his signal code training. But to the Rangers it was, apparently, common knowledge.

"Who's the special detail?" the lieutenant asked, as he made one more hand gesture. It was an order to begin the march, and as if it had been rehearsed, every Ranger began to move at a jog.

"You, me, Cadmus, Drummer, Spitfire, and Redgrave," Captain Dremora said.

"Does Spitfire have enough ammo for that?"

"That kid brought enough ammo to have demolished an apartment tower if he fell over," Captain Dremora said. "Not sure he knows that."

They fell into step, glancing over their shoulders as the Gloamtaken popped in and out of view behind them. Valen very nearly stopped and drew his sword, but the two officers only continued their conversation.

"By the way, how many did Redgrave drop when he covered the line?" Captain Dremora asked.

Valen barely understood how the Captain could talk so casually under the circumstances, but Lieutenant Sandson seemed just as unfazed. "Eighteen. He hit that mob like a train hits a piece of paper. Wherever you found him, Cap, are there more?"

"Afraid he's a singular talent," Captain Dremora said.

"Shit."

"Agreed."

"Cap, you ever heard of fires just going out like that?" The lieutenant asked, but quieter this time. As if he wasn't comfortable broaching the question.

Captain Dremora frowned. "No. And if there were a written record of it ever happening, I would know. Which means one of two things."

"It's never happened before," Valen suggested.

Captain Dremora nodded. "Or no one has ever lived to report it."