Roderick

"They're through," Roderick heard someone bellow from down the street. It was hard to tell with the cacophony of Violence the street had suddenly erupted into.

The First Platoon had poured through the gap in the Gloamtaken like floodwater in a breached levee, quick and efficient as if the motion had been rehearsed. But just as Captain Dremora came through, the last man out, every Salamander they carried rounded onto the mob they had just pushed through and unleashed a volley so violently bright it was hard to see if any Gloamtaken were still standing.

"Right," Mildred replied, and held up her left hand. She was crouched in a small room in the building bordering the street. In the hand she held up, a thin fuse was hissing happily, the hissing fire at the end quickly eating its way along past Mildred's hand. "Bomb's hot, let's go!"

"How long do we have?" Mackaroy asked. Mildred didn't answer, but ran past him and threw herself out an open window as if...

Well, as if something behind her were about to explode. Roderick cursed and ran through the door, Mack on his heels. Midred, ahead of them was waving at Lieutenant Varnell as she ran. "Forty seconds, get clear of the building."

Roderick looked over to see Mackaroy passing beside him. "Get to the other side of the street. It might be further than we should run, but Mildred's been a little too keen to play with demolition charges today."

"You really think she'll blow us up?" Roderick asked.

"Not on purpose. But you know what sound comes just before every man-made disaster?" Mackaroy asked.

Roderick shrugged as he ran.

"Oops."

The fact that the charges chose that exact moment to explode would stick with Roderick for the rest of his life.

The noise hit Roderick in the back, made him stumble. He had to put an arm out and lean against the wall to keep from falling over. Stopping, he turned back just in time to watch a seven-storey building fold in on itself and collapse on the street barely a block away.

Around him, the Rangers were putting their scarves over their faces, covering mouth and nose. Roderick did the same without knowing why, until the wind yanked the plume of dust and flung it at them. Roderick stumbled back, turned to the south, closed his eyes, and put his arm over his face.

Roderick only had to count to six, before he could see spirelight striking his closed eyes again. The dust, though still thin, was still enough to make his eyes sting, but all around him the Rangers had already begun to move. Mack clapped him on the shoulder, and pointed down the street. "You ready to do that again, kid?"

Roderick gaped. "Again?"

"We have six more of those to do," Mack answered, pointing down the street. "Our last line of defence will be a wall of rubble from one fire-line at the edge of town, to the other. If we get lucky, it takes the Gloamtaken hours to climb over it, and we can sit and watch until the civilians are on the other side of the wall."

"If we're lucky?" Roderick asked.

Mackaroy looked over to Midred for a moment, and they both started laughing.

Roderick, not understanding, was about to say something, until Mildred waved him off, and said, "good point. Frankly, we should count ourselves lucky if a ninth Golem doesn't come marching over the only one we've managed to drop."

"So, if my Salamanders keep firing, and the Gloamtaken keep dying, it's good luck?" Roderick asked.

"The City could still go dark with a long string of that good luck," Mack said. "Mildred, you have enough charges for the next building?"

"Aye, sir. Enough to repeat the last one all over again."

"Add a bit more fuse this time. That last explosion was a little too close. Reminded me of my last job," Mack added.

Roderick flinched a little, hearing that. Mack wasn't just brushing the danger they faced off because of bravado, or even genuine courage. The old shadow has lived this danger before.

"Mildred, I thought you were a mechanics specialist?" Roderick asked.

"Demolitions is what I actually studied for," Mildred said a she pulled a pair of charges out of her bag. Much like a Salamander shell, the container was a glass cylinder about as long as Roderick's forearm, and glowed as bright as a street light. "But I got assigned a watch posting along the wall, so we needed a mechanics specialist more. Never got to test for my explosives rank."

"Glad to hear you're not just winging it," Mackaroy said with a short chuckle. "Come on. Looks like the captain has orders."

He was right. Just ahead, Captain Dremora was delivering orders. "We're going to be stretched a little thin. First Platoon, take the east streets, and go relieve The Second. Varnell, you and I will go relieve the Third, and get those last two buildings knocked down. We'll talk details on the march."

Salutes, the two taps over the heart, and the tall woman commanding the First Platoon began putting her soldiers into motion. In the meantime, Captain Dremora seemed to march straight up to where he was waiting, sending a nervous shiver through Roderick and instinctively sending his back straighter.

It was a small relief to see Mildred did the same. Mackaroy didn't, but no one expected him to. The old shadow had earned wary respect even from the Rangers of the other platoons, the City's elite.

"Your platoon's a little light," the captain said, and pointed down the street. He set off at a march, and almost as if they were linked together like train cars, the entire platoon set off after him.

"I'm down an entire battle group, sir," Varnell admitted. "Hendricks and Fauth are assisting Aranhall with the wounded, and Cameron is on his way to tell Vincent we need him."

"I didn't ask you to notify Master Hearthsward," the captain said quietly.

Varnell cringed, but met Dremora's eyes. "No, sir."

"Probably for the best," the captain said eventually, and shrugged. He pulled out a small map, and showed it to Varnell. "The Third was forced backwards, to keep themselves from being surrounded. This means our demolition charges are behind the Gloamtaken. But the Third is stretched thin keeping the Gloamtaken from overrunning their position and putting the town square at risk. So I'll take a picked team in through the building, and get Mildred to where those charges are planted. Varnell, you take the bulk of the Fourth to relieve the Third, tighten their defensive line, and drive forward towards the site."

"Who are you taking?" Lieutenant Varnell asked.

"The rest of Valen's squad."

Mack's group. That included Roderick, who didn't realize it right away. Not until Mildred clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Look who's in the gunner seat at the Irondrome."

"Burn me," Roderick whispered. He didn't know if he should be excited or afraid.

"Sir," Varnell said. "I don't see a way out of this, not without Vincent."

The captain studied her for a moment. Roderick hadn't the vaguest idea what Captain Dremora was thinking about, or even how many thoughts Varnell had chewed through to come to her conclusion. It was all Roderick could do to keep his thoughts focused on his orders, let alone finding what it took to give them.

Eventually, the captain nodded. "Neither do I. Apologize to Master Hearthsward, if you see him before I do."

The captain's admission both relieved and frightened Roderick. The stand against the Golem, just last night, was too close in his memories to not be conjured up to the fore at even a vague mention of a Crafter and what they could do. He still remembered Saval, as she split the wall apart with a wave of her hand, a feat even the Golem needed more than a single blow for. He still recalled seeing Crafters Polden and Howel standing in the path of that madness.

And Roderick remembered how Crafter Polden felt Vincent was enough to keep them safe.

"Valen, your squad with me," The captain said. "Varnell, burn brightly."

"If you don't work quickly, we'll trap you behind the pile of bodies we'll make," Varnell said.

The captain laughed. Behind Varnell, her sergeant tapped his chest with his fist, and bellowed a loud, wordless cry. "Now you sound like an officer in the Rangers," Captain Dremora said.

They marched out, and cut into one of the buildings nearby. Just before the door, the captain held up his hand. "Halls are narrow, so it's knife work ahead. Mack first. I'll follow, then Mildred, then Roderick. Valen, rearguard."

Mackaroy took the lead, big knife in hand, a pair of throwing knives in his left. Roderick frowned when he saw the extra knives, he hadn't seen the old shadow carrying them before, despite being next to him for most of the day. Once again, the lock on the door barely impeded him, and they were driving up the stairs fast enough the door might as well have not been there.

Roderick only noticed the pair of Gloamtaken on the stairs when he had to step over the bodies. Whatever fight had happened ahead of him, there was no sound.

"Mack's getting good at that," Mildred said as she stepped over a third one.

"Mack's spent his life facing worse than Gloamtaken. So has Cam," Valen said. "They're quick hands and talented fighters, and the steadiest hearts we have."

Roderick wasn't quite sure he would have said the same. Not of Cameron. The younger shadow reminded him a bit too much of his father, haunted by what he had seen, ruled by that torment.

Mack lead them onto the second floor, barley pausing for a skirmish so quiet Roderick could barely hear it over his own breathing. Barely slowing, with the captain up ahead only assisting, whatever fight they encountered was over by the time Valen reached the top of the floor and shut the door behind them.

Ahead, the Captain and Mack ran across the hall, through an open door, and both of them stopped at each side of an open window. They looked down in almost the same manner, leaning their heads out the window and frowning, before both men threw themselves through the window.

Roderick rushed to the window, but Valen shouted from behind him. "Mildred, hold."

"Sir?" Mildred asked as she reached the window.

"Roderick, you first," Valen said as he caught up. "Once you land, Mildred will drop her backpack down to you. Don't let it hit the ground."

"Oh, right," Mildred said sheepishly. "Backpack's full of explosives."

Roderick threw his legs over the windowsill, and slid off. As a boy, he had jumped off more than a few balconies. First, to show older friends he could; his first failure sprained his ankle and bruised his pride. After, at times simply to get down faster, or escape trouble. Dozens of times in all, and as he fell now, he was grateful for all of them.

He hit the ground and rolled, threw himself to his feet, and was looking back up at Mildred just before she dropped the pack towards him. There was a moment, just a heartbeat, where he realized not only what was coming at him, but just how much damage those contents could do if anything in her pack broke. He held out his arms, fought his instincts, and put himself beneath he pack, letting it fall on his chest as he wrapped his arms around it.

Mildred landed beside him, and clapped him on the shoulder as she took the pack.

Roderick turned, and rolled his Salamander off his shoulder to join the fight. Which, surprisingly, seemed to be well under control. There were only a half-dozen rangers, but the work they managed was vicious and lethal. The captain was talking to a woman wearing a sword with a single hoop on the insignia. "Did you bring any charges, sir?" she asked.

"We did, Darrower. What happened to the ones you brought?"

"The damn things went dark, sir," she said. "I swear we checked them before we set them in place, but the moment the Gloamtaken started appearing behind us, the damn things went out just like our ammunition in the field."

"Mildred," the captain bellowed as he whirled around. "Check your charges again."

Mildred was already tossing the top flap aside, and peering down. "Still alight, sir," she answered.

"Good. Can you drop both of these buildings from this position?" the captain asked.

Hearing that frightened Roderick.

"I can, sir."

"Okay. Then we better not sit around any longer. Darrower, where's the rest of your platoon?"

"Holding the demolition point on the other side of that building," Lieutenant Darrower answered, gesturing at the building to the east. The last one before the fire line. "Gloamtaken were fiercer there."

"Right. We're going to cut this close. Get back to them, and pull everyone back to the south side of the street. You should group up with the bulk of Varnell's troops there. We'll set the charges, and cut our way south." The captain pointed north just as he finished speaking, the gesture drawing Roderick's gaze.

They were being charged. A horde, so thick there was barley room to see light between them, was advancing from the end of the street. The mob trampled over even other Gloamtaken, not even willing to slow for their own.

"Sir, you sure you can hold against that?" Lieutenant Darrower asked.

"We're not going to hold. Mildred, get those charges set. Darrower, get going."

Darrower saluted, waved her hand, and the rangers of her platoon bolted for the nearest door on the east building. "Roderick, Mack, you need to cut us an escape route. Everything south of us that isn't a Ranger needs to die. And do it quickly. Valen, with me."

Roderick looked back at what was coming for them, the mob of Gloamtaken that somehow looked less like a group of people, than a torrent of water rushing through an open sluice gate. The street was wide, so wide forty people could stand side by side. Too wide for two men to hold. Even those two.

"Come on," Mack said. "They're counting on us."

"What do you mean? Holding that, it's suicide," Roderick said.

"No. That's what I like about the captain. Varnell, too," Mack said, as he sheathed his knives. Surprisingly, the old shadow then drew the sword he hadn't used yet. "They're still looking to win."