Chapter 21: Hero’s Death

The castle courtyard was filled swirling white snow.

Up on the stone balcony, Jack was holding onto the railing. His eyes were wide open, but visibility was almost zero. He could not see Bones or Rusty. He could only feel them through the threads anchored in his chest.

Down in the storm, the two armored skeletons were moving. They were moving slowly through the gale toward the Wind Mage, but the swirling magical winds were a massive obstacle. Every step they took required an immense amount of Jack’s focus.

While the main battle was stalled in the center of the courtyard, a much quieter, deadlier threat was moving through the blinding snow.

Five desperate bandits had used the low visibility of the blizzard to slip past Giles and the militia. They were moving along the outer stone wall of the castle, their heads lowered against the wind. They were not heading toward the gates. They were heading straight for the doors of the Great Hall.

Inside the Great Hall, the atmosphere was heavy with fear.

A massive fire was in the stone hearth, but it did not bring comfort. A large group of women, children, and elderly villagers were on the floor, huddled together for warmth and safety. A heavy wooden bar was across the brackets of the main double doors, sealing them inside.

Karen was in the center of the room. A small wooden bucket of warm water was in her hands. She was moving from family to family, offering water and trying to keep the panic from taking over.

“Drink a little, sweetie,” Karen whispered, kneeling beside a young mother. A little girl was in the woman’s arms, her face buried in her mother’s wool coat. The child was crying softly, her small shoulders shaking with every loud crash from outside.

“Is the door really strong enough?” the young mother asked. Her voice was barely a whisper. Absolute fear was in her wide eyes. “I heard the explosion earlier. They have mages. If they burn the door down…”

“The door is very thick, and the iron bar is heavy,” Karen said, forcing a brave smile onto her face. She reached out, gently stroking the little girl’s hair. “Lord Jack will not let them in. His mages are out there right now, fighting them back. You saw them. They are giants. We are safe in here.”

Old Miller’s wife was sitting nearby. A wool shawl was over her head. “But what if they get past the lord’s mages?” she muttered, her hands tightly clasping a wooden holy symbol. “There are so many of them. And they are starving. Starving men don’t fear death.”

“Giles and the militia are out there too,” Karen said firmly. She stood up, looking around the large, nervous crowd. “Our men are fighting for our food and our homes. We must stay strong for them. Keep the children away from the doors. Move closer to the hearth.”

THUD.

A violent sound was suddenly at the main doors.

The entire room went dead silent. The crackling of the fire was the only noise in the hall.

THUD. CRACK.

It was the unmistakable sound of an iron axe striking wood.

A collective scream was in the air. The villagers scrambled backward, pushing away from the entrance. Karen dropped her wooden bucket. The warm water was all over the floor. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“They are at the door!” an old man yelled, grabbing a piece of firewood from the hearth as a makeshift weapon. “The bandits are at the door!”

CRASH.

The heavy iron hinges groaned. A jagged splinter of wood was suddenly visible on the inside of the door. The bandits were hacking their way through.

Up on the balcony, Jack heard a sound that chilled him to the bone.

Even through the howling wind of the blizzard, the faint, terrified screams of the villagers echoed from the courtyard below. He squinted through the swirling white snow, his eyes darting toward the Great Hall. Through a brief break in the storm, he caught the dark silhouettes of men swinging an axe against the heavy oak doors.

“No,” Jack gasped, a fresh line of blood leaking from his nose.

He tried to pull Bones or Rusty away from the Wind Mage to defend the hall. But the moment he shifted their mental commands, the magical gale pushed the armored skeletons backward. If he broke their forward movement, the Wind Mage would tear the castle apart and slaughter the entire militia. He could not move them.

The bandits were going to break into the hall. They were going to slaughter the women and children.

“I have to…” Jack wheezed, his fingers digging into his own chest.

He had unlinked his other skeletons earlier to save his strength. He was already at his absolute spiritual breaking point from the elemental static of the blizzard. If he opened another link now, the strain would be catastrophic.

He closed his eyes, bypassed the pain, and reached his mind violently down into the deep crypts beneath the castle.

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He grabbed a single, dormant thread. It was Dusty.

Dusty was still wearing his heavy chainmail and iron bucket-helm down in the crypt. Jack knew that animating a third heavily armored giant with his currently damaged core was practically suicide. The mental weight would be devastating.

“But if I do nothing, everyone in that hall dies,” Jack thought, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Awake!” Jack roared in his mind, forcing a massive, reckless surge of death mana down the link.

The spiritual backlash was instantaneous. He coughed violently. A dark mouthful of blood was on the balcony. His vision went completely black for a fraction of a second, but he refused to let go of the thread.

Down in the crypts, the armored figure of Dusty snapped to attention.

“To the Great Hall! Sprint!” Jack commanded in a frantic voice.

Inside the hall, the situation was desperate.

CRASH!

The wooden bar snapped in half. The double doors burst open.

A blast of freezing wind and white snow rushed into the warm room. Five bandits stood in the doorway. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes wild and completely devoid of humanity. Iron axes and spiked clubs were in their hands.

“Food!” one of the bandits screamed, his eyes locking onto the terrified women and children. “Kill them all and take all the food!”