The moon hung low over the battlefield, a coal-red eye staring through the ash of a dying day. Thunder rolled above the trees. Smoke drifted through the rain, and water drummed on dented shields before threading the ruts in the earth.
The battle had begun beneath a clear daylight sky. Night had found both armies broken, with too few soldiers left on either side to call what remained a victory.
"Can you see anyone moving?" the archer asked from beside the ruined shrine.
The summoner searched the wreckage. "Not from here."
The dead lay where the fighting had abandoned them: soldiers of both armies in broken armor, archers tangled in their bowstrings, a mace-bearer still reaching toward the weapon buried beside him.
Beside a toppled shrine, a priest lay still, one hand curled around his prayer beads. All afternoon his prayers had pulled the wounded back from death. Then the opposing warlord had broken through the rear ranks, and the prayers had stopped.
The archer's gaze caught on the beads. "He kept them alive as long as he could."
"I know," the summoner said. He lowered his hand to the earth. "Let me try."
Near the shrine, the summoner fought to stay on his feet. He pressed a trembling palm into the mud. Pale light threaded beneath the surface toward a shattered tree, and the earth began to swell.
A lean, humanoid golem dragged itself from the ground, soil and jagged stone grinding together as it rose. It planted broad forearms in the mud and straightened. Faint light shone through the cracks holding its body together.
"One more?" the archer asked, watching the light flicker at his throat.
"We need more than one."
At the shattered tree, roots tore free and braided around splintered branches. A low, four-legged beast took shape, its back plated in bark, its jaws bristling with thorns. One hind leg formed crookedly and dragged through the mud as it pulled itself free.
The summoner gasped. The cracked charm at his throat flickered like a candle in a draft. Keeping both creatures standing was already draining strength he barely had. Beside him, the archer drew another arrow and followed one of the three surviving enemy soldiers as he picked his way between the fallen.
The opposing army was nearly destroyed. Three soldiers remained with their commander. Between them and the few surviving allies stood the samurai, sword raised despite the weight of the rain.
"Three," the archer said, counting the enemy soldiers through the rain.
The summoner glanced toward their commander. "And him."
The swordsman near the shrine caught sight of movement beneath a broken shield and raised his blade over a wounded fighter. The archer's shot struck him in the shoulder before he could bring it down. He stumbled, and the root beast lunged low, catching his ankle in its tangled jaws. The earth golem drove him into the mud, where he did not rise.
Another soldier rushed the shrine. The beast tamer stepped away from his injured companion long enough to intercept him with a short spear. Their weapons locked; then the samurai closed the distance and struck the attacker down. The tamer retreated at once to the ridge, keeping his spear in hand and his beast behind him.
The last soldier hesitated.
He looked from his fallen comrades to the armored warlord advancing through the rain. Then he lunged at the samurai, perhaps hoping to earn his commander's notice. The samurai turned the blow aside and ended the fight with a single cut. No living soldiers remained between the survivors and the warlord.
The samurai pushed a rain-soaked strand of dark hair from his eyes, disturbing the knot tied high behind his head. Water traced the narrow scar splitting his left eyebrow. He did not look away from the figure advancing through the smoke.
Blue-lacquered armor covered his shoulders and chest above a charcoal robe. One shoulder guard hung loose; the snapped crimson cord at his waist dragged through the mud when he shifted his stance.
The warlord held a long, heavy greatsword in one hand. He raised his free, gauntleted hand toward the storm, palm open. Lightning tore through the clouds and struck his palm, racing down his arm in brilliant, jagged streams. He brought that hand to the greatsword's hilt, and the charge spilled across the steel, wrapping the blade in crackling arcs of white light.
His armor was dull gray, fitted close to his body, and a strip of black cloth covered his mouth. Above it, pale eyes watched the samurai without blinking.
"Get the wounded behind the ridge!" the samurai shouted into the rain.
Somewhere beyond the smoke, someone might still be alive. No answer came, but he could not afford to stop looking for survivors.
Beyond the ruined shrine, the mage crouched beside a rain-filled trench. Her brown leather mantle was dark with water, and her hair was braided tight against her head. She planted her staff in the bank. Blue runes glimmered along the wood.
Farther back, the beast tamer leaned over his companion, keeping one hand on its shoulder. The creature stood nearly as tall as his chest, with the build of a hunting cat and a thick, smoke-gray mane. Small ivory horns swept back from its brow; dark scales shielded its neck and forelegs.
Its golden eyes fixed on the advancing enemy. It didn't cower or bare its teeth in panic. Instead, it stepped in front of the tamer, placing its body between him and the warlord.
The tamer's coat was patched leather over a chainmail shirt. Blood ran from a tear at his ribs, but he caught the creature by its harness and drew it back behind him, shielding its injured foreleg with his own body.
The summoner drew a shaky breath and pressed two fingers against the charm hanging at his throat. The small stone was cracked through its center. Each time one of his constructs moved, a dim pulse flickered inside it, as though something on the other end of an invisible thread was pulling at his heart.
"Don't force them any farther," the archer said. She had taken up position beside the shrine, where a broken pillar offered a little cover. "They're barely holding together."
"They're holding," he answered.
"That's not what I said, and you know it," she replied, her eyes narrowing.
He glanced at her. Beneath the mud streaking her face, she looked exhausted, but her bow remained steady. She had been counting his breaths between shots. He knew because every time he faltered, her eyes flicked toward him instead of the warlord.
A gust swept smoke across the shrine. Through it, the warlord advanced with his greatsword glowing white. He swung, sending a broad arc of lightning toward the samurai and the mage behind him. The samurai stamped his foot, driving his ki into the ground. A stone pillar surged up in the arc's path. Lightning struck it with a thunderous crack, splitting its surface with jagged fractures.
"Hold it!" the mage called. Blue runes flared along her staff as she drew water from the trench. The stream spiraled around the cracked pillar, drawing the lightning into its current. With a sweep of her staff, she sent the charge back toward the warlord. He stepped aside without breaking stride. The samurai met him with his sword; their blades collided, and the weight of the greatsword drove him backward as the warlord pressed the attack.
"Left!" the archer shouted.
The samurai shifted to his right and ducked. An arrow hissed past his left shoulder, striking the gap between two plates of the warlord's upper arm. The warlord glanced down at the shaft, snapped it off, and continued forward.
The archer reached for another arrow. Three remained in her quiver.
"You should save those," the summoner said, glancing towards her.
"For what?" she retorted, while glancing back towards him.
He had no answer. The battlefield had gone strangely quiet. There were no shouted orders from the ranks, no drums, no clash of armies—only rain, thunder, and the scrape of the warlord's boots through the mud.
The earth golem moved past the broken pillar, stones grinding softly as it stepped. The root beast stayed closer to its master, its malformed hind leg carving a furrow through the mud. Neither spoke. Their bodies held together only while the summoner fed them magic.
The archer watched the root beast struggle forward. "If you let them go, you might have enough strength to run."
"And leave him?" He nodded toward the samurai, who had barely turned another blow. "Leave all of them?"
She lowered her bow for the briefest moment. "I wasn't asking you to abandon anyone. I just don't want you dying here."
"Then you know why I'm staying."
A sharp crack split the air. The warlord's blade struck the samurai's guard, driving him to one knee.
The beast tamer shouted from the ridge, and his horned companion took a step forward despite its injured leg. He caught the creature by the harness before it could charge.
The summoner raised his charm. Both constructs surged toward the warlord. The golem caught at his sword arm while the root beast lunged for his ankle, hauling its crooked leg behind it.
The warlord wrenched his blade sideways, chipping stone from the golem's forearm, but the construct held its grip. Neither creature could bring him down, yet together they forced him to turn. The samurai rolled free and regained his feet.
For a moment, the summoner smiled. It was small and exhausted, but the archer saw it. "There," he said. "Still useful."
A tremor passed through his shoulders. The charm flashed and went dull. He swayed, and the archer stepped close enough to catch him by the elbow.
"Useful isn't the same as safe."
He pulled himself upright. "You sound like my mother."
"Then listen for once."
The attempt at humor faded as the warlord turned toward them. His pale gaze moved from the constructs to the charm, then to the hand trembling around it. He had found the source of their movement.
The archer noticed his attention shift. She stepped in front of the summoner and drew her bow to its full length. "Behind the pillar. Now."
The summoner obeyed only far enough to stand beside it. From there, he could still see the samurai and the mage struggling to hold the line. He closed his eyes and gave the constructs one final command: protect them. Both creatures obeyed him as they made their way to his comrades.
The earth golem moved beyond the shrine to stand between the warlord and the mage, its broad stone arms raised to shield her. The root beast dragged its malformed hind leg through the mud toward the samurai, ready to harry the warlord if he attacked again.
The summoner's knees buckled, but he stayed upright with one hand against the stone.
The archer fired an arrow. The warlord turned his greatsword, deflecting the arrow with the flat of his blade.
She fired again, this time aiming for his sword hand. He twisted his wrist, and the second arrow hissed past his gauntlet.
"Go!" she shouted at the summoner.
He looked at her, then past her to the survivors. His mouth opened, but the thunder swallowed whatever he meant to say.
The warlord stopped advancing. His greatsword no longer carried a charge. Holding the weapon in one hand, he lifted his free gauntlet toward the storm. Lightning struck his open palm, raced down his arm, and spilled across the blade when he brought his charged hand to the hilt.
The archer saw where the weapon was pointed. She loosed the last arrow in her quiver, but the warlord's sweeping strike had already begun.
A white arc tore toward the summoner beside the broken pillar.
"Get back!" he shouted.
The archer reacted to his warning, throwing herself behind the stone. The summoner tried to follow, but the lightning was moving in on him too quickly.
The summoner reached toward his constructs, desperately calling them back.
The golem turned from the mage and lumbered toward him, while the root beast struggled back through the mud. Neither could close the distance. Lightning struck the summoner before they reached him.
He fell without a sound. The cracked charm slipped from his fingers and disappeared into the mud.
The constructs faltered before they could reach him. Pale light slipped from the seams of the golem's body, and it collapsed into loose earth and stone.
The root beast broke apart into dead roots and splintered wood, its pieces sinking into the rain-soaked mud.
For one stunned heartbeat, the archer stared at the place where he had stood. Rain swept over the scattered roots and stones, washing away the last traces of light.