Walk Through Fire by Joshua P. Simon Page A

head with his other knife. The blade slipped through the slotted opening of the soldier’s visor and sank into the man’s eye.
    Kroke managed to take out three more soldiers, but not without gaining several new wounds of his own. His sudden burst of desperation initially caused those he faced to lose focus. But, the soldiers had regained their composure and came at him methodically.
    Kroke lashed out as a spear came in from his left. He ignored the attack in order to make another kill, knowing his death would come soon anyway. Blood spilled forth, covering his hand in crimson red. Embracing the moment, he lingered in that position, waiting for his own death to follow.
    But death never came. A long sword held by a tall mercenary with sweat-soaked hair sliced through the air, shattering the spear shaft. Jonrell followed up with an upward stroke that lopped the man’s head off before he moved on to the next soldier. Kroke rejoined the fray, fighting back to back with Jonrell just as he had days before.
    Despite his wounds, the small reprieve renewed Kroke’s energy. His senses refocused. He grinned.
    “Can you hold the alley alone?” Jonrell shouted. “We’re starting to break on our left.”
    Kroke crouched and waved Jonrell away. Since they had regained position, there was no one around except the men running down the alley toward him, hoping to flank the Hell Patrol’s position.
    But first they have to get through me.
    * * *
    Raker’s mace smashed against the side of his opponent’s helm. He heard the clang of steel and crack of bone at impact. Teeth flew in the air and the man hit the ground, lower jaw hanging like a loose sail.
    “I saw that look you gave me. How’d that fancy cloak and shiny armor work out for you?” He spat on the man, allowing himself to feel smug for a moment.
    A raspy scream caused him to turn and Raker watched one of Hezen’s men get pierced clean through one side and out the other. The spear point pushed into another soldier beside him. Two men splattered to the ground in a heap of flesh. An old woman climbed over the men and pulled out a cleaver at her belt, hacking away until they stopped moving. She looked up with narrowed eyes. “One Above, Raker. Pay attention,” said Hag.
    She cast him a scowl and picked up the lid of a kettle in her off hand. Using it as a shield, she waddled over and engaged the next man who dared underestimate her.
    Raker spat and tightened the grip on his mace. ”I knew they were there. You find your own!”
    It wasn’t true, but he wouldn’t dare tell her. He knew she’d hold it over his head if he did. Besides, it’d only be a matter of time before he’d have to do the same for her and he’d make sure to get his remarks in as well.
    A soldier met his eye and ran toward him. Swinging his mace, Raker angled the weapon so it came around the man’s shield and cracked into the back of his opponent’s skull. The man fell, spitting out a piece of his tongue in the process.
    “Gotta keep your jaw clenched when you fight, son. Didn’t you learn anything after all that time with us.” Raker’s mace slammed down across the man’s nose. The young man was too frightened to do anything but raise a bare arm to protect himself. His body went limp.
    Didn’t even try to attack me. He spat again. “I guess you didn’t learn a thing.”
    * * *
    The air was unusually cool despite the late heat wave that had plagued the Hell Patrol the last few weeks. Coupled with a breeze coming off the docks that cut through the side streets, Krytien should have found comfort in his black robes. But the garments clung to his body, heavy with sweat, as he tried furiously to stave off the repeated blasts of sorcery sent against him. Initially, Hezen’s mages were content with only blocking his own efforts, but as their numbers grew, they struck out against him and the army.
    He regretted imparting some knowledge to the mages in Effren’s army while the Hell Patrol was under