Chapter 8: Skybound
You know what's worse than dying from tripping over your shoelaces? Dying twice. And let me tell you, holding a rusty sword while raiders charge your position is definitely not how I planned to spend my second afterlife.
"Tomas!" The burly man—I really needed to learn these people's names—yanked me behind a section of wooden barricade as another arrow whizzed past. "Stop daydreaming and help us! The Seventh Band doesn't leave survivors!"
"Azure," I thought desperately, "please tell me you have some insights about sword fighting?"
"I can provide basic movement analysis," the little spirit replied, "but this body has never held a weapon before. Also, you might want to duck."
I dropped just as a throwing axe embedded itself in the wood where my head had been. Great. Just great.
"Here's the situation," the young woman with the pitchfork said, crouching beside me. "Seventh Band broke through the east gate. About forty of them, mainly on foot. We've got thirty able fighters, if you count the miller's boy who can't remember which end of a sword to hold."
"I resent that accuracy," I muttered, then louder: "What exactly is the Seventh Band?"
She stared at me like I'd just asked what bread was. "By the Twin Suns, that head wound really did scramble your brains. They're the worst of the Red Sun raiders. Named for the seventh hour when the red sun peaks and drives men mad with bloodlust."
Combat Analysis: