We stopped when we saw the black figures lined up shoulder to shoulder at the end of the path. Wild Joshua Trees grew out from the orange stones, branching off, some so large that they hit the wall across. Boulders jutting out, crooked and stuck between the narrow passage way. Layered shades of stones darkening as they approached the floor - where we were at. A little flat path, the dust rolling underneath us and getting stuck in channels of broken dirt. A lattice of light dissected my face, we approached slowly.

“Archers in the back, perch yourself correctly.” Vincent said. His blade was its sheath, and he laid it on the neck of his horse. He had one hand on the harness and the other on the hilt. His visor was set down and he looked with red eyes through the slits, a machine man coming to terminate the phalanx set up at the end.

What a phalanx it was. Spears poking between the gaps. Spears and glares of men, sharp. The shields formed a kind of towering wall, three stories high it looked. Within moments I was inside the shadow of their blockade. My blades were out. I jumped out of my horse. Another man took my place. The hind legs of those beasts shrugged me off, a pack of horses would be first.

They ran. Arrows arched from behind the shields. They whistled, the fletchings a bright blue in the sky. Then they fell. Sparks flew out from the flints hitting the floor. I cut down the shafts as I saw them. Some men weren’t so agile, weren’t so blessed. A man to my side was struck in the shoulder. His shield lowered. I tried to lift the slack, but another arrow came down. It struck him in the eye and vibrated in his socket. He fell. I took the shield off him, running forward, moving side to side, hiding below the shield. Kal ran up. He slashed at the air, rotated his steel. It was like watching a helicopter taking off. Splintered wood struck me as the arrows broke from the spin. The draft raised my cloak, I put the hood over my head.

I ran. Knives out. A few men came out from the phalanx to catch me, they lunged with spears. I caught one. Stepped on it and trapped it against the stone. It snapped and I drove my knife into the man’s neck. Another came from behind, sweeping with his spear. I ducked, stepped back. One was bleeding, the other was readying his shield and inching forward, spear out, as arrows came from beyond him. I could not press. I was too busy moving side to side and catching arrows and I Found myself losing ground.

I hid behind the cover our own front, our own shield men. Kal, swinging his blade. We observed the cavalry still running forward. The men that survived the volley had managed to get close. But the spears were just too much for horses. Some were gutted, others were stabbed and the steeds in their pain, ran back and away. A man dangled from his horse saddle, arrows in his body. He left a streak of blood. The horse ran behind us.

“This isn’t working.” I said.

Vincent behind me.

“Keep the faith.” He eyes narrowed. “Second line, forward.”

The men looked at each other, shuddering and whispering. They raised their shields above them and took the blunt of arrows and took small steps. Vincent pointed his flaming sword forward. They marched. The earth vibrated. A simple dozen soldiers walking forward, coming to fight the hundred men before them. None of them ran. Which was the impressive thing.

Though they all should have.

The arrows struck their shields and for a while seemed to hold. But the men began to buckle fast, and they stopped. Arrow heads made their way through the shields. Some of them struck the helmets of the men, and they took a knee. They tried to steady themselves, but the concussions were too great and the minute their shields were lowered —

I saw twelve men die clutching the fletchings stuck to their hearts. Arrows expanding from the chest cavities. Pools of blood marking the men.

“We’re killing ourselves.” I said.

Vincent was stiff.

“Do you hear it?” He asked.

I stood quiet, almost thinking he was insane. What noise? Arrows hitting stone? Steel hitting leather shield?

No. A roar. A cry. A scream.

Something familiar, something that raised the hairs in my neck. A screeching sound in the midday air.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked. No answer.

Vincent looked to the sky. I observed. A shadow went across me. My body stiffened up. I clenched my knives hard.

“M-” My mouth shook. “Man eaters?”

They came with a screech. Descending down fast, like black rain, cutting through the army of shields. Some of the flock splintered off, went our way. Dark figures, veined and desperate. Slobbering, talons extended out pointed at us. A man was clutched in the arm. Kal cut the thing in half before it could carry him. The talon remained in his shoulder, he bent down and started to unhinge the claw.

“What are you doing just watching?” Vincent asked.

I turned. I hadn’t even realized how much I was sweating or how cold my body had gone.

“They shouldn’t be here.” I said.

“Like it matters, they’re here now.” Vincent pointed his blade. “And we’ll use them to our advantage.”

Across from us they had received the bulk of the man-hunters. Giant bat-things, veiny and sickly purple. Spotted with giant boils where yellow pus floated inside the amniotic sacs, they pinched and prodded and plucked men and dropped men.

“Have we all forgotten?” Vincent asked. “Get in positions. Get ready for their lunge.”

We sort of snapped. Years of it coming back, we bent at our hinds and angled our bodies upward. All of us grouping up and forming small circles. Muscle memory had taken over. We fought and cut at and stabbed at the creatures. One went for me, Vincent was to my side. A shield-bearer guarded us and from below I cut at the feet. The talons were ripped off, yellow and red blood and boil-liquid splattered across from me. Vincent cut the thing in half as it sputtered and screamed and toiled in the air.

We observed the other groups. They did well, some injuries, some cuts. But they were fending them off, at least long enough to get the damn things off of our side. And when they retreated, the man-eaters flew high into the air and fluttered and descended back down - onto Duvall and his men.

“This is convenient.” I said. “And it doesn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t feel right?” Vincent walked towards a horse on the side.

I jumped behind him.

“It doesn't. And it doesn't matter either.” I asked.

And it didn’t. I could think of it another time, another place. But not now, not yet. I narrowed myself, put my weight on Vincent’s back. He hit his horse and we went at it. Both of us riding on our war horse. It clashed into the men. Some were trampled, others pushed to the side to be ripped apart by monsters in the sky. Vincent and I, both in the tumble of it, raising dust with our conquest. Me; slashing at mens throats. Vincent; slashing at monsters.