Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

above it all, the endless scream of the awful thing called Legion.
    Albert Magnus, that grey and bitter man, fought hard and well with his two
    swords, and felt really alive for the first time in years.
    He swung his two swords in wide, coordinated arcs, forcing his opponents back.
    But there were so many of them, and he couldn't look in all directions at once.
    A sword stabbed at him from an unexpected angle, and slammed between his ribs.
    He shouted in pain and disbelief, and blood sprayed from his mouth. He dropped his swords. Someone jerked the sword out of his side, and that hurt him again.
    And then there were more swords, and axes, hewing at him like a block of wood.
    He fell, hurting too badly now even to scream, and was trampled on, just another body on the ground. The fight moved back and forth over him till he died.
    Jack Random seemed to be everywhere at once, his sword a silver blur, a dashing death-defying hero, laughing in the face of impossible odds. Just his presence was enough to spark greatness in the men and women around him, and they fought, using his name as a battle cry. He took impossible risks and always pulled them off, and no one could stand against him. He never seemed to tire, and he never took a wound, a giant of a man who spread terror through the Imperial ranks.
    Owen, bloodied and exhausted, was quietly disgusted. It wasn't fair that anyone should be that fast, that amazing, and that good-looking—not to mention that lucky. The Empire forces hadn't even been able to draw the great man's blood yet. Owen felt he was doing pretty well, but he'd already taken a dozen lesser wounds. It was inevitable in a crush like this. The Maze's changes were already healing him, and the boost kept him from feeling much pain, but it was the principle of the thing.
    Still, Jack Random was a legend, and legends were supposed to be above the petty problems of mere mortals. If that was who he really was. Owen was damned if he knew what he believed anymore. Certainly this man filled the legend better than
    the broken-down old man he'd found hiding in Mistport, claiming to be Jack Random; but Owen believed in people, not legends. He shrugged mentally as he cut down another Imperial trooper with a single savage stroke. Random wasn't the only real warrior here.
    And whoever the handsome bastard really was, Young Jack Random was exactly what the city of Mistport needed right now. His name was a rallying cry, perhaps the only thing that could call all the disparate parts of Mistport together and make them fight as one. Owen decided he'd settle for that.
    Hazel d'Ark could feel her mind reaching out in strange directions. Ever since the Maze had changed her, her mental abilities had been slowly but steadily increasing, and since coming to Mistport, the rate of change had been increasing. She could tell now where every attack was coming from, even before it was actually launched, and her sword was always there in the right place to block the attack. No one could sneak up on her, even in her blind spots, and she could sense the weaknesses in any opponent the moment she saw him or her. It was beyond experience or instinct; it was as though she'd always known such things, and only remembered them now when she needed them.
    And more than that, as she saw the various possibilities opening up before her, other possible versions of herself began to appear around her. They blinked in and out of existence, sometimes only there long enough to deflect a sword or ward off an attack she couldn't have stopped on her own. But as she fought, other different Hazel d'Arks began to appear, to fight at her side. Some had subtle differences, like an extra scar, or different-colored hair. Others were different builds, or races. One had a golden Hadenman hand. One was a man. At least one didn't look to be entirely human. She smiled at some of them, and some smiled back. Together, she and her other selves pushed forward, forcing their
    way to the very front of the battle, and there they filled the main gap in the boundary wall and defied the Empire to get past them.
    John Silver saw the Hazel d'Arks fighting side by side, and thought he must have got a really bad batch of Blood this time. It didn't usually give him hallucinations. It was only when a bald Hazel d'Ark in a bounty hunter's leathers stopped an Imperial sword thrust that would have killed him, that he was forced to admit they were real. He didn't let it bother him. Mistport