Dead Men Walking: Eric

Eric was sprinting for his life, kicking up puddles left behind by the rain. Feral howls echoed behind him as flaming arrows rained down, peppering the flagstones of the bridge. Griselda had already made it to the other side of the bridge, and were doing their best to cover his retreat by slinging spells. Icicles flew from her hands like daggers, dropping another Hunter with every one.

She was going to get herself killed.

"Blow it!" Eric shouted.

Hunters didn't get tired. If the bridge wasn't destroyed, they would keep up the chase until they caught their quarry. Between the two of them, Eric and Griselda could kill dozens of them. But then the dozens left would tear them apart.

"Just run!" Griselda shot back.

She wasn't going to do it. Not while he was still on the bridge. The next moments played out in Eric's mind. Griselda would wait until Eric was clear to blow the bridge. There was just enough of a gap between him and the head of the pack that she could trick herself into thinking there was enough time. But there wouldn't be. Hunters would make it to the other side before the bridge was destroyed, and then, too exhausted to keep running, the two of them would fight. And they'd lose.

Resolve guided his hand to the hilt of his sword. He refused to let that happen. With one motion, Eric drew Stormcutter from its sheathe, feeling the blade hum in his hand as the clouds above rumbled. Griselda's eyes widened as he realized what he was going to do.

"NO!"

With a stroke, the sword called down a single, massive bolt of lightning, straight down onto the bridge. The powder kegs they'd planted on the way in went off in a chain reaction beneath his feet, and stone cracked apart. The bridge shook underneath Eric as he staggered forward, trying to outrun the collapse. He didn't dare look back, but he could hear the stones and Hunters tumbling into the gorge behind him. Their guttural shrieks echoed all down, ringing in his ears.

And then the ground fell out from under him. 

He smacked chin first into the edge of the bridge before sliding off the rain-slick surface. He felt the drop in his stomach as his arms flailed in the air, until Griselda's hand latched onto him like a vice.

She grunted under the weight, and almost slid over the edge with him. But, just barely, she managed to stop them both from falling.

"I got you," she panted, chest heaving. "I got you, just…"

Bracing herself with her other hand, she pulled with all her might—and failed to lift him even a little. On the other side of what remained of the bridge, the remains of the pack of Hunters howled in frustration, pounding their chests and the ground. For the moment, they were cut off. But after only a few seconds, the packs rear rank caught up, and arrows began to fly. Panic spread across Griselda's face.

"Just hang on!"

Tears welled in Griselda's eyes as she desperately clung to Eric's wrist. He was dangling too far down to find anything to grab onto besides her, which meant her grip was the only thing between him and a hundred foot drop. And it was slipping.

Griselda was many things. Smart. Kind. Beautiful. But she wasn't strong. Not physically. Holding him without just going over the edge herself was taking everything she had, and it still wasn't enough. The bridge's surface was wet and uneven to begin with, and now after being blown apart, what was left of it was unstable. If she didn't get away from the edge soon, they were both dead. That was if the Hunter's archer's didn't draw a bead on them first.

Eric could see the strain and desperation on Griselda's face. Her wet hair was clinging to her, and her arm was shaking. The stones underneath her began to shift. 

"Griselda," Eric pleaded. "You have to let me go."

"No! No, just hang on," she shouted. Her voice cracked. "Please."

"Griselda, I—"

He would have died for any of his friends, but Eric would have lived for Griselda. If he could have. He wanted her to know that, before the end. 

But an enemy arrow finally found its target, striking him in the back between his ribs. His last words were cut off, replaced by a gargle of pain and blood. Another shot sunk into his shoulder. He lost his own grip on Griselda's arm, and he started slipping even faster.

"Eric!"

His name tore itself from her throat just as a third and final arrow pierced her arm, and he plummeted into the river gorge. The last thing he saw before being swallowed into the mists was her grief stricken face staring down at him, desperately groping the air too late to save him. He didn't scream. Partly because he didn't want to seem afraid as he fell. But mostly because the first arrow had pierced his lung, and he was having trouble breathing.

And then everything went cold.