“Like hell we will,” Coilla said.
Delorran shot her a look of fury. “You exercise little discipline over your subordinates, Stryke. Not that it surprises me.”
“If she hadn’t said it, I would. If we’ve got something you want, come and get it.”
Delorran reached for his sword.
“And if you want to violate a flag of truce, go ahead,” Stryke added, raising a hand to his own blade.
They glared at each other.
Delorran didn’t draw his sword. “You’ve got two minutes to think about it. Then give up or put up.”
Stryke turned his horse without a word. Coilla, after a parting scowl at Delorran, joined him. They galloped back up to the band.
Swinging from his saddle, Stryke outlined the exchange. “They’ve got us marked as traitors, and they think we massacred those orcs in the camp we torched.”
Alfray was shocked. “How could they think we’d do that?”
“Delorran’s ready to believe anything about me, as long as it’s bad, and in about a minute and a half they’ll be coming up here to take us. Dead or alive.” He looked to the gathered Wolverines. “It’s crunch time. Surrender and we face certain death, either at Delorran’s hands or when he takes us back to Cairnbarrow. If I’m to meet my death it’s going to be here and now, with a sword in my hand.” He scanned their faces. “How say you? Are you with me?”
The band let him know they were. Even Haskeer and the trio who supported him were game for a fight, although their assent was a little less enthusiastic than the others’.
“All right, we’re prepared to make a stand,” Jup said. “But look at the situation we’re in: a battle about to start behind us and a determined force of hardened warriors ahead. What the fuck do we do?”
A few other voices were raised, wanting to know the same thing.
“We strengthen our position if we hold off their first attack,” Stryke told them. “And it’s coming any second.”
At the bottom of the hill, Delorran’s force was massing for a charge.
“Mount up!” Stryke shouted. He waved his sword at a couple of grunts. “Help Darig on to Alfray’s horse. Alfray, I want you to the back of our defences. Move! All of you!”
The band scrambled for their horses and filled their hands with weapons. Stryke retrieved the star from Alfray and remounted.
Delorran’s band was galloping up to them, with perhaps a third of the group holding back as reserves.
Stryke voiced a final thought. “It goes against the grain to meet our own kind in battle. But remember they believe we’re renegades and they’ll kill us if they get the chance.”
The time for talk was over. Stryke raised his arm, brought it down hard and yelled, “Now . . . charge!”
The Wolverines turned their horses and swept down to meet the first wave.
They might have been outnumbered, despite the reserve left behind, but they had the advantage of defending higher ground.
Blades clashed, horses milled and shied, blows were delivered and returned. The air was filled with the sound of steel impacting steel as swords met shields.
For Stryke and the others, fighting their own race was a unique and disturbing experience. He hoped it didn’t curb their determination. He wasn’t sure if it affected Delorran’s troop.
But it could have been significant that after five minutes of intense swordplay the attackers began to fall back without major injuries on either side.
As they retreated down the hill, Stryke shouted, “Their hearts weren’t in it! If I know Delorran, he’ll be giving them hell for that effort. We can’t expect it so easy when they come back.”
Sure enough, they watched as Delorran addressed his band, and it didn’t look like a gentle lecture.
“We can’t hold them off forever,” Coilla stated grimly.
Jup glanced down at the battlefield behind them. The two sides were slowly advancing towards each other. “Nor do we have anywhere to run.”
Delorran’s group prepared to attack again, this time with the entire force.
Stryke made a decision. It bordered insanity, but he saw no other way.
“Listen to me!” he bellowed at the Wolverines. “Trust the order I’m going to give, and follow me!”
“We’re going to charge them again?” Coilla asked.
Delorran’s troop was thundering up the rise.
“Trust me!” Stryke repeated. “Do as I do!”
The enemy was nearer and gathering speed. There was no doubt of their greater resolve. They advanced to a point no more than a short spear throw away.
Stryke’s gaze flicked to the battlefield. “Now!” he yelled.
Then he turned his horse and spurred it to the top of the rise.
In seconds he had reached the crest and was down the other side.
“Oh no . . .” Jup moaned.
Haskeer was slack-jawed, unable to take in what was happening. He wasn’t alone. None of the rest of the band moved.
Delorran was almost on them.
It was Coilla who seized the initiative. “Come on!” she roared. “It’s our only chance!”
She brought her horse around and followed Stryke.
“Shit!” Haskeer cursed. But he did the same, along with the other Wolverines.
Alfray, with Darig hanging on, even managed to raise their banner.
As they reached the hill’s summit, Stryke was already well down the other side.
In the valley below, the two armies were approaching each other with increasing speed. Humans ran with pikes and spears. Cavalry charged.
The gap between them was closing fast. Like bats out of hell, the Wolverines headed for it.
Delorran and his troops arrived at the top of the hill.
The fact that there was a battle going on in the valley below came as a shock to them. Horses were suddenly reined in, and would have been even if Delorran hadn’t thrown up a hand to halt them.
They gazed down, astonished, as the charging orcs made straight for the point where the front lines of the two opposing armies were about to meet.
“What do we do, sir?” the sergeant said.
“Unless you’ve got a better idea,” Delorran replied, “we watch them commit suicide.”
16
The angle the Wolverines were racing down was so acute they slid as much as rode.
Coilla turned in her saddle and looked back up the hill. She saw the rest of the band close behind. Above, their pursuers had stopped and were watching them. She goaded her horse and drew parallel with Stryke.
“What the hell are we doing?” she bellowed.
“We just go through!” he mouthed over the wind whipping at their faces. “They won’t be expecting it!”
“They’re not the only ones!”
The opposite armies were moving closer by the moment.
Stryke pointed downward. “But we have to keep going! And we don’t stop even when we reach the other side!”
“If we reach the other side!” she yelled at him.
With a jarring thud they bumped on to the flat, the other Wolverines close behind. Stryke glanced over his shoulder. The band were still together. Alfray, with Darig hanging on grimly, was at the rear, but holding his own.
Now that they were on the level the going was faster. The drawback was losing the vantage point they had had on higher ground. From this angle the armies looked a lot closer together, and the increasingly narrow space between them was harder to gauge. Stryke spurred his already lathering horse and called out for the others to keep pace.
Onward, onward, into the valley of death they rode.
They hurtled towards the killing field, the roar of thousands of battle-crazed combatants filling their ears.
Then they were between the advancing lines. Enemies to the left of them, enemies to the right.
A blur of bodies and indistinct faces flashed by. Stryke was dimly aware of heads turning, arms pointing, inaudible shouts aimed in thei
r direction. He prayed that the element of surprise and the confusion of imminent battle would give the Wolverines some kind of edge. And he hoped that the band could benefit from neither army being sure whose side these unexpected intruders were on. Though once they were identified as orcs, he knew the Unis would assume they were here to support the Manis.
They were less than a quarter of the way across the battlefield when arrows and spears began winging their way. Fortunately the two hordes were still far enough apart that the missiles fell harmlessly short. But the soldiers were covering ground at even greater speed. If they flagged for a moment, the Wolverines would be dashed by lethal tides on either side. Here and there, knots of warriors faster on their feet, or mounted on horses with a clear path, were already rushing to block the band’s progress.
A group of footsoldiers, armed with pikes and broadswords, ran forward just ahead of Stryke. He rode through them, knocking them aside. Coilla and the band trampled the rest. The orcs were lucky. Had the ground troops been less taken by surprise, and more organised, they could have put a stop to the Wolverines’ flight there and then.
Arrows were landing nearer. A spear cut the air between the rump of Stryke’s horse and the snout of the one behind. Individual soldiers dashed in right and left to harry the galloping orcs. They lashed out in their turn, cutting down Unis and Manis indiscriminately.
A black-garbed human ran forward and leapt at Coilla’s horse, grabbing its reins. He hung on, pulling down with all his weight. Her horse faltered and wheeled, bunching up the Wolverines behind her. More humans were running from all directions to join the fray.
She plucked free a knife and slashed at the face of the man slowing her. He screamed and fell. The following orcs rode over him. Coilla dug in her heels. The band put on a burst of speed and outpaced the running soldiers.
On the flank of the column and more vulnerable, Haskeer swung his axe, to one side then the other, cracking the skulls of pikemen trying to unseat him. Roaring, he made his getaway.
The Wolverines rode on, the view to either side choked with endless twin seas of charging human warriors.
Stryke knew the band was losing momentum. He feared they’d be overwhelmed at any second.
Seen from atop the hill, the band’s progress across the valley resembled a handful of tiny black pearls rolled by a giant. Delorran and his troopers watched as the vice closed in to crush them.
“The lunatics,” Delorran exclaimed. “They’d rather throw their lives away than face my justice.”
“They’re finished right enough, sir,” his sergeant agreed.
“We can’t linger here and risk being seen. Make ready to leave.”
“What about the artifact, sir?”
“Do you want to go and get it?”
The Wolverines’ way across the battlefield was about to be blocked. Hundreds of humans, Uni and Mani, were converging ahead of them, from left and right.
“Come!” Delorran barked.
He turned his horse and led his troopers down their side of the hill.
In the valley, Stryke saw humans running forward to obstruct the band’s path. He kept going, barrelling into them, lashing out with his sword. A brace of heartbeats later the rest of the Wolverines smacked into the human wall and began carving through it. More chaos ensued as the two sides also started fighting each other.
The scene tipped from confusion into bloody anarchy.
Jup came close to being pulled from his horse by a small mob of Unis with spears. His wild slashing held them off, but he would have been dragged down if a knot of other Wolverines hadn’t joined in beating off the attackers. He and they resumed the dash.
Alfray kept pace with the others, but because of his passenger inevitably fell back. They too were targeted for an attack, this time by Manis who had by now abandoned any idea that the orcs were there to aid them. He gave as good an account of himself as he could. But carrying a wounded comrade hampered him, as did bearing the Wolverines’ banner, which proved less effective a weapon than a broadsword would have done in the circumstances. And no other Wolverines were near enough to help.
Alfray and Darig were almost out of the mob’s grasp when Darig caught the full force of a spear thrust.
He cried out.
Alfray slashed down at the spear carrier, gouging a chunk out of his shoulder. But as far as Darig was concerned, the damage was done.
He swayed in the saddle, head lolling.
Alfray was too busy fending off other attackers to pay Darig much heed. Then another mounted warrior confronted him and Alfray’s horse reared. Darig toppled. As soon as he hit the ground, a mass of humans rushed in. Their swords, axes, spears and knives rose and fell.
Alfray cried out in rage and despair. With a single blow he struck down the cavalryman blocking his way. A quick glance at the mob around Darig confirmed that there was nothing he could do. Spurring on his horse, he escaped another onslaught by the skin of his teeth. He joined the tail end of the Wolverines, fighting their way through the bottleneck at the edge of the battlefield. By now he was convinced they wouldn’t make it.
Behind them, the armies met and melded in savage conflict.
The start of the battle full-blown proved a boon. The two sides’ preoccupation with killing each other, and preserving their own lives, meant the Wolverines were a lesser priority.
Two more minutes of furious slaughter, stretched to infinity, saw the band off the battlefield. They galloped at high speed across the sward and up the opposite bank.
As they climbed, Coilla looked back. A group of humans, twenty or thirty strong, was riding after them. From their appearance, she took them for Unis.
“We’ve got company!” she yelled.
Stryke already knew as much. “Keep going!” he shouted.
When they got to the top of the valley side they found beyond a sweeping slope leading to grassy flatlands dotted with woods. They kept moving. Their pursuers bobbed over the hill behind them, riding just as swiftly.
The going was softer on this side of the valley. Clods of earth were kicked up by the hooves of hunters and hunted.
A grunt yelled. Everybody looked skyward.
Three dragons were gliding in from the direction of the battlefield.
Stryke had to assume they were after his band. He led the Wolverines in the direction of trees, gambling on cover.
“Heads down!” Jup cried.
A dragon swooped. They felt a blast of heat at their backs. The dragon soared low over their heads and climbed to rejoin its fellows.
The band looked to their rear and saw the pursuing humans had been decimated. Charred corpses of men and horses littered the ground. Some still burned. Several humans, blazing head to foot, tottered and fell. A few hadn’t been hit, but they’d had the heart knocked out of them as far as the chase was concerned. Their horses halted, they simply stared at the fallen, or watched dumbly as the orcs slipped from their grasp.
Stryke wondered if the carnage was intentional or not. You never knew with dragons. They were an imprecise weapon at the best of times.
As if in answer, they came in for another attack. The band strained their mounts to reach the fringes of the wood.
A great jagged shadow covered them. The dragon’s scalding breath flamed a vast swath of grass a couple of yards to their right. They goaded their shying horses harder still.
Another dragon dived, its mighty wings flapping. A downrush of air battering them, they raced to the wood.
They reached it, with stragglers, including Alfray, barely making the shelter in time. The dragon unleashed its scalding breath, igniting the trees overhead with a roar. Burning branches fell, smouldering leaves and sparks showered down.
Maintaining their pace, the Wolverines drove deep into the wood. Through gaps in the curtain above their heads they caught glimpses of their flying antagonists keeping pace.
At length the sightings grew rarer. Eventually the dragons were apparently eluded. The band slowe
d but kept moving. They stopped when they reached the wood’s far limit.
Concealed within the treeline, they spotted the dragons again, passing overhead in a circling reconnaissance. Not daring to break cover, the band dismounted and guards were posted to watch for any humans that might be following. As far as they could tell, none were. They settled, weapons to hand, waiting for a chance to break cover.
Gulping a long draught from his water sack, Haskeer hammered back the stopper and commenced complaining. “That was one hell of a risk we took back there.”
“What else could we have done?” Coilla said. “Anyway, it worked, didn’t it?”
Haskeer couldn’t argue with that and contented himself with some moody scowling.
His temper wasn’t shared by most of the others. The grunts in particular were jubilant about getting away with it, and Stryke had to bark at them to keep the racket down.
Alfray was less joyful. His thoughts lay with Darig. “If I’d just hung on to him, perhaps he’d still be here now.”
“There was nothing you could do,” Stryke told him. “Don’t scourge yourself with what might have been.”
“Stryke’s right,” Coilla agreed. “The wonder is there weren’t more lost.”
“Even so,” Stryke murmured, half to himself, “if anyone’s to be blamed for the waste of lives, perhaps it’s me.”
“Don’t start getting sappy,” Coilla warned him. “We need you clear-headed, not wallowing in guilt.”
Stryke took the point and dropped the subject. He reached into his pocket and brought out the star.
“That odd-looking thing’s caused us so much trouble,” Alfray said. “It’s turned our lives upside down. I hope it’s worth it, Stryke.”
“It could be our furlough from serfdom.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I think you’ve been looking for any excuse to break away for some time.”
“In truth, haven’t we all?”
“That could be so. But I’m more wary of change at my age.”
“This is a time of change. Everything’s changing. Why not us?”
“Huh, change,” Haskeer sneered. “There’s too much . . . talk of . . .” He appeared breathless and swayed unsteadily. Then he went down like a felled ox.
Orcs Page 16