He made a first easy kill by chopping a Uni low to his back, freeing another horse. The next human put on a better fight. They hacked at each other as their mounts spun and reared. At last Stryke buried his sword in the enemy’s chest. This time the steed bolted, carrying the dead weight into a knot of Manis who unceremoniously pulled off the corpse. One of their number vaulted aboard and went looking for prey.
Alfray found himself the quarry. A Uni bore down on him, jabbing with a spear. He batted it away, backing to the wall. Suddenly a pair of orcs appeared and threw themselves at the rider. They tugged at him, dodging his flailing spear. His balance was ruined. He came to grief on the compacted earth, a grunt’s sword across his throat.
Jup downed a Uni with a lucky knife throw. Haskeer dragged one free of his horse and pummelled him senseless.
Greater numbers told, and in minutes the invaders were dead or dying.
Stryke and his officers gathered.
“That would have been just the opening salvo,” he told them. “Opportunistic, probably. We have to make this place secure before the rest get themselves organised.”
The bells took on a new urgency. They heard a distant roar.
A grunt they didn’t know ran up to pass on the word. “There’s trouble at the west gates! They couldn’t shut ’em in time!”
“Krenad!” Stryke shouted. “Half your group with me! You stay with the rest and guard these gates!”
Manis were already running west. A greater uproar rose from that direction. More bells rang out.
“This is going to get out of hand if we don’t act quickly!” Alfray bawled, climbing onto a commandeered horse.
Haskeer and Jup had rides too. The orc foot-soldiers moved to them en masse.
“All speed!” Stryke ordered, spurring hard.
He took his troops to the source of the turmoil.
13
The small army of orcs thundered through the streets, picking up citizenry as they went. Stryke and his officers rode. Bar a handful, the others ran.
Their passing added further confusion because many of Ruffetts View’s inhabitants had no idea who this unknown force was. Every few yards they had to be vouched for by Manis jogging with them who knew the score.
When they got to the west gates they were wide open.
A huge fight was boiling around the entrance, with many more custodians inside than at the other gates. Most of the defenders were on foot, though some mounted Manis swam through the sea of bodies. Commander Rellston was one of them. They could see his sword working up and down above the crowd.
More of the enemy were spilling in. The humans trying to close the doors had a hopeless task. As things stood, with their numbers almost equalling the defenders in the area, the raiders were near having the upper hand.
“What’s the plan, chief?” Jup asked.
“Take half the strength and engage the Unis in here. I’ll lead the other half for command of those gates.” Then he had the best orc riders brought to him, and told them, “Take our horses. What we need to do has to be on foot. Your targets are the Uni cavalry. Got that?”
The grunts mounted and stood ready.
“Coilla! Haskeer!” Stryke called out. “You’re with me for the gates! Alfray, follow Jup! Now get those troops mustered!”
A custodian was laying about the humans trying to close one of the gates. An arrow flew across the top of the crowd and downed him. A tattered cheer went up from those who saw it.
With a much larger number of orcs, many unused to their new commanders and band discipline, it took precious minutes to organise things. But Jup finally got his sixty or so grunts divided into five groups. He would lead one, Alfray another. Experienced grunts were given command of the remaining three.
The dwarf confided to the old warrior that he was worried about working with unknown soldiers.
“But they’re orcs! You can rely on them.”
“I never doubted that. But I don’t know them. Suppose there’s a bunch of dwarf haters in their ranks?”
Alfray almost laughed. “Don’t worry. They’re new, anxious to please. They’ll jump the right way.”
Stryke’s sixty were formed into a battle wedge. All the while he drummed into them that their only focus was the gates.
When everything was ready, Stryke yelled, “Hold until I give the word!” He elbowed himself into the prow of the wedge, sword and dagger drawn. Haskeer and Coilla stood beside him.
He bawled the order and a two-stage operation began.
The first required Jup and Alfray to soften up the opposition.
Their five groups went in, entering the fray from as many different directions. From the start they found they were expending as much energy on clearing Manis from their paths as engaging with their targets.
The squad Alfray fronted met little resistance at first. That was mostly due to spending several minutes reaching the first knot of wildly battling Unis. And once he got there, Alfray saw that beyond them, at the gates proper, Uni footsoldiers were spilling in. The enemy was dangerously near to establishing a foothold. Alfray began the work of thwarting that.
A custodian’s horse waded over and its rider picked Alfray to shower with blows. He could do little more than deflect them with his shield. While he looked for an opening to counterattack, another Uni joined in, battering at the raised swords of the troopers beside him.
Determination and seasoned skill got Alfray through his opponent’s guard. His blade raked the man’s outstretched arm. It was enough. Almost immediately another of Alfray’s squad rushed in to skewer the man on a pike, clearing him off his horse. The second rider was overcome by the sheer weight of half a dozen frenzied grunts.
Then there were no more horsemen ahead. But there were footmen aplenty. Alfray preferred that. It put things on a level.
He was about to pick a target from the plentiful supply when one chose him. A well-built and particularly mean-looking individual dashed in, howling, armed with a sword and hatchet.
Alfray blocked the first blow from the axe. He parried the sword and returned a swipe. All the while he was aware of the rest of his group engaging in vicious hand-to-hand combat. Over the racket he could hear Unis shouting praise and entreaties to their god.
There wasn’t much finesse in his duel with the Uni. It was a battering contest, down to the basics of strength and stamina. But Alfray had equipped himself with a shield, and in those conditions that gave him leverage. They chopped and hacked, pummelling each other’s blades, trying to do down the other by sheer slog.
Alfray felt his age, something he didn’t welcome this early in a conflict. But no sooner did he have the thought than it energised him. He began hitting out with greater force and wider swipes. The Uni started backing. Alfray blocked a cross with his shield. Then he sent out a blow of his own and it connected, gashing the man’s side. It wasn’t a profound wound, but pain had its way of wrecking a fighter’s concentration.
The Uni tried to rally, and did a reasonable job of fighting back, but it was downhill for him from there. Alfray found it easier to dodge the man’s subsequent passes as he waited for an opening. His chance came when the human put out a swipe too wide and too high. Alfray darted in and clashed his shield against the hatchet, neutralising it.
Then his sword flashed into the custodian’s heart.
Fights boiled all around. As Alfray withdrew from his kill, a grunt went down next to him with his skull shattered. He wasn’t a Wolverine.
Alfray faced another incomer’s blade.
A bird, or a watchtower lookout, might have discerned some pattern in the anarchy below. They would have seen Alfray’s group well into the mêlée, with Jup’s almost parallel. The other three squads would show as having eaten through the fighting mob to a lesser extent. But all were inexorably working their way to the heart of infection.
Stryke held his contingent back, awaiting the opportune moment.
Jup’s group was having no easier a time of
it than any of the others. He saw comrades fall. Every step forward had to be paid for dearly, every kill was hard fought.
In unison with two of his squad, he managed to avoid the probing spear of a mounted Uni and help pull him from his saddle. The dwarf’s companions killed the spilt custodian. Jup made a snatch for the horse’s reins but the spooked animal bolted, trampling Manis and Unis alike. Confronted by a human looking for a mount, it reared and brought down his hooves on the unfortunate’s chest. Then the beast was lost in the scrum.
There was no time to worry about the loss. Jup’s detachment was embroiled in fights with more riders, and now Uni foot-soldiers had joined the quarrel.
Two black-uniformed, sword-toting fanatics closed in on him. His comrades were more than fully occupied; he would have to deal with the threat alone. He didn’t wait for the first of his foes to arrive. Yelling a battle cry, he powered into the man, slashing maniacally. The custodian immediately went on the defensive. All the while his companion weaved on the periphery, looking for a way through Jup’s fury.
He almost found it when the dwarf, swerving away from a thrust, stumbled and nearly fell. The second Uni rushed at him, sword levelled, with the intention of running him through. Jup deflected the blade and with swift instinct swiped his own across the man’s throat.
The first custodian wasn’t slow in trying to exact revenge. He took a chop at the dwarf’s legs, intending to hamstring him. Jup skipped aside and narrowly escaped the injury. Then he forced himself back on the man, windmilling his sword, giving his blood-lust its head. The Uni stood his ground, Jup gave him that, but it might have gone better with him if he hadn’t. A blur of muscle-aching swordplay turned the tide against him. At last, Jup laid his blade across the man’s face, cutting deep. He howled and his head went down. He was seen off with a hefty downward chop to the nape of his neck.
There was barely time for Jup to take a breath before a new contender stepped in to bait him.
Stryke judged the moment right to take in the wedge. He bellowed an order. Shields were raised. With Haskeer to his right and Coilla on his left, he plunged them into the mob. They bulldozed and booted aside Mani allies when they obstructed their course. Any Unis in reach were butchered. The wedge had the hardest job of all. They had to get to the very heart of the enemy breach, clear it and master the gates. Stryke wondered if a sixty-strong force would be enough.
He headed for the goal like a blinkered horse, cutting down anybody in black who got in the way. Haskeer and Coilla worked alongside, hacking, slashing, stabbing. A prickly, unstoppable leviathan, the wedge cut a swathe through the barrier of flesh, depositing a toll of dead and maimed in its wake. Stryke couldn’t say with honesty that its only casualties were from the enemy side.
They were about halfway, and the going was even harder, when something significant swam into view.
Commander Rellston.
He was on his horse but only just, stranded in the middle of a pack of Unis about to overwhelm him.
Stryke came to a swift decision that in truth he wouldn’t have otherwise made. But he knew the value of a commander, even a bigoted one. His plan meant a slight change of direction, taking them more toward the centre of the gates. This he conveyed with a snapped order.
He was glad he had two trusted officers up front with him, and that he’d positioned other Wolverines at crucial points in the wedge. They could be relied on to carry out the change and make sure the others complied.
Like a great ship tossed on an ocean of blood and tormented flesh, the wedge slowly turned to a new course. It might already have been too late for Rellston. He was besieged by more invaders than he could sensibly engage, and only luck had stopped him succumbing.
The wedge ploughed on, barrelling aside friends and enemies. At last it arrived at the Commander and began chewing his antagonists. At that moment his horse went down, slain by a hatchet blow to its head. Rellston all but disappeared in the chaotic struggle. Stryke, Haskeer and Coilla began carving through the Unis, the others covering their backs.
Rellston was half crouching, doing no more than warding off his foes with a shield.
Quickly felling the would-be murderers, Stryke and Coilla made room for Haskeer. He reached down, grabbed the Commander by the scruff and hoisted him to his feet. Half dragging him, they pulled Rellston into the relative protection of the wedge. He was bloodied and pale, but nodded his gratitude as the wedge resumed its journey.
Within six torturous paces the second-worst thing that can happen to somebody in a flying wedge befell Coilla.
A second’s inattention had her missing an incoming blade until it almost hit. She ducked, jabbed back and lost her footing. Reality whirled and she was separated from her comrades, alone in the scrum. The wedge, unstoppable, rolled on. It moved slowly, but still she couldn’t get back to it.
Then three Unis closed in, fresh from a kill.
Coilla didn’t fool with the first. She knocked his sword aside and riddled his breast with rapid cross-strokes. The other two came at her with murderous speed. She glanced away the blade of one, delivered a blow to the other’s shield.
A frantic exchange of swordplay ended with one Uni down, coughing blood. The remaining custodian tried to pay her back. She spun to him, averting his blade with a ringing impact. Their next exchange wound up with his abdomen lacerated. He sank to his knees, clutching his flowing stomach.
Coilla looked around. The end of the wedge was moving out of reach. It was close, but separated from her by layers of people. And other Unis were coming her way. Too many of them.
She had a crazy idea, thought, What the hell, and went for it.
Running the few paces between her and the disembowelled human, she used his drooping shoulder as a springboard. He cried out as she left him to his fate. The added height gave her enough clearance to get over the heads of the crowd. She landed on the wedge, miraculously missing up-thrust swords and spears, thumping heavily on a shield. Helping hands lowered her, and she worked her way to the nose, breathless.
“Glad you could drop in,” Stryke remarked sardonically.
Shortly after, the prow of the wedge met Jup’s squad battling in from their left. They melded, and together attacked the final, clotted knot of Unis fighting to get in the gates. Aid came from arrows directed from a nearby watchtower. But bolts were winging in from the outside too. The danger of their position was underlined when a grunt caught one in his head and collapsed, lifeless.
Stryke peeled off twenty troopers and assigned ten to each gate. Once they joined the Manis already struggling with them, the great doors began to inch shut. With a supreme effort, the last of the fresh invaders were forced back. The gap between the gates narrowed. Then they met with an echoing crash. A massive wooden crossbar was hurriedly passed through iron loops to secure it. Numerous fists and sword hilts could be heard pounding against the other side.
There were still invaders within the walls, but they were isolated and outnumbered now. It didn’t take long to quell them.
Jup slumped against the gate, sweat pouring down his face. “That was too close,” he panted.
An hour or two later, Stryke and Coilla climbed to a walkway at the top of Ruffetts’ outer wall. There were other Manis on it, standing apart from them, gazing over the fortifications. The orcs stared too, trying to estimate the size of the army laying siege. It occupied a vast area. Hundreds of humans topped the surrounding hills too, including the one which just hours before the orcs had occupied. Stryke and Coilla agreed that they numbered fifteen to twenty thousand, which would match the settlement’s population, if not actually outstrip it.
Down in the township some kind of Mani religious ceremony was going on. It centred around the geyser, which could just be seen through gaps in the buildings, and above them. Figures were outlined by the eerie glow, with hands linked and robes billowing. Beyond stood the temple, bathed in the soft radiance.
Stryke wasn’t happy. “The defence of those gates wa
s a shambles,” he complained. “We lost seventeen. The gods know how many Manis went down. Plus injuries. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“These people aren’t fighters,” Coilla said. “The military contingent here’s probably no more than ten per cent. They’re not like us. Warfare doesn’t come naturally to them. You can’t blame them.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying that you need the right tools for the job. You can’t cut butter with a club.”
“They’ve got their dream.” She wondered if that was an appropriate word to use to him, all things considered. But he didn’t react. “It seems to be all that matters to them.”
“They should learn that dreams have to be defended.” He looked out at the army again. “If it isn’t already too late.”
“So how do we get out of this mess?”
“We could just cut and run. We might make it.”
“Without the star? And leaving these humans to fight alone?”
“Is that really our problem?”
“They offered us hospitality, Stryke.”
He sighed. “The other option is to throw in our lot with them and help get a proper defence sorted.”
“Post orcs throughout the settlement,” she speculated. “Maybe divide our force into five or six units and command one each.”
He nodded.
“You’ll have Rellston to convince,” she told him.
“He may be pig-headed but I hope he’s not a fool. If he’s got any military blood at all, he’ll see the necessity.”
“And saving him should count for something.”
“Maybe. But he’s a human, isn’t he?”
“I kind of like Krista,” she admitted. “And that isn’t something you’ll hear me say about a human very often. We’ve come across worse specimens of their race. Take a look outside.”
“What a mess. Getting stuck in a siege wasn’t part of the plan.”
“We had a plan? Look, we have to make our alliances where we can. At least we’re locked in with the star.”
“How do we know that? We haven’t seen it.” He did his instinctive thing of absently reaching for the belt pouch.
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