Coilla appeared at her side. "We're forgetting the gates!"
Humans were massing there again, intent on closing the breach.
"What do we do?"
"Follow me!"
They weaved through the fracas, gathering as many Vixens as they could. With six or seven in tow they ran towards the gates. That caught the attention of several archers on the battlements. They targeted the sprinting females.
Barely ten paces had been covered when one of the Vixens was struck in the eye by an arrow. She was dead before she hit the dirt.
" Shit! " Coilla cursed.
" Heads up! " Spurral exclaimed, pointing with a knife.
A mob of troops had spilled out of one of the barrack blocks and was dashing to intercept them.
The small contingent of Vixens stood their ground. With a battle raging behind them, a crowd of troops milling at the gates ahead and knots of soldiers all around, there was little choice.
The fresh troopers swept in. Almost immediately one of the Vixens let out a piercing scream. A spear buried in her chest, she staggered a few steps before collapsing to her knees. Then she toppled, lifeless.
In short order one of her comrades was knocked senseless by a vicious head blow. Another sustained a wound that near severed her arm.
"This is getting hairy!" Spurral yelled. "We need reinforcements!"
There was uproar at the gates. Soldiers went down like scythed corn as Pepperdyne's wagon ploughed through them. Nimbler humans leapt aside when it shot over the square. About halfway across, Pepperdyne applied the handbrake. The wagon skidded, turned almost end on end and came to a juddering halt. But its crew wasn't entirely unscathed. One was dead, and the defenders' arrows had injured a couple more. The rest jumped clear and joined the set-to.
"Looks like we got 'em," Coilla said.
At the top of the hill, the third wagon was launched.
Dallog shared the steering lever with a dour resistance member. Wheam was in the rear with the rest of the attack team.
Turning, Dallog said, "Expect this to be bumpy. Hang on back there." He addressed it more to Wheam than the hardened fighters sitting with him.
The youth gave a weak nod, his complexion chalky.
Having seen off the wagon, Haskeer and the remainder of the force charged down the hill in its wake.
Stryke's group, dealing with the ambushers behind the barracks, had been oblivious to the greater picture. But with the last of the humans quickly and brutally dispatched, their task was done.
"We've wasted enough time here," Stryke announced, jerking his blade from a trooper's lifeless breast.
"Then let's get back to the main event!" Jup replied in a tone that sounded almost gleeful.
They rushed out to the parade ground.
The scene that greeted them wasn't far short of anarchy. There were no defined lines of battle, just a mass of fighting orcs and humans.
"Where to, Stryke?" Jup asked, scanning the confusion.
"Looks like Coilla could use some help." He pointed towards the ruined gates.
"Seems as good a place as any."
Stryke swiftly formed his troop into a wedge formation and led them into the fray.
They traversed the square by the simple expedient of cutting down any humans who came near. Once they reached Coilla's group the wedge broke up and splintered into a dozen separate scraps.
"About time!" Coilla said.
"Been busy," Stryke told her, batting away a soldier's blade.
"Hey, look!" Jup yelled.
Through the gap where the gates used to be they saw the third wagon heading towards the fort.
It was having a rough time. Arrows came down continuously. With the orc archers part of the ground force running behind the wagon, their shields above their heads as though deflecting rain, no one was returning fire.
Apart from their helmets and chainmail, Dallog and his co-driver had no such protection. It proved telling. An arrow struck the co-driver in the neck. He fell heavily against the steering lever, then went over the side. The wagon veered sharply to the right and came off the road. Dallog struggled to control it.
One or two orcs in the back of the wagon managed to jump clear. The rest hung on grimly as it picked up speed. Dallog tried applying the brake. It snapped off in his hand.
Bumping over grassland, the wagon swerved further to the right. It passed the side of the fort, a spear lob to its left, travelling ever faster. Arrows were still raining down on them.
Dallog shouted something, but his words couldn't be heard. Wheam squealed.
Then the wagon ran out of land and plunged over the cliff.
A company of soldiers arrived furtively at the row of ramshackle buildings by the foot of the cliff. They forced the doors, and armed with lanterns poured in to begin their search.
The wagon of bellowing orcs shot over the precipice above. Like a great bird downed by a giant's slingshot, it crashed through the roof of one of the buildings. With a thunderous roar the entire structure collapsed.
The impact sent shockwaves through the unstable buildings on either side. Imitating a line of playing cards swiped by a spoilt child, the ripple effect had them falling into each other. Walls buckled and went down. Roofs caved in. Smoke and flame erupted from the debris, ignited by the lanterns and brands carried by the ill-fated troopers.
They heard the reverberation up in the fort, even above the noise of battle.
"Those fucking archers!" Coilla howled.
Stryke nodded. "That's our next objective."
The ground force, with Haskeer in the vanguard, jogged through the gates. Its archers immediately took issue with the bowmen on the ramparts and started swapping bolts with them. The others piled into the battle on the square, with Haskeer taking the lead.
Stryke spotted Pepperdyne finishing an opponent nearby. He left Coilla marshalling her Vixens and went to him.
"Feel like a task, human?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"Clearing those battlements."
Pepperdyne glanced up at the archers. They looked to be at least thirty strong. "I'm game."
"We can't spare many for the job."
"I said I'm game."
"Right." He cupped his hands. "Haskeer! Haskeer! " Catching his sergeant's attention, Stryke waved him over.
Haskeer cut down a trooper on the way to keep his hand in.
"What?"
"We're going for the archers."
"Good. The bastards."
"We can't take more than six away from this. Grab three. Make 'em Wolverines."
Haskeer's brow creased as he did the sum. "That's five of us."
"He's coming." Stryke nodded at Pepperdyne.
Haskeer scowled but said nothing.
"And get our archers to lay down covering fire. Go! "
The sergeant dived back into the melee.
"How do we do it?" Pepperdyne asked.
Stryke pointed to a stone staircase set against the fortress' outer wall. It led directly to the battlements. "Up that."
"Bit exposed, isn't it?"
"Can you see another way?"
Pepperdyne shook his head.
Haskeer soon returned. He had Prooq, Zoda and Finje with him. All were blood-splattered.
"We ready?" Stryke said.
"The archers let rip when we get to the stairs," Haskeer told him.
"All right. Let's move."
They made for the staircase, allowing no opposition to slow them. That meant two or three skirmishes on the way, but nothing they couldn't handle.
A pair of archers were stationed at the base of the steps. When they saw a human with five orcs dashing at them they hesitated. But only for a moment. They loosed arrows. Stryke's crew hit the dirt and the bolts flew overhead.
Haskeer was the first to his feet. As the bowmen nocked afresh he began running at them. He drew back his arm and hurled a hatchet. It struck one of the archers and took him out. The other had his bow taut
and aimed directly at Haskeer. A fire-tipped arrow streaked past them and buried itself in the archer's chest. He went down with a cry, his jerkin in flames.
"Nice touch," Pepperdyne said.
Then they were moving again. As they neared the steps the orc archers let go their covering shots, and again the arrows were tarred and burning. A dead human tumbled down the stairs, two flaming bolts embedded in his back.
Stryke at their head, the six tore up the staircase. They were almost at the top before anybody tried to stop them. A sentry came at Stryke with a broadsword, slashing it in a downward stroke. Stryke dodged the blow and kept going. He hunched himself and went for the man's legs. With a heave, he tossed him over the side of the stairway. The human dropped screaming to the ground.
They got to the parapet. Most of the archers were concentrating on the battle below and ignorant of their presence. But several of the nearest turned to defend themselves. There was no time for them to raise their bows so they went for swords. Stryke's crew were on to them instantly, and a short, vicious tussle cut short their resistance.
Stryke knew that the bowmen further along the parapet were the most dangerous, even with orc archers keeping them busy. Unlike the ones just killed, they were far enough away to use their bows and pick off his team.
"We need to get close to them," he said. "Finje, Zoda, Prooq; take these bows and keep 'em occupied."
The grunts stripped the weapons and quivers from the dead humans as Stryke, Haskeer and Pepperdyne set off.
Their first encounter was with two sentries who, seeing the trio coming, charged at them. Stryke and Pepperdyne engaged the pair in swordplay. Haskeer raced on and barrelled into a lone archer in the process of drawing his bow. He battered the man, then proceeded to pound his head against the battlement wall, dashing his brains out.
Stryke and Pepperdyne, having finished the sentries, caught up. The three ran on.
They headed for a knot of four or five archers. Two of them loosed arrows in their direction. One was hopelessly wide of the mark. The other came so close to hitting Stryke he felt the displacement of air as it whistled past his ear.
Before they could take another shot, Pepperdyne, Stryke, then Haskeer hurtled into them. A bloody reckoning with blades, fists and boots left four sprawled on the walkway and one plummeting to the parade ground.
From the rear, Prooq yelled a warning. Stryke and the others dropped. A flight of arrows swept overhead and punched into three fast-approaching sentries. Back on their feet, Stryke, Haskeer and Pepperdyne darted onwards.
They didn't have to work for the next brace of kills. A couple of bowmen in their path succumbed to blazing arrows from orc compatriots below.
Ten paces later half a dozen sentries ganged up on them. Haskeer exposed the windpipe of the first one to venture near his blade. Pepperdyne punctured the second's chest. Stryke ran through the third with a savage thrust, then went on to eviscerate the fourth. Pepperdyne sliced into the fifth's belly, while Haskeer snapped the neck of the sixth.
There was no hiatus. The trio had left just a short trail of bloody footprints before they ran into the next clutch of defenders. And so it went, with a seemingly never-ending cavalcade of human flesh to be carved, stabbed and slashed.
Until at last they stood breathless at the parapet's end, surrounded by a litter of corpses.
Haskeer had hold of the remaining defender. He lifted the dazed, beaten human, with the intention of throwing him from the battlements and down the cliff face. Suddenly he stopped, seemed to lose interest in the man and casually dropped him on to the parapet's flagstones.
"What's going on down there?" he said.
Stryke joined him.
He saw the wreckage of the demolished hovels at the bottom of the cliff, with flames playing over them and billowing smoke. But what really caught his attention was the dozens of soldiers milling about the ruins, and what they must have been doing.
"They were going for the tunnel," he murmered.
"Look at this!" Pepperdyne said. He was standing on the other side of the parapet, staring down at the fighting.
Stryke and Haskeer went to him.
A large number of troops were emerging from a maze of outbuildings and rushing towards the square.
"Must have been holding them back," Stryke realised.
"Set us up," Haskeer growled.
"There's got to be a hundred of them, or more," Pepperdyne reckoned. "Stryke, we can' t — "
"I know. Come on! "
They sprinted along the parapet to the three grunts, and all of them pelted down the stairs.
The battle was still raging. Stryke spotted Coilla and made for her. He began yelling, "There's a — "
"We see them!"
The first of the reinforcements were spilling into the square, forcing the orcs back.
Brelan arrived, panting. "Look who's with them!" He pointed to a figure striding along in the midst of the troops.
"Who?" Stryke said.
"That's Kapple Hacher. The commander-in-chief himself."
"This ain't by chance," Haskeer stated. "We've been stitched."
"We can't beat these odds," Coilla said.
"No," Stryke agreed bitterly. "Haskeer, sound the retreat."
The sergeant took a curved horn from his belt and pressed it to his lips.
As its strident note rang out, Stryke bellowed, " Pull back! Pull back! "
28
The shrill, insistent note Haskeer sent out sparked an exodus.
All over the fort's parade ground, orcs disengaged and headed for the gates. Or at least most did. A few couldn't extricate themselves from overwhelming odds and imminent death. Others lay wounded, or were on the point of capture, and chose to turn their blades on themselves rather than fall into enemy hands. Those who did withdraw were hotly pursued, and rearguard actions were fought across the square.
The retreating Wolverines, resistance members and Vixens clustered at the gates, urging on stragglers and loosing arrows at the humans chasing them.
"Isn't that one of the Ceragans?" Coilla exclaimed, pointing into the heaving scrimmage.
Stryke nodded. "It's Ignar."
"He's in trouble, Stryke."
The raw recruit had almost reached the edge of the scrum when a group of troopers caught up with him. He was trying to beat them off.
"I'm going in," Stryke decided.
"I'm with you," she said.
"Me too," Pepperdyne announced.
With Stryke in the lead they ran towards the mob.
On their way they met the van of the pursuers. Four bawling soldiers blocked their path. Stryke hacked down the leader with a single potent blow. Coilla and Pepperdyne tackled the others as he sprinted on.
Ignar was battling two opponents. He was outclassed, and he was injured. Blood flowed freely from several wounds, not least a broad gash to the chest. It was all he could do to fend off his attackers, and as Stryke approached he slumped to his knees. One of the soldiers lifted his sword to deliver a killing stroke.
Stryke intervened. A powerful swipe of his blade all but severed the human's sword arm. The man screamed and stumbled away, gushing blood. Stryke spun to face his charging companion. Their swords clashed and they furiously hacked at each other. The flurry ended with the soldier taking steel to his belly.
Ignar had fallen. Stryke went to him and found him barely conscious. Coilla and Pepperdyne arrived.
"He's in a bad way," Coilla pronounced as she examined the recruit. "Lot of blood lost."
"We'll get him clear," Stryke said.
He and Pepperdyne half carried, half dragged Ignar while Coilla kept any other would-be attackers at bay. As they neared the gates, orc archers sent out covering fire for them.
They laid Ignar on the ground, and somebody propped his head with a folded jerkin. He seemed unconscious.
Stryke lightly slapped his pallid cheeks. "Ignar. Ignar."
The young orc's eyes flickered open.
&n
bsp; "Here," Coilla said, handing Stryke a canteen.
"With a wound like that," Pepperdyne remarked, "he shouldn't drink."
"It doesn't matter now," Stryke told him. He dampened Ignar's lips with a little water.
Ignar tried to speak. Stryke allowed him a drink from the canteen. He coughed, and murmured something. Stryke leaned closer.
" I'm… sorry," Ignar whispered.
"No need," Stryke replied. "You fought well, and you die a Wolverine."
Ignar managed a faint smile. Then his eyes closed for the last time.
Coilla hissed, "Shit."
"We can't hold here much longer," Pepperdyne said.
"Get 'em moving," Stryke ordered, rising.
"We've got comrades in there," Brelan protested. "We can't leave them."
"We take losses," Stryke said, glancing at Ignar's corpse. "It's part of the price. Linger here and we'll lose more."
"Or all," Coilla amended. She pointed at the mass of humans across the square. They vastly outnumbered the orcs, and they were grouping for an all-out assault. "We have to go. Now."
Reluctantly, Brelan nodded assent.
Stryke turned to Coilla and Jup. "They all know where the rendezvous point is. Any wounded or foot-draggers on the way get left behind. It's every orc for themselves. Pass it on."
They moved off to spread the word.
He looked at Pepperdyne. "Ready for a fast retreat, human?"
"Just say the word."
Stryke signalled Haskeer. The sergeant gave another blast on the horn. Orc archers stepped up their flow of arrows.
The retreat began.
They poured out of the gates and on to the approach road. Shedding excess kit and even some weapons, they headed inland, their pace increasing to a sprint. The tail of the column had barely cleared the fort's precincts when the first of the humans came after them. Orc arrows helped slow the pursuit.
"We're fucked if they've got cavalry," Coilla said, jogging alongside Jup.
"That's right," the dwarf panted, "look on the bright side."
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