Frazen had a look at the mercenaries as well. “Don’t like it much,” he said.
“Me either.” He turned to Rake. “Can we find some more militia to help us? Odds of two-on-one are not in our favor. Not by a long shot.”
“Maybe we could. But I don’t know how long it would take.”
“Come on then.” Rawk sighed. “We can’t surprise them from this distance so let’s go and ask them to surrender.”
“Is that likely to work?” one of the dwarves asked.
“No.”
“Oh.” The dwarf shifted his grip on his sword.
Fabi and Frazen led the way around the corner. Rawk saw all the mercenaries turn to look. And when the dwarves came around the corner as well, they were on their feet in an instant, weapons drawn. A few of them came down the stairs to the street.
A tall whip of a man sauntered along the porch so he could get a better look. “This looks like it could be fun,” he said. He tossed back the last of his ale and threw the tankard onto the floor.
“We can escort you back across the river,” Rawk said. “Or you can die.”
Someone laughed.
“You can report to Weaver about what’s happening. He’s sure to be impressed and reward you accordingly.”
“We’ve got the prince’s money already. Now we’re just waiting for the action he promised.”
Rawk laughed too. “Normally I’d tell you not to count on Weaver coming through on his promises, but tonight you might just be in luck.”
The tall Whip drew his sword and jumped down to the cobbles. Those still on the porch followed him. “We were told it would be a week or more yet.”
Rawk drew his sword. “Well, we don’t work to Weaver’s timetable.”
A couple of dwarves seemed to take that as some sot of signal because they charged silently forward. The rest of the militia joined in and Rawk swore as he was swept along as well. He didn’t know what he’d been planning to do, but charging the more experienced force had not been one of the top options. Sensibly, the mercenaries stayed where they were and readied themselves.
Rawk tried to get to Whip, but the surge pushed him away and he found himself fighting a bear of a man with one milky eye and a surprisingly light sword. He traded blows for a moment, distracted by the man’s strange smile. He eventually swatted away a lazy riposte and stabbed him in his good eye. And in the twenty seconds all of that took, the battled has shifted inevitably in favor of the mercenaries.
Militiamen were falling. An old man here, with a knife in his throat. Beside him, someone young enough to be his grandson— though he was human and two foot taller— took a slash across his thigh and went down amongst the press of bodies.
Glancing at Fabi, Rawk wondered if a withdrawal was possible. The defensive formation they were facing would help, making a quick chase difficult, but he still didn’t like the odds. Just when he was about to call anyway, hoping the militiamen would know how to retreat in an orderly manner to avoid leaving themselves open, there was a shout from inside the tavern. Then one and another and another of the patrons rushed out onto the street. Soon more were streaming out, almost fighting each other to get out the relatively narrow door. When a dozen or more were arrayed in the street, makeshift weapons at the ready, their disparate shouts became one and they charged forward.
With the mercenaries trapped in the middle of a now vastly superior force, it was only a matter of time. They must have known that, but still they fought on.
Rawk pushed past some militia to get at Whip. He pulled the last dwarf away, saving him from a knife in the stomach, and set himself to fight.
“It’s over,” Rawk said above the rumble.
“Not yet.”
Perhaps he merely meant this one little battle amidst the large. If he thought anything else, he was overly optimistic. Rawk ducked a swing and pressed forward, not really thinking he would find his mark, but setting the pace for the fight, building up expectations with short, stabbing linear attacks. But when the mercenary backed into the couple of his men who were fighting the rearward battle, he paused for half an instant and Rawk changed his attack. He stepped forward and to the side. He swung low, which caught Whip by surprise. And he surprised him even more when he aborted the attack and spun the other way. When he stabbed the man, he was facing the wrong direction. He held the pose for a moment, then thought better of it and turned to face the enemy. But there were none left. Caught between the two groups of locals, they had succumbed quickly.
“Well done,” Rawk said to a chorus of cheers. But looking around, he saw several fathers and sons who would not be going home to their families tonight. His mood quickly soured. “See to the wounded,” he said. And while people more capable than he did just that, he helped search the mercenaries for anything useful and then moved them to the side of the road. Someone was already heading towards Caldera to let Thacker know a clean up crew was needed.
Rawk crouched by the wall and leaned his head back against the whitewashed plaster of the wall. Fabi sat by his side.
“Now I know,” Rawk said.
“Know what?”
Rawk looked around at the dead militiamen. He wondered who was going to have to tell the families. “I know why I never fought with the peasants.” He cleared his throat. “It’s much harder to think of them as expendable, as nothing more than pieces on a gaming board.”
But he didn’t have time to think. He couldn’t afford the luxury of sitting around mourning the losses and he certainly couldn’t sit around feeling sorry for himself. Not when other fathers and mothers and children were dying elsewhere.
Pushing himself back to his feet, Rawk looked over the remains of his small army. He grunted. “We won here,” he said to them, “but we can mark that down to luck. If anyone charges at the enemy again without my say so I will cut you down myself. You put all off us in danger and I don’t want to die tonight. And I don’t want anyone else dying either.” He looked to where the dead had been lined up near the side of the road. “It’s going to happen, more of us will die, but it will happen less if you listen to orders. This isn’t a game. It isn’t training. You need to listen or I will make you go and tell the families of the dead why they aren’t coming home.”
Nobody said anything.
Rawk’s lips twitched. “I know you aren’t professional soldiers, which is all the more reason for you to do what you’re told.” He turned on his heel. “Now, leave this to the clean up team and follow me.”
-O-
Rawk had captured five mercenaries in a beer garden and avoided two larger groups, slinking away with his militia behind him because he knew that they would be lucky if anyone made it out alive.
It was late, the sun was long gone. He was about to head for home, wherever that was going to be, when Frazen touched his arm.
“You hear that?”
He couldn’t hear anything, and was so tired that he was almost beyond caring. But he paused and cocked his head and tried to listen. There was a fight, a battle, somewhere nearby. He didn’t have the energy to swear, but he sighed and looked around. “Which way?”
Frazen looked around too and gave it some thought. He pointed to the east.
Fabi cleared his throat. “The River Tower?”
Rawk nodded. “Come on then.”
The main street of Fek Bazaar was strangely quiet in the hissing light of the street lamps before they arrived. Stalls stood silent along the sides of the street, locked and covered. Normally there would be private guards patrolling but tonight there was nothing. Just the sound of the battle growing louder, shifting in the stillness.
A minute later, they broke into the clear at the edge of the square surrounding the solid, square base of the tower. There was a troop of mercenaries, professionals with matching uniforms and cold, hard eyes, fighting a ragtag group of locals. It wasn’t immediately obvious if the mercenaries were trying to get into the tower or trying to get out. It didn’t really matter. Rawk gave a sho
ut and led the charge. It was doubtful anyone heard him.
Running past two dwarves, who seemed to have control against a huge opponent, Rawk came to the aid of an elf. The man was struggling against a red haired opponent but moved aside confidently enough to let Rawk in as well.
“I am glad you could make it,” the elf said. He batted aside an attack but was driven back a moment later by a lightning quick reply.
Rawk jabbed into a momentary opening that closed quicker than he thought was possible.
“Oh, I like to turn up at the most dramatic time.”
“Well done, then; you succeeded.”
“Would you two shut up,” the mercenary said. “Dying is a serious matter.” He attacked furiously and it was all Rawk could do to keep his skin on one piece.
“You be serious then. You’re the one who’s about to die.” Rawk danced around to the side and threw himself forward for a reckless moment. He blocked one attack, barely, then paused. The mercenary tried a second time and a dwarf at his back clobbered him over the head with a club.
“Thank you,” Rawk said. He straightened and wiped sweat from his brow. “So, what’s going on here?” he asked.
The dwarf was already gone, but the elf answered. “There are men inside the tower. Perhaps as many as fifty. This lot are trying to break them out.”
“Any action from inside?”
“No. The seem happy to let these ones do the dying for now.”
“Well, let’s oblige them. What’s your name?”
“Red Raven.”
“Well, Red, nice to meet you. You’ve got some experience?”
“It’s Raven, actually. But yes, Hopola, most significantly.”
“Really?”
But there wasn’t time to find out more. The two turned as one when a mercenary came towards them. Rawk blocked a high, clumsy swing and the elf ran him through. And they stepped over the body and deeper into the fray.
And after a moment it was like it had always been. The world, the moment, crowded close. Screams and shouts, the clash of steel on steel. All the sounds merged, and then combined with the smell of sweat and blood, and the cold touch of fear to create an entirely new sensation that was never the same from moment to moment but always the same from fight to fight, from year to year. Rawk breathed in the thing, tasted it, felt it crawling across his skin like ants, saw it dancing behind the eyes of men all around him.
Then he blinked, and it was gone, and he was fighting a pair of men, one as big as a bear, the other as cruel-faced as a rat. They worked as one, flowing through the chaos as if they danced.
Rawk didn’t like dancing. He stood his ground amongst the whirling blades. He was a rock compared to Raven’s willow tree. He hardly moved, letting his blade do the work, while the elf flowed around the enemies’ weapons. And when Rawk finally saw an opening he did move, lunging forward and twisting. The Bear’s blade whistled as it skimmed past his ear. When he slashed across the man’s thigh and arm and neck, Rat was distracted for half a second, more than long enough for Raven to finish his work there as well.
And they moved forward again, heading for where the fighting was the fiercest. They cut down men as they went, helping an over stretched dwarf, then an old man who was tiring quickly. They barely paused. Rawk distracted a grizzled veteran and the woman fighting him expertly stabbed him in the eye with her light, switch of a sword. She nodded her thanks and moved on to someone else with hardly a pause. She didn’t block anything— her blade was useless for that— but nobody could get close.
Rawk almost slipped in blood. He kicked a head and it rolled away across the cobbles like a ball in a sick children’s game. He paused to breathe and almost lost his own head. Raven saved him, pushing him aside. When he got himself organized again, Rawk expect to see the elf with a knife in his heart. That was always the way it worked in the stories. But Raven was fighting with cool concentration. The rest of the world didn’t seem to concern him.
Stabbing one mercenary in the back as he passed, Rawk left the elf to his business— he’d be fine— and pushed further into the fight. He headed towards the banner, though the effort was as clichéd as his savior dying in the act would have been.
A woman with a scimitar and a round shield attacked from his left. He spun to face her, but a dwarf almost cut off her leg from behind. Rawk kept going and the dwarf fell in behind.
“Where are we going?” He had a long grey beard and a horned helmet. He looked very serious about his work.
Rawk pointed.
“The banner? Good idea.” The dwarf battered aside a pike and ran the owner through with his wicked looking sword.
Rawk almost lost his head but ducked in time. He slipped, swinging as he fell, and got lucky. But he fell into a pool of blood that was growing larger by the moment and got up sticky and feeling horrible. He wiped his hands and arms on the man he had just killed and marched forward again. Raven was back with him, guarding his right as the dwarf guarded his left.
They detoured slightly to help two women fighting four mercenaries. Rawk slashed his way amongst them, cutting one down and distracting the others for long enough. They didn’t die immediately, but they were suddenly on the back foot and it didn’t take long.
Party expanded by two more, Rawk surged forward. The dwarf went down when someone hit him on the side of the head with a sharp-edged shield. Frazen came from nowhere and disemboweled the attacker before Rawk could do anything. Fabi was with him, bloody and smiling grimly. Nobody had time to check on the dwarf.
A group of a dozen or more emerged form the chaos and came at them from the side. Rawk’s little band somehow formed a defensive line, fighting side-by-side, pushing forward. They were out numbered though and the advance could not last. But it didn’t matter. In the mess of the battle the smaller fight disintegrated almost as quickly as it had started.
Red Raven was gone again, currents swirling him away. One of the unknown women left and another two joined. Frazen rushed off to help a dwife whose club was not going to keep her alive long. It was amazing she’d lasted as long as she had.
Rawk spotted the banner again and started moving. He didn’t look who was with him. They either came or they didn’t.
He took a slice across his shoulder that burned. He almost dropped Kaj to grab the wound. But it wasn’t as bad as if felt. He spun around, in time to block another attack and cut off a couple of the woman’s fingers. She did drop her sword and collapsed to the ground with a wail of pain. Rawk left her staring at the bloody stumps.
Two minutes later he had finally made it to the center of the melee.
The pole holding the banner had been rammed between two cobblestones and five men stood around the base. If Rawk knew anything at all, then the big one with the crested helm was the leader. If the scars that covered most of his visible skin was any indication, he’d been in the business long enough to learn a thing or two. He was still at least ten years younger than Rawk.
The man looked at Rawk and smiled “You look like a man who thinks much of himself,” he said.
“I try to think as little as possible.”
The mercenary wiped at his drooping moustache and stepped forward as he readied a huge, two-handed sword. He used it one handed, flicking it around like switch.
Rawk raised an eyebrow. “I think much of myself? Are you going to dance, or are you going to fight?”
The mercenary paused for a moment. He obviously didn’t like being baited very much.
“Come on. I’ve had a long day and I’ve still got things to do.”
But the other man regained control and started to circle slowly.
Rawk took a deep breath and threw Kaj at him. The hilt hit the man in the arm, but it was still a surprising tactic. And while his opponent was still getting over the shock, Rawk darted forward and punched him in the throat. He took the man’s dagger and slid it into his heart while he lay on the ground, struggling to breathe.
“Like I said, I’ve had a
long day.”
Rawk picked up his sword and looked around. The battle seemed to have paused for a moment and he wondered if everyone was going to throw down their weapons. But that cliché went the way of the others and the screams and clashes of weapons rang out again. Rawk knew that the pause had never even happened. He swatted aside an attack and let Red Raven kill the man.
“You’re back,” Rawk said.
But the elf was too busy to reply. So Rawk left him to it and kicked the banner over as warriors swirled around him. Then he turned to fight again.
He continued for what seemed like the entire night but was aware of the fact that the arrival of his militia group had turned the tide of the battle and the ebb and flow of the fighting quickly decreased. He fought on, thinking it couldn’t last much longer, hoping to stop as many mercenaries as possible from getting away.
-O-
Rawk wiped his sword on a dead man’s shirt and all it did was smear the blood all over the blade. He didn’t really care. He would see to the weapon when he got the chance but all he wanted to do now was sleep. Things had really gotten out of hand.
“Do you realize who this other lot were?” Fabi asked. The big man had taken a seat on the edge of the cistern. He was looking at a wound on his arm. It didn’t look all that serious and the flow of blood was already starting to decrease.
“Should I?” Rawk thought of sitting as well, but he decided that he would probably fall asleep if he did.
Fabi pointed to one of the red sashed mercenaries that had turned up shortly after Rawk took the banner. Shortly after he’d thought the battle was winding down. “They’re Vanoof’s Cohort.”
An Army of Heroes Page 20