The man fell to hammering at Stryke's shield, looking to dislodge it. Stryke weathered the battering, and at the first let sent back a series of blistering swipes. He failed to penetrate the human's guard. But it seemed that, for all his heftiness, his opponent was starting to slow under the effort of handling the axe. Stryke wasn't about to break the formation, regardless of that. He forced the man to come to him.
The human rushed in again, spitting fury. Another pass whistled by Stryke's skull, too close for comfort. Stryke powered forward, using his shield as a ram. There was a tussle, orc and human straining with all their strength against each other. At its height, Stryke sidestepped, wrenching the shield out of play. His balance spoilt, the man stumbled forward, losing his grip on the axe. It dangled on a thong at his wrist, and he scrabbled to bring it into play. Stryke was quicker. With a savage downward sweep, he lopped off the human's hand. The man howled, his wound pumping crimson, the axe in the dirt.
Stryke stilled his pain with a thrust to the heart.
As the axeman fell, a confederate barged in to take his place. Scowling, broken-toothed, he took on Stryke with knife and sword. Their pealing blades added to the melody of clashing steel.
The orcs' line still held. But the fights boiling at the base of the rock were making it indistinct.
Up above, Coilla's archers continued to take their shots where they could. Though as the struggle became fiercer, and friends and enemies began to mingle, their task was harder. Coilla judged the attackers to be as undisciplined and ill-assorted as the way they dressed. Not that it made them any less determined, and there was an unpredictability in disorder that could be more dangerous than facing a well-organised force.
Coilla switched to throwing-knives, which she felt she used with more expertise than a bow and were more precise in chaotic situations. Taking in the scene, she spotted two likely marks. Mounted on a white mare, a wild eyed, mop-haired human was laying about an orc with a broadsword. She got a bead on him and hurled a knife with force. It buried itself in his windpipe. He flew backwards, arms spread wide, and met the ground. As a bonus, his horse panicked and kicked out with its rear legs, downing a man on foot.
Her second target was also on foot. Bald and beardless, he was built like a stone slab privy. As Coilla watched, he broke into a run at the defensive line, a javelin outstretched. She drew back her arm and flung hard. Her aim was true, but the human made an unexpected move, swerving to avoid a fallen comrade. The blade pierced his side, near the waist, proving painful but not fatal. He bellowed, nearly tripping, and went to pull out the knife. She swiftly plucked another and threw again.
This time she put it where she first intended, in his chest.
Stryke wrenched his sword from a human's innards and let him drop. He glanced around. Bodies littered the ground, slowing the raiders' advance, but there were still plenty to deal with.
Further along the line, Wheam cringed under the onslaught of a human with a mace. The metal ball's continuous pounding was distorting the shape of his shield. Wheam simply clung on, white knuckled, making no attempt to hit back. It was left to the veterans on either side to lash out and deal with his tormentor.
Nearby, Dallog was giving a much better account of himself. The band's standard jutting from the ground behind him, he made good use of his sword and dagger. Slashing the face of an attacker, the ageing corporal followed through with a thrust to the man's guts.
Hollering at full volume, a human with a spear hurtled towards Stryke. Leaping aside, Stryke grabbed the shaft. There was a forceful, snarling battle for possession. Stryke broke the deadlock with a brutal head-butt. His adversary was knocked senseless, releasing his hold. Flipping the spear, Stryke drove it through the man's torso.
Beyond the siege at the outcrop's base, riders were still circling. Every so often, one of them loosed an arrow at Coilla's archers. None caused harm. But it was only a matter of time before somebody got lucky.
On top of the rock, Coilla stood shoulder to shoulder with new recruit Yunst, who was proving adept with a bow.
She pitched a knife. A human crashed headlong into the barren ground.
'Nice shot,' Yunst said.
'Keeping count of yours?' she asked.
'Not really.'
'I make us about even.'
'Can't have that.' He focused on a target and drew his bowstring taut. 'Let's see if I can — '
There was a fleshy thump. Coilla was splattered with blood. An arrow had gone through Yunst's neck. He collapsed into her, a dead weight, and she went down. The impact sent her tumbling to the nearby edge. She cried out, and went over.
It was a short drop, but Coilla fell awkwardly. The jolt of landing knocked the breath out of her and jangled her senses. Lying on her side, swathed in pain, she tried to gather her wits. She was aware of fighting all around. Shuffling feet and stamping hooves. Shouting and screaming. With a groan, she rolled onto her back, then lifted her head.
Something swam into view. A shape loomed over her. She blinked and cleared her vision. A leering horseman was bearing down, his iron-tipped spear aimed at her chest. Coilla struggled to get herself clear, while groping for her blade. It was fifty-fifty whether she'd suffer the spear piercing her flesh or the rearing mount shattering her ribs.
Then someone was there, putting themselves between her and the threat. She saw that it was Haskeer. He had hold of the horse's bridle with both hands as he ducked and weaved to avoid the probing spear. Orc and beast wrestled. Several times the strength of the shying horse lifted Haskeer's feet off the ground. The thrusts of the spear came near to running him through. Finally, he lost patience.
Letting go, he jerked back his fist and gave the horse a mighty punch. The stunned animal's front legs buckled and its head went down. Yelling, and parted from his spear, the rider was unseated. As he fell, several orcs rushed forward to finish him.
Stryke appeared. He and Haskeer jerked Coilla to her feet and half dragged her to the relative safety of the orcs' line.
'Anything broken?' Stryke said.
She shook her head. 'Don't think so.'
'What happened up there?'
'We lost a new one. Yunst.'
'Shit.'
'That's what we get for using amateurs,' Haskeer remarked.
'He was a good fighter,' Coilla informed him sternly. 'And don't hit horses, you bastard.'
'No, don't bother thanking me,' Haskeer came back acerbically. 'I only saved your life.'
'We've work to do,' Stryke rebuked.
They pitched into the attackers.
The human ranks were starting to thin. But fighting was still intense. Heartened by killing Yunst, the surviving raiders stepped up their assault, and the orcs' defences were sorely tested. The otherwise silent landscape continued to echo to the rattle of steel on steel and the shrieks of the dying.
Given his shaky resolve, only luck and his comrades had kept Wheam safe. Now good fortune was put to the test. While all about Wheam were occupied, a human dashed in and laid about him with zeal. Wheam adopted his usual tactic of hiding behind his shield and letting it soak up the blows. But his assailant was determined. Wielding his broadsword two-handed, he beat the shield relentlessly, striking sparks off its misshapen surface. Then a solid swipe dislodged it from Wheam's grasp.
Wearing a look of terror, Wheam faced his foe undefended bar his sword. He gave a couple of feeble swings that barely connected with the human's blade. The volley he got back almost pummelled the weapon out of his trembling hand. A further blow snapped his sword in two. He stood transfixed and at the mercy of his opponent.
An orc careered into the human. They fought, Wheam forgotten. For a moment it looked as though the Wolverine had the better of it. But in the struggle his back was turned to the enemy. A nearby human saw his chance and buried his blade in it. As the orc went down, both men hacked at him mercilessly.
'That's Liffin!' Coilla yelled. She made to move.
' Hold fast! ' Stryke barked. Then added softly, 'There's nothing you can do.'
The pair of humans had little time to savour their kill. From the rock's peak, the archers repaid the blood
