first brunt.
The humans rolled in softly, like a wave on an ocean of pitch.
From their hiding places, defending archers loosed a hail of barbed shafts. A score of the raiders dropped. Then thirty or forty dwarfs broke cover and rushed forward to take issue, wielding short-bladed swords and staffs. That left Haskeer's troop with no option but to wade in.
The first few minutes of combat stretch time and overwhelm the senses. Movement, clamour and the stink of fear are all-pervasive. The only counter is bloodlust.
Haskeer plunged into the human deluge, cutting down two men in short order. The shield of a third took the full force of his broadsword. But its bearer was knocked off kilter. He yielded his guard and let in Haskeer's cleaving blade. Blood gushed and the man fell. Haskeer spun to face another.
The air was filled with the natter of quarrelling steel, bellowed curses and anguished screams. All around, Haskeer's unit fought to stem the tide of flesh, toiling like harvesters scything corn.
Though the dwarfs fought with passion, few races possessed the martial skills of orcs. So dwarfs were the first to fall.
One, his head split, collapsed across Haskeer's path. He stepped over the corpse to face its killer. Muscular, and of impressive girth, the human brandished a pair of axes that looked toy-like in his massive fists. And he moved with a swiftness that ignored his size.
Haskeer dropped, spurning a wild axe swing. Then dodged again when its partner came close to dismembering him. Lunging from all-fours, he scurried clear, turned and engaged for a second time. Slicing and ducking in equal measure, he searched for an opening. But the human handled his axes with practised agility, and appeared tireless. It was all Haskeer could do to keep clear.
Knowing that any one of the humans in the surrounding melee could elect to stab his back, he put on a spurt. Powering forward, he tried simply battering through. The human drove him off. Haskeer rallied and went in again. There was a moment of stasis, with fierce blows exchanged but no give on either side. Finally the man faltered and took a step in retreat. Haskeer upped the pace. He thrashed metal, his blade whipping a squall.
Then it was through, and cut deep. The man's arm was laid open crook to wrist.
Blood surged and he dropped an axe. Haskeer didn't loiter. A crisp flip of his blade had it homing in for another bite. He struck flesh again. The human cried out, an oblique wound reddening his chest. Grievous, but not fatal, though enough to let the other axe slip from his sweaty grasp. He staggered.
Haskeer rushed in, grabbed one of the axes and swung it solidly. The human's head bounced off into the melee. His body briefly stood, a crimson fountain, before buckling.
Nearby, Seafe was coming off second best in a scrap with a burly swordsman. Haskeer lobbed the axe. It struck the human square in his back. Arms flailing, he collapsed. Seafe gave his sergeant a thumbs-up and picked another foe.
Raiders were still coming out of the trees, and the struggle boiled on every side. Turning his sword on the next pallid human, Haskeer was beginning to think Quatt would be overrun.
A tight-knit group powered through the crowd. They travelled with purpose, hacking down any opposition. In minutes they reached Haskeer's team and joined the slaughter.
'Took your time!' Haskeer grumbled, batting at a human's probing spear.
'You're lucky we came!' Coilla retorted.
She whacked the sword from a Uni's hand and punctured his skull. His fellow took the edge of her blade across his belly. Coilla had enough wrath left over to run through the next human in line.
She stood panting as two more Unis approached warily. Weighing up whether to spend her precious throwing knives on them, she noticed Pepperdyne.
The human moved among the enemy like a fish in limpid water. He was master of his blade and used it as a veteran would. Weaving and turning, he stayed clear of whistling steel with an almost contemptuous ease. When he struck, it was as quick as thought, and always to the true.
He killed two men in rapid succession. Neither so much as engaged him. As they fell he sought more flesh, wielding his sword with the skill of a surgeon. In seconds, his sinuous dance brought death to another black-clad human.
Haskeer saw it too. Then he tugged his blade from the spearman's guts and let him drop.
The attack was coming from all directions. There was no point on the clearing's boundary where there wasn't conflict. In places the line had broken and the defenders were falling back. Dwarfs were suffering casualties, and some lay dead, but so far, orc injuries were light. Stryke doubted that would last.
Using a sword and dagger combination, he reaped the flood of invaders. A twin thrust took down a pair as one. The swiftness of his blades caught three more in as many heartbeats. Still the enemy came.
Stryke found himself facing a studded mace. Its handler showed little finesse employing it, but his wild, two- handed swipes were no less dangerous for that. For a full minute Stryke managed nothing more than avoiding it. Then he got his opponent's measure. Holding back until the club was in full swing, he dived under the man's outstretched arms and pierced his torso. The Uni crumpled.
Stryke ran the back of a hand across his clammy brow and pushed on.
Despite all the resistance they met, humans were getting through to the settlement. Most stayed in groups, knots of belligerence fuelled by pious zeal, lashing out savagely at all in their reach. The defenders slowed them, but they were hard to stop.
Dallog's troupe, obeying orders by remaining at the barn, had seen no action. What happened next made up for that. A bunch of howling humans, twice their number, sped in to take issue. Half a dozen uneven duels broke out.
Standing to the fore, Dallog was set upon by a trio of enraged fanatics. Their frenzy and number worked to his benefit. Fury made for poor judgement, and fighting as a group had them getting in each other's way. He quickly profited. A scouring blow across the side of a Uni's head put him out of the picture.
The fallen man's companions were less easy to better. One jabbed at Dallog with a shortened spear, its tip wickedly barbed. The other contrived to circle him, for an attack from side or rear. They were working together. Lessening the odds had increased the threat, and the irony wasn't lost on Dallog.
Twisting away from the spear, he lashed out at the circling swordsman. Metal echoed as they pounded each other's broadswords. Deadlock ensued, and might have continued had not the spearman intervened. Losing patience, he rushed in, thrusting the weapon at Dallog, passion outwitting skill. His recklessness was a gift. Dallog spun, brought down his blade hard and knocked the spear from the Uni's hands. Without pause he followed through, delivering a fatal blow.
The swiftness of the kill threw the sword-bearer off his stroke. Before he recovered, Dallog got in close and nasty. He swiped, raking the Uni from armpit to waist. Then he put all he had into a high swing that buried his blade in the human's skull. The man plummeted, so much dead weight.
Dallog leaned on his gory sword, breathing heavily and hoping none of the grunts noticed his fatigue.
The Unis had torched the barn. Thick black smoke belched from its open doors. Flames scaled the wooden exterior and the roof steamed. A screaming human stumbled past, his clothes ablaze. Orcs and Unis fought without let. Havoc reigned.
Something caught Dallog's eye. Towering shapes were emerging from the tree-line. At first he couldn't make out what they were. As they entered the clearing he saw. Black-garbed horsemen, in their dozens.
' Second wave! ' he bellowed. ' Second wave! '
12
Riders were charging across the field of battle, trampling defenders and cutting them down.
In the middle of the clearing, by a couple of hay wagons, Jup's group was oblivious, absorbed as they were in vicious hand-to-hand fighting.
Spurral was at Jup's side. They were armed with the dwarfs' traditional weapons; he with a leaden-headed staff, she with a short, curved sword and knife. And they were working the weapons hard.
Jup dodged a blow and gave the head of his attacker a resounding crack. Flipping over his staff, he thrust the
