'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! '
