casualties fuelled their anger.
Haskeer was in the thick of things, cutting a swathe for the bunch of privates in his wake. He favoured an axe, which he swung with abandon, cleaving heads and severing limbs. In another part of the crowd Chillder and a gaggle of Vixens were beating in the brains of several hapless troopers. Not far off, Dallog led a contingent of the Ceragan inductees. Wheam wasn't among them. It had been thought better to confine him to lookout duties beyond the fighting.
Joined by hand-picked rebels and Wolverines, as planned, Stryke and Brelan were a spit away from the guardhouse. By the time they arrived the crowd had become a mob. But the sentries holding the line against it weren't a problem. There was no line. The whole area was one seething mass of fighting orcs and humans, and they gave off a deafening roar.
The arrival of Stryke's crew was timely. Pepperdyne and the three females were holding their own, although several sentries from the broken line had attached themselves to the guardhouse defence, upping their numbers. Pepperdyne was dragging his blade from a guard's guts. The toll was starting to show. His movements were growing leaden and his sword arm was cramping. One of the Vixens nursed a wound, but kept fighting. Coilla was covered in foes' blood. She was smiling.
Stryke, Brelan and their backup came in like steel surf. The balance was tipped, and after a brief flurry of bloody confrontation the remaining guardsmen were overcome.
'Took your time,' Coilla said.
'We were picking wildflowers,' Stryke told her, deadpan.
'Come on,' Brelan urged. 'Time's running low.'
They searched the dead sergeant's pockets and found a bunch of keys. While most of the group kept watch, Brelan made for the door and began trying them. On the third attempt the lock turned.
Brelan gave the door a shove. 'It's not the way we thought it'd go,' he said, shooting a glance at Pepperdyne, 'but — '
' Look out! ' Coilla yelled, pushing him aside.
An arrow flew out of the open door, barely missing him. It zinged into the crowd and struck a gesticulating protestor, piercing his raised arm.
Stryke rushed through the door, with Coilla, Brelan and Pepperdyne close behind. Inside, a sentry was groping in his scabbard for another arrow. Stryke got to the man first and thrust a blade into his chest.
' To your left! ' Pepperdyne shouted.
Stryke spun just fast enough to block a sword swipe. Its wielder had come from the only blind corner, and he attacked with an ardour born of desperation. His frantic state suited Stryke. A panic-stricken opponent rarely had sound judgement; and so it quickly proved. After a couple more of his blows were deflected, the human looked spent, and his defence was sloppy. Stryke reaped the benefit by puncturing his heart.
There were no other humans in the building. At its far end were two cells, essentially cages, and the seven resistance members were crammed in one of them. None of the sergeant's keys undid the cell's robust lock, and it didn't succumb to a battering. But a hasty search turned up another ring and they got the door open. The prisoners had obviously been maltreated. They had black eyes, cuts and bruises, but no worse injuries. Their rescuers gave them weapons, some brought, some taken from the dead guards.
If anything, the riot outside had stepped up.
'That was sweet,' Brelan said, leading his freed comrades.
'We're not out of here yet,' Stryke reminded him. He turned to Pepperdyne. 'Ready?'
'This bit I don't like,' the human told him.
'You can't just walk away with us,' Coilla said. 'This mob would go wild. Wilder.'
'They'd kill you,' Stryke summarised. 'But if they think you're our prisoner — '
'Right, right. I get it.' He looked unhappy.
They surrounded Pepperdyne as though escorting him, and started off. Their route would keep them close to the frontage of the square's buildings, skirting the edge of the crowd, until they came to a side street and waiting transport. The rioters who noticed the human officer in the group's midst assumed he was being taken hostage. Some cheered.
Stryke and the others had hardly set out when there was a series of brilliant flashes.
They erupted in the heart of the crowd: scintillating bursts of red, green and violet that scarred the eye.
'The Helix!' Brelan exclaimed.
'The more reason not to linger,' Stryke said. 'Keep moving.'
There was another vivid flash in the crowd. A rioter collapsed with a smouldering hole in his chest. The odour of charred flesh permeated the air as those around backed off in dread. Robed men were discharging the magical beams almost wantonly, targeting anyone in their way.
Close by, Haskeer was tangling with a trooper. The man was armed with sword and shield, and had proved stubborn in preventing the orc from killing him. Haskeer relished the challenge. He rained boneshaker blows on the trooper, forcing him into a purely defensive mode. The man was flagging when a particularly intense bolt of magical energy went off near to hand. Dazzled by the light, Haskeer and the trooper stilled, blinking.
Haskeer snapped out of it first and resumed his assault. The militiaman, still in a daze, managed only a confused resistance. Several hefty jolts from Haskeer's axe were enough to throw him completely. A meaty strike to his head had him first on his knees, then keeling over.
There was another flash, as brilliant as the last, and a further victim succumbed to a fiery bolt. As Haskeer's vision seeped back he could just make out the figure of a Helix member no more than twenty paces away. He had seen Haskeer and was raising his power wand. Haskeer dived. A searing beam swept over him, close enough for its heat to be felt. Scrabbling on hands and knees, he made for the fallen trooper as the Helix initiate took aim again. Reaching the corpse, he wrestled the shield from the human's death grip. Then, still kneeling, he flung it with might at the Helix. It skimmed like a discus and struck him squarely in the neck, nearly decapitating him.
Onlookers got the message. Fearsome as their trident weapons might be, the Helix weren't invulnerable. In seconds they were under siege. Haskeer and his troop melted into the throng.
Stryke and the rebel party stayed out of such clashes. They moved as swiftly as they could towards the turning that led out of the square. But when they were almost at the corner, they halted.
'Oh, great,' Coilla grumbled. 'More shit.'
Two wagonloads of troops came along the street they were heading for. When the wagons reached the square they stopped, blocking the road. The troops began getting out.
'Time for these,' Brelan said, digging into the canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. He produced a number of earthen cylinders, similar to water bottles, and handed them out.
Coilla grabbed one gleefully. 'I love these things.'
'What is it?' Pepperdyne asked.
'Acurialian fire,' Brelan told him. The human looked blank. Brelan mimed throwing one, then mouthed, ' Boom. '
'I've seen similar,' Pepperdyne realised.
' Use 'em,' Stryke grated.
They stuck sparks against the oil-soaked wads of fabric stuffed into the containers' necks. When the cloth fuses were well alight they started lobbing. The cylinders soared in the direction of the wagons and disembarking soldiers. They shattered on impact, exploding in plumes of orange fire. The burning oil had been mixed with certain compounds that made it viscous. It stuck fast to whatever it touched, igniting the wagons, the walkway and any troopers unlucky enough to be in range. Converted to fireballs, they stumbled aimlessly, yelling and beating at their clothes. The wagons were blazing.
The few soldiers untouched by fire were either making futile efforts to put out the flames or loosing sporadic arrows in the direction of Stryke's group. But panic made their aim wild. And now they had another problem: the crowd was turning on them. Chunks of paving stone rained down on a scene already engulfed by fiery chaos.
'Should keep 'em busy,' Coilla remarked with satisfaction.
'Let's go,' Stryke said.
With Pepperdyne back in the middle of the scrum, they bypassed the mayhem and charred bodies without challenge. All over the square the other Wolverines, rebels and Vixens were slipping away too. Singly or in small groups they would make for hideouts or the cover of false identities.
