but surely forcing the orcs back toward the wall.
An arrow glinted in the air, then another. Hargan swore, assuming that the orcs had managed to send in more archers, but when he looked, he spotted thirty bowmen led by Blidkhard right at the back of his brigade. The bowmen had created space for themselves by moving back to a safe distance, and now they were firing at the attackers, choosing their targets. Several of the Firstborn tried to reach the bowmen, but their way was blocked by Wencher’s swordsmen, who shielded the Wind Jugglers.
Bolts of lightning began raining down from the dark clouds with a dry crackling sound, striking down the orcs one after another. Armor was no protection against Siena’s magic. Before Hargan’s very eyes a bolt of lightning appeared from somewhere up in the sky, divided into branches, and felled seven orcs at once, leaving behind nothing but black earth and charred armor.
The Firstborn flinched and faltered, unable to withstand the rain of lightning and hail of arrows. From somewhere behind the enemy, the war drums sounded, calling the retreat. The orcs withdrew tidily, in good order, leaving behind a small detachment to cover the main forces. But the men had taken fresh heart and they struck a crushing blow against the wall of shields, beating down the enemy to right and left, while those bowmen who had not changed their bows for swords in the course of the battle ran up, ignoring the battle raging around them, and began showering arrows on the Firstborn who were crossing the ravine.
Not one of the detachment of orcs covering the retreat was left alive.
Blidkhard spat, then he looked his commander in the eye and said: “Don’t you go thinking that we’ve beaten them off. This is only the advance force of the orcs’ army. The main forces haven’t arrived yet; this lot just tried to take us in a rush. It didn’t work. They didn’t even have a single shaman with them, otherwise our enchantress wouldn’t have got away with much magic. But when the Bloody Axes or the Gruun Ear-Gougers get here, they’ll brush us aside like a feather. We won’t even last an hour against those clans.”
“By the way, how is our enchantress?”
“I’m alive,” Siena replied.
“I’m glad your health is in good order, and thank you for the help.”
“It wasn’t me,” the girl said, embarrassed.
“How’s that?” asked Hargan, raising one eyebrow. “Then who was it?”
“I mean, it wasn’t just me.” The enchantress became even more embarrassed. “The amulet helped.”
Hargan glanced at the magical drop of silvery metal.
“My teacher said it would protect me against the shamanism of the orcs. The amulet neutralizes that magic, if it is directed at me. And it turned out that it also restores my strength. This time I tried to use it in a slightly different way, and it gave me so much power I was almost crushed.”
The rumble of war drums drifted above a world soaked in blood. During the night the orcs had attacked the humans’ fortifications eight times. They had managed to force their way past the wall three times, despite the hail of arrows from the bowmen and the determination of soldiers who stood to the death. Every time the orcs were thrown back the losses had been greater. The Firstborn simply went on and on testing the mettle of the Dog Swallows. The ravine was half full of bodies. There were almost no arrows left and the bowmen had to pick up what the orcs had sent them in order to manage to return the fire from the wave of attackers.
Hargan’s brigade had done the impossible—it had held out against the enemy for almost four days, giving Grok’s army a huge start. The commander glanced round at the few survivors. Thirty-nine men. Thirty- nine tired, bandaged, bloodstained men. The only ones who had survived this far, who had endured.
Blidkhard was gone. The young Borderman protecting the enchantress was gone. And the girl herself had been killed. After Siena destroyed one of the enemy’s shamans, the orcs had set out specifically to hunt her down, and during the last sally they had eventually succeeded, managing to surround her and her bodyguards.
But meanwhile, at the cost of catastrophic losses, the men had forced the orcs to show them respect. They had forced a race that despised everyone else living in Siala to act with caution and not simply come dashing headlong across that cursed ravine.
The soldiers would not survive the ninth attack. Everyone who was still alive knew that.
“We’ll show the Firstborn how soldiers ought to die!” said Fox, picking up his beloved flails and listening to the rumble of the approaching drums.
“Yes, we’ll show them,” said Hargan, getting up off the ground. “Look, Fox, it’s stopped raining!”
“That’s a good sign.”
“Raise the banner! Bugler, sound the alert. Bowmen to the battle line! Kill the enemy, show no mercy!”
And the orcs advancing on those cursed fortifications that would not surrender heard the cry that others before them had heard and feared each time they retreated from the walls of the ravine.
“NO MERCY!”
25 THE DANCER IN THE SHADOWS
Harold!” said someone, cautiously touching my shoulder. “Harold, get up.”
I opened my eyes and looked at the jester, who was leaning down over me.
“Kli-Kli!” I groaned in desperation. “Now why aren’t you asleep?”
