Brotherband 4: Slaves of Socorro (48 page)

‘You have noticed that they outnumber us three to one,’ Jesper pointed out.

Thorn nodded. ‘I have. That’s why they won’t be expecting us to charge them.’

‘I certainly wasn’t until you mentioned it,’ Jesper said.

Thorn spared him a quick, fierce grin. ‘Always do the unexpected, Jesper,’ he said. ‘Particularly if you’re in a tight spot.’

‘Are we in a tight spot?’ Jesper wanted to know.

‘I think it’s about as tight as I’d like it to be, so let’s loosen it a little,’ Thorn said. ‘Are we all ready to surprise our friend in the green hat?’

The others chorused their assent. Thorn drew in a breath to call the charge when suddenly, a snarling, snapping, tan and black hurricane erupted out of an alleyway beside the line of
dooryeh
facing them.

Kloof hit the left end of the line like a battering ram, knocking two of the guardsmen over. They, in turn, crashed into a third. The third man staggered, and turned to face the horrifying sight of forty-five kilograms of enraged dog. All he could see were red eyes and huge, snapping teeth. He yelped in fear as Kloof’s jaws clamped shut on his sword arm with all the force of a bear trap. The sword fell from his fingers and he dropped to his knees. Instantly, Kloof released him and leapt at the next man in line, who shouted in terror and fled, with Kloof hot on his heels, barking nonstop.

Seeing the enemy so disorganised and in utter confusion, Thorn yelled the time-honoured Skandian battle command.

‘Let’s get ’em, boys!’

The four Herons charged forward in a tight group, axe, swords and the mighty war club on Thorn’s right arm ready to wreak havoc.

Thorn was the first to make contact. His club smashed down on the
dooryeh
commander’s scimitar, smashing it out of the soldier’s hand. Before the man had time to react, Thorn’s small shield slammed full into his face, breaking his nose and cheekbone. The sergeant stumbled backwards, blinded by blood and tears, his hands to his face, sinking to the cobblestones, huddled over in agony.

Seeing he was well and truly out of the fight, Thorn wasted no further time on him. He swept the club backhanded in a sideways rising arc at the next man in line. It was an unexpected attack. The soldier was expecting an overhand strike – most people did when they faced a club. The club smashed into his hip and there was an ugly crunching sound as bones gave way. Like his commander, the soldier fell to the ground, desperately trying to drag himself away from further harm, whimpering in agony.

Now Stig was in the fight, his mighty axe stroke thundering down onto a
dooryeh
’s raised shield. The metal-reinforced wood might have stood up to a sword, but Stig’s axe, with all of Stig’s strength behind it, was no mere sword. The shield split in half and the horrified soldier watched as the gleaming axehead continued its downward arc with barely a pause. It was the last thing the unfortunate guardsman saw.

Almost instantaneously, and with the reflexes of a cat, Stig deflected a scimitar thrust from his left with his shield, then stepped left and slammed the metal boss of the shield into his attacker’s body.

There was a
whoof
of exhaled breath mixed with a grunt of pain from several cracked ribs. The soldier went down – luckily for him as it turned out, as Stig’s horizontal axe stroke came whistling just centimetres above his head.

Hal crossed swords with another guardsman. They struck and parried at each other. Then he became aware of a second man coming at him from his left. He stopped the scimitar blade with the saxe in his left hand. Then parried a cut from the first man with his sword. Almost immediately, he had to leap to his right as the man on the left disentangled his scimitar and lunged at him. Hal felt the thick taste of fear in his mouth as he realised he couldn’t continue fighting the two of them for much longer. Sooner or later, one of them would penetrate his guard while he was occupied with the other. He swept his saxe sideways, deflecting another scimitar thrust. Then he sensed movement on his left, coming from behind him, and Jesper’s sword flashed past him, taking the left-hand attacker in the centre of his body, flicking in and out like a striking snake. The guardsman fell sideways, staring in horrified disbelief at the blood welling from the wound. His chain mail and sword clattered as he crashed onto the cobbles.

‘Thanks, Jes,’ Hal called. Now that he was able to concentrate on his original opponent, he drove the man back with a series of blindingly fast slashes, forehand and backhand, battering at the man’s guard until, as it faltered, he saw his opportunity and lunged the point of his sword through an opening. He hit the man in the thigh and the soldier staggered, then fell, dropping his scimitar to clench his hands around the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

As Thorn had told them repeatedly,
You don’t have to kill a man to put him out of the fight.

And in the space of a few violent, fast-moving seconds, the entire tenor of the encounter had changed. Seven of the
dooryeh
were dead or wounded, and two more were only just staggering to their feet after Kloof’s enraged charge out of the alley.

While all four of the Herons were untouched.

The surviving Socorrans looked around in horror. Their three to one advantage had evaporated to little more than parity. They looked for Mahmel, their leader, and saw the green-turbaned figure sprawled across the body of a guardsman, both men covered in blood.

Thorn smiled at them. Somehow, the smile was more reminiscent of a shark baring its teeth than an expression of good humour.

‘Shall we continue?’ he asked, and they began to back away – first one, then others following his example.

Then, to clinch matters, Kloof returned from her pursuit. She charged back into the main street, barking and snarling. There were ominous red stains about her muzzle.

That tipped the balance. The surviving
dooryeh
scattered and ran, leaving their dead and wounded behind them. Kloof set off after them, but they had run in several different directions and she couldn’t quite decide who to follow.

‘Kloof! Here, girl! Good girl! Here!’ Hal called and her hackles went down and she trotted obediently to him, her tail sweeping heavily, grumbling and growling deep in her chest still. She flumped down and sat beside him, looking up at him. Carefully, he wiped the blood from her muzzle with a piece of cloak he had taken from one of the fallen guardsmen. Then he wiped his sword and re-sheathed it.

‘By Ergon’s tears,’ Walton said, invoking an obscure Araluan god in an almost reverent tone. ‘I’m glad you’re on our side.’

They surveyed the crumpled bodies lying on the cobbles. Several of the wounded were still trying to drag themselves away. Jesper pointed to them.

‘What do we do about them?’ he asked.

Hal shook his head wearily. ‘Leave them be,’ he said. ‘We don’t want them.’

Stig was standing over the bloodstained figure of Mahmel, his axe dangling loosely from his hand.

‘Don’t remember seeing him in the fight,’ he said curiously. ‘Who settled his hash for him?’

The others exchanged glances and shrugged. Nobody could remember striking down the slave market manager.

‘Not sure,’ Jesper said. ‘It all got a little confused there for a few minutes.’

‘That’s true,’ Stig said. ‘Orlog’s breath, have you ever seen anything like Kloof here when she charged into them?’ He moved over and fondled the big dog’s ears. She grinned at him. ‘Good dog, Kloofy. Good,
good
dog!’

Kloof lolled her tongue at him. There was no sign now of the terrifying, snapping, snarling monster that she had become when she charged into the Socorrans. Hal looked around at the huddled group of Araluan slaves.

‘Well, at least you’ve had a chance to rest up for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Now let’s get back to the ship.’

As the sound of their footsteps died away, there was a rustle of movement among the dead and wounded guardsmen and Mahmel slowly raised his head. Satisfied that the Herons had gone, he lurched to his knees, then to his feet. His tunic and cloak were drenched with blood, but none of it was his.

In fact, Mahmel had taken no part in the brief and bloody fight. Seeing how it was shaping, he had dropped his scimitar and thrown himself across one of the fallen guardsmen, smearing himself with the man’s blood and lying still until the enemy had left.

He looked around the bloodstained cobblestones for his scimitar, retrieved it and slid it back into its scabbard. There was no need to clean the blade. It hadn’t drawn blood at all. In fact, it hadn’t been
used
at all.

The foreigners were heading north-east. He turned now and began running to the west. His guess had been right. Hal’s final words had confirmed that they had a ship somewhere in the harbour, and they were heading for it now. They had taken the road leading to the north-eastern reach, so they still had some distance to go. The harbour fort, with its battery of catapults, was much closer.

That’s where Mahmel was heading. To get out of Socorro, they’d have to run the gauntlet of those fearsome machines. He couldn’t wait to see the jagged rocks raining down on their helpless ship as they tried to make their way out through the narrow channel.

T
he sail rigging crew, and Gilan and Lydia, looked up in relief as their five comrades, accompanied by a dozen Araluans, emerged from the alleys onto the broad surface of the wharf. Kloof gambolled cheerfully along ahead of them, occasionally barking as if to say, ‘Follow me! I know the way!’

‘Lend a hand here! We’ve got wounded!’ Hal called.

Stefan, Edvin and Gilan all leapt up onto the wharf and ran to help. Ulf and Wulf, knowing they would soon be departing, busied themselves making sure their newly rigged sheets were clear of any obstruction. The wind was out of the north-west, blowing steadily as the desert cooled. They knew they’d be using the port side sail, so they prepared it for hoisting.

‘Who’s injured?’ Edvin asked urgently. He was the trained healer in the crew.

Hal calmed his worst fears. ‘None of us. Some of the Araluans need help – particularly one of the women.’ He indicated Ophelia with a jerk of his head and Edvin moved to her, gesturing for her companions to set her down. He examined her quickly, feeling her side, probing gently to see if any of her ribs were fractured. She smiled weakly at him as he patted her hand.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, then looked up to her companions. ‘Get her aboard.’

He moved to the other injured ex-slaves, nodding his head as he saw the tight bandage wound neatly round one man’s thigh.

‘Who did this?’ he asked. He noticed that Ingvar’s shirt was missing a sleeve. The huge youth pointed a thumb at his own chest.

‘I did,’ he said.

Edvin nodded approvingly. ‘Nice job. But we’d better loosen it for a few minutes to let the blood flow back into the limb. Otherwise, he could lose it.’

He saw that the third injury was a man with a severe ankle sprain – perhaps even a break. But there was no immediate danger and he could wait till last. His two companions, who were supporting him, looked at Edvin with sour faces as he straightened after examining the man’s ankle.

‘Carry him aboard,’ he said.

‘Can someone else do it?’ one of them complained. ‘We’ve been carrying him for hours!’

Hal’s hand on his shoulder jerked him round so that he found himself facing the skirl’s angry glare. The Araluan shrank back a pace or two. Hal was young – he wasn’t yet twenty. But there was something in his eyes that demanded instant obedience.

‘Yes. Someone else can do it!’ Hal snapped. ‘But if they do, you’re not setting foot on my ship. In fact, I’ll tie you both up and leave you here for the
dooryeh
to find. I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you. Are we clear on that?’

The Araluan’s eyes slid off to one side, unwilling to meet Hal’s furious gaze. He nodded and mumbled something incoherent.

‘I said, are we clear?’ Hal shouted at him.

He shuffled his feet. ‘Yes, yes, whatever you say,’ he mumbled.

Then he and his friend lifted their countryman and moved to the edge of the wharf, where Ulf and Wulf, finished checking their equipment, were waiting to lift him down into the ship. Hal met Thorn’s gaze and shook his head.