When Goblins Rage (Book 3) (24 page)

Storrson.

Only a few heartbeats away.

She lunged, breath ragged in her ears. Hate streaming through her veins as she remembered how easily he'd captured her.

His eyes widened, startled by the fury of the elf. He grabbed one of his men, flinging the soldier between them before running backward.

Gutting the surprised Grey Jacket with a brutal swipe of her blade, the elf made to follow Storrson, but was pushed back as five new men with swords aimed at her head came yelling through the debris.

Sheer weight of numbers threatened to consume her. Grey shields rushed forward to meet her attack. Slammed into her, sending her reeling back. A sword slashed low, and she had to work hard to spring away and keep her feet from being impaled by the blade.

The mercenaries and guards pressing up behind her stood their ground. They knew to run would mean their deaths, so they chanced life by looking the Shadowed Halls right in the face.

It wasn't too much of a gamble, the elf thought. From what she'd seen, the Grey Jackets were mostly green. Not the hardened force she'd expected. Nor the most tactically sound. Any army worth its pay should have obliterated the town by now.

She should be dead by now.

How Storr had gained a reputation as one of the best generals the Grey Jackets had ever had was quickly becoming a mystery to her. She found it hard to believe the man who'd seemed so calm and efficient when speaking to her only days before could be the same man leading these men to their doom.

A doom she felt certain she was about to share as, gripping
Kindness
hard in her fist, she thought she heard the shiver of the Shadowed Halls opening their gates ready to devour the souls of all who were about to die. And those gates were opening wide.

Then Sharpe was there, the heavy falchion meeting shields with a great scream of steel. He struck again and again, a frenzied attack. The sound as the heavy blade chopped deep into the shields was deep. Heavy.

If steel were a living being, those shields would have been shrieking in agony.

He screamed his battle-cry with a firm voice which shook with rage. “Kill the bastards!”

Flin's spear slid past Nysta's shoulder, impaling another through the throat. He clutched at the blade, fingers sliced free on the ruthless edge as he fell.

The elf twisted sideways, trying to escape another surge of armoured men. This wasn't the kind of fight she was good at. She couldn't find the room to move. Panic brought a sick taste into her mouth as she realised her mistake in rushing beyond the first line of defence.

A sword snickered past her ribs and caught one of Sharpe's guards in the thigh. He bellowed hard in her ear and threw himself at his attacker, pushing her aside to get past.

More blood.

“Pad!” Sharpe roared, forced backwards. “Get the fuck down here. Everyone off the walls! Get the fuck down here. Archers, keep firing! Keep shooting the bastards! And aim for their cleric, damn you! I want him dead!”

Ffloyd leaned inside the fort from the arches above. He dropped another jug after carefully aiming it. Empty of contents, it was still heavy enough that when it hit the head of one of the soldiers, it brought him to his knees.

The soldier shook his head. Looked up. Saw the elf looming above, and let out a whine. “Please-”

Kindness
tore out his throat. Blood erupted across her fist.

She danced away, finally free of the chaotic melee.

“I thought those fucking goblins said they'd be here,” Eli hissed, suddenly shoulder to shoulder.

She wasn't sure how he'd made it to this side of the ram, but he was sheathed in blood and his left cheek was swollen. His axe crunched into the chest of an overly-eager young Grey Jacket, while he kicked another in the gut.

Tore the axe free.

Didn't bother shaking the blade to release the gore. He spat a red-stained globule onto the fresh corpse.

“Still time,” she said, though she didn't believe they were coming either.

“I told you, my friend. Goblins are cowards. They would not be here.”

Grunting, she managed to avoid getting a sword in her chest. Had to use her bracer to deflect the blade, and felt the heavy sword nearly cut through the light wyrmskin.

“Keep them here!” Sharpe howled, splitting open the screaming head of a young Grey Jacket. “Don't let them inside any further or we're fucked! Pad!”

“One second, my Lord.”

“Move your ass, Pad!”

Pad's voice strained to respond. “Ass moving, my Lord.”

She chanced a look up and saw the big man was pulling hard on one of the stone blocks he'd been chiselling at earlier. For a second, she was mesmerised by the strength of the man as he wrestled with the block.

Then Flin's fingers dug into her shoulder and shoved her to the dirt.

The sword, which  had been snaking toward her chest, found only air. The young girl's spear flashed and was bathed in blood.

Screams hammered her from all sides.

Screams of hate. Screams of fear. Screams of pain.

The smell of steel, blood, and sweat.

A gauntleted fist smashed into her shoulder, sending a rigid shout of pain through her arm. But she was lucky. The fist had been aimed at her head, and if the heavy steel had found its mark, she'd most likely be sprawled on her back right now with a sword sticking through her chest.

Blindly, she struck out with
Kindness
and felt the blade bite deep, tearing through padded armour and driving into flesh. The blade had found the gap between steel plates near the man's elbow. More luck on her side.

The Grey Jacket howled in agony.

She twisted, ripping the blade free. She felt it splinter bone and cartilage on its way out. Prepared to follow with a strike to his face.

Then Flin grabbed her by the back of her jacket and dragged her free of the fight.

The girl shouted something, but Nysta couldn't make out the words. Her ears ached from all the noise.

She caught a glimpse of the Caspiellan cleric, robes slick with blood. Saw him casting through the shifting wave of iron and steel. Blinked, and he was gone, retreating back to the ranks of Grey Jackets who surrounded the wagons outside, waiting for the gateway to be taken so they could rush inside.

A few Caspiellans, dazed from their healing, shuffled back toward the fight like Draug waking from a long sleep.

The acrid echo of magic suddenly grew cloying, making her crawl a few feet further back.

More guards tumbled over them to get into the fray, and she saw Hudson chopping at anything which moved. His eyes burned with the insanity of it all. He was fast, she thought grudgingly.

Hicks was close to his lover, wrestling one of the Grey Jackets to the ground. He pinned the man and brought his hatchet down.

Once.

Twice.

A third, just to be sure. Then looked up just in time to block a sword to the face.

The ork, Redfist, finally fell, swarmed over by five or six Grey Jackets, who hacked at his body even after it was dead. He'd made no sounds of pain when he died. At least, none she could hear.

The old woman, small cooking knife in hand, hobbled slowly around the edges of the battle. Found a wounded Grey Jacket and slit his throat with as much reluctance as if she was cutting a cord.

The man, eyes wide, died with a stunned expression on his face while she rifled his belt in search of his purse. Which she tossed to the old man creeping along behind her

He caught the purse, weighed it thoughtfully in his hand and dropped it into a bucket he was carrying at his side.

There was something alien about their manner. As though they didn't belong. Like they were an echo of something more domestic which had been peeled from its time and place and magically superimposed on the killing field.

The elf struggled to regain her senses.

The ram, draped by dead Grey Jackets and a few mercenaries, was moving as the soldiers outside began trying to drag it free so they could push through in a more cohesive wave. She saw Storrson, red-faced, screaming and shoving more soldiers at the ram to get it clear.

It wouldn't be long, she thought. Then they'd pour into the town like an uncorked wine bottle.

Flin danced backward, nearly falling over a body. Snapped at her, “Now we're square, right? I saved your life.”

With a jerk of her head, the elf choked on dust and sprang away, heading for the ramp. Her mind, still rattled, had recognised what was more important. Knew she had to do something more than just fling herself into the steel horde. And figured she had an idea what was happening above the arches.

“Nysta!” Eli called, his voice shrill. “Where are you going?”

Ignoring him, she sprinted along the wall toward where Pad was still trying to move the stone. Ffloyd, sobbing in terror, struggled with him. Further down the ramparts, Bill had lined up a few archers and was sending arrows into the Grey Jackets trying to get to the ram. They were down to their last arrows.

She frowned at the stone, suddenly aware of just how big it was. Especially as it was deeper than she'd expected. If it were a box, she'd bet all three of them could have fit in it comfortably.

And still had room for Sharpe.

It looked imposing. And heavy. Too heavy for the three of them to move even an inch.

Surely the man was mad trying to move it in the first place?

Pad's look was one of gratitude when he saw her.

“Ah, lass,” the big man panted. “You're a little thing for sure, but I hear you elfs have more strength than you look. We could do with your hands. The bastards are coming through the gates like sailors to a whorehouse. We've got to block it fast. I know you've heard the stories. That this place is nigh on indestructible. Well, that ain't the truth. It's been falling apart for a long time now. Now, I had a look at the walkway under our feet, and it's got a bit of rot in it. I'm thinking if we drop this wee stone on it, the arches might collapse and break a few heads. I also had a go at loosening it earlier and I think I did enough. Didn't have time to hook up any ropes to do this any easier, though. So, it's dangerous work. We'll have to move out of the way quickly. If it falls on your foot, I don't think you'd like that. Think you're up to it?”

Without answering, the elf squeezed up into the gap between the large blocks. Got a good grip and gave him a look which said she was ready.

“Right,” he said. “On count of three. One. Two. Three!”

They pulled hard, trying to send it back onto the walkway.

Tugged with every shred of strength she had.

But the stone hardly moved.

“From the top,” Ffloyd managed. Shoved his hands between hers to get a grip on the back of the block. “Roll it off.”

Pad shuffled to the other side, reached across and planted his feet. The elf shifted further outward, balancing on the edge of the wall and risking an arrow in the back from below.

They nodded as one, and tried again.

“Pad!” Sharpe screamed.

“Not now, you annoying shit,” Pad growled, putting everything he had into it.

The elf's eyes hardened. Her muscle shivered in her shoulders. Something whipped across the skin of her back. An arrow? Insect?

A rush of ice, glittering across her skin.

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out as the stone began to move. Barely inched backward.

“Shit,” Ffloyd croaked. “It's moving. It's moving!”

And she did scream as her arms burned in protest. As the muscles ribboned along her bones like steel snakes, straining to the point of breaking.

Pad let out a primal roal.

Something cold wriggled across the back of her neck. Down her arm.

A droplet of sweat, she thought stubbornly.

And then nothing. The stone seemed to weigh nothing.

For just a second, it felt like she could throw it all the way to the Great Wall.

She blinked.

Tasted metal.

Then Ffloyd released his grip with a squeal, throwing himself out of the way while Pad let out a whoop of pleasure.

And the stone tore free of its position, seemed to hang in space for less than the time it took for her heart to beat, then dropped. It landed with an ear-splitting crash onto the walkway between them. Splinters of wood danced up, but the stone walkway held the weight.

Ffloyd frowned at it. “Didn't work, Pad.”

As if responding to his criticism, the ground beneath their feet began to shake ominously.

Pad looked up, meeting her eyes. She still stood on the wall, the masonry at her feet looking like a scab. A scab which was cracking. Splitting.

A subtle rumbling as though heavy boots were kicking at the wall.

The rumble rose in pitch and vibration to an unearthly roar.

Her eyes widened.

Deep within the wall, something howled as it broke, the bones of the little fort finally giving way.

“Oh, fuck me,” Pad said in horror. “I might have miscalculated, lass.”

“Run,” she breathed. “Run!”

And the world suddenly sucked the stone from beneath their feet with a deafening bellow.

She dove away from the yawning gap, arms flailing for a hold on anything which could stop her falling to the ground below.

For a brief moment, she felt weightless. There was nothing, she realised, beneath her feet but air. Heart pounding like a trapped animal in her throat, she struck out wildly. Her fingertips managed to find a part of the wall which had resisted the sudden collapse and she held on desperately as the heavy shuddering of earth below made the walls tremble.

Heard Ffloyd let out a horrible shriek of agony, but couldn't bring herself to look down. The shriek was cut short by a heavy crunch.

Dust billowed upward as she hauled herself back up onto the remnants of the wall, rolled onto her back, and looked up at the grey sky. Coughing, the elf spat dust and small pieces of stone.

Her shoulders felt like there were massive knots embedded in the bone.

Then the wailing began.

The cries of men calling for help. Clinging desperately to life.

“Kill them,” Sharpe's voice said. Stunned, but determined. “Quickly. Kill them all. Come on, you bastards, before their damned healer can get to them!”