Shadow Blizzard (48 page)

“Look out!” yelled Kli-Kli.

Purely by instinct, I held the krasta out in front of me, and the grun impaled itself on the sharp blade at full speed. Kli-Kli threw another knife, but not so neatly this time, and it stuck in a beast’s thigh. While it was whining and spinning round on the spot, the ones that were still alive came at me from both sides at once. In desperation I jerked the krasta toward me, freeing the weapon from the heavy body that was stuck on it. One of the gruns leapt through the air, aiming for my throat, and got an arrow in its side. My thanks to Egrassa. The beast crashed into me at full speed and we fell to the ground. I rolled aside smartly, almost losing my spear, and the last of the gruns landed with all four paws on the spot where I had just been lying.

But I hadn’t moved far enough, and the beast just caught me with its front paw. Its claws easily ripped through the jacket, and the only thing that saved me was the chain mail I disliked so much—I was wearing it under the jacket. Ignoring the pain from the blow, I kicked the grun in the face with both feet. The beast whined and went flying off, but somehow it managed to land on its paws and jumped at me again. I was already up on my feet and I had time to prepare myself. The spear met the grun in midair and the Smoky Steel easily sliced the monkey in half. I didn’t even feel any resistance.

Meanwhile Kli-Kli had finished off the wounded grun and was hastily extracting her knives from the bodies. I could hear Milord Alistan’s sword whining somewhere over on the right. Egrassa had swapped his bow for a s’kash and he and Eel were standing back to back, fighting off attacks from orcs who were pressing them hard.

“Behind you, Harold,” they barked at me.

I leapt to one side with no delay. The orc who had been about to slice my head off was obviously terribly upset by this, and he came blundering straight at me. One of Kli-Kli’s throwing knives whistled through the air, but it hit the center of the Firstborn’s shield, which had a picture of some weird and wonderful bird on it. A spear is longer than a yataghan, and I had a slight advantage—I held the orc off until Kli-Kli threw another knife.

This one hit him in the shoulder. Hit him and bounced off. The orc obviously had armor concealed under his yellow jacket. I slashed at him with the krasta and the orc nimbly covered himself with his round shield, but the Gray One’s spear sliced straight through this obstacle, and the orc’s arm as well. I spun round, and the orc lost his other arm.

“Karade tig su’in tar!”
[Dispatch them to the darkness!] someone barked in orcish.

Right, so much for that, but how were the others getting on? Eel and Egrassa were still holding out. I couldn’t see Deler. Mumr was managing to hold three orcs at bay with his wagon shaft of a sword. Hallas had just finished off a Firstborn by smashing his mattock into his face. Kli-Kli was dashing to help Lamplighter.… But Milord Alistan was in trouble. That lad with the spear creeping up behind him was about to skewer our count like a chicken on a spit.

I yelled to attract the orc’s attention and started running with the krasta to help Alistan Markauz. The orc accepted the challenge, grasped his spear with two hands like a staff, and stepped toward me. He struck with the sharp blade on the butt of the shaft, and I was barely fast enough to parry his blows. Trying to counterattack was out of the question. It was a matter of survival. The Firstborn was incredibly agile and he almost caught me in the face with the butt of the spear. I just barely managed to jerk back in time. But in the process I lost my balance and the orc attacked, pushing me away with the center of the shaft between his hands.

I almost fell, and smacked the orc on his fingers with the krasta as hard as I could. The orc howled in pain and let go of the spear with his left hand. I struck at his knees with the shaft of the krasta. My enemy collapsed and I pinned him to the ground without a second thought. Then I pulled the krasta out and hastily looked around.

Milord Alistan was finishing off the last of his opponents. The orc was fending off the blows of the sword with a well-battered shield, but his minutes were already numbered. Kli-Kli seemed to be unhurt. Egrassa and Eel were already hurrying across to help us, after finishing off their opponents. Hallas, who was farthest away from me, was harrying an orc.

The gnome had smashed the yataghan out of the Firstborn’s hand, and now the orc had only a dagger to defend himself. The gnome took a step forward to put paid to his enemy, but stumbled over the body of a grun and lost his balance for a moment. The Firstborn immediately took advantage of the gnome’s blunder. Moving in close to Lucky, he grabbed hold of his beard, pulled the gnome toward himself, and struck at his unprotected face with the dagger.

Lucky fell, bleeding heavily, and the orc raised his dagger for the final blow. I went dashing to help him, although I knew I’d be too late, but Deler beat me to it. With a mighty roar, he flung his terrible poleax at the orc with both hands. The weapon flashed through the air in a glittering circle and crashed into the orc, slicing through his head and upper body.

“Deler, behind you!” Eel shouted, but it was too late.

An orc who was behind Deler struck the dwarf with a short, broad sword that was quite different from the orcs’ usual yataghans. The blow was so powerful that the tip of the sword emerged from the warrior’s chest. The Wild Heart swayed and collapsed to his knees. Before the orc could free his sword, Egrassa took up his bow again and turned him into a pin cushion.

It was all over.

The orc who had stabbed Deler with his sword was the last one. We all rushed to Hallas or Deler. The grun that Egrassa had shot in the side was still alive and whimpering as it tried to reach the arrow with its teeth. I paused for a moment to finish the vicious beast off. The orcs’ hunting horns gave voice again, but this time much closer.

“Oh, light!” Kli-Kli groaned, falling on her knees beside Hallas. “Oh, light! So much blood! So much blood!”

She kept on repeating those words, and there was panic fluttering in her eyes. It was the first time I’d ever seen our jester in such a state.

“Oh, light! How can this be?” the gobliness wailed. There was an orcish dagger with a notched blade lying beside her.

The moment I saw the gnome, I realized he was in a bad way. The blow had struck his right cheek and the notched blade had made an irregular wound. In fact, the whole right side of Hallas’s face was one ragged wound. The orc had struck upward with his weapon and now there was a gaping bloody hole where Lucky’s eye used to be.

And there was blood everywhere. Lots of blood. The gnome was still alive, but he seemed to be unconscious.

Egrassa unceremoniously pushed Kli-Kli aside and started trying to do something, whispering some mumbo-jumbo in orcic and sprinkling yellow powder straight onto the wound.

“Eel! How’s Deler?” croaked Lamplighter, who was fussing over Hallas.

“He’s dying,” was the answer.

“Ah, darkness! Darkness! The darkness take them all!” Mumr howled. “Harold, run over to Eel, maybe there’s still something…”

Without waiting for him to finish, I dashed across to help Eel. Milord Alistan was there, too. The Garrakian hadn’t taken the risk of pulling the sword out of the dwarf’s back—that would have increased the already powerful loss of blood. Deler was conscious and he was trying to say something, but he could only move his lips without making a sound.

“How can we help him?” I asked.

“Only a miracle can help,” Alistan Markauz muttered darkly.

But no miracle happened. A minute later the ginger-haired dwarf died, without having said anything.

“May you dwell in the light,” Eel murmured as he carefully closed Deler’s eyes.

How had we managed to get caught out so badly? Deler was dead, Hallas was at death’s door.

“Harold, we’ll mourn later!” said Eel, thumping me fiercely on the shoulder. “Wake up!”

The Garrakian was right. Mumr had found some clean rags somewhere and he was bandaging the gnome’s wound. The rags were immediately soaked in blood, but after Egrassa’s magical first aid at least the bleeding had slowed down.

Orcish horns on the left warned us that the Firstborn were coming as fast as they could, and they were answered by other horns on the right.

“We haven’t got much time, Mumr,” said Egrassa.

“I know,” the warrior growled as he bound up the gnome’s head. “I’m almost finished!”

“How’s Deler?” the elf asked.

“Dead.”

Kli-Kli gasped and lowered her face into her hands. I patted her on the shoulder, trying to comfort her a little.

“Time to be going! They’ll be here soon!”

“I’m done!” said Lamplighter, with his hands covered with blood. “But he won’t hold on for long. We’ve only postponed the end.”

“We have to hope for the best. There’s no time to make a stretcher, the gnome will have to be carried,” said Alistan.

“Kli-Kli,” I said to the sniffling gobliness. “You take the krasta.”

I had to carry the gnome, because if the orcs caught up with us, the warriors would have to be ready to fight them off.

“You won’t manage on your own,” Lamplighter said. “Eel, you carry my sword.”

The Garrakian nodded and put the bidenhander over his shoulder.

“Here we go, Harold. But in the name of all the gods, be careful!”

We lifted the wounded man cautiously.

“What about Deler?” Kli-Kli sobbed. “Aren’t we going to bury him?”

“We don’t have time for that, goblin. The forest spirits will take care of his body,” Egrassa replied.

Kli-Kli nodded reluctantly and she seemed to shrink somehow. The orcs’ horns called to each other through the mist.

“Let’s go!”

As we left the battlefield, I cast a final glance at Deler. Eel had attended to the dead man while we were trying to save Hallas. He had pulled out the orc’s sword, set the dwarf’s poleax on his chest, and folded his hands over it. As he walked along, Mumr whispered the words of the funeral song of the Wild Hearts. When we had gone about twenty yards, Kli-Kli suddenly turned round and went dashing back.

“Stop, Kli-Kli,” I barked, but she completely ignored me. “Stop, you fool.”

She came back a minute later, carrying the dwarf’s bowler hat in her hand.

*   *   *

You can’t run all that fast carrying a wounded gnome, but we were managing pretty well … so far. When my arms were just about ready to fall off, Mumr and I were replaced by Eel and Alistan Markauz. As we moved on, we swapped round again twice, and stopped twice to check on the gnome’s condition. Hallas was still holding on by some miracle, but Egrassa only shook his head in disappointment: “It’s only a matter of hours. Hallas won’t make it through the night.”

“We’ll see about that!” growled Eel, furious with the whole wide world.

“We can’t carry him forever. That way we only make it worse for him.”

“Are you suggesting we abandon him?”

Egrassa’s yellow eyes glinted in fury and he put his hand on the hilt of his crooked knife.

“You forget yourself.” The elf’s tone was very cold.

“The last thing we need now is a duel!” Milord Alistan roared furiously. “Eel!”

Eel worked the muscles in his jaw, but he said, “I’m sorry, Egrassa, I spoke hastily.”

The dark elf gave a slight nod. “I understand. But we can’t go on running forever. The Firstborn are only ten minutes away. We won’t survive another battle like the last one, and they might have bowmen.”

“We’ll have to give battle,” the Garrakian agreed. “Better do it now, before we collapse from exhaustion.”

“This battle will be the last.”

“So be it, elf. So be it. But I’m not just going to wait to be slaughtered, I’m going to put a few holes in some Firstborn.”

Egrassa turned to Alistan Markauz.

“Milord?”

“Give me one minute, I’m thinking,” said the count, knitting his brows together.

“Very well. Harold, Kli-Kli, stay beside Hallas. Eel, take the right. Mumr, take the left. Try to hold out for as long as possible and not let them through until I run out of arrows. Do you see that golden-leaf?”

The elf carried on giving instructions, but I wasn’t listening any longer. May the Nameless One take me! Could this really be the end?

“We just have to hope there aren’t any bowmen,” Kli-Kli said in a quiet voice.

Her fingers were flickering desperately as she wove some complicated sign.

“Are you sure of what you’re doing?” I asked her cautiously.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything, Dancer. Of course, it’s not the Hornets of Vengeance, but I don’t think they’ll like the Hammer of Dust much better.”

“How many of them are there?”

“The same number as attacked us. Only seventeen.”

“We were attacked by seventeen orcs?”

“And five of their grun dogs. Didn’t you notice? If not for Egrassa and his bow, they’d have us given a far worse mauling.”

“Listen to me,” said Alistan Markauz, suddenly breaking his silence. “We don’t need to give battle now. Kli-Kli, catch!”

He threw something small to the gobliness and she caught it deftly. It turned out to be a silver ring with the count’s personal crest.

“Milord, don’t!” she cried out in fright.

“I must, jester, it’s your only chance. If you get back, give it to my son.”

“What’s going on?” asked Mumr, not understanding a thing.

He wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand. Not everyone’s as bright as Kli-Kli and Eel.

“Are you sure?” the Garrakian asked. “Perhaps I should go?”

“I’m sure,” replied the captain of the royal guard. “The shaman knew, that’s why he gave the thing to me. I’ll try to lead them as far away from you as I can. Egrassa, lead the unit on!”

“Don’t worry, milord, I’ll lead them all the way to Avendoom,” the dark elf said with a solemn nod. “Will you take the krasta? You’ll be able to hold out longer with it.”

“No, I’m used to a sword. Harold!”

“Yes, milord?” For some reason my mouth had gone dry.

“Give the Horn to Artsivus so that he can drive that snake back into the snow. If you don’t, be sure I’ll get you, even from the next world!”