They nodded and paired off.
"And Whitman," said Regdar.
"Yeah?" replied the dwarf.
"Bust whatever you want."
"Right."
A grinding noise, sounding like stone on stone, echoed down the chamber. The wall at the far end parted. Regdar watched in amazement as the bricks slid back and disappeared into darkness. When the grinding stopped, the sound of heavy, marching boots filled the room.
Regdar looked to the other men. Whitman slapped his hammer against his hand with obvious impatience. Tasca sighted down his drawn arrow, watching the far wall. Clemf stood with his longsword held casually at his side, his eyes intently focused, his knees bent and ready to charge.
Regdar tested his grip on his greatsword and whispered a prayer under his breath. "Grant me the strength to vanquish my foes and carry my brethren through to safety," he said, stretching his neck to one side, then the other. "Woe be to those who oppose Pelor."
The darkness stirred, and from out of the newly formed portal in the wall poured a flood of black-clad soldiers.
Tasca let his arrow fly, and the first man to step into the flickering torchlight fell dead. Whipping his hand over his shoulder, he drew another arrow and fired again, dropping a second soldier.
The rushing enemy barely paused, however, and the room continued filling with black-armored warriors, like water gushing into a sinking boat. They marched uncaringly over their fallen comrades, flowing constantly forward.
"Whatever you do," shouted Regdar, "don't let them get behind us."
The others only had time to nod before the wall of black-armored soldiers came crashing down.
Whitman's hammer sent a clang echoing off the stone walls, disrupting the metered sound of the soldiers' marching. Tasca stood just behind the stalwart dwarf, firing arrows over his shoulder into the crowd of enemies.
Regdar and Clemf raised their swords over their shoulders and simultaneously cut into the line of men before them. The sound of metal against metal was followed by metal tearing flesh. Blood drenched the floor, and the swarm pushed forward.
Regdar ducked under a swing to his head then jammed the tip of his greatsword into his attacker's gut. The man grunted once, dropped his sword, and grabbed for his wound. looking past the injured man, Regdar estimated the size of the small army he and his men faced. They were outnumbered easily four, maybe even five, to one.
Clemf slightly improved their odds when he connected with a two-handed swing. His blade plunged between the shoulder piece and helm of the man before him. The soldier's head slipped from his separated neck with a sickening pop. The headless body stood upright for a moment more, but Clemf never paused. His follow-through collided with another man’s sword arm, slicing it off at the elbow.
The amputated body parts rolled on the floor, being trampled underfoot. Regdar saw a soldier step on the head. Its helm collapsed under the weight, and the skull made a loud cracking sound. The soldier lost his balance as the head caved in, and his other foot slipped on the gory flagstones.
Regdar's reverie was cut short by a slash to his leg. A pair of soldiers lunged at him from the side. There were so many he was having a hard time keeping track of them. One blade clanged harmlessly off his armor. The other cut into his muscle. The wound burned and made Regdar angry.
The big fighter rolled his hands over, bringing his enchanted blade to bear on the offending soldier. The weapon opened a large slice across the man’s chest, cutting through metal, leather, and flesh alike.
The man hissed at the cut but stood his ground. His sword pulled back for another strike. Regdar stepped into the opening. He jabbed his elbow into the cut on the man’s chest, scraping his jagged armor against the wound. The soldier shouted and fell to his knees, releasing his sword.
Regdar, smashed his knee into the man’s face. The kneeling man reeled backward, swayed momentarily like a hypnotized snake, then collapsed.
Another man stepped in to take his place, rushing Regdar with his shoulder down. The soldier crashed into Regdar's chest and grabbed him in a bear hug. Regdar had leaped into the air when he saw the man coming, so the force of the impact carried both men backward several feet and out of the immediate fray. Regdar's weight was too much for the man to bear, however, and the attacker had to let him drop to the floor.
Regdar landed on his feet and took two long steps back to steady himself. His opponent was still off balance, so Regdar slammed his sword down with all his might against the top of the man's helmet. The blade struck with such force that it knocked him flat on his stomach. Regdar quickly stabbed the point through the gap below the man's helmet, cutting through his spine. Though the wound didn't kill him outright, the man lay on the floor unmoving, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Regdar was now separated from Clemf, and the tattooed human was surrounded. A black-clad soldier stepped behind him and jabbed a dagger at Clemf's unprotected flank. The dagger sank into Clemf's soft, fleshy backside, making him jump straight into the air.
Regdar charged back into the melee, zeroing in on the soldier stabbing at Clemf's rear. He took two steps before the sound of a bowstring filled his ears. He cringed, bracing himself for the impact.
The arrow wasn't aimed at Regdar. Green fletching sprouted in the ear of the man ahead. His knees went weak, and he spun around just in time to see Regdar before the greatsword knocked him to the floor with a blow to the chest. To his right, Tasca winked as he nocked another arrow and loosed it into the dwindling crowd.
Glad he's on my side, thought Regdar. He took a second to check on Whitman. The dwarf was flinging his hammer around in a figure eight pattern, bashing away blades and moving the soldiers back with his unorthodox style. Regdar had encountered men who had fought that way before. They had come from the far east, but they fought with small, finely crafted blades and trained for years in the ancient arts of swordplay. Somehow, seeing the dwarf use his hammer in the same fashion seemed comical-and effective.
Clemf stepped next to Regdar, rubbing his behind.
Another rumble echoed through the great hall-the sound of more marching soldiers.
The remaining fighters before Regdar and his men suddenly disengaged, falling back and forming a defensive line.
Tasca continued firing arrows into their midst, but now many of them were bashed away by blades or shields.
As they waited, the darkness at the far end of the room stretched and grew, widening along the edges, rolling out into the open and snuffing what light dared enter. Bits of that growing shadow broke off and separated into individual, man-sized chunks.
Regdar shook his head. It wasn't a shadow at all. It was an even bigger unit of black-clad soldiers.
"This doesn't look good," said Regdar.
"Not good at all," agreed Whitman.
8
The soldiers filled the room, forming ranks behind the defensive line. They stood for a moment, completely still. Only the sound of Tasca's arrows clanking off splint mail or sinking into flesh broke the silence.
As a group, the soldiers raised their swords.
Regdar stepped up beside Clemf. Tasca and Whitman did the same, forming a short line of their own.
The big fighter took a deep breath. He'd faced a lot of men in battle. Some were scared, some cool and confident. Then there were those who didn't care whether they lived to fight another day. It was those sorts who were the most dangerous.
Regdar looked at the eyes of the men standing before him-cultists of the god Hextor. They glared back, hard and cold. These men had no fear of death. They would come and come and come until they either won or all were dead. Regdar was sure of that.