Tasca lunged forward. The blade of his rapier glittered in the moonlight. Its tip slipped between interlocking metal plates into soft flesh. The impaled man gave out a tremendous cough, spat blood, then let his upraised sword fall harmlessly to the ground next to Whitman. The dwarf rolled away from the tumbling body.
Clemf dived into the battle as well. The big, tattooed human waved his bastard sword like a wand, leveling black-armored fighters with each swing. He moved exceptionally fast for a large man. Each lunge covered twice the ground a dwarf might in the same number of steps.
Krunk waded in behind Clemf, clearing away with his mace those left in the wake of the fast-moving human. Though his legs were short, his arms were mighty, and a large, oval clearing appeared rapidly in the middle of the opposing soldiers' line around the huge barbarian and the dwarf.
Another fireball exploded inside the keep-this one on top of the wall. Bricks and flaming limbs rained down the embankment. The fires were extinguished as they cascaded across the damp ground, and the debris made squishy, thumping noises as it came to rest. Regdar was far into the enemy line, but he could hear bricks-or what he hoped were bricks-landing behind him.
Some of the black-clad attackers were not as fortunate, and were hammered to the ground by the grisly rain.
As the flaming downpour tapered off, Regdar's greatsword swept round in a whistling arc. It smacked aside a defending longsword and cut a deep wound into the belly of the man before Regdar. The soldier squealed as he lowered his sword and fell to his knees, bloody hands desperately grasping at his guts in a vain attempt to keep them from spilling onto the ground. Regdar stepped past the screaming attacker and kept fighting.
Two more soldiers lunged forward from both sides at once. Regdar retreated, knocking aside one blade while trying to be mindful of the wounded man behind him. A sharp pain in his right hamstring forced Regdar down onto one knee.
The gutted man behind Regdar had fallen sideways, but his sword, still tightly gripped, was poised with its point in the air. That point was now jabbed into the back of Regdar's leg. Pain shot up through the limb, through his lower back, and right on into his shoulder. Regdar managed to keep hold of his sword as he let out a roar that echoed above the sounds of battle.
The sword slipped free of Regdar's leg, and the searing pain gave way to a dull throb. Despite the pain and loss of balance, he managed to drop to the ground in time to duck beneath the swift, flat swing of another sword that was aimed at his neck. Three heavily armored men approached from the direction of the riverbank.
Regdar hopped backward and bashed away two blades with one swing, but the exertion sent tremendous pain ripping up his leg. He continued hobbling backward, hoping the attackers would be slowed by their heavy armor in their ascent up the slope.
The fastest of the soldiers lunged for Regdar's injured leg. The blade stabbed deep into the front of Regdar's thigh and scraped against the bone. Nearly blinded by the pain, he reeled back and released one hand from his greatsword to steady himself.
Expecting Regdar to fall, the enemy fighter sprang forward with his blade raised high. To his shock, Regdar didn't fall. Instead, the heavy, steel pommel of a greatsword gripped in a massive fist smashed into the man's helmet, crunching the dark steel inward against the side of his head. Blood gushed from the faceplate of the collapsed helm.
The injured man gurgled out a panicked scream. On his knees he clawed at the ruined helmet with both hands. Eventually he pried it loose with a soft, ripping sound from the hair that was tightly pinched in the metal. Blood poured out of the metal pot, and the man's face seemed strangely elongated.
The other two men stepped blithely past their comrade with the broken face. Regdar hopped away while trying to put pressure on at least one of the wounds in his leg, but the two pursuers were gaining ground. With no good choices left, Regdar knew he had to stand his ground. Falling in the fight would be far better than being stabbed in the back trying to escape. He turned and pointed his greatsword at the oncoming attackers.
The first one attacked high. Regdar parried the swing easily with an upward strike. It was only a feint. The second attack came low. A less experienced warrior would have died there and then, but Regdar knew the danger. His leg seemed afire as he shifted his weight to block the second blade. Steel rang against steel, and a terrific growl roared through Regdar's clenched teeth. Still, the pain was too much. The doubly wounded leg collapsed despite Regdar's will and toppled him off balance. The next attack cut a large gash in Regdar's shoulder as he fell to the ground.
Despite the pain, Captain Regdar's mind was crystal clear. He rolled onto his back in the mud and gripped his greatsword in his right hand. Holding the weapon defensively over his chest, he looked up at the two black-clad soldiers. He couldn't see their faces through their helms, but after a hundred battles, he knew how they would look. There was just room for one deep breath and one powerful, perfectly timed swing. The blade whistled in a level arc just inches above the ground.
Another fireball exploded above the keep. The flash of light lit the ground and the red spray arcing out behind Regdar's glinting blade where it sliced cleanly through three ankles. One soldier toppled to the ground, screaming and clutching at the stumps of his shins. The second was made of tough stuff. He bellowed off his pain and anger, stamped his bleeding left ankle into the soft ground, and somehow kept his balance.
Now Regdar could see the man's eyes grow narrow through the helmet's faceplate as he glared down at him. The blade rose, the eyes grew wide, and the sword plunged down. In that second, Regdar hoped that a cleric might find him before his soul departed forever. He heard the sound of a blade slicing flesh and saw the sword drive deep-into the mud beneath his armpit!
Regdar craned his neck. The black-clad soldier fell to his knees, then collapsed across Regdar's chest. Behind him stood Tasca, his rapier dripping the dead man's blood.
A pair of strong hands slid under Regdar's shoulders and struggled to drag him from under the slain enemy.
"Use your feet, you big sack of meat," chided Whitman from behind Regdar. "You're not the only one who's hurt, you know."
Regdar breathed a sigh of relief and lifted with his uninjured leg. Once supported by Whitman, the big fighter looked around.
At least fifteen of the attacking soldiers lay dead in the mud along the small, northern embankment around the sally port. The wizards still lived, however, along with at least thirty more black-clad soldiers, all of whom seemed to be granting Regdar and his men a wide, clear space. Farther down the wall, some had managed to secure a pair of heavy ladders against the bastion, but their attention was fixed on Regdar and his irregulars.
A loud crash turned Regdar, Tasca, and Whitman to their left.
An attacker tumbled sideways down the slope and splashed into the water. Clemf burst through the space where the soldier had been standing. The burly, tattooed human bulled his way toward Regdar, slashing and clubbing anyone impetuous enough to try barring his way. Clemf's dress uniform, already missing its arms even before the battle, now hung in tatters. He looked like a wild man raised by wolves, dressed in the rags of his formerly civilized clothing. Cuts and bruises covered his body. Sweat drenched his brow and dripped from his limbs. With an enormous swing, he cleaved one more soldier in two, then stepped up next to his three compatriots.
"Where's Krunk?" he yelled, turning his back on Regdar and menacing the approaching soldiers.
"I thought he was with you," replied Regdar. He scanned the battlefield. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the dwarf. Krunk was lifting himself onto the raft, directly beside the wizards. "There!" Regdar shouted, pointing. "Krunk made it to the raft."