"Bah! Ye're taking all the fun!" that creature called at her.
Only then did Catti-brie stop struggling with the stuck sword. Only then did she realize that she had already reached the end of the dwarven line.
She offered a sheepish smile at the dwarf, keeping the thought private that if she hadn't accidentally caught her blade on the orc, that dwarf would likely have fallen to the hunger of Khazid'hea.
Spurred by that thought, the woman silently swore at the sword, which of course heard her clearly. She planted a foot on the dead orc and tried again to pull Khazid'hea free but was stopped by a large hand gripping her shoulder.
"Easy," Wulfgar bade her. "We fight together, side by side."
Catti-brie let go of the blade and stepped back, then took a long and steadying deep breath.
"Sword's hungry," she explained.
Wulfgar smiled, nodded, and said, "Temper that hunger with common sense."
Catti-brie looked back at the path of carnage she had wrought, at the sliced and slashed orcs, and at herself, covered head to toe in orc blood.
No, not all of it was orc, she only then realized and only then felt the burning pain. The thrown sword had opened a gash along her left arm, and she had another wound on her right hip and another where a spear tip had cut into her right foot.
"You need a priest," Wulfgar said to her.
Catti-brie, jaw clenched against the pain, stubbornly stepped forward and grabbed Khazid'hea's hilt. She roughly tore it free—and yet another fountain of orc blood painted her.
"And a bath," Wulfgar remarked, half in humor and half in sadness.
* * *
Banak Brawnanvil shoved two thick fingers into his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. The orcs were in retreat yet again, and the dwarves were giving chase, holding perfectly to their formations as they went. But those orcs were veering, Banak realized from his high vantage point back near the cliff face. They were sidling west in their run down the slope.
Banak whistled again and again and called for his nearby commanders to turn the dwarves around.
Before that order ever reached the pursuing force, though, all the dwarves, commander and pursuer alike, came to understand its intent and urgency. For in their bloodlust, the dwarves had moved too far to the north and west, too close to the high ridge and the waiting giants. As one, the formation skidded to a stop and swung around as giant boulders began to rain down upon them.
Their focused turn became an all-out retreat, and the orcs who had baited them turned as well, making the pursuers the pursued.
"Damned clever pigs," Banak grumbled.
"They've got the tactical advantage with them giants on the ridge," agreed Torgar, who stood at Banak's side.
That advantage was likely leading to complete disaster. Those orcs in pursuit, with the artillery support of the giants, would likely cut deep into the dwar-ven lines.
The two dwarf commanders held their breaths, praying that the errant band would get out of the giants' effective range and would then be able to offer some defense against the orcs. Banak and Torgar measured the ground, both calling out commands to support groups, moving all the remaining dwarves into position to catch and bolster their running kin.
Their plans took a sudden turn, though, as one group from the fleeing dwarves broke away from the main force, turning back upon the orcs with sudden ferocity.
"That'd be Pwent," Banak muttered.
Torgar tipped his helmet in admiration of the brave Gutbusters.
Pwent and his boys hit the orc line with abandon, and that line broke almost immediately.
The giants turned their attention to that particular area. Boulders rained down, but there were many more orcs than dwarves, a ratio of more than five to one—and that ratio held up concerning the numbers dropped by giant-thrown stones.
The pursuit was over and the main dwarven force was able to return to their defensive positions. All eyes turned back to the area of carnage, to see a group f Gutbusters, less than half of those who had bravely turned and charged, come scrambling out, running zigzags up the inclining stone.
Banak's charges cheered for them, urging them on, shouting for them to, "Run!" and, "Duck!" and, "Keep going!"
But rocks smashed among the zigzagging group, and whenever one of Pwent's boys went down, the cheering dwarves gave a collective groan.
One figure in particular caught the attention of the onlookers. It was Pwent himself, running up the slope with not one, but a pair of wounded dwarves slung over his shoulders.
The cheers went up for him, for "Pwent, Pwent, Pwent!"
He lagged behind, so he became the focus of the giants as well. Rocks smashed down all around him. Still he charged on, roaring with every step, determined to get his wounded boys out of there.
A rock hit the ground behind him and skipped forward, slamming him in the back and sending him flying forward. The wounded dwarves rolled off to either side, all three hitting the ground hard.
Up above, cheers turned to stunned silence.
Pwent struggled to get up.
Another stone clipped him and laid him face down.
Two figures broke out from the dwarf ranks then, running fast on longer legs, sprinting down the slope toward the fallen trio.
Amazingly, Pwent forced himself back up and turned to face the giants. He swung one arm up, slapping his other hand across his elbow so that his fist punched high in the air—as rude a gesture as he could offer.
Another boulder smashed the stone right in front of him, then bounced up over him and clunked down behind.
And there stood Pwent, signaling curses at the giants.
* * *
Catti-brie wished that she had her bow with her! Then, perhaps, she could at least offer some cover against that suicidal charge.
Wulfgar outdistanced her, his hands free, for he had left Aegis-fang back up with the dwarves.
"Get to Pwent!" the barbarian cried, and he veered for one of the two more seriously wounded warriors.
Catti-brie reached the stubborn battlerager and grabbed him by the still-cursing arm.
"Come on, ye dolt!" she cried. "They'll crush you down!"
"Bah! They're as stupid as they are tall!" Pwent shouted.
He pulled his arm from Catti-brie, hooked a finger of each hand into either side of his mouth, and pulled it wide, sticking out his tongue at the distant behemoths.
He sobered almost at once, though, and not from Catti-brie's continuing pleas, but from the specter of Wulfgar crossing before him, an unconscious dwarf over one shoulder. Pwent watched as Wulfgar moved to the second fallen Gutbuster, a huge hand clasping over the scruff of the dwarf's neck and hoisting him easily.
When Catti-brie tugged again, Pwent didn't argue, and the woman pulled him along, back up the slope. The rain of boulders commenced with full force, but luck was with the trio and their unconscious cargo, and Wulfgar was hardly slowed by the burden of the two injured dwarves. Soon enough, they were out of range of the boulders. The frustrated giants went back to their shale then, filling the air with spinning and slashing sharp-edged stones.
* * *
Dwarves cheered wildly as the group of five approached. As one, the hundreds lifted their arms in rude gestures and stood defiantly against the whizzing missiles of slate.
"Get yer bandages ready," Banak shouted to Pikel Bouldershoulder, who was off to the side, jumping around excitedly.
"Oo oi!" the dwarf yelled back, and he turned and lifted an arm in salute to Banak.
The slate flew past, taking Pikel's raised arm at the elbow. The green-bearded dwarf put on a puzzled look and stumbled forward, then shrugged as if he didn't understand.