Jawara started to protest, and Abdou grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him backward hard. ?Go! Now! We?ll hold them as long as we can and then retreat. You can cover us from the water with your ship?s catapults. Go!?
What in Shaitan?s name happened at the wall? ?Volley! Forward six paces. Volley! Forward six paces! Volley! Forward six paces- pick your man. Volley! Volley! Wholly together! Volley! Forward six paces!?
Edain had the bowmen well under control. Two dozen longbows bent and spat at the sparse line of corsairs opposing them in the gap of the shattered wall. A third of them fell, and the rest wavered as the heavy-armed band around Rudi came up behind the thin line of archers. He knocked down his visor with a hard snick-clack! ?Morrigu!? he shrieked, as the world shrank to a slit.?Charge!?
They ran forward in a wedge with him at the point; the archers slung their bows, drew blades or axes or mallets, and followed. A curved sword swung at his head as he leapt up the body-littered slope of the broken wall, agile as a great steel-skinned cat, screaming like a panther in battle heat. He ducked beneath the stroke and stabbed up at the man above him. The point of the western longsword went in behind the chin and punched through the thin bone that shielded the brainpan. Rudi wrenched it free; Matti?s shield knocked aside a spearpoint probing for his face, unseen until the last instant. His own shield blocked a slash and he cut the man?s legs out from under him with a chop that severed a thighbone.
Cries rang out, battle slogans where they weren?t just raw shrieks of rage or of pain: ?Morrigu! Morrigu!? ?Allahu Akbar!? ?Jesu-Maria!? ? Haro, Portland! Holy Mary for Portland!? ?Ho La, Odhinn!? ?Face Gervais, face death!? ?Artos and Montival!?
There was a long moment of slipping, scrambling fighting on the uncertain footing of the broken wall. Rudi felt an arrow hammer into his knight-style shield; six inches of it showed through the inner felt lining just beside his forearm until he broke it off with the hilt of his sword. The Moors? bows hit hard. The man was behind a balk of timber, fumbling another shaft onto the string when Rudi?s lunge punched the point of the longsword into his throat.
It didn?t sink deeply-the lunge had also slammed Rudi?s shield and chest against the pinewood-but it was enough to send him back, both hands scrabbling at the wound. Rudi vaulted over into the place he?d occupied, landing with a grunt under the weight of his armor and dodging a stroke from a curved slashing sword in the same instant. A big Bjorning named Hrolf followed Rudi, roaring, one of their newcomers from Eriksgarth. His blow met and snapped the sword in a shower of sparks, then crushed the Moor?s shield hand right through the thick leather with a swing of the hammer side of his ax. ?Edain. That one!?
Rudi pointed with his sword as the wounded man dodged beneath a return stroke that would have taken his head off, turned and sprinted into the town; you could tell when a man was running to something, as opposed to just away.
The younger clansman sprang up on the balk of timber behind him. The pirate staggered as two shafts thudded into his leather armor, then ran on and vanished behind the corner of a building. His comrades ducked and backed, wavering on the edge of panic as Rudi stood ready with dripping sword and shield up under his visor?s beak. Arrows showered down on them as more and more of the attackers came over the ridge and put their bows to work. Garbh paced the rubble at Edain?s feet and barred blood-dripping red teeth. ?There they go!? Mathilda said breathlessly, as she scrabbled over to join him.
The last few pirates broke and ran, down into the smoke-fogged streets. Rudi looked over the town, recalled what the descriptions and maps had said, made a quick decision.
We need to put a lid on the kettle, he thought. Otherwise they?ll squeeze out, if they?ve their wits about them. But I wish I had more men to spare. ?Odard!? he called.
The Portlander noble looked at him, mouth a grim line beneath his visor and sword dripping crimson-dark. ?Take six men and block that road there, the one to the south gate. Hold if anyone comes at you, push on to the square in front of the temple if nobody does.? ?Your Majesty!?
That?s actually starting to sound more natural, and less like a joke, some corner of Rudi?s brain noted.
Odard dashed off. Rudi led the rest down the ruined wall and into the town-there was a clear strip inside the defenses, and then houses. ?Come out!? he shouted.?Kalksthorpe folk, come out and fight!?
There were probably a lot of dwellers still inside, waiting to sell their lives hard when their doors were beaten in. He filled his lungs and shouted again, a great bass sound like a trumpet in the fouled street, overriding the sound of boots and the growing clamor of combat. ?Come out and fight!?
The folk of Kalksthorpe came out of their homes to join them as they loped down the street, with sword or ax, spear or smith?s hammer in their hands.
We?re not going to make it to the south gate, Abdou al-Naari knew. Maybe we should have tried for the water and the boats… No, it was fated. I shouldn?t have listened to that so-called holy man!
He could have been content with what he?d found in Miami and Balti more and been halfway back to home by now with a good if unspectacular cargo; the knowledge was as bitter on his tongue as the wormwood tea the hakims brewed for fever.
The last knot of his crew formed up around him, their backs to the blank log wall of a warehouse or workshop. The newcomers surrounded them, in wildly mixed gear that didn?t look like Norrheimer equipment at all. The leader of the strangers came at him, leading the rush. He was a tall young man in full armor that showed through the rents in his winter coat; a crescent moon cradled between antlers showed on his shield.
But he moved like moonlight on water under the weight of steel and wood and leather, his long straight sword trailing red drops as he whipped it in an effortless figure eight. A taut grin showed beneath the beaked visor of the odd-looking helmet, with light stubble the color of sunset along the jaw; behind the vision-slit were eyes as blue-green as tropic seas.
This one is trouble, the pirate captain?s experience told him. Then: No. He is the shadow of Azrael?s wings. He is death.
Abdou called on God-or croaked-and cut at the unbeliever?s knee. The kite-shaped shield twitched into the path of the slash and glanced the blow, leaving him off-balance. The corsair twisted desperately and tried to get his own tattered hippo-hide shield up as the return thrust came for his throat, driving like the strike of a cobra, faster than any man had a right to move. He succeeded just enough to keep his windpipe unslit. Instead it plowed into his shoulder like the kick of a horse focused behind a narrow point of steel, breaking the mail links and tough leather, nearly breaking the bone. Agony ran through his body like rays of sunlight.
His sword fell from nerveless fingers, and the captain of the Bou el-Mogdad looked death in the face as the blade rose again. He dropped his own shield and grabbed for his enemy?s, snarling as he tried to wrestle it away while his hand scrabbled for his dagger. The effort sent ice spikes into his wounded shoulder. Another, slighter figure attacked beside him. ?Ahmed, no!? he cried.
The straight longsword beat the boy?s scimitar out of his hand with a snapping backhand slash and plowed on to cut flesh. In the same instant the green-and-silver shield smashed into Abdou like a collapsing wall in an earthquake, hammering him back against the logs behind him; the impact of his helmeted head on the wood had him seeing flashes of light for a second. There was no more room to retreat and his sword arm hung useless. ?Surrender!? the man who?d wounded him shouted, his blade poised to pin the rover captain to the logs.?Surrender, and sure, we?ll spare you all!?