I order my men forward. My orders are met by some very hesitant faces. I've no time to persuade and no time even to threaten. Makri will be dead in a few seconds. I set off at a run towards her and hope my men follow me. As I sprint for the raised mound I get the curious feeling that time is passing extremely slowly, and everything around me is unusually clear. I run past the body of a huge dragon, dead on the ground, and it seems to take for ever. I can see Makri engage her assailants but though my feet are moving I don't seem to be getting any closer. I watch as the Ores attack. Their swords and spears come at her from every direction at once. I've seen Makri fight on many occasions, and I've seen her fight in difficult circumstances. But I've never seen Makri, or anyone else, engage in combat in the way she does now. She spins and weaves in a manner which seems impossible, and as she does so she cuts, thrusts, and deflects oncoming blades with a speed which is barely credible. She cuts down an opponent in front of her while another thrusts a spear directly at her back. Somehow she manages to block the blow, deflecting the spear without even looking at it, sliding out of range of another two blades, spinning round to thrust her blade into the face of the spear carrier then back again to hack off the sword arm of another Ore. She leaps over a sword that hacks at her legs and before she lands, her axe has severed the head of her assailant. I'm still running towards her and the thought goes through my mind that if these few seconds were the only time I ever saw Makri in combat, I'd still know for certain that she was the greatest sword fighter who ever lived.
My heart is pounding. I can't run any faster. It's taking me too long to get there. Makri can't hold off the Ores for much longer, no matter how skilful she is. Not with a hundred opponents and nowhere to seek cover. Already her chainmail is in tatters and several arrows project from her leather leggings. Bodies are piled up around her feet but the Ores fly in relentlessly. I'm no more than twenty feet away when she takes a blow to the head and stumbles. There are four rows of Ores between me and Makri. I'm on my own, I've outdistanced my companions. I crash into the rear of the Ores like a one-man phalanx, breaking through their ranks and scattering them. Makri is on her knees, still fighting. I kill an Ore who's about to stab her, then slash wildly at his companions. The Ores, temporarily surprised, fall back a few paces. Makri is already on her feet, weapons raised, blood seeping from under her helmet.
'It's good to see you again, Thraxas,' she says.
And you,' I reply.
The Ores, realising that I'm a lone rescuer, hesitate no longer. They rush us from all directions. Makri stands on one side of Lisutaris's body and I stand on the other and we prepare to meet our fate. Suddenly the air flashes with green flame and the Ores crumple to the ground. Once more I've been saved by Anumaris. She's finally caught up, and unleashed her last spell. I should feel gratefuclass="underline" I wish she'd got here earlier. I sink to my knees. I've run too far, too fast, and I'm wounded in the shoulder. I need to catch my breath.
'Have a nice rest,' says Makri. 'Why don't you have a beer while you're down there?'
I draw a small flask of klee from inside my breastplate.
'Next best thing.'
I take a slug and pass the flask to Makri, who does the same. Anumaris Thunderbolt is bending over Lisutaris.
'She's still alive.'
'Of course I'm still alive,' snaps Lisutaris, opening her eyes. 'What the hell happened?'
'You got hit by a dragon's tail,' says Makri.
'What happened to the dragon?'
'You killed it.'
'Good.'
Lisutaris looks around the frozen battlefield.
'We must get back inside the city.'
We set off, a force now of forty soldiers, two Sorcerers and one Sorcerer's bodyguard. As we near the city the wind blows fiercely from the east, again clearing the air of snow. The gates are closed. There's a battle going on in front of them as the victorious Ores press their assault on the last remnants of Turai's army, no longer a force in any sort of order but a ragged band of soldiers and mercenaries desperate to escape, with nowhere to go.
Lisutaris suddenly halts, takes stock of her surroundings, then calls out.
'Harmon? Coranus?'
Harmon Half Elf and Coranus the Grinder stride out of the white gloom.
'Lisutaris. I thought you were dead.'
'Still here.'
'We brought down many dragons,' says Harmon. 'But we couldn't save our troops.'
Both of the powerful Sorcerers are unharmed. A small blessing for Turai. When the Sorcerers responded to Lisutaris's urgent alarm, most of them arrived without their bodyguards. Their continuing survival is probably the only chance for Turai, but it's not going to be easy getting them back into the city. They've expended their magic and the Orcish army stands between us and the gates.
Only two or three dragons remain in the sky. Some have fallen to our Sorcerers. Others may just have flown off to rest, away from the battle. Dragons are never as efficient in winter and can't match the endless intensity they're capable of in warmer weather. By now the great beasts that remain will be running low on fire. The Sorcerers they bear may well have run out of spells. If the city can just prevent the Orcish army from entering, we might still be able to defend the walls.
'We should head south,' I advise. Avoid the Ores and make it to the gate on the shore.'
And avoid the battle?' protests Makri.
'We have to get the Sorcerers back inside so they can recharge their spells.'
It's possible we might creep past, hidden by the bad weather. It means abandoning the men defending the East Gate, but I don't see what we can do for them anyway. Lisutaris considers our options. She doesn't like the thought of ignoring the plight of the Turanian soldiers at the gate. I shrug, and draw my sword.
'Okay,' I say. 'Then we'll attack.'
I start marshalling my forty men, ready to advance on the thousands of Ores that stand between us and the city walls.
'Walk behind me,' says Lisutaris. We follow her towards the battle. Several hundred Turanians are trapped beneath the city walls, fighting a hopeless rearguard action. They're using overturned wagons for shelter. Up on the walls, men are hurling missiles towards the Ores, and other Sorcerers on the ramparts send down spells. But the Ores have Sorcerers of their own, who protect their forces, and send back fire. Meanwhile the Orcish troops pour arrows into the huddle of men.
An Orcish phalanx swings into view. Fresh troops, from the look of them, making ready to mop up the Human survivors. After which they'll attempt to force the gate. The Orcish army isn't equipped with siege engines but after destroying the Turanian forces on the field, and making our Sorcerers expend all of their power, they might not need siege engines to force their way into the city. A battering ram and a few spells will probably do it.
We walk behind Lisutaris, who's limping. Makri supports her. Makri has removed her helmet. Her neck is caked with blood and her hair is streaked with the congealing liquid. When we're about one hundred yards from the Ores, Lisutaris halts.
Any spells?' she asks, turning to Harmon Half Elf and Coranus the Grinder. They shake their heads. Neither they nor Anumaris have so much as a single spell left between them. Lisutaris nods. She's weary and in pain from her wounds. Being struck by a dragon's tail is no light matter. She fishes around in her tunic and pulls out a rather crumpled thazis stick, igniting it with a word. She inhales deeply. Above our heads two dragons swoop towards the battle, ready to burn the defenders outside the gate. As the same time, the Orcish phalanx lower their long spears and break into a run.