Skeelana looked irritated. “Why didn’t you draw that sword on your hip instead of fumbling with the crossbow? And more importantly, why haven’t you loaded it again, lord protector? Plan on throwing it at them?”
I worked the lever again and spanned the device much more deftly, now that I wasn’t in immediate danger of being run through. I shuddered, burped, and tasted the refuse of my own stomach’s rebellion. With my crossbow again loaded I waited on her, expecting her to take the lead.
She shook her head, “Don’t look at me, Quills. I know even less about war than you.” She glanced at the crossbow. “It just seemed more useful having the thing loaded. If you’re looking for a recommendation, I say the two people who know the least about combat stay right here, as far from it as possible.”
I couldn’t very well argue that point. I had nearly gotten us killed by getting involved moments ago. But as I looked at the clumps of men still fighting, trying to make sense of it, it seemed the better-trained Syldoon had fought off the Hornmen as best they could and whittled their foe down considerably, but attrition was taking its toll and they looked like they were about to be overwhelmed.
It seemed futile, but I raised the crossbow again, tried to pick another Hornman to shoot-I would probably die with the rest, but better to try than hang back and watch it happen-when I heard it. Something between a roar and a shriek, so ferocious and alien it stilled the blood. Everyone seemed to stop, even the Hornman and Syldoon grappling against a barrel who had dropped their main weapons and were trying to draw daggers.
The ripper bellowed again from behind the Hornmen. I looked down Broadbeef, past the Grieving Dog, and saw it. Lugger and Brunzlo had almost waited too long, but during the melee they had managed to wheel the stolen wagon into the middle of the street and pulled the large canvas covering off, revealing the bars. And the open gate. And the giant nightmarish bird beast hunched at the rear, looking out the opening, sniffing the air, and eyeing all the combatants in the street ahead of it.
Did it see steel and danger? Or just meat? I thought it might turn and attack the pair of Syldoon, or race to freedom down the deserted street, but they stabbed it twice with spears from behind, and then with another bellow, the ripper made up its mind. It ran out of the wagon, again moving far faster than I would have imagined, hulking legs propelling it forward. In four strides it was among the wounded Hornmen who had been left behind. One saw it coming and tried to crawl away, but the ripper knocked him into a post. The massive beak closed on the man’s helmeted head. He screamed, and when the ripper realized it couldn’t bite through the iron, it used its short talons to rip the helm off, then crushed the man’s skull in its beak, cutting the scream in half.
The Hornman commander glanced at the Syldoon and then decided which threat was greater. “Form up and advance,” he ordered, with only the tiniest quiver.
The men looked at each other, realizing they were facing a creature that had stepped out of an awful bestiary, but tentatively turned to face it, forgetting all about the Syldoon they had been fighting. We all watched one of the wounded Hornman with nowhere to hide try to ward the creature off with his spear; the ripper hissed, batted it aside with the long scythe-like talon, leapt on top and pinned the soldier’s shoulders to the ground with one thick leg and slashed the man’s throat out with one long curved talon.
The Hornmen wavered as their commander screamed at them, and a few started forward, then stopped as they realized they were advancing alone. Even with so many men between, I was terrified, so I don’t know how they didn’t simply flee, but the commander called them cowards and worse and ordered them to line up, and whatever training they had overcame their fear-as the ripper started coming closer, blood dripping from its maw, the ends of its beak clattering as it hissed again, the Hornmen stepped out to meet it, having forgotten entirely about their human foes, perhaps thinking the Syldoon would join them in driving off the beast before continuing the battle where they left off.
They were mistaken.
The Syldoon let them take a few hesitant paces to face the ripper before laying into them from the rear. If the previous melee had been confusing, this was utter chaos. Men yelled, the ripper shrieked and pounced, the Syldoon slashed and stabbed and cut the Hornmen down.
And then, after several prolonged moments of screaming, shouting, bodies filling the street, it was over. The Hornmen commander was lying on his side, trying to hold in the guts that were sliding through his fingers, and without him, the remaining Hornmen morale broke. They started to flee in all directions. Some away from the ripper, some around it, others scrambling for doorways, some simply trying to get away from the Syldoon.
The ripper chased a pair of Hornmen down a side street, and the rest kept running too, but that didn’t stop the Syldoon from mowing them down. Several Hornmen died with wounds to their backs. Vendurro cut one deep in the calf as he tried to run past, and Mulldoos stepped in to strike the Hornman several times across the shoulders, the back, the arms, driving him to his knees. None of the blows sheared mail-it looked like doing so with a one-handed weapon was nearly impossible, if the mighty Mulldoos couldn’t manage it-but he and Vendurro pummeled the soldier into submission. Or what would have and should have been submission. Only Mulldoos wasn’t much interested in taking prisoners just then. He stepped over the moaning figure that was slowly trying to push himself up, and chopped down across the back of the neck. The figure slumped back down, not even twitching, and even from that distance I could see the exposed and mangled spine.
Mulldoos spit on the dead Hornman’s back and looked around for others to cut down, but most had escaped, running free. I saw that Braylar wasn’t any more forgiving of a fleeing foe. His opponent was trying to back away, fending off blows from Bloodsounder, looking over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t trip. But when he saw Hewspear closing in on them, he had no choice. It was obvious he was waiting to deflect a final blow before turning to run, but Braylar must have sensed that. Instead of striking again, he held Bloodsounder at the ready, just on the inside of his own shield, and stepped forward.
It would only take a moment before Hewspear closed the distance, so the Hornman changed tactics. He slashed out with his sword toward Braylar’s helm, hoping to either drive him back or force the shield up long enough to block his vision and provide an instant to go. But Braylar antic ipated and stepped into the blow, deflecting the sword up into the air and swinging Bloodsounder in time. After starting to swing the flail, he jerked the handle up to the left, and then when the Hornman’s shield moved to intercept, it proved a feint, and Braylar brought the flail heads down low, a blur. The spiked heads struck the Hornman in the side, hard enough they either broke bones beneath the padding or completely knocked the wind out of the soldier. Either way, he bent over, shield down, and Braylar raised Bloodsounder to finish him off.
Hewspear shouted something I couldn’t make out, but it stopped Braylar before he could deliver the blow. The captain looked at his lieutenant as he ran up, moving awkwardly.
The Hornman threw his sword on the ground, and was struggling to get his arm out of the shield straps, favoring his busted ribs, clearly surrendering, when Hewspear lashed out with the slashing spear, striking the Hornman in the side, shearing the baldric strap. The mail hadn’t given way, but something underneath had, as the Hornman doubled over as his horn fell into the dirt. He was starting to raise his head, likely to plead, but he never had the opportunity. Hewspear had stepped in, and almost casually ran the long edge of the spear across the Hornman’s throat. The soldier collapsed, and at least didn’t suffer longer, as his blood dyed the beaten earth darker.