John Ringo: There Will Be Dragons

“Daneh, however, I will spare. I understand she is with child, ” he added delightedly. “I assuredly cannot kill my firstborn. After it is birthed, though, it may be different. And I understand that women can continue to have sex during pregnancy. Especially if it’s up the ass!”

Edmund had listened to the diatribe in perfect calm and his voice retained it. “Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Only for an amateur,” Edmund sighed loudly enough to be heard all along the line. “It’s so hard to find qualified opponents these days,” he added in a mutter. The baron lowered his visor and lifted his hammer to the figure in black plate. “Are you going to spend all day talking? Because I’m going to give you five minutes to get out of bowshot. That’s part of this whole ‘parley’ thing, too.”

“Does she dream of me?” McCanoc shouted angrily. “Does she dream of me on top of her, Edmund, when you are holding her in her nightmares?!”

“Not anymore,” Edmund called in a bored tone. “Frankly, Dionys, she’s pretty much gotten it out of her system. Other important things to do. Sorry. Four minutes.”

Herzer couldn’t see what McCanoc was doing but from the injured squeal of the horse he guessed that Dionys had reined it around sharply.

“It’s so hard to get good opponents,” Edmund sighed.

“I think this force is just about good enough, Baron,” one of the militiamen said. “As opponents I mean.”

“Really? You call that taunting? I’ve heard better taunting from children. I was half expecting him to say ‘neener, neener, neener.’ That’s the quality of taunting you get these days.”

“Great,” Cruz muttered. “Somebody want to tell me what’s happening?”

“He’s gone back to his force and is exhorting them,” Edmund said. “Probably about as well as he was taunting me, from the looks on their faces. They don’t like this one bit. Now he’s riding around behind them. That’s where he’s got his men-at-arms, too, probably to make sure the Changed keep going. And now, they’re moving forward. Right down the road. Blood Lords, archers, stand by!”

“When are you going to have us stand up?” Herzer asked.

“When they’re in pilum range,” Edmund replied. “I can’t believe he didn’t put me together with you guys. For the stupidity of our foes, may we always be thankful.”

“Probably thought you rode ahead,” Herzer said, listening to the approaching force. Their feet could be felt pounding the ground and there was a deep-toned continuous wah-wah-wah from them. “I wouldn’t have believed we could march that fast, either, especially with the archers.”

“Keep those pilums down!” Edmund called.

“Squat in your positions,” Herzer added as some of the militia archers started firing their short bows. He could hear the sharper notes of Bast’s bow as well and was fairly sure that each of the hissing shafts had found its mark from the occasional scream in the distance. “Pilums across your knees, shields leaning against the wall.”

“Wait for it!” Talbot called, swinging his hammer idly in one hand. “Wait for it…”

“So, where are you going on your holidays?” Cruz asked the air.

“UP AND AT ’EM!”

Herzer stood up and in one smooth motion drove the pilum outward into the first shield he saw. The missile penetrated the shield, and the orc that had been carrying it was suddenly burdened by an additional weight out on a long shaft. He stopped to struggle with the weapon and an arrow took him in the throat.

Herzer hadn’t really seen the by-play since he stooped to pick up one of the additional pilums at his feet and drove it, in turn, into a shield, then drew his sword and settled down to the serious business of survival.

The orcs came in wave after wave, most of them shredded by arrow fire before they could ever reach the defenses. The militia had fallen back, leaving a double line of the Blood Lords across the narrow strip of road, and although the orcs crashed into the line again and again, they could neither push it back nor run it over. They first had to clamber up the parapet and then face the shields of the Blood Lords with their swords licking out to rend faces, arms, bodies. Even if they made it into or through the first line, the second was there to finish them off as the unfortunate orcs ran into a threshing machine of stabbing swords from the front, back and sides.

A few managed to make it all the way through that, only to face a wall of polearms wielded by the infantry. These weapons, most of them axelike halberds, quickly chopped any survivors into gobs.

Herzer hadn’t been able to follow the ebb and flow of the fight, but he could tell when the orcs finally started to break. They had three times faced the Blood Lords and on each occasion they had been chopped to bits. Now, in the face of the defenses and the steady line of legionnaires and the air filled with arrows, they could face it no more. First singly, then in groups, then enmasse they streamed back down the hill. Those that survived.

As the last orc fell back from the parapet, Herzer was able to look around. There were dead Changed everywhere, on the parapet, in the trench and in piles in front of the wall. There were some familiar faces missing as well and he vaguely recalled someone filling in the gap next to him. He looked to his right and instead of the accustomed Deann it was Pedersen, the third decuri leader.

“Deann?” he gasped, lowering his sword and reaching for his hip flask for a drink of water.

“Hit bad,” Pedersen replied. “They took her back to the aid station.”

“Where’s the baron?” he asked, looking around.

“Group of orcs are trying to flank us down by the river,” Stahl replied. “He rode down there to cut them off.”

“Shit,” was all he said, looking down the hill. McCanoc was reining his horse back and forth furiously and then finally pointed it up the hill and started to charge.

“Look at that dumb bastard,” Herzer muttered, finishing off his water and pulling out a rag to wipe his blood-covered sword. “I bet he doesn’t make it five meters past the first range mark.”

“I dunno,” Cruz said from his left. “He’s running pretty fast. What are you betting?”

“Never mind,” Herzer said, dropping the cloth. He had heard the twang of Bast’s arrow and had seen it fly straight and true. And bounce off something in mid air. “I think we’re in trouble.”

More arrows flew through the air and the massive horse first faltered and then fell on its side, legs kicking in agony as it squealed in pain. But the figure in black armor hit the ground lightly, as if supported, and leapt to his feet, charging forward and bellowing incoherently. As he did a mist seemed to form around him, a black cloud that reached out to the wounded on either side, and where he passed they twitched and groaned no more.

When McCanoc reached the parapet he leapt into the air, an impossible, obviously enhanced leap that carried him well above the parapet and onto the ground beyond. He was wielding a two-handed sword as if it was a feather, and as he swept it from side to side the blade clove through heavy wooden shields and steel armor as if they were cloth.

In a moment, Herzer saw a half a dozen of the second rank of the Blood Lords fall and he charged forward, screaming, to slam into the back of his much larger opponent.

Dionys wasn’t even rocked by the blow, but he spun around as a power field cast Herzer back with a shower of sparks. Herzer found himself enmeshed in a black cloud and he could feel his strength slipping away from whatever program was running the nannite cloud.

“Well, if it isn’t my old buddy, Herzer,” Dionys said raising his sword. “Time to learn the penalty of betrayal.”