Stan Nicholls - Orcs:Bad blood

"This is getting hairy!" Spurral yelled. "We need reinforcements!"

There was uproar at the gates. Soldiers went down like scythed corn as Pepperdyne's wagon ploughed through them. Nimbler humans leapt aside when it shot over the square. About halfway across, Pepperdyne applied the handbrake. The wagon skidded, turned almost end on end and came to a juddering halt. But its crew wasn't entirely unscathed. One was dead, and the defenders' arrows had injured a couple more. The rest jumped clear and joined the set-to.

"Looks like we got 'em," Coilla said.

At the top of the hill, the third wagon was launched.

Dallog shared the steering lever with a dour resistance member. Wheam was in the rear with the rest of the attack team.

Turning, Dallog said, "Expect this to be bumpy. Hang on back there." He addressed it more to Wheam than the hardened fighters sitting with him.

The youth gave a weak nod, his complexion chalky.

Having seen off the wagon, Haskeer and the remainder of the force charged down the hill in its wake.

Stryke's group, dealing with the ambushers behind the barracks, had been oblivious to the greater picture. But with the last of the humans quickly and brutally dispatched, their task was done.

"We've wasted enough time here," Stryke announced, jerking his blade from a trooper's lifeless breast.

"Then let's get back to the main event!" Jup replied in a tone that sounded almost gleeful.

They rushed out to the parade ground.

The scene that greeted them wasn't far short of anarchy. There were no defined lines of battle, just a mass of fighting orcs and humans.

"Where to, Stryke?" Jup asked, scanning the confusion.

"Looks like Coilla could use some help." He pointed towards the ruined gates.

"Seems as good a place as any."

Stryke swiftly formed his troop into a wedge formation and led them into the fray.

They traversed the square by the simple expedient of cutting down any humans who came near. Once they reached Coilla's group the wedge broke up and splintered into a dozen separate scraps.

"About time!" Coilla said.

"Been busy," Stryke told her, batting away a soldier's blade.

"Hey, look!" Jup yelled.

Through the gap where the gates used to be they saw the third wagon heading towards the fort.

It was having a rough time. Arrows came down continuously. With the orc archers part of the ground force running behind the wagon, their shields above their heads as though deflecting rain, no one was returning fire.

Apart from their helmets and chainmail, Dallog and his co-driver had no such protection. It proved telling. An arrow struck the co-driver in the neck. He fell heavily against the steering lever, then went over the side. The wagon veered sharply to the right and came off the road. Dallog struggled to control it.

One or two orcs in the back of the wagon managed to jump clear. The rest hung on grimly as it picked up speed. Dallog tried applying the brake. It snapped off in his hand.

Bumping over grassland, the wagon swerved further to the right. It passed the side of the fort, a spear lob to its left, travelling ever faster. Arrows were still raining down on them.

Dallog shouted something, but his words couldn't be heard. Wheam squealed.

Then the wagon ran out of land and plunged over the cliff.

A company of soldiers arrived furtively at the row of ramshackle buildings by the foot of the cliff. They forced the doors, and armed with lanterns poured in to begin their search.

The wagon of bellowing orcs shot over the precipice above. Like a great bird downed by a giant's slingshot, it crashed through the roof of one of the buildings. With a thunderous roar the entire structure collapsed.

The impact sent shockwaves through the unstable buildings on either side. Imitating a line of playing cards swiped by a spoilt child, the ripple effect had them falling into each other. Walls buckled and went down. Roofs caved in. Smoke and flame erupted from the debris, ignited by the lanterns and brands carried by the ill-fated troopers.

They heard the reverberation up in the fort, even above the noise of battle.

"Those fucking archers!" Coilla howled.

Stryke nodded. "That's our next objective."

The ground force, with Haskeer in the vanguard, jogged through the gates. Its archers immediately took issue with the bowmen on the ramparts and started swapping bolts with them. The others piled into the battle on the square, with Haskeer taking the lead.

Stryke spotted Pepperdyne finishing an opponent nearby. He left Coilla marshalling her Vixens and went to him.

"Feel like a task, human?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Clearing those battlements."

Pepperdyne glanced up at the archers. They looked to be at least thirty strong. "I'm game."

"We can't spare many for the job."

"I said I'm game."

"Right." He cupped his hands. "Haskeer! Haskeer! " Catching his sergeant's attention, Stryke waved him over.

Haskeer cut down a trooper on the way to keep his hand in.

"What?"

"We're going for the archers."

"Good. The bastards."

"We can't take more than six away from this. Grab three. Make 'em Wolverines."

Haskeer's brow creased as he did the sum. "That's five of us."

"He's coming." Stryke nodded at Pepperdyne.

Haskeer scowled but said nothing.

"And get our archers to lay down covering fire. Go! "

The sergeant dived back into the melee.

"How do we do it?" Pepperdyne asked.

Stryke pointed to a stone staircase set against the fortress' outer wall. It led directly to the battlements. "Up that."

"Bit exposed, isn't it?"

"Can you see another way?"

Pepperdyne shook his head.

Haskeer soon returned. He had Prooq, Zoda and Finje with him. All were blood-splattered.

"We ready?" Stryke said.

"The archers let rip when we get to the stairs," Haskeer told him.

"All right. Let's move."

They made for the staircase, allowing no opposition to slow them. That meant two or three skirmishes on the way, but nothing they couldn't handle.

A pair of archers were stationed at the base of the steps. When they saw a human with five orcs dashing at them they hesitated. But only for a moment. They loosed arrows. Stryke's crew hit the dirt and the bolts flew overhead.

Haskeer was the first to his feet. As the bowmen nocked afresh he began running at them. He drew back his arm and hurled a hatchet. It struck one of the archers and took him out. The other had his bow taut and aimed directly at Haskeer. A fire-tipped arrow streaked past them and buried itself in the archer's chest. He went down with a cry, his jerkin in flames.

"Nice touch," Pepperdyne said.

Then they were moving again. As they neared the steps the orc archers let go their covering shots, and again the arrows were tarred and burning. A dead human tumbled down the stairs, two flaming bolts embedded in his back.

Stryke at their head, the six tore up the staircase. They were almost at the top before anybody tried to stop them. A sentry came at Stryke with a broadsword, slashing it in a downward stroke. Stryke dodged the blow and kept going. He hunched himself and went for the man's legs. With a heave, he tossed him over the side of the stairway. The human dropped screaming to the ground.

They got to the parapet. Most of the archers were concentrating on the battle below and ignorant of their presence. But several of the nearest turned to defend themselves. There was no time for them to raise their bows so they went for swords. Stryke's crew were on to them instantly, and a short, vicious tussle cut short their resistance.

Stryke knew that the bowmen further along the parapet were the most dangerous, even with orc archers keeping them busy. Unlike the ones just killed, they were far enough away to use their bows and pick off his team.