Stan Nicholls - Orcs:Bad blood

"We need to get close to them," he said. "Finje, Zoda, Prooq; take these bows and keep 'em occupied."

The grunts stripped the weapons and quivers from the dead humans as Stryke, Haskeer and Pepperdyne set off.

Their first encounter was with two sentries who, seeing the trio coming, charged at them. Stryke and Pepperdyne engaged the pair in swordplay. Haskeer raced on and barrelled into a lone archer in the process of drawing his bow. He battered the man, then proceeded to pound his head against the battlement wall, dashing his brains out.

Stryke and Pepperdyne, having finished the sentries, caught up. The three ran on.

They headed for a knot of four or five archers. Two of them loosed arrows in their direction. One was hopelessly wide of the mark. The other came so close to hitting Stryke he felt the displacement of air as it whistled past his ear.

Before they could take another shot, Pepperdyne, Stryke, then Haskeer hurtled into them. A bloody reckoning with blades, fists and boots left four sprawled on the walkway and one plummeting to the parade ground.

From the rear, Prooq yelled a warning. Stryke and the others dropped. A flight of arrows swept overhead and punched into three fast-approaching sentries. Back on their feet, Stryke, Haskeer and Pepperdyne darted onwards.

They didn't have to work for the next brace of kills. A couple of bowmen in their path succumbed to blazing arrows from orc compatriots below.

Ten paces later half a dozen sentries ganged up on them. Haskeer exposed the windpipe of the first one to venture near his blade. Pepperdyne punctured the second's chest. Stryke ran through the third with a savage thrust, then went on to eviscerate the fourth. Pepperdyne sliced into the fifth's belly, while Haskeer snapped the neck of the sixth.

There was no hiatus. The trio had left just a short trail of bloody footprints before they ran into the next clutch of defenders. And so it went, with a seemingly never-ending cavalcade of human flesh to be carved, stabbed and slashed.

Until at last they stood breathless at the parapet's end, surrounded by a litter of corpses.

Haskeer had hold of the remaining defender. He lifted the dazed, beaten human, with the intention of throwing him from the battlements and down the cliff face. Suddenly he stopped, seemed to lose interest in the man and casually dropped him on to the parapet's flagstones.

"What's going on down there?" he said.

Stryke joined him.

He saw the wreckage of the demolished hovels at the bottom of the cliff, with flames playing over them and billowing smoke. But what really caught his attention was the dozens of soldiers milling about the ruins, and what they must have been doing.

"They were going for the tunnel," he murmered.

"Look at this!" Pepperdyne said. He was standing on the other side of the parapet, staring down at the fighting.

Stryke and Haskeer went to him.

A large number of troops were emerging from a maze of outbuildings and rushing towards the square.

"Must have been holding them back," Stryke realised.

"Set us up," Haskeer growled.

"There's got to be a hundred of them, or more," Pepperdyne reckoned. "Stryke, we can' t — "

"I know. Come on! "

They sprinted along the parapet to the three grunts, and all of them pelted down the stairs.

The battle was still raging. Stryke spotted Coilla and made for her. He began yelling, "There's a — "

"We see them!"

The first of the reinforcements were spilling into the square, forcing the orcs back.

Brelan arrived, panting. "Look who's with them!" He pointed to a figure striding along in the midst of the troops.

"Who?" Stryke said.

"That's Kapple Hacher. The commander-in-chief himself."

"This ain't by chance," Haskeer stated. "We've been stitched."

"We can't beat these odds," Coilla said.

"No," Stryke agreed bitterly. "Haskeer, sound the retreat."

The sergeant took a curved horn from his belt and pressed it to his lips.

As its strident note rang out, Stryke bellowed, " Pull back! Pull back! "

The shrill, insistent note Haskeer sent out sparked an exodus.

All over the fort's parade ground, orcs disengaged and headed for the gates. Or at least most did. A few couldn't extricate themselves from overwhelming odds and imminent death. Others lay wounded, or were on the point of capture, and chose to turn their blades on themselves rather than fall into enemy hands. Those who did withdraw were hotly pursued, and rearguard actions were fought across the square.

The retreating Wolverines, resistance members and Vixens clustered at the gates, urging on stragglers and loosing arrows at the humans chasing them.

"Isn't that one of the Ceragans?" Coilla exclaimed, pointing into the heaving scrimmage.

Stryke nodded. "It's Ignar."

"He's in trouble, Stryke."

The raw recruit had almost reached the edge of the scrum when a group of troopers caught up with him. He was trying to beat them off.

"I'm going in," Stryke decided.

"I'm with you," she said.

"Me too," Pepperdyne announced.

With Stryke in the lead they ran towards the mob.

On their way they met the van of the pursuers. Four bawling soldiers blocked their path. Stryke hacked down the leader with a single potent blow. Coilla and Pepperdyne tackled the others as he sprinted on.

Ignar was battling two opponents. He was outclassed, and he was injured. Blood flowed freely from several wounds, not least a broad gash to the chest. It was all he could do to fend off his attackers, and as Stryke approached he slumped to his knees. One of the soldiers lifted his sword to deliver a killing stroke.

Stryke intervened. A powerful swipe of his blade all but severed the human's sword arm. The man screamed and stumbled away, gushing blood. Stryke spun to face his charging companion. Their swords clashed and they furiously hacked at each other. The flurry ended with the soldier taking steel to his belly.

Ignar had fallen. Stryke went to him and found him barely conscious. Coilla and Pepperdyne arrived.

"He's in a bad way," Coilla pronounced as she examined the recruit. "Lot of blood lost."

"We'll get him clear," Stryke said.

He and Pepperdyne half carried, half dragged Ignar while Coilla kept any other would-be attackers at bay. As they neared the gates, orc archers sent out covering fire for them.

They laid Ignar on the ground, and somebody propped his head with a folded jerkin. He seemed unconscious.

Stryke lightly slapped his pallid cheeks. "Ignar. Ignar."

The young orc's eyes flickered open.

"Here," Coilla said, handing Stryke a canteen.

"With a wound like that," Pepperdyne remarked, "he shouldn't drink."

"It doesn't matter now," Stryke told him. He dampened Ignar's lips with a little water.

Ignar tried to speak. Stryke allowed him a drink from the canteen. He coughed, and murmured something. Stryke leaned closer.

" I'm… sorry," Ignar whispered.

"No need," Stryke replied. "You fought well, and you die a Wolverine."

Ignar managed a faint smile. Then his eyes closed for the last time.

Coilla hissed, "Shit."

"We can't hold here much longer," Pepperdyne said.

"Get 'em moving," Stryke ordered, rising.

"We've got comrades in there," Brelan protested. "We can't leave them."

"We take losses," Stryke said, glancing at Ignar's corpse. "It's part of the price. Linger here and we'll lose more."

"Or all," Coilla amended. She pointed at the mass of humans across the square. They vastly outnumbered the orcs, and they were grouping for an all-out assault. "We have to go. Now."

Reluctantly, Brelan nodded assent.

Stryke turned to Coilla and Jup. "They all know where the rendezvous point is. Any wounded or foot-draggers on the way get left behind. It's every orc for themselves. Pass it on."