David Cook - Soldiers of Ice

The nearest guard stood transfixed with astonishment. When it finally realized the situation, all it could do was futilely fling a fistful of snow before attempting to run. Bounding down the slope with extraordinary speed, Jouka whirled his sword over his head and caught the fleeing gnoll across the neck with the full force of his swing. The meaty thunk of blade slicing through muscle and bone rose above the bloodthirsty din of his fellow raiders. Fresh blood streamed in an executioner’s arc as the blow cleanly severed the gnoll’s neck, its mange-marked head plopping softly into the snow. The gnoll’s decapitated body staggered two lifeless steps forward, the arms jabbing at the air in spasmodic twitches. Then, although its legs moved no more, momentum flung the body forward, spraying warm blood across the pristine winter ground.

A second gnoll, a battle-scarred veteran distinguished by a lopped-off ear, wasn’t going to fall so easily. With canny verve, it dove upon the nearest charging gnome and clamped its fangs into the Vani’s sword arm. The warrior shrieked, his blade slipping from his grasp, and the gnoll callously hurled him aside and scrambled after the weapon. Momentarily beyond the reach of its enemies, the gnoll tensed to fight, the rags it wore flapping wildly about it.

Yet even as the gnoll battled to gain a fighting stance, the Vani were slashing through its fellows. Barely breaking stride, Jouka shrilled out a series of orders that his fellow gnomes were quick to implement. The ring quickly closed about the gnolls trapped beside the fire pit, cut off from their weapons. When they drove forward, the gnomes ahead gave ground while their brothers rushed up from behind to catch the stragglers unprepared. One by one the gnolls fell to the overwhelming numbers of the Vani, until only a small knot remained, surrounded by the dead and the blindly thrashing wounded.

With the main force pinned, Martine and Vil found themselves facing the veteran. It was quick and canny, whirling constantly to face off against first one, then the other. The creature’s face was contorted, its black lips pulled back in a tight, skeletal rictus. Martine could hear its breath come in rasping gasps, and its legs wobbled from exhaustion, but the primal glare in the gnoll’s eyes showed its determination not to give up. The dance between hunter and prey, the roles shifting constantly between gnoll and human, slowly continued toward its inevitable conclusion.

Huffing from the effort of breaking through the snow, Vil growled, “I must be getting old. I can’t keep this up anymore.” Nonetheless, he lunged again, the point of his blade tearing into the gnoll’s side. The creature swept its sword about in a hapless effort to parry, and in that instant, Martine slashed at the opening the creature left in its guard. Her blade hit the beast in the midsection. With fury driven by pain, the gnoll parried Vil’s second thrust with a vicious clang of metal and whirled to face the Harper, driving her back with a mad series of slashes. As she stumbled out of reach, the creature staggered to a stop. Woman and beast stood staring at each other, both too intent on their foe to feel fear.

It was the gnoll who ended the standoff. With a wild leap, it hurled itself toward Martine. The gnoll’s ululating cry rang through the woods as the wind shook the branches in sympathy. The long sword slashed out viciously.

In a single, graceful move, Martine dropped flat, thrusting upward at the same time. Her sword tip caught the charging gnoll just above its sternum and sliced downward. Warm blood sprayed her face as the gnoll toppled past her to die, twitching, on the ground.

Martine didn’t waste any time but was already moving to rejoin the main battle. Five gnolls remained, glaring at their enemies who thronged around them on all sides.

At the forefront of the gnomes, Jouka picked up an axe from the litter of a trampled tent and, with a snap of his wrist, hurled it spinning into the gnolls’ midst. Immediately behind it, he plunged into their ranks, bloody sword in hand. The closest gnoll threw its furry arms up. It could have been no more than a cub, barely trained in combat and hopelessly outmatched. Jouka’s single darting lunge was enough to plunge his blade past the futilely warding arms and into the gnoll’s gut. The creature staggered to its knees with a look of terrified astonishment across its drawn muzzle. Savagely Jouka slashed the blade free, ripping the wound open to complete the job, his eyes already alighting on another gnoll.

Their leaders onslaught released the other Vani warriors from their hesitation. With a communal rush, the band hurled itself upon the gnolls in a flood of savagery. Hopelessly overwhelmed, the creatures staggered and reeled under the Vani charge, futilely trying to lash out even as they fell with a howl of agonized terror. A chorus of blades flashed, first silver, then bloodstained, as the gnomes hacked blindly at their enemies even after the beasts were long dead.

Martine turned away, sickened by the sight. Up to now, the Vani had seemed a fierce but nevertheless compassionate people. Now, crazed by bloodlust, they acted with unbridled savagery. Echoes of Krote asking who was better, gnoll or Vani, flooded her thoughts. The words made the shaman seem like a remarkably accurate seer.

“Look out!” Vil’s hand shoved Martine forcefully to one side. “There was a loud thunk from roughly where she had stood. The shaft of a spear vibrated in the snow beside her. Her battle instincts springing to life, Martine maneuvered as quickly as she could manage in the broken drift.

“Kill them! Kill the little people!” a buzzing voice shrilled from behind them.

Wheeling about, Martine looked up in horror at the snowy ridge. There, towering over them all, flanked by more gnolls, was Vreesar, glinting cruel and silver in the afternoon light. Jazrac, who had been waiting on the ridge, was nowhere in sight.

The trap haz worked, my slavez! Kill them… all but the female! She must live to give me the stone!”

“Over there… more of them!” Vil shifted Martine’s attention to the west side of the bowl. The Harper was distracted as another spear arced over their heads to tunnel into the drift behind them. “Damn their mangy hides! It looks like a war party!” the former paladin cursed.

A baying rose from the woods in the direction where Vil pointed. Surging from the trees was a lanky line of fur-clad, snowshoe-shod gnolls, wreathed in a swirl of white snow. Yipping and howling, the beasts charged in ragged waves, some breaking stride to let fly steel spears. As the six-foot shafts hissed through the cold air, a screech of anguish proved one had hit its mark. Suddenly the air was filled with spears that flew like lightning on the tightly packed gnomes. One scream became a chorus as a full score of the Vani fell under the iron-tipped bolts.

“Jouka, fall back—now!” Vil bellowed, his hands cupped around his mouth. Already the gnomes were aware of the danger and had begun to retreat in confusion. Fear and panic became their enemies now as much as the gnolls themselves.

“This way! Stay in order and don’t panic!” Martine found herself calling to the fleeing gnomes. The trap was not completely sprung, she saw. A gap in the line of gnolls lay open to the east. Some luck held with them, for the gnolls held their position on the ridge, either in confusion or because they were content to merely drive the gnomes away. With Vreesar screeching in rage at his own warriors, it wasn’t an opportunity that was likely to last.

“You, you, and you—into the bush and keep watch in all directions so they don’t flank us,” the Harper snapped, grabbing the three nearest gnomes and pushing them toward the gap. Their skis abandoned, the little men floundered through the snow. The rest of you, fall back through there.”