Martin Scott - Thraxas at War

Suddenly there's a violent flash and the air around goes green. I'm thrown down and find myself once more lying in the trampled snow. When I hoist myself to my feet I'm the only one that does so. All around me, dead Ores lie in twisted heaps. Somewhere a Human Sorcerer has come to our aid. Needing no more encouragement, I sling my shield over my shoulder and set off at a run, hurdling bodies and weapons as I rush through the falling snow, looking for any company of armed Humans. As generally happens in battle, I have little idea of what's happening. I'm guessing things aren't going so well for Turai.

About a hundred yards on I run into the remains of my phalanx. They're hurrying along under the protection of young Anumaris Thunderbolt, recent recruit to the Sorcerers Guild. She's lost her horse and her rainbow cloak is in tatters but whatever she's suffered she's managed to rescue a group of men from my phalanx.

'Good spell,' I say: Any left?'

'Just one,' she replies.

There are around forty or so men here, many of them wounded. No sign of Senator Marius, or any of his centurions. Not even a corporal. I take command, ordering the men into four lines of ten. We set off towards the city walls, though they are now invisible, hidden by snow and smoke from the Sorcerers' spells.

Above us dragons are still raging in the sky, though some have been killed, and some have landed to set down more troops and Sorcerers to press their attack. I'm quite clear as to the Ores' intentions. Prince Amrag wants to seize Turai to use it as a bridgehead against the west. He's taken the risk of attacking us in winter before our allies arrive, and the risk might pay off. Knowing that the battle is lost, it's the duty of all Turanians to get back inside the city to defend it. I lead my men towards the gates. The main body of Orcish forces has passed on by. If the slaughter of Turanian troops has been everywhere as bad as on this part of the field, we'll have little chance of reaching the city in safety.

I urge my small squadron onwards. Anumaris jogs alongside us. Her face is deathly white and I can tell that she's profoundly shocked. She's never seen rows of corpses before, never had to run over a carpet of dead men and blood-spattered Ores. I check on her as we progress. The young Sorcerer saved my life and if necessary I'll carry her back to Turai.

The Stadium Superbius looms large on our right, a huge building covered in snow. All around the entrance are the bodies of slaughtered fighters, killed by the dragons and Sorcerers as they rushed from the stadium to join in the fray. I wonder if Viriggax is among the dead.

Through the blanket of snow, I catch sight of a large body of Ores. I hold my hand up, halting my troop. I hesitate, uncertain what to do. If I was with Gurd and a trusty group of warriors, I'd charge. My companions are mostly young recruits, some of them wounded, most of them scared. I don't give them much chance of hacking their way through any sort of opposition. A gust of wind clears the snow, allowing me to make out the shapes in front of us. There, on a small knoll, Makri is standing with her weapons raised. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, lies dead or unconscious at her feet. Makri is protecting the body from a force of around one hundred Ores. Makri's face is covered by her helmet but she's easily recognisable from the hair which billows from underneath, and from the weapons she bears: one dark Orcish sword and one hefty silver axe. The Ores close in on her from all sides.

I order my men forward. My orders are met by some very hesitant faces. I've no time to persuade and no time even to threaten. Makri will be dead in a few seconds. I set off at a run towards her and hope my men follow me. As I sprint for the raised mound I get the curious feeling that time is passing extremely slowly, and everything around me is unusually clear. I run past the body of a huge dragon, dead on the ground, and it seems to take for ever. I can see Makri engage her assailants but though my feet are moving I don't seem to be getting any closer. I watch as the Ores attack. Their swords and spears come at her from every direction at once. I've seen Makri fight on many occasions, and I've seen her fight in difficult circumstances. But I've never seen Makri, or anyone else, engage in combat in the way she does now. She spins and weaves in a manner which seems impossible, and as she does so she cuts, thrusts, and deflects oncoming blades with a speed which is barely credible. She cuts down an opponent in front of her while another thrusts a spear directly at her back. Somehow she manages to block the blow, deflecting the spear without even looking at it, sliding out of range of another two blades, spinning round to thrust her blade into the face of the spear carrier then back again to hack off the sword arm of another Ore. She leaps over a sword that hacks at her legs and before she lands, her axe has severed the head of her assailant. I'm still running towards her and the thought goes through my mind that if these few seconds were the only time I ever saw Makri in combat, I'd still know for certain that she was the greatest sword fighter who ever lived.

My heart is pounding. I can't run any faster. It's taking me too long to get there. Makri can't hold off the Ores for much longer, no matter how skilful she is. Not with a hundred opponents and nowhere to seek cover. Already her chainmail is in tatters and several arrows project from her leather leggings. Bodies are piled up around her feet but the Ores fly in relentlessly. I'm no more than twenty feet away when she takes a blow to the head and stumbles. There are four rows of Ores between me and Makri. I'm on my own, I've outdistanced my companions. I crash into the rear of the Ores like a one-man phalanx, breaking through their ranks and scattering them. Makri is on her knees, still fighting. I kill an Ore who's about to stab her, then slash wildly at his companions. The Ores, temporarily surprised, fall back a few paces. Makri is already on her feet, weapons raised, blood seeping from under her helmet.

'It's good to see you again, Thraxas,' she says.

And you,' I reply.

The Ores, realising that I'm a lone rescuer, hesitate no longer. They rush us from all directions. Makri stands on one side of Lisutaris's body and I stand on the other and we prepare to meet our fate. Suddenly the air flashes with green flame and the Ores crumple to the ground. Once more I've been saved by Anumaris. She's finally caught up, and unleashed her last spell. I should feel grateful: I wish she'd got here earlier. I sink to my knees. I've run too far, too fast, and I'm wounded in the shoulder. I need to catch my breath.

'Have a nice rest,' says Makri. 'Why don't you have a beer while you're down there?'

I draw a small flask of klee from inside my breastplate.

'Next best thing.'

I take a slug and pass the flask to Makri, who does the same. Anumaris Thunderbolt is bending over Lisutaris.

'She's still alive.'

'Of course I'm still alive,' snaps Lisutaris, opening her eyes. 'What the hell happened?'

'You got hit by a dragon's tail,' says Makri.

'What happened to the dragon?'

'You killed it.'

'Good.'

Lisutaris looks around the frozen battlefield.

'We must get back inside the city.'

We set off, a force now of forty soldiers, two Sorcerers and one Sorcerer's bodyguard. As we near the city the wind blows fiercely from the east, again clearing the air of snow. The gates are closed. There's a battle going on in front of them as the victorious Ores press their assault on the last remnants of Turai's army, no longer a force in any sort of order but a ragged band of soldiers and mercenaries desperate to escape, with nowhere to go.

Lisutaris suddenly halts, takes stock of her surroundings, then calls out.