‘Take cover – they’re drawing!’
He worked his way back under his shield.
He heard Fiddler. ‘Hedge!’
‘After the first salvo!’
Distant thrums . Hollow whistling, and suddenly arrows thudded the ground and snapped and skidded on rock. One pained howl and a chorus of curses.
Urb looked across at her to see if she was all right. Two arrows were stuck in her shield and there was a lovely startled look on her face.
‘I love you!’ Urb shouted.
She stared at him. ‘What?’
At that moment a thick rushing sound filled the air. He saw her flinch back down, but these weren’t arrows. He angled himself up, saw a band of enemy archers on the ground, writhing, and, pelting back towards the barrow, one of Hedge’s Bridgeburners, his shoulders covered in turf, his uniform grey and brown with dirt.
Dug a hole, did he? Hit the archers with some gods-awful grenado .
Hedge shouted, ‘Archers down!’
‘Gods below!’ someone bellowed. ‘What was that blue stuff? They’re rotting to bones!’
Looking over, Urb saw the accuracy of that assessment. Whatever had splashed all over the archers had dissolved their flesh. Even the bones and quivers filled with arrows were nothing but paste.
Now an officer was stepping out from the ring of Kolansii infantry – tall, white-skinned.
Corporal Clasp crawled up beside him. ‘That’s one of those Fuckeral’s, isn’t it?’
‘You!’ shouted Hellian, pointing a finger at Urb. ‘What did you say?’
The Forkrul Assail then roared – impossibly loud, the sound hammering against the hillside. Urb was driven into the ground by the concussion. He clawed at his ears. A second roar—
And then it seemed to dim, as if muffled.
A quavering voice lifted from a nearby trench. ‘Worm says fuck you, Assail!’
‘Is that you I’m smelling again, Wid?’
Urb uncurled, straightened up, though still on his knees.
He could see the Forkrul Assail. Watched him roaring for a third time – but the sound barely reached through.
A rock sailed out, landed well short of the Pure, bounced and rolled. The enemy commander seemed to flinch from it nevertheless, and then he whirled.
‘Here they come!’
Hellian’s voice was much closer and much louder. ‘What did you say?’
He twisted round. Corporal Clasp was lying between them, staring back and forth.
‘What in Hood’s name is with you two?’
‘I love you!’ Urb shouted.
When he saw her delighted grin, Urb clambered over a grunting Clasp. Hellian pitched up to meet him, her mouth hard against his own.
Pinned by Urb’s weight, Clasp squirmed and kicked. ‘You idiots! The enemy’s advancing! Get off me!’
Cuttle watched the lines closing in. At twenty or so paces javelins flashed out, colliding against uplifted shields, and then, at a signal from the company commanders, the Kolansii surged forward into a charge against the slope.
The sapper half rose from his position. The crossbow thocked , thick cord humming, the vibration a soft brush against his cheek. He saw his quarrel take a squad leader in the throat. The rest of the marines had also loosed quarrels into the rushing enemy. Bodies went tumbling among the crags and outcrops.
The sapper set his weapon down behind him, swung his shield round, slipping his arm through the straps, and drew his short sword. These four motions were done before the squad leader hit the ground. ‘Hold and at ’em!’ he shouted, rising as the first Kolansii arrived.
* * *
An arrow had pinned Saltlick’s left foot to the ground, but he didn’t want to move anyway. The soldier arriving directly in front of him stumbled at the last moment. Saltlick pressed his shield down on the man and drove the pommel of his sword through the top of his helm and then the bones of his skull. When he pulled his weapon free, the helm was stuck to the pommel.
A spear thrust at him. He batted it aside with the helm, put his shoulder behind his shield-bash, and flattened the soldier’s face. As the man reeled back, Saltlick stabbed him low in the gut. Dragged the weapon free and began hacking at another Kolansii – they seemed to be everywhere.
He never even saw the spear that impaled his neck and tore out his throat.
Koryk swore, swinging his left arm to shake off the remnants of his broken shield. He drew a Seti long knife from his harness, kicked away the man whose skull had broken his shield, and looked up in time to meet the next attacker.
Blades flashed out, the heavier one batting aside the jabbing spear, the thinner one thrusting through leather armour to sink a hand’s width into the Kolansii’s chest, and then back out again. As the soldier staggered back, sagging, Koryk brought his long sword down between head and neck, the blow of such power that he cut through a clavicle and down through three ribs where they met the breastbone.
