Page 18 of Of Empires and Dust
“Go!”
The woman turned and ran, using the butt of her spear to stop herself from tumbling in the mud.
“To me!” Dahlen roared again, the Kingsguard pulling in around him, others following. He left his second sword sheathedand snatched up a circular wooden shield from the ground, sliding his arm through the strap and gripping the handle. Through the chaos he could see clusters of the town guards in their various colours fighting side by side, while the villagers fought like cornered kats, stabbing wildly with their spears.
“Move together,” Dahlen called to the Kingsguard at his side. They pushed forwards through the thick of the fighting, gathering stragglers as they did. They would not be able to hold the breach – the Urak push was too strong – but they could gather as many as they could and fall back, pull the beasts into the open where their flanks were vulnerable.
Ahead, Dahlen watched as an enormous, grey-skinned Urak drove its spear through a young man’s belly, twisting the shaft as the man thrashed and screamed. The beast grabbed the back of the man’s head and dragged him along the spear shaft, then clamped its jaws around his neck and ripped out his throat in one motion. The gemstone set into the Urak’s spear pulsed with a crimson light that glistened in the pools of blood and rain.
The creature spat a chunk of flesh into the mud, ripped the man’s body free of its spear, and threw its arms in the air, unleashing a visceral howl that echoed in the night.
Even Dahlen felt the pull of fear in his gut at the sight. These creatures were monsters. They cared for nothing but death. Around him the defenders were close to breaking. He could see it in their sunken eyes, hear it in their wavering shouts. Cries of ‘run’ broke out, screams following as Uraks tore through flesh and bone.
“No…” Dahlen whispered. If they routed, if they gave these monsters their backs, they were all dead. The Uraks would not show mercy. They would slaughter them to the last. “Hold your ground!”
Those who had gathered with Dahlen stood firm, if only just, but many of the others began to break, slipping on thesodden ground as they tried to escape the melee, trampling each other as they went. But there was no escape. Only the endless waters of the Antigan Ocean lay at their backs. If the Uraks pushed through to the centre of Salme, thousands would die: the children, the elderly, the infirm. There was nowhere to run. But fear had a way of killing rational thought, and so the men and women who had not long before tended fields, held nets from boats, and felled trees ran for their lives.
“Fall back slow and steady,” Dahlen instructed the Kingsguard about him. “Give them a wall to rally behind. We need to bait the Uraks further in, but we can’t allow them to push through in force.”
Grunts were the only responses Dahlen received, but the Kingsguard stayed tight, their shields linking, the mud squelching beneath the weight of their armoured boots. The men and women in burnished steel and purple cloaks were one of the few legends he had seen with his own eyes that had lived up to the stories. They were hard, disciplined, and unyielding. The Kingsguard of Belduar were pulled straight from the stories of old.
At the sight of Dahlen and the Kingsguard holding firm, some of the town guards joined their line, hefting shields and pulling tight.
The Uraks crashed into them, blackened weapons hacking and slicing. Dahlen caught a sword with the top of his wooden shield, turning the blow upwards. As he did, he dropped low and stabbed into the creature’s exposed belly. Intestines slopped into the mud as he ripped his blade free. No sooner had the Urak fallen than another took its place.
One of the beasts charged into the man beside Dahlen, its shoulder slamming into his shield. The shield’s rim smashed into the Kingsguard’s face, shattering his jaw and snapping his teeth. The man collapsed into the mud, his howls muffled andchoked. The guards that had rallied behind Dahlen hacked at the Urak, and the Kingsguard closed the line, but the beasts kept charging. The creatures were simply too strong. Again and again they crashed through the line of shields with little thought for self-preservation. With every charge, more men and women fell, but the Uraks didn’t stop.
“Where the fuck are Nimara and the mages?” Dahlen’s shield rim splintered, an Urak claw tearing through the wood as though it were paper, missing the meat of his arm by a hair’s breadth. He staggered back a step, then swung his arm forwards, slamming the remainder of the shield’s rim into the creature’s jaw, then driving his sword through its open mouth.
“My lord!”
Before Dahlen could retrieve his blade, the Kingsguard to his right – Altmin – leapt across him. Dahlen turned his head just in time to watch an enormous obsidian claw smash into Altmin’s face. Smoke plumed from the Bloodmarked’s runes as Altmin stumbled and fell into the mud, his jaw ripped away, his face a mangled mess of torn flesh.
Dahlen pulled his sword free, ducking in the same motion to avoid a swipe of the Bloodmarked’s claw. He pulled in close to the beast and drove his blade into its chest, the hilt clicking against the monstrosity’s stone-like skin.
The creature roared and swiped its clawed hand at Dahlen, who only just raised the remnants of his shield in time to dampen the blow.
Dahlen hit the ground with a wet slap, sliding through the mud until his skull cracked against something hard. Stars flitted across his eyes, his vision blurring. His head throbbed, and the left side of his body felt as though he’d been kicked by a horse, his shield shattered and reduced to nothing.
“To Lord Virandr!” a voice called out.
Dahlen slipped in the mud as he pulled himself to his knees. His head spun, blood trickling into his eyes. Red light spilled through the haze of his vision, the outline of the Bloodmarked charging towards him. The clang of steel and the roars of men and beasts pounded in his ears.
The Bloodmarked clapped its hands together, unleashing a shockwave of fire that tore through the defenders.
Dahlen planted one foot in the mud, sliding his second sword from its sheath. He stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding a swipe of the Bloodmarked’s claw. The creature towered over him, the runes carved into its dense muscle glowing, its eyes blood red.
Once more, the Bloodmarked swung its obsidian claw, and Dahlen brought his blade up to meet it. Steel clattered against claw, the force of the blow knocking the sword free from Dahlen’s grasp and sending it splattering to the mud. Dahlen again staggered backwards, just managing to keep his footing.
A roar sounded to his right, and a mountain of a man charged through the fray, swinging a mighty warhammer. The weapon crashed into the back of the Bloodmarked’s knee, exploding forwards in a spray of blood and bone.
The runes on the creature’s body ignited in a blinding light, black smoke billowing. It fell forwards, its shattered knee collapsing. And as it did, the man swung his hammer back in an arc, smashing the creature’s jaw to pieces.
The man followed through with a downward hammer swing, cracking the Bloodmarked’s skull against the ground like an egg. The runes burst to life one last time before fading entirely, the creature going still.
Before Dahlen had even a second to think, more shouts and roars erupted to his right and he turned to see a cavalry charge smash into the Urak flank, curved swords carving through grey hide.
As the cavalry carved a path through the Uraks, the reinforcements from the western wall filled the gaps left behind. Dahlen spotted Nimara, Almer, and Yoring charging in the vanguard, the other dwarves at their side.
