It was no surprise that a few of the orcs decided to attack Cap. He had torn through their ranks, and if left unharmed, would do so again. Three of them launched themselves at him, raining down blows. His plate mail was less effective against such hard hitting as it might have been against sharp blades. He took seven hits, for eighteen damage.

The attack left him on five action points. The damage could have been worse, and Wilson realised their adversaries were less skilled than those guards they had fought in Darkspike Dungeon.

Meanwhile, another orc came for him. The three blows landed on his helmet and breastplate, and Wilson knew he was lucky to come away with only five damage.

Fortune was targeted next. The lucky bastard only got hit once. But it was a vicious head shot, taking him down to eighteen hit points.

The four remaining fully fit orcs ran at the shieldwall. Usa lost five hit points. But he scored an accurate interrupt, taking the orc attacker down to eight hit points. With only one action point left, its hit barely penetrated his ring mail, leaving him on twelve hit points.

The orc who attacked Ashlyn got in only one successful strike, leaving her on fourteen hit points.

The next orc failed to hit Pecs, who punished it with a powerful interrupt from the Spear of Riposte, the bonus ensuring it was killed in one strike.

The Hoffmeister also got in a successful interrupt, taking twelve hit points from his opponent, for the loss of only five himself.

The next orc pulled Izil’s spear from its chest and ran at him, a mad desperation in its eyes. It landed one good hit, leaving him vulnerable on seven hit points, and only one action point.

The last orc, injured by Jaelin’s arrow, looked up at the roof of The Pig and Iron. Something it saw caused it to turn round and shout in the direction of its queen.

Brid responded, leading her ten remaining warriors towards the fight. These orcs carried shields as well as weapons, and looked like a more difficult proposition than those warriors she had thrown in first. Meanwhile, the five orcs she had sent to circle the fight appeared behind them, emerging from between the inn and smithy. They would soon be on Murder and Izil, their most vulnerable fighters.

Wilson grimaced. They’d done well to survive another round intact. But they were all weakened now, unable to deal as much damage as they had done previously.

***

As Lothar had expected, Brid had planned an attack on two fronts. They located the goblin force to the south of Eisenberg. Most of the hundred or so warriors carried spears, but they had a few archers, and most fearsome of all, warg riders.

He and Rosalind approached them with as much confidence as one can summon when you’re moments away from being torn to shreds by giant wolves. Rosalind held the staff high, and it seemed to be enough to spark the goblins’ curiosity—at the very least, they seemed willing to postpone killing them.

‘I am Lothar ‘Stiff’ Sauer, Captain of The Order of The Rotten Apples,’ he bellowed, in a voice loud enough to reach most of the goblins. ‘I am here to talk to your chieftain.’

‘Then you are in the wrong place,’ a toothy spearman sneered. ‘Queen Brid is to the north of your camp. Making ready to take it from you. We will help her to destroy The Apples.’

‘I don’t mean her. I know you were forced to accept her as your leader. But I doubt you intend to bow and scrape to her forever; spill your own blood so the orcs can enrich themselves.’

Lothar could tell the goblins didn’t like his words. Whether they were more angry with him, or their situation, he wasn’t so sure.

‘Spit out your offer,’ said a second goblin, a short sword at his belt. He was stern faced, but otherwise his thoughts were hidden.

Lothar thought this might be the one. It was the way of the world. There would be a goblin already in place, ready to take over should Brid fail. ‘It’s simple. You help us kill Brid and her orcs. You take over Darkspike Dungeon, and Redblade’s hill fort. You’d be back in charge.’

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Stern Face relaxed his expression, then laughed. Toothy laughed, along with a few others.

Oh. That’s not an encouraging reaction.

‘You really thought that would happen?’ asked the one Lothar had identified as the leader. ‘Fight a hundred orcs, or kill a few humans and take a share of their precious weapons?’

‘Don’t underestimate us. We’re more than a few human warriors.’ He nodded at Rosalind.

She moved the staff in circles. After a while, visible lines appeared in the air where she traced her circles. Colours, and light, were added—until the circular portal fully materialised. Behind a shifting palette of pink and turquoise, the outskirts of Eisenberg were visible behind the portal.

‘She is one of two magicians we have, along with a highly trained shieldwall, and a whole bag of tricks. Come with us now, and you can catch Brid by surprise. You’ll have her head on a pike within the hour.’

‘It’s undeniably impressive,’ said Stern Face, almost marvelling at the magic Rosalind had conjured. ‘And it has changed my mind. I was set on killing you, and taking your head to Brid when you were done talking.’

‘And now?’ Lothar asked.

‘Now I will give you a chance. If you are as formidable as you claim, you should have no trouble defending against a hundred orcs. We will delay our attack on Eisenberg. If we arrive, and you have killed the orc queen, then there shall be peace between us. If she lives, we will kill and scalp every last one of you.’

It was better than nothing. Lothar offered his hand. ‘Deal.’

***

The bastard got his first two cuts in before Stricken could move out of his way. He lost eight hit points and an action point, and was bleeding profusely.

His cleaver sank deep. The one handed man sagged against him, his life force draining away.

Damn. What was his name? Magnus? Mags.

‘See you in Gehenna, Mags,’ he whispered.

But the man was already halfway there.

Stricken withdrew his cleaver and punched it in again, sending him all the way.

As he let the body fall, he noticed the movement. But again, he’d allowed himself to get distracted.

She struck at him twice, but her efforts were laughable.

The cleaver entered her with his full force.

‘No! I didn’t mean to!’ he said out loud.

He hadn’t meant to kill her. Not yet. That was his fun ruined.

Then he frowned. Only nine hit points taken? It should have been twice that. He withdrew the blade and watched as she staggered away. ‘You’re wearing something that protects you. Let me see.’

She tried to escape.

He backhanded her, sending her to the floor. Another hit point gone. Be careful, now, Stricken, he told himself. She only had five left. He needed her alive, and conscious.

He placed his cleaver on the floor, and knelt next to her. He pulled at her clothes, revealing a silk undergarment that had saved her life. ‘You don’t need this anymore,’ he said, ripping at it. She tried to stop him, but he was far too strong.

The damned thing wouldn’t come off. Then he saw there were straps he’d have to untie. He picked at them, frustrated. A small knife appeared in her hand, and he wrenched it from her. ‘Thanks. That’ll prove very useful.’

He took the knife to the straps.

He noticed movement again, and refused to get caught out a third time. That long haired freak from the roof had come down and was running at him with a knife. And the bastard had the initiative.

But he wasn’t a knifeman. Not even close. Stricken saw every strike coming.

Pathetic, really. His only regret was that he was holding the girl’s knife, and not his trusty cleaver.

Three out of three stabs found their target.

‘That’s how you use a knife, friend,’ he told the merc. ‘You shoulda stuck to your bow and arrows.’

Unfortunately, he’d only taken a measly nine hit points off him.

One of the bastard’s moves got past him this time, taking Stricken down to nine hit points. He laughed, and a clot of blood fell from his mouth. For some reason, that made him laugh all the more.

He landed one of his two hits, taking the skinny bastard down to seven. He grinned. ‘This is gonna be close!’

Pain exploded in his back, and he knew from the feel of it that the bitch had sunk his own cleaver into him. Five hit points left now, and he was feeling less confident.

The merc stabbed him in the chest.

Stricken sank to his knees. But his strength was gone, and he couldn’t keep his balance. He fell backwards.

The girl crouched over him. She was upside down. It was unnerving.

Stricken felt cold; like Gehenna was close.

She raised the cleaver.

My cleaver, he thought with indignation.

‘I told you I would kill you.’

The blade took him.