As quickly as she fired an arrow, she readied the next, dropping six Vykings in rapid succession. The mob of dwarves pushed their way into the Vyking mass. She was glad the dwarves were so much shorter because it gave her easier aim at the Vykings’ throats and eyes.
Sarey eased from the side of the wall and rushed across the street, watching all of the fighting in the large square. She drew another arrow, pulled back the string, and froze. A grunt came from behind her. She turned as the man with a dagger fell to the street beside her. An arrow protruded from his back. Judging by its proximity, the arrow’s tip had pierced the man’s heart.
Glancing around, she saw Trevor step from the shadows. With a smug expression on his face, he waved.
Sarey gave a nod of appreciation.
He shrugged and hurried down the narrow shadowed sidewalk, not bothering to make eye contact or address her with words.
She glanced down at the dead man at her feet and sighed. She’d be dead if not for Trevor. She had allowed herself to be so immersed in killing the Vykings that she didn’t hear the man slip up behind her. The worst part was that he wasn’t a Vyking or even wearing Hoffnung armor. He was a vagrant, which made it even more difficult to discern the friendly from foes.
The rattling of swords striking other weapons or shields echoed through the streets, making it hard to determine if all of the fighting was directly ahead or occurred along the other side streets.
Sarey scanned the crazed Vyking horde until she noticed Riese and Manfrid standing with the dwarves. Riese was massive in size compared to the Vykings he fought. When some of the Dragon Knights had told her that he was on their side, she didn’t really believe them. She figured these two Vykings would turn against the knights once they got back to their brethren, but she was pleased to see how ruthlessly he fought them. His hatred and anger was easy to see. Riese killed them with a passion that indicated his pure revulsion.
Dawn sat upon her mount with her bow. She fired an arrow, and Sarey smiled to see how accurate her shot was. The Vyking dropped.
She thought about her first meeting with Dawn when she had believed Dawn was a male peasant chosen to be a squire. Dawn was more outspoken than a squire had the right to be, and Sarey had called her on it. When the truth was revealed, it had made perfect sense why she had acted the way she did. Royalty never liked to be ordered to do anything.
But even in the beginning of Dawn’s training, Sarey had seen the promise of a great warrior. Dawn could hold her own. Caen had trained her well, and she was quick to learn the proper techniques for spears, daggers, and swords. Dawn had been much faster at learning fighting skills than Sarey believed a princess was capable. Dawn had trained with vengeance. Now, she fought the enemy with the same vigor.
Dawn fired another arrow. A Vyking clutched at the arrow in his neck for several seconds before falling to the cobblestone. In the next moment something happened that struck fear into Sarey. Three Vykings rushed Dawn’s horse, causing it to rear back. Dawn fell and vanished from the sight of those around her.
Chapter Eighty-five
Dawn dropped to the hard cobblestone. The jarring sensation knocked the air from her lungs, sending tightness into her chest. She clutched her ribs and felt the world spinning around her. She looked up to see her horse’s hooves thrashing above her face and a second away from stomping her head with its metal-shoed hooves. She rolled, moving away from the frightened mare. Without hesitation, she reached for an arrow and realized her bow was lost somewhere in the stirring crowd.
Still lying on her side, she tried to get her bearings. Swords battered shields all around her. Feet shuffled near her and heavy shields passed over her body. With pain burning in her lungs, she pulled herself on hands and knees, avoiding the fighters as best she could. Halfway into a crouching position, she slid her short sword from its sheath.
Vykings were striking downward swings, battering against the steel shields as they tried to stop the advancing dwarves. The dwarves held their ground. For some reason their stocky size gave them better weight stability whereas the Vykings towering over them were easily toppled by the rushing line of dwarves. Once the front line of dwarves knocked the Vykings’ legs out from under them, the second line gored the Vykings with swords or axes.
Constant rifle fire echoed from farther back in the square, making her afraid to stand.
Dead Vyking bodies were piling up, but the battle was far from over. Glancing around, she saw few dead dwarves or elves, but the human Oculoth soldiers were not as fortunate. Frozen eyes of the dead stared at her with blood leaking from their bodies.
Caught within this chaotic advancement of the dwarf lines, she kept trying to find a way to stand, but the swaying tide pivoted against her, keeping her down.
Another body dropped. A dwarf. Although dead, the fire in his eyes lingered moments longer. A bloody smile parted his beard. She swallowed hard, knowing his zeal had been on her behalf and that of Hoffnung.
The dwarves hammered their steel axes onward, cutting against Vyking round shields and occasionally, they struck flesh.
Elves were swift with their swords. They were also more agile than any of the other races, making them easily avoid the Vykings’ slow attacks and move aside, thrusting their blades into the Vykings when they were at their most vulnerable.
Dawn’s horse disappeared into the shifting crowd. The three Vykings that had frightened her horse were dead on the ground with arrows protruding from their eyes. Sarey?
Dawn looked around for Caen or any of the other Dragon Knights. She didn’t see anyone she knew. She knew she had to get up. To stand. The longer she lay on the ground, the more susceptible she was. Death would find her if she didn’t rise and fight.
Her heart raced.
A Vyking shoved back a dwarf with his huge boot. The dwarf lost his footing and fell backwards, right beside her. His heavy plated armor weighed him down. He grunted, trying to push himself up. She was thankful for the lightweight mithril mail she was wearing. It allowed her to move quicker.
The Vyking brought back his huge ax over his head and prepared to chop off the dwarf’s head. Dawn pushed herself to her knees and rushed toward the Vyking. Since she was small and slender, he didn’t notice her advance. She used both hands to grip the hilt of the sword as she lunged to strike the Vyking.
She drove the sharp tip against his leather vest, and the leather stopped her thrust. It was thicker than she anticipated. Clutching the hilt tighter, she pushed her weight behind the thrust until her wrists ached. The blade split the leather wider. Once the metal found flesh, the blade slid deeper.
His wide eyes met hers. She read his pain, his fear, and his sudden ignited fury.
He gnashed his teeth and tried to change the direction of his ax to strike her instead of the dwarf. She released the sword but her eyes remained fastened upon the Vyking. Blood spilled from the wound she had inflicted. Lots of blood. Glancing to his eyes again, she watched his anger vanish. He knew death was near, but he still changed the direction of the ax enough that he’d strike the top of her head. Although the mail coif might prevent the blade from slicing through, the strike would smash her skull and kill her anyway.
The dwarf grabbed her ankle and yanked her back. The ax struck the cobblestone. He followed the momentum of his swing and fell upon the sword, driving the blade all the way through.
The Vyking was too heavy for her to lift, and even if she managed to roll him over, she didn’t know if she could pull the blade back out. With the large growing pool of blood, she didn’t even want to touch the blade. She knew she’d have to kill if she fought in this battle, but she never really considered the mental impact it created inside her.
The Vyking was an enemy. He had to die or she’d have been killed. She never took into account the pain she’d inflict in order to kill someone or the dirtiness of it all. Dying by the sword or an ax was brutal. He was the first she had killed in hand-to-hand combat. Killing with an arrow from a distance was one
thing. Up close, seeing the eyes was horribly different.
Dawn felt numb inside. Her boldness had subsided for the moment. She tried to find understanding.
“Milady!” the dwarf shouted at her. He pointed. “Look out!”
Weaponless, she noticed two Vykings rushing in her direction.
Dawn had nowhere to run. Warriors were exchanging blows all around her. Trying to slip past any of them put her into immediate danger. A glancing blow could end her life or severely injure her. She stood in an ocean where the fighters were the waves, and their weapons were hungry sharks.
She stepped beside the dwarf she had kept the Vyking from killing. He looked up at her. She extended her hand toward him.
“Aye,” he said, taking her hand. “Ye saved me life.”
“Now would be a good time for you to return the favor,” she said, straining to pull him up. The weight of his armor and his stocky build made moving him more difficult than she had hoped. She used both hands to grip his. Her face reddened and she held her breathing, straining with all her strength. He used his free hand to push himself upward.
“Seems you’re in the midst of trouble, milady,” he said. “Find yourself a weapon, quick.”
The Vykings came at her. The dwarf blocked one broadsword with his ax, spun, and caught the other’s sword with the crook of his blade. The dwarf was remarkably fast for his thickness, and he continued to parry both opponents while she searched the ground for a weapon.
Dawn noticed a short scimitar on the ground near an elf that was fighting another Vyking. She stooped to get the blade and was knocked backwards. She hit the ground hard. Pain jarred up her spine. Her hands and feet tingled. She rolled to the side and used her hands to push herself back into a crawling position. She cursed at herself for allowing herself to put on the ground again. Avoiding the feet of those fighting all around her, she crawled to the scimitar, grabbed the hilt, and pushed herself to her feet.
The dwarf that had saved her was still trying to hold back both Vykings. He was doing a great job, but it was obvious that his armor and constant parrying was wearing him down fast. Dawn slinked through the fighting warriors. The dwarf blocked a downward swipe and held it momentarily. Dawn fell to her knees and swung the blade, striking the Vyking’s knee. The sharp sword cut straight through, lobbing off his lower leg.
Blood sprayed.
She turned her gaze.
The Vyking bellowed in pain, lost balance, and fell. With a downward swing, the dwarf plunged his ax dead center into the Vyking’s chest. In one fluid motion, he yanked the blade free and turned his attention toward the other one.
Dawn used caution and scanned the fighters around her. She hoped she’d see at least one Dragon Knight or Sarey, but still she didn’t see anyone familiar. How had she lost them? They were right beside her when she had fallen off the horse.
The waves of people exchanging blows moved. The constant clanging metal scraped from the fighters’ fury. More gunfire bellowed. Arrows sliced the air with seldom a whisper. Although everyone fought, they seemed oblivious of the pairs fighting beside them. Loud shouts echoed from some fighters as a means to rally the others to continue fighting with added vigor.
Dwarves hurled insults at the Vykings, and the Vykings countered with their own.
She glanced toward the Royal Gardens. The moonlight struck a helm and caught her attention. The helm was shaped like a wolf’s head.
Waxxon.
Her pulse increased. She wanted to run toward him, but there were too many people between her and him.
Dawn watched as an elf fought against him. Their swords clashed, striking a few sparks. Waxxon drew back, acting like he was striking in one direction, but when the elf moved to counter, Waxxon wasn’t where the elf expected him to be. The elf thrust his blade into the air. With the elf’s left side exposed, Waxxon took advantage and thrust a killing blow.
Anger burned through her.
The dwarves continued pushing back the Vykings from the vast square. Soon they’d be driven back to the pillared gates of the Royal Gardens. Even though the dwarves were advancing, more eager bloodthirsty Vykings waited.
There were numerous casualties, but more were Vykings than any other race. None of the Vykings seemed deterred by their losses. They fought vigorously, even though they were losing ground.
A small blue orb gleamed from atop a pillar, catching her attention.
Zauber.
He hurled the orb toward the Vyking mob. The shockwave knocked dozens of them backwards, giving the dwarves and elves opportunity to finish off a lot of them with arrows and rifle shot.
Zauber pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and slowly sat down. He was drained.
Smoke drifted in the air. The foggy skies above the harbor glowed bright orange. It didn’t take much for her to conclude the dragons must have set fire to the ships in the harbor, leaving them no escape by sea.
Although it seemed her troops were boxing in the Vykings, it didn’t mean all of the Vykings were being pressed toward the southeastern corner of Hoffnung. The city would still need to be scoured from building to building until they found all of the Vykings and traitors. Even the sewers needed to be searched.
The castle towers were still quite a distance away. Hundreds of Vykings stood blocking the square. The dwarf lines hedged them back like a short living metal-coated wall. For now, it seemed, most of the hand-to-hand combat was between the dwarves and Vykings.
Elven archers picked off a lot of Vykings along the front line, which enabled the dwarves to advance a few feet at a time. But the dead bodies made it difficult for troops to step forward and keep their balance. Blood pooled and streaked on the white cobblestone.
Along the far right edge of the street, knights fought the Vykings on horseback. She felt her heart lightened. The Dragon Knights. Alongside them, she noticed something that made her nearly giddy inside. A lot of the soldiers under Waxxon’s leadership were actually fighting against the Vykings. She was overjoyed.
Dawn made her way through the carnage, trying to reach them, when a wild squeal came from behind her.
She turned.
Ratkin.
Chapter Eighty-six
Dawn held the scimitar tightly.
The stench that flowed off the half dozen Ratkin disturbed her. Their teeth shimmered in the glow of the torch from the balcony above. Metal?
They snarled. Their beady red eyes narrowed.
“Me thinks you’ll die,” the large one mumbled with a lisp. It held a serrated dagger in each grubby paw.
Their armor was shredded. Small insects crawled in their matted fur. Green pus oozed from open sores on their pocked arms.
Dawn took a step backwards.
Eagerness swarmed in their wild gazes. They wanted her to run. The others pulled their weapons. Their open mouths released raspy sounds.
She eased back one foot, never taking her eyes off of them. They rose on their toes, ready to sprint after her. Instead of running, she took a deep breath and pointed her blade at the largest Ratkin. It cocked a brow, looking at the weapon and then sizing her up.
For several moments it regarded her before glancing to the two Ratkin beside it. They squealed and nodded. It stepped toward her and sliced the air with both daggers.
Even though she had more reach with her weapon, she also knew that she was in grave danger should the Ratkin somehow maneuver past her and get within stabbing distance. She had trained one on one with Caen and sometimes trained with two against her in the practice pits, but never more than that. Even the greatest fighters would have difficulty fighting against six opponents at once.
The Ratkin would circle around her, if she weren’t careful. Then she’d be dead.
The leader hissed at her and sprang forward. Dawn stepped back and slashed through the air, missing. The Ratkin darted back, squealing with what resembled a strange laugh. The others chattered.
Two Ratkin behind the leader paced back and forth. Not c
ertain what they planned to do, her attention focused on them. The leader sprang forward again with both daggers overhead. It jumped higher than she thought possible. She lifted her sword, hoping to parry its attack, but the best she’d do was block one dagger.
Midway in its descent it twisted and dropped to the ground with a dagger through its throat. Two of the other Ratkin fell backwards with blades sticking out of their throats.
Dawn glanced over her shoulder to see Roble approaching. He held another dagger and flung it, striking the forth one in the throat. The other two turned to run. Two arrows caught them in their midsections.
Sarey stepped from the shadows across the street. Trevor dropped from the balcony above.
Roble carefully retrieved his daggers and wiped them on the bottom of his boot before sheathing them. “You okay, Your Majesty?”
She glanced at Roble and nodded.
“Where’s your horse?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s easier fighting on the ground than on a horse. We saw you fall, but lost you in all of the commotion.”
“I know. I saw Waxxon.”
Sarey said, “Where?”
“He’s behind the Vyking line.”
“Hiding?” Sarey asked.
“No. He’s fighting. I watched him kill an elf.” Dawn looked at Roble. “Can you help me get to the other knights?”
Roble smiled. “That’s why I’m here. Saw these filthy beasts and I just couldn’t let them escape. I hate them quite a bit. Come on.”
He and Dawn turned.
Trevor yanked his arrow from the dead Ratkin. “Makes ten for me. How about you?”
“This isn’t a contest,” Sarey replied.
He shrugged. “Entertain me. How many?”
“I lost count after twenty.”
Trevor eyed her for a moment.
She nodded. “I’m serious.”
Perturbed, he held his silence and marched down the street after Roble and Dawn.
Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension Page 64
