Arm Of Galemar (Book 2)

by Damien Lake

  Then the Kings joined the battle.

  Sloan attacked first of the Fourth Unit’s fighters, his sword arcing up in a silver flash that scored a deep furrow in the gnarled arm reaching for him. That beast screamed in pain and snatched its arm back. A second monster came at the sergeant from around the first to find Sloan ready with all the lethal skill he commanded.

  Other beasts loped through the narrow space. Many turned to their right to attack the soldiers, others choosing instead to assault the mercenaries. Floroes, Wyman and Marik formed the line left of Sloan, each man keeping enough free space between them to leave their movements unhampered. A small black beast lashed at Floroes with a cudgel bearing closer resemblance to a small log. Wyman received a larger brown opponent that swung its bare hand before the swordsman could unleash the first strike.

  Marik attacked before his own monster could lift the large club higher than its waist, equal to Marik’s shoulders. Speed or power were the two key elements when fighting, one usually of greater importance depending on the opponent. These creatures required fantastic power to wound, but if speed were sacrificed, he could be ten times as strong to no avail.

  He had decided to forgo most defensive considerations in favor of a furious assault. The first strike mattered most against these enemies. His slash connected with the beast’s wrist.

  It screamed as Sloan’s had, but did not step back. The club slipped from its grasp to the ground.

  Marik swung for a second attack. As he moved, he saw that his blow had done little beyond cutting through the hide. Blood welled, dripping rather than spurting from a deep gash.

  It snarled and leaned back. Marik’s sword tip cut through empty air where he had meant it to rip open the furry chest. He swung the blow around, his vast strength easily redirecting the sword momentum. This time he would cut lower to keep the beast from simply leaning away.

  Except as the monster reared from its evasion, it swiped with a balled fist. The blow came down from above, meaning to crush Marik’s head.

  His swing left him at an awkward position to dodge, and his weight was not distributed for easy movement. Marik watched the oncoming fist as his waist bent backward. His feet slid sideways.

  It altered his position enough that the blow missed his nose by only three inches. The beast’s fist flew down his body’s length to impact against the ground between his feet.

  Marik felt the blow’s force through the ground. He thought it a marvel that the entire outpost did not shake.

  The monster’s sheer power defied his ability to imagine, despite witnessing it. It pulled its fist back as he caught his balance, wasting a precious moment in examining its knuckles.

  Marik took advantage of its distraction to renew his attack. His sword swung far lower, striking its leg above the knee. It howled in pain and fury, stumbling back this time, its leg threatening to buckle.

  How could that be? All his enhanced strength had been behind that strike. By rights, its leg should have been severed.

  No second monster advanced to challenge Marik so he glanced around quickly, studying their situation. Floroes made little headway, dodging without finding opportunity to cause any damage in return. Wyman had also avoided injury but Churt’s support had inflicted enough wounds to slow his hell-beast down. Whether the swordsman would be able to add to the damage remained to be seen.

  Sloan proved surprisingly effective, and it baffled Marik. The sergeant possessed no enhanced strength, nor a massive sword. Yet the two beasts fighting him nurtured numerous deep slices, blood staining their pelts.

  Whatever Sloan did, he accomplished it without his usual seemingly effortless grace. Concentration twisted his features, his movements more sudden and less flowing than Marik had ever seen them.

  He watched closely as Sloan lashed at a beast attempting to claw him, both his hands on the squared hilt. Nothing out of the ordinary appeared to make the strike different than his own. Sloan spun sideways faster than a startled fish to deliver a matching slash to the other monster’s forearm.

  Marik nearly missed it. The difference was so subtle! Sloan struck from below with his sword in a simple arc while his hands moved it in a slight motion. During the whole swing, the blade also cut either forward or back, his hands drawing the sword closer to his body or pushing it away. It moved the sword in a true slicing motion rather than a normal slash.

  So simple. Like a man cutting the meat on his plate with a knife. Simple, yet completely overlooked by him. Technique over strength. Skill over raw power. Marik cursed himself for a fool.

  His monster steadied before letting loose a furious roar. It leapt, intending to rip Marik to shreds.

  Marik met it with a swing that would only connect if it continued closing the distance. He swung the blade in an arc parallel to the ground and also thrust forward, crouching to avoid those reaching hands.

  His sword struck the same leg below the knee. He kept pushing forward as the blade hit, quickly discovering this was not so simple after all. If he kept thrusting beyond three or four inches he would shift off balance.

  He felt the blade biting deeper than before. The monster’s momentum still carried it while it started screaming anew. One arm dropped hard against his back as he sawed, keeping as much pressure against the raw wound as he could until its knee struck his chest.

  It knocked Marik aside as its leg collapsed, falling the opposite direction. Marik sucked air as he fought for wind. He forced his legs to support him.

  The beast crouched to the side. A strange, high-pitched whine keened from its craning neck, dexterous enough to lick at the wound on its lower appendage. Marik dashed toward it while still fighting to breathe properly.

  He focused all his might into a blow against the beast’s neck. The quick sawing motion helped the blade cut deep.

  It snapped its head in a pained howl and lashed out. The blow missed Marik. He jumped back to ready his next attack. It twisted in a shuddering seizure.

  The beast writhed, clawed toes digging furrows through the cold dirt as it attempted to rise, arms flailing drumbeats on the frozen ground. Blood streamed from the neck wound.

  After its jerking death throws slowed, Marik focused on the larger battle. The outpost had become a storm-tossed sea. Monsters loomed over the Galemaran soldiers, scattered in a bizarre forest of slashing limbs. Several had fought their way deep into the soldier ranks and stood surrounded, apparently unconcerned as they dipped to pluck a thrashing figure from the turbulent ocean.

  A new beast leapt from behind Wyman’s at Marik. It was smaller and barehanded…and far quicker. It dodged his blows easily to return them in kind. Marik quickly abandoned the all-out assault. This one forced him to a defensive strategy.

  He traded blows until Wyman’s beast suddenly reared back, clutching its head as it howled. It stumbled sideways into Marik’s opponent. His beast quickly clawed at the intruder with a vicious snarl, which snapped the howling monster to attention. They engaged each other and ignored the warriors they had been battling.

  “A white-robe got killed,” Marik shouted at Wyman, who returned no response. Marik peered around to see how many beasts had turned wild. Before he could count, he became aware of the First Unit.

  Kineta was shouting furiously, her words muffled by the combat din. She clearly wanted her unit to move south. Sloan concentrated too deeply on his own fighting to pass any orders so the First swept the Fourth along with them.

  When Kineta neared, Marik could make out what direction she wanted the men to aim for. He followed the sergeant’s gestures and saw that three white-robes had entered the narrow corridor with their beasts. They had continued to the southern tent row and taken a position watching the battle.

  Three white-robes would be a prize, and would probably unsettle most of the beasts the Kings fought. Wyman remained without a new opponent so Marik shouted at Churt as the First Unit’s push forced them to move.

  Though embroiled in a hell-battle, Churt found the energ
y to cast Marik a sour glance before aiming his crossbow southward. Marik might have found it amusing if both their skins were not in mortal peril.

  Edwin noticed the white robes before Marik could direct his attention. Both units were in a charge. Arrows flew while men ran through the press at a pace barely faster than a walk. The kills would have been quick and sure under ordinary circumstances.

  Before the arrows could strike, three new beasts stepped before the three cradling the white-robes in their arms. Wyman had fallen behind. Colbey stepped forward, sword out, lips pulled back. He and Marik each struck at a separate beast. Chiksan dodged past Floroes to stab at the third with his spear.

  Marik’s blow missed, Chiksan’s scraped along one tree-trunk arm, and Colbey followed his strike by leaping with a wolverine’s ferocity. He slashed and snarled with a wild fervor that impressed Marik even as he found it disturbing. Watching from his eye’s corner, he half expected the scout to start biting and scratching in animal bloodlust.

  His second blow forced his beast to one side. An eye blink later Marik felt the wind from a passing quarrel against his cheek. Churt’s shot took one white robe in the stomach. At the same instant the shrieking man clutched at his midriff, four monsters howled in apparent agony, including Chiksan’s.

  The beast Chiksan fought ceased moving while it clutched its head, which enabled Edwin to take out the next robed figure. Only a moment later, the third white-robe fell to a First Unit archer.

  Beasts in the space between the mercenaries and the soldiers screamed in pain. Marik laughed a harsh bark, knowing they could turn the tide after all.

  The tide did turn then, though not in the direction the Kings had expected. Eleven beasts were out of control. Three fought among themselves. When the rest stopped their pained howling, they started slaughtering men with a berserk abandon far beyond their previous mayhem. They rampaged in a killing fury that quickly overwhelmed the mercenaries.

  “Back! Back! Fall back!” Kineta shouted over the nightmarish roars.

  First and Fourth Units both scrambled to obey. They had pushed away from the other two units during their southward charge. Before they could close ranks, seven horned whirlwinds struck hard into the men.

  The monsters struck in a lance thrust, breaking through the line between the two squad halves. First and Fourth units were cut off.

  New howls erupted to mark another white-robe’s death. Marik frantically questioned if that were such a good idea this time, or if it would only add fuel to the bonfire. The rampaging beasts were oblivious to the wounds they suffered unless the injuries were severe, and only Sloan and Churt scored any deep wounds. Every beast Marik faced was too fast and furious for him to handle. He needed practice to use Sloan’s trick effectively. That or time to do it right.

  And time was not an advantage the maddened monsters were granting them.

  Kineta could be heard shouting to retreat, to move anywhere but where they were. Sloan issued no counter-commands, and no Fourth Unit member felt affronted at Kineta giving them orders. Her words matched the thoughts in every man’s head. They were glad to hear them come as an order.

  The beasts had pushed through between them and Fraser’s half-squad. They were turning back to flank from the east. West was blocked by the soldiers still battling other monsters, so south became the only avenue open to escape.

  Sloan continued to battle while the Fourth Unit ran through the tents. Kineta caught him by the arm and tugged as the First’s fighters followed. Two monsters made to pursue until they were distracted by soldiers who were fleeing their formation.

  Two-hundred yards south of the outpost they halted to regroup. Kineta faced to Sloan. “We need to circle around and rejoin Fraser! He’s still locked tight!”

  The Fourth Unit sergeant nodded. “The fight is far from over.” He sounded flat, as always.

  Kineta grimaced, whether at returning to the horrendous battle or at Sloan’s greater desire for combat rather than command was unclear. “We’ll flank to clear the demons. Our forces will be fighting to get clear of that purgatory soon, I reckon. Back east, so we can join ranks when we meet, or help extract them.”

  “Shit!” a man shouted. “Over there!”

  He pointed west. Everyone saw their prospects worsen. Coming around the outpost’s western end marched a force full of strange figures. They wore bizarre armor that struck Marik as vaguely badger-like. An odd shape to their helms and their black armor instantly recalled the wise old animal from his childhood tales.

  They were obviously enemy forces. Shouted orders in an unknown language reached Marik’s ears. The strange soldiers started to advance with purpose.

  “I don’t think they’re going to stop,” he heard a voice moan in a weary tone.

  “Bloody sin!” Kineta swore. Sloan raised his sword. “East then! Now!”

  But several beasts burst free of the chaotic battle to their northeast. One carried a white-robe that Marik could see. These monsters were being directed by an intelligent mind. They emerged until eleven beasts were angling south to intercept them. North and east had just been eliminated from their options.

  “Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Kineta swore venomously in a continual litany. “South, damn it! South before we’re ground into dog meat! Damn it!”

  South it is, then, Marik mused. The men ran as fast as their equipment allowed. And the further we get from our forces, the less likely we will be to find any reinforcement. How are we going to pull our fat from the fire this time?

  * * * * *

  Marik believed nothing could terrify him as these monstrous beasts did. Being pinned behind a tree in a forest clearing for half a day by a dozen hostile archers no longer struck him as remotely frightening.

  The unfamiliar men chasing from the northwest could have been dealt with on a rational level. They were bad enough, but the charging beasts with slathering fangs would haunt all their dreams until the day they died.

  Were it not for Marik, both units would have died within a half-mile. The beasts loped in a distance-eating pace that would have quickly closed the gap between their groups. Marik needed neither sergeant to point that out, nor did he need a scholar to explain what the result would be when they caught up. There were only thirty men including the sergeants. Eleven demon-creatures would destroy them unless the best fighters in their ranks somehow killed the beasts, though if they managed such an incredible feat surely a full unit in fighters would be dead by then.

  Before the Kings could pull that off, the black-armored warriors would descend. They could not afford to fight. All they could do was evade while hoping to circle back to their shieldmates in the north.

  What few archers they had would be insufficient. Marik sheathed his blade while they ran and opened his channels to the etheric plane. The beasts closed with uncanny speed. They had already covered half the distance when he unleashed his first etheric orb.

  The sphere flew fast as he could send it, five times or greater than any crossbow quarrel. It struck the leading beast on its shoulder. A fantastic howl followed. Faint smoke curled away from its scorched fur and it spun with one hand clutching the burn.

  It raged for a long moment, Marik cursing colorfully while the mercenaries added to the distance. Since their hides were thick enough to repel most sword strokes he had prayed the mage attack would kill them as easily as it could a man. Wishful thinking. His orbs would not destroy them before they closed.

  But his attack did stop their outright charge. The beasts halted and he could see the white-robes lean together in conference. To the northwest, the black soldiers also paused when they witnessed his magical strike.

  Kineta ordered the men to cut east as much as possible during the run on the prayer they could eventually circle back. Before they could, the beasts moved again. They limited their speed from their previous loping, apparently intending to pace the mercenaries to see what they would do. With them matching their movements, the two units would never be able to fla
nk them.

  They kept their distance without easing the pressure. Kineta slowed the men to a walk. The beasts responded by slowly closing while crowding the route eastward. If the men cut east, they would come within forty yards of the monsters. None cared to risk it.

  Marik thought they might be able to reverse course and slice westward if the beasts kept their distance. That thought only lasted two or three minutes. The black soldiers had paused to consider the escapees who obviously protected a mage within their ranks, but only until new armored forces began streaming around the outpost.

  Easily five times their number in unknown fighters stood to their northwest with additional men joining by the moment. The beasts were already beyond their ability to handle without adding an entire division in enemy soldiers dogging their heels! Whoever these invaders were, they had come in force.

  The arrivals continued to swell until the Kings ran too far to see them. Before they vanished from sight, they noticed several groups, larger than a full unit each, deploying from the main body. Most traveled due south while others aimed to join the beast force hounding their retreat. Whenever the Kings angled off the straight southern course, an unfriendly party would be there to meet them.

  With only minimum sleep to recover from the first catastrophe in the Stoneseam’s pass, the hard pace would do them in before long. Kineta made no secret of that to Marik, stating flat-out as they pushed their bodies that if Marik could not buy them an opening, they would be overrun eventually.

  It displeased him that the First’s sergeant was forming a plan around his abilities as a mage, yet he reluctantly admitted their options were slimmer than the frozen grass blades crunching beneath their boots. If the three-sided cage continued to drive them then they would be run to exhaustion; a wounded deer finally collapsing as the hunter kept pace with it. Fortunately the snow was only a few inches thick so they could press on without being forced to a crawl.

  The black soldiers were too distant to effectively attack. Marik volleyed five consecutive orbs into the beasts when the creatures started to close the distance. With no attack since the first, the white-robes must have begun to wonder.