Meanwhile, Highlanders on horses fired arrow after arrow into an increasing throng of pirates filling the pier. Yeti number three carried a large weighted net, anxious to throw it upon half a dozen victims before slashing them to pieces with deadly claws.
Out of nowhere Gladron crashed violently into a wall of pirates, her heavy hind hooves and front claws scattering unsuspecting pirates everywhere, breaking necks and bones. Her explosive impact bowled six pirates off the pier in a blaze of wings, feathers, beak and scattered weapons. Cries, shouts and splashing followed as those who survived the impact felt the biting waters of the Gulf of Ice.
Perry yelled to Kron to retreat. They fell back. Mounted Highlanders charged, using glaives as lances. Two were felled by Norse crossbows. Wardogs barked savagely and men shouted. Horses neighed and screamed.
Without instructions from their chief who still being treated by his druid, Norse pirates charged without strategy. Eventually they made way for their only remaining yeti. It emitted another blood-curdling cry, leaping forward, its massive paw striking a horse’s head, its claws ripping skin and bone. The horse stumbled at the impact and fell, opening a breach in Highland lines in the middle of a tangled, messy melee. The yeti jumped through the breach to face barking wardogs. Two militia bravely stepped forward. Others hesitated before such a fearsome monster. Elfindi held his large shield in front of Razel, who was casting another spell.
“Attack it together,” Elfindi shouted.
Wardogs savaged the yeti’s shaggy legs, attacking in the manner of wild dogs at a chained bear. A militiaman’s arrow struck its chest. Two Highland glaives swung wildly. One missed; another caught the monster a slicing blow across its arm. Its other arm struck a wardog’s head, killing it instantly. The yeti howled angrily, covered in blood from steel and fang. It leapt forward again, a wardog clinging to its leg. Two others leapt at it, their pack instincts driving them forward.
The yeti was just about to hurl itself onto the tentative band of militia when Gladron thudded into it from behind, its powerful hooves knocking it over. Gladron had not generated enough flight speed from her earlier dive to deliver a fatal blow. Yet her massive front claws savagely ripped its back; her enormous beak violently tore out chunks of yeti flesh. Talarren leapt off his mount, sword in hand. With characteristic speed he pierced the monster’s side. It roared horribly, yet thrashed still, managing to struggle to its knees, its back a mass of mangled flesh from Gladron’s claws and beak. Talarren’s flashing blade, lit with emerald green lines, cleaved it horribly, finishing it.
“Forward,” Talarren encouraged his militia.
To the delighted surprise of the militiamen, they had participated in defeating this feared, mythical monster in seconds. They cheered, charging forward, waving their weapons, anxious to take revenge upon these cowardly pirates. They waited impatiently behind the mounted Highlanders whose formation formed a bottleneck, keeping pirates at bay on the pier.
Caspar shouted: “Surrender! Throw down your arms!”
To Razel’s utter surprise, many pirates surrendered, stepping back from the fray, laying down their crossbows, axes and swords. Others resisted his spell, fighting on. Razel cast a Charm! spell on a Norseman, instructing him to protect Perry. On more than one occasion this Norseman saved Perry’s life by blocking a sword or axe bound for his undefended head while his attention was otherwise engaged.
Meanwhile, longship three had begun to move, clearly intending to position itself alongside the empty fishing boats serenely bobbing together in a cluster off to one side. It was not hard to see how the pirates intended to use them the low fishing vessels as stepping stones in order to bypass their bottlenecked fellows trapped on the pier. Talarren took wing again after instructing the militia to position themselves so as to hack at any pirate attempting to make his way onto the dock via these unstable fishing boats.
Kron’s axe swung mightily, its heavy blade cleaving pirate after pirate. Highlander horsemen and wardogs proved a formidable line of defence with Kron and Perry anchoring their line. Norse pirates could not break through, leaving many standing idle on the pier, cursing with rage. Where was their leader, they thought? Those with crossbows aimed at Highlanders on horseback. Another Highlander fell, two bolts thudding into his chest. A Highlander charged forward on horseback to take his place, his sword hacking the Norse pirate unlucky enough to advance.
“Take out their crossbows,” Perry shouted after pushing a bloodied pirate into the water. Following instructions, those Highlanders behind the lines clipped their glaives back into position. They took up their longbows, shooting at crossbowmen targets.
“A yeti is slain,” the militia roared with delight, encouraging fellow Highlanders. Yeti two remained helplessly suspended twenty yards above them, wailing loudly. Wardogs continued to rip and tear ferociously.
Talarren noticed a cleric tending Olaf. Perry’s arrow had been pulled out of his throat and a healing spell performed on him, saving him from what normally would have been certain death. The cleric helped Olaf to his feet.
Gladron’s mighty wings flew her master in an arc out to sea again towards longboat three, now being rowed to line up with the small fishing vessels bobbing on waters made rougher by dropping bodies. Two crossbow bolts sailed past Talarren. A third clipped Gladron’s wing before plunging into the sea. Talarren pulled out his bow and aimed his arrow at the unsuspecting cleric. He released with consummate poise. His arrow shot through the air with all the power of a High Elf bow. It entered his victim’s head and lodged there. He was dead before he dropped to the deck.
To everyone’s utter amazement, Talarren guided Gladron directly into the longship. He charged at two Norseman guarding their captain, shields raised. These two pirates had no chance to withstand a tonne of charging hippogriff. Their shields crumpled under its thunderous hind hooves. Swords dropped from their hands. Gladron’s shredding savagery tore them apart. As Talarren jumped off with sword in hand, Gladron slashed off face and limb of two more Norsemen come to defend their chief. Another succumbed to a brutal snap of Gladron’s deadly beak.
Despite his mighty size and ferocity, Olaf hesitated. Sword in hand, Talarren cut a tremendous sight. Even more arresting was his eyes. This experienced pirate had not seen eyes like that in any other man. Norseman standing on the pier watched on, mesmerised. Some who hadn’t surrendered to Caspar’s spell hastened back into the longship to defend their captain.
Standing nearly seven feet tall, the pirate captain gripped his specially-made longsword. He could not allow this Ranger to interfere with the life he had carved for himself. He roared. “First I kill you, then your flying horse.” He swung at Talarren who jumped back.
“Razel,” Caspar exclaimed. “Look!” From behind Elfindi’s shield a swordfighting melee filled her vision. Then she spied Talarren and the captain fighting on board the longship. Half a dozen Norsemen were climbing back into the boat. Gladron and Talarren were being surrounded. Caspar lifted his staff. Razel began an incantation.
“Fly, Gladron!” Talarren commanded. Following his command she ran aft along its interior and leapt overboard, taking wing with powerful thrusts moments before being swallowed by the icy water. More crossbow bolts sailed past her wings. One ricocheted off her heavy saddle.
The Norse captain swung at Talarren, then swung again. His heavy sword roared noisily. Talarren lunged, but his tall opponent showed surprising speed, and with even greater speed punched Talarren on the jaw. Talarren fell.
“Confusion!” yelled Caspar.
Norsemen who’d managed to climb back into the longship to defend their chief suddenly forgot who they were. They stood vacantly, eyes dazed, wondering what they were doing, and who they were. None but the captain had been able to resist Caspar’s spell.
“Blindness!” Razel shouted, flicking her wand at two more Norsemen climbing into the longship. Both stumbled, shouting in confused anger at their sudden and complete loss of sight. One tripped and plunged into
the icy waters below.
Olaf’s massive sword descended heavily. Talarren rolled away. The blade stuck into the wooden decking. This was a man capable of serious damage, thought Talarren as the sword was pulled free. Talarren feigned a charge, drawing another vicious swordstrike, exposing Olaf’s arm, a tactic he often employed with particularly fast-moving opponents. Talarren swiftly struck the cheftain’s right forearm, severing it from his body. He roared in pain. Esmay dived and scratched the eyes of a pirate about to drive his sword through Talarren’s back. Talarren drove his sword into the man’s stomach. He turned back to the captain who seemed paralysed with shock. In one fluid movement Talarren twisted Olaf around and put his hunting blade to the pirate chief’s throat.
“Back,” Talarren roared to the Norseman brandishing their weapons around him. “Nothing will save your captain’s throat this time. Move back!”
They halted. Their captain seemed to recover from the shock of his amputated arm, but even his great strength was no match for the Ranger who held him in an awkward position on his knees. Confusion spread through pirate ranks on longboat and pier.
Eventually the pirates on the pier retreated. The rowers in longship three ceased rowing. They watched Talarren holding his glinting blade to their fierce, invincible captain’s neck, dangling a bloodied stub of an arm strong enough to wield his specially-made longsword. Talarren’s feet. Wardogs ceased their baying. Clashes of arms fell silent. Pirates under Caspar’s Confusion! spell now felt doubly confused. Those who had surrendered watched on indifferently.
Perry exchanged a quick glance with Kron who glanced over at Elfindi who winked in acknowledgement, still holding a large shield in front of Razel.
Caspar smiled to himself. From this position, he knew Talarren would win the day. His wily Ranger would undoubtedly come up with a clever plan to bring these villains to heel. He looked forward to learning what that could be.
Silence reigned, punctuated by groans of the wounded and the frantic splashing from those unlucky enough to have landed in the freezing water. Seagulls called angrily. All eyes lay upon the Ranger and his prisoner. Talarren’s grey eyes blazed, matching the colour of the sky, setting off his rugged face with a fierce glow. No-one could fail to be impressed by this airborne Ranger with majestic bow and glorious sword, possessed of incredible courage. Power coursed through his veins. Because of his leadership, a small band of Highland fighters brought a gang of over one hundred pirates and three yetis to heel. Defeat dulled their chieftain’s eyes. His two druids and healer lay dead. His deputy lay beside him with an arrow through his eye. His right arm was severed and bleeding. And a man of incredible physical strength held a large, sharp knife to his exposed throat. So this is what defeat tasted like, Olaf said to himself?
Injured men groaned. Somewhere a dog barked. Fishing ships lightly bumped into each other. Waves gently slapped longboat hulls and the shore. Talarren’s strong voice rang out. “You heard our warning horn as you approached. We saw through your illusion.” He let his words sink in. “Look at your three yeti. One ran in fear. Another is ripped to pieces. A third suspended helplessly like a harmless bird.” Everyone’s eyes turned to the helpless, pathetic-looking monster still suspended twenty feet in the air. “Your spellcasters are dead, your captain, prisoner.” Talarren paused. “Worse for you, pirates, our horn has summoned two hundred mounted Highlanders, led by Thane Landreth, who as you know wants your captain’s head. Caspar.” Pirates turned to each other, wondering what this extraordinary fighter was going to do with them. “I am offering you a choice.”
“Don’t listen…!” Olaf began. Talarren tightened his vice-like headlock around his throat, cutting further speech.
Talarren continued. “You can fight on. If you do, this quaint fishing village will be your grave. Look at your fallen comrades.” Twenty eight pirates lay dead or wounded, sprawled across a bloodied pier, lying in longships or floating on bobbing waves. Blood-drenched snow smeared their boots. “Neither we nor Thane Landreth’s soldiers will show mercy for your terrible crimes against these people.”
Pirates who had been bullied into Olaf’s service or secretly wanting to escape their life of piracy saw an opportunity. This Ranger was offering them a choice. Rangers had a reputation for being merciful. Perhaps they should surrender, after all?
“Surrender now and throw yourselves on our mercy,” Talarren shouted loudly. Olaf struggled hard. He tried to shout but his throat was too constricted. His pirates watched on, unsure of what to do. Their captain wrestled, trying to pull himself free with his one good arm. In his awkward, weakened position he could do nothing. This Olaf was a strong leader, Talarren knew. The stronger the leader, the more his men relied on him. The less capable they were of acting without his command. This was bode well for the villagers.
“Or you can leave now in peace,” Talarren said loudly. “And promise never to return.”
A tremor of shock ran through pirate ranks. Was this naïve simpleton, so good with bow and sword, truly offering them an escape? Was this man really a Ranger? Did Ranger’s not have a reputation for wisdom and intelligence? Was he really so stupid as to expect them to leave and give up piracy, to return to some obscure Norse village and start gutting fish for a living?
“I repeat,” Talarren shouted. “Fight, and your captain loses his head here and now. And all of you will die. Surrender, and you may yet find mercy. Board your longship and leave. Now!” In the far distance, still shrouded by dark clouds and faint light, sounds of a horn, baying dogs and shouting men could be heard. Hunter barked loudly from her position on the pier.
“Our two hundred horsemen and wardogs have arrived,” Talarren shouted. “Those who surrender, drop your weapons and head into the village.”
“Approach!” Caspar ordered, stamping down his staff. Those nine still under his Surrender! spell and seven under his Confusion! spell began making their way past fellow pirates. One pirate barred their way with his huge battle axe. Perry loosed an arrow into his head, dropping him instantly. Surrendering pirates continued forward.
Talarren addressed himself to the bewildered pirates on the pier and in the longships, still clutching their weapons but so utterly desolate in defeat. How had the tide turned so suddenly against them? And from such a commanding position.
“This is your last chance for mercy.” More baying of wardogs and shouting men drifted over nearby hills. Two pirates in longship three threw down their weapons. They clambered over the side and made their way awkwardly over fishing boats onto solid ground. Elfindi strained his eyes behind him. He saw and heard nothing then realised it must have been Caspar’s spell.
“Tie them securely,” Caspar ordered the militia. They tied up seventeen surrendered pirates with ropes and nets from fishing boats. During that time other pirates returned to their longships. The village militia and the Highlanders could hardly believe what they were witnessing. It was too bizarre, too surreal for words. And yet it was happening before their very eyes.
Longship three slowly head back out to sea, its oars furiously pulling the vessel through waves tinkling in a shaft of light seeping through the murky clouds.
A dozen pirates remained on the pier waiting to clamber aboard longship two. From his position in the bow of longship one, this once fearsome captain tried to cry out, but Talarren’s headlock prevented all but gargling sounds.
Talarren raised himself to survey the situation on the pier. He nodded to Perry who signalled to his mounted Highlanders. They charged forward under Perry’s command. The pirates turned in shock as Highlander horsemen with pointing glaives raced them down, chunks of snow churned up from their pounding hooves.
Talarren stood up to signal to Gladron. Olaf took advantage of Talarren’s momentarily loosened grip. He roared: “Fools! Come back. Fight.” Talarren pulled his crooked elbow tight around Olaf’s throat. The pirate thought he would suffocate before Talarren relented.
Those pirates still stranded on the pier turned to face
Perry and the Highlander horsemen. But they were bunched up in an awkward mass. Perry’s sword and Highlander glaives felled the first few. Others spread out to defend themselves, now being set upon by ferocious wardogs.
Frightened of being boarded by Highlanders, their comrades on longship two frantically pushed out to sea, abandoning them to their fate. Gladron leapt forward and trampled two pirates under her bones crunching hooves. She launched herself at the retreating longship, mauling pirates with her slashing claws and snapping beak as they pushed out to sea. Two more mangled pirate bodies sprawled across decks. More Highlanders arrived to slaughter those trapped on the pier. Hunter gripped a retreating pirate by his leg and pulled him down. In moments she’d ripped his windpipe out of his throat.
Perry’s tremendous sword strike decapitated the last of the pirates left on the pier. “Don’t go losing your head over it, old chap,” he taunted the headless corpse.
Kron raced up the pier carrying his crossbow and Perry’s bow and quiver. “Who’s a better shot?” Kron crowed, handing Perry his bow. “I’ll have Blondie with braided pigtails, astern.”
Perry smiled happily. Nothing exhilarated him more than battle victory and competing with bow against a retreating enemy. “Mine’s Lardguts beside him. A silver if you miss.”
“Only a silver? Not too confident?”
“A gold, then,” Perry said, loading his arrow.
“Done,” said Kron. He aimed. His bolt sped across fifteen yards and planted itself into Blondie’s side. Perry simultaneously released his arrow. It stuck into Lardgut’s protruding stomach. “They’ll miss their healer, those two.”
“No-one wins,” Perry said.
“Lardguts was an easy target,” said Kron loading his crossbow. “Same again.”
Age of Demons_In Search of the Amulet Page 21
