Free Orcs: Bad Blood by Stan Nicholls Page B

his shield. Wheam simply clung on, white knuckled, making no attempt to hit back. It was left to the
     veterans on either side to lash out and deal with his tormentor.
    Nearby, Dallog was giving a much better account of himself. The band’s standard jutting from the ground behind him, he made
     good use of his sword and dagger. Slashing the face of an attacker, the ageing corporal followed through with a thrust to
     the man’s guts.
    Hollering at full volume, a human with a spear hurtled towards Stryke. Leaping aside, Stryke grabbed the shaft. There was
     a forceful, snarling battle for possession. Stryke broke the deadlock with a brutal head-butt. His adversary was knocked senseless,
     releasing his hold. Flipping the spear, Stryke drove it through the man’s torso.
    Beyond the siege at the outcrop’s base, riders were still circling. Every so often, one of them loosed an arrow at Coilla’s
     archers. None caused harm. But it was only a matter of time before somebody got lucky.
    On top of the rock, Coilla stood shoulder to shoulder with new recruit Yunst, who was proving adept with a bow.
    She pitched a knife. A human crashed headlong into the barren ground.
    “Nice shot,” Yunst said.
    “Keeping count of yours?” she asked.
    “Not really.”
    “I make us about even.”
    “Can’t have that.” He focused on a target and drew his bowstring taut. “Let’s see if I can —”
    There was a fleshy
thump
. Coilla was splattered with blood. An arrow had gone through Yunst’s neck. He collapsed into her, a dead weight, and she
     went down. The impact sent her tumbling to the nearby edge. She cried out, and went over.
    It was a short drop, but Coilla fell awkwardly. The jolt of landing knocked the breath out of her and jangled her senses.
     Lying on her side, swathed in pain, she tried to gather her wits. She was aware of fighting all around. Shuffling feet and
     stamping hooves. Shouting and screaming. With a groan, she rolled onto her back, then lifted her head.
    Something swam into view. A shape loomed over her. She blinked and cleared her vision. A leering horseman was bearing down,
     his iron-tipped spear aimed at her chest. Coilla struggled to get herself clear, while groping for her blade. It was fifty-fifty
     whether she’d suffer the spear piercing her flesh or the rearing mount shattering her ribs.
    Then someone was there, putting themselves between her and the threat. She saw that it was Haskeer. He had hold of the horse’s
     bridle with both hands as he ducked and weaved to avoid the probing spear. Orc and beast wrestled. Several times the strength
     of the shying horse lifted Haskeer’s feet off the ground. The thrusts of the spear came near to running him through. Finally,
     he lost patience.
    Letting go, he jerked back his fist and gave the horse a mighty punch. The stunned animal’s front legs buckled and its head
     went down. Yelling, and parted from his spear, the rider was unseated. As he fell, several orcs rushed forward to finish him.
    Stryke appeared. He and Haskeer jerked Coilla to her feet and half dragged her to the relative safety of the orcs’ line.
    “Anything broken?” Stryke said.
    She shook her head. “Don’t think so.”
    “What happened up there?”
    “We lost a new one. Yunst.”
    “Shit.”
    “That’s what we get for using amateurs,” Haskeer remarked.
    “He was a good fighter,” Coilla informed him sternly. “And don’t hit horses, you bastard.”
    “No, don’t bother thanking me,” Haskeer came back acerbically. “I only saved your life.”
    “We’ve work to do,” Stryke rebuked.
    They pitched into the attackers.
    The human ranks were starting to thin. But fighting was still intense. Heartened by killing Yunst, the surviving raiders stepped
     up their assault, and the orcs’ defences were sorely tested. The otherwise silent landscape continued to echo to the rattle
     of steel on steel and the shrieks of the dying.
    Given his shaky resolve, only luck and