Free Pyramid of Blood (Swords Versus Tanks Book 3) by M Harold Page Page A

Lines dressed, skull standards raised, and that order was spreading out from…
    “There,” said Ranulph. “The feathered standard with the two skulls marks the enemy captain.”
    “Aye,” said Thorolf. He twitched a smile. “So we kill him?”
    “Not we,” said Ranulph. “ I .”
    Thorolf's mouth twitched. "No. We have already failed one lord. Besides, you have no mailshirt."
    A column extended from the Tolmec army and swarmed up the steps ten abreast.
    Ranulph grinned. He regarded the others. Twenty two Northmen with shields and armour. Some maintained a grim silence, others traded jokes, smiling but not with their eyes, all were pink faced with the heat, hair lank, skin sheened with perspiration.
    The pyramid had over a dozen tiers, each narrow and about twice the height of a man. However, as Thorolf had observed, only a single stair led up to the platform with its sanctuary house and bloodstained altar. “Fourteen men to hold the stairhead,” said Ranulph, “two deep. I shall keep eight back in reserve.”
    Thorolf’s eyes narrowed. “In reserve , Lord.”
    “Of course.” Ranulph twirled Steelcutter. The four-foot blade swished satisfyingly. “As you say, I have no mail.”
    Thorolf turned away and barked commands. He took his place at the top of the steps. Six men formed up on either side of him and locked shields. Seven more took their place in the second rank.
    Osmund led his own seven men up to Ranulph and bowed his head. “What is your will, Lord?”
    “Be ready in case they climb between levels,” said Ranulph. He hopped onto the fly shrouded altar to see over the helmets of the shieldwall.
    The Tolmecs had passed the middle of their climb.
    Ranulph scanned the clouds for sign of Jasmine and airship. He gave a mental shrug. She would come. "Gentlemen," he said, then continued in Northern, "This is no last stand. Their numbers will not help them. The steps are too steep, the space too narrow." Helmeted heads bobbed in agreement, but they needed more. "They have feathers," said Ranulph. "You have iron!" He raised his voice. "They have glass, you have well-tempered steel! Hold until Jasmine's return, and we shall feast in Castle Dacre, not Valhalla!"
    The housecarls shouted in unison. Then Thorolf used his sword to drum his shield. The others joined in, and Northern thunder resounded from the top of the Tolmec pyramid.
    The advancing Tolmecs were only two tiers below now.
    Somebody yelled, “By Odin, here they come!”
    “Ready…” cried Thorolf. The Northmen shouted in unison, building up for their traditional battle cry…
    Ranulph shook his head. The heat made it hard to think. However, he expected something a little more professional. For all they fought with obsidian weapons and wore feathers, these little brown-skinned men were as disciplined as the Emperor’s Landmarchers.
    Sure enough, instead of charging up the stair in column, the Tolmecs spread out over the final tier. For a moment it was like looking at a sea of reeds, then Ranulph understood that each man carried a bushel of javelins. He bellowed, “Shieldburg, by God, shieldburg!”
    Obediently, the first rank of Northmen knelt. The second stepped forward and raised their shields to create a castle of shields.
    Somebody tugged at Ranulph’s leg. “Down!” barked Osmund.
    Ranulph dropped behind the stone altar.
    Javelins darkened the sky, then the shields of Osmund’s men closed over him. Javelins thudded on the boards, made sharper sounds where they shattered on the stone platform.
    “Ha! Like on the ramparts of Ilium,” remarked Osmund.
    Ranulph crouched and peered around the altar. Javelins clattered off the carvings. Others ricocheted over the pyramid top. He flinched but peered around just a little further.
    Scores of brown hands gripped the edge of the platform.
    He ducked back into cover, heart pounding. “They’re standing on each other’s shoulders,” he said. “When they stop throwing javelins, Osmund, you go