“They’re out of range,” said Bray, seeing what Ejan was about to do. Yet she released her fingers and let the arrow fly.
Elora watched as it arced up into the red sky before gently falling; so graceful it was hard to believe death was on its tip in a sharpened head of metal. It struck the leading bulworg in the neck, just behind its skull. The creature ran for a few more steps before falling sideways and taking the legs from under another. Both crashing in a mess of grey fur and red dust.
Bray whistled through his teeth. “Impressive.”
“Told you she was good,” said Ragna, face beaming with pride. Even Diagus nodded.
“See if you can take some more down,” he said.
Ejan notched another arrow, eyes already narrowed on the next target. “I’ll make it rain death,” she said, the bow string thrumming as she released her fingers. Her arm was already reaching back for another arrow and putting it to bow before the string stopped humming. Two more bulworgs died before they reached them.
“Here they come,” growled Diagus, as he took a step towards the advancing bulworgs which were now in spitting distance.
The creatures slowed to a walk, spreading out and surrounding them, blocking any route of escape save from jumping off the cliff. They appeared huge close up, almost as big and wide as a horse, thick with muscle and sinew, hackles raised and snarling, eyes alive with hate and evil.
One took a step towards them and raised up on its hind legs. Standing taller than Ragna it howled into the air, a long and haunting tone that carried back the way they came, the noise repeated further away and again until it reached the main body of the army where other voices joined it, creating a noise of an entire army of blood thirsty beasts enticing violence. The message was clear. They had them trapped.
Another bulworg raised up, its mouth opening wide to join the howl, but an arrow suddenly appeared sticking out of its throat, Ejan’s bow humming with the after-shot. The Viking woman then placed the bow over her shoulder and drew out her short sword as the wolf like beast fell dead to the floor.
“That’s four to me,” she said, pointing her sword in front of her and making slow circles with the blade.
Bray leaned closer to Elora, his words whispered gently into her ear. “I love you.” Then before Elora had chance to reply he went to stand beside his old master, rolling his shoulder and loosening his muscles.
‘I love you’, Elora wanted reply but it was too late. Instead she pulled her dagger from the smuggler’s pouch, determined that she would go down fighting.
Behind her, she heard Zionbuss laughing, the sound unnerving in the situation. She turned to see him simply drop off the cliff. One second he was there, the next he was gone. What the hell had he done, did he fear bulworgs so much that he would rather die than face them? Or was he simply abandoning them, leaving them to a gruesome fate? Her eyes locked on the ground he dropped from, wanting to peer down but the wolf-like beasts chose that moment to attack.
They came on fast, large claws striking the ground as they leapt, teeth bared, growls barking from deep chests. The group stepped in to meet them, Ragna’s hammer connecting with a head which cracked making a sickening crunch; the skull crushed flat, spitting black blood into the air as its body fell lifeless into the ground.
Diagus spun to his side, ducking below a swiping claw and slid his blade into his attacker’s belly, opening an ugly wound and exposing the shiny guts which spilt to the floor; its owner howling in pain as it frantically tried to catch them in its paws. The Shadojak thrust his blade through its back to finish him off.
A severed head spun through the air, tumbling end over end, spraying blood. Its muzzle still set in a snarl as it bounced once, twice, before rolling over the edge.
Elora felt acid burn the back of her throat and fought the bile down as she watched Bray kick the headless body over, blood squirting from the gaping neck. He quickly glanced her way, his eyes catching hers before another bulworg was on him, attacking with a vicious swipe to his chest which he caught on his blade, reducing the limb to a spitting stump. Elora pulled her gaze away from the gore in time to see Ejan pulling her short sword free from the chest of a fallen beast, its paws gripping the blade, now slick with blood, as she drove her boot into its neck, screaming insults into its face.
The Fist of the North swung high then low, the sounds of crunching skulls and snapping bones closely following. Bodies falling in a mess of grey pelt, blood and gristle; steel stained red as they split open beasts revealing the inner workings that should never have touched the outside air but now spilt to the dust in a steaming carnage. But for every bulworg that fell, another took its place and she could see the sweat and pain her friends were enduring - they wouldn’t last much longer. Somehow her free hand had found Nat’s and she realised she was choking the life from it.
“What shall we do?” she screamed at him, feeling totally defenceless. Nat could only shake his head, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, unable to give her an answer, yet she already knew what she must do. They could not take her alive, that’s what the Shadojak said, that’s what her uncle said.
The grip of her dagger felt slick with sweat, her fingers shaking with the pressure she held it with. Releasing Nat’s hand, she held her weapon with both of hers. It couldn’t be that hard could it? Surely it was only a case of sticking the pointy end into flesh, a quick in and out and make sure you don’t get stuck yourself in the process.
She took a deep breath, attempting to still her shaken nerves and tried to be calm like Ejan, staring across the melee and singling out a target. There, a bulworg was creeping around Ragna, padding slowly out of reach of the hammer, evil eyes set on Bray’s back as it stalked closer.
Elora let go a scream of her own and leapt forwards, feeling her uncle’s desperate fingers raking against her arm as he tried to hold her back. But this little girl wasn’t going to wait for death to come to her, she was flinging herself headlong into its snarling face.
The dagger felt light in her hands as she drew it overhead, ready to strike down into the creatures back, but it somehow sensed her coming and spun at the last second; thick tail whipping about and hitting her in the face as he caught her wrist. He twisted her arm violently and the blade flew out of her grasp to bounce along the ground.
“No!” she spat, as she watched it slide over the cliff’s edge.
Yellow eyes stared deep into hers, she pulled her face back as his muzzle came close, saliva dripping from sharp fangs, breath rotten. Elora had never felt so scared, so horror-struck knowing that death was only heartbeats away. Yet she had never felt so alive, adrenaline pulsing through her veins as the world seemed to slow down, to shrink until it was just her and the wolfman.
Her eyes refocused on the bulworg, seeing it not as a lethal killer, but as a pathetic creature to be killed...Kill.
Her blood ran hot as she twisted her hand from its grasp and slammed her fist into its throat, feeling the cartilage beneath give under her knuckles. Its eyes widened in shock as it toppled back, its limbs flinging wildly out and Elora suddenly felt pain burn down her arm, a wild claw finding flesh and tearing it open.
Blood gushed from the wound that had split wide below the elbow, she pulled the torn sleeve away as her blood caught fire, searing the gash closed.
The pain was immense, white heat pulsing up her arm as she watched the flesh heal. It had happened in an instant but was long enough for the bulworg to have regained its balance and its feet, claw pulled back ready to strike again. Elora could only scramble back as the beast came at her, the brief moment of that other girl, that darker being was gone.
The bulworg’s hind legs bunched up, hackles raised as it prepared to launch itself at her. She willed herself to be brave, to be ready, her hand grasping enough dust to throw in its face. But as she prepared to hurl, a dagger, thrown from behind her, struck the bulworg in its flat forehead, sinking to the hilt. She recognised the dagger to be hers but how was that possible when she watched it go over the edge?
She whipped her head around and watched the riggings and thick mast of a ship rise above the cliff, Zionbuss, gripping onto rope and grinning whilst the huge vessel rose higher and higher. The Necrolosis.
As the side of the deck came into view she saw men with skeletal faces, peering at them, torn and weathered clothes blowing in the breeze and revealing dry yellow skin and bones beneath. Each of them had longbows, the strings pulled back with lethal black arrows notched.
“Now might be a good time to come aboard,” Zionbuss bellowed. Elora didn’t need telling twice as she scrambled to her feet and slapped Ejan on the shoulder. She was about to tell her that they should get on the ship when she instinctively ducked, Ejan’s blade cut through the air where her neck had just been.
“Don’t ever touch me in battle,” Ejan shrieked, as she gripped Elora under the arm and propelled her towards the Necrolosis. “Ever heard of battle etiquette? Now get on the ship, I’ll fetch the others.”
“Whoa?” Elora mumbled as she staggered, blood rushing through her ears. If two words didn’t belong in the same sentence, it was battle and etiquette.
Nat took her hand and together they ran across a plank that Zionbuss had laid across the gap between ship and cliff. As she crossed she saw that the ship floated on green fire, burning without heat and translucent enough for her to see through to the long drop below. She quickly jumped the last stride, giddy with vertigo.
Behind her she heard Ejan shouting for the others to fall back. They came as quickly as they could, Bray swiftly finishing his foe before turning and helping Ragna cut his bloodied opponent down. Diagus was battling two bulworgs simultaneously, dancing between wildly thrashing limbs with the fluidity of a ballet dancer.
On Ejan’s command he spun low, slicing both beasts through the knees. As they fell howling he continued his circle, decapitating the pair, heads, bodies and severed legs falling in a gruesome heap. The Shadojak stepped backwards to the ship, keeping his gaze and blade facing the enemy who although vastly outnumbering them, didn’t seem as keen to advance.
Diagus paused by a fallen bulworg that was still breathing, the contents of it belly held in its arms. He thrust his soul blade into its heart and Elora thought she saw a tiny green flame rise along the blade before the bulworg relaxed into death.
