Erik crouched low as another flight of arrows sped overhead. The instant they had passed, his own archers rose and fired back. The attack had picked up intensity all afternoon, and now he feared he was about to lose domination of the ridge.
Suddenly enemy soldiers were atop the ridge and he was again facing hand-to-hand combat. The determination of his men was unmatched, but their endurance was flagging.
No word had reached him from the north since he had sent Jadow and Harper to reinforce the northern flank, and the men he had sent were now critically needed here. Erik worried that he might have compromised both positions in an attempt to protect them.
The press of battle took his mind off worries for a moment, as he felt the line around him sag, as more and more of the enemy appeared and fewer and fewer defenders stood next to him. Erik let his sword swing like a scythe, cutting down attackers like wheat. He heard men scream, grunt, and curse on all sides, and focused upon the moment. The battle was now in that place he knew where no amount of coordination was possible; the battle would be decided by the strength of the men who fought it. If the defenders had more resolve, they would win.
Erik saw two enemies before him, and in that instant he felt in his soul that the battle was lost. He struck down the first man, shattering his shield with a tremendous blow, but barely dodged a thrust by the second.
Then a third man and a fourth came at him, and in that moment, Erik knew he was going to die. He slashed out and took the second man in the face, cutting his cheek to the bone, which shattered as the blade dug in. He pulled back his sword and tossed the man as a cat tosses a mouse, sending him into the two men who came after.
Erik knew it was just a matter of moments, and he was determined to take as many of the enemy with him as possible before he was overwhelmed.
He struck out against one man, and took a sliding blow to the ribs that caused him to turn suddenly, opening himself up to another sword thrust. A blade struck his left arm, glancing off the leather of his gauntlet to leave a long angry red cut on his forearm.
Erik took a glancing blow to the side of the head, and his knees weakened. He couldn’t stand upright, and as he tried to step back, his heel slipped, saving his life. Erik fell back, struck rock and dirt, and rolled head over heels a dozen yards. He came to rest on his back, staring up over his boots at five enemy soldiers rushing down the hill to end his existence.
As the first man reached Erik, his sword held high overhead to deliver a killing blow, a goosefeather shaft appeared in the man’s neck. He seemed to take a step, go to one knee, then fall face down at Erik’s feet.
Erik scrambled back as the other four men turned, looking to their left, Erik’s right, and another arrow lifted an attacker off his feet, propelling him backward. Only a longbow could unleash that much power. Erik looked and saw a half-dozen men in leather standing a dozen paces down the trail, firing at the attackers while children ran forward.
Erik blinked. They weren’t children but dwarves, dressed in armor and carrying war hammers and axes. Shouting their war cries, they were charging into the invaders, cutting them down.
Strong hands reached under Erik’s shoulders and hauled him to his feet. ‘How are you, man?’ asked a familiar voice, and Erik turned to see the smiling face of Jadow Shati.
‘Better,’ said Erik. ‘Much better.’
Sergeant Harper said, ‘We were being handed our heads, sir, when suddenly the lads who were trying to kill us got very concerned about their own rears.’ He grinned, ignoring the dried blood spattered on his face. The dwarves and elves were coming down the ridge, doing a grand job of slaughter as they went.’
As if a wind blew away a cloud of smoke, the dwarves and elves cleared the ridge before Erik’s eyes. A dwarf wearing a large gold torque, and carrying a hammer of obvious power, approached and asked, ‘You the officer here?’
Erik nodded. ‘Sir?’
The dwarf smiled. He set down his hammer, drew himself up to his full height, slightly under five feet, and slapped his chest with his balled fist. ‘I am bight Dolgan, King of the Dwarves of the West, chief of village Caldara, and Warleader of the Grey Towers dwarven people!’ Then he smiled and said, ‘It looks as if you could use some help.’
Erik grinned. ‘With thanks.’
An elf approached and said, ‘I’m Galain. Tomas asked us to come through the ridge line from above Hawk’s Hollow, making sure that uninvited guests weren’t hanging about.’
Erik smiled. ‘Your arrival was most timely.’
‘Well,’ said Dolgan. ‘Better late than never, and it’s still a bonny fight. My lads will be pleased to thump a few heads.’ Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Tomas has been forthright with what is at stake, and I pledge we will keep these murderers on the west side of the ridge.’
Erik said, ‘Thank you.’
Jadow said, ‘You’ve got a few wounds here.’
Erik sat on a rock and Jadow began field dressings.