‘Two rows; front rank kneeling, second rank standing. Fire on my command!’ Grindle ordered, drawing his sword and lifting it high above his head.
The steps were getting closer now. Fletcher could hear the clatter of another axe as it missed Ignatius once again.
‘I’ll shield the entrance. You flash them with wyrdlight to throw off their aim; I don’t know if my shield will be strong enough,’ Sylva said. She was already drawing the shield symbol in the air. Moments later and she was flowing opaque light on to the ground in front of her, pooling it as if it were molten amber.
‘Ready,’ Grindle growled.
The men raised their muskets, pointing them down the cave. Fletcher pulled mana from Ignatius. It was harder with the distance between them, but soon his body buzzed with power. In his mana-filled vision, the torchlight glowed a deep orange.
‘Aim,’ Grindle uttered, lowering his sword by a foot.
The footsteps no longer echoed, they were that close. Any second now and the two dwarves would come into view. Grindle’s sword fell.
‘Fi—’
‘Now!’ Sylva shouted, sending a glistening square of white shield below.
Fletcher fired a blast of blue light into the gunmen’s eyes, blinding them as the muskets crackled, belching black smoke into a haze in front of them.
Then Sariel burst through the ranks, scattering them like ninepins. She leaped on to the nearest man’s chest and began to savage his throat.
Fletcher jumped from the cliff with a yell, stabbing down with his khopesh. It took a fallen man through the stomach, then it was on to the next dazed opponent, cutting him down at the neck. He could hear Sylva screaming behind him, then the gurgle of a man with his throat cut.
Ignatius dropped on to Fletcher’s shoulder from above and blew flames at a man who was charging at him, sword raised.
‘My eyes!’ the man screamed, falling to his knees. Sylva darted past and stabbed him through the skull.
Sariel bounded back to them, the fur around her snout a grisly mess of blood and pulp. Sylva grabbed her by the neck fur and dragged her back to the cave mouth to stand beside Fletcher. There were five men left, including Grindle. They had regrouped, spreading in a wide fan that kept their enemies trapped in the cave.
Othello and Atilla arrived, gasping as they tried to catch their breath. The shield must have worked.
‘It’s an ambush, Atilla. Fletcher and Sylva are on our team,’ Othello muttered. Solomon rumbled in agreement.
‘I’d rather kill five men than one boy.’ Atilla grasped a sword from one of the fallen men. ‘I’ll fight beside you . . . for now.’
He handed Othello a tomahawk from his waist.
‘You were always better with it than me. Show these humans what a true dwarf can do.’
Then Grindle threw a torch into the cave, illuminating their faces. He spat in disgust.
‘Elf filth. I should have killed you as soon as I had the chance. If Lord Forsyth hadn’t made us do it publicly, you’d be rotting in the ground right now.’
Fletcher froze at the mention of the Forsyth name, realising who had been behind Sylva’s kidnapping. It was no coincidence that the Forsyth twins were with her when she was taken. He shook the revelation from his thoughts, focussing on the task at hand.
‘I’m going to disembowel you,’ Grindle snarled, jabbing his sword at her stomach. ‘I always wondered if elves have the same insides.’
‘That shoulder looks painful,’ Fletcher jeered. ‘How would you like it today? Medium rare, or well done?’
Grindle ignored his comment and smirked.
‘Reload your muskets, boys. It’ll be like shooting rats in a barrel.’
‘Not so fast!’ Atilla said. ‘First one to reach for their musket gets an axe through their face.’
He took the last hurlbat axe from his belt and twirled it in his fingers. The remaining men looked from Grindle to their muskets on the ground. They didn’t move.
‘It’s seven of us against five of you; and three of ours are demons. Do yourself a favour and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.’
Grindle smirked and pointed his sword at the cave behind them. In the distance, Fletcher could hear the sound of a horn, the sign for Forsyth’s men to attack.
‘If I keep you here long enough, reinforcements are going to arrive. They’ll cut you down like dogs.’
‘If . . .’ Fletcher said, taking a step forward. But he realised Grindle had a point. The distant shouts from Forsyth’s soldiers echoed in the tunnel behind him. When Grindle didn’t charge in with them, they would come and investigate. Fletcher needed to get out of there right now. Fighting could take far too long.