Tal moved his forces back as close to the burning catapults as they could go. The flames had diminished, but there was still enough heat to discourage anyone from approaching any closer. They would be silhouettes against the flames, while Raven’s men would be revealed by the light once they entered the compound.
As the attackers advanced to the first bridge, those in the first rank started racing across in pairs, holding their shields high to protect themselves from archers. The expected fusillade of arrows didn’t materialize as those on the walls waited for Raven’s archers to come into range.
“Get ready!” Tal shouted, and suddenly the first line of raiders charged. “Hold your ground!’’
Bellowing their war cries, the twenty men in the first rank ran into the compound, and battle was joined. Tal wished he had spent more time practicing against an opponent with a shield when he had trained in Salador, for while he could quickly best most swordsmen on the dueling floor of the Masters’ Court, a man with a shield was a rather more difficult proposition.
The sound of bowstrings snapping told Tal that the archers on both sides were busy. He heard shouts and screams of pain nearby, and guessed that Raven’s archers were shooting at the enemy on the ground, ignoring the half a dozen bowmen who were firing at them. He hoped his own archers could diminish the number out there quickly.
Tal slashed and thrust as frantically as he had ever done in his life, trying to protect those on either side of him as well as to defend himself. Raiders fell, only to be replaced by other raiders.
Time seemed to slow as Tal laid about him, striking blows and blocking them with almost no thought, letting his swordsman’s instincts take over. Part of his mind tried to apprehend the chaos around him, but he just didn’t seem able to make sense of what was happening.
A big mercenary with a scar shouted in rage and leapt at him, bashing him in the face with his shield. Tal reeled backward and fell, feeling sudden pain in his back. He rolled to his right as he realized he had fallen upon a smoldering hunk of wood, still red-hot, and had been burned on his left shoulder blade. He flipped up onto his feet, his sword at the ready, and saw the scar-faced mercenary lying on his stomach, John Creed pulling his sword from the man’s side. “John!” shouted Tal, and the mercenary ducked and turned just in time to avoid another raider’s blade.
Tal pushed forward between Creed and an Orodon warrior and killed the man who had almost taken Creed by surprise.
Then he was once more assailed by the sounds of battle—metal clanging, grunts of exertion, cries of pain and frustration, curses and inarticulate shouts of anger. The air was thick with the reek of blood, feces, urine, smoke, and sweat.
Then the madness seemed to double as the Orodon women ran out of their hiding places, falling onto the enemy archers as they entered the compound. The archers were forced to drop their bows and draw their swords, and in that moment the women seized the advantage. Ignoring their lack in weapons skill, they hurled themselves at the archers, swarming down a half dozen of them who died from the thrusts of daggers, kitchen knives, pokers, or whatever else came to hand. One woman dispatched a raider with a bone knitting needle driven into his eye. She clawed his belt-knife from his fingers and turned to leap upon another raider.
The balance turned. Tal stepped back and for a mo-ment saw everything as if it were a still painting and he were studying it in detail. Four Orodon bowmen still survived, and they were firing down from the battlements, taking care to pick off raiders who were at the edges of the conflict. The core of Raven’s men wavered, held at bay by Tal’s line, while those behind were being swarmed by the women. The villagers had the advantage in numbers for the first time. Behind all of this, Tal saw something that made his eyes widen. Two of the boys sent with the younger children into the woods had returned, calmly picked up bows dropped by the archers, and were now shooting arrows into the backs of the men engaged in grappling with the women.
Tal sensed that this was the moment he had been waiting for. “Charge them!” he shouted, and leapt into the fray.
He killed two men with a side-to-side attack, and suddenly the raiders were attempting to flee. “Kill them all!” he shouted, as much to frighten the invaders as to release all the anger harbored against these men since the death of his own people.
Hacking downward, he severed the hand from a man about to strike out at a woman who was on top of another enemy. The raider stared in disbelief for an instant as blood fountained from his severed forearm, then shock and pain struck him and he fell to his knees, clutching his wounded arm. Tal cut him across the base of his neck with a quick flick of his blade, and the man collapsed like a wet rag doll, all the life drained out of him in a moment.