Fifthwind (53 page)

He
didn't have time to say much more as the two men scurried off. They
appeared to be uninjured and strong, despite being tired from the
constant juggling of position. He wasn't sure of Captain Belfrey's
current whereabouts, but apparently he was receiving good reports on
the movements of the enemy. He hoped that Captain Hodge was doing as
well.

"Heads
up, men!" Mason called, pointing to his right.

Ben
turned to see two waves of Murg funneling through a small alley that
narrowed to a confined gate leading onto the road. The creatures were
constricted to pairs as they spilled forth into Mason's presence. His
men quickly moved up and engaged the Murg almost as fast as they
could manage to get through the tiny gateway. The sound of ringing
steel filled the streets as men and Murg clashed. This time, they had
been fortunate and the confined space worked to their benefit. A
dozen more Murg were soon dead.

Unfortunately,
not without a cost. One more man had been injured badly, but would
live long enough to see another fight, though perhaps not much
longer. He was bleeding from the gut and his blood-drenched hand was
not going to be enough to stop it. He smiled weakly and stood hunched
over grasping his stomach, but held his sword strong and true and
awaited his next order. He was determined to be of use at least one
more time before he fell. He was the kind of soldier Tad Haddaway was
known for. Fearless and dedicated to the end.

"Soldier,"
Ben called out. "What's your name?"

The
injured man lifted his eyes to Ben's and forced a smile. His
breathing was labored, but his voice was bold. "Dodd," he said.

There
was no mistaking that the man would not live another hour, probably
not even another fifteen minutes. Ben knew it, Mason knew it, and
Dodd himself knew it. Ben nodded, "You've got my respect, soldier."

"Thank
you, sir!" Dodd rasped, then turned to continue down the alley.

So
far, they were less than five minutes into the battle and Ben had
experienced two casualties. With hundreds of creatures flooding the
streets, it did not look promising for him and his men. Even the air
was turning foul with the stench of burning wood and flesh. The smell
of death was everywhere.

Ben
took advantage of the momentary lull in the action, and closed his
eyes. As quickly as he could, he stepped from his body and into a
state of Drift, rising high above the scene and into the air.

From
above he clearly saw the movements of his men as well as the
fragmented surge of the enemy. Most of Captain Belfrey's men had
moved westward and were successfully engaging the enemy there.
Farther south and east, Captain Hodge had assembled his teams into a
single large force and was effectively pushing north, easily
defeating the small bands of Murg as they came through the maze of
homes and shops.

Several
detached teams, like his own, moved rapidly from street to street,
fighting the enemy as they encountered them. The main north road was
the focus of the majority of the fighting, but the Murg gathered
there were forced to break off and head into the alleys to engage the
men who held back and taunted the beasts into attacking. The Murg had
expected an opponent that would defend the town, but instead were
being met with a force that only fought for its own survival. As Ben
had said, Kishell Springs was a battlefield, not a prize.

He
quickly scanned the alleys in the immediate area to determine where
his men could best be used. There was fighting in every direction,
and the sound of stampeding feet was like thunder on the air. He
snapped open his eyes and pointed northeast. "Twenty-five men are
backed against the mill! We've got to cut them an exit."

Mason
climbed over a fence and into the back stockyard of an abandoned
shop, and the other men quickly followed. There was an overturned
cart that had strewn several bolts of woolen cloth into the snow and
mud. The owner of this establishment had apparently departed hastily,
leaving his wares to the ravages of weather and war.

They
made their way around the back of the building, to the other side of
the stockyard, over a waist-high stone wall, and onto the adjacent
street. The shortcut had kept them out of sight, and saved them time
getting to the cornered soldiers in the next alley. Mason rounded the
last wall and ran straight into the back of a large beast with
matted, brown hair and pale gray-pink skin. Up close, the Murg looked
sickly, but its rippling muscles and bright eyes suggested otherwise.

The
Murg turned to face the unexpected intruder, and growled at the sight
of Mason and his men. In response, at least twenty other Murg turned
and faced the small group. The soldiers who had been pinned against
the mill by the band of Murg, took advantage of the unexpected
distraction and pressed forward. The balance of power had turned. The
creatures found themselves trapped between the two groups with no
path of retreat. The same team of men that had been cornered, were
now a formidable threat pressing forward from the rear.

Ben
willed himself forward and instantly appeared at the side of the
nearest Murg. He struck out with a deadly and undefended blow that
left the beast torn from shoulder to hip, and then Shifted again to
his next target before the first hit the snow. Ben struck overhead at
his next target, but his sword met the steel blade of the creature's
forearm as it easily defended the attack. Its lightning fast
counterattack would have gutted Ben if it had not been for the quick
reflexes of Dodd who had somehow managed to get into the center of
the action and deflect the Murg's second blade into the ground. Dodd
finished his attack with a short knife plunged into the creature's
neck.

"I'm
tired of being outnumbered two to one," Dodd said with a forced
smile, then took a step back, turned and fell face first in the snow.
Dodd had not only survived long enough to be useful, he had saved
Ben's life. But there was no time to reflect on the dead soldier's
deed.

The
soldiers who had been backed against the rear of the mill, rushed
forward and engaged the Murg from the other side, forcing the Murg to
fight in the unexpected tightening cage between the two groups of
men. Within a few minutes, the last of the Murg was defeated, and
only three men had been killed. A number of others were injured, but
none mortally.

Ben
realized that the one thing the Murg did not have was any sense of
preparedness. They moved and fought on impulse and did not seem to
plan for the unexpected. He hoped he might find a way to use this
knowledge to his advantage. Then again, the soldiers of Kishell
Springs were outnumbered four to one. The Murg needed no plan.

The
two groups combined forces and roughly twenty-five men rushed
northeast to find their next quarry. The now sizable group moved
quickly through the streets engaging the Murg at nearly every corner.
There was a toll with almost every encounter, but the Murg were
suffering the bulk of the losses.

A
young soldier called back to Mason, "Sergeant, I think we can beat
these things!"

Ben
was also hopeful. If the other teams moving throughout the town were
doing as well, there might actually be a chance. It seemed that the
Murg were indeed foolish enough to break ranks and engage the
soldiers in smaller packs. As long as they could keep the enemy off
balance and divided, there was hope.

CHAPTER FORTY

"Move,
move, move!" Mason shouted, as he waved the men through the next
alley.

Ben
and his band of soldiers continued their push to the north. Acrid
smoke filled the air with the stench of burnt wood and charred flesh.
At nearly every corner along their path were the slain bodies of Murg
and men. They encountered the wounded twice as often, both human and
beast, but both were left to endure or die as fate saw fit; there was
no time to stop and deal with either.

"Lieutenant!"
Mason cried out. Ben understood the urgency in the old Sergeant's
voice and dropped to his knee just as a beast lurched over an ivy
covered fence and swiped fiercely, narrowly missing Ben's head. The
Murg turned and attacked again, but Ben squeezed his eyes shut and
Shifted back ten feet and to safety. Soon after, another half dozen
creatures swarmed over the fence and poured violently into the small
group of men.

Mason
led the charge, wading through the enemy like a reaper through wheat.
His heavy sword cut a wide path and there was little that slowed down
his progress. The men fought through the agglomeration of gray bodies
with skill and courage and soon they had dispatched yet another pack
of the enemy beasts. How many men they had lost in the effort was
buried in the writhing mess of the dead or dying Murg.

"Keep
moving!" Ben called out and scrambled to the front of the team to
lead the next surge. His men were tired and wounded, but the Murg
were not going to indulge them with rest. The sounds of combat
rumbled through the streets with the beating of feet, the clash of
steel, and the cries of the dying.

As
they passed each structure, Ben was afforded a glimpse eastward onto
the north road, and saw that not all groups were faring as well. Too
many times, he saw soldiers retreating in pairs with a dozen or more
Murg slashing at their heels. Other teams had joined together, but
only provided a larger target and drew the interest of the advancing
mob. They were not going to prevail relying on numbers; they were the
weaker force and needed to divide the enemy.

The
ground shook violently and Ben nearly lost his footing as a clap of
thunder rumbled through the air. His men staggered to a nearby wall
to steady themselves and wait for the tremors to subside. Ben's heart
was racing. There was no mistaking the origin of the blast. Somewhere
to the south, Kyla had unleashed her power. Ben stopped and looked
back toward the south just as a second explosion ripped through the
cold morning.

Mason
pulled up beside Ben and exclaimed, "There's no way they've reached
The Pig already!"

"They
haven't," Ben said. "By the sound of that blast, she's moved
northward to engage them, in the open spaces beyond the Gray Goat.
There's going to be too many for her!"

Ben
turned to run past Mason, but the bigger man stopped him. "There's
nothing you can do about that now."

"Let
go of me! We're going!" Ben rasped.

Mason
grabbed Ben with both hands and pulled his Lieutenant to him face to
face. "There's no time!" he said and forcefully spun Ben around
and pointed over his shoulder to the north.

Ben
let his eyes follow the direction of Mason's finger, and his heart
sank. A second wave of Murg had crested the north hill and were
bearing down on them. Whatever success the men had experienced was
soon to be trumped by an even larger second assault. There was no
chance of dividing the invaders thinly enough to dull their strength.
Like it or not, they would have to move in and engage them directly.

A
soldier sprinted up from the rear and joined the small group. It was
Gordo, and he was out of breath but he managed a few short words.
"The south road is blocked, they've got us surrounded. Belfrey has
lost almost all his men, and the Murg are setting fire to every
building housing a bowman."

Another
explosion.

Ben
turned as if to hurry to Kyla's side, but met Mason's eyes and
stopped. "It's over, Sergeant... we can't win."

"There's
still fight left in my arm."

Gordo
nodded, "Me too."

Ben's
words were undeniable. Whatever men remained alive in Kishell Springs
were tired and outnumbered. Not since Kruegan's Throat had such
terrible odds been stacked against so few. Still, he stood before two
survivors of that historic battle and felt ashamed for showing
weakness. Mason did not know how to give up... it was not part of who
he was. Gordo, too, was a courageous soldier with a determined
spirit. There was virtually no chance of surviving the day, and both
of them knew it, yet they embraced the opportunity to face their
fates with pride.

Ben
resigned himself to a grin and took a defining step toward the east
and the main road where the Murg were massed. "Let's go show them
what we're made of. Front and center where the view will be best."

The
other men gripped their swords tightly, and grunted approval. Then
the small band ran eastward down the narrow pathway toward the
approaching wave of beasts. As they pulled out onto the north road,
they were confronted by a wall of Murg moving slowly into town.

To
the south was another mob of creatures pushing northward. In the
middle were the remaining remnants of men, slowly being squeezed
between the two advancing legions of Murg. The tide of battle had
turned quickly and by the looks of things, there were less than fifty
men left standing. They were cut off and surrounded with no avenues
of escape. The Masked Pig was a half mile south, beyond the enemy
ranks, and had surely been overrun. Ben waited for the next clap of
thunderous power that never came.

Kyla...

The
Murg pressed forward, pushing the remaining men into a small circle.
The stench of smoke and death filled the air, as the sky wept soft
tears of icy mist. Soldiers often wondered on what field of courage
they would face their end. Epic songs or sullen poetry often depicted
that lonely day with triumphant dignity, but there was nothing noble
or valiant about meeting one's end on a cold mountainside that none
would ever remember. There would be no one left to tell the story of
the men who stood on its slopes and faced that final hour. It was the
nature of war that history would be recorded by the victors. Ben
doubted that the Murg sang songs or wrote poetry. His fate was to be
forgotten.