The men of Skoda had moved beyond weariness and they fought like automatons. Their swords were blunted, their arms aching. Yet still they held.
Lake swept up a battle-axe, cleaving the blade through a helm that appeared over the battlements. The axe lodged in the skull and was torn from his grip as the man fell. Another soldier heaved his way over the wall, but Ananais ran forward to pitch the invader head-first to the ground below. He handed one of his two swords to Lake, then ran to the right where the line was bending back.
Balan joined him. And Galand. The defenders steadied, and rallied. To the left three Legion warriors broke through, leaping from the ramparts to the grass below and sprinting towards the hospital building. The first fell, an arrow piercing his back. The second stumbled as another shaft glanced from his helm, stunning him. Then Rayvan stepped from the building with sword in hand.
The men grinned as they ran at her.
With surprising speed she blocked the first blow and then dived into them, her great weight hurling them to the ground. Her sword snaked out, slicing the throat of the first.
The second man rolled clear. ‘You fat sow!’ he yelled.
Rayvan heaved herself upright as the man charged forward. Then Thorn loosed an arrow that thudded into the soldier’s thigh; he shouted in pain and swung round. Rayvan’s sword plunged into his back. She watched the battle on the wall for several moments . . . The line would not hold for much longer.
Galand fought beside Ananais now, moving where the battle was most deadly. The Legion, sensing victory close at hand, did not fall back but milled below the wall, pushing their ladders high. More and more Legion men gained the ramparts.
Ananais could feel the battle ebbing from them and a cold fury settled over him. Despite the odds against them, and his certain knowledge that they could not win, it still galled him terribly. He had done little with his life, save never to lose. Now even this small comfort was being stripped from him at the death.
He blocked a lunge, spun his blade and plunged it up and under a black helm. The man fell back, dropping his sword which Ananais swept up as he advanced into the mass, two swords now whirling and killing. He was bleeding from a score of minor cuts, but his strength was unimpaired.
A tremendous roar went up from behind the wall. Ananais could not turn, but he saw the consternation in the eyes of the invaders. Suddenly Rayvan was beside him, a shield on her arm and a sword in her hand. The Legion were pushed back.
The women of Skoda had arrived!
Lacking skill with weapons, they threw themselves forward lashing out blindly, bearing the invaders before them by sheer weight of numbers.
The last Legion warrior was hurled from the wall and the Skoda men took up their bows, sending the invaders running back out of range.
‘Clear the dead from the ramparts!’ shouted Ananais.
For several moments there was no movement as men hugged their wives and daughters, sisters and mothers. Others knelt by still bodies, weeping openly.
‘There is no time for this,’ said Ananais, but Rayvan caught his arm.
‘There is always time for this, Darkmask – it is what makes us human. Leave them be.’
Ananais nodded and sagged to the ramparts, pushing his aching back against the wall.
‘You amaze me, woman!’
‘You are easily amazed,’ she said, sliding in beside him.
He glanced at her and grinned. ‘I’ll bet you were a beauty in your youth?’
‘I’ve heard you were, too!’
He chuckled and closed his eyes.
‘Why don’t we get married?’ he suggested.
‘We shall be dead by tomorrow.’
‘Then we should forget about a long engagement.’
‘You are too old for me, Darkmask.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Forty-six,’ said Rayvan.
‘Perfect!’
‘You must be desperate. And you are bleeding – get off and have those wounds seen to.’
‘One proposal and already you are starting to nag.’
‘Women are like that. Go on with you!’
She watched him walk to the hospital, then pulled herself to her feet and transferred her gaze to the Legion. They were forming up again.