bobbing up, firing, then bobbing back down. Their shots weren’t much more accurate than
the humans’, but at least it kept them busy. At the wagon’s front, Stryke and Haskeer were hunched, trying to offer the volatile
bolts as small a target as possible.
“Damn!” Brelan cursed. “I’m out!”
Coilla loosed her final arrow. It missed. “Me too,” she said.
They quickly ducked as a small swarm of shafts came back at them.
“Try this,” Dallog said. He passed them a thick coil of rope.
Muscles rippling, Coilla flung it at the pursuers, like someone casting a heavy fishing net. Resembling an ungainly discus,
the coil spun in a descending arc. It landed in the path of a rider. His horse came to grief on the obstacle, throwing him
down to be trampled by the mounts behind. Pounded by hooves, the coil unravelled, tangling several more horses in lashing
rope and adding to the confusion.
Brelan hefted an empty crate and launched it over the tailgate. It smashed when it hit the road, strewing wreckage and claiming
more casualties. Meanwhile, Dallog and Wheam were zealously ripping up the planks that served as benches. Passed to Brelan
and Coilla, the planks were hurled at the enemy. One human tried to catch the plank hurtling his way. The force of the impact
carried him out of his saddle, slamming him to the ground still clutching his dubious prize.
“How much further, Brelan?” Stryke called out.
“Couple of blocks!” He realised where they were. “Take the next left! Here!
Here!
”
Haskeer tugged viciously on the reins. The wagon swerved sharply and took the corner half on the sidewalk. It also took out
a kerbside stall, striking it square on and ploughing through its display of pottery. There was an explosion of broken bowls,
flying platters and terracotta shards.
The road they entered was no less crowded. More so, as this was one of Taress’ major junctions. The pedestrians who saw them
coming ran for their lives.
Once it passed, the crowd closed again in the wagon’s wake, only to have the horde of humans tear round the corner at their
backs. The cavalry fell to hacking at them with sabres as they battled their way through.
The melee put a little distance between the orcs and the humans, but Haskeer didn’t slow. At their rear, the humans were already
emerging from the scrum and picking up speed again. By this time the street ahead was clearer, those further along having
seen what was happening and made for cover.
Wheam was shouting. They all turned to look, and saw another wagon gaining on them. It was harnessed to a team of four horses,
as opposed to their two, and carried five or six troopers. Haskeer urged on his team, but the greater horsepower of the humans’
wagon had it rapidly closing the gap. In seconds it drew level. The occupants brandished swords, and a couple had spears.
As the two wagons neared each other the orcs took up their own weapons and braced themselves.
The humans sideswiped the orcs with a bone-rattling crash. Swords met and the chatter of whetted steel commenced. There was
little finesse. Hacking and slashing outbid grace, and the spur was frenzy.
Brelan spilt blood first. More by luck than judgement, one of his swings bit deep into a human’s arm, nearly severing it.
The man screamed and fell back, showering his comrades with blood. Coilla was next in, driving forward and piercing somebody’s
lung. She withdrew quickly, narrowly avoiding the thrusts of blades and spears.
Emboldened, Wheam got to his feet and began hacking at the humans too. His efforts were spirited but feeble, his swipes erratic
and wide of the mark. Then he overreached himself. As he leaned half out of the wagon, stretching to get to a target, his
jerkin was grabbed by one of the humans. The man tugged mightily, doing his best to pull the tyro out. Struggling, Wheam let
go of his sword. It clattered on the road and was lost. Another human joined in.