Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6) by Christopher Mitchell (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📗

wait. He clenched his fists and charged into them, his battle-vision singing. A single punch flattened the man with the hammer, then he dodged a jab from an improvised spear. He grabbed two men by the hair and cracked their skulls together, felling them both. The last man backed off, holding out a butcher’s knife in front of him, then turned and fled.

Corthie leaned over and picked up the spear. It had been fashioned by strapping a knife blade to the end of a broom handle. He frowned and tossed it away.

‘I don’t think they even noticed I was here,’ said Van.

Corthie picked up the blacksmith’s hammer and tucked the handle into his belt, as Van stubbed out his cigarette and struggled to his feet.

‘We need to find you some salve or something,’ said Corthie, watching as Van held his back and winced.

‘I would have slapped you if you’d suggested that a few days ago,’ said Van. ‘The thought of getting addicted to salve again chills my blood. But now? If we’re all going to die, then I might as well have some.’

They walked on for another hour, as they inched their way towards the foot of Old Alea. They were forced into a detour that took them round a series of fields where two rival gangs were battling each other in the glow of the fires.

‘Torduans against Shinstrans,’ muttered Van as they watched from a distance. ‘Even now, they hate each other.’

They turned, and skirted the far end of the field, leaving the warring factions to their rear. Ahead, the sound of the regular thump of boots could be heard approaching along the farm track.

Van halted. ‘Wait.’ He inclined his head to listen. ‘That sounds like soldiers.’

Corthie glanced over his shoulder. Behind them, the battling gangs were only twenty yards away, while irrigation trenches lined the banks of the track, their deep water reflecting the moonlight.

‘Dammit,’ muttered Van, ‘there’s nowhere to run.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ said Corthie. ‘What are the chances the soldiers are after us? They’ll be going to the fields to break up the fight.’

They moved to the side of the track as the thud of boots grew louder, then Corthie noticed steel armour glinting in the moonlight. The lead ranks of the Banner soldiers slowed as they saw Corthie and Van.

‘It’s him!’ one of the officers shouted. ‘Right where the blessed Second Ascendant told us he would be. Remember, lads, it’s five thousand gold sovereigns for the one who brings me his head!’

Van glanced at Corthie. ‘You were saying?’

Corthie leaped up onto the saddle of the horse, then pulled Van up after him. Taking the reins in both hands, he turned the gelding and urged it into a gallop. The horse responded, its steel-clad hooves clattering off the stones of the track as the soldiers began to chase them. Van clung on to Corthie’s waist, his fingers gripping his belt as the gelding sped along the track. Corthie guided the horse into the field where the two gangs were fighting, and people dived out of their way.

Corthie brought the horse to a halt, and glanced around at the angry faces of the gang members.

‘The Banner is coming!’ he yelled, pointing towards the track. ‘They’re coming to kill us all!’

The first soldiers burst into the field, and several began loosing their crossbows in the direction of Corthie. A Shinstran was hit, the bolt ripping across his face, and a young Torduan standing by the horse took a bolt in his guts.

‘Fight!’ cried Corthie from the horse. ‘Defend yourselves!’

Many members of the two gangs were staring in shock as more soldiers entered the field, but a few clutched their weapons and rallied. Bolts were being loosed into the crowd, and more fell amid screams, panic, and a rising tide of anger.

Corthie raised his arm. ‘Follow me!’

He charged at the soldiers, and the mob roared, and followed him. A dozen more were hit by bolts as they crossed the distance, and then the gangs were in amongst the Banner soldiers, and all semblance of order and control was lost. Corthie leaned over in the saddle and smashed the hammer into the face of a soldier, but then the gelding was struck by a bolt and stumbled, sending Corthie and Van flying to the ground. Corthie rolled and picked up a shield from a soldier lying with a pickaxe lodged in his back, then sheltered behind it as more crossbow bolts were aimed at him. All around him was blood and chaos, as the gangs tore the soldiers to pieces. The Banner troopers, outnumbered ten to one, tried to withdraw, but the narrow track became a crowded bottleneck, and any who had entered the field were cut down in the carnage. Corthie drove forward, using the shield to batter any soldier who stood in his way. The blood-soaked hammer slipped from his hand, and he picked up a sword. Battle-vision flooded his senses, and he cut his way into the heart of the Banner regiment, memories of the Falls of Iron and Fordamere shining in his mind. Behind him, the gangs cheered him on, and rushed to follow, and like savage beasts they ripped through the soldiers, until the survivors broke and fled, throwing away their shields and running down the track to safety.

Corthie raised his sword, and the mob roared in victory, their old rivalries temporarily forgotten.

‘We beat the Banner!’ yelled a man covered from head to foot in blood.

Strangers slapped Corthie’s back, while the bodies of the dead soldiers were looted, their weapons and armour stripped from them.

Corthie blinked as his battle-vision receded. Van. He turned, his eyes scanning the ground, then he hurried back the way he had come. He saw the gelding first. It was lying on its side, blood seeping from several bolt wounds, its lifeless eyes open. Van was propped up next to it, leaning against the dead horse’s flank. Corthie crouched down by them.

‘Are you alright?’

Van coughed up some blood, then hugged his ribs.