Book 2 Chapter Fourteen: Siege Relief

FOURTEEN

Fire washed over the ground that Roan had just been occupying. He threw himself forward in another roll as the shaman’s scream of rage mingled with the battle. A goblin drew too close, eager to whet its blade on his blood. Roan swatted it out of the way with his warhammer as he rose smoothly to his feet.

The shaman decided to forgo offense for defense and a shield of fire sprang up around it. Roan ignored the shaman and began to slaughter its guards. Without the element of surprise the goblins were easy prey for him and within moments all five remaining goblin guards were dead.

“Issue with turtling up. Eventually you have to come out. That or remain useless,” Roan said casually to the mob. He circled the creature and used the movement to spy on how everyone else was faring.

Moira and Darren had darted through the hole in the attacking horde with speed. Darren was a nightmare with a sword, knowing where everything was at all times, he seemed to also know where they’d be. He’d begin an attack and a goblin or troll would just seem to walk into it.

“Lacks power to kill though. A skilled precision fighter, regardless.” Moira just followed in his wake, her spear flashing now and then to finish anything that got too close to them. They hit the ladder and Darren ran up it without using his hands, still wielding his sword as he cut apart goblins. They landed on the ramparts and tossed the ladder to the ground before disappearing.

Harris was further off, fighting another shaman and having managed to somehow break its shield. Whatever his bloodline was, it was strong enough to break the shield, or fast enough to get into the shaman’s face before the shield came up.

Taoya had disappeared. How the mountain of a man could manage to make himself disappear was a mystery he’d have to explore later. He’d be waiting for a hob if it showed up and that was all the reassurance Roan needed.

“Come on, drop the shield and let’s get this over with. I have other horde monsters to kill,” Roan taunted the shaman which hadn’t moved a step. Its head tracked him as well as it could, twisting this way and that. The fire was beginning to wane, flicker here and there as if it was running out of mana.

“Careful of a trap. But be ready to strike.” There was a predatory edge to his thoughts as he lifted the warhammer, ready to get into the ranks of the trolls and start breaking them. They might regenerate, but his methods of breaking them had been rewarding him well.

The fire flickered again and Roan lunged. He let the warhammer slide free of his hand and sail across the space between him and the shaman. Light flared as the shield rose up again and the hammer was deflected to the side, but the shield burst with a pop of sparks.

Roan scooped up a goblin’s dagger off the ground and threw it with casual ease. The little things weren’t well balanced, but with how close he was, it didn’t matter. The obsidian blade sank into the shaman’s chest. It blinked at him slowly, looking down at the knife handle sticking out from its bony sternum. Roan stepped forward and snapped the handle off, jerking the blade sideways and opening the wound up. Blood gushed up and over the shaman’s raggedy clothes as its knees folded and it sank to the ground.

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“Told you, one way or another,” Roan said as he took the shaman’s casting stick from it and pushed it to the ground.

Harris had finished his shaman off and this side of the battlefield was now clear of the casters. Bolts of magically fueled fire still launched from the other sides of the village, but the main thrust had been gutted.

“Still no hob!” Roan shouted over toward Harris who nodded before bending over and wiping his blade off. The movement saved his life as a glaive swiped through the air at neck height. Harris was skilled, throwing himself to the side instantly as the hob materialized out of the darkness.