THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 51
The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 51: The Hot Gates
Kalis Mal, retired Mistress of the Academy of Swords and now reluctant Warmaiden of the besieged city of Miosgan Meadhba, took in the battlefield before her and spat in disgust,
"What a fucking mess."
Around her, the warriors and knights of her bodyguard gathered. They stood in easy ranks, some adjusting the straps on their armour, others fixing their shields or readying their weapons. A couple cracked ribald jokes or made casual wagers, a few gripped the arms or met the eyes of comrades they had known for centuries, or friends they had made but days ago. For these were the hardest most stubborn and ill-tempered bastards Kalis could find, and there was no give in any of them. Most were sellswords, maybe a few were bandits, a couple may have been assassins, but she did not care if they were ruthless killers one and all, or what murderous deeds they could lay claim to. She only cared that they would stand and fight to the last without taking a backward step. That, and they would take a lot of killing before they went down, and they would not be alone when they finally set foot along the road of the dead.
The gatehouse and barbican that protected what was once the main entrance to the city had been obliterated, and now only broken ruins and blasted masonry remained. Atop the shattered fortifications had stood a dwarvish golem, a war machine of the old world, and along with those defenders that were simply too stubborn or thrawn to give way, it had held their foes at bay for days. But strong as it was, it was not invulnerable, and battered and mauled, it too had finally fallen to the terrible blows of a cadre of giants.
Now, the enemy host was pouring in. The bridge across the moat funneled significantly, but from what she could see their numbers were all but endless, and they came on like a vicious screaming tide.
In the meantime, the dwarves, who had held the ruins for so long, had not been idle, and Kalis grinned, for any enemy worth its salt knew better than to give such industrious folk time to dig in. It was a lesson she herself had learned the hard way years ago fighting the hardy wee bastards and she gave a snort,
"Ah well, some poor bastard's about to have a bad day - what a fucking shame; my heart bleeds for the cunts."
Set back a ways from the charred ruins, the dwarves had dug a trench about a hundred paces long and some ten feet deep. They had used the excavated dirt to build an earthwork dyke just behind it and then their crossbowmen had fixed their pavise shields along its crest and readied themselves. The area before the ditch had been lined with a forest of sharpened stakes and the ground liberally sewn all around with wickedly barbed caltrops.
In a clear area amongst these stakes and spikes the dwarves had drawn up what few infantry they had in a solid, heavily armoured phalanx, locking shields, and with their warhammers and battleaxes in hand. And there they stood, singing their dirge-like warsongs as they prepared for the end.
No doubt as anticipated, the enemy, seeing them there, had charged straight for them, screaming and howling with unruly bloodlust. The caltrops stopped and slowed many, crippling more than a few, while the barbed stakes further hindered their advance, and all the time the scorpions and repeating crossbows of the dwarves mowed them down in droves. The heavy bolts slammed into the enemy ranks, punching through armour and shield alike with equal impunity and cutting them down by the score. But still they came, and they threw themselves on the dwarves like a ravening mob.
The sheer weight of the charge drove the phalanx back one pace, and then another, but dwarves are a hardy folk, full of grit and stubborn as stone. With a defiant bellow they dug in their heels and would give no more. Firbolg and goblin raved at them in a demented frenzy stabbing and hacking wildly, but the shields of the dwarves were broad, and their thick armour mostly shrugged off such blows. And all the while their hammers and axes rose and fell like the steel blades of a threshing machine, crushing skulls, cleaving limbs, and soaking the ground with blood. Still, quantity had a quality all of its own, and Kalis knew that against such numbers they could not last.
She turned to her second, an intemperate veteran who she knew to be a bloody-handed butcher when riled. The woman was a thoroughly murderous drunkard, merrily inclined to violence and capable of picking a fight with a boulder if it vexed her, but she had only a barely passing knowledge of fear and was utterly dependable when sober, and today she was sober, well, probably.
"Dorma, take your cutthroats and try to hold the flanks as best you can, I'll advance with the rest to support the dwarves. What say you?"
The gnarled mercenary looked at the oncoming horde and grunted, "What say I? I say we're royally fucked, that what I say. But if by some mad act of the Gods I somehow survive this shit show I'm going to get drunker than a fiddler's bitch at a whore's wedding on the all the coin you'll owe me. So don't you go getting yourself killed til I've been fucking paid, you bilking bitch."
Kalis grinned, "That's fair. Now get thee hence you insubordinate curmudgeon, and if I find you've went and been murdered by that worthless rabble then fuck ye! You'd not be worth the money and I'll be keeping your gold to spend in the brothel myself. But lass," she sniffed, "should we find ourselves crouching on the coals on the other side, then I'd not begrudge sharing a cup with you."
The woman laughed before raising her warsword in salute and turning towards the fray.
Watching her go, Kalis shook her head, knowing the odds were overwhelming that she'd just sent the woman to her death. With a bitter curse she turned back to the business at hand,
"Needs must."
Thankfully her morbid train of thought was rudely derailed as another Company approached, jogging from the gloom and loping towards her. They were the typical mishmash of orcish warriors and dark elven bravoes, and from the gore that already marred their gear, and the wounds more than a few carried they had already seen some use. They were led by...
Kalis frowned as the woman approached, and her eyes narrowed, "I know you do I not? You're that mad bitch from Kouni. The one who cut her own sisters' tits off and killed a dragon," she squinted at the swordswoman for a moment longer as she searched her memory, and then grunted, "Kasa..? Kasa Dur. Aye, I remember you."
The woman gave a derisive snort and made an offhand and barely recognisable attempt at a salute even as she snarled her reply, "It was her fucking nose. And not only did the sour-faced bitch deserve it, but her looks were only improved by my blade, and as for the dragon," she sniffed and hooked a thumb at the orc at her side. He was a grizzled wolf-like creature, all covered in scars. An old warrior for sure, but his lambent yellow eyes still burned bright enough, "that was him."
"He'll be the one that punched Commander Sharra of House Bruíon then? Broke her jaw he did, and the twit spat her teeth all over my damned desk when she came to make her complaint of assault. Wanted the bastard flayed if I recall."
If Kasa Dur had any regrets, she did not show them now. Instead, she gave the War Maiden an irritated look, "Well, what the fuck did she expect? She all but called him a liar to his face, questioned his courage right there in front of his kin. I'm surprised he's no wearing her head for a fucking hat."
The orc sniffed, "Too small, too ugly."
She sighed, "Not helping."
The creature shrugged.
"Anyway, you tell that mumbling bitch the next time she crosses my path she best walk soft, or I'll cut her fucking throat myself."
The general gave a snort of laughter, "Well, aren't you quite the murderous wee fucker. Oh, you're going to fit right in," she sobered, "now, what have you brought me?"
Turning, the younger dark elf gestured to the warriors who had followed her, "The order came down that the defenders were to fall back right quick, but that any who were close enough to the gate were to come and lend needed support. My Company were nearest, so I brought them. Due to hard fighting there's only a half century of us left, but I gathered up what warriors I could on the way. All told I've brought maybe two hundred or so," she shook her head, "sorry I could not gather more, but there was just no time."
If she expected derision or criticism for her efforts, she was proven wrong, for instead of anger, the War Maiden grunted and slapped her on the shoulder, "You did well enough lass, and you're a welcome sight, damned welcome, you and your mad orc. Now, to get the best use of you."
She pointed, "Draw your archers up here in a line and rain fire down on them. If your volleys can thin them out even a little it might ease pressure on the dwarves."
"Our arrows won't last long."
The general nodded, "It is what it is, just do what you can."
"And the rest?"
