A bloody attack

Torgny, sword in hand, was roaring in the middle of the fray. He was pushing forward as far as he could and only turned around when he heard the sedentary tribe fighting the Outcasts. It was no longer for the army a matter of rescuing their princess, kidnapped by a small group of young people from another clan, but truly a matter of saving lives by exterminating the cannibal vermin. Their hatred towards these tribes of bloodthirsty savages blinded the newcomers who threw themselves into battle.

Fortunately, the Outcasts were not mounted and the riders used the horses to their advantage. Even the small mounts of Torgny and his friends, that had just made a valiant effort, were giving one kick after the other relentlessly to free themselves. The clashes of weapons, the cries of war or distress mingled together and created a deafening commotion that resounded in Torgny's head.

Pretty poor fighters, the Outcasts showed unspeakable cruelty when they managed to hit their victim. They were especially formidable when they used weapons stolen from the soldiers of the city. The power of modernity was overwhelming compared to bravery and swords. However, their second-hand equipment had seen better days and the ammunition was lacking which left a sliver of hope to their opponents.

The Outcasts seemed very numerous, several hundred at least when there should be only a few dozens. With his young experience, it was difficult for Torgny to correctly assess the size of the cannibal troop in the heart of the battle, but he found this gathering very unusual.

The small dozen accompanying Nikodem was nothing compared to so many enemies. Even with the entire group after the arrival of reinforcements (Torgny's group as well as the sedentary fighters), the fight remained uneven. Despite the contribution of the sedentaries, Torgny knew that the only way out for his companions was to fall back. There was an urgent need to withdraw and take shelter while the other tribes killed each other.

He was in the middle of a fight, looking for an opening to rally his friends, when a muscular arm slid around his waist and pulled him to the ground. Thrown off balance and about to be unhorsed, Torgny unwillingly dropped his sword and found himself disarmed. His frightened horse broke into a gallop, trampling on the Outcast in front of it and all those who stood in its way. Lana was still attached to the saddle and her shrieks still resonated in the surrounding chaos long after the beast's escape.

Then, out of nowhere, a heavy club was about to strike the young man on the ground. He only owed salvation to the slender hand of Nikodem, who had grasped the handle in mid-air and held the weapon back single-handedly a few centimeters from the head of his friend. Torgny swore to himself that he would never again make fun of the delicate appearance of these hands better suited to holding the pen than the club.

Torgny rolled onto the ground to pull himself out of this predicament while Nikodem turned around to block another attack. Grabbing the first object at hand, Torgny threw a blow with all his strength on the wrist of his attacker. He heard a thud and felt his whole arm quake. A little stunned, he looked at his weapon and discovered a kind of pipe probably coming from the city. The metal was soft and deformed by the impact.

His enemy approached slowly. He was wearing a cruel smile and wiped with the back of his sleeve the drool that was already flowing from his hideous mouth. Torgny refused to imagine with what sauce he would be eaten, literally. With a leap, he lunged at the club still on the ground, the one that had almost crushed his head. He felt a little comforted with a weapon in his hand. He was nevertheless, back to back with Nikodem, in the center of a circle of hungry and furious Outcasts. The prospects were looking grimmer and grimmer with every second and he wouldn't give much for their chances to stay alive.

Everyone then heard cracklings coming from the city walls. A rain of ammunition came pelting down on them indiscriminately. Panic broke out on the battlefield. Those who were not wounded began to run in all directions, trying in vain to escape the wrath of the city guards. From within the walls, the soldiers who used these terrifying weapons were mainly trying to keep the danger away from the outskirts of the city. Each cannon spat death out, sweeping from left to right and return. Bursts followed one another almost without stopping. Soon, only corpses or dying men remained in their range of fire.

Nikodem and Torgny were both crushed under the unmoving bodies of those who wanted to devour them shortly before. In spite of themselves, they had made good use of an actual human shield. The uninjured Outcasts had gone to safety without further ado.

Torgny, stronger than his companion, was able to free himself and, raising his head, he saw the mass grave that now covered the plain extending up to the foot of the wall. He then sensed a tremor, then the same distinctive crackling, heralding death, and only had time to duck his head under the still warm and bloody corpses. The shooting moved away one more time and Torgny mimicked Nikodem, who was trying to shield himself with one of the bodies that had protected him, to stay safe while moving.

The task was difficult and it took them a long time to advance by only a few meters. Obstacles, including numerous corpses, littered the ground. They didn't know which way to go, they had to get away from the city, that was all that mattered for the moment.

Nikodem had wrapped around his neck the arms of his human shield and was crawling on his belly at a snail's pace. Torgny, on the other hand, was lying on his back and lifted his own human shield with his strong arms and legs to move him forward. He then placed the shield on the elbows to make room for him to slide on his back and move forward. «Step by step», he moved forward, all in all, faster than Nikodem but at the cost of an effort that his friend probably could no longer make.

Torgny was sweating profusely. Sticky blood – not his, fortunately – flowed into his eyes at each forward motion and stuck the dust on his face. He was swearing, huffing and puffing, breathing in dry earth deeply. His hands were slipping on the bloody clothes and he wondered how this Outcast could be so fat and heavy. Seemingly, human proteins were very nourishing. He had chosen a shield that would give him good protection and had perhaps overestimated his own strength and stamina. His fatigue had turned into exhaustion and Nikodem, a little behind, was no better.

They then heard the voice of Sumai and others who encouraged them. They were not far from their friends. After another burst, their companions came out of their shelter to lift the corpses riddled with bullets and quickly bring the two survivors back with them.

There were only a few haggard men and a handful of horses left. Many were missing, but perhaps they had found another refuge to await the night?

Sumai handed a bottle of water to Torgny who gratefully accepted, drank a few sips then passed it to Nikodem. Sitting on the ground, the two new arrivals inspected their makeshift shelter. A few rocks, some planks thrown there in haste. No comparison with a fortress. Only the distance that separated them from the city and put them out of range of the bullets kept them somewhat safe.

Torgny turned around to have a look at the hostile city, hoping the guards did not have any weapons of greater range. He had read in an old book that some of the projectiles thrown by catapults or cannons exploded when touching the ground and set ablaze anything that could burn. He didn't like the prospect of ending up on a barbecue.

Then he saw some movements among the corpses. Outcasts, unaware of the danger, feasted directly in the mass graves. A retching caught him off guard and he spat out a mixture of water, bile, blood and the dust that he had swallowed while escaping. Someone handed him a damp cloth. He turned around and was suddenly speechless. Lana stood in front of him; she was barefooted and her long red hair was disheveled. Her dirty, torn nightgown was no longer covering much, but she didn't seem to care.

The quiet Sumai gently took the towel from her hand and thanked her. She blushed bright red, which brought out her freckles, and bowed slightly before slipping away to give assistance to other wounded men. Torgny absent-mindedly took the towel, closed his mouth and cleaned his face. The well-being provided by such a simple gesture helped him get his head straight.

– What did you do to her to make her so...different? he asked Sumai.

A broad grin split the latter's face.

– I saved her life, nothing less! Well, technically, I only caught your horse, untied the lady and we came back together. She's strong, you know. After what she went through, she stayed dignified and organized the camp to take care of the wounded.

Torgny returned his smile with one of his own and a knowing look, overjoyed that the abduction did not end too tragically for the pretty redhead.

– She's very scantily-clad, I must say. Mind you, I'm not going to complain about it.

Sumai's eyes fixed upon the girl, showing that he shared his friend's opinion. Feeling that she was being watched, Lana turned around and, blushing again, settled for putting back in place a few wild locks streaming in the wind. He was about to answer Torgny when Nikodem interrupted their conversation.

– Does anybody know where Olek is? I asked Fergus to stay with him if we were separated and I don't see either of them.

Torgny felt distressed when he heard the voice of his friend Nikodem choking back tears.

The very fact that he asked verbally instead of signing showed how much he was overcome by despair and exhaustion. He was out of strength and willpower. How many men did he have to kill to stay alive? No one knew, not even him.

Sumai slowly shook his head.

– No one saw them among the survivors.

The sob that escaped from Nikodem's throat broke the hearts of his companions. All at once, Sumai took Nikodem's hand and Torgny put his arm around the frail shoulders of the young man, who for the first time in his life was overwhelmed by emotion and pain. The news of his little brother's death had just destroyed the brave one who had resisted and survived the attack of an army of Outcasts. Even the sedentaries seemed to share his grief. Everyone could remember the energetic and cheerful boy who ran in the fields, amazed by so much abundance.

In a soft voice, Sumai whispered:

– We must not lose hope. They might have taken refuge elsewhere.

Torgny wished he could believe it, but there were too many corpses littering the plain. While Nikodem was sobbing on his shoulder, he was looking at the heaps of flesh that the Arkian guards were spraying with gunfire again and again. It was impossible to search in this mass of bodies in hopes of finding their friends. They had to wait for the night, hoping that weariness or the lack of ammunition would overcome the sentries' obstinacy. They might not have a chance to find Fergus. His corpse would probably be in too bad a condition to be recognized, but Olek's body, even mutilated, could definitely be found. No other child of his age participated in this kind of battle.