Boter stooped and wiped the ratface’s blood off his sword on its own greasy fur.
His troops, the few that remained, had taken to calling them “ratfaces”, even though they shared more features with rats than just their faces. They had the ears, fur and tails of rats, but they walked upright and used tools like ordinary people. Some said that they ha even been observed in conversation with each other, so rumours held them to be intelligent – more intelligent at least than the brutal bear-heads that had been seen in the initial attack on the city.
The ratfaces used only the most straightforward and vicious tactics – attacking from ambush, fighting only when they had superior numbers and fleeing otherwise, slaying the weak or the injured. Boter’s men had come to hate them.
Since the town of Kingsfire had fallen to the beast, Boter and his men had retreated to the mining tunnels where they hunted the ratfaces like vermin.
They weren’t winning.
Boter had found a large open area – evidently some kind of communal gathering area for mine workers – and set up a command post, from which he sent squads of his remaining troops on hunting expeditions. Despite explicit orders to retreat when faced with overwhelming force, from time to time and entire squad would simply fail to return.
He was starting to think that he needed to change his tactics. To be blunt, he was running out of troops.
Hence the current operation. Scouts had identified a location within the mines where large numbers of ratfaces gathered – a meeting and staging location, much the same as the one he was using for his own troops. He had quickly ordered a major strike involving all the troops under his command – some hundred dedicated fighters and a small cadre of five engineers. They would be needed to collapse certain tunnels and escape routes, though ht was sure that they would never be able to find all the possible egresses.
Boter gripped his sword and adjusted his shield. Silently he nodded his head, his plume of horsehair shifting in the cold air. Instantly a dozen sparks of light flew forth – arrows, wrapped in pitch-soaked rags and ignited by torches. They sailed through the air of the grand cavern, landing in the river of flammable oil that had been poured across the cave’s entrance.
As the oil ignited, a squealing cry rose from dozens of ratfaces as they realised that they were under attack, but it was too late. Boter’s vanguard were upon them.
With a cry that was echoed by his personal guard, Boter launched himself into battle. He struck out to his right and left at the ratfaces that seemed to be everywhere. They tried in vain to hit him with crude spears and stolen swords and axes – some he caught on his shield while other blows were turned by his armour. Again and again his sword bit deep into ratface flesh, their blood staining his surcoat. The creatures outnumbered his troops by a considerable number, but were neither well-equipped nor well-trained.
Dimly Boter became aware that some of the blood staining his surcoat was his own, and he wondered where he had been hit. He hoped that he would last to the end of the battle before passing out.
He turned and shouted to his followers to encourage them to push forward to the centre of the cavern. He had lost some, but enough were still on their feet that they would be able to carry the day. Was it even daylight outside? He looked up, at the light that shone dimly through vents in the cavern’s ceiling. Dusk or dawn, then.
He stood his ground while soldiers formed up into a phalanx around him. He didn’t even notice when he collapsed.
He woke to one of his guard – Ellan, the man’s name was – pressing a pad of wadded cloth to his side.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Sire,” Ellan said. “You can probably sit out the rest of this fight.”
“How goes the battle?” Boter asked, weakly, as Ellan helped him to sit upright.
“It goes well. We trapped them between fire and steel, but they fight like… well…”
“Like trapped rats?”
“I wasn’t going to say it, Sire.”
Ellan got Boter to his feet, and supported him as they made their way to the edge of the cavern, on a rise where they could see the carnage stretched out before them.
The vents in the ceiling allowed the smoke from the oil fires to escape, so although the light was dim, it was sufficient to see the piles of corpses strewn across the blood-drenched floor.
As he looked across the dim cavern, he noticed a commotion on the far side, and an abomination hove into view.
In form it was like a snake, but it was covered in short coarse fur and had the head of a rat. Long humanoid arms held a pair of narrow, straight swords with which it hewed about itself with violent abandon. Boter guessed that it measured a good twenty feet from its rodent head to its ophidian tail.
The creature rose high above Boter’s troops, as they scrambled to draw their own weapons. Three men died to the thing’s flashing blades before Trimon, a brave and skilled youth, stood his ground in front of it.
As Trimon’s sword cut into the tough flesh, a burst of green blood spewed from the wound. Trimon screamed as the blood fell on him – smoke rose as his flesh was eaten away.
Seeing this, the others of Trimon’s unit broke and ran from the creature.
“Crossbows!” cried Boter. He may be injured but he could still bellow commands. His men scrambled to span their weapons as Trimon melted. The creature turned its beady eyes to Boter and began to slither through the pooled gore towards him.
Boter shook off Ellan’s assistance and picked up his shield as crossbow bolts slammed into the creature’s sides, each one causing an explosion of caustic blood. Heedless the creature crossed the cavern, hissing and spitting through rodent teeth.
Alone, Boter watched it approach. Looking around, he spied a large rock. He stooped, picked up the rock and cast it with all his considerable might at the monster’s face.
The hefty stone smashed the front of its skull, caving in the space between its eyes. Brains and acidic ichor splashed as the thing was instantly killed. He watched, panting, as it fell into a pool of its own smoking gore.
Ellan looked at him, impressed, and was prepared to catch him as his legs gave way.
No comments:
Post a Comment