MoonFall (19 page)

Even Mason tried to come, though they soon left him behind, his injured leg slowing his run to most folks’ walking speed. Noah struggled to keep up, burdened as he was by injury and exhaustion. But even with Burns and Lily racing hell for leather after the sound of the retreating Dionites, and with Vostok’s long strides keeping the Russian not far behind, Noah still managed to keep them in sight.

The Dionites were running towards the edge of town, where tendrils of gray smoke were creeping up into the blue sky only to be snatched away by a rising wind. It didn’t take much local knowledge to work out where they were headed – toward the gap in the wall through which they’d originally broken in, where Poulson and his soldiers had been sent to fight off any further assaults.

They reached a road running straight out towards the walls, half of the gap visible at its far end, the remnants of the pack they’d beaten milling around uncertainly in the stretch of street between them and the fighting.

Burns and the rest paused, catching their breath before they re-entered the fray. As Noah caught up, he could see two figures fighting across a heap of rubble just inside the wall. At this distance he could just make out that the Apollonian soldier might be Poulson, and he was fighting a massive Dionite with his head painted white who carried a pair of machetes.

The Dionite swung one of his blades around towards Poulson’s left, then brought the other in from the other side as he parried. Noah’s breath caught in his throat, certain as he was that the guardsman was a dead man.

But Poulson was better than that – better than the Dionite, better than other swordsmen, maybe better even than death. His blade whipped lightning fast, not blocking the second blow but striking the Dionite’s arm, severing the muscles of his forearm so that the machete fell from his grip. Even as he took a step back, Poulson took two forwards and ran him through.

The Dionites around him turned and fled, heading down the road toward Noah and his comrades. He didn’t like the idea of being over-run, even if it was by a retreat, and so he did the only thing he could think of. He threw back his head and yelled for all he was worth.

The rest of the squad joined in, shouting and screaming, Vostok banging his club against his shield. The Dionites came to a halt in the face of this aggression, mingled with the ones they’d been pursuing, looking around uncertainly as Poulson and his men started closing from the other direction.

Then something changed. Near the middle of this new, enlarged pack a voice rose up, shouting ideas, directing the Dionites into two groups. They didn’t exactly form ranks, but Noah had seen nothing that looked like ranks from them through the whole night’s fighting. What they did form was two large, distinct packs, each one advancing on one of the bands of soldiers, each with weapons raised and heads with them, bearing down with renewed aggression and focus.

Between them, standing on the back of an abandoned cart, was the newly emerged pack leader, a short, bald guy with a shaved head and piercings all across his face. Noah turned to Lily to point him out, then remembered that she was all out of arrows. And if Poulson’s group had any ammo left, then they weren’t using it, instead raising swords and spears to face the renewed onslaught.

“So much for getting them before they regrouped, huh?” Noah said.

“Different fight, same plan,” Burns said. “Let's do this.”

Weapons raised, the four of them advanced.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-T
WO

L
AST
G
ASP

O
NLY
MOMENTS
BEFORE
the Dionites had been nothing more than a milling herd, dozens of men and women standing almost aimless in the street, without drive or direction. The effect of the new leader was electric, turning them with purpose and ferocity upon the Apollonians.

For all Burns’ talk of the plan, there were no tactics this time, no maneuvers, no tricks. Just aggression and the blood pumping in their veins.

When Noah had been a kid he’d fought with quiet determination. A lot of what he’d faced had been older kids, sometimes his brothers, sometimes bullies Jeb and Pete would chase off if they turned up. That kind of fight, you did well to keep quiet, so the other guy didn’t know he could make you care. If he knew that you cared, then that was halfway to winning for most bullies, and for older brothers as far as Noah could tell.

This was different.

Noah had to care. Had to care enough to keep fighting through pain and exhaustion and lost blood, through desperate odds and the fear that any moment might be his last. Had to care enough to kill folks he’d never met in his life, folks Iver might have called friends.

And so, he screamed as he attacked. Not a high-pitched, painful, fearful scream. A deep, bellowing battle cry that touched some ancient animal part buried within his soul, that brought out his reserves of strength, turned them into raw aggression.

He screamed and he charged.

Of course the plan, if it could still be called a plan, fell apart the minute they hit the Dionites. If anyone was surprised, then it wasn’t Noah. Last time they’d had the jump on them, they’d had Lily providing covering fire instead of swinging a pipe, and though they’d been outnumbered they hadn’t been this outnumbered.

A pair of Dionites ran in front of him. He swung his sword, made one of them jump back and tried to charge on through the gap.

But the other Dionite dived straight at him, leaving no gap at all. They both missed with their weapons but had too much momentum to stop. They collided, bodies crashing into each other, and went sprawling onto the ground.

Noah found himself on his back, pinned down beneath a growling Dionite, kicked by a dozen different feet as the combat shifted around them. The Dionite had one hand around Noah’s throat and was punching him with the other, raining blows down against his face and shoulders. Noah gave a much less warlike scream as one of the punches hit his injured shoulder, sent pain shivering down his nerves and blood oozing from the bandage. His whole left arm felt numb and heavy, leaving him barely able to lift it.

He reached up with his right hand, trying to gouge the Dionite’s eyes. But the man jerked his head back and Noah just managed to scratch him along the cheek. The punching stopped as the guy grabbed Noah’s wrist, but the pressure on his throat only worsened, squeezing tighter and tighter until he was gasping for air and spots danced across his vision. He felt himself sliding toward unconsciousness, and a small, treacherous part of his mind welcomed any kind of rest.

Without a free hand, he used what he had left. He jerked his leg up, smashing it into the Dionite’s back. The grip loosened for a moment and Noah twisted his hand free, managed to swing a punch. As the Dionite wavered, Noah brought his knee up again and jerked his whole body, throwing the guy off of him.

Noah grabbed his sword and swept it around across the ground, cutting the Dionite’s hand as he was pushing himself up. He went sprawling face first and Noah slammed an elbow into the back of his head. There was a crunch as the Dionite’s nose and teeth hit the pavement. Noah hit him again, then swung the sword down to finish him off.

The fighting had passed over them while they grappled on the ground, the Dionites pushing Noah’s new Apollonian friends back up the street. His instinct was to rush back and help them, but how much good could that do? They’d all still be outnumbered.

He was so used to turning his back on fights out of self-preservation, this was the first time he had felt anything like heroic.

There were a couple of Dionites between him and the new alpha. He picked up Deadweight – any weapon needed a name, and he didn’t have time to give it proper thought – and ran towards them.

The first one had her back to Noah, watching something down a side street. In the hands of a proper swordsman, Deadweight might have sliced off her head or run her clean through. Wielded by Noah, the sword smacked her in the arm at an awkward angle. There was a crunch of breaking bone and a spray of blood, but the Dionite didn’t go down like he’d hoped.

No time to check if she’d given up the fight. Noah charged on up the street, once again letting out a war cry. The next Dionite looked at him with alarm, then resolve, then a bow raised and pointing straight at Noah’s chest.

Noah couldn’t dodge an arrow, so he did the next best thing. He flung Deadweight at the Dionite before he had time to draw back the string. Deadweight wasn’t made to be thrown, and it was a lousy throw anyway, Noah losing his grip on a handle slippery with blood. But it was enough to make the Dionite dodge, pointing the bow away from Noah, and that allowed two vital seconds to close in. He shoulder barged the guy, sending him flying, and his head hit the ground with a sickening thwack.

Grabbing up the bow and arrow, Noah aimed at the Dionite alpha and fired.

It turned out he couldn’t shoot a bow worth a shit. The arrow missed by at least three feet and bounced off a nearby house, snapping as it hit the street.

It still got the alpha’s attention. The expression he turned on Noah was the ugliest grin he’d ever seen in his life – not just angry but leering, stretching across a face that would have looked better on a bulldog. Raising a club above his head, the alpha charged towards Noah.

Noah grabbed Deadweight, swung the blade up to block the alpha’s first attack. He blocked another blow, and another, then lunged, the alpha dodging with a couple of stumbling steps.

He’d come close to hitting him that time. And those blocks – was he getting better with his sword already?

The alpha’s club missed Noah by an inch as he lurched sideways away from the blow. The alpha turned to follow up on the attack, but he wasn’t as quick as the others Noah had fought.

Noah almost burst out laughing. He hadn’t got better with a sword – this guy was just as incompetent as him. Of course there were some attackers who weren’t expert with axes or clubs or whatever they’d picked up. There were ones like Lily, archers out of arrows and forced to fight up close. And there were people better at leading than at fighting.

There were Dionites as unready for this fight as Noah was.

The realization gave him a new confidence. Instead of rushing to attack he waited for the alpha, and as he dodged the blow he turned the movement into an attack, swinging at the guy’s head. Like any sane human being, especially one who wasn’t much good at defending himself, the alpha ducked, just as Noah had expected. He brought Deadweight sideways and down, not quite getting the angle right but striking the alpha’s head with the flat of the blade.

Reeling from the jolt, the alpha seemed to come to the same conclusion Noah had. He flung his club at Noah, forcing him to dodge, and only as he felt the alpha’s shoulder slam into his gut did Noah realize that his own trick had been turned on him. The wind was knocked out of him and he was driven backwards, colliding with a wall, his head smacking against the brickwork.

Spots danced across his vision and Deadweight clanged to the ground. The alpha had a fistful of Noah’s shirt in one hand and was pummeling him with the other, punching him in the stomach, the chest, the face, wherever Noah’s defensive flailing wasn’t.

He tried to knee the alpha in the balls, but what this guy lacked in club work skills he made up for in street brawling. He blocked Noah’s leg with his own and use the movement to sweep Noah’s feet out from underneath him, smashing him into the ground.

Once again, Noah found himself trapped beneath a Dionite, blows raining down upon him with growing speed and ferocity. Noah flung one arm across his face, trying to protect himself for the worst of it. With the other he tried punching the alpha, and when that made little difference, scrabbled around on the ground beside him, feeling for anything that might help him. A brick, a rock, anything more effective to hit this guy with.

His fingers closed around a slender rod with a splintered end.

Between his blurring vision and his defensive arm he could see almost nothing of what was going on. He swung blindly, putting all his strength into the attack.

The broken arrow shaft pierced the alpha’s neck with a wet thunk. Blood spurted, hot and wet, down Noah’s arm and all across him. It ran into his nose and mouth, making him cough and sputter and choke as he tried to get rid of the terrible taste of someone else’s injury.

The alpha’s growl turned into a groan and then silence as he flopped limply onto Noah.

Noah wiped the blood from his eyes. He rolled the body off of him and staggered dizzily to his feet, spitting blood and trying not to fall straight back over.

“Got him,” he said, dragging the alpha’s body up off the ground.

“Got him,” he yelled. Though short, the alpha had been heavy with muscle and it was a struggle to lift the body and drag him up onto a cart for all to see, but Noah managed.

“Got him!” he bellowed as loud as he could.

He looked around. It had worked, or something had. All up and down the street Dionites were turning tail and running. Panic spread through the mob like ripples through water, each tiny movement adding to a greater whole that became not just one man turning or another woman running, but the whole mass rushing through the gap in the wall if they were close enough. Those that weren’t were scattering into the surrounding streets, being cut down by Apollonians as they fled.

Dropping the body, Noah sat down on the edge of the cart, finally catching his breath. Blood still dripping from him, and the taste in his mouth making him want to puke. The only piece of cloth around him not already soaked was the alpha’s loincloth.

“Screw it,” he muttered. Anything was better than this.

Turning away to not see what was beneath, he yanked the loincloth off the body and used it to wipe the blood from his face. It stank like the worst sort of strip club, but it was better than nothing. He flung it away when he was done.

Vostok walked up, his familiar smile back.