Chapter 4: The Performance of a Lifetime

Camille wasn’t worried at all about this attack. Yes, this was an unusually large Arkadian host. Yes, the enemy’s numbers seemed larger than the normal band of brigands. And yes, the enemy had actually managed to capture a small town and (presumably) slaughter its garrison. But Camille had been on numerous anti-pirate ops—she was a veteran blooded member of the elite Falkirk Guard after all. She knew that in the end, the cowardly criminals always fled. Besides, this display of military might was a sight to behold, and their numbers dwarfed those of the brigands. As a member of the fifth wave—the reserves—the battle would probably be over before she even reached shore. The first few waves would take losses of course, but a few cracked eggs was nothing to be upset about. Still, something gnawed at the edge of her confidence. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Vivian was nervous of course but tried not to show it. She was in the second wave and knew they were going to take heavy casualties. However, the older warriors seemed unconcerned, and she didn’t want to seem like a scared baby in front of them. Viv didn’t much care for the training itself, but she certainly appreciated what three years of training had done for her body. At seventeen, her curves were close to filling out around her striking frame. Her firm, well-proportioned breasts were supported by a comfortable white cotton bra, her shapely butt hidden behind a split skirt. Men and boys lusted after her body, and Vivian enjoyed their attentions. One such suitor had even given her the seashell necklace now tied around her neck. This battle was a great chance to flaunt her gifts and attract the eye of a potential bed-mate.

Elle was terrified. She’d turned fourteen just days before being drafted from amongst her village’s trainees to provide bodies for this attack. Her warleader had given her a bow, and she’d been assigned to the first wave along with many of the other young warriors from her village. She’d noticed with some suspicion that in fact most of the first wave was made up of young Wildcats and older Pups like herself. Many of them were equally terrified.

The akatus Elle was packed into started towards the shore under the power of fifty oarsmen, who grunted in rhythm under the strain of moving the boat and its cargo of fifty bodies packed shoulder to shoulder on the deck. Elle’s fear reached a fever pitch as the drummer’s cadence intensified and she felt her bladder give way. Hot, yellow piss ran swiftly down her leg. A girl off to her left was trying unsuccessfully not to cry.

“Hold your courage, you fucking welps!” yelled their warleader, a big, burly man by the name of Warren. He was one of the precious few veteran warriors in the first wave.

A boy three rows in front splattered his breakfast across the deck, setting off a cascade of barfing and retching. Elle quietly whispered a prayer. Everybody thought the same thing that Elle did: they were all about to die.

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Drumbeats resounded from the water up the beach. At the signal, the first wave of enemy landing craft started towards to the shore. The beach and the shallows were littered with obstacles. Wooden posts, sunken ships, and large rocks narrowed the length of beach that could be safely approached from the sea. This forced the enemy to break up his landing, limiting the number of enemies my warriors would have to face at a time.

In the first wave were three akatus, ten canoes—at least two hundred warriors. The lead ships drifted into range of my archers, but I held their fire for another fifty yards.

“Order scattered arrows,” I commanded.

“Scattered arrows!” shouted Sigurd.

“Scattered arrows!” echoed Inger, commander of my archers. “Notch… Draw… Loose!”

Thirty archers took a weak draw and fired a disorganized volley. All of the shots missed their mark, splashing harmlessly into the water or thudding into the wood of Arkadian ships.

“Draw,” she commanded again. At their command, more arrows drifted skyward.

My archers were not that bad; the poor quality of their volleys was intentional. A few full volleys would have gutted the first attack wave. That would have almost certainly spooked Commander Raku—even if he was mad as a rabid dog. Letting the first wave land was risky, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

Still, that didn’t mean that none of the arrows hit their mark. A lanky boy cried out and fell into the water as an arrow pierced his shoulder. A thin girl slumped over, an arrow so deep in her chest that the fletching brushed her breasts. Five Southerners splashed about in the water near their overturned canoe. The sixth member of their boat slowly sank to the bottom of the inlet. An arrow had pierced her high in the collar from a high angle, and her death throes had flipped the small craft.

The first canoes hit the beach, followed closely by the larger akatus. Warriors scrambled out, pushing themselves up from canoes or leaping off the prow of the troop ships. Agonizingly slowly, they formed thin ranks defending the shore. A young man turned and tried to jump off of an akatus. He misjudged the jump, catching his foot on the gunwale and falling face-first into the water. A short brunette on the other side of the akatus leapt high enough to clear the lip, but not high enough to escape the arrow that pierced her under the armpit.

I noticed now that the warriors of the first wave were made up almost exclusively of young warriors no older than Emmy. Unlike her though, they were probably poorly-trained—in other words, they were sacrificial troops. For all his boasting, Commander Radu clearly expected heavy casualties. Today was their lucky day; I was going to let them live a little longer than they deserved.

Well, some of them anyway.

Elle flinched, whimpering in fear as arrows landed close by amongst the assembling warriors. Nubile young Wildcats collapsed, shrieking their agony into the dirt. Ashley fell on her haunches, staring in horror at the arrow in her small breast. Jill mewled like a stuck kitten, curled in the fetal position around an arrow in her belly. Raymond lay twitching in the sand, an arrow through his neck.

“Archers, forward!” yelled Warleader Warren.

As ordered, Elle rushed forward with forty-three of her brothers and sisters. It should have been fifty. Four archers were still trudging their way through the shallows away from their upturned canoe. Downstream, Patrick floated face-down. Alice lay motionless on her side at the edge of the shore. The only indications of her violent death were the blood that drooled from her lip and the snapped shaft of an arrow above her left nipple. Her death had been mercifully quick. By contrast, Sheryl’s death would probably take hours. On her back, her heels dug long furrows into the sand, while her hands tugged desperately at the shaft below her ribs, black bile spilling from her lips and her wound.

Forty archers represented a significant threat to my force and my warleaders identified it immediately.

“Bring them down!” commanded Inger, “Draw, loose!”

Elle kept running and watched with dread as more arrows drifted lazily towards her. They hammered the Arkadian archers, drumming into the sand at their feet or into the flesh of their bodies. Savannah was hit in the thigh mid-stride and tumbled to the ground. An arrow shattered Lyle’s skull, killing him instantly. Malia flew back as an arrowhead pierced her leather bra, her small breast, and her ribs, finally emerging out of her back. Flat on her back, she gurgled away her final moments.

In response to the bandit volley, a few of the Southerners paused and fired off arrows off their own. Their shots fell short.

“Keep moving you dumbshits!” yelled Warren, “Form up right here.”

“Hold…”shouted Inger, commanding my archers to hold their fire. The enemy archers were less than a hundred and thirty paces away. Against every instinct, my disciplined soldiers held their nerve.

Elle hurried into a line with the others. Thirty-five Arkadian archers skidded to a halt and drew their first arrows.

“Hold…”

“Notch!” yelled Warleader Warren.

“Loose!” shouted Inger, slashing her hand down.

Elle notched an arrow and looked up. With horror, she watched the bandits release their arrows. Bare fractions of a second later, she registered their impact. The girl next to Elle fell backwards with an arrow in her budding right breast. Angelo screamed and went down as an arrow shattered his arm. Rocky spun around and fell on his face as an arrow clipped his side. He tried to rise, but another arrow smashed into the middle of his back. Rocky stayed down this time. Warleader Warren lay choking and twitching in the grass, an arrow sticking grotesquely out of his mouth.

Leaderless, the remaining Arkadians hesitated. They stared in shock and horror as fourteen of their comrades lay at their feet, writhing in pain. Mia screeched in agony as she tugged at the shaft in her crotch. Joanne shat her tan panties and spasmed in the sand, an arrow just above her puffy left nipple. Wendy coughed blood and moaned, wriggling in the fetal position around the arrow low in her smooth belly. She pleaded for her mother to help her as tears streamed from her cheeks and piss squirted from between her legs.

A second volley tore apart the remaining archers. Iona span away, an arrow under her collar. Marcus gurgled wetly, hands pressed desperately against the hole in his throat. Rachel grunted in pain as an arrow pierced the meat of her thigh. Ginny cried out as an arrow punched through her shoulder. A second arrow crunched into her chest a moment later, turning her cry into a strange gurgling sound.

The few survivors broke and ran. A few parting shots chased after them. Three archers made it back to the relative safety of the Arkadian spears. Elle was not among them.

Panicked, Elle threw away her bow. But before she could even turn around, something smacked her in the stomach, knocking her on her ass. Supported by outstretched arms, she blinked confusedly for a second. Then she beheld the white-tipped feathers, the wooden pole beside her bellybutton, the blood that ran down her smooth, flat belly. It took her another second to realize what she was seeing. With that realization came a massive swell of pain. Elle’s head tipped back as she screamed in agony at the uncaring sky.

The sacrifice of the Arkadian archers, though probably unintentional, had nevertheless succeeded in taking the pressure off of the main force. Canoes remained scattered on the beach as the akatus of the first wave withdrew. The transports and canoes of the second wave had hit the beach, their warriors already forming ranks on the beach. The ships of the third wave were not far behind.

Now with a numerical advantage, the enemy finally found the courage to enter into close combat. With a battle cry, three hundred fifty Arkadians charged. Spearheads waved and shimmered like jewels as their owners pumped their legs hard to get up the beach as quickly as possible. The Arkadian ranks strung out as the faster or more enthusiastic pulled out in front. My warriors roared their challenge in response.

“Come on you bitches!” yelled Brandr, shaking his axe and beating his barreled chest.

“Death!” Guus screamed crazily at the sky.

“Loose!” shouted Inger above the din. Thirty arrows drifted skyward before slashing down amongst the Arkadian formation.

In front of Vivian, a teenager with her hair tied back with a yellow bow shrieked and threw her arms up as an arrow punched into her ribs. She slid across the ground and lay twitching in the sand before her struggles swiftly ceased. Britney writhed on her back and moaned pitifully, the heels of her bare feet gouging tracks in the sand, her smooth belly transfixed by an arrow. Tori bucked and shuddered on her back, uncomprehending to the last. Rodi twitched grotesquely with an arrow in his eye. An arrow sliced through the hide shirt of a teenage spearwoman like it was nothing. Her round, soft breast fared little better. The arrowhead grated on a rib and finally came to rest in her lung. She collapsed and vomited blood, unable to scream.

Vivian leapt over the still form of a young, sandy-haired archer. She landed awkwardly and pitched forward, dropping her spear and arresting her fall with both arms. An arrow whistled down, thudding into the sand bare inches in front of her and causing her to yelp in surprise.

“Get up Viv, hurry!” shouted Cheryl as she ran past.

Vivian scrambled to get back up. On the verge of panic, she grabbed her spear and rejoined the charge. All around her, the lucky whimpered in fear and kept running. The unlucky writhed in the sand.

The Arkadian formation wasn’t the only one apparently gripped by fear and panic. The sight of such a large enemy force was more than enough to set a weak man in flight. First one, then two, then dozens of my warriors abandoned their weapons, turned tail, and ran.

“Cowards!” I roared, “Get back here you fucking knaves!”

Vidar, my newly-promoted warchief, ran right past me. I drew my sword and took a swing at him, but missed badly. Vidar kept running and didn’t look back. In total, thirty of my men and women sprinted back up towards Zavala. My defenses must have looked enticingly thin to the enemy. They certainly looked dangerously thin to me now.

Still, all was not yet lost. The sand and the obstacles had slowed the Arkadian charge, allowing my archers to get off four devastating volleys. Dozens and dozens of enemy warriors lay bleeding and dying on the beach. The bodies of the fallen archers and spear-men provided yet another obstacle for the charging Arkadians to negotiate. A lithe redhead called out desperately for her sisters-in-arms to aid her as blood flowed from the wound in her belly and into the scrub grass. A young woman, her bow lying broken beneath her broken body, reached out a hand for help, tripping a passing warrior.

But now the enemy spears were closing in on my archers. Exposed as they were on the left end of our lines, they couldn’t hold that position. Archers are never supposed to stand and fight—nor are they expected to. After a parting volley, all thirty of them, Inger included, turned tail and fled back towards town.

“Hold steady!” I shouted at my remaining warriors.

Over two hundred and seventy Arkadian warriors picked their way between the rows of sharpened stakes and slid into the shallow trench. The ones in front were just now climbing their way out.

“Now, shield wall!” I shouted.

“Shield wall!” echoed Sigurd, and my other warchiefs.

As one, my warriors stooped and picked up their signature Clan roundshields. They stood, linking their shields together in an impenetrable double-wall of wood and iron. Sharp spears and blades suck out between and below shields, while axes and swords rained death from overhead. A bank of sand had hidden the shields from the enemy’s view, but it was too late for any of them to stop the charge now.

The Arkadian warriors crashed into the shield wall in a wave of human flesh. Spears splintered against oaken shields or pierced meaty flesh. Axes and swords cleaved through spear shafts, limbs, and flesh. A tall teenage Blade screamed as she was impaled on a heavy Viking spear. To her right, a Wildcat slammed bruisingly into a Clan shield and was rewarded for her efforts with a sword that slid low into her belly just above her crotch. A mighty Clan warrior roared in pain as an Arkadian spear pierced his thigh. The Clan warrior behind him swung his axe down, splitting the skull of the luckless young Arkadian spearman.

The wounded and the dead alike were packed together as both sides pushed hard against each other. A striking brunette screamed in the face of her killer, his sword impaled low in her gut. A naked girl with long, straight, platinum hair convulsed as a spearhead smashed into her side with a squelch of spurting fluids. Piss squirted from her loosened bowels, splashing smooth thighs and bare feet. A short, bubble-breasted Arkadian, distracted by a sword poking at her face, failed to notice as another blade slid beneath a shield and below her ribs. A thin blonde Arkadian gurgled away her last, pockets of air forming bubbles in the blood boiling from between her split ribs. Pressed between a mass of human flesh on one side and a wall of shields on the other, the corpse stayed upright, unable to fall.

Vivian clambered out of the trench and ran to join the press. Unable to bring her spear to bear, she pushed hard against the woman in front of her, who in turn pushed against the young teen in front of her. That young teen, her brown hair tied in a small bun, was clutching the stump of her severed hand. An axe smashed into her collar seconds later, silencing her. To the teen’s right, John was folded around the bandit sword in his chest. The bandit warrior attached to the sword twisted it viciously and pulled it out with a squelch. Misha clutched at the hole in her small breast that had been left by the point of a Clan sword. The blade had cut the strap of her skimpy bra, and it now hung loose, exposing her puffy nipples. To Vivian’s left, Heidi tried to pull Abby back to the rear. Abby wept pitifully, her arms slack, blood pouring from the stab wound just above her hip.

The savagery threatened to overwhelm Vivian’s courage. The sounds of close combat assaulted her ears. Warriors on both sides screamed savage battlecries. Raw flesh impacted drily onto wooden shields, while spearheads thudded into smooth flesh. The wounded and dying shrieked their pain, cried out for their mothers, or gurgled wetly as blood filled their lungs. And the smell. Gods, the smell. If war had a smell, it would be the smell of sweat, the hot press of bodies packed close together, the noxious mix of piss and shit from bowels voided in fear or in death, the subtle twang of hot blood torn from warm bodies, the stink of squished innards from torn bellies, the putrid taste of flesh rotting in the warm sun.

The two lines disengaged as if on cue. Each side breathed a grateful sigh of relief and paused to catch their breath. Between them lay an undulating carpet of nearly one hundred bodies. A teenage Arkadian with a black bralette and hide panties was draped languidly over a dying Viking warrior, their legs intertwined in a grotesque parody of sex. Two young Arkadians, who looked almost like sisters, clutched feverishly at each other as they lay curled together. Blood from matching stab wounds beneath their ribs flowed into a single pool beneath them. Two Blades hauled a struggling comrade back as she thrashed with a broken spear shaft in her belly. A fierce redhead, her hair in a ponytail, grunted with effort as she crawled determinedly on her hands and knees towards the Arkadian lines, leaving a short trail of blood in her wake. Holger briefly broke ranks, stepped forward, and thrust his spear down. The redhead wheezed as the air was knocked out of her lungs. She stay up for a second longer as Holger yanked his spear out of her back, but quickly collapsed and lay twitching in the dirt. Messily, she voided her bowels, shit bulging out from around her thong.

The vast majority of dead and wounded were Arkadians. Young, weak, inexperienced, and with inferior weapons, they had dashed themselves against a solid wall of wood, muscle, and iron. In such a close press, swift jabs low into enemy bellies were always preferred. The soft, yielding flesh provided little material for an unlucky blade to catch on. Plus, in the heat of battle, most warriors forgot to watch out for their lower half. Wave a blade in the face of a novice fighter and nine times out of ten they will fixate on it, leaving their soft underbelly wide open. My warriors took full advantage of the Arkadians’ inexperience. Of course, this did little to ease the pain of those now forced to suffer a slow death.

A young Pup was on her knees, her face in the sand, crying out for her mother as she hugged her midriff to stop the blood that flowed down to soak her thong and her thighs. A sixteen-summer-old warrior dragged herself across the blood-churned sand, blood from an ugly exit-wound in the small of her back slathering over her buttocks. A girl in her late teens lay curled on her side around the broken shaft of a spear, crying bitter tears into the blonde hair that pillowed her head. A brown stain bulged in the back of her shorts, causing her to cry all the harder as all shred of dignity was lost. A pretty brunette in a silky bandeau bra lay on her side, arching her back and shrieked, her blood-stained hands pressing against her crotch in a vain attempt to stem the crimson fluid squirting between her fingers. A kneeling twenty-something Blade stared up in defiance at the bandit responsible for her bleeding flank. Kjell took a half-step forward and took her head from her shoulders with a contemptuous swing of his sword. The headless corpse flopped back and twitched grotesquely before going still.

Despite our initial success, the battle would not long be in our favor. The enemy’s third wave had landed, and two hundred fresh warriors were now sprinting their way up the beach. The lead elements were already sliding into the trench just in front of our lines. And on the second charge, the enemy would not be surprised by our shields. Against such overwhelming numbers, our defeat must have seemed inevitable. My men and women gritted their teeth, locked their shields, and awaited their doom.

With a battle cry, the Arkadians charged once more. Once again, a tidal wave of Arkadian bodies crashed against the shield wall. A young trainee in a light cotton tank-top and shorts foolishly shattered her spear on an enemy shield. Momentum carried her forward right onto another spear, this one belonging to an enemy. Her killer cursed, unable to free the weapon, and dropped it in favor of his axe. The Wildcat slipped down, knuckles white as she gripped the pole transfixed in her belly. A skinny teenager, a yellow spring flower in her gingery hair, had the wind knocked out of her as she slammed into a bandit’s shield. That loss of focus proved fatal as an axe chopped into her neck, nearly decapitating her. An attractive girl in a skimpy bra and thong was buffeted to the ground by a shield. A spear jabbed down, popping her ribs and pinning her to the dirt.

Underneath it all, the wounded from the first charge suffered further indignities. A belly-stabbed brunette, her shoulder-length hair matted with blood, cried out as a bare foot stepped on her wound. A sniveling girl, curled around the gaping hole in her bellybutton, screamed in agony as a young man stomped on her arm, snapping her elbow. A naked eighteen-year-old lying face-first in the dirt, squawked in protest as a leather shoe stepped on her toned buttocks. Another foot stamped down, snapping her neck with a vicious crack. The shrieking brunette who had been stabbed in the crotch fell mercifully silent as a booted foot kicked her in the head.

Vivian once again found herself pushing at the bare back of a sister-in-arms, the only difference being that she was one row closer to combat this time. The girl next to her cried out, more in surprise than pain, as a spearhead slashed her cheek. The woman in front of her, a fierce young spirit named Kali, snarled at her opponent and tugged at the rim of the shield pressed flat against her large breasts. The man behind the shield growled back, trying to work his heavy spear into a position where he could bring it to bear. Further to her left, a bandit warrior took the top off of Willis’ skull, splattering brains all over Abbi. That was the last straw for Abbi, who was already terrified beyond her wit’s end. She screamed in terror and turned around, trying to shove her way back to the rear. It was futile though, as a bandit rammed his sword through small of her back, her screams of terror turning into shrieks of agony. Scarlet was more successful in pushing her way back. A spear had stabbed her shoulder and blood ran down the length of her now useless right arm.

“Nononono!” whimpered Kassidy as she watched a bandit’s sword slowly press in towards her belly. Pinned tight against his shield by the warriors behind her, she was powerless to stop its approach. She sucked in her belly as the point pricked her skin. At first, the sword just pressed in the flesh. Then the point broke the smooth, tanned skin below her bellybutton. Kassidy screamed shrilly as the point parted flesh and muscle, sliding inexorably deeper into her gut.

“Make it stop, mommy, please make it stop! Uuugggghh!” cried Sharon as bile filled her throat and blood stained her midriff.

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,” babbled little Chloe as she stared in horror at the rent in her belly. Her bowels hung in loops in her hands as blood stained her panties and her thighs.

The shield wall rocked back under the immense pressure of the Arkadian army. The sheer weight of humanity pushed my warriors back a few feet, momentarily breaking the cohesion of the shield wall. Herda cried out as an Arkadian spear stabbed her shallowly in her side. Ketil yelled in pain and went down with a short spear in his chest. Oswald grabbed at his throat, air bubbling in the hole left by an Arkadian blade.

Heroically, my warriors pushed back and managed to hold the line. A slender enemy warrior, her blonde hair in a ponytail, managed to slip her spear into a gap between two shields. Rafe yelled in pain as the tip pierced his side. Berserk with bloodlust, he responded with a mighty overhand swing of his axe, crushing the woman’s collar and sending splinters of bone into her heart and lung. Displaying almost superhuman strength, Torsti shoved away a whole column of Arkadians. He followed it up by ramming his spear below the ribs of the girl in front. Dozens more enemy corpses were added to the pile as my forces rallied.

And then, in an instant, it all fell apart. Uisdean, a strong young man in his first battle under my banner, swung his shield into the face of an enemy warrior, stunning him. With a mighty roar, he rose up to deliver a finishing over-hand blow with his sword. In his inexperience, he forgot to maintain the position of his shield. A spearwoman in the second row lunged forward and delivered a shallow jab right to Uisdean’s balls. Uisdean screeched like a woman, dropping his sword and keeling over. Uisdean’s fall created chaos in the shield wall. He fell to his left and into Tyra, fouling her spear and knocking her sideways. Her shield arm swung high as she tried to regain her balance, accidentally smacking Sigvard in the head. Momentarily stunned, Sigvard was unable to parry as a naked Arkadian woman rammed her spear into his gut. He fell back, fouling the footing of the warrior behind. Then in an absurd stroke of bad luck, Sigvard’s sword fell point-down onto Trond’s foot, slicing through flesh and sinew and pinning it to the ground. Trond screamed as he stared at the grisly sight. He barely noticed as an Arkadian spear crunched through his bare chest.

Arkadian warriors pushed through the weak point, overwhelming the warriors in the second rank. In a matter of seconds, I had lost a dozen warriors. On her ass, Tyra cried out and brought her hand up, pleading for mercy from the Arkadian spearwoman that stood over her. None was given, and the Arkadian smirked as brought her spear down and twisted. Tyra squealed and thrashed obligingly. Arne suddenly found himself with enemies to his front and on his left flank. He hesitated, eyes darting first left, then forward again. As he focused his attention on a questing spear to his front, another slid in from the side. With a roar of pain he too fell away, opening a clear path through our lines.

With a cheer, the Arkadian host surged through the newly-made gap. Vivian flowed to her left, following a wave of her comrades as they were sucked through the hole. Gingerly, she picked her way over the bodies of wounded and dying comrades, then over a thin line of mutilated bandit corpses. Her brothers and sisters could never forget the slaughter exacted upon them during the first charge, and they exacted their vengeance on any of the criminals they could reach.

“To the breach!” I shouted, drawing my sword. Together, Sigurd, Gunnar, my ten bodyguards and I—the last of my reserves—charged towards the place where cheering Arkadian warriors were surging through the break. I was dimly aware that Emmy was shadowing us, but she made no move to enter the battle.

We hit the Arkadian salient hard. Without proper training, the enemy warriors did not know how to properly take advantage of a breach. Many milled about, unsure of what to do next. As a result, only a few warriors turned to meet our charge. A free-flowing melee ensured.

I twisted away from an amateurish lunge and kept going, hacking at the boy’s arm as I went past. His screams were cut short as Aghi took his head from his shoulders. A pale Wildcat blundered into my field of vision, and I hacked her across the back without a moment’s pause. Gunnar stayed close behind me. He threw an axe into the breast of a young woman who had leveled a spear our way, then lowered his shoulder into a Blade whose back was turned. That woman flew into the sand and tried to rise before one of my bodyguards shattered her spine with a heavy blow. Aki smashed his shield into a spearman’s face, fracturing his cheekbone and knocking him out. Elof hacked away like a madman with dual-wielded axes, cutting off the hand of one, slitting the throat of another, and chopping the hamstrings of a third.

Still, we were hopeless outnumbered. Despite the initial shock and success, the counterattack was beginning to get bogged down. My bodyguards and I were increasingly drawn into disadvantageous, stationary duals. Worse still, over the bobbing heads and spears, I could see the boats of the enemy’s fourth wave as they made their final approach to the beach. Defeat seemed imminent.

“Hold them back!” I shouted in encouragement as I sent another enemy warrior spinning away in a spray of blood. “Just a little longer. Push them back!”

Suddenly, I found myself engaged by four warriors. A foolish young girl in a sea-blue bra and panties, charged recklessly with a shout. I easily batted aside her out-stretched spear and delivered a quick counterstrike with my sword. In, twist, out, and the girl collapsed, rolling on the ground and hugging her pierced belly. The remaining three warriors, all noticeably more mature and commensurately more cautious, spread out and circled warily. Their smaller sister-in-arms writhed pitifully as piss stained her panties and mixed with the blood pooling in the sand.

The first warrior, a tawny-haired teenager in a white, cotton bra and skirt, a single seashell on a braid around her neck, approached slowly and jabbed cautiously. I knocked her spear aside with my shield, then delivered a horizontal slash to the right where I knew the second warrior would be coming from. The second warrior, a flat-chested brunette, scampered back as she narrowly avoided losing her bowels. Following the momentum of my swing, I pulled a one-eighty just in time to bat away the third warrior’s spear with the flat of my blade. I smacked her in the face with the front of my shield and the lissome, amber-haired maiden staggered back, momentarily disoriented.

The first warrior lunged aggressively to distract me and to protect her stunned comrade as the maiden worked to shake her head clear. I reversed my spin and knocked her spear away with the edge of my shield, then counterattacked with an overhand cut and lunged forward with a horizontal slash from the right. The tawny teen scrambled back out of range. The second warrior tried to take advantage of the distraction and struck at me from the right. Allowing the momentum of my slash to spin me around, I turned it into a head-high swipe at the lunging warrior. Surprised by the move, she dropped on her ass to dodge the blow. I wanted to follow up and finish the boyish bitch, but the amber-haired maiden had recovered from my blow to her face and now lunged at my right flank. The spearhead slid past as I contorting my body like a dancer. With a mighty growl, I turned over my wrist and smacked her in the chin with the pommel of my sword. Once again, she staggered back dazed. This time, I followed up on my advantage, ramming my blade up to the hilt below her ribs. She cried out in pain, her mouth and eyes wide as cold steel filled her belly and the strength fled from her legs.

But with that small victory, I sealed my own defeat. In order to eliminate the third girl, I had turned my back to the other two. I felt rather than saw them both recover and scramble forward to get their revenge. I tugged once at the blade to free it from her belly, but it was my gut that quickly filled with sickness—the blade was stuck fast, torn flesh sucked tight around it. With my sword stuck in her gut, I couldn’t turn to parry. Even if I let go of the blade now, it wouldn’t make a difference; that first failed tug had sealed my fate. I looked up at the sky and closed my eyes, awaiting the heavy impacts that would spell my demise.

Hilda, Ivor, I’ll be with you soon.

A horrific screech set my ears ringing and brought me back to earth. I blinked twice in confusion and turned my head around, my blade still stuck in the third warrior’s gut. Her mortal injury momentarily forgotten, she too stared in dumbfounded silence at the scene behind me. The flat-chested warrior’s spear lay abandoned on the ground. The girl herself screamed again and fumbled at the small spearhead transfixed in her belly as blood trickled down her shaved pussy. More out of reflex than anything else, I twisted my blade and yanked it out. Its victim crumpled with a sigh, her eyes rolling up into the back of her head as her blood pressure plummeted.

The tawny teenager stood frozen in mid-strike as she gaped open-mouthed at her brown-haired comrade. Distracted as she was, she barely noticed as I turned around and brought my sword arm back. She spotted me at the last moment, her shoulders slumping slightly as a look of resignation came over her face. Then my sword pierced her belly, spilling blood all over the front of her skirt. I swiftly slid it back out, leaving a gaping hole surrounded by sliced and bruised flesh. She grunted in pain, mouth agape, eyes blinking rapidly in shock. Luckily for her, the stab was relatively shallow; I was not going to risk getting my blade stuck a second time. Still, I doubted that she was grateful.

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Vivian dropped her spear and slid heavily down to her knees. She pressed her hands tightly to the hole in her belly left by her murderous opponent. White-hot pain seared her torso as she touched the sliced flesh and she groaned throatily in response. She had never in her wildest nightmares imagined that she would meet her end in a place like this, her lifeblood spilling out as if from a punctured canteen. A wave of pain washed over her and Vivian could feel her bladder loosen. She gritted her teeth and tried to clench, but nothing could stop the flow of yellow urine that splashed against her blood-stained skirt. Sniffling pitifully, she slipped onto her side, her knees up in the fetal position. Just a day ago, she had been flirting with the men, teasing them as they lusted after her. Now, she was a mutilated corpse, forever undesirable.

That thought more than any other made her sad as her world slowly went dark.

==========

The flat-chested brunette screeched again as her killer extracted the spear from her gut. She fell forward onto her face, revealing Emmy holding a blood-stained spear.

“You can thank me later,” she said, flashing a grim smile.

Together, we waded back into the fray. I cut a questing spear in half, doing the same with its wielder’s arm. As I slashed the throat of a sniveling Wildcat, out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Emmy rammed her spear into the back of a young Arkadian spearman. She was able to fell two more surprised Arkadians before a Blade got wise to the traitorous threat. Emmy bested the woman with some difficulty and moved on. Her victim collapsed clutching one full breast, a look of betrayal on her face. Mindful that her appearance was virtually indistinguishable to that of the enemy Arkadians, Emmy tried to steer clear of the other Viking warriors. It wasn’t hard; there were a lot of Arkadians and very few of us.

Despite her efforts, the enemy’s weight of numbers was truly telling. The hole in the shield wall now threated to collapse the whole line. More and more of my warriors fell on either side of the hole, unable to handle attacks from as many as three sides. The enemy’s fourth wave was strung out along the length of the beach, and the lead warriors were close to reaching the trench. A fifth and final wave rowed towards the shore. When they arrived, the battle would be lost… if we could hold out even that long.

One by one, my bodyguards and lieutenants were overwhelmed by the enemy’s superior numbers. But they sold their lives dearly and made the enemy pay in blood. Gjord hacked down with his sword once, twice, a third time, and a fourth, accounting for an enemy each in quick succession. But the fifth stroke betrayed him as the blade caught on the collarbone of his final victim. A pretty teenage warrior slid recklessly beside him and stabbed him in the thigh with a knife. He fell to his knees with a cry of defeat and she mercilessly stabbed him in the throat. Sigurd grunted in pain as the tip of a spear sliced open his thigh. Beset on all sides, Finnr, the head of my bodyguard, cried out as an iron spearhead tore through his leather jerkin and into the flesh of his side. He managed to find the strength to hack off the shaft, but two more spears pierced his torso in quick succession. He collapsed on the ground, moaning in pain and humiliation as he shit himself. It was a sobering reminder that death could lay low even the toughest of warriors. My remaining bodyguards, Emmy included, closed in around me for one last stand.

But just when all seemed hopeless, a low baritone sounded from somewhere west of the beach. I hacked down a girlish spearwoman and reached behind me to where a horn hung from my belt. My bodyguards knew what the sound meant and shoved as one against the enemy horde, buying me enough space to bring the horn to my lips. I took one last look at the enemy disposition and blew a long, steady note.

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