*******
Masrel scanned the jumble of broken stone and rock atop the hill that was their destination. He drew a sharp intake of breath as his eyes focused on a figure atop an ancient battlement waving his arms furiously. Nudging Sula in the ribs, he pointed at the figure, asking if she saw what he did.
The sour-faced woman glared at him, then squinted at the hill top. “Yes, I can see it,” she confirmed. “Who do you think it is?”
“How in the seven hells should I know, woman?” Masrel snapped.
Lorell, on his other side had also followed his pointing hand.
“I can see it too,” she offered. “Who do you think it is?”
Masrel rolled his eyes. Women asked the most stupid questions.
Focusing his gaze, Masrel saw the figure was gesturing at the rear of the column. Fragments of words floated down to him. “...behind you...run...”
Bemused, Masrel leaned out of his seat, and looked back along the straggling line of people. Just then he heard screams and shouts coming from the rear.
Kalas and some members of the city guard came riding up.
“Demons!” Kalas cried, his eyes wide with fear. “They've followed us from Petralis!”
Masrel looked around feverishly, his mind in turmoil. Then he noticed everyone was looking at him for answers.
The sounds of panic intensified and the column started bunching, as those at the rear pushed forward in fear.
Taking a deep breath, Masrel reached across and grabbed Kalas by the arm.
“Take your riders back, as far as you think safe. Tell the people to run for the fortress on the hill. We will make our stand there. Help those you can – the women, children, old ones. Get them to throw out their possessions so the wagons can move faster. Hurry now, man!”
Kalas wheeled his horse around, and with his riders in tow thundered back down the column. Masrel turned to Sula and Lorell. Their faces were pale with fear. “Get in the back,” he barked. “Calm the children and throw out everything that will slow us down!”
The women scrambled to obey.
All along the column, prized possessions that had defined people's lives, were hurled out of wagons and carts.
Masrel cracked his whip, his horses surged against their traces and the wagon lurched forward, picking up speed. Further back, some had unhitched their horses from wagons and carts, and these sped past him, some riding double.
The fleeing people sped up the incline leading to the derelict fortress. As they dashed through the gaps in the ruined wall, they were confronted by a shaven-headed, one-eyed, black-bearded giant bearing a fearsome looking axe.
Masrel leapt from his wagon and warily approached the giant. Beleth's balls, he thought, the evil looking whoreson looks worse than the pigging demons chasing us.
Chin jutting, Masrel looked up into a scarred face. “T'was you up on the battlements, warning us?”
“Aye,” the Axeman grunted, his single eye gleaming with a feral light. A black leather patch covered the empty socket that once housed his left eye.
The grim-faced giant glanced at the people streaming through the wall.
“You best get the women, children and old ones over there,” he said, pointing at the shell of the barracks. “Do you have any fighting men with you? Looks like we’ll be cracking demon skulls this fine sunny day.”
Kalas had ridden up, and was listening. “We have fighting men. We fought some of these devil-hounds back in Petralis.”
He turned to a couple of his riders. “You two help get those who cannot fight into the barracks yonder. The rest of you, get your bows and line up behind the wall. Aim for their pigging throats. Remember, your shafts will merely bounce off their heads or hides. Raising his voice, he addressed the other men. “Those of you who have bows, get them!”
He looked at Moon. “I don't think your axe will be any good. Their pigging hides are too tough.”
“You think so old man?” Moon replied with a short bark of laughter, twirling the huge axe single-handed, the black blades singing in the air.
The men took their places behind the wall. Those positioned by the Axeman cast sidelong glances at him, perplexed as to who he was and where he had come from. Moon looked at them and grinned, swinging the axe side-to-side to loosen his shoulders “Move along a bit, my boys, give me some fighting room. I wouldn't want old Widowmaker here to accidentally caress you when the fun starts. Glancing at the wicked blades, they shuddered and sidled away.
Kalas, a short distance along, smiled grimly. Now that was a fighting man after his own heart. Maybe, they would survive this day after all.