Whistledove Kithkin was as tall standing as was Adira kneeling over her dead lieutenant. The brownie touched her chief's shoulder gently.
"Adira? We're sorry about Simone, but we need you. The legionnaires regroup. We've got to gird and break through their line, or we'll never leave this cavern alive."
"Aye, aye." Hovering over dead Simone, Adira tried to think of a benediction, but failed. As leader, she could only succor the living. Planting a final kiss on Simone's cold brow, Adira swabbed blood off her black blade with her sash.
Ducking low among boulders, treading yellow-clad corpses strewn mostly by Jedit, Adira positioned her mercenaries and Magfire's foresters, then summoned Jedit. Measuring the odds and comparing her resources, Adira fell into old patterns as if Simone had never existed.
In less than a minute Adira formed a loose phalanx with right- and left-handed swordbearers spaced apart and spear- wielders ranged behind. It gave her a bitter satisfaction that this two-tier rank had been used by Johan to raid Bryce and Palmyra. Such a formation just might break through the legionnaires' line and escape into the tunnels. Once in the twisting corridors, they could run hell-for-leather while guarding their rear. They didn't have to destroy the legionnaires, after all, only outrun them.
She finished, "Jedit, you take point."
"Yes, captain." The tiger looked a nightmare. Blood and dust matted his fur in clumps. His broad breast was more red than white. One ear was slit, his whiskers were splintered, gore dripped from lacerations on his long arms, and he listed to port from a ferocious leg wound hastily bound with rags. Yet, Adira noted, when she needed unquestioning loyalty, he gave it. Much like Simone.
For a second Adira felt her throat seize up, then nodded. "When you're ready, go."
Without a word Jedit Ojanen spun in place, tail flying like a bullwhip, and bounded over a boulder toward the still-forming enemy. Pirates and pine warriors ran just to keep up.
Ahead through haze and dust waited a long yellow-black line of Akron Legionnaires, as if Jedit charged a hornet's nest. This suicidal charge into slaughter would make a fine heroic saga, thought the cat warrior. Hoxv sad no tigers would ever sing it. Briefly, in the never-ending seconds hanging before combat, Jedit thought of his homeland Efrava, of his mother Musata, of Hestia and her affectionate teasing, of his doughty opponent Ruko, of all the tigers he'd abandoned for a life of adventure and a desire to follow in his father's footsteps. And of his father, Jaeger, who'd pursued Johan and never been seen again. Despite his predicament, the battle-mad brute grinned so fangs winked below his striped muzzle.
Jedit murmured aloud, "Promises to keep, hurts to mend, wounds to avenge. Best I not be killed so far from home. Too many people need harassing."
There was no sign of the vampire Shauku, but her bodyguards were ready. Time to strike. Sucking wind into his belly, Jedit extended claws on all four limbs, gave a bloodcurdling roar like a volcano exploding, and entered the fight of his life.
Twin claws snagged two black leather hoods and raked faces to bone. Blinded, spitting and drowning in blood, the legionnaires barely blubbered and screamed before they crashed to earth and died. With waspy blades whisking all around, Jedit's huge head butted three men flat. His claws slashed from high to low to cripple the greatest number the quickest. The tiger bit a man in the belly, shearing through his yellow tunic and leather armor, disemboweling the victim with a wrench of his thick neck. To the right he clawed a man's neck so bright frothy blood geysered, then slashed another's arm, so his sword clanged on stone, then ripped a third across the kidneys, so he spun against his comrades. And on and on, an orgy of destruction.
Shouting vile oaths and die names of gods, Adira and Magfire's troops charged in Jedit's wake like a school of sharks.
Heath shot away all his and Wilemina's arrows, then threw his bow to his left hand, so fast did he need his sword. Stabbing straight, he tunked a wooden shield, then flipped his blade sideways to harass the enemy's face. But two legionnaires tackled him as a team. Even as one shied from Heath's scything blade, the other knocked it high. The archer tried to block the partner's jab, but his ebony bow only skidded down keen steel. Heath gasped as his side was pierced, but rather than give ground and invite attack, he bit down on pain and hacked. Quick reflexes and an archer's iron forearms saved his life, for he beat back the legionnaire who'd pinked him and swatted the other off-stride. Still, the two soldiers bounced back and lunged, twin blades flickering like adders' tongues.
Scenting death on the wind, Heath caroled, "Ye dryads and naiads, prepare your bowers!"
Murdoch slung his borrowed blade against scaly black leather backed by wood, for some legionnaires plied shields. The ex-sergeant sidestepped to avoid being impaled and to make a smaller target, then he actually crowded behind the thrusting legionnaire's shield, so the man was temporarily blockaded. Slinging his left elbow, Murdoch slammed the man's jaw and hacked small. His slim blade slashed the legionnaire's elbow to sever tendons and grate on bone. As the arm fell slack, Murdoch stripped the leather straps from the man's forearm and stole his shield.
Spitting at his enemies, Murdoch crowed, "Step up to the sergeant, you slackarse sluggards! I'll teach you how to spell slaughter!"
Wilemina, Jasmine, and Whistledove clung together, hoping their collective strength would offset weaknesses. Falling rump to rump to shoulder, they were instantly bracketed by legionnaires bearing naked steel.
Holding her bow and sword in her good left hand, Sister Wilemina shrieked, "For Lady Caleria!" and stabbed straight. Her sword was clipped by a shield, knocked upward and away. But the archer's bow functioned like a part of her arm. Heedless of his blade, Wilemina banged the ornate bow atop of the man's shield and jabbed at the leather hood's eye slit with the horn tip. The legionnaire hooked his head back to save his eyes. In that second, Whistledove scooted low as a cockroach and stabbed high. Her dagger point slid under the man's kneecap. Writhing, he jerked the leg and kicked the brownie, but Wilemina sent her bow singing in a long arc that whacked his temple and laid him out cold.
The other swordsman stamped and pranced to pin Jasmine. The druid skipped back, then clapped both hands. A blue cloud flashed in the man's face and set him sneezing uncontrollably. Whistledove flitted like a hummingbird, circled, and sliced. Steel bit the legionnaire's inner thigh, sliced leather and flesh, and spilled blood in a torrent.
One-armed, Wilemina grappled with the second attacker, clinging close to spoil his aim even as she prayed aloud to Lady Caleria. Jasmine hammered the man's head with a rock, then dropped it as a sword creased her back. Only by pitching forward past the toppling man did she save her life, but more swordsmen trotted up, and death sang seconds away.
The toughest veteran of them all, Adira Strongheart jumped into battle with little regard for safety, as if life had lost its meaning. Even as she was overrun by diehard killers, her thoughts were of her friends and companions. This fracas, she marveled, might be the last stand of the Circle of Seven. Oddly enough, what pained her was the idea that her ex-husband Hazezon Tamar, whom she professed to loathe, would never learn their fate, but would wonder what befell them the rest of his days.
She shouted at the yellow-black horde, "Brace up, you jackstaff backsliders! Mark on your tally sheet t'was Adira Strongheart sent you to hell!"
A whirlwind swept past Adira's red-misted battle fury. Orange, black, and white filled her vision as yellow and black were scattered. A helping hand strong as an ox pull steered her across boulders and pools of blood. As quickly as battle was joined, it was stopped. Adira and her Circle, every "one wounded, cast about. The Akron Legionnaires had withdrawn to a side tunnel. Jedit Ojanen stood tall, drenched in blood, awaiting orders.