‘He’s a bloody big one.’ Nobul glanced to his left and saw Hake peering over the crowd behind. ‘You sure about this?’
Nobul wasn’t sure, but he knew it had to be done. This Wolkan cunt needed killing. These Khurtas needed showing their champions could be beaten. Besides, no other fucker was going to take him on, so why not the Black Helm?
‘Be careful of that axe,’ Hake shouted as Nobul stepped forward.
‘Thanks for the advice,’ he breathed in reply.
Wolkan barked a laugh of disdain as Nobul came, waving that big axe around his head as though it weighed nothing. Nobul hefted his hammer, staring up, and the Khurta grinned wide, showing his missing teeth. He laughed again, then took a massive stride forward so they were no more than a yard apart. They looked at each other, axe and hammer held at the ready. Then Wolkan brought that axe down like he was chopping a log.
Nobul grasped his hammer at both ends and held it up to block the axe. The hafts of their weapons struck together and Nobul’s arms almost buckled under the weight of the blow, the axe blade clanging against his helmet. The force of it knocked him back a few steps and he staggered into the shields behind. One of the shield men pushed forward, throwing him at Wolkan once more. Nobul was sure it was meant as encouragement but all it did was put him right within range again. Wolkan swung his axe and Nobul just managed to duck, feeling the weapon sweep over him, keen to lop him in half. He spun, bringing up his hammer, but Wolkan was faster, grasping the weapon by the haft and raising his massive axe one-handed.
The huge Khurta opened his mouth to shout his victory cry, proud of himself at so easily besting the champion of Steelhaven. Nobul smashed his helmeted head right in the bridge of his nose, jumping up to reach, feeling the jarring impact like he’d just head-butted a tree.
Wolkan loosed his grip on the hammer, staggering back, his axe almost dropping from his hand. Nobul had to press in — if he gave this giant time for another attack he’d more than likely be done for. Maybe he should have made a spectacle of it. Maybe he should have drawn out the battle to show those Khurtic bastards just who was the best. Then again, the longer this went on, the more chance he had of dying.
Nobul’s hammer came down on the Khurta’s shoulder. There was a dull crack of bone, but to his credit Wolkan didn’t cry out in pain. He instead tried to raise his axe, but Nobul batted it aside with his hammer, sending it skittering across the top of the bastion. Another strike at the shoulder and Wolkan went down, his face a mask of bearded rage. He began to speak in the Khurtic tongue — a garbled rant of hate. Nobul’s next hammer blow caught him in the jaw, shattering it and giving the giant’s face an odd skewed expression. His next strike staved in Wolkan’s head, the hammer embedding itself in his skull, eye popping out of its socket to dangle uselessly on that bearded face.
The Khurtas had gone quiet now. Nobul looked at them as he wrenched his hammer free and let Wolkan’s body fall to the ground in a heap. He thought about shouting for someone else to come forward and take him on, to see if the rest of them had the stones for a fight, but all of a sudden he felt bloody tired. Not that he need have worried. The Khurtas were just staring at him, some in awe, others in fear.
Behind, someone shouted the order to attack. A score of men ran past Nobul, eager to take on the Khurtas, eager to show them as much grit and death as Nobul had just shown this Wolkan bastard. If they expected a fight they were sorely disappointed as the Khurtas suddenly routed. As much as he’d have liked to join them in the chase, Nobul didn’t have the heart.
‘Nice work,’ said Hake.
Nobul looked to see the old man standing next to him with a wry smile.
‘It wasn’t so hard,’ Nobul lied.
‘No, didn’t look it.’ Hake knelt down by the huge Khurta’s body. ‘Not every day you get to bring down a Khurtic war chief.’
‘Should I be pleased with myself?’
Hake shrugged. ‘Yes and no. You should be pleased you’re still breathing, that’s for sure. How long you’re breathing for is another matter. You just made yourself a target for every Khurta at this wall who wants to prove himself. Word’s gonna spread. And when it does they’ll all be looking to claim your head and the glory that goes with it.’
Well done, Nobul. If you thought things were tough before you’ve just made them ten times worse. But you never were one for doing things the easy way, were you?
‘Let them come,’ said Nobul, gripping his hammer the tighter.
Suddenly, despite the hurt and the fatigue, he had the urge to smash more heads.
TWENTY-SEVEN
River had stood at the city’s highest promontories countless times and looked out over Steelhaven’s majesty with awe. He had looked out for miles at views no one else had ever been privy to and thrilled at the sight. Now, as he clung to what remained of a crumbling tower, he was only filled with sadness.
Men fought and died by the score defending a wall that looked almost ready to fall. Machines of war flung burning artillery as others trundled across the plain that sat to the city’s north, delivering savage, screaming warriors bent on destroying what had once been a place of such splendour. The enemy teemed, sweeping forward in a wave of savagery, and yet the city’s defenders stood fast against them, despite the odds.
How River would have loved to race down and join them in their fight. How he would have loved to add his strength and skill to protect Steelhaven. Not because it was his city, but because it was hers. But he knew that was folly. To fight and die with everyone else would be courageous, but ultimately he would fall. There was only one way he could end this. Only one way he could save the city, and Jay with it.
Amon Tugha had to die.
With their warlord fallen these savages would have no one to rally to. They would be headless, aimless, and would scatter back to the north. Or so he could only hope.
River moved down from the tower. The rooftops he had known so well were changed now. Bombardment from the north meant that many of the structures he had traversed for years were no longer there or had become perilous to move across. More than once he lost his footing as a strut broke beneath his foot or a hole appeared in a tiled roof, and when finally he managed to reach the outer wall he was breathing hard from the effort.
The Khurtas were concentrating their attack to the north. Here on the eastern side of the city it was relatively quiet but the wall was still heavily guarded. In the dark, River managed to slip past the vigilant sentries, aided by the fact that most of them stared pensively to the north or out over the wall to the east. He easily scaled the bastion of the Lych Gate and slipped over the battlement. The climb to the ground was harder as he slipped down the face of the gate tower, past the two carved figures — hooded warriors holding their swords aloft — and leapt the last ten feet to land deftly in the dark.
He wasted no time, sprinting northwards. The night was black beyond the ambient light of the city and he was aware that there could be enemies lurking in the dark. Though the Khurtas were attacking as a horde to the north it was more than likely there were groups of them lurking elsewhere, ready to fall upon anyone desperate enough to try and escape the attack on Steelhaven.
River gave the massed army a wide berth, running far to the east as the battle raged into the night and skirting a ridge almost a league north of the city. As he reached a crest in the hill River slowed, hunkering down and moving in silence. Beyond the hill he could see the radiant light of campfires and hear voices talking in an alien tongue. As he neared he drew his blades, focusing on his work. The mark would be in that camp somewhere. Amon Tugha was waiting.