From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [5]
Shung’s warrior cry bellowed from behind, but there was no time to see whether Shung needed aid.
There were too many.
But Shung’s yell reminded Achan that volume was strength. He released a hearty scream of his own and threw out his shield arm, knocking a soldier back. He cut across two men with his waster. One stumbled into the dusty soil. The other danced back and retreated to the benches. This won Achan a moment to breathe. He returned his blade and shield to middle guard and glanced at Shung.
His faithful Shield was surrounded by five foes. Shung blocked two strikes and caught a soldier square in the chest with his buckler shield.
The onlooking soldiers rooted for their comrades.
“Get ’em, men!”
Go low, Zin!
“Three cheers for Carmine!”
“Take him down, Grigio!”
Make him pay. For Rennan!
For Rennan? Shung? Did you hear that? Achan asked telepathically.
Shung glanced Achan’s way. Behind you!
Achan spun around just as a waster pounded the top of his head, slamming his teeth together. His knees buckled. His head rang against his helm like the clapper of a bell. He sank to his knees—head throbbing, elbow and thigh screaming—and raised his shield to protect his head.
Little Cham! Shung yelled. On guard!
But Achan couldn’t think. He needed a moment to—
A waster stabbed his left side. Another cracked against his shield. Achan cowered behind the slab of worn wood. He took several short breaths and jumped up. His shield struck his opponent’s again, but this time Achan rammed it outward. The soldier fell and skidded in the dirt.
That won’t do, Zin! We’ve got to show him a Carmine soldier is more man than he’ll ever be.
Shut up, Grigio. You’re distracting me.
Achan wanted to identify who Zin and Grigio might be, but he barely had time to crouch into position to deflect a blow from his latest opponent. This one came at his feet. He met it with his sword and lifted his shield high, then brought the edge of his shield down toward his opponent’s head.
Missed. The shields locked together. Achan’s opponent tugged him close, their faces inches apart. The man’s eyes were fierce, hateful. This was no training regimen for him. Why?
A shadow flitted across Achan’s vision. Too late he saw his opponent’s sword in high guard coming down. He jerked his head aside. The waster whipped the air beside his head, nicking his helm.
The helm twisted, blocking sight to his left eye. He ducked behind his shield as the weight of a man knocked against it. Leather scraped against wood. Achan fell. He kept his shield tight over his head and body. Kicked out a leg.
Useless.
Someone stomped on his wrist and jerked his sword away. A tug on his shield wrenched his right arm out straight. His cham wounds burned. He held tight until a waster cleaved against his arm. His shield flew away.
Three dark outlines hovered overhead, the sky clear and blue above them. A kick to his ribs felt like a playful nudge through his armor. A mailed fist to his jaw, however…
The air stung the raw flesh where he’d been struck.
That’ll teach the lily-livered geck.
What in all Er’Rets?
Achan tried to roll away, but the same mail glove gripped his throat. Squeezed. “You yield?” the soldier asked, his voice a faint breath.
Achan pushed against the man’s chest with his hands and managed to croak, “No.”
Stubborn little pip, he is.
You’ve got him, Grigio. Make him regret it.
So this was Grigio, at least. The one choking him. The pressure increased, crushing Achan’s throat until his cheeks tingled. The cheers of the Carmine soldiers warbled.
Shh-ung… a little help?
Coming.
Achan’s vision spotted, but Shung’s battle cry bolstered his courage. In one motion, the hand released his throat and his attacker fell away.
He gasped and lifted his head to see Shung dragging the soldier away by the cape. Five fresh men approached from the benches.
Pig snout. Would this never end? Achan pushed up onto one elbow and searched the dirt for his sword.