Word of Traitors_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [96]
Arrows fell again, this time carefully aimed. The elf who had taken an arrow in his shoulder took a second in his chest. Other elves danced back, some struck, others simply avoiding the deadly rain. They were on all sides of the camp though, and the archers in the ruins were forced to divide their efforts. Ekhaas saw one of the hobgoblins silhouetted for a moment against the starry sky; the heavy bow he carried seemed too thick to bend, yet bend it he did, and another elf died.
“Form up—double fortress!”
The thin lines of the Darguul perimeter dissolved and reformed into two solid rectangles of soldiers parallel to each other with camp and campfires between them. Ekhaas caught another glimpse of Dagii. He’d claimed a helmet and a shield. Three other hobgoblins clustered around him for a moment: Keraal with his chain and the two lhurusk. Keraal and one of the lhurusk were nodding, but the other one seemed inclined to argue. His hand thrust toward the second formation of soldiers.
Dagii’s fist, still wrapped around the hilt of his sword, punched out and cracked him in the jaw. The struck hobgoblin staggered, then ducked his head and joined the distant column. Dagii sent the other lhurusk with him, then he and Keraal melted into the first formation.
“Archers, hold!”
The arrows stopped. For a moment, the night was still, the Valenar waiting for the Darguuls to move, the Darguuls waiting for the Valenar.
Then a scimitar flashed up, whirling around the head of its wielder as she let out a high, musical war cry—and abruptly the night was filled with war cries. The elves ran at the defenders, not as disciplined dar might, but singly, each elf fighting alone. They darted and cut and dodged, their red garb like dancing flames in the night.
“Hold position!” Dagii commanded. “Hold!”
The wave of elves broke and receded for a moment, and Ekhaas saw that for all its apparent ferocity, that attack had been a show. She couldn’t see the faces of the veiled elves, but their posture was stiff and their weapons trembling. They were disappointed, she guessed. The mock attack had been intended to break the enemy formation and draw them out. The Darguuls had resisted.
An elf voice screamed. The wave crashed forward again.
This time, the scimitars flashed out in earnest. “Forward ranks, attack! Archers, loose!” roared Dagii.
Spears thrust at the elves. A few found flesh, but the elves were clearly used to this tactic and many slid or ducked to come up inside the reach of the first rank—only to encounter spears jabbed forward by the second rank underneath the arms of their comrades. At the same time, the first rank of Darguuls dropped their now useless spears and drew swords. Arrows rained down on those elves who hung back or tried to pull away, making retreat almost as dangerous as staying close.
And yet a band of elves had leaped into the gap between the two rectangles of dar, leaping bedrolls and campfires. They didn’t, however, attack the defenders, and Ekhaas knew immediately what they were up to. They were going for the gaping charred doors of Tii’ator. They would try to take the ruined clanhold and seize the high ground from the hobgoblin archers.
She started to rise, to shout a warning, but Chetiin grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. “Dagii knows!” he rasped—just as the warlord of the Mur Talaan shouted out, “Rear ranks, close!”
The rear ranks of each rectangle spun around and slammed together like the jaws of a vise. The running elves found themselves trapped. Scimitars turned against heavy dar swords as they tried to fight their way clear.
Chetiin drew breath through his teeth. “The elves will call for their archers soon. Marrow, with me.” He turned black eyes on Ekhaas. “Stay hidden! The elves will be looking for a spellcaster now. Hopefully they’ll think you’re fighting among the ranks in the camp.”
He turned