David C. Smith & Richard L. Tierney - Red Sonja 05 by Against the Prince of Hell

Author:Against the Prince of Hell [Hell, Against the Prince of]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7.

The attack stunned those guards who, awaiting the change of patrol, were half-dozing at their posts. Six of them on the eastern flank of the palace, making small talk and chewing bori seeds to help keep themselves awake, suddenly saw a red-haired fury of a woman in mail leaping at them from behind a low wall.

Astonished, they moved for their pikes—and within a moment two of them had dropped lifeless to the ground, legs and arms twitching, victims of a swift and dazzling swordplay the like of which they had never seen.

Behind Sonja the Thesradians stormed forward, hacking down the other guards before they could cry out an alarm. Sonja threw herself against the wall of the palace and judged its entrance: a small gateway, probably leading to the kitchens or a storeroom; at any rate, she could see a door just across the small courtyard. She was about to enter, then hesitated, knowing it would be better to have two or three extra swords beside her when she did so.

Her decision came with the sounds of commotion within—running bootsteps and furious curses approaching the courtyard from within the palace. At the same time she heard the first tidal roar of exploding violence from the front of the palace, where Omeron was leading an attack on the main entrance.

Sonja crouched low, sheathed her sword, and took up two pikes, which the slain soldiers of Du-jum had dropped. Resting one against the wall beside her, she held the other ready in both hands. From inside, the bootsteps and curses came louder. Then, the slamming open of a door—and through an ivied trellis-work, Sonja saw a crowd of men with swords and spears rush out towards the gate.

She waited until they had smashed open the light metal grill work that barred the entrance way, then swung up the long pike and hurled it. The heavy, long-bladed spear transfixed the neck of the guard in the lead and ripped into the body of the man just behind him. The two went down in a welter of blood.

“Get that woman!” bellowed a soldier.

Sonja snatched up the second pike, hefted it an instant, then hurled it also into the dense knot of soldiers crowded into the gateway. More screams—and two more men in front were thrown back, weapons flying from outflung arms as the heavy spear drove through both, pinning them together and sending them flopping awkwardly on top of the first two so downed.

“Follow me, soldiers of Thesrad!” yelled Sonja, whipping out her sword again. “For Omeron!”

“Teeth of Nergal!” yelled the men ecstatically, surging forward. “Kill these dogs! Slay the sorcerer’s puppets!”

They fought maniacally, blindly, driven by hate and long-withheld fury. Sonja screamed an Hyrkanian war cry as her sword dealt death—arcing, swerving, hacking. Screams choked in blood-filled throats. Gore and brains spattered Sonja’s mail as she and Omeron’s men smote in a rage on every side, overwhelming the guards within the gate and reducing them quickly to mounds of armored, butchered meat.

The survivors drew back, appalled at the Thesradians’ berserk fury.

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