The Siege

“They’re like damned ants!” Tomuk yelled, raising his shield, just in time to block another inbound arrow. The bony tip of the projectile bounced off the metal-plated surface and splintered into multiple fragments. The sturdy dwarf cursed but kept trotting, his heavy chain armour jingling with every step. He was beginning to wonder if he should drop the armour suit slowing him down, but doing so even for a brief moment would turn him into a perfect target. So he kept running and so did everyone else around. The mixed crowd of all ages and trades rushed through the streets of their hometown away from the goblin pursuers. The occupants of nearby houses were joining the retreating mass, some carrying their most precious belongings, others rushing out barefooted with children in their arms. But some stayed behind, foolishly hoping to hide from the imminent danger by closing windows and dimming lights inside.

“Bloody dimwits! Run for your lives!” Tomuk tried to warn the fools, but his voice drowned amid all the clatter and racket around.

“Don’t bother with them!” Tomuk’s cousin Jarik muttered, jogging ahead. “You can’t help every stupid…..ah spank my arse!” he suddenly yapped leaning backwards to dodge an arrow nearly clipping his dusty beard. “Those bloody goblins know how to shoot!” he yelled, almost losing balance, but Tomuk gave him a nudge from behind and pushed his weary cousin forward.

“Better than you for sure,” Tomuk replied, shielding himself from yet another whizzing missile.

“Thanks, cousin!” Jarik mumbled, gasping for air. His forehead was dripping with sweat. He hated to run and especially for a long distance. When the southern gate fell to advancing orcs, both dwarves were at the tip of the retreating crowd but soon found themselves at the back of it, forced to dodge the deadly shower of their tenacious pursuers. And having short legs didn’t help with the hasty retreat.

More arrows zapped nearby, one bouncing of Tomuk’s plated helmet. With the bells still ringing between his ears from the impact, he caught a glimpse of the arrow deflecting into the hip of the man in an elegant tunic running next to him. The man yelped in pain, slowing down for a second, just as the second arrow plunged into his neck, finishing the job. Rich or poor, made no difference to the hungry goblins.

An older woman suddenly screamed and slumped to Tomuk’s right when the arrowhead punctured her shoulder. Before the poor soul could get up, another arrow pierced the woman's right temple ending her suffering. Her body froze in the seated position in the middle of the road as the retreating residents rushed by her gruesome statue.

The death reigned on them from the rooftops and every little street alley they crossed. Some of the soldiers, retreating with the crowd, carried heavy crossbows and tried to fend the attackers off, however, running and shooting at the same time bore very little fruit. Most of the shots missed their small, fast-moving targets jumping on the rooftops. Though, some were successful, confirmed by the painful howls resonating from above as the bodies of the injured goblins fell to the ground, where the retreating soldiers finished off the ones still alive. The street lanterns illuminated their small, fragile, twisted frames, with just rags covering their thighs and arrow quivers across their chests.

The rest of the pursuers responded with furious shrieks and croaks and devoted all of their attention to the soldiers below, peppering them with the hail of arrows. Some town guards could cover behind the shields they carried, but others had just thin leather uniforms to protect them. Sharp arrowheads penetrated those with ease, moving down man after man.

A young soldier stopped for a moment in front of Tomuk, trying to reload his crossbow. That was a fatal mistake. Two arrows instantly knocked him to the ground, one penetrating the chest, and the second piercing the boy’s left eyeball. He didn’t even have time to scream before succumbing to his death as the blood began to spill from the ghastly wound.

“Poor kid,” Tomuk murmured to himself, jumping over the young man’s body. More people crumbled around. There was no time to stop and try to help them. Slowing down meant an inevitable demise, and nobody was keen to die for strangers. The battle roars of the approaching orcs in the distance left no doubts about the fate of the doomed souls straggled behind. The advancing horde cleared every building, cellar and backyard on their way, spreading death and destruction. Dense smoke started to fill the evening sky, indicating a spreading fire. Attackers were burning everything in their path, forcing the town dwellers to flee in panic and disarray.

A tall man, a baker by the looks of his clothing, rushing to the right of Jarik, suddenly fell screaming in agony with the black arrow stem sticking out of his right leg. He squirmed in anguish, trying to get the arrow out, but that only made his suffering worse. The tiny sharp hooks, masterfully carved on the bone arrowhead, sliced through the muscle and tissue as the man was pulling it out, causing even more damage and pain. He had no chance of surviving, and Jarik knew that. He quickly ran around the doomed baker, quietly cursing for not being able to help the poor fellow. Tomuk followed right behind him, almost breathing down Jarik’s neck.

Another arrow whizzed just inches above Tomuk’s head, hitting a young woman to their left instead. She gasped and lost her footing. Seconds later, death took her.

“Lucky you for being so short,” Jarik yelled to his cousin, panting. “Those stinking whoresons can’t see you amongst all these fine tall, soon to be dead, humans!” he tried to appear jolly to hide his growing despair.

“Hah! I am still taller than you!” Tomuk retorted, puffing. He quickly looked over the top of his shield and raised it just in time to save his scalp when another arrow bounced off its surface with a loud ping. “Wretched spawns! Will they ever run out of arrows?”

“Save your breath and better move those tiny feet of yours!” Jarik yelled back. He pointed towards the western gate. “We’re nearly there! Let’s hope those bastards didn’t get there first!”

“Aye, brother,” Tomuk replied and quickened his pace.

They crossed another paved intersection surrounded by the wooden houses, falling ever further behind the rest of the crowd, when it suddenly turned quiet. The shower of arrows stopped, just as unexpectedly as it started earlier. Either they outran the goblin archers for now, or the pursuers indeed ran out of ammunition. A glance at the trail of bodies left behind was more likely proof of the latter. Some of the wounded were still alive, but Jarik could already see small shadows jumping down from the rooftops, their knives shining in the twilight. He knew painfully well what was about to happen. Without any delay, the ugly creatures embarked on their bloody business of murder, killing anyone who still moved or was showing signs of life. Screams of the unlucky souls, while butchered like animals, echoed through now empty streets. Jarik turned his gaze away, trying to keep up with Tomuk. The sight of the massacre revived some long-forgotten memories, but the tired dwarf pushed those thoughts away. Soon the goblins would be back with more arrows, so there was no time to waste.

This brief pause brought very much needed relief to the cousins. They crossed few more streets before the sight of the tall flames of fire reaching to the sky up ahead forced them to slow down. People running from the opposite direction, away from the city walls, confirmed their fears. The western gate was burning and along with it their path to relative safety. With orcs now besieging the city, staying inside was suicidal.

“I don’t like the looks of it,” Jarik said, trying to catch his breath.

“Me neither,” Tomuk replied, his mind already processing possible next steps. Their options dwindled by a minute. He could see the smoke columns popping up in the distance. Orcs were setting fire to the buildings near the walls, skillfully directing the increasing inferno towards the centre of the city, forcing everyone to retreat inwards, blocking any chance of escape. It was their common tactic, but never on such a massive scale.

“Help me up, will you?” Tomuk said to Jarik, hinting to the roof of the small shed. “I need a better look.”

Jarik nodded and braced himself against the wooden wall, serving as a support for his cousin. “Ah you heavy bastard,” he grunted while Tomuk, with all his body and armour weight, clambered to the rooftop.

“Just as I thought!” Tomuk’s voice echoed from above. “Eastern and northern gates burning too. It looks like our visit to this lovely town has just been extended against our will, dear cousin.”

“Just bloody great,” Jarik cursed in response. “So, what now?”

Tomuk stayed quiet for a brief moment then replied vivaciously, “Now, dear cousin, we gonna get ourselves a drink!”

“Now is not the time for your damn jokes,” Jarik was starting to lose his temper.

“I am not joking,” Tomuk replied as his boots reappeared from the edge of the roof. “First help me to get down and stop moaning for once.”

Jarik mumbled something incomprehensible and leaned against the wall.

“I heard that,” Tomuk shouted, trying to locate his cousin below with his right foot. After few attempts, he finally managed to step on Jarik’s shoulder when his support suddenly disappeared, followed by someone's hand grabbing him by the left leg and with the yell “Watch out!”, pulling the dwarf off the rooftop and sending him flying to the ground. Mid-flight, with the corner of his eye, Tomuk caught a glimpse of the bloodied head of a large axe smashing into the wooden wall of the house in the same spot where he was clambering just a moment ago. The black handle of the weapon wrapped in, what appeared to be dried rashes of human skin, was undoubtedly orcish and the mighty roar erupting somewhere nearby confirmed his assumption. The dwarf landed on his arse with a loud fart and stinging pain shooting up his spine, immediately followed by a rich collection of dwarvish curses, expressing his opinion about such an unexpected and unpleasant descent.

The same hand that moment ago unceremoniously pulled him off the roof now pulled him up on his feet, adding, “Looks like our drinks will have to wait.”

“Ah, where is that bastard?” still tunned, Tomuk pulled out the double-edged axe he carried on his right hip and turned around just in time to see the tall, muscular shape coming out of the shadows of the nearby house. The broad-shouldered orc scowled in disappointed for missing his target. His pale skin, covered in the dark red paint, revealed quivering muscles underneath the battered human-crafted leather tunic. One could only guess the fate of its previous owner. The beast stopped for a second, observing the dwarves, at the same time, slowly chewing on something. He then spat the content of his mouth and with his right hand slowly pulled out his secondary weapon: a wedged sword, from the sheath on his back. The orc grinned, revealing two rows of rotten jagged teeth with bits of meat still stuck between them and slowly stepped towards the dwarves.

“Here is your bastard,” Jarik answered, nodding at the advancing creature.

“Big one,” Tomuk replied quietly, tightening the grip on the short handle of his axe. He raised the shield, adding, “Let me handle him.”

“Aye,” Jarik agreed and stepped aside, remaining vigilant of their surroundings. “Just make it quick, will you?”

“As quick as I can, cousin,” Tomuk replied carefully facing the approaching enemy.

The orc sniffed the air as he slowly marched forward, playing with the sword in his hand. He looked entertained by the idea of an easy kill. Suddenly he roared and charged at the dwarf.