'Stairs ahead,' she grunted. 'Going down.'
'Clear,' the healer observed.
'For now.'
Antsy joined them. 'What's the hold-up? We gotta keep moving.'
'We know, Sergeant,' Mallet said, then he swung back to the Napan. 'It'll have to do. Lead us down, Detoran.'
More corpses littered the stone steps, the blood making purchase uncertain.
They descended past two landings unchallenged. Halfway down the next flight, at a switchback in the stairs, Mallet heard the Napan grunt, and weapons suddenly rang.
A wordless shout from behind twisted into a Barghast warcry.
'Dammit!' Mallet snapped. Fighting above and below — they were in trouble. 'Spin, back up Antsy and Trotts! I'll lend Det a hand!'
'Aye, sir!'
The healer plunged down a half-dozen steps to the bend. Detoran had already pushed her attackers back to a landing. The healer saw, beyond the Napan, at least six Seerdomin, heavy, short-handled double-bladed axes in their gauntleted hands. Detoran, a shortsword in her left hand, broadsword in her right, had just cut down the warrior in front of her. Without hesitating, she stepped over the dying Seerdomin, reaching the landing.
The Seerdomin rushed her.
There was no way to get past the Napan. Swearing, Mallet sheathed his shortsword and unlimbered his crossbow. A quarrel already rested in the slot, held in place by a loop of leather that the healer now pulled clear. Ignoring the bellows and singing iron, he hooked the clawfoot over the braided string and cinched it back.
Up beyond the bend in the staircase, Trotts had begun chanting, broken only by an ominous shriek from Antsy. Fresh blood thinned with bile was streaming down the steps.
Mallet moved back to find a clear shot over Detoran.
The Napan had thrust her shortsword up into a Seerdomin's head from below. The blade jammed between the mandibles. Instead of pulling, Detoran pushed, sending the victim and weapon flying back to foul the two warriors beyond. With the broadsword in her right hand extended, she was keeping another Seerdomin at bay. He was swinging his shorter weapons at the blade in an effort to bat it aside so he could close, but Detoran made her heavy blade dance and weave as if it was a duellist's rapier.
Mallet's attention fixed on the two recovering Seerdomin. A third warrior was pulling the fallen Seerdomin away. The healer snapped the crossbow up and depressed the trigger. The weapon bucked in his hands.
One of the recovering Seerdomin shrieked, a quarrel buried to its leather fins in his chest. He sagged back.
A tumbling body knocked Mallet from his feet as he was about to reload. Cursing, the healer fell back against a side wall and made to kick the corpse away with his boots as he fumbled for a quarrel, then he saw that it was Antsy. Not yet dead, though his chest was sheathed in blood. From the sounds above, Trotts was pushing his way back up the stairs.
He twisted round at a shout from Detoran. She had lunged with her broadsword, breaking her timing to dip her blade round a desperate parry, then sliding the edge up and under the Seerdomin's helm, ripping open the side of the man's neck — even as his other axe stashed a wild arc, straight for Detoran's head.
The Napan threw her left shoulder into its path.
Chain snapped, blood sprayed. The axe-blade cut clear, carrying with it most of the muscle of Detoran's shoulder.
She reeled. Then, blood spurting, righted herself and rushed the remaining two Seerdomin.
The nearest one threw one of his axes.
The Napan chopped it aside then swung a backhand slash that the man barely managed to block. Detoran closed, dropping her sword and jamming her fingers into the helm's eye-slit. The momentum of her rush carried her round the man, twisting his head to follow.
Mallet heard an audible pop of vertebrae, even as he finished loading his crossbow. He raised it-
The last Seerdomin's axes flashed.
Detoran's right arm, stretched out with the fingers still snagged in the visor, was severed halfway between shoulder and elbow.
The second axe drove deep between her shoulder-blades, throwing her forward to slap face first against the landing's wall.
The Seerdomin moved forward to tug the second axe free.
Mallet's quarrel vanished into the man's right arm-pit. He buckled, then collapsed in a clatter of armour.
The healer, setting another quarrel into the slot, clambered to where Detoran still leaned, upright, face first against the wall. The rush of blood from her wounds had slowed to turgid streams.
He did not need to reach out to touch the Napan to know that she was dead.
Boots thumped on the stairs and the healer swung round to see Spindle stumbling onto the landing. He'd taken a blow against his pot-helm, snapping the brow-band and its rivets on one side. Blood painted that side of his face. His eyes were wild.
