Bloodfire Quest (The Dark Legacy of Shannara, #2)(27)
He had just about convinced himself it would be the latter when he sensed a stirring from those who kept watch at the edge of the cliff, and suddenly the Gnome Tracker hove into view atop the ledge, scrambling up hurriedly and flattening himself against the rock. He immediately motioned for the others to crouch down, gesturing them away from the edge. Seersha bent close, speaking quickly to him, listening to his rushed reply. She turned to where Railing was sitting, motioning for him to stay put, pointing out into the darkness to indicate something was coming.
Seconds later they were attacked.
Their assailants had returned for another try, scaling the walls of the cliff face like ants. They swarmed over the edge of the precipice, clearly not in need of the footholds that Railing and the others had required, bodies hunched over and skittering across the ledge, claws and teeth flashing. They were all over the two Trolls in seconds, flinging themselves on their armored bodies, tearing at them. Seersha held firm at the center, using Druid Fire to fling their attackers away, keeping most from getting past her.
But from either end of the ledge, where there were no defenders, the crookbacked little monsters gained the precipice unchallenged and came at Railing in droves.
Skint had dropped back to stand with him, knives held in both hands, and he was even quicker than his attackers. Blades cutting and slicing, sharpened metal edges flashing, he tore into them. In seconds, bodies lay heaped all around him.
But he couldn’t be everywhere, and the rest charged the boy out of the dark, squealing and hissing like cats.
By now, Railing was on his feet, leaning on his crutch and summoning the magic of the wishsong. He reacted smoothly and calmly even though his stomach was roiling, standing his ground more because he had no choice than because he was brave. The attack came from three sides, but he stopped it cold, sweeping the magic in a broad swath that tumbled his attackers backward. He advanced a step at a time, taking the attack to them. Fire ripped across the ledge first one way and then the other, catching up the snapping, screeching creatures and flinging them away. One or two got around him by keeping to the darkness of the cliff face, but Farshaun was waiting with his heavy staff and put them down with swift, solid blows.
The members of the little company fought hard until the attack was broken up and their assailants driven off.
In the aftermath, the defenders stood panting for breath, ready for a fresh assault, waiting for it to come, and knowing it would. Skint moved over to Railing and put a hand on his shoulder, saying nothing. At the edge of the precipice, Seersha spoke quietly with the Trolls and glanced back to where Railing and Skint were standing together, giving them a satisfied nod.
Railing took deep breaths, his heart racing. He didn’t feel good about any of this.
“Above you!” the Speakman shrieked.
Down from the cliff face behind them dropped several dozen fresh attackers, springing off the rocks like cats. Railing had only seconds to realize what had happened—they had used the screen of the previous attack to come up from behind—before they were all over him. He caught a glimpse of Farshaun going down, felled by a blow to the head. Beside him, Skint whirled away, quicker than he was, knives flashing. Then Railing’s crutch was knocked out from under him, and he was swarmed over by coarse, hairy bodies and borne to the ground.
But the wishsong saved him once more, reacting to the danger faster than he could think to command it, surfacing on its own to explode out of him and throw his attackers away. It happened so swiftly that it took him a moment to realize he was free again. Ignoring the pain in his broken leg, he scrambled up, using the crutch for leverage, and lashed out at the crouched forms. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Seersha’s magic ignite her attackers in bright blue flashes, setting them afire and sending them screaming into the night. A crush of the gnarled creatures had overwhelmed one of the Trolls. It fought to get free, veering dangerously close to the edge of the drop, then lost its balance and tumbled over the side, carrying its attackers with it.
The creatures were climbing up onto the ledge again, attacking from the front as well as dropping from the cliff face behind. The defenders were surrounded. Railing saw Seersha sweeping Druid Fire all along the edges of the cliff, trying to turn back these new attackers, to purge the entire front ranks. Skint and the last of the Trolls were standing shoulder-to-hip on his right, blocking the few who slipped past the Druid.
He swung back toward the overhang and found Farshaun on his feet again, struggling to break free from a pair of the attackers that had come down off the cliff face. They had his arms and were trying to wrench the staff from his hands. The boy dispatched both with quick bursts of the wishsong, his voice a hoarse shriek by now, his throat parched and raw. Quickly, he limped through the tangled bodies to stand next to the old Rover, reaching him just as a fresh wave of attackers scrambled over the cliff edge to his right and came at them.
“Stand fast,” he heard Farshaun say.
Tightening his resolve, he did so, summoning the magic of the wishsong one more time. But he was weakened from the struggle and the effort drained him of the last of his strength. There were too many of them. Then he saw Seersha mount a counterattack, flinging herself into the heart of this fresh assault, and he responded with a wild cry and a counterattack of his own. Magic flaring, he tossed aside the crutch and began advancing toward the spidery attackers in a steady shuffle. The pain in his leg was intense, but it caused him to focus on what he was doing, generating a raw strength of will that would not let him quit. Fire burned across the ledge from both directions as the Druid and the boy struggled against this fresh surge, hammering into it, slowing it, stopping it, and finally throwing it back.