down on the lock, cutting through the rope that secured it. He wheeled too late to meet the sword of one of Soterius's refugee fighters, and the sword took the lieutenant through the chest.
"Sweet Chenne," Soterius murmured as the box door flew open, pushed from within. Bursting from the box were a half a dozen wild-eyed fighters swinging sledgehammers and axes. With incoherent cries, the ragged fighters streamed from their prison, as the Margolan soldiers scrambled to get out of the way.
Soterius wasted no time on his inexperienced opponent. He ran the man through, turning to face this new threat. He heard a cry from Tadrie to his left; the refugee seemed frozen in place, a look of horror on his face as one of the rag-tag fighters advanced. "Pell, Andras, Tabb-I need you!" Soterius cried out as several other refugee soldiers seemed to lose their focus, staring at the wild-eyed fighters as if they were spirits from the abyss.
Dimly, Soterius realized that the few Margolan soldiers who were still alive were running for the forest, and that Mikhail was nowhere to be seen on the battlefield.
"By the Whore, what are they?" Pell cried out. Soterius tackled Tadrie to get him out of the way of the attacking creature's hammer. Now that he was close enough to see their new opponents, only Soterius's battle training kept him from staring in shock like the refugee fighters. There was something very wrong with the fighters who streamed from the wagon, who waded into the battle heedless oi whom they hit, striking as indiscriminately against the Margolan soldiers as against Soterius's stealth fighters.
"Find out if they bleed!" Soterius shouted as he dragged Tadrie to his feet. Pell and Andras closed ranks in front of him. "Stand your ground!"
"Back from the dead," Tadrie was murmuring, staring uncomprehendingly at the fighter who was striking so ferociously that both Pell and Andras were hard pressed to keep him at bay.
From the forest, Soterius heard a man's scream, and guessed that Mikhail was cleaning up the Margolan soldiers who had run for cover beneath the trees.
"You won't come back from the dead," Soterius shouted at Tadrie, shaking the man. "Fight!"
Soterius heard one of the rag-tag fighters approach and turned, still shielding Tadrie. Now up close, Soterius knew these fighters were no common back-up troops. There was more than rage in their eyes-there was a complete lack of humanity, as if the soul itself had been replaced with blood madness. Unkempt and unshaven, smelling of sweat and waste, the rag-tag fighters fought with insane ferocity. The fighter's wild blow broke Soterius's sword, and Soterius dove aside, feeling the axe graze his shoulder. Blood streamed down his left arm but he could still move it, and he had no time to triage his wounds. Snatching up a sword from one of the fallen Margolan soldiers, Soterius swung two-handed, knowing that a madman wielding a battle axe could easily best a swordsman before too many blows were traded.
