Read Online Tides of Blood and Steel by Christian Warren Freed - Free Book Online Page A

deserved to be on the front lines leading his brothers into battle.
    Haltaf signaled a halt. He frowned at the fallen tree blocking the trail. This meant more time in these damned mountains. Further and further from the fighting. As much as he wanted to put that kind of thinking behind him, Haltaf found he couldn’t. He desperately wanted to feel the bitter satisfaction of combat again. The sting of steel and the agony of bloodshed. Babysitting a supply train was almost more than he could bear.
    “Bring up the breaching team,” he snapped. “I want this tree cleared as fast as possible.”
    “Yes, sergeant.”
    A squad of engineers armed with axes and rope rushed forward and set about their task. Haltaf watched impatiently. This was the third time he’d been forced to call a halt, all for similar blockages. A hint of movement caught his attention. He turned, finding nothing but the mockery of the surrounding trees. Trees. Damned things are a nuisance . Trees with broken ends that were jagged and unkempt clearly had fallen by an act of nature. This tree, he noticed, had the fine edges of being cut down. Haltaf tensed.
    “Establish a defensive perimeter!” he barked, drawing his sword.
    It was much too late. Arrows whistled into them from both sides of the trail. Most missed their targets, a handful bouncing off of the Wolfsreik’s thick armor. A few managed to strike arms and legs. Two caught their targets in the throat, felling both with a small torrent of dark arterial blood.
    Haltaf snarled. Finally, a battle . “Keep chopping that tree! I’ll deal with this.”
    A double squad gathered on him. He gestured with his sword and they charged into the nearest tree line with a terrible roar. Arrows continued to buzz by. Two thudded into a tree next to his head. He smiled. Bloodlust was upon him. Haltaf caught sight of a pair of deer-skinned hides darting away as their position became untenable. The veteran ordered his men after them.
    Violent urges oozed from his pores as Haltaf let the battle consume him. They quickened his reflexes. Made him stronger. Faster. His blood rage quietly built to berserker. Disappointment threatened to steal his momentum when he noticed all of the enemy in his vicinity broke and ran. He was about to curse his fortune when a dozen of the brown-skinned men burst from nearby cover.
    Each Pell warrior launched a short spear and drew swords. Haltaf batted a spear aside as a second pierced his right thigh. He dropped with burning pain spreading through the muscle. Blood pooled on the fresh snow. His sword slipped as he used both hands to staunch the flow. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he realized that he couldn’t help his men. The lines met. Soldiers from both sides fell. Haltaf passed out before the company surgeon slapped a tourniquet above the wound.
    For all of their bravery, the Pell Darga never stood much of a chance against the disciplined ranks of the Wolfsreik. A few got lucky, but most fell under the crushing weight of armor and better steel. A scattering of survivors fell back at the clarion of a lone horn. Black smoke billowed into the dwindling daylight.
    “The wagons! They are firing the wagons!”
    The soldiers quickly fell back to secure what was left of the supply convoy. All of the wagon masters were dead, along with most of the men left to guard them. It was then dozens of armored enemy attacked. The battle quickly turned into a melee. Leaderless, the beleaguered soldiers of the Wolfsreik struggled to survive. It was a fruitless endeavor.
     
     
    Sharp pain lanced down his leg and into his groin. Haltaf’s leg hurt bad, more from the application of the tourniquet than the spear sticking out of him.
    “This one is still alive.”
    He could barely open his eyes. Acrid smoke curled in his nostrils and he knew what had happened. His men had lost and his charge was destroyed. Bodies lay as far as he could see, frozen in their own blood. The stains in the snow