Oddom Craftbald reached for Listenpeaces. He couldn't be scabbarded, and Oddom could run faster with him in her hand than on her back.
She had this strange sense of deja vu, every ambush. She couldn't remember everything perfectly, but it was, "Right, he drops the weapon and tries for a take-down," or "Okay, right, he gets another swing in, then he falls down," or "Yeah, I remember her back there, but the arm comes off before she can connect." Grandma had told her about berserkers she had seen, from the end of the Riddled Siege, when everyone fell back to the armory for crossbows but there weren't enough bolts to go around. Oddom had thought that's what it must be, but then she'd seen berserkers with her own eyes, her own Pinnacles dancing around missiles like the goblins were shooting from underwater, and when it was over, they couldn't remember how many blows they'd landed, they couldn't remember where they'd been wounded, they couldn't remember their own names, not for a while, and Oddom knew those were her grandma's trances when she saw them, knew that it was something different for her, even if she didn't have a name for it.
This one had a spear. He lunged, putting his whole body into it, but Listenpeaces was higher, if angled wrong, and she batted down the spear, still running, stepped on the haft as she came and the goblin lifted forward like an acrobat with a pole, so Listenpeaces was angled right after all, and the iron mail split, and so did the rib cage.
It used to be disconcerting. She had began every fight trying to remember if this was the one she lost. She had thought that if she could remember which one she lost, she could do things just a little bit differently than she remembered them happening, turn it into a win. "Hammer comes down, dodge left but then I fall, so I spin back instead," and then it'd be over, and she'd remember, "Oh yeah, this was one of the ones where I thought I was going to do it differently than I remembered, but that's just because I couldn't really remember everything perfectly, so I did it just the same as I remembered."
It didn't bother her anymore. She would remember, when the time came, and it didn't matter anyways. It left every fight a dance, carefully choreographed swings, every step memorized ahead of time. It left her a lot of time to think. Seems like these were the only times she really could think.
The goblin was still clutching the spear uselessly. His ribcage had stopped the blow, more or less, so she didn't need to recover, and the backblade was right over his hand. It separated from the forearm cleanly. Living bone doesn't look the same as dead bone.
The deal was that Kol managed the civil side, and Oddom managed the military side, and Oddom thought that she had handled the military side pretty damn well. Going on 14 years at Lanterndark now, and one military casualty. That poor boltboy, what was his name. One of Reg's. Oddom had never even seen the body, never seen where he fell. Walled up now.
Listenpeaces was low, now, a little tangled under the hand, the haft, the arm. Oddom turned. There he was, right where she remembered, charging with a spear held in both hands, over his head like an upsidedown sword. Lunatic. Her shield hand was already where it belonged, her shoulder too. The spearhead went clear past her head, a good foot off, and the goblin reeled back, clutching his face with both hands.
Not Reg's squad anymore. Fikod's. Reg had that thing with the tigers. Oddom had told him, "Reg, one of these days, one of those cats is going to tear your arm off," and it had done worse than that. It was Reg's life to lose, and he'd proven it. You splash around in a bathtub long enough, you're gonna drown. But that Vucar kid, too-- he was lucky that he could still walk.
Listenpeaces was free. He might have the shape of an axe, but hold him your hand, you knew he was a razor. Oddom could shave dwarves with him, trim the sideburns and leave the braids-- hell, had, that time that Tosid had been getting too proud, thinking he couldn't be touched. It wasn't about being cocky or being humble, that's what they didn't get. It was about knowing how fast you actually were and doing what you could with that. The lasher was close, but really too close for whipwork, and she followed the block forward, driving her shield into his face.
Oddom wasn't looking forward to the conversation with Kol. Surface work wasn't wholly civil and it wasn't wholly military. The leg came off below the knee and slowed Listenpeaces enough that she took the same leg off above the knee. She and Kol would have to talk about it. Kol loved to talk. She was good at it, like Oddom was good with an axe. Holy Zas these entrails stunk.
And the migrants, that first bunch. 14 of them, assuming they got the parts all matched up right. Oddom had never seen so much blood.
The one with the hammer saw Oddom with one foot in the air and thought she was off-balance but she was just winding up, there was that lasher behind her to manage. The maul came down, a huge head of iron, clamshelled in each of the hundred tangents where it had landed before, and sparked when it hit the earth. Oddom smiled, remembering, then felt the satisfying crunch where her steel-weighted toe landed.
That elephant sure bled a lot. Maybe a tie.
And Aban. Maybe she should count Aban. Aban had been a hell of teacher, just touched the dwarves and they got it right next time, but she never could stand any dwarf dying. It was Monom's squad now, good every way it counted, but he still couldn't get them to swing. Hardy Arches were the best damn defensive squad you could ask for, but that's because they wouldn't take their openings. Aban had taught them how to stay alive, not how to kill. Oddom ducked. It's like Aban couldn't stand for any of them to ever get hurt.
Shorast and Uzol had agreed. It was because Aban wasn't hard enough yet. Oddom had taken care of the first few ambushes, then Shorast, then Uzol, and they'd all seen their share of killing, they knew they couldn't expect their students to live, they knew there wasn't any such thing as a good death. Squad leader's a hard position. You have to love them to teach them, but you have to be able to walk away, too.
That's why they'd been sending Aban out so much. Probably too much. Aban was more of a teacher than a fighter, always came back, but always came back wounded. Shorast had said she'd be okay. She was, until she starved in traction.
Well, the point was, there had been very few military casualties. Oddom had done a good job. This was another thing they needed to learn: there wasn't really anything wrong with a low weapon, when that weapon was swinging in the right direction and your opponent's wasn't. It cleaved to the breastbone, although just the sacrum in back, which is fine, because it was a clean cut, Listenpeaces was free, which she knew from the ringing she remembered, just off-center of the xiphoid, the sound of a crystal glass goblet. Wonder if she could get one for training purposes. The point was, she needed to bring that up when she talked to Kol, because Oddom had some good ideas, even if she wasn't as good as Kol at talking.
Vabok. Oddom didn't even know what happened with that one. She'd sat uselessly, locked in that pitting chamber, waiting for the ettin to drop. Guess Vabok counts.
She remembered now. This was one of the ones she had won. She turned a slow circle.
That elephant hadn't really bled all that much. Guess she'd seen more than that after all.