Seven Swords by Michael E. Shea (digital book reader .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Michael E. Shea
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The carpenters reacted much the same way but the job was easier. Two split logs studded with large nails would work nicely. It might not stop them completely but it would slow them the first night. Something had to be done to their numbers.
“There is little else we can do to defend this place,” said San’doro.
“The rest will be sneak attacks, flanks, and luck,” said Jon.
The two men met Severn in the town square and hiked into the low hills to the salt mines. They had to hunch to get in the first tunnels but deep within they rose into high square caves and finally into the open mines. Titanic columns held the mountain up above the mines. Shadows hid the size and depth of much of the tunnels. Severn spoke with pride at their achievements. Salt kept the town fed.
Dozens of tunnels led to deeper chambers and a few led to other exits. Jon drew a careful map on a sheaf of vellum with a charcoal pencil.
“Tell me about the water,” said Jon. Severn paled and didn’t speak for a moment.
“It is dangerous and forbidden. A barrel of water can collapse a tunnel or eat away one of the pillars. Many men have died due to collapses. All of the western mines are now closed due to water collapses or weakened tunnels.
“We may have to collapse some of the tunnels if we need to route attackers,” said Jon. “Show us how.”
Salt-stone pillars held up many of the tunnels and a single barrel of water could collapse a pillar and break down the tunnel. There was a lot of danger in such an operation, since the water could continue to saturate the walls and floor, collapsing even more.
One of the chambers deep in the mine was so large that it could hold the entire population. Two tunnels led in with another in the rear moving up through the upper chambers and finally out in the open air above the hills. It was as good as they could expect.
Jon sat outside the mine looking down at the town below. He watched the river flow. He watched the farmers, tradesmen, herders, and children finishing their day. He was of two minds, one reveled in the peace of this village. He dared not hope to spend his days here with Susan working on a small farm or working for the blacksmith. So much was at risk.
In his other mind, Jon saw choke points and routes. He saw alcoves for ambushes and high points to control the field of battle. He saw which buildings would burn quickly and which slowly. He saw the trails leading into the hills on both sides of the town, trails in which to bait traps
Jon walked back to the town to the smithy. The old man, beard down to the middle of his chest charred from rogue embers, showed Jon the first ten stream spikes. It was crude but strong and wicked. It would do the job well. The carpenters were likewise effective. Between the two shops they would have enough to spike the whole river in a week.
The week moved quickly. San’doro and Vrenna watched the south road for signs of the demontouched bandits. Thorn and the Kal helped spike the rivers. The villagers protested but under the voice of the elders and the rumors of the scout’s head, they helped move barrels of water and carts of food into the deep mines. Few had any intention of actually going in but resistance was more difficult than complacency so they proceeded.
Jon and Adrin continued their practice and Jon left Susan to enjoy her new friends. She should have the time to be with a real family if even for a short time.
Jon was about to require a lot from her.
It was mid-afternoon and beads of sweat fell down Jon’s brow. He and Adrin had dueled at half-speed and half-power for much of the afternoon. Jon ordered everyone to avoid any risk of injury. If they lost even one man or woman, all could fall apart. So they rested and observed and planned in their camp. The Kal swung his heavy warclub. Vrenna stared south, her face hidden under her hood. Thorn slept, his heavy blade within reach.
Jon saw San’doro riding hard on the back of his gray stallion. Jon could see the look on his face. It had begun.
“They’re coming,” said San’doro. “They ride hard by torchlight from the south. They made some sort of camp half a night’s ride from the rocks.” San’doro was clearly nervous but still in control. Jon glanced at Adrin and saw his pale face. He can fill himself with fear and panic now as long as he swung and fired when the time came.
“Kal, go tell Gauve and the elders that it’s time,” said Jon. “Thorn will go with you. Get as many into the caves as will go.” Jon turned to San’doro. “How much time do we have?”
“They’re twice the distance to the dead trees to the south,” said San’doro. Jon turned back to Thorn and the Kal.
“Get them in the caves,” said Jon. “Use the ones who don’t go as bait. We’ll cut off the first twenty or so. You are to cut down those twenty. Use the houses, the villagers, and each other to flank them whenever you can. We have the advantage tonight. They don’t know we’re here.
Jon turned to Adrin, Vrenna, and San’doro. “We’re going to stay on the other side of the river, south of the village. Adrin and I will be on either side of the rocks. With four shots they will have no idea how many of us we really are. Vrenna will guard Adrin. San’doro will guard me. If we keep up, they’ll route. If they don’t route, we’re going to die.”
“Will Thorn and the Kal handle twenty of those things?” asked Adrin.
“Some will try to cross the river. We’ll shoot them down on the bridge to block it. Hopefully some of those twenty will fall crossing the river.”
Jon let the plan sink in for a moment, watching each of them.
“This is where our greatest surprise exists. If we do this right, we can cut their numbers by a third and not lose any of us. Be smart, not brave. Run when attacked. Attack on their backs and sides.
Jon continued. “I’ll see you tonight. Expect Susan’s call. Good luck, my friends.”
A short time later Jon sat on the western rocks south of the river. Night fell over the village. He looked up to the hulking shadow of the Old One silhouetted against the blackening sky. He watched for dots of torchlight or the sound of hooves or any other sign.
San’doro waited near him, his knives still sheathed. Jon’s life would depend on this man, a man he did not know a month ago. Across from him, on the eastern side, Adrin waited as well. He had shown Jon how fast he could reload the dragon-hammered flintlocks and it impressed Jon. Whether he could do it or not with a rider bearing down on him was unknown but they would both find out. Vrenna stood near Adrin, relaxed and ready. She was still a mystery to Jon but her skills were never in question. Jon and Adrin would have to be close to those they shot. In the dark of night, their aim must be true.
“Have the villagers gone to the cave?” thought Jon.
MANY OF THEM, replied Susan’s voice in his head. She sat huddled under her red cloak near the mines, high up on the western mountains. From that spot she could see all of them and, should she need to, she could see through them as well. She was the conduit of the seven swords. If Thorn or the Kal should fall or become pressed, Jon would know. As the chaos of battle unfolded, she alone would keep them coordinated enough to fight together.
The sound of a deep rumble vibrated in the rocks around them. Jon saw Adrin tense and hold his pistols up, back to his rock. High overhead the blood moon painted the village in the color of blood. The demon moon sat directly in its center, a black pupiled red eye stared down on them. The old gods watch us tonight, thought Jon. Vrenna drew her saber and San’doro drew his knives.
“Tell them to get ready,” thought Jon.
THEY ARE READY, returned Susan’s voice in the back of his mind.
Don’t shoot first, thought Jon. Please. He had told Adrin to hold his fire until Jon had fired first, but that would be a hard instinct to fight. If Adrin fired, the entire horde would fall on them. Twenty must pass first.
The rumble grew and shapes formed out of the mist. Jon caught the shine of torchlight on steel and on sharp white teeth in the smiles of devils. Jon hid behind his rock.
The first rider passed and Adrin didn’t fire. Jon could smell the rider’s horse and see the red light on his boiled leather armor and deeply worn boots. He had painted a band of black warpaint across his eyes. Three more rode past holding swords and axes and spears. Scalps of braided hair hung from their weapons and armor. In all of them, Jon saw the rush of blood fury, the Sticks were hungry.
Stark rode forth in the line. He was smaller than the others and wore no helm. His bald head was tattooed and ridged like the scout they had beheaded. Like the other riders, Stark had a band of black warpaint across his eyes. Unlike his other riders, his expression was calm.
Stark turned and saw Jon. Their eyes met and Stark’s eyes opened wide, shining black orbs of a demon. But it was too late. In the middle of their charge, Stark could not stop.
The Sticks roared in. Five, six, ten, fifteen, twenty riders passed, weapons high and the shout of their blood cry on their lips. They cried for blood and dreamed of the chaos of their attack. They would ride in, kill the men, rape the women, burn the buildings, and eat the children. Only seven stood in their way.
Jon stepped out and fired.
The first man he shot had his mouth open and long ragged black hair blowing back from his face. Jon’s shot caught him in the mouth. Black blood, brains, and teeth sprayed on the two riders behind him. All three of the horses reared and dropped their riders. San’doro raced in, slashing through the downed men. Jon caught a glimpse of the ruined twisted leg of one of the fallen riders and his throat sprayed from San’doro’s wide cut.
His next shot split open the forehead of another rider with spiked hair washed dark brown with blood. San’doro slashed open the belly of the horse of the rider behind the one Jon had shot. The rider drew a wicked serrated blade but his horse collapsed and San’doro ripped him open with a violent backward tug on his left dagger.
Jon leaped behind the rock and called for San’doro. His hands moved, twin ramming rods held between his little finger and his index finger. Cap in, powder in, plug in, ball in, seal it in, ram it down. Only as he cocked back his hammers did he realize that Adrin had not yet fired. Jon grew cold. He considered sending San’doro to find out what had happened but the air shattered to the east and a body and horse fell hard to the crunch of bone on stone.
Thank the gods, thought Jon, staring up at the red moon
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