William spotted a young girl standing nearby—the girl who had won both the pigeon shoot and mustering race. “Lord William?” she asked. “Where do you want me?”
“Diana, isn’t it?” said William. “Look, this is no place for children. There’s going to be a fierce fight here. You should be at home.”
She stood her ground, her face resolute. “You’ve seen what I can do with my sling, sir,” she said. “And you have boys here, younger than me. I can do more than they can.”
Rachel intervened. “Diana is the name of the hunting goddess. I’m a hunter too. Come with me. I’ll show you where to stand.” She led the girl away, shooting William a dirty look as they left. He sighed and surveyed the scene. Six trained guards and their captain blockading the bridge; villagers along the stream, armed with makeshift spears and farm tools, children and elderly behind them ready to throw stones. Further back Maya was assembling an infirmary, with Emma, Melissa, Miss Plevins, and Agatha following her instructions.
Guilt pressed on him. These villagers preparing for battle were defending his property, not their own. He had to remind himself that this was still their home, though, and they too could die on a spear tip if these rebels rampaged through the village. Perhaps they were safer risking their lives in this defense, shoulder to shoulder with their neighbors rather than alone in their cottages. But that wasn’t why they were here, and William knew it.
They were here for him. He set his hand on the bridge railing, taking confidence from its sturdy structure. So long as it, and their lines remained intact, they would be safe.
Ruskin waved to him, then pointed across the stream. “Blue pennants, my lord!” Marching toward them in formation was a column of guards in battle gear, giant shields slung across their backs, spears upon their right shoulders. They were minutes away.
William turned again to Sir Hendrick. “Who’s their leader?”
“Leblanc said Slovik was supposedly in charge, but he’s no commander. I’m sure he was the rebels’ main recruiter, but Dolinski is the natural leader. Smart, bold when he can be, cautious when he should be. I had him pegged for lieutenant someday. We’re in for a fight, Whitehall.”
William ignored the dropped honorific. Under normal circumstances it might have been meant as a slight, but he knew Sir Hendrick was simply focused on the upcoming battle. “Call for reinforcements if you need them. Charlie and Kevin have both handled a shield, and I’ll lend a hand if you need it.”
“Just watch the stream, Whitehall. I’ll hold the bridge.”
The guard column stopped several yards from the bridge. A tall, muscular man broke from the ranks. His voice boomed across the stream. “Is one of you William Whitehall?”
Oz stepped forward, his chest puffed with indignation, and shouted across the stream at the man. “This is LORD William Whitehall. Here to see—wait, no. He’s not here to see you. But he’s a lord, so you better call him that.”
Sir Hendrick bellowed from the bridge. “You’re in a world of trouble, Dolinski. Throw down your weapons, all of you, and you might get out of prison before you die of old age.”
Dolinski ignored Sir Hendrick and addressed William directly. “William Whitehall, you have been stripped of your lands by order of Earl Bradford of Marshland Crossing for failure to pay your taxes. If you surrender your lands peacefully, you’ll retain your title, but that’s all. Resist, and you will be arrested and stripped of all possessions.”
William gazed at him, leaning against the bridge in a relaxed, nonchalant manner. “Why carry on the act, Dolinski? Whoever you’re acting for, we both know it isn’t Earl Bradford, so why keep on pretending? Who are you trying to fool?”
“I’m not here to answer your questions,” scoffed Dolinski. “I am here to execute a sentence. Since you’ve chosen not to surrender, you will be arrested, removed, and replaced with a new baron.”
“We’ll have no other lord,” someone yelled. William looked over and recognized Santiago. Kofi stood near him, his face just as grim. Neither appeared frightened so much as angry. “It’s Lord William for us, or no one!”
Dolinski laughed. “Any villager caught fighting on behalf of William Whitehall will be sentenced to heavy labor for life. Which isn’t usually for long, let me assure you.”
A whistling sound reached William’s ears, followed by a sharp crack. Dolinski staggered before catching his balance. His hand shot to his forehead, then pulled away, blood dripping from his fingers. “Who did that?” he roared.
“I did,” came a young voice. Diana stepped forward with a grin on her face, sling in hand, ready to set another stone. “Whatcha gonna do about it?” Cheers rose from the villagers, and even William smiled, though he was glad Rachel pulled her back into the crowd.
Dolinski gave her a glare that sent chills down William’s spine. He turned to address his men. “Forward!” he yelled. The formation shifted to four men across, spears protruding through interlocked shields. Shields also protected much of their sides, though they left a few gaps. They moved forward as an armored unit, approaching the bridge.
Stones showered the attacking guards. Most bounced off the shields harmlessly, others found their mark, causing someone inside the formation to flinch, but no more. Dolinski followed his men, unshielded but further away. He avoided getting hit until Diana found her range and hit him several times in a row. Dolinski barely controlled his rage, looking as though he wanted to charge across the river himself and deal with her. William stepped forward, ready to jump to her aid, but Dolinski simply moved to the other side of the phalanx. Diana ran to follow him, and William lost track of her as she dodged through the crowd of villagers pelting the oncoming guards. He would have to trust that she could stay safe. After all, she was fast, as well as accurate.
The rebel guards reached the bridge and began crossing, their heavy boots drumming on its surface. Sir Hendrick’s loyal guards braced themselves and the wooden barrier they’d hastily erected, their own spears threatening only limited resistance to the imminent attack. The oncoming rush slammed against their defense, which, to William’s amazement, held. For all the extra weight behind them, they could not push the defenders back. A closer look told William why: the defenders’ spears were actively seeking the legs of their attackers, keeping them off-balance enough that their full weight could not be pressed against them.
As the formation stalled, the villagers redoubled their efforts, throwing larger stones over the shorter distance to greater effect. Grunts and muffled cries from beneath the shields told William that the stones were finding their marks and doing damage. Dolinski must have noticed it as well, as he barked another order. Two groups quickly broke away from the phalanx. One lined up along the bank to the north of the bridge, the other to the south. The two armies now faced each other across the stream, and two groups remained stalemated at the bridge.
Another order from Dolinski, and the two squads began wading across the stream. The villagers switched focus to the new threat, and those with hand weapons rushed forward to meet them. William checked the two sides, deciding which needed more help, and ran to the nearer side. His people outnumbered the guards wading across the stream, but they were poorly armed. “Stay on dry land,” he warned them. “Don’t fight in the water. Stop them from climbing the bank.”
As the attacking guards closed in, they began sweeping and poking their spears at the villagers’ legs. Several defenders were wounded before they realized what was happening and were dragged away by allies. The defensive holes were filled quickly, and those with longer weapons aimed for the attackers’ heads. Slowed by the counter attack, the rebels tried to push past, but ran into more defenders behind them.
William regretted the limited reach of his sword, wishing he had a spear to help push the attackers back into the water. When one unlucky attacker finally came into range, he swung with relief and pent-up anger at the outstretched spear, lopping off a good two feet, bladed point included. Beside him, Mrs. Gracey delive
red a satisfying clunk to another attacker who got too close, only grazing his head but likely shattering his collarbone. The attacker withdrew, his spear dropping from his now useless hand.
Up and down the stream, the scene was the same. The attackers tried to use their long spears to inflict damage but failed to penetrate the defensive line or reach dry ground.
“Spread out, you fools,” yelled Dolinski. “Flank them and get across!”
The attackers did as ordered, several sprinting to get around the defense. William led a charge to stop them, keeping pace with the rebel who ranged the farthest from the bridge. The thinner defense line meant a single attacker might pierce through and attack from behind—but letting them get around was a faster path to defeat.
Soon, he was alone, facing a large solitary rebel across the water. Any further and they would reach the canal where it would be too deep and wide for the enemy to cross, so William knew he had them blocked, at least south of the bridge. However, remaining here in a standoff kept him from the main action.
Someone screamed to his right. Two rebels had crossed the stream and were chasing the lone defender there—Diana. The sight of two grown men, fully armed, chasing a young girl armed only with a slingshot offended William to the core of his being. He sprinted toward them, knowing he was leaving his flank undefended, but the alternative was allowing certain injury to Diana. She was fast, but could not outrun them both, having been trapped between them and the stream.
William reached the nearest one, leaving the girl to deal with the other. William’s sword sliced through the air, embedding itself in the rebel’s spear as it thrust past him. He forced the spear tip to the ground and stomped, snapping it in half. Armed now with both sword and spear tip, he sliced and hacked until the rebel retreated into the water.
Diana evaded her remaining attacker, but only barely. William was about to come to her aid when someone barreled into him—the rebel he’d left unguarded. Winded and flat on his back, he rolled side to side to avoid his attacker’s boots and spear tip, avoiding all injury except a grazing slice to his forearm. He lunged upwards with all his strength, crumpling his attacker with a powerful kick to the crotch. As the man writhed on the ground, William jumped up and tossed the rebel’s spear and shield into the stream, then turned to Diana.
Her attacker stood over her, spear in hand, ready to impale her. He shouted, momentarily catching the rebel’s attention, but he was too far to prevent the inevitable. The man reached back and readied to strike. Diana screamed.
A green streak flew through the air and knocked the man down, tossing him aside as a child would a doll. Clyde pounced on him, raking his talons across the man’s chest, opening a gash that spewed blood across the grass. He turned on another approaching rebel and released a billowing ball of flame that enveloped the man, sending him screaming into the river.
William caught up with Clyde and helped Diana to her feet.
“Thank you, Clyde,” said Diana. “You too, Lord William.”
“You’re welcome,” said Clyde before William had a chance to.
“Are you hurt?” William asked Diana.
“I bumped my knee when I fell, but I’m okay.”
“Good. Let’s get back to the bridge. We’ve done what we can here.”
“Did your dragon kill that man? The one who tried to kill me?”
William hesitated. He’d already underestimated her twice, but how much brutality should a ten-year-old have to endure? “He can’t hurt you now,” he said.
“Good,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to die, but he deserved it.”
“I can’t argue with that,” he said. “Diana—I shouldn’t have suggested you stay back from the fighting. We needed all the help we could get, and you’ve done more than most.”
She looked up at him and gave him a wry smile. “I’m used to it. People don’t expect much from me. Not at first, anyway.” She glanced at the blood dripping from his injured arm. “You should get that bandaged.”
“I will,” he said with a smile. “After this is finished.”
When they reached the bridge, the heavy fighting was already over. Few rebels had crossed the stream; those who had were beaten badly and dragged back by colleagues who suffered injuries of their own in the attempt. Sir Hendrick’s men pushed their opponents back across the bridge as the villagers threatened to swarm over the river. The rebels held their end of the bridge barely long enough for their wounded to be carried away, then formed a rear guard to protect their retreat. Sir Hendrick’s men pursued, but only long enough to ensure the rebels had truly decided to leave.
“Any casualties?” asked William as Sir Hendrick returned from across the bridge.
“Minor injuries on both sides. No deaths. You?”
“One rebel dead, another burned, and one may never have children.”
Sir Hendrick raised an eyebrow. “So—another chapter for those books of yours. Tell me—did I comport myself well enough to avoid that court-martial?”
William grasped his hand and grinned. “I hate those books, for what it’s worth. As for your comportment, I’ll make sure you get a medal.”
“We have more to do before we start awarding medals,” said Tom Reid as he rushed up. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek from an unnoticed injury. “Shouldn’t we capture those men before they can do more damage?”
Sir Hendrick shook his head. “A foot chase right after a battle would leave us too tired to fight again, even if we did catch them. And we’d still be out-armed, and without the defensive advantages we had here.”
“If we had enough horses, I might consider it,” said William. “But even then, Sir Hendrick’s arguments still apply. And I can’t ask my people to do more than they already have—defending their homes is one thing, but arresting rebel guards is beyond their duty. Besides, we have injured to care for. Including you, Tom. Better get that cut bandaged.”
Tom touched his cheek and laughed at the blood on his fingers. “I’m going to hear it from Myrna over this,” he said. “You too, by the way,” he added pointing at William’s arm before leaving for the infirmary.
Sir Hendrick nodded toward Tom’s retreating figure. “He’s not wrong. We do need to plan what happens next. Normally I would confer with the earl, but…”
William nodded. “I understand. This is anything but a normal situation. Let me check on my people first, and then we’ll go to the meeting hall. We won’t all fit around my dining room table.”
Sir Hendrick look miffed. “How many people do we need? You, me, Earl Hiram…we’re the only ones with any authority here.”
“Authority or not, everyone’s affected by what happened today. I don’t plan on having the entire village there, but a lot of people are here whose opinions I respect, and I want to hear what they have to say.” He left before Sir Hendrick could respond.
He found the hospital running with frenzied efficiency. To his untrained eye, none of the injuries appeared life-threatening, but several villagers were lying on blankets with bandaged limbs and heads. Nearby, Maya squinted as she sewed shut a burly farmer’s arm where a rebel spear had sliced it. Emma was busy tearing linen that Oz had just brought her—probably his good bedsheets—into bandages. Melissa bent over a small boy, cleaning a wound that William couldn’t see, but probably wasn’t serious if the boy’s giggles were any indication.
A few villagers straggled in from the far reaches of the battle. Maya eyed each one quickly and sent them to various stations according to the severity of their injuries. Most were told to wait for her attentions; a few were treated immediately by other attendants. At no point did Maya appear overworked or out of control.
He waited for a gap in the procession and approached her. She scanned him quickly, searching for his injury, only to gasp a little when she recognized him. “Are you hurt?” she asked.
“A little,” he said as he held up his arm for her to inspect.
She held his arm for a second or two, gently p
ulling the skin around the wound. She gave him a puzzled look. “It’s closed. Are you sure you got this today?”
“You would have noticed it if I had it before,” he said, slightly annoyed at her suggestion. “That’s fresh blood running down my arm. Well, it’s dry now, but—”
She gave him an impatient look and dropped his arm. “It looks like a day-old wound at least. I don’t have time for this right now, Will. I have people bleeding here.”
“Fine. I just came to thank you.”
“Thank me later. I have work to do.”
“Understood. We’ll be at the meeting hall to decide what to do next. Join us when you’re ready.”
“I will if I can,” she said without looking up from bandaging a young man’s forehead. “Don’t count on it.”
He tried to catch Melissa’s eye, but she was too occupied to talk. Emma was no less busy. “Now’s not a good time, William,” she said before returning to her patient.
Deflated, he left the infirmary and followed the crowd toward the village. Men and women waved to him as they passed, too exhausted to speak. It should have been a time for music and dancing, for feasting, for leaping with excitement. They had won, but where was the celebration?
“Is something wrong with me, Clyde?” he asked the dragon. “And what about you? When did you learn to fly and breathe fire? You picked a good time, I’ll hand you that.”
“Thank you,” said Clyde.
“I’m not sure you even know what that means, but you’re welcome.”
He climbed the dais, only then remembering to slide his sword back into its scabbard. He looked around at the empty hall and realized he dreaded the upcoming debate even more than he had the battle. Why was it that friends and allies could be more tiring than enemies?
He rested his feet on the table and waited.
Chapter 15
“My orders are clear,” said Sir Hendrick, his face red and voice raised. “I and my men must go west to Kolmo, avoiding the rebels, and set up camp. From there we can observe Marshland and send a message to my superiors in Faywater Port.”
Skyrider of Renegade Point Page 15
