She stood, still holding Linet tightly against her. The little girl voiced her objection to the movement with a long whining groan.
“Tomas,” Catherine pleaded. “Please don’t.”
The boy was torn, but felt compelled.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said before turning for the passage beside the platform.
“Tomas,” she called after him. He disappeared through the doorway and started along the corridor.
Many faces turned to either the door where the boy had gone, or to Catherine who stood holding her daughter, unsure of what they had just witnessed. Sybil came to her side. She put her arms around Catherine and stared at the now empty door where Tomas had vanished.
“Shall I go after him, my lady?” a female serve asked.
“No,” Catherine replied. “It’s no good putting yourself in danger. Besides, he’s long gone.”
“We’ll pray for him and his safe return.” Eowyn placed a hand upon Catherine’s arm. “Knowing the boy as I do, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
Cautiously, Tomas crept past the kitchens where some soldiers were instructing the serves inside to abandon their post. The cooks were objecting as they were still to preparing food and cider for the night watch.
“There is no night watch anymore, you fool,” one of the soldiers informed the cook. “Can’t you hear that? They’re fighting on the walls right now.”
“Put out the flames and get yourselves inside the Great Hall,” another soldier commanded them. “All people who are unable to wield a weapon must be inside. Those are Chief Shelley’s orders.”
“Fine,” the cook snorted. “We take what we can. Grab anything that is prepared or that can be done inside over the fireplace. We are not going to waste our supplies. Is that fine with you?” He looked to the soldiers.
Tomas moved silently past the open doors, right behind the heels of the soldiers and into the shadows between the kitchens and the rear of the Great Hall.
“Fine with me,” the soldier replied. “We’ll even help you carry it in. How’s that sound?”
“Bastard,” Tomas heard the cook say as he started to move away.
Thinking he was in the clear, Tomas raised himself to full height and briskly walked away from the kitchens.
“Tomas,” someone called from behind.
He froze.
“Tomas Warde,” the voice called again. He turned slowly to face the one who called him. “What are you doing outside? It’s not safe.”
Standing before him was Martha Fysher, her hands on her hips and a furrow on her brow.
“You get yourself back inside immediately,” she ordered.
“I can’t,” he replied. “I have something I need to do.”
“What could be more important than staying alive?” she asked.
“Keeping someone else safe,” he answered.
“Keeping someone…” she repeated, not comprehending his words. “Don’t be silly. Your mother and sister are in there. How do you think she will be feeling right now? Quick. Come with me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to go.” Turning, he ran into the shadows hearing her call after him as he vanished into the night.
Screaming, hollering, clanging and shouting made its way across the village rooftops to Richard’s position upon the south-western wall. The battle was happening on the far side of Woodmyst.
He saw enemy warriors moving about on the north shore of the river, but none were yet spotted in the southern regions. The woods from the southern bank of the waterway through to as far as he saw to the plantations appeared empty, devoid of any movement.
Still, he instructed his men to be vigilant and not take their eyes from their quadrant. He, however, couldn’t help himself and scanned the top of the wall on the opposite side of the village.
From his position, he saw the flashes of steel reflecting light as blades swung through the air. Men moved along the wall quickly, randomly. It appeared that there was no coordination amongst the friendly soldiers.
It didn’t look good.
“My lord,” a tower guard called.
Turning, Richard faced the guard but didn’t need to speak to the other. He saw what had gripped the guard’s attention and it brought a lump to his throat.
The beast was swimming in and out of the clouds above the orchards. Its giant black mass pushed the vapour away, causing it to spiral in giant puffs as it sped in and out of sight over and over again.
“By the gods,” Richard whispered as he watched the magnificent animal turn in a tight circle above the plantations.
“What is it doing?” one of the guards asked.
It vanished into the clouds momentarily. The clouds swirled slowly, like a forming whirlpool before the dragon floated back into view. Descending lower and lower, it drew close to the farmland.
Richard kept his eyes on the churning clouds. He thought he saw something there, but wasn’t sure if it was merely a trick of the brain or shadows at play.
He believed he saw large, dark mass moving just beneath the surface of the mists. He hoped to the gods he was simply seeing things.
The dragon swooped back towards the sky and bellowed a deep guttural call. It turned towards a small farmhouse and swooped towards it.
Opening its mouth, it spat a long jet of flame at the tiny structure.
“Oh no,” gasped a tower guard.
The archers’ eyes were wide with fear. One of the tower guards fell to his knees.
They watched as the tiny structure was instantly engulfed in fire. The beast turned back towards the stirring clouds and roared.
It was answered by something not seen.
Something hidden in the vapours.
Richard’s fears had come to fruition.
There were two dragons.
The second dragon burst through the clouds, unveiling itself to the watchers of Woodmyst. It descended swiftly towards the ground, directly for the orchard trees.
Opening its mouth, it sent a great jet of fire that shot through the air and immersed the trees in flames. It swooped towards the sky and turned sharply to repeat the process. If any trees weren’t alight before, they definitely were now.
The first dragon directed its attention upon burning the tilled ground and the crops within. Before long, all the fields were burning.
The creatures continued to circle the area, dowsing the ground in flame and heat. Farmhouses and barns, discarded ploughs and carts were all burning.
It appeared to Richard like a sea of flames and smoke.
So intensely it burned that it cast a great orange glow upon the swirling clouds above.
The great dragons continued to circle and spit jets of fire towards the ground.
All the men on the southern wall could do was watch in awe.
“Those are our crops,” Chief Shelley cried. “You bastards.”
His hands had formed into fists. He pounded the guardrail in frustration as he watched the two dragons circle in the air above the plantations.
“Unbelievable.” Michael gawked at the spectacle before him. The vision was both beautiful and terrifying. “Two dragons.”
“Dragons?” the chief snapped. “You’re admiring the damned dragons while our fields burn.”
“The fields were going to burn regardless,” Michael spat back angrily. “Any invading force would attack supplies. It’s the way that they did it that has my admiration.”
“You admire…?” Chief Shelley turned to the other, wide-eyed and unable to believe his friend’s words. “They are the enemy. We’re not here to admire them, Michael. We need to find a way to destroy them.
“They’re on our flanks,” the chief pointed across the rooftops, “on all sides. We’re surrounded.”
“But we’re not dead,” Michael replied as he peered towards the giant beasts circling above the burning orchards.
“Not yet,” Chief Shelley admitted. “But if we don’t get hacked to pieces by those Night Demons over t
here, or burnt to ashes by those things up there, then we get to starve. And you remember what that’s like, don’t you Michael?”
Fury filled Michael and he pulled his eyes away from the flying beasts to face the chief.
“I don’t need to be reminded of that,” he spat. “None of us do.”
Chief Shelley fell silent. His friend was right. That was a long time ago and a deep shame they had all carried unwillingly.
He moved his eyes back to the burning fields. Michael had moved to the southern edge of the tower and leant against the guardrail, his eyes following the circling giants in the sky.
Suddenly, the whole ambience of the men upon the tower transformed. A quiet atmosphere fell upon them both. Chief Shelley had no words to say to his friend, except to apologise.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” whispered the chief. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“Never again, Barnard.” There was anger in the other’s voice.
“I promise,” he replied as he stood next to his friend. “Never again.”
Running along the street, avoiding any contact with soldiers or runners, Tomas drew closer to the stables where he intended to stay with the steeds during the battle. The din of the scuffle was much louder here as the stables were closer to the western wall than he recalled.
He found the stable door open and heard the sound of upset horses over the noise of clashing iron on the wall. Slipping inside, Tomas closed the door behind him and turned to face the chargers.
Many calmed a little upon seeing him. Still, their ears twitched and twisted as the battle noise continued outside.
“It’s all right,” he softly called to them. He grabbed the grain bucket and scoop and made his way along to each stall, placing the feed into the mangers. Food was used to calm the people’s nerves in the Great Hall. Perhaps food, he thought, would ease a horse’s spirits too.
Some approached him, sticking their noses over the gates for a rub. He complied and spoke soothingly to them as he did so. Others stayed to the rear of their pens and shook in fear. He decided to scoop food out for them, say something comforting and move on to the next.
His father had told him to never approach a sick, injured or scared animal. They more often than not attacked in order to defend themselves. So, heeding to his father’s words, he left the timid beasts alone.
Eventually, he came to the mare’s stall. She was waiting for him. He scooped some grain out for her and rubbed her muzzle. The mare gave a soft nicker as she buried her nose into her feed trough.
“It’s all right,” Tomas spoke softly to her. Her ears twitched as the sounds of battle surrounded them. “I won’t let them take you. I’ll be here all night.”
She lifted her head and nuzzled him, rubbing her head against his chest. He lowered the bucket of grain and the scoop to the ground and rubbed his hands across her cheeks and mane.
Her nose returned to the grain as he continued to rub her neck. All the while, he spoke soft word to her and she answered with gentle nickering.
Chapter Twenty
Alan had moved down to the wall-walk where he confronted the enemy head on. He had noticed how the dark hooded warriors continued to scale the wall at great speed and were taking the archers by surprise.
In a rash decision, he clambered over the side of the tower and dropped down upon the passage behind the battlements of the defensive structure.
“What are you doing?” Peter called after him.
“Stay up there,” commanded the other. “Keep watch and tell me what to do.”
“That makes sense,” called Peter. “After all, you just told me what to do.”
Alan approached a cloaked figure from behind. It was engaged in a struggle with a young archer. It was clear to see that the Night Demon had the advantage over the young man, so Alan stepped in to assist.
He swung his heavy sword with both hands from his right, hitting the warrior in the back just below the shoulder blade. The weapon dug in deep. The enemy soldier squealed an inhuman call.
The archer brought his blade down into the figure’s head. A spray of blood hit Alan in the face as he heard a very loud crunch of splitting skull. Both men pulled their swords from the enemy and tossed him back over the wall.
“Do more of that,” Peter commanded.
“Thank you so much,” Alan called back.
Another hooded warrior appeared upon the wall behind Alan as he spoke to his friend on the tower. Peter’s eyes widened as he pointed.
Alan turned to see what it was that his comrade was indicating towards. The figure had a long curved sword held high above its head.
Suddenly, the warrior’s chest burst open as the archer’s sword pierced through from behind. Alan copped another squirt of blood in the face.
The archer retrieved his blade and pushed the warrior over the wall to join his other fallen companion.
“Thank you,” Alan said to the archer.
“Don’t thank me yet, my lord,” the archer replied. “I don’t think we’re finished yet.”
“More coming,” Peter informed his friend.
Turning towards the west, Alan saw three hooded warriors approaching. He slapped the archer on the back and nodded towards the enemy. Both men ran at the Night Demons, swords held high.
The first was taken by surprise.
Both men plunged their blades into its torso and tipped it over the wall’s edge in one swift move. It fell screaming all the way to the bottom where sudden silence ensued.
The two remaining warriors came at each man simultaneously.
One for the archer.
One for Alan.
Swords rang as they clashed upon the wall. The enemy warrior hacked through the air towards Alan who, in turn, blocked each blow with his own blade.
Realising it wasn’t going to defeat him with only its sword, it raised its foot and kicked Alan onto his back. The hooded Night Demon raised its blade and swiftly brought it down.
Rolling to his right, pressing himself tightly against the battlement, Alan heard the enemy’s blade hit the walk, missing him by inches. He rolled back and stabbed towards the warrior, finding his mark in the crotch.
A terrible deafening cry bellowed from beneath the dark hood. Alan grabbed the Night Demon by the shoulder and shoved him off the wall. “Shut up.”
Turning to see how the archer was holding up, he saw the young man blocking and parrying blows successfully, but not able to turn the fight in his favour.
Alan quickly made his way over to the skirmish and slid his blade into the enemy’s side. The archer then pushed his sword beneath the hood, finding some resistance there. So he pushed his blade deeper.
There was no screaming; only a disgusting crunch as the blade pierced bone muscle. The warrior just fell limply onto the wall-walk.
“Good job,” Peter called. “Keep it up. More coming over the side.”
Splinters from the deck hit his face hard. The curved blade stuck into the wood and the Night Demon struggled to free it from the platform’s grasp. Hugh saw his opportunity and decided to act.
Lying on his back after being knocked down by the warrior, he swung his leg around, connecting with the back of the enemy’s knees. The hooded figure fell backwards onto the tower’s platform with a hard thud.
Hugh reached to retrieve his sword from the floor not far from his head. Tightening his grip around the hilt, he looked over to the fallen figure. It was rolling onto its side, attempting to get back to its feet.
As quickly as he could, Hugh moved onto his knees and sliced the air with his sword. The blade slid through the Night Demon’s back, spilling dark blood across the floorboards of the platform.
Lifting himself to his feet, he plunged the sword deep into the warrior’s chest. Vapour escaped from beneath dark hood as the enemy fighter breathed out the last of his air.
Dropping back to his knees, Hugh took a moment to catch his breath. Behind him, one tower guard lay dead with his innards exposed from
a great wound that split him open from the neck to the groin. The other guard continued to plunge his dagger into the chest of a dead Night Demon over and over and over.
He looked to his left, along the western wall where many of the archers were engaged in similar combat to what he had just experienced.
There were simply too many to keep going at this rate. Eventually, he knew, the men would tire and begin to exhibit delayed reactions. The enemy would use this to their advantage.
He surmised that the Night Demons had not exposed their entire forces as of yet. Some reserves were still waiting out of sight for the opportunity to come in to finish what was started by this first wave of attackers.
Hugh wondered if he would live long enough to see that.
Looking past the fighters on the wall, he saw the orange glow in the clouds above the orchards. He saw the giant beasts circling in the sky above the fields. Until that moment, he didn’t know the plantations were on fire.
While his eyes were fixed upon the vision in the south, several hooded figures dropped to the ground inside the wall. He quickly moved his eyes to where they had jumped.
Armed soldiers raced to meet the invaders in the streets. Sword met sword. Hilt met flesh. The fight had moved to within the village.
Upon the wall, several young men stared blankly with dead eyes into the night sky. Their throats or bellies were sliced open by enemy blades.
Continuing their advance, more Night Demons climbed upon the wall. Finding the numbers of defenders had thinned, some invaders dropped to the village below while others moved to eliminate what resistance remained.
Using his sword to assist him, Hugh lifted himself to his feet and took a deep breath. A clawed hand scraped against the guardrail as a Night Demon pulled itself over the battlement.
Hugh swung his long sword up and over his head as he spun to face the warrior. Just as the enemy soldier placed one foot onto the platform, the blade hacked through its left shoulder, stopping when it had reached deep into the chest cavity.
The tower guard snapped back to reality and rushed to his commander’s side. He pushed the Night Demon off the tower and watched it plummet to the ground.
The Walls of Woodmyst Page 16
