He reached the creek and fell forwards into it, his arm suddenly exploding in hot agony at that foolish choice. He gasped and was rewarded with a choking mouthful of water. Then he rolled over on his back and spat out water, clearing his nose as he sat up, coughing for a moment. At last he rolled over onto his knees and drank. He filled his gourd quickly, tied it again around his waist then resumed his journey.
He was starving, but the water had settled down his thinking. It was a two-hour walk to his village. If he ran at a steady pace, he would be there in a third of that time. But with his injured arm and in his weakened condition, he couldnt sustain any sort of steady run. Below the creek he entered the heavy woodlands where he felt the days heat lessen and then settled for a fast walk, jogging over open stretches of trail, moving as quietly as he could, his mind focused on the coming struggle.
As he neared his village, Kieli heard the sounds of fighting. He smelled smoke. A womans scream pierced his heart as sharply as if a blade had struck. Could that be his own mother? No matter, he knew that whoever it was, it was a woman he had known all his life.
He took the ceremonial dagger and held it tightly in his right hand. How he wished he had two good arms and a sword or spear. In the heat of the day he had not felt the need for his usual clothing, though he had missed his cloak and tunic at night, but now he felt particularly vulnerable. Even so, he hurried along, the anticipation of the combat to come dulling the pain in his arm and forcing his fatigue aside.
Choking clouds of smoke accompanied by the sound of flames warned him of the devastation that greeted him a moment later. He reached the point in the trail where it left the woodlands and passed between the villages large vegetable gardens before reaching the stockade. The gate was open, as it was during peaceful times. No enemy had ever attacked on Midsummers Day, which was a day of almost universal truce, even during time of war. The condition of the wooden walls and the surrounding earthen foundations below told the boy that the enemy had rushed through the gate before the alarm had sounded. Most of the villagers would have been in the central square, preparing the feast.
Everywhere was flame and smoke. He could see figures in the smoke, many on horse, and the outlines of bodies on the ground. Kieli paused. To run down the trail would make him a target. Better to circle along the line of the wood until reaching the point closest to the village, behind Many Fine Horses home.
As he moved to his right, he found the smoke blowing away from him. Now he could see the carnage in the village. Many of his friends lay motionless upon the ground. It was hard to make sense of the tableau before him.
Men on horseback, wearing various styles of clothing and armour rode through the village, several who were bearing torches firing the houses. Mercenaries or slavers, Kieli knew. Then he saw footmen wearing the tabard of the Duke of Olasko, ruler of the powerful duchy to the south-east. But why would they be aiding raiders in the mountains of the Orosini?
Reaching the back of Many Fine Horses home, Kieli crept along. He saw an Olaskan soldier lying motionless just beyond the edge of the building. Casting aside his dagger, Kieli decided to make a run for the mans sword. If no one noticed, he would attempt to remove the round shield on the mans left arm as well. It would hurt to carry the shield on his injured arm, but it could also mean the difference between life and death.
The sound of fighting was coming from the other side of the village, so he thought it possible he might be able to fall upon the invaders from behind. Creeping forwards, he retrieved the shield and sword and paused for a moment.
In the smoke, he could faintly discern figures moving in the distance, cries of outrage and pain drifted towards him, as his people struggled to repel the invaders.
His eyes smarted from the acrid smoke and he blinked back tears as he reached the fallen soldier. He turned over the body to retrieve the sword and as his hand fell upon the hilt, the soldiers eyes snapped open. Kieli froze, and as he yanked back the sword the soldier lashed out with his shield, bashing him in the face.
Kieli fell back, his vision swimming and the world seemingly tilting under his feet. Only his natural quickness saved him, for just as the soldier was on his feet, dagger drawn and slashed at him, Kieli dodged.
For a second he thought he had avoided the blade, then pain erupted across his chest and he felt blood flowing. It was a shallow wound, but a long one, running from just under his left collarbone down to his right nipple and there to the bottom of his ribs.
Kieli slashed with his own blade and felt shock run up his arm as the soldier deftly took the blow on his shield.
Another attack and the boy knew that he was overmatched, for he only narrowly avoided death from a dagger-slash to the stomach. Had the soldier attacked with his sword instead of with a short blade, Kieli knew hed be lying gutted upon the ground.
Fear threatened to rise up and overwhelm him then, but the thought of his family fighting for their lives only yards beyond the masking smoke forced it aside.
Seeing the boys hesitation, the soldier grinned wickedly and closed in. Kieli knew that his only advantage was the length of his blade, so he offered his already-wounded chest as a target and clumsily raised the sword with both hands as if to bring it crashing down upon the soldiers head. As Kieli had hoped, the soldier reflexively raised his shield to take the blow and drew back his dagger for the killing thrust.
Kieli, however, dropped to his knees with a spin, bringing his sword down and around in a powerful arc which sliced through the soldiers leg, knocking him backwards screaming. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries just below his knee. Leaping to his feet, Kieli stepped upon the mans dagger-hand, and struck straight down with the swords point into the mans throat, ending his agony.
He tried to wipe his sword-hand dry, but discovered that blood was flowing freely from the long cut on his chest and knew hed soon be weakening if he didnt bind it, though he thought it probably looked a great deal worse than it was.
As he hurried toward the sounds of battle a gust of wind cleared his vision for a moment so that he had a clean line of sight and could see the villages central square. The tables that had been heavily laden with food and ale were overturned, the ground around them littered with the feast for the days celebration. The flower garlands were crushed into mud made up of soil and blood. For a panic-stricken second, Kieli faltered, horror causing his gorge to rise. He blinked back tears though whether they were caused by smoke or rage he didnt know. A short distance away lay the bodies of three children, obviously cut down from behind as they raced for shelter. Beyond them, he could see the men of his village making a stand before the round house. Kieli knew the women and surviving children would be inside, the women armed with knives and daggers to defend the children should the men fall.
Men he had known all his life were being slaughtered, despite fighting with desperation to protect their families. The soldiers had set up a shield wall and were pressing in with spears levelled, while behind them sat mounted soldiers, calmly loading and firing crossbows into the villagers.
The Orosini bowmen responded, but the battles outcome was obvious, even to a boy like Kieli. He knew he would not survive this day but even so, he could not stand behind the invaders and not do whatever was in his power.
On wobbly legs he started forwards, his target a man upon a black horse, obviously the leader of these murderers. Next to him sat another horseman wearing a black tunic and trousers. His hair was as dark as his clothing, pulled back behind his ears and falling to his shoulders.
The man somehow sensed something was behind him, for he turned just as Kieli started to run. Kieli saw the mans face clearly; a dark beard trimmed close to his jaw-line, a long nose which gave him a harsh appearance, and pursed lips as if he had been lost in thought before he heard Kielis charge. The riders eyes widened slightly at the sight of the armed and bloody boy then he calmly said something to the officer, who turned. The man in black carefully lifted his arm. There was a small crossbow in his hand. He calmly took aim.
Kieli knew he had to strike before the mans finger tightened on the release. But two strides away from the horseman the boys knees weakened. Kielis newly acquired sword felt as if it had been fashioned of lead and stone and his arm refused to obey his command to deliver a killing blow to the invader.
The boy was one stride away when the black clad man fired the crossbow. Then his knees buckled. The bolt had taken him in the chest, high up in the muscle below his first wound.
The bolt spun him around completely and his blood splattered both men as it fountained from the wound. The sword flew backwards from fingers that could no longer grip. His knees struck the ground and he fell over backwards, his eyes losing focus as pain and shock swept over him.
Voices shouted, but the sound was muted and he could not understand what they were saying. For a brief instant, he saw something: high in the sky above him a silver hawk flew in a circle, and to Kieli it seemed to be looking directly down at him. In his mind he heard the voice once again. Linger, little brother, for your time is not yet. Be my talon and rend our enemies.
His last thought was of the bird.
CHAPTER TWO
Kendricks
KIELIS PAIN pierced the darkness.
He couldnt will his eyes open, yet he knew he was alive. He felt hands upon him and as if from a great distance heard a voice mutter, This ones still alive.
Another voice said, Lets get him in the wagon. Hes lost a lot of blood.
Part of Kielis mind registered he was hearing words in the traders language, what was called the Common Tongue, not the language of the Orosini.
He felt another pair of hands upon him. As they began to move him, he groaned and lapsed back into unconsciousness.
Pain coursed though Kielis body as he came awake. He forced his eyes open and tried to lift his head. The effort brought forth a wave of agony and his stomach churned, yet there was nothing in it for him to vomit up. The wracking pain that swept through him made him gasp aloud and moan.
His eyes couldnt focus so he could not see the owner of the gentle hands that pushed him back and said, Lie still, lad. Breathe slowly.
Kieli saw shapes before him: heads in shadow, lightning in the sky above them. He blinked and tried to clear his eyes. Here, said another voice from above him, and a gourd of water touched his lips.
Drink slowly, said the first voice. Youve lost a lot of blood. We didnt think youd make it.
The first swallow of water caused the spasms to return, and he vomited up the tiny bit of water. Sip, then, said the voice.
He did as he was instructed and the mouthful of water stayed down. Suddenly he was thirsty beyond memory. He tried to swallow, but the gourd was removed from his lips. He attempted to lift his hand to grasp it, but his arm would not obey his command.
Sip, I said, demanded the voice. The gourd was pressed against his lips again and he sipped, and the cool water trickled down his throat.
He focused his meagre strength on getting the water down and keeping it down. Then he lifted his eyes above the rim of the gourd and attempted to discern the features of his benefactor. All he could see was a vague lump of features topped by a thatch of grey. Then he fell back into darkness.
At some point they stopped for a few days. He recognized a structure around him, a barn or shed, he couldnt be sure which. And he knew it was raining for a time, because the air was heavy with the scent of wet soil and the mustiness of mould on wood.
After that images came and fled. He was in a wagon, and for a brief time one afternoon he sensed he was in the woodlands, but not those near his home. He didnt know how he knew some glimpse of trees that didnt match the lofty balsams, cedars and aspens of his own forest. There were oaks, and elms and trees he didnt recognize. He lapsed back into his troubled slumber.
He remembered bits of food being pressed to his mouth and how he swallowed them, his throat constricting and his chest burning. He remembered feverish dreams and awoke several times drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He remembered calling out his fathers name.
One night he dreamed he was warm, at home, in the round house with his mother and the other women. He felt awash with their love. Then he awoke on the hard ground with the smell of wet soil in his nostrils, the smoke from a recently-banked campfire cutting through the air, and two men asleep on either side of him and he fell back, wondering how he had come to this place. Then memory returned to him and he recalled the attack on his village. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he wept as he felt all the hope and joy die in his chest.
He could not count the days he travelled. He knew there were two men caring for him, but he could not recall if they had given him their names. He knew they had asked him questions and that he had answered, but he could not recall the subject of those discussions.
Then one morning, clarity returned to him.
Kieli opened his eyes and although he was weak, he found he could understand his surroundings. He was in a large barn, with doors at either end. In a close-by stall, he could hear horses eating. He was lying upon a pallet of straw covered by a double blanket, and had two more blankets over him. The air was hazy with smoke from a small camp stove, a rectangle of beaten iron sheeting within which coals were allowed to burn. Safer in a barn full of hay than an open fire. Kieli elbowed himself up and gazed around. The smoke stung his eyes a little, but much of it escaped through an open door in the hayloft. It was quiet, so Kieli judged it was not raining.
His body ached and he felt stiff, but his slight movement didnt bring on waves of pain as it had before.
There was a man sitting upon a wooden stool, regarding him with dark eyes. The mans hair was mostly grey, though bits of black still remained. His droopy moustache hung down on either side of a mouth that was tightly pursed as if he were concentrating. A heavy fringe hid most of his forehead, and his hair hung to his shoulders.
Blinking an accumulation of gunk from the corners of his eyes, Kieli asked, Where am I?
The man looked at him inquisitively. So, youre back with us? he asked rhetorically. He paused for a moment. Robert! he shouted over his shoulder towards the barn doors.
A moment later the doors swung open and another man entered the barn and came to kneel beside Kieli.