Leaves of Flame (46 page)

The councilman turned a confused look toward Gregson. “What—­” he began, his voice no more than a whisper.

Then his legs gave out and he thumped down to his knees.

Jayson gaped, frozen, unable to process what had happened. The arrow didn’t make any sense; it had come from nowhere.

Then Gregson kicked his horse forward, his narrowed gaze shooting toward the rock promontory that overlooked the town.

Jayson looked just in time to see a figure stand and draw, the bow black against the blue sky, tufts of clouds scudding along behind him. Then he gasped, jerked forward, encumbered by his seat in the saddle, but managed to grab Gregson’s arm and haul him backward.

The arrow shot past Gregson’s shoulder and sank into the flank of his horse.

The animal screamed and reared, wrenching Gregson from Jayson’s grip and throwing him from the saddle, before charging across the commons, trampling the councilman as it passed.

“Diermani’s balls!” Gregson spat as he scrambled to his feet. On the promontory above, ten more archers had appeared. “Those aren’t dwarren,” he whispered. “They’re Alvritshai.”

Arrows lanced down into the commons, breaking the tableau as women shrieked and men dodged toward cover. Gregson’s horse had vanished down the southern road. The two tradesmen stared in shock at the councilman’s body, the attackers hidden from their sight by the councilman’s manse. Jayson couldn’t think, his breath coming in short huffs, his entire body humming. Reaching for Gregson had been pure instinct, nothing more.

Gregson suddenly spun. “Warn Terson,” he barked, then slapped Jayson’s horse on the rump. The animal lurched forward, nearly throwing Jayson from the saddle. He cried out, hissing as the muscles in his legs spasmed, but caught himself. He heard Corim’s frantic shout from behind him, twisted in the saddle in time to see Gregson hauling the apprentice down from his horse moments before two arrows sank into the animal’s neck. It reared, screaming shrilly, feet kicking, but Gregson and Corim were already sprinting toward the protection of the tavern’s corner, the Legionnaire roaring warnings at the men and women caught in the open square. Jayson’s heart seized as three men and one woman fell to the cobbles, and then something skimmed across his own back, tracing a line of fire from shoulder to side, tugging at his clothing. He spun in his seat, grabbed at the reins and leaned forward over the horse’s neck as it careened through the fleeing people of Cobble Kill. More arrows rained down, shattering on the stone of the roadway. He heard a roar of rage, saw a man spin as an arrow took him in the throat, saw a woman dragging her daughter’s body into the cover of the stable yard, blood glistening bright on the stone beneath her—­

And then the erupting chaos of the commons was left behind as his horse galloped down the southern road. Jayson gasped at the sudden calm that descended, although he could still hear the screams from the town behind. His heart thundered in his ears, the horse’s body thudding into his chest beneath him. His thoughts flickered from Corim to Terson to Gregson, torn between responsibilities, and he choked with indecision.

“Gregson has Corim,” he whispered to himself, voice ragged. He swallowed against the sudden sourness in his mouth and throat.

And then the garrison appeared ahead. Men were already gathered in the roadway, some of them pointing back
toward the town with their swords, bellowing questions. Three of them surrounded Gregson’s horse, holding it steady as Terson jerked the arrow from its flank. It whinnied and shied away from him, but the Legionnaire ignored it, frowning down at the bloodied shaft in his hand.

At a shout from one of the men, Terson glanced up, caught sight of Jayson’s horse charging toward them, and stepped directly into the animal’s path.

Jayson’s bit back a curse and pulled hard on the horse’s reins to bring its frantic bolt to a halt. As it dug into the road, he rose in the saddle and roared, “The town is under attack!”

“From where? By whom?” The cries came from all directions, but Terson caught Jayson as he fell from the saddle, others stepping forward to calm his horse.

“Archers,” Jayson gasped, his body trembling with adrenaline. “Archers are on the promontory overlooking the town. They’re firing down into the commons. And they aren’t dwarren. They’re Alvritshai.”

Terson shot him a strange look, then bellowed, “To arms! Every man who’s here, grab your swords and form up! Curtis, sound the alarm. This isn’t a call to assemble any longer; it’s a call to war. Now move! Move, move, move!”

The entire group of men broke and scrambled, some charging toward the garrison that wasn’t much more than a wooden outpost on the side of the road with a stable in the back. The steady clang of the bell suddenly changed, another joining it, the combined sound now frantic. Ricks barreled out of the garrison, still fully armored from the ride to Gray’s Kill.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“Get the men armed and organized here on the roadway as quickly as possible, then we’ll head toward Cobble Kill.”

The young soldier dashed off toward the stables, shouting orders as he went.

“Tell me what you saw,” Terson ordered, turning on Jayson.

“I only saw archers on the rock bluff overlooking the town. They nearly got Gregson before he ordered me to warn you and sent me here.” He tried not to think about Corim, about the others caught in the square.

“Are these the same men who attacked Gray’s Kill?”

“I didn’t see any Alvritshai or archers that night. I only saw the creatures and the dwarren.”

Terson swore. Behind him, men were struggling into armor, additional horses being herded from the stable to the road by a group of stableboys, saddles hastily being cinched tight. “Cobble Kill isn’t designed to withstand an attack,” Terson growled as he watched. He suddenly motioned ­toward Ricks. “Get me a spare sword. Now!”

When the soldier returned, he handed the weapon to Jayson. “Have you ever used one before?”

Jayson took the sheathed blade in both hands as he shook his head, surprised at how heavy it felt. He swallowed once, his heart already quickening. He couldn’t seem to clear the sourness in his throat. “No.”

Terson grunted and slapped him on the back. “Do the best you can.”

He shoved Jayson toward his horse and turned to the rest of the men, most of them ready and waiting. Jayson hastily began belting the sword around his waist.

“I want Curtis to take you four and try to circle up to Grant’s Overlook and deal with those archers. The rest of us are going straight into Cobble Kill. Got it?”

The entire group broke out with a “Yes, sir!” Curtis motioned his selected men to one side. Someone brought Terson his horse and he mounted, Jayson drawing his horse to the side of the road and swinging up into the saddle. The sword felt awkward and cumbersome at his side, but he held onto its pommel with a death grip. He could hear his
pulse pounding in his head, sweat causing his shirt to stick to his back. His upper shoulder stung and he reached back with his free hand. He felt nothing except a rent in his shirt, but his fingers came back with traces of blood.

He suddenly recalled the lancing pain he’d felt as he’d raced from Cobble Kill. He must have been grazed by an arrow.

The thought sent a shudder through his muscles, but he didn’t have time to think about it. Terson suddenly ordered the group forward. Heels dug into his horse’s flanks and he charged down the road toward the town at the back of the group of soldiers. After Curtis’ band broke away, heading into the forest to one side, he counted no more than thirty men remaining, only twenty of them Legionnaires, the rest commoners.

He had a moment for his stomach to roll in apprehension, to notice that the others had already drawn their swords—­

And then they were passing the outskirts of the town, cottages and buildings appearing along the sides of the road amongst the trees a moment before the forest gave way completely and they broke into the wide commons.

The flagstones were littered with bodies, but otherwise empty.

Arrows shot into the group instantly, the man next to Jayson crying out as one took him in the shoulder. He spat curses as he wrenched the shaft free without slowing. Through the clamor of the horses’ hooves on the stone, he heard Gregson bellow, “Over here!” and saw a flash of movement from the direction of the stable yard.

Terson swung toward the lieutenant, the rest of the men following in a tight, disordered group. Gregson stood at the door to the stable’s barn, two other men holding the doors wide open. They charged through into the straw-­scented shadows within, the barn barely holding all of them. Jayson
twisted in the saddle as men drew the doors of the barn closed behind them, scanning the people within, searching for Corim. He saw the two merchant men from the trading companies, a woman with two children clutched close to her side, Ara from the tavern, and an assortment of other men and women, maybe seventy townsfolk in all. Someone close was muttering, “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening,” the litany repeating over and over. Jayson tried to turn his horse but the quarters were too cramped. In frustration, he yelled out, “Corim! Are you here?”

“I’m here!”

Corim thrust through a huddle of women and elderly men to one side, fighting his way to Jayson’s side.

A heaviness around Jayson’s heart eased. “Thank Diermani,” he muttered.

“Report,” Gregson ordered as soon as the barn doors closed.

Terson shoved his way to the front of the barn. Nearly everyone quieted, hushed and panicked voices falling silent to listen.

“I’ve sent Curtis and a small group up to the promontory to deal with the archers. The rest of those who’d managed to gather at the summons are here.”

“You didn’t see any other Alvritshai? No other attackers besides the archers?”

“None.”

Gregson frowned. “There must be another group somewhere nearby. They wouldn’t have archers watching the town otherwise.”

“Perhaps we spooked them by ringing the bell,” Ricks said to one side.

Gregson glanced around at the townsfolk huddled in the stalls and loft of the barn. “If that’s the case, then we’d better get everyone out of here as soon as possible, before the main force arrives.”

This brought frightened murmurs
from everyone, the unease of those still on their mounts transferring to the animals as they jostled against each other.

Ara pushed to the front of the group. She carried a scythe in her hand, and Jayson noticed that many of the others had makeshift weapons gathered from the barn. “What about those who sought shelter in the taverns or the other shops? And where do you think we’ll be going? This is our home. I’ll not be leaving without a fight.”

A few of the men grumbled agreement.

“Cobble Kill wasn’t designed to be defended,” Gregson barked, before the murmurs had grown too loud. “Our only real advantage is that no one can approach it easily through the forest. They’ll likely come by the roads, but we can’t hold those with the hundred people here, only twenty of those trained Legion, the rest with scythes and pitchforks! We couldn’t hold them even with the entire town gathered—­men, women, and children!” The grumbling quieted.

“We have to flee,” Gregson continued. “There’s no other choice. Terson, we’ll use those mounted to protect the rest of the townsfolk as we leave. I want everyone to gather in the center of the barn, the horses to either side. When we open the doors, the Legion will go out first and then the rest will follow. Take the southern road. Did everyone hear? Take the southern road once we’re out and keep on going! Don’t stop for anything—­food, clothing, nothing! Our only chance is to reach Patron’s Merge. Their town is walled and is protected by the rivers.”

At the fear-­sickened murmurs that followed and the sudden shifting of bodies as everyone tried to follow directions, punctuated by curses and low sobs, Gregson nodded, then drew Terson, Ricks, and a few of the other Legion to one side. Jayson had been jostled close enough to overhear.

“We need to forewarn the surrounding towns,” the lieutenant muttered. “As soon as we get free of Cobble Kill and
hit the crossroads, I want Tirks and Vanson to break off and head toward Ulm’s Kill and Farriver. Warn them and order them to continue spreading the word.”

“What do we tell them?” a blond-­haired man said. He couldn’t have been more than twenty.

Gregson frowned at that. “Tell them Gray’s Kill was razed by an unknown group, and that Cobble Kill has been attacked. Tell them dwarren and Alvritshai have been sighted, along with some other creature that we’ve never seen before. Tell them whatever you Diermani-­well please, Tirks, but get them to arm themselves! I don’t know if these are bandits or raiders or something worse, but they need to be prepared.”

Tirks didn’t react to Gregson’s gruff tone. Gregson scanned the fidgeting group of townsfolk behind the restless horses, then caught Jayson’s gaze. Jayson’s heart suddenly quieted. Gregson appeared calm and controlled, and he felt some of that calmness seep into him. Even though the Legionnaire’s expression was grim, it was still confident.

Jayson drew in a steadying breath, let it out slowly. He was still trembling, his body tingling and on edge, but he’d regained some of his composure.

He turned to catch Corim’s attention, leaning down over the saddle when his apprentice moved closer. “Stay with the Legion, no matter what happens.”

Corim nodded, his face serious but lined and anxious. Jayson noted he carried a knife, but said nothing.

Everything was changing, moving too fast. A strange energy filled the confines of the barn, the too-­sweet scent of straw now overlaid with a stench of fear and the warmth of too many bodies. Jayson wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Ready?” Gregson bellowed.

Jayson spun back to the barn door. The Legion had dispersed, remounted, and were now spread across the front of the group. Four of the townsmen had taken hold of the
doors, ready to swing them open. Someone had given up his horse to Gregson. Everyone who had swords had drawn them. Jayson reached around and pulled his free with a grating snick and held it awkwardly as his horse shifted beneath him, snorting and stamping its hoof. He swallowed against the lump that had risen in his throat, tasted the straw dust in the air, the scent of fodder and horseshit.