Shorn: Chapter 16

Nothing happened for the next few days. Shorn worked on the farm, often searching the horizon for smoke. He noticed Melda doing it too.

“I don’t know whether to be happy they haven’t lit the signal fire yet,” she admitted to him one day. “I don’t want the attack to come. But I want to get it over with. The waiting is hard.”

It wasn’t just hard on her, but on the children as well. She wanted them close by at all times and snapped at them when they wandered into the forest or out of sight. The only time she felt at all calm was when they were all in the house. They, in turn, grew increasingly irritable. They squabbled with each other. There were tears and angry shouts.

Finally, late in the morning, five days after Tidvale burned, the signal fire was lit. It was Melda who saw it first. She ran over to Shorn, calling and pointing.

Shorn wasted no time. His spear was leaning against the house. He picked it up and started hurrying away.

“Don’t forget to come back!” Kit yelled, trying to run after him. Melda grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Please!”

Shorn ran to Sweetwater. As much as he could, anyway. He had to walk part of the way. He’d never been much for running.

Sweetwater was in an uproar. The gate was open. Otho, once again wearing the rusted helmet, kept trying to close it, but whenever he tried, more people demanded to be let out, and he had to open it again.

Clearly, a sizable portion of the population had decided to flee. There were several wagons loaded with people and possessions already on the road, along with people pulling carts or trundling wheelbarrows. As Shorn reached the town, two wagons got jammed in the gate, when neither driver would yield to the other. The men driving the wagons began shouting and cursing each other. Their wives and children huddled in the wagons, surrounded by their belongings.

One of the drivers swung his whip at the other, leaving a red line across his cheek. The victim yelled in pain, snatched up an axe and flung himself at the other.

Shorn acted quickly. He snatched the axe from the man and shoved him back in his wagon. The other driver was about to strike with his whip again, but one look from Shorn caused him to lower it quickly.

“We don’t have time for this,” Shorn snarled. Both men blanched and sat back down. “If you’re going to run, at least get out of the way.”

He tossed the man’s axe in the back of his wagon, grabbed hold of the wagon and yanked it free, the suddenness of it almost causing the driver to fall off. The driver recovered, snapped the reins, and the wagon bounced away on the rutted road. The other followed close behind.

“Thank the gods you’re here,” Dale said, running up. He was carrying his spear and wearing a stout coat. “We’re not doing so good.” The plaza was chaotic. People were hurrying this way and that, gripping the hands of their children. Cows and goats and chickens milled about. People were shouting. Children were crying. Two men were rolling around on the ground fighting.

“LISTEN UP!” Shorn roared. His voice was loud. Everyone stopped in their tracks. Even the two men on the ground rolled apart and came to their knees to look at him.

“Everyone who isn’t defending the town leave the plaza now!” Shorn wasn’t wearing his cloak today, only trousers and a sleeveless tunic, showing his thick muscles. He looked fierce, primeval even. At that moment the villagers were probably more afraid of him than Bloodmane.

The villagers scurried to obey, none of them daring to object. Soon, the plaza was empty except for the spearmen, the archers, one very excited goat, and two wagons Shorn had selected ahead of time. Otho started to close the gate.

“Leave it open,” Shorn told him.

Otho pushed up the visor on his helmet to see. “But won’t Bloodmane get in then?”

Shorn nodded. “Yes. He is supposed to. That is the plan.”

“Oh.”

“Get back up on the palisade and yell when you see them coming.” Otho saluted and climbed up onto the palisade, almost falling when the visor closed again.

The archers stood in one line, the spearmen in another. They stared at him with fearful expressions on their faces, gripping bows and spears tightly. He was reminded again that these were not soldiers, they were townsfolk with families and homes. They hadn’t done anything like this before.

“You can do this,” Shorn told them. “I know you can. You know you can. Remember your training. Spearmen, stick together. You can reach further with your spears than they can with their swords and axes. Archers, pick your targets. Stay calm. It’s better to fire one arrow that is accurate, then spray three wildly.”

They were still pale, but they were determined. They were afraid, but resolute as well. He did not think they would break.

He turned to Moll. “Get your archers in position. Stay hidden until you hear the signal.”

“Yes, sir!” Moll yelled, thrusting her bow in the air. “You heard him,” she told the other archers. “Get to your spots and stay down.” She almost looked like she was enjoying this.

The archers dispersed. Shorn turned to the spearmen. “Let’s get those wagons into place.”

They rolled the wagons so that they mostly blocked off the two streets that led into town, arranging them so that they looked, to the casual observer, like they’d been abandoned there in the general panic. Shorn realized that those townsfolk who had fled—still clearly visible on the road out of town—lent credence to the ruse. Hopefully, Bloodmane would see nothing amiss.

That done, Shorn checked the narrow alleys that ran between the houses and the palisade itself. They weren’t wide enough for wagons, but a rider could make it down them. As per Shorn’s instructions, the townsfolk had scattered crates, boxes and other debris in the entrance to both alleys. Again, the idea was to make the barrier look unintentional, the aftermath of a terrified population.

“Take your places. Don’t move until you hear the signal.”

Some of the spearmen climbed into the wagons. Others tossed blankets across the wagons, concealing the men inside. Those that didn’t fit in the wagons crouched behind them. Soon, only Dale and Shorn were visible.

“Are you okay?” Shorn asked him. Dale had volunteered for this next part. He was shaking, and he looked like he might throw up.

Dale gave him a wan smile. “Of course, of course. I’m only shaking because I’m so excited.”

A shout came from on top of the palisade. “I see them! I see them!”

Shorn put his hand on Dale’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay. I am near.”

“Why is my mouth so dry?”

“It is normal. You are fine.”

Dale climbed up onto the palisade and took his spot. He set his spear down out of sight. Shorn concealed himself behind one of the wagons.

They didn’t have long to wait. Bloodmane and his men trotted up and came to a halt just outside the gate. There were about fifty of them. All of them were mounted. Bloodmane looked up at Dale. A cold smile crossed his face. “I see you learned from what happened to Tidvale.”

“We did. We beg you to spare us the same fate. Take what you want. We won’t fight you.”

Bloodmane turned to look at his men. “I told you so, didn’t I? They’re nothing but a bunch of rabbits.”

Cheers came from his men as they thumped weapons on shields or thrust them into the air.

Bloodmane led them through the open gate.

Shorn watched him closely. Bloodmane was a tall, muscular man with long, fiery, red hair hanging loose around his shoulders. On one hip was a huge, double-handed claymore. He was wearing chainmail over leather armor. He didn’t ride like a man who was expecting battle. His hand was not on his sword. His shoulders were back. His battle helm was tied to his saddle.

The raider came to a stop when he saw both streets were blocked. “What is this?” he yelled, turning to look at Dale.

That was the moment Shorn was waiting for.

He burst out of hiding, roaring at the top of his lungs.

The horses responded exactly as he’d known they would. These were no plow horses. They were trained to battle. They could stay calm in the middle of a battlefield.

What they couldn’t handle, what they’d never been trained for, was a giant Themorian warrior suddenly exploding into their midst.

At the appearance of this horrifying creature, Bloodmane’s horse squealed and reared up on its hind legs, nearly unseating him. Many of his men weren’t so lucky. A number were thrown as their mounts suddenly decided they wanted nothing to do with whatever Shorn was and fought to get away. Some horses lost their footing and went down in a pile of thrashing hooves.

A moment later the archers rose up from where they’d been concealed, appearing on the roofs and in the windows of the homes facing the plaza. Moll let out a blood-curdling howl of her own. A wave of arrows shot out, most finding a target in the packed mass of men and horses.

At nearly the same moment, the spearmen joined the fray, leaping from concealment yelling and charging forward with spears leveled.

Shorn was focused on Bloodmane. Whatever else happened here, he planned to make sure Bloodmane died. Without him, it was likely this whole band would fall apart.

Shorn charged Bloodmane. The raider had managed to draw his sword, and he swung it two-handed at Shorn’s head. But his horse was still panicking, and the claymore was a slow, ungainly weapon. Shorn stepped inside the blow and closed his hand on one of Bloodmane’s wrists.

Before he could rip the man off his horse and finish him, Moll shouted, “Bloodmane!” An eyeblink later an arrow was sticking out of his throat.

Bloodmane slumped to the ground.

Shorn turned to find another enemy. All around him the raiders were going down under arrows and spears. One of the raiders faced off against two spearmen. They split and came at him from each side. When he tried to charge one of them, the other stabbed him in the side, knocking him off his horse.

Another raider hacked down at Jesup. The blacksmith jumped back out of reach. As the blow whistled harmlessly by, he stepped back in and stabbed the man in the shoulder. The raider lost his balance and fell off his horse, disappearing under trampling hooves.

Two raiders on foot tried to charge a block of four spearmen, all packed tightly together. They couldn’t get close enough to hit the defenders and moments later both went down.

Just like that, it was over. Those horses still on their feet were stampeding for the open gate and freedom. Whether they still had a rider or not made no difference to them. A handful of men ran after them, desperate to escape the trap.

The plaza was littered with the dead and dying. Blood was everywhere. The cries and moans of the wounded filled the air.

Moll started cheering first. She jumped down off a roof and ran up to Bloodmane’s body. She spit on him, yelled, “Take that!” and ripped her arrow out of his throat.

The others picked up her cheer. It was ragged at first, but it grew. Townsfolk began to emerge from their homes, adding their voices to the cheering.

Shorn walked over to a wounded raider who was trying to get to his feet. His leg was bloody, his face white with pain. He saw Shorn coming and tried to raise his sword.

Shorn held out his hand. “Give me that and leave.” The man hesitated, then threw his sword down and began limping to the gate. When a spearman started to follow, Shorn said, “Let him go.”

He raised his voice. “Let those who surrender leave. Without weapons or horses,” he added.

The survivors dragged themselves out the gate. Townsfolk began to gather in the plaza. Many had looks of wonder on their faces.

“I didn’t think we had a chance,” one old woman said. She looked up at Shorn. “You still scare the hell out of me, stranger, but right now I could kiss you.”

“That’s no stranger,” Dale said. “That’s Shorn. He’s a friend.”

“Let’s hear it for Shorn!” Moll yelled. Their voices rose up, echoing his name.

Jesup came up. He had a cut on his shoulder, but otherwise he seemed all right. He was shaking his head in disbelief. “We did it. We really did it.”

“I believed it would be so,” Shorn said. “You fought bravely today. All of you.”

“Yeah, but we couldn’t have done it without you,” Dale said. He looked very tired and was leaning on his spear, but his smile was bright. “Thank you. If you ever need anything, you let me know. I’m in your debt forever.”

“What he said,” Jesup echoed. “You’re not paying for things from my shop anymore. You want something, you just ask.”

Shorn nodded. “Where is my axe?”

Jesup wiped blood from his cheek. “I haven’t finished it yet, but when it’s done, it’s yours.”

Moll came up carrying Bloodmane’s sword. “Maybe you could use this till it’s ready. It’s still a bit small for you, but it’s something.”

Shorn took the weapon. He looked at the townsfolk. “We need a horse.”

“Good thing those guys left some behind,” Jesup said. “They might have even stopped running by now.”

“We’ll send some people out to gather the ones we can find,” Dale said. “Next time you come to town, you can have your pick.”

Moll spoke up. “Just don’t try to ride the poor thing! You’ll squash it.”

Laughter met her words.

Shorn took up his spear and laid it over his shoulder with the sword. “I must go now. My…family will be waiting for me.”