The man nodded understanding and waved his hands.

  “You can’t stay here,” he shouted. “Get off my land.” Then he whirled and hurried to the house.

  Redmond watched him disappear into the manor and then faced the hill where the number of soldiers kept increasing. These horsemen didn’t seem anxious to make another attempt on Redmond’s position.

  Rollo stepped up to him. His face was splattered with gore, but he was smiling. “They won’t want to try that again,” he said.

  “When the crossbowmen arrive, they’ll come again,” Redmond said. “And we have no shelter. We can’t stay here.”

  Rollo glanced at the manor. “The frightened part of me would say to seek refuge in the manor, but the thinking part says if we allow ourselves to be bottled up in there, we won’t come out alive.”

  “I know,” Redmond said. “If we can hold on until nightfall, we might be able to slip away.” Then he glanced at the horses. Some of them were drinking from the fountain, while others nibbled at the grass and the hedges. “But if we have to endure a shower of crossbow bolts, we could lose our horses.”

  “We’re going to have to detail men with shields to protect them,” Rollo said.

  “Agreed,” Redmond said. “Can you see to that? Some of the injured may be able to help. I’m going to treat those I can.”

  They spent the next several hours gathering spent arrows and shields from the fallen soldiers and letting the men rest. Like all men accustomed to battle, they were able to sleep wherever they could find a spare patch of ground. Redmond found that most of the wounds had been superficial because the riders couldn’t close with his men and because his men were well-protected with the mail armor he had insisted they all wear. He treated them as best he could and then dropped to the ground to rest.

  He leaned his back against a tall stone, so he could face the manor. Emilia was in there. He had thought he would never see her again, and the prospect had left him more disheartened than he cared to admit. She was so like Lara—yet so different. But he was being foolish. He was too old for her, and he still needed to know how Lara fared before he could commit to a different path. The King’s warning that Coll would be attacked by someone gave more urgency to this idea. Maybe he should go back to Coll. Maybe he could find Neahl and Weyland and warn them. Maybe Lara would let him help her one last time.

  Or maybe, he should go with Emilia and Tal into a neighboring kingdom and begin a new life. He had already closed the door on his life in Coll. Why reopen it? With his share of the money, he wouldn’t need to work as a mercenary ever again. Perhaps he could retire his bow and join Tal as an apothecary and healer.

  Redmond awoke with a start to blink up at the burning sun. Sweat soaked his gambeson, and he wished he could take it and the mail shirt off. The sun now stood well overhead and was dipping toward the west. He scrambled to his feet m, concerned that he had slept so long and that it was so late in the afternoon. Kamil stepped over to speak with him.

  “Rest well?” he asked.

  Redmond grunted. No one rested well on a field of battle.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Kamil said. “They appear to be waiting for something or someone. They’ve set sentries around us, so we can’t break free without giving the alarm.”

  “The crossbowmen,” Redmond said. “They’re waiting for the crossbowmen, so they can give cover.”

  “Perhaps,” Kamil said, “but two new banners arrived a few minutes ago. One was red and the other gray. I think they were waiting for the rest of the angry lords to arrive with their men.”

  “They sent their fastest riders to run us to ground,” Redmond said, “so they could bring up the larger force.”

  Kamil pointed. “Look. They’ve dismounted. They’re forming up.”

  “To your feet men!” Redmond shouted. “They’re coming again. Let’s remind them why they withdrew the last time.”

  He turned to the men with the shields who were prepared to protect the horses. They all held two shields, one in each hand.

  “Remember, those horses are our only way out of here,” Redmond said.

  By their stern faces, it was plain they understood all too well what was at stake.

  “Archers,” he called. “Aim high at the crossbowmen. We need to remind them that a longbow has the greater range. We must keep them back.”

  His men assembled at their positions and looked on in grim silence. They knew they would receive no quarter. They had to conquer or die.

  “When the footmen approach,” Redmond shouted, “send your shafts straight into their faces. We have to hold a few more hours before we’ll have the cover of darkness.”

  The soldiers now on foot advanced down the hill. The line of crossbowmen spread out and came behind them.

  “Steady men,” Redmond called. “They’ll show you no mercy. We stand or fall today. You are fighting for your lives and for your freedom.”

  The men cheered and beat their weapons against their shields. Redmond’s throat went dry as the ranks of soldiers came on. It was an unnerving sight. They were heavily outnumbered. If they survived the next half hour, it would be a miracle.

  He glanced around. Should he have tried to make a run for it? No. It would have been suicide. He glanced up at the manor. A face peered out a window. It was Emilia. Warmth spread in his chest, and he raised a hand to her. She placed a palm on the window, and Redmond looked away.

  That was another reason he needed to survive this day. If Emilia and Tal were captured, Lady Selgrave would make sure they suffered. They were depending on him, too.

  “Archers,” Redmond called as the crossbowmen stopped at the extreme range for their weapons and planted their pavises in the ground.

  “Aim high,” he called. “Rain the arrows down over the top of the shields.”

  He bent his bow and raised it to an extreme angle.

  “Loose,” he shouted.

  Bowstrings slapped. A hundred arrows jumped into the pale blue sky.

  “Again,” Redmond yelled.

  Another storm of arrows launched upward as the first volley fell among the crossbowmen.

  A few men fell, but most of the arrows either missed entirely or stuck fast in the wooden pavises.

  “Again,” Redmond called.

  He didn’t want the crossbowmen to get off a concentrated volley before the soldiers coming down the hill were in their way. A few crossbowmen shot their bolts, but most were cowering behind their pavises as the footmen came on.

  “Again,” Redmond said.

  He would get one more volley before he needed to concentrate on the oncoming footmen.

  The arrows lanced into the air. There were fewer crossbowmen now, but the pavises protected most of them.

  The footmen advanced within twenty paces of their formation. Spears bristled before them, and their mail and steel helmets reflected the afternoon sun.

  “Now the footmen,” Redmond bellowed.

  The archers lowered their aim and loosed. The arrows zipped past the heads of their own pikemen to slam into the oncoming enemy. Most lodged in the enemy’s shields, but a few found an unprotected area.

  At this range, the needle-sharp bodkins would punch through the mail rings and gambeson and into the flesh beneath. The heavy ash shafts the longbowmen used gave them incredible penetrating power.

  Kamil held a dozen arrows in his bow hand and loosed them with such rapidity that Redmond paused to watch him. Kamil continually surprised him with his short recurved bows and the skill with which he used them.

  A rain of crossbow bolts cut into his men. Redmond ducked behind a hedge. A few bolts found unprotected places such as faces and thighs, but most slammed into mail or steel helmets. The crossbowmen were so far back their light bolts did little damage.

  One plunged into a horse’s neck, despite the men shielding them. The horse reared and burst through the hedge to gallop straight into the ranks of the oncoming men. She bowled a few over, but the rest scrambled aside to let her pass.

  Jannik’s powerful warbow shot his arrows with such force they drove through the shields. The advancing line faltered before the men formed a sufficient shield wall to protect their vitals from the arrows.

  “Aim at their legs,” Redmond called.

  Soon arrows were slamming into unprotected thighs, knees, and shins. The line slowed again, but the injured were quickly replaced by those behind. Another shower of crossbow bolts arced into their square. One struck Redmond so hard in the chest that it knocked the wind out him. For one desperate moment, he thought he had received a mortal wound. But the bolt fell away to reveal several broken rings in his mail and a dent in his gambeson.

  When the soldiers had advanced to within ten paces, they charged with a roar that shook the earth.

  “Hold your ground!” Redmond called.

  Kamil’s arrows found exposed eyes and throats. Jannik’s punched through mail and armor. Redmond loosed arrow after arrow, but still the men came on.

  The extreme ends of the line swung to close in on them from all sides. They hacked and slashed their way through the hedges to be met by a wall of pikes and slashing, stabbing swords. The line stalled at the stone wall and the hedges. The fighting proved fierce and deadly.

  Redmond dropped his bow and drew his sword as a familiar figure broke through the hedge. He wore the distinctive helm with the bronze flourishes on the noseguard that rose up over the top of the helm.

  “Dacrey,” Redmond breathed.

  The sight of Lord Dacrey among the fighting men gave him pause. Redmond had left him locked in the dungeon, and Baron Dragos of Longmire said he wanted to get his hands on Dacrey. But here he was fully armored. It could only mean one thing—the Baron of Longmire had betrayed them, as well.

  Rollo had been right. Longmire never intended on helping them reach safety. Redmond rushed to meet Dacrey as he hacked his way through the hedge.

  Dacrey sneered when he recognized Redmond. “You’re the man I wanted to meet,” Dacrey said.

  He lunged at Redmond, but Redmond parried the blow. The sounds of the battle raging around him became a dull, indistinct roar.

  “You should know when you are beaten,” Dacrey said.

  “And you should know when you have met your match,” Redmond replied.

  He lunged forward with a series of rapid strikes aimed at Dacrey’s face. Dacrey stumbled backward, struggling to deflect the blows. They separated as Redmond paused to catch his breath.

  “The King says if I bring him your head and his money,” Dacrey said, “he’ll forgive my indiscretions regarding Lady Adelaide and Baron Otto.”

  “Does Longmire know you’re plotting to steal his land?”

  “It’s not his land,” Dacrey growled.

  He sidestepped and slashed at Redmond’s legs. Redmond leapt out of the way. Their swords clashed. The blow jarred Redmond’s hands. But he slipped to Dacrey’s off-side and delivered a ringing blow to his helmet. Dacrey staggered backward.

  Redmond tried to exploit the opening, but Dacrey recovered and drove him back.

  “Whose land is it?” Redmond asked.

  “Mine,” Dacrey growled again. “He stole it from my father, and I will get it back.”

  Dacrey swung at Redmond’s head. Redmond raised his sword, but the stroke had been a fake. Dacrey twisted his wrist and slammed the sword into Redmond’s side. The blow knocked the wind out of him. He staggered back, bruised and dazed, sure that Dacrey had cracked some ribs.

  Without the mail shirt, that strike would have severed him in two. Dacrey elbowed Redmond in the face and raised his sword for the killing blow. Redmond sank to a knee and drove his sword upward under Dacrey’s guard into his exposed throat. Dacrey’s sword fell to slam against Redmond’s helm but without much energy. He staggered backward, clutching his throat as the blood gurgled out. His sword slipped from his hand, and he sank to his knees.

  The roar of battle rushed back into Redmond’s ears as Dacrey slumped to the ground, his bronze-lined helmet covered in droplets of his own blood.

  Emilia peered through the window of the manor with her heart in her throat as Redmond engaged Dacrey. The battle surged around the square formation Redmond had established. The soldiers came on and on. How would any of Redmond’s men survive?

  “We have to help them,” she said. She spun to face Tal and Mara, who watched over her shoulder. Walter, his wife, and the children huddled together in a back corner.

  “We can’t do anything from here,” Tal said, “or Lady Selgrave will send her men into the manor.”

  “We can’t just watch them get slaughtered,” Emilia insisted.

  “I’m a healer now,” Tal said.

  Emilia spun on him. “I admire your wish to do no more harm,” she said. “But sometimes you have to. Some things are worth fighting and dying for. I’m worth defending,” she said. She jabbed a finger toward the children. “They’re worth defending. You’re going to have to choose sometime if your conscience and principles are more important than the lives of your family and friends.”

  Tal bowed his head. Emilia cringed. She had chastised her father. He had given up everything to be there for her when she was most vulnerable. She lifted his hand into hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Tal raised his head. A tear glistened on his cheek. “You’re right,” he said.

  Mara stirred. “I might as well tell you,” she said. “Lady Selgrave sent me to find you and bring you to her.”

  Tal stepped back from her, and Emilia straightened. Emilia had started to like Mara, even though she didn’t know anything about her.

  Mara raised her hands. “Relax,” she said. “I’ve obviously decided not to do that.” She gestured to the window. “It didn’t occur to me that Redmond would appear in the only safe place we could find within fifty miles.” She scratched at her neck. “But I have an idea, and I’m going need you two to help me.”

  Tal narrowed his eyes at her. “And what help might you require?” he asked.

  “Follow me,” Mara said.

  Chapter 21

  Flight

  The battle surged around Redmond as he and his men struggled to hold back the tide of soldiers surging about their tiny square. A warm wind kicked up, stirring and mixing the odors of death, sweat, and churned earth.

  Jannik hammered at any head or body part that pushed through the hedge. Rollo held his ground with a short sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Kamil discarded his bow and used a curved blade to hack and slice at weak places in armor.

  Redmond’s men were tiring. They couldn’t last. Not outnumbered and surrounded like they were. They edged back from the wall and hedge, giving ground, closing in upon their own lines.

  A new cry erupted from the soldiers still on the hill. Redmond hacked at an arm that bore a sword and spun to see what the new threat was. Clouds of smoke billowed up on the sides and in back of the army. Orange flames jumped about as the smell of burning grass drifted down to them. A rider in a black cloak bearing a torch swept over the grassland, bending low to ignite the dry grass. A long line of orange flame trailed out behind him as if he were some kind of legend sprung to life. Redmond could hardly believe what he was seeing.

  Another rider galloped between the crossbowmen on the hill and the footmen attacking Redmond’s formation. A line of flickering flames erupted behind the rider. Several crossbowmen shot bolts at him, but he swept on.

  The cries grew louder. The men attacking his formation paused. When they realized that a fire now separated them and their reinforcements, they hesitated and slowed their attack, uncertain what to do. Redmond raced to the men protecting the horses.

  “Your bows,” he yelled. “Your bows.”

  The crossbowmen would be too preoccupied now to loose any volleys. Redmond’s men snatched up their weapons and shot arrows into the faces and backs of the soldiers who now concentrated on finding a means of escaping the approaching flames. The attackers broke and fled toward the back of the manor, away from the rolling flames and the biting arrows.

  Redmond’s men gave a half-hearted cheer. Many sank to their knees, trembling with exhaustion, still unaware of what had saved them. The horses jostled each other as they smelled the smoke.

  Redmond shouted orders. “Gather the horses in the fountain,” he called, “and splash water over everything.”

  The grass had been thoroughly trampled around the wall and the hedges, but he couldn’t take the chance that it wouldn’t catch. A few of the men continued to rain arrows into the retreating army while those who were able slipped off their helmets, dipped them in the pool, and threw water over the grass all around their formation.

  The roar of the fire reached Redmond’s ears as the wind whipped it toward the manor. Whoever started the fire might have saved them from death on the point of a spear or a sword only to broil them in the hungry flames now rolling down the hill toward them. The horrible greasy smell of roasting flesh swept before the wind as the fire reached the bodies of the dead and dying. Screams of agony filled the air. Redmond’s stomach tightened at the smell. He swallowed and blinked, trying to keep in the rising sickness. Fire was a horrible weapon, though it had saved them several times over the last few days.

  The fire scorched the green lawn in front of the manor. It blazed up to the stone wall spitting hungrily, but the water and the trampled grass provided little fuel. The heat became unbearable as the flames swept around them into the garden. His men tossed helmets of water at the places where the fire caught the hedges or over their own heads until the air was thick with steam, smoke, and ash. Eventually, the flame lost its biting fury.

  The green foliage of the garden didn’t burn well or hot, and the fire sputtered and went out after leaving long, black scars through the once-green and lovely garden. Horror at the scene mingled with an overwhelming sense of relief. Against all the odds, they had survived.

  Soldiers staggered past Emilia as she swung around behind the manor. They took no notice of her in their haste to escape the flames. She had discarded her torch after making the mad dash behind the army. Clouds of gray smoke billowed into the sky. The screams of dying men and horses split the air. She didn’t want to see them die, but she had to know if Redmond and his men had survived.

 

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