The Reaper's Seed: The Sword and the Promise (Book 1)

by Jaffrey Clark

  “They are going to burn us!” Corred exclaimed.

  “The town will be ready.” Remiel turned to his new friend and looked him in the eye. “Remember, Corred, your fear is their strength.”

  Corred met his gaze and nodded, his confidence strengthened. “I am going to the northern side. Will you remain here?” Corred asked.

  “I will. This is the post that Einar marked for me. Go and show our enemies that true hope cannot be crushed.” Remiel placed his hand on Corred’s shoulder. “I will see you when the sun rises.”

  Before going, Corred shook Garrin’s arm. “Stay close to Remiel. He will fight with you.”

  Garrin nodded, looking back at Remiel, yet another stranger he was going to depend on in a life and death struggle.

  Corred ran through the town calling to the first people he saw, “Draw water and wet your roof tops! Fill every bucket you own, they are coming.”

  Snapping from a state of shock, Wellman began to take action. Every able hand lent itself to gathering water from the wells that were scattered throughout the town.

  Confirming for the citizens of Wellman what they had feared all day, Corred ran through the town toward the northern side, shouting orders.

  He stopped to help a young boy carry a large bucket of water across the street. Too young to face the battle, he would still not be spared; the defense of Wellman had come to rest on him as with everyone else. Starting at Corred’s presence, he quickly trusted and spoke his mind as only young children will, “Sir, is it true that bad men are coming to burn our town, the same men who killed Lord Wellman’s son?” His voice trembled as he fought back tears.

  Corred stopped him in his tracks and knelt to the boy’s level to gain his full attention. “No enemy will ever harm this town while I am alive, and no one will harm you if these men can stop it.” Corred pointed to a group of men with swords at their sides, several of them members of the Véran. “Stand fast, little friend, for we will all be tested, but we must prove true.” With that he patted him on the back and picked the bucket back up. “Come; let’s show bad men what good men can do.”

  More important than his orders, Corred carried himself with an air of confidence that he did not possess. Surprised at his own words, he saw the effect of his determination. People nodded when they saw him, as if to say, “We will follow you.”

  Pushing on toward the center of town, Corred avoided the flurry of people at the well in the middle of the square. He met Tristan on the mansion steps where he stood frozen, overwhelmed. Even from the center of Wellman, the lights in the distance, now surrounding the town in every direction, shone brightly. The enemy was advancing quickly.

  “Tristan, come with me. I am going to the northern side; we will need your help!” Corred beckoned him forth.

  Lord Wellman opened the doors of the mansion just as Corred was calling Tristan out. He was fit for battle from head to toe. “Corred, it is I who will join you on the northern side. Tristan, stay and lead the house in doing what is necessary.” With his spear and sword he descended the stairs. “Show me where I may best avenge the death of my son and show our enemy who he has offended.”

  “Yes, my lord.” I can’t believe I am leading him! Corred led the way, running around the mansion. With a quick glance at the windows above, he sped on through the cabins that spotted the northern part of Wellman.

  The homes were all dark and the windows boarded as women and children had retreated further toward the center of town with the first sounding of the horn.

  Corred and Lord Wellman joined a line of defense on the northern side of the town just as the torches were meeting together from east and west. The road was still being barricaded with an assortment of carts and wagons, and on the roofs of the houses along the edge of town several archers stood post, arrows knocked.

  With every opportunity Corred spoke words of encouragement and support to those who would receive it, but it was the sight of Lord Wellman with his sword on his belt that lifted their spirits the most; they would follow their leader. Lord Wellman was among the few who had ever seen a battle of any kind, and that when he was a young boy.

  If there had been anyone with something of value to say they would have spoken up, but in the presence of a leader who had lost his eldest son and now led them in defending their town against a superior foe, silent respect prevailed. Lord Wellman faced them all and nodded. “Men of Wellman, it is my privilege to stand with you in this dark hour.”

  * * * * *

  Standing three hundred yards out, the scouts stopped their advance on Wellman. Each with a lit torch, they stood side by side, waiting for the command to charge. Some itched in their shoes, others stared at the town in awe that such a moment had actually come.

  In an awkward moment of silence, each side of the battle beheld the other.

  The occasional voice from Wellman could be heard, urging the haste of some preparation. The lamps burned brightly as they always did, and the chimneys smoked just the same, but this was an evening the likes of which Wellman had not seen in a hundred years.

  Selcor stepped out from the line toward Wellman and drew a spear from his pouch. Once every scout in the line had followed suit, Selcor began a slow march toward the town. On all four sides of Wellman, a distinguished scout from among Casimir’s men led the horde, inching closer.

  As if allowing Wellman the chance to feel the tightening of the noose around its neck, they quietly approached. Each with a torch and the point of his spear directed at its target, they descended upon their prey. The smell of burning oil filled the air.

  At two hundred yards out, Selcor fell to a run. The flame of his torch licked the air fiercely but did not lose any of its strength. Falling in behind him, Casimir’s army charged Wellman.

  At 100 yards, Selcor and the other three leaders dipped the heads of their spears into the flame of their torches. Having been soaked in oil, the blades caught fire instantly. Each scout did the same in step.

  Within range of the archers on Wellman’s roof tops, the four leaders of Casimir’s army released their spears into the air. Each fell sharply from the sky and struck the ground at the entrances to Wellman along each of its four main roads. The flame quickly climbed the shaft, burning brightly.

  Everyone who had seen it stared for a moment at the burning spear before them. It was only a taste of what would come next.

  “Take cover!” Lord Wellman yelled.

  Everyone who had a shield held it aloft.

  A barrage of flaming darts hung for a moment before descending on the edges of Wellman like a thousand shooting stars. With a hiss they struck everything in sight, peppering the rooftops. Homes began to catch fire before any defense could be raised. An archer to Corred’s left was hit directly and fell to the ground dead.

  As a second flock of burning darts filled the air from closer range, the archers opened fire. Cries of wounded men could be heard approaching the edge of town. The ring of torches was almost on top of them.

  “Stand your ground!” Lord Wellman cried. He was on his feet with his broad shield held high and his spear ready for its first victim.

  One man lost his nerve and fled into Wellman, only to be brought to the ground by a falling spear. In a matter of seconds, Wellman’s outer ring was littered with fire. Some of the homes whose roofs had not been soaked in time were already becoming enveloped in flames.

  “Do not let them take this town, men of Wellman!” Lord Wellman ran forward and drove his spear through the first scout that reached the mouth of the northern road. With a cry of rage, he left it and drew his sword, running to meet the invading army head on.

  Corred was right behind him. With full knowledge of the odds they faced, several others followed them to meet the enemy at the poorly constructed barricade. Just as Lord Wellman reached the wagons, more than twenty scouts descended upon them. Arrows from the left and right caught several of them in stride, bringing them down, but the numbers were hardly evened.

  Wi
th shields guarding their torsos, they met and deflected most of the spears that flew their direction. Some were too slow to react and fell to the ground with black shafts protruding from some part of their bodies.

  “Ahhhh!” Lord Wellman knocked away one scout’s spear with a swing of his sword and ran him through. Absorbing another close range assault with his thick shield, he struck down another.

  Corred had as many to fight without having to take another step. Unable to see his enemies well, he swung at everything that carried a torch. Hacking, slicing, and jabbing his way through the tangle, the rush of adrenaline drove his movements. His attacks were almost as unexpected to himself as they were to the enemy.

  In an instant, five scouts lay dead around him. Two spears that he had defended against were now so deeply lodged in his shield that they were but inches from his chest. Forced to hold his shield further from his body, so as to avoid the razor sharp points, he felt his senses sharpen all the more as yet another spear zipped past his head. With all the speed he could produce, he spun around, lowered to one knee, and jabbed where he fully expected his next attacker to be. Finding the scout out of reach, he had just enough time to react before a second spear was thrown. Leaning to the side and slicing the air he deflected the blow, sending the weapon end over end into the dark field behind him.

  Staring at each other for the briefest moment, neither Corred nor the scout continued the fight. The scout moved first, rolling to his right, determined to make an end of his opponent from a safe distance.

  Matching the movements of his attacker, Corred, shifted to his right so as to remain on the other side of the invisible ring in which they now competed. Reaching for yet another spear from his large quiver, the limber scout did not hurry to take another shot at Corred, but rather waited, as if determined not to make the first move.

  Anxious now to close the distance between them, which would very soon be a disadvantage, Corred feigned a charge. To his surprise the scout backed up and nearly tripped over a broken shield. It was the chance he needed. With a few quick steps, Corred moved in. To his dismay the scout was not only ready for him, but took hold of one of the spears protruding from his shield. With a violent thrust, the scout attempted to drive the spear further through the shield and into Corred’s ribs.

  Turning away from his shield as quickly as he could, Corred narrowly escaped the tactic. Instinctively he broke the shaft of the spear with the base of his blade. The defensive move pulled his enemy off balance. Seeing this, Corred twisted the shield upward with all his strength and attacked from underneath, stabbing at the scout’s midsection with the full length of his arm. A feeling of subtle resistance met his blade as he pierced him through.

  The scout went rigid where he stood, his own spear halfway to Corred’s neck.

  Corred pulled his sword out and backed away, unsure if the fight would really be over.

  A tremor ran the full length of the scout’s body, but he did not make a sound. Even in the dark, Corred could see his face contort with pain as he crumpled to the ground, breathing his last.

  Corred shuddered. The sounds of struggle all around him returned, as did his own urgency to survive. Breaking the shaft of the other spear that still protruded from his wooden shield, Corred sought to regain his bearings, unsure of what to do next.

  With the ferocity of cornered animals, the men of Wellman’s outer ring fought for their lives. Cries filled the air, warning the next line of defense to make ready, lest they too be swallowed.

  Seeing an elderly gentleman singled out and under attack by two scouts, Corred found his next fight. One was jabbing and slicing at the villager with a spear while the other stepped away and sought to attack the man from the other side. His black dart was raised, ready to bring the old man down.

  Corred loosening his grip on the straps of his shield, took a step toward the fight and swung his arm around from the side. Halting his movement short, he straightened his arm as best he could. The shield left his arm and became a weapon. To his dismay, the shield sailed just wide of the second scout’s head, but it startled him enough that he turned to defend himself. Seeing that Corred was actually still fifteen feet away, the scout smiled slightly as he pulled back his spear to throw.

  Regretting his decision to throw away his best defense, Corred felt the panic in his mind begin to take over.

  With a quick snap of his arm, the scout sent his spear straight at Corred’s heart.

  “Ahhhhh!” Half closing his eyes Corred sliced the air and spun sideways in an attempt to make himself as thin as possible.

  The spear missed Corred’s left shoulder by less than an inch, the fletching of the weapon brushing his shirt. He opened his eyes again just in time to see Lord Wellman knock the scout on the back of the head with his shield, before finishing him off with his sword. With a rage that stunned Corred, Lord Wellman then assailed the second scout, cutting the spear from his hand. With a savage yell, he dispatched the scout with a single cut from his shoulder to his hip. Turning toward the next scout, Lord Wellman drove him through the street.

  Seeing their leader gain the upper hand, those still standing rallied to him. Corred chased after them, not wanting to be caught alone again in a fight he could not win. Retrieving his shield from among the fallen, he slipped his arm back through the straps. Something warm and moist had soiled them both, and now covered his sleeve, wetting the back of his hand. He instinctively paused, straining to see what it was, but he knew. Nausea stirred his stomach. All at once he realized the wet slick feeling of blood further up his arm, and on his neck. I’m covered in their blood. Gripping the straps even harder, he shut out the horror of death around him. I’ve got to get back to the center of town! Olwen. Just her name made him quicken his pace.

  Most of the scouts had already run straight through the defenses, avoiding the fight altogether to carry out their raid deeper into the town. Emptying their pouches of all but a few precious spears, they threw their torches against a cabin or store of feed and resumed the attack. Many penetrated far enough into Wellman that they found themselves surrounded. Some were killed, but most escaped to fight on, knowing the layout of the town almost as well as its inhabitants.

  The most serious damage was done in a matter of minutes as the people of Wellman frantically scrambled to save their homes in the middle of a battle. Water lines were formed by those not caught in the midst of the bitter fighting, dousing the fiercest flames first; some homes burned so violently that they were beyond saving.

  In the midst of the ensuing chaos, Casimir’s scouts did not quickly withdraw. Just when it appeared that the enemy had gone and efforts to fight Wellman’s fires became organized, another scout would attack and raise the alarm.

  While standing guard at a large cabin that was on the verge of being saved, Corred saw a scout run out from behind the flames. Before he could open his mouth, the scout pierced a man through, even as he threw water at the base of the flames.

  “Catch him,” Corred yelled. Burning with anger, he gave chase before he knew whether anyone had joined him.

  “Stop and fight me you coward,” Corred yelled uncontrollably. Though out of breathe he forced the insults out at a high pitched scream. “Fight me, you spineless weakling!”

  The insults worked. Much to Corred’s surprise, even as the scout was beginning to pull away, he skidded to a stop before rounding a cabin. Turning where he stood, the scout hurled a dart with the full force of his body behind it.

  Corred had no time to dodge as its speed was fatal, but by fortune it sailed wide. He felt its wind as it passed his face, flinching only after it had gone.

  The scout slowly pulled a second spear and waited as Corred continued to charge him. Stepping just around the corner of the cabin and out of the moonlight, he waited for his pursuer to come into his line of sight again.

  Corred rolled to his left and hugged his shoulder to the front of the cabin, suspecting the scout’s intentions. He reached for the hunting knife Olw
en had given him the day before. Switching his sword to his left hand and the hunting knife to his right, he spun around the cabin only a moment after he would have arrived if he’d kept running the same line as the scout had anticipated. Lowering his attack only a little, he chopped where he expected the scout’s head would be and stabbed a foot below that with his hunting knife. Both weapons struck wood.

  The scout, who had backed away just far enough to avoid Corred’s blades, jumped at Corred’s fierce strike. The scout released his next dart prematurely and it struck the side of the cabin, remaining there. In a flash he turned to run again.

  Having the hunting knife in his right hand, Corred felt the weight of it. Without a second’s hesitation, he threw it after the scout. It rotated evenly and the blade sunk between the scout’s shoulder blades.

  With a shriek he fell forward and slid along the ground, limp from head to foot.

  Corred approached the scout cautiously, afraid it was a trick. Not a sound came from his enemy as he lay on the ground. Running him through to be sure brought no response. With a quick pull, his hunting knife came out of the wound with a sickening crunch. I hit his spine. Corred gagged. Wiping the blade off on the ground as best he could, he quickly made his way back to where the chase had begun. The cabin had been saved, but it was terribly damaged and it was only one of nearly a hundred that had caught fire.

  Many homes, stables, and storehouses were lost. Fires burned through the night, with very few targets saved. Not a soul rested. Families were scattered from one end of the town to the other, as fathers and mothers tried desperately to protect their children from attack, even as they lost their homes.

  It was approaching morning before the last scout fled Wellman.

  As light began to gather on the horizon, Lord Wellman was helped back to his mansion bleeding and faint from his efforts. Corred too had received his share of cuts and bruises. Not a single man on the outer ring was left unharmed. When the last scout was struck down by an archer and killed, Corred sheathed his sword with heavy hands and fell to his knees, exhausted.