him, her face stricken. “Lisula.”
“Ennit will go.” Darak prayed the raiders would be too intent on the pickings in the village to notice the birthing hut.
She nodded, her eyes huge in her narrow face. For a heartbeat, they stood there: his wife, his children. Then they fled.
“A spear.”
He heard Urkiat’s words, but all he could do was stare after his family.
“A spear, Darak. Arrows will be useless up close. And their swords are twice the length of our daggers.”
Keirith handed the hunting spear to Urkiat and grabbed the smaller two-pronged one the boys used for fishing. Darak hefted the ax. “Tie it to my wrist, Keirith. Use Callie’s belt.”
Keirith bound the ax handle to Darak’s wrist with the narrow strip of braided leather. Such beautiful hands, despite the scraped knuckles—the fingers clever and quick like Griane’s, long and slender like Tinnean’s. Nothing of him in those hands, except maybe the dirt under the fingernails.
“Can you see them, Urkiat?”
“Not yet.” He left off peering out the doorway to glance back at them. “Hurry up.”
“I’m trying,” Keirith muttered.
“You’re doing fine, son.”
Keirith’s eyes met his, then returned to his task. Darak tested the bindings and nodded. He’d have less freedom of movement, but at least it diminished the risk that the first blow would send the ax flying out of his hand.
He paused long enough to gaze around his home for what might be the last time, then ducked outside. Griane and the children had already vanished into the mist. Ghostly figures of women raced past, children clinging to their hands, screaming babes clutched to their breasts, all racing for the fields and the safety of the forest beyond. Boys lingered to help the old folks who followed slowly, so slowly in their wake. Men poured out of the nearest huts, some in breeches, others wearing nothing but their belts and daggers. Somewhere in the mist, he heard Nionik frantically shouting for the men to cover the women’s retreat, but those he could see were already running toward the lake, clutching whatever weapons came to hand: spears, axes, hoes, peat cutters.
Sanok stumbled out of the next hut, looking dazed. Alada flung a mantle around her father’s shoulders. When Darak sprinted toward them, Sanok peered up at him as if he were a stranger.
“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice querulous with shock. “I thought they only came in the autumn.”
Darak seized his arm. Together, he and Alada half-dragged the old man through the village. They had just made it to the edge of the circled huts when they heard a deep-throated roar, like the howl of a giant beast. It crescendoed to an unnatural ululating shriek that sent shivers crawling down Darak’s spine. The sudden silence that followed was even worse.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop, frozen in anticipation and terror. Then the beast roared again, and this time it was everywhere.
Griane and the children stumbled through the furrows in the newly plowed earth. When they heard that awful roar, Callie whimpered once. She hissed at him, and he choked back a sob. After that, he didn’t make a sound; even when he fell and she and Faelia yanked him to his feet, her brave little boy gave only the smallest gasp, quickly stifled. But when she heard the women’s screams, even Griane moaned.
She veered north—what she thought must be north; the familiar landmarks were lost in the mist. The raiders might have spread out from the lakeshore, but surely they couldn’t have encircled the village already.
She tripped over a rock and went down hard, dragging Callie with her. She gave him a quick kiss as she pulled him to his feet. Pain lanced through her right knee at every step, but fear drove her on. If they could make the higher ground north of the village, they would find plenty of hiding places among the trees and scrub. The raiders would never search so far afield.
As the ground rose, the pain
“Ennit will go.” Darak prayed the raiders would be too intent on the pickings in the village to notice the birthing hut.
She nodded, her eyes huge in her narrow face. For a heartbeat, they stood there: his wife, his children. Then they fled.
“A spear.”
He heard Urkiat’s words, but all he could do was stare after his family.
“A spear, Darak. Arrows will be useless up close. And their swords are twice the length of our daggers.”
Keirith handed the hunting spear to Urkiat and grabbed the smaller two-pronged one the boys used for fishing. Darak hefted the ax. “Tie it to my wrist, Keirith. Use Callie’s belt.”
Keirith bound the ax handle to Darak’s wrist with the narrow strip of braided leather. Such beautiful hands, despite the scraped knuckles—the fingers clever and quick like Griane’s, long and slender like Tinnean’s. Nothing of him in those hands, except maybe the dirt under the fingernails.
“Can you see them, Urkiat?”
“Not yet.” He left off peering out the doorway to glance back at them. “Hurry up.”
“I’m trying,” Keirith muttered.
“You’re doing fine, son.”
Keirith’s eyes met his, then returned to his task. Darak tested the bindings and nodded. He’d have less freedom of movement, but at least it diminished the risk that the first blow would send the ax flying out of his hand.
He paused long enough to gaze around his home for what might be the last time, then ducked outside. Griane and the children had already vanished into the mist. Ghostly figures of women raced past, children clinging to their hands, screaming babes clutched to their breasts, all racing for the fields and the safety of the forest beyond. Boys lingered to help the old folks who followed slowly, so slowly in their wake. Men poured out of the nearest huts, some in breeches, others wearing nothing but their belts and daggers. Somewhere in the mist, he heard Nionik frantically shouting for the men to cover the women’s retreat, but those he could see were already running toward the lake, clutching whatever weapons came to hand: spears, axes, hoes, peat cutters.
Sanok stumbled out of the next hut, looking dazed. Alada flung a mantle around her father’s shoulders. When Darak sprinted toward them, Sanok peered up at him as if he were a stranger.
“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice querulous with shock. “I thought they only came in the autumn.”
Darak seized his arm. Together, he and Alada half-dragged the old man through the village. They had just made it to the edge of the circled huts when they heard a deep-throated roar, like the howl of a giant beast. It crescendoed to an unnatural ululating shriek that sent shivers crawling down Darak’s spine. The sudden silence that followed was even worse.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop, frozen in anticipation and terror. Then the beast roared again, and this time it was everywhere.
Griane and the children stumbled through the furrows in the newly plowed earth. When they heard that awful roar, Callie whimpered once. She hissed at him, and he choked back a sob. After that, he didn’t make a sound; even when he fell and she and Faelia yanked him to his feet, her brave little boy gave only the smallest gasp, quickly stifled. But when she heard the women’s screams, even Griane moaned.
She veered north—what she thought must be north; the familiar landmarks were lost in the mist. The raiders might have spread out from the lakeshore, but surely they couldn’t have encircled the village already.
She tripped over a rock and went down hard, dragging Callie with her. She gave him a quick kiss as she pulled him to his feet. Pain lanced through her right knee at every step, but fear drove her on. If they could make the higher ground north of the village, they would find plenty of hiding places among the trees and scrub. The raiders would never search so far afield.
As the ground rose, the pain
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