Servant of a Dark God by John Brown Page B

viciously outside.
    Mother pulled the crossbar on the door in place.
    More bows thrummed outside and the dogs’ barks turned to screams. Then the dogs fell silent.
    Da winced and looked down at his side. The arrow had not gone into the thick of his back, only cut the flesh on the side. But the blood still spilled from him like water. He pressed his hand to the wound.
    “Those cursed blackhearts,” he said. He pulled his hand away wet with blood. “Get me a wrap,” he said to Mother. “All these years, and then they treat me like some feral dog.”
    Mother took a knife to her dress and cut a long strip. “We should have ridden when I first suggested it. Why you can’t listen to me I’ll never know.”
    “Well, you won’t have to fret about that much longer, will you?”
    Mother was furious. She made the final cut, then came and tied it around Da to cover and hold the wound. When Da took his hand away it was dark red. Heavy drops of blood fell to the floor.
    “Did you get your mother’s horse?” Da asked Sugar.
    “I did,” she said, and the enormity of that almost overwhelmed her. One horse was not enough for all four of them. She cursed herself for not having thought to get Sot.
    Da nodded. “It’s enough.”
    From outside, they heard the Crab yelling at his men. “I want all here to witness that Sparrow has refused the proving. Fire the smithy and the house.”
    Moments later Sugar heard arrows snake into the thatch above their heads. Those would have their points wrapped and burning with pitch-soaked rags.
    “Fetch me my armor,” said Da.
    “What are we going to do?” asked Sugar.
    Da looked down into her eyes. “You, my dear, along with Mother and Legs, are going to ride Fancy out of here.”
    “You fool,” said Mother. “It’s too late for that.”
    Sugar thought Mother had said that in anger, but when Sugar looked up, she could see Mother was not angry—she was wracked with grief.
    “I’m going to draw them away from the back,” said Da. Then he took Mother’s hand and kissed it. “It’s not too late. Not for a fool to remedy his foolishness. You three will ride away, and not look back.”
    “I don’t want to ride away,” said Sugar. “Besides, where can we go that they won’t find us?”
    “Mother will know,” said Da. “Now fetch me my tunic.”
    Sugar hesitated, but Mother nodded, so she ran and brought the quilted under-tunic and helped Da tie it shut. Then Mother dressed him into the mail tunic that extended down to his thighs.
    Da couldn’t rout so many men. They were all going to die, yet Da made her cinch the buckles on his breastplate as if he were dressing for a parade.
    Legs found his way over and grasped Da’s wrist. His hair stuck out, and fear shone plainly on his face. Da took Legs’s hand and kissed it. “Be brave, Shen, son of Sparrow, son of Sparrow, son of Shen.” Shen was Legs’s given name. He was an ancestor who had been a powerful man, and Da loved telling his stories. Da kissed Legs’s hand a second time.
    By the time they had the breastplate buckled about him, Sugar could hear the fire above their heads and smell the smoke coming in through the cracks of the shutters.
    “Peer out the back and tell me what you can see,” said Mother.
    Sugar looked out a small hole in the shutter and surveyed their garden. Fancy neighed nervously and clopped about trying to pull free from the post. The soldiers stood away from the border of the yard.
    “They’ve backed up,” she said.
    “Did you see their faces?” asked Da. “Half of them are petrified. Those are not children out there. I should be stuck like a pincushion with arrows. But their fear has affected their aim. Would that I were a soul-eater. Then this whole so-called hunt would be at risk. With average luck, I’d kill the lot of them and green our garden with their blood.”
    Mother came away from the window. “Perhaps we can make the break together,” she said to Da. “You can take off this