In the smoke, he could faintly discern figures moving in the distance; cries of outrage and pain drifted toward him, as his people struggled to repel the invaders.
His eyes smarted from the acrid smoke, and he blinked back tears as he reached the fallen soldier. He turned over the body to retrieve the sword and as his hand fell upon the hilt, the soldier’s eyes snapped open. Kieli froze, and as he yanked back the sword the soldier lashed out with his shield, bashing him in the face.
Kieli fell back, his vision swimming and the world seemingly tilting under his feet. Only his natural quickness saved him, for just as the soldier was on his feet—dagger drawn—and slashed at him, Kieli dodged.
For a second he thought he had avoided the blade, then pain erupted across his chest and he felt blood flowing. It was a shallow wound, but a long one, running from just under his left collarbone down to his right nipple and there to the bottom of his ribs.
Kieli slashed with his own blade and felt shock run up his arm as the soldier deftly took the blow on his shield.
Another attack, and the boy knew that he was overmatched, for he only narrowly avoided death from a dagger slash to the stomach. Had the soldier attacked with his sword instead of a short blade, Kieli knew he’d be lying gutted upon the ground.
Fear threatened to rise up and overwhelm him then, but the thought of his family fighting for their lives only yards beyond the masking smoke forced it aside.
Seeing the boy’s hesitation, the soldier grinned wickedly and closed in. Kieli knew that his only advantage was the length of his blade, so he offered his already-wounded chest as a target and clumsily raised the sword with both hands as if to bring it crashing down upon the soldier’s head. As Kieli had hoped, the soldier reflexively raised his shield to take the blow and drew back his dagger for the killing thrust.
Kieli, however, dropped to his knees with a spin, bringing his sword down and around in a powerful arc which sliced through the soldier’s leg, knocking him backward screaming. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries just below his knee. Leaping to his feet, Kieli stepped upon the man’s dagger hand and struck straight down with the sword’s point into the man’s throat, ending his agony.
He tried to wipe his sword hand dry, but discovered that blood was flowing freely from the long cut on his chest and knew he’d soon be weakening if he didn’t bind it, though he thought it probably looked a great deal worse than it was.
As he hurried toward the sounds of battle, a gust of wind cleared his vision for a moment so that he had a clean line of sight and could see the village’s central square. The tables that had been heavily laden with food and ale were overturned, the ground around them littered with the feast for the day’s celebration. The flower garlands were crushed into mud made up of soil and blood. For a panic-stricken second, Kieli faltered, horror causing his gorge to rise. He blinked back tears—though whether they were caused by smoke or rage he didn’t know. A short distance away lay the bodies of three children, obviously cut down from behind as they raced for shelter. Beyond them, he could see the men of his village making a stand before the round house. Kieli knew the women and surviving children would be inside, the women armed with knives and daggers to defend the children should the men fall.
Men he had known all his life were being slaughtered, despite fighting with desperation to protect their families. The soldiers had set up a shield wall and were pressing in with spears leveled, while behind them sat mounted soldiers, calmly loading and firing crossbows into the villagers.
The Orosini bowmen responded, but the battle’s outcome was obvious, even to a boy like Kieli. He knew he would not survive this day, but even so, he could not stand behind the invaders and not do whatever was in his power.
On wobbly legs he started forward, his target a man upon a black horse, obviously the leader of these murderers. Next to him sat another horseman wearing a black tunic and trousers. His hair was as dark as his clothing, pulled back behind his ears and falling to his shoulders.
The man somehow sensed something was behind him, for he turned just as Kieli started to run. Kieli saw the man’s face clearly; a dark beard trimmed close to his jawline, a long nose which gave him a harsh appearance, and pursed lips as if he had been lost in thought before he heard Kieli’s charge. The rider’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the armed and bloody boy, then he calmly said something to the officer, who turned. The man in black carefully lifted his arm. There was a small crossbow in his hand. He calmly took aim.