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“Dagah take it all!” Sir Givens swore at the sight of smoke pouring from the blacksmith’s chimney. Teran had seen the smoke and called down to her brother’s instructor. He had briefly considered trying once again to climb the ladder to the steeple but thought better of it. It would be faster just to find a window. Besides, his knees and back hadn’t grown any younger since the last time.
He was looking through a small opening between wooden boards. The window was covered in what had once been chairs, tables and benches which had been broken down into their component parts. Unfortunately, there simply wasn’t enough wood of sufficient length to completely cover the windows and doors. Drurien Wingate, one of the two carpenters in Hasp, had started tearing up the floors to use as braces but Tergin had reluctantly stopped him, worried that someone would accidentally fall.
Drurien was a godsend, Tergin had to admit. He’d quickly created slotted barricades for both of the exterior doors. It solved one of the many problems Tergin had; how to provide a quick means of escape while keeping the Reds from entering just as quickly.
He lingered at the window another moment, his hands gripping the thick oak beam until his hands grew white with the effort. Finally, he turned away in disgust, blowing a long breath. Things were happening much too quickly.
Tergin was a pessimist. It was why he was alive when so many of his fellow knights had died. He adhered to the motto to pray for the best – but plan extensively for the worst. In keeping with this philosophy, he’d made contingency plans for the Reds discovering the hidden group in the smithy – he’d just hoped he wouldn’t have to use them. He certainly hadn’t expected to use them this quickly. He had hoped, if the Red Guard discovered the forces at the blacksmith shop at all, they wouldn’t find them for a few days.
Tergin Givens had a host of problems he’d never faced when he was a knight. He had no idea of the number of troops he faced and had no one who could spy out the details for him. With an unknown number of enemies and untrained, if not incompetent, troops of his own, he was relying on close quarters combat to try to offset the enemy’s huge advantages. He’d just lost even that negligible advantage; open fighting in the streets was a fool’s choice at this point – but, in truth, he really didn’t have any choice at all.
He turned to where the Rivens’ family were keeping an eye on the western part of Weasterly Road – the road which ran east to west through Hasp. The Rivens had stepped up just as much as Wingate. Their particular skills building and repairing mills hadn’t translated here but their eyes were sharp and they’d taken over scouting the western path. “Jace, anything on the west side?”
Jace Rivens had spent all of his life as a millwright. His father had been a farmer but from an early age, Jace knew such a life simply wasn’t for him. He enjoyed taking things apart and putting them back together too much. It had driven his father to distraction but Jace was the second son and the old man didn’t truly begrudge him another trade. It was with a bit of regret but mostly relief that he’d apprenticed Jace to a wainwright in Knottline at the age of ten.
Becoming a millwright had been a stroke of luck. Knottline had three mills but the closest millwright had been in Klevel, a week to ten day’s hard ride north on the King’s Southern Road. The miller and old man Scorbol – Jace’s master – had been friends and the two had been in their cups when the miller started complaining. Scorbol, having been impressed with Jace’s ability to take things apart and put them together again, offered to have him examine the problem and see if he could make a temporary repair.
It had taken him an hour to determine the problem; the shaft had cracked causing the bearing to warp. Using a series of ropes and pulleys, Jace had managed to effect a stop-gap repair which allowed the miller to mill at about half-speed. When the millwright from Klevel, Fyrn Molhand, had finally made it down he was so impressed with Jace’s ingenuity, he made arrangements to take him as his apprentice. Jace was twelve.
His sons had followed in his footsteps. Channer was adequate but Goren was a prodigy. He had designed a new type of multi-bearing brace that kept the mill shaft much more stable and minimized the torque stress. Jace and his sons were quickly in demand from as far south as Cava to the capital of Callisto and beyond.
Now this. His sons weren’t warriors. They’d done some hunting with sling, stone, club and spear but never for big game. Still, when they’d taken refuge with everyone else in the Town Hall, Channer and Goren had stepped up and offered to help wherever they could. They’d even offered to join with the Viscount’s Guard, Gillen and Sir Givens to fight when it came to it but had been let down gently. Instead, they were to protect the town folk in the event they had to try to make an escape.
Jace glanced at his two sons but they both shook their head marginally; his boys had been helping their father in shifts to watch the western part of the road. He turned to the former knight. “Nothing.”
“Fine. You, Channer and Goren prepare to lead the townspeople to the west,” Sir Givens instructed. “Try to stay quiet and stick to cover as much as possible – but quick is more important than hidden. No matter what you see or hear, don’t stop for anything. I’ll send someone to get you when this is all over.” He left unsaid he’d only be able to send someone if anyone was left.
He turned to give orders to Gillen Hawksley but she was already gathering up the ten members of the Viscount’s Guard. At least that was something; Gillen knew what to do just as well as he did. If he were truthful, she probably knew what to do better than he did. It had been more than a decade since he’d retired. Besides, the two had been plotting and planning most of the past night. She’d do what was needed.
Instead, he headed to the ladder leading up to the steeple. “Teran! Rooft! Bremer!”
Bremer, her long, blonde hair set into a long braid which hung from over her shoulder, stuck her head over the lip of the steeple. “How can we help, dad?”
Tergin smiled tightly at his daughter. “Ask Teran if she can hold the steeple; I need her to cover our backs as well as the townsfolk while we go to Ardt and Yren’s aid.”
“Don’t worry, we can do it,” the young woman said confidently.
“No, just Teran,” Tergin explained. “I need you and Rooft to follow along behind us to provide us as much cover as possible while she covers our backs and makes sure nothing comes up behind the townspeople. We’re going to be badly outnumbered, but Gillen doesn’t think they have any archers – I’m hoping you and Rooft can thin their ranks a bit while Teran covers our retreat position. And, of course, shoot their mage if you can. We’re going to be especially vulnerable to a magic attack in the open.”
Bremer disappeared for a minute or so before returning. “Rooft and I are coming down. Teran says she’ll hold as long as she can.”
“Tell her as soon as the townspeople are out of bow range, she should follow behind us,” Tergin directed. “Once Jace gets the people to the forest, we’ll need her bow more than he will.”
Tergin turned knowing Bremer would ensure Teran understood; he wondered sometime if he’d done his daughter a disservice by not sending her to become a knight like he had Arclad, his son and her older brother. Bremer would have made an excellent knight; she was going to make an excellent ranger. In the end he hadn’t submitted her as a potential knight because he just couldn’t stand the thought he might lose her. Now, he realized he was just being foolish – he might lose her anyway.
Gillen and Dakin Oovert were waiting for him a few steps away. “We’re ready. I’ve sent the others of the Viscount’s Guard to the front door.”
Tergin nodded. “Good. We’ll each lead a squad, opposite sides of the road, just like we planned. Let me give Rivens a final word. I’ll meet you at the door in a moment.”
He turned towards where Jace Rivens and his sons, Channer and Goren, were assembling people at the back door. “Jace, we’re going to slip out the front door. As soon as we’re gone, start everyone moving to the west. If all goes well, you should be able to slip away while we take them on and they won’t even see you. I’ll hold them for as long as I can and Teran will cover you with her bow from the steeple. Burr’s luck be with you!”
Jace nodded and Tergin turned to meet Gillen and the others. He looked back to find Rooft and Bremer following behind, each with a quiver of arrows on their back. He nodded to his daughter and their neighbor and continued on.
“Okay, we need to get to the smithy as quickly as possible,” Tergin opened. “However, we can’t be stupid. Keep your eyes open and be sure to keep a look out to the right and left in case of ambush. Bremer and Rooft will be shooting arrows from behind us so try to stay as low as possible while maintaining speed. We’re going to go with two, six-man teams in staggered, inverse triangular formations – Gillen will take one and I’ll take the other. Oovert, Thames, Mulver, Buldh, Molinare and Rooft, you’re with Gillen and Bremer, Druble, Bronn, Roidell, Senten and Roofen, you’re with me. Remember to watch each other’s backs and blindspots.”
“I’ll take the left side,” Gillen spoke up as she saw Dakin opening his mouth to object. Gillen knew time was limited and wanted to pre-empt any comments from the Guardsman.
To put it mildly, Dakin had not impressed the First of the Third. All his ass-kissing had set her teeth on edge. Luckily, Dakin’s lips were leaving permanent hickey’s in the princess’ bunghole which meant, with the princess hidden at the smithy, he’d been fairly quiet since the prior evening. If she’d had to deal with his puffed up sense of importance, she’d probably have killed the little shit by now. According to Tergin, the man had an extremely inflated opinion of himself and his skills. Arrogance such as his was going to get people killed if it wasn’t quelled – but she had no time to attend to it.
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