Woven Steel

CHAPTER 10: City Of Orphans, Part 2

"Holly, I'm warning you-"

              "COMRADES!" Hallmayn bellowed, screaming to anyone who would listen. He turned away from Broduer, the muscles of his face pained and tight, and began to run for the gate. "CLOSE THE GATES! CLOSE THEM-" Hallmayn's neck jerked backwards and his feet, still running forward, slipped out from under him. His pike clattered to the stones, and his ill-fitting helm flew off.  He landed hard on the cobblestones. Broduer had pulled him down by the back of his cloak.

              Hallmayn writhed on ground, as white fire rippled up from his tailbone through his spine. Broduer stood over him. His sword was in his hand. The grey steel was polished to a mirror sheen.  He stepped in front of the bright midday sun, casting his shadow over Hallmayn.

              "Broduer, what are you about?" Someone said from Hallyman's right. The sword flashed out, one quick flick from the elbow, and the voice was heard no more.

              "Don't make me, Holly."

              "When you.... That night, when you went on that raid to burn the trebuchets, and you were the only one that survived-" Hallymayn said, stumbling through the words as his breath returned.

               Hallmayn's hand found his spear. He rolled, stumbled to his feet, levelling his weapon and aiming for the belly. Broduer sidestepped easily. As his lean, sharp face came into the sunlight, Hallmayn saw that he was weeping too. It was the last thing he ever saw.

              Broduer let his bloody sword drop to the cobblestones. It bounced, spun, and came to rest next to Hallmayn's body.  He slumped down to the ground, resting his back on the bootm of the upturned cart. He faced the gate and waited. The tide was turning.  The men at the gate were being pushed backward. Some in the back ranks turned and ran, dropping their weapons and sprinting across the square in different directions.  If any of them noticed the two bodies lying in lakes of blood around the cart, they didn't stop to comment.

              Broduer watched, his face stony and indifferent, as the knights broke into the square. There were four of them in the first wave, riding abreast. Blood was dripping off their horses like sweat. The knight themselves were drenched up to the elbows. A few arrows were sticking out of their shields or armor, but they seemed not to notice.  A militiaman in a carpenter's apron bellowed, trying to get some of the men to from up into a line, But the weight and pressure of their own fleeing men stopped them.  More knights were riding into the square now, fanning out to the sides of the first four. They rode over the citizen-soldiers of Metsamor, trampling and cutting down those who stood in their way and scattering the rest.

              The first four knights, the front line, cut their way to the middle of the square. There movements were slow and heavy. The swords rose and fell slowly, like farmers scythes at the end of a long, long summer day. When all the commune men had been driven out of the square, they stopped, breathing heavily, their armored shoulders rising and falling.  One, the smallest, flipped up his visor, revealing a surprisingly young face. He only had a few years on Broduer.  His hands were shaking, though whether from horror or muscle fatigue Broduer could not say.  Horror, probably, given the way the boy was looking at the twisted bodies at his horses feet.

              "Something wrong, Maid Moray?" The big knight next to the boy said, slapping him lazily on the shoulder with the flat of his sword. "Fret not, young lady. The first time is always a little messy."

              The boy shot a look of pure malice at the big man, and clanged his visor shut. Someone shouted at them, and they turned their horses, following the river of their fellows charging down Tannery Street.