The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Fight or Flight

A pillar of smoke rose like a frightened flock of birds away from the flames that came licking up the logs. The Shadow turned, hands on hips, to inspect the conflagration. A shrieking of wood announced the Eastern wall giving way, loose logs tumbling and rolling down the bank into the clearing.

Reeve was attempting to rally his men to hold the line, but Tanner and his men had already rushed inside while the rest fought their panicked horses over their reins.

"What was that?" Able begged anyone who might answer.

"The powder stores," this was the driver, now fully awake. "Bastards lit up our powder!"

Beneath similar cries of alarm and the roar of fire came also a thunderous rumbling, an earthy noise like...like a stampede? Horses. Able scanned the landscape until he spotted them, a grand number of the tall Larbant horses streaming around the remnants of the Eastern wall and bearing gray-clad figures on their backs. The Resistance had been inside the walls all along, waiting for the enforcers to break down their own fort...no, for they had already sabotaged the walls. They had been waiting for nightfall? And what of the missing scouts? There must be more somewhere—

Able's stomach fell into his boots. The rebels were coming about. They were coming up the bank. They were charging.

The driver gathered the reins and questioned, "Inspector?"

"Hold your position!" she barked at him, then to the others, "Surround the transport!"

Able clutched his bag to his chest and watched the rebels flooding up the bank with the Larbants drawing their swords and turning to face them. Just as horseflesh was about to smash into horseflesh, a cry went up from the forest to the West. Able turned just in time to see more rebels running out of the woods before a wall of riders blocked his view.

As the horses snorted and pushed against each other, as the combatants struggled and shouted to be heard over one another, as the daylight went out, and as the smoke rolled in from the burning walls, as Able simply stopped being able to take any of it in, he heard Capstone.

"To me, to me, on the western side, they're coming! Green, do you see a signal from the Sheriff? Do you see a signal from anyone at all?" So, the rebels on horses had created a wedge and separated the transport from the main force and now the ones on foot were bearing down on them. Their plan all along was to capture the prisoner transport. And Able was sitting on it.

Capstone and her squadron met the incoming rebels in a line, holding them back with stamping horses and swinging steel. The Borealunders were not cowed and each had either a staff or a lash that they prodded at the horses. Furthermore, there were more than twice as many of them, so as some pushed at the line, others in the back tried to sneak around.

A flash of motion in the left corner of Able's eye brought his attention around to see the driver had pulled out a wheellock. Able's heart shot up into his throat, but before he could see what the driver was aiming at—before it was even aimed, for that matter—the Shadow had leaped onto the footboard and clocked the driver right in the face with his fist.

As the driver reeled from the blow, the Shadow twisted the pistol from his grasp, glanced at it, then tucked it into his own belt before punching the man again. While the driver groaned and grasped the side of his head, the Shadow pulled out the driver's pockets until he produced a ring of keys, at which point he unceremoniously booted the poor man off the seat.

Now he was regarding Able, who just realized he'd been sitting there with his mouth agape this whole time.

"I-I'm an observer!" he babbled, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner. "I'm only observing!"