Paul Thompson - The Middle of Nowhere

Screaming, the captives threw down their buckets and fled to the south bank. One of the riders in the stream put a ram’s horn to his lips and sounded a long, wavering blast. The stream around him erupted, and the three sunken “logs” burst from the water. Malek, Nils, and Howland had plastered themselves with gray mud, leaves, and waited on the creek bed, breathing through hollowed-out cattail stems.

Malek cupped both hands under the horn blower’s heel and levered him off his horse. When he hit the water Howland gave a quick stab of his sword. The flowing stream gushed red.

Chaos became general as the captives scattered and the remaining riders rode into the creek to attack their unknown foes. Nils swung his walking stick like a club, rapping a horse on the nose. The startled animal reared and plunged, but the rider skillfully kept his seat.

Roaring a battle cry, Hume waved his sword over his head and charged toward the melee in the creek. One horseman cast his javelin at him. Hume batted it aside and slogged on, kicking up sheets of spray with his feet. He made for the still-bucking horse. On its next rise, Hume got under the flailing hooves and planted his hands on the animal’s chest. A man of ordinary size and strength would have been crushed into the stream, but Hume planted his feet and pushed horse and rider over backwards.

Malek leaped onto the rump of another horse, grappling with the man in the saddle. They struggled briefly, but Malek was powered by rage long suppressed, and he hurled the brigand into the water.

An arrow flicked by his face. One of the men had strung a short bow and was taking shots at the four attackers.

Malek slid off the horse. He’d couldn’t ride well anyway, and the beast’s side was good cover against arrows. When he raised his head to see if he could pinpoint the archer, he saw something that made his heart split in two.

Laila.

She was one of the prisoners fetching water. Malek saw her helping a fellow slave, a dazed old man, out of the water. He screamed her name.

“Malek?” she cried. “Malek, is that you?”

Shouting madly, he tore through the shallow stream, making for the south bank. Arrows hummed by him. but he neither heeded nor feared them. Laila got her aged companion onto dry land then started across the creek to meet Malek.

Howland dueled desperately with a fully roused warrior, fending off his spear thrusts with his sword. The rider was skilled and turned away each time Howland attacked, using his greater mobility and reach to put the gray-haired Knight on the defensive.

Now Nils saw Laila. Heedlessly he crossed in front of a brigand, who threw his lance. It struck Nils in the thigh. He collapsed in the water. Blinded with pain, he got to his knees and yanked the iron spear head from his flesh.

Drawn by the rider’s horn, more mounted men converged on the creek. Howland heard the rumble of many horse coming.

“Withdraw!” he shouted.

Malek was too close to Laila to turn back. She was almost close enough to touch. Hardship had lined her face, and her formerly spotless homespun was torn and dirty, but she was his Laila nonetheless.

A prancing roan horse cut off his beloved from him. The rider struck her down with the butt of his spear. Enraged, Malek flung his stick at the man and shouted, “Butcher, leave her be!”

Coolly the man turned, couching his spear under his arm like a lance. He dug in his spurs, twisting his horse’s head in a half circle to get at Malek. The young farmer backed frantically, but the water was knee deep, and it slowed him. Malek clearly saw the square-shaped spearhead plunging at his chest.

From nowhere Hume appeared, sword at maximum reach. He ran it right through the charging rider’s leg and into his horse. Men and beast fell together in tremendous fountain of spray.

Saved by his comrade’s rush, Malek tried to pull Hume from his tangle with the fallen horse and rider. The burly warrior rose, spewing creek water from both nostrils.

“Rally to Sir Howland!” he gasped. “Back to shore!”

“But Laila! It’s Laila!” Malek cried, trying to get around Hume.

Hume shuddered suddenly. To his horror, Malek saw an arrow sprouting from Hume’s broad back. Before he could even react, two more struck. Hume groaned deeply. His knees buckled.

“Get to shore!” he said through bloody, gritted teeth.

A hand seized the back of his shirt and pulled him away. Malek saw the Khurish warrior fall facedown in the stream.

Nils was dragging him. Malek tried to fight his way free, but his older brother held on. “Laila’s back there!” he screamed.

“I saw,” Nils replied. “We can’t reach her! Hume’s done for! We must get away!”

More horsemen appeared on the path, galloping to the fray. Gasping from his wound and spitting water, Nils let Howland take hold of his brother and drag him onto dry land.

Stumbling and staggering, the three men fled into the high grass. Had the horsemen been bolder, they might have caught them all, but without a leader to take charge, the riders gathered up the prisoners, the killed, and the wounded and beat a retreat.

Enough time passed to convinced Howland they would not be back soon. He marched Nils and Malek back to the water’s edge.

Two dead horses floated in the stream. Rakell’s men had dragged Hume’s body ashore and chopped off his head.

“They took it back to their warlord to prove they fought,” said Howland. Anger, like sparks falling on tinder, slowly ignited inside him. “How did he die? What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Malek admitted. “I saw my betrothed among the captives. When I tried to reach her, a bandit almost got me. Hume saved my life, but they put three arrows in him …”

Howland stalked to Malek and struck him in the face with the back of his hand. Delivered by a lifelong soldier like Howland, it knocked the farmer to the ground.

“Hothead! You nearly killed us all!”

“We got five of them!” Malek countered. “I thought I could save her!”

“Hume was worth more than any five cutthroats! He was vital to us! What will we do without him?”

Nils stepped between them. “Rakell knows he has armed foes about, but he may not realize we are from Nowhere, not yet. We must go back and ready ourselves!”

Howland said nothing but waded across to where Hume’s body lay. He pried the sword from the man’s stiffening fingers and returned. He offered the Quen blade to Nils.

“No more mistakes!” he said through clenched teeth. “We have no margin for misfortune left! Tell your miserable brother to harden his heart. I won’t let him sacrifice our lives or the village for the sake of a single woman. Is that clear?”

Deeply ashamed, Malek slunk away. Nils, looking burdened by his new weapon, trudged after him.

It was a while before Howland uth Ungen followed his charges. It took a long time for him to dig a decent grave.

"C’mon, you clods! Straighten that line! And yell when you attack-yell like you mean it! Yell your guts out!”

Eight farmers, five men and three women, rushed headlong across the dusty village common, screeching as loudly as they could. They gripped makeshift wooden spears and wore ragged cloth turbans on their heads. This last detail was Raika’s special contribution. The rolled cloth would provide some protection against raps on the head.

“Besides,” she said, “turbans make you look civilized.”

As shock troops, the farmers had a long way to go. Because they were different heights and strengths, they couldn’t maintain an even line once they started moving. The long-legged quickly outpaced the short, and over a distance the strong moved faster than the weak.