Seven Swords by Michael E. Shea (the speed reading book .TXT) 📕

It was mid-afternoon and beads of sweat fell down Jon’s brow. He and Adrin had dueled at half-speed and half-power for much of the afternoon. Jon ordered everyone to avoid any risk of injury. If they lost even one man or woman, all could fall apart. So they rested and observed and planned in their camp. The Kal swung his heavy warclub. Vrenna stared south, her face hidden under her hood. Thorn slept, his heavy blade within reach.

Jon saw San’doro riding hard on the back of his gray stallion. Jon could see the look on his face. It had begun.

“They’re coming,” said San’doro. “They ride hard by torchlight from the south. They made some sort of camp half a night’s ride from the rocks.” San’doro was clearly nervous but still in control. Jon glanced at Adrin and saw his pale face. He can fill himself with fear and panic now as long as he swung and fired when the time came.

“Kal, go tell Gauve and the elders that it’s time,” said Jon. “Thorn will go with you. Get as many into the caves as will go.” Jon turned to San’doro. “How much time do we have?”

“They’re twice the distance to the dead trees to the south,” said San’doro. Jon turned back to Thorn and the Kal.

“Get them in the caves,” said Jon. “Use the ones who don’t go as bait. We’ll cut off the first twenty or so. You are to cut down those twenty. Use the houses, the villagers, and each other to flank them whenever you can. We have the advantage tonight. They don’t know we’re here.

Jon turned to Adrin, Vrenna, and San’doro. “We’re going to stay on the other side of the river, south of the village. Adrin and I will be on either side of the rocks. With four shots they will have no idea how many of us we really are. Vrenna will guard Adrin. San’doro will guard me. If we keep up, they’ll route. If they don’t route, we’re going to die.”

“Will Thorn and the Kal handle twenty of those things?” asked Adrin.

“Some will try to cross the river. We’ll shoot them down on the bridge to block it. Hopefully some of those twenty will fall crossing the river.”

Jon let the plan sink in for a moment, watching each of them.

“This is where our greatest surprise exists. If we do this right, we can cut their numbers by a third and not lose any of us. Be smart, not brave. Run when attacked. Attack on their backs and sides.

Jon continued. “I’ll see you tonight. Expect Susan’s call. Good luck, my friends.”

A short time later Jon sat on the western rocks south of the river. Night fell over the village. He looked up to the hulking shadow of the Old One silhouetted against the blackening sky. He watched for dots of torchlight or the sound of hooves or any other sign.

San’doro waited near him, his knives still sheathed. Jon’s life would depend on this man, a man he did not know a month ago. Across from him, on the eastern side, Adrin waited as well. He had shown Jon how fast he could reload the dragon-hammered flintlocks and it impressed Jon. Whether he could do it or not with a rider bearing down on him was unknown but they would both find out. Vrenna stood near Adrin, relaxed and ready. She was still a mystery to Jon but her skills were never in question. Jon and Adrin would have to be close to those they shot. In the dark of night, their aim must be true.

“Have the villagers gone to the cave?” thought Jon.

MANY OF THEM, replied Susan’s voice in his head. She sat huddled under her red cloak near the mines, high up on the western mountains. From that spot she could see all of them and, should she need to, she could see through them as well. She was the conduit of the seven swords. If Thorn or the Kal should fall or become pressed, Jon would know. As the chaos of battle unfolded, she alone would keep them coordinated enough to fight together.

The sound of a deep rumble vibrated in the rocks around them. Jon saw Adrin tense and hold his pistols up, back to his rock. High overhead the blood moon painted the village in the color of blood. The demon moon sat directly in its center, a black pupiled red eye stared down on them. The old gods watch us tonight, thought Jon. Vrenna drew her saber and San’doro drew his knives.

“Tell them to get ready,” thought Jon.

THEY ARE READY, returned Susan’s voice in the back of his mind.

Don’t shoot first, thought Jon. Please. He had told Adrin to hold his fire until Jon had fired first, but that would be a hard instinct to fight. If Adrin fired, the entire horde would fall on them. Twenty must pass first.

The rumble grew and shapes formed out of the mist. Jon caught the shine of torchlight on steel and on sharp white teeth in the smiles of devils. Jon hid behind his rock.

The first rider passed and Adrin didn’t fire. Jon could smell the rider’s horse and see the red light on his boiled leather armor and deeply worn boots. He had painted a band of black warpaint across his eyes. Three more rode past holding swords and axes and spears. Scalps of braided hair hung from their weapons and armor. In all of them, Jon saw the rush of blood fury, the Sticks were hungry.

Stark rode forth in the line. He was smaller than the others and wore no helm. His bald head was tattooed and ridged like the scout they had beheaded. Like the other riders, Stark had a band of black warpaint across his eyes. Unlike his other riders, his expression was calm.

Stark turned and saw Jon. Their eyes met and Stark’s eyes opened wide, shining black orbs of a demon. But it was too late. In the middle of their charge, Stark could not stop.

The Sticks roared in. Five, six, ten, fifteen, twenty riders passed, weapons high and the shout of their blood cry on their lips. They cried for blood and dreamed of the chaos of their attack. They would ride in, kill the men, rape the women, burn the buildings, and eat the children. Only seven stood in their way.

Jon stepped out and fired.

The first man he shot had his mouth open and long ragged black hair blowing back from his face. Jon’s shot caught him in the mouth. Black blood, brains, and teeth sprayed on the two riders behind him. All three of the horses reared and dropped their riders. San’doro raced in, slashing through the downed men. Jon caught a glimpse of the ruined twisted leg of one of the fallen riders and his throat sprayed from San’doro’s wide cut.

His next shot split open the forehead of another rider with spiked hair washed dark brown with blood. San’doro slashed open the belly of the horse of the rider behind the one Jon had shot. The rider drew a wicked serrated blade but his horse collapsed and San’doro ripped him open with a violent backward tug on his left dagger.

Jon leaped behind the rock and called for San’doro. His hands moved, twin ramming rods held between his little finger and his index finger. Cap in, powder in, plug in, ball in, seal it in, ram it down. Only as he cocked back his hammers did he realize that Adrin had not yet fired. Jon grew cold. He considered sending San’doro to find out what had happened but the air shattered to the east and a body and horse fell hard to the crunch of bone on stone.

Thank the gods, thought Jon, staring up at the red moon