Coll watched it all happen, for he crouched in the bracken high on the hillside with the rest of the reserves, hearing the king rage at Gar, “He insults me, he impugns my honor! Don’t tell me again about the soldiers he has hidden in the ranks near him who are to disembowel my horse and bear me down…”
“The earl will be quite willing to hang them after the battle, as honor dictates,” Gar reminded him.
“Then let them die—but let it be in battle, from the spears of my soldier guards! Live or die, I must fight him, or none will ever follow me again!”
“Look!” Gar pointed. “The earl has driven our center in so far that our flanks are behind his now! Yes, Majesty, by all means, charge in to fight him, for we have him surrounded now!”
The king drew his sword and charged down with a shout. His men echoed it and pelted down the hill after him, Coll in their midst.
They struck the earl’s army like a hammer through thatch. The knights commanding the flanks saw them coming, and timed their own counterattack so that suddenly the earl found his army hard-pressed from every side. Even the men who had been giving ground before him were standing firm now, even beginning to press in! And worst of all, here came that idiot boy in his shining armor, plowing through the press of peasants and roaring Insol’s name! There was no help for it, chivalry dictated that the earl turn aside from trying to push back the serfs in front of him, to meet the stripling in combat. “Dag! Vorgan!” he called to the two nearest knights. “Press this rabble back! I must see to the scullery boy!” He turned, couching his lance, and saw a lane open up as if by magic, foot soldiers pressing back to reveal the young king at the far end, lance leveled. Insol shouted and charged.
So did the king.
They met with a fearful crash. Insol felt his lance torn from his arm and reeled in his saddle, his stomach suddenly roiling as the sky and army swerved and soared about him. Motion stopped; dimly, he was aware of serfs turning his horse about, and pulled himself upright in the saddle in time to see the young king turning to face him, throwing aside a broken lance and drawing a sword.
Anger came to Insol’s aid. He drew his own sword and spurred his horse, shouting an angry insult. The king’s horse lumbered into motion, and king and nobleman met to trade blows.
But while the king was keeping Earl Insol busy, Gar was shouting orders to the other knights, who drove their men in, cutting Insol’s army into wedges—wedges that fought back with the desperation of cornered men who expect no mercy, and the battle disintegrated into half a dozen skirmishes. The knots of men broke apart, and Insol’s men ran for ground that gave them a better chance. The king’s men raised a gloating shout, and charged after them—but the earl’s serfs knew the terrain and stopped to fight again atop a ridge, so that the king’s soldiers had to charge uphill at them. They met spears, and many died.
Coll didn’t wait to get caught up in trying to catch a fleeing foe. As soon as he could, he broke off from the battle and ran for home. He was dreadfully aware that the fighting was far too close to his village, and that fleeing soldiers might very well run for the cover of its cottages.
5
Coll broke loose from the knot of men, slipped into the trees, then trotted as fast as he could over the old, familiar game trails. He wished he could go faster, but dared not—a storm might have washed away soil to expose a root, or a fallen branch might block the trail; he would get there faster, and in better shape to fight, if he went slowly enough to see what lay ahead. At least the enemy would have to stay on the road as they fought one another, though he knew that any who managed to break away, as he had done, would probably know the woods as well as he. When they were boys, they had paid little regard to the border between the two estates, running back and forth between villages to visit, and the king’s serfs knew the trails as well as the earl’s.
He burst into the village to find it silent, cold, and empty; no children played between the silent huts; no women sat in the village square, gossiping while they carded and spun. Every door was closed tight, every window shuttered.
None of it deceived Coll for a moment. just the year before, he had himself barricaded the cottage and hidden when the alarm had sounded; he knew how the peasant folks strove to survive when the soldiers came. The only question was whether they had hidden in the woods this time, or indoors. He ran to his mother’s but and pounded on the door. “Mother! Open! It’s Coll!”
There was no answer. He told himself not to be surprised, that she couldn’t believe his words. He kept knocking, crying, “It’s Coll!”
Was that a step he heard behind the door? Perhaps, but more clearly and more loudly came the roar of fighting men and the clash of steel. Coll spun about, to see the earl’s men tumbling into the village, racing for the false security of a hut and a door. Hard on their heels came the king’s men, kicking doors open and smashing them down, running into the huts to drag out screaming women and children—and the occasional soldier who had managed to hide.
Coll knew what would happen to those women when the king’s men were sure they had defeated all the earl’s men—for the king had been crafty; these were men from the north he had sent to attack here, not local boys who knew the villagers. He took his stand by the door, and as a king’s man came running up, shouted, “None here—the hut is empty! Search the next!”
The man nodded and sped away—but three earl’s men spun toward him. “Empty?”
“Let us in!”
“Aside, king’s man, or die!”
A halberd swung down at Coll’s chest.
He blocked it with his spear, spun the butt into the man’s stomach, kicked the next attacker in the knee—but was slow leaning aside from the third’s spear thrust, and the blade gazed his shoulder. It jarred into the wood of the doorframe, though, and slowed the man long enough for him to realize whom he was fighting. “Coll!!?”
“The same, Wand! And if my mother’s hut is empty, I’ll eat its thatch! Go find some other place to hide!”
“But what are you doing in…”
“Go! Don’t you hear me? Run for your life and hide!” Wand swallowed thickly and said, “Tell me later!” Then he turned and ran, dodging away among the huts.
Behind him, the door opened a crack, and his mother’s voice said, in disbelief and wonder, “Coll?”
“Yes, Mother.” Coll risked a quick glance. “Are you safe?”
“For now, yes.” Tears choked her voice. “And Dicea?”
“Safe, Coll,” his sister’s voice said, amazed and wondering. There was a shadow of movement behind his mother. “Stay inside and bar the door, then. I’ll keep the king’s men from coming in!”
“But you’re a king’s man yourself! How?”
Three men in earl’s livery rounded a nearby hut and ran pell-mell toward Coll. They didn’t see him yet. “I’ll tell you later! Bar the door now—these will need more than talk!”
“Bless you, son!” his mother said, and the door slammed shut.
The earl’s men saw a lone king’s man standing in front of a hut. Their eyes lit with relief and revenge-lust; they shouted and charged Coll.
They were all strangers—from the south, most likely. Coll swung aside to his left, beating down one spear as another thudded into the door. “For the king!” he cried, and struck his spear shaft against the nearest soldier’s throat, then cracked the butt into the forehead of the second man as he struggled to yank his spear loose. But the third had taken the time to leap around both, and Coll saw the spearhead ramming straight toward his belly. He twisted aside at the last instant, and the spear only scored his ribs—but a hard fist came around and exploded in his face. The wall struck his back, and all he saw was a field of exploding lights against midnight blue. He staggered, flailing his spear out of sheer reflex—but when the stars faded, he saw the earl’s man hovering in front of him, waiting for a chance for a clear blow. Behind him, a knight rounded a but with half a dozen earl’s men behind him. “The murderer!” he bellowed. “Kill him!”