“Any more information from them?”
“That was all we needed.”
There must have more information. Maybe the Caedelli didn’t recognize the value of any small pieces of information. “Where are the prisoners now?” he asked.
“Dumped with the others, of course.”
Yozef swallowed. So much for further interrogations.
“Yozef, what’s wrong with your leg?”
“My leg?”
“You’re limping, and that’s blood on your pants.”
Yozef looked down. His clothes had dried after Carnigan’s dunking, but now something soaked the right leg of the pants below his knee. “I don’t . . . ” He didn’t finish before a pain washed over him and he collapsed to the ground. “Agh! What’s goin’ on?”
Cadwulf helped roll up the pants leg. Yozef’s fingers poked through two holes in the cloth, and he almost fainted when his shin was exposed. A two-inch furrow gouged across his white skin, blood caked across half of the lower leg, more blood seeping from the wound.
“You’re shot!”
“Oh, fuck!” Yozef slipped into English, then back to Caedelli. “It was a ricochet off Carnigan’s shield. I thought it just hit me and bounced off.”
“You didn’t feel this?”
“No. Not till just now.”
“Well, it needs to be cleaned and sewn up. I’ll help you into the hospital. Doesn’t look serious, but you’ll have a good scar.”
The rider Denes Vegga dispatched for help nearly killed his horse in getting to Clengoth. Boyerman Vorwich himself and fifty men were on the road back to the abbey within fifteen minutes. Another hundred men followed thirty minutes later. They had no way to know the fighting at St. Sidryn’s Abbey was over before the first group left Clengoth. When they arrived at the abbey, it had been only three hours since the first sighting of the Buldorian ships and two hours since the raiders were back aboard and gone.
Vorwich shook his head at the pile of Buldorian weapons. “I still can hardly believe the miracle that you fought them off with so few men.”
Sistian took a deep breath and turned his head skyward. “A miracle it may well be, Longnor. If it was, then I will need to pray thanksgiving for many an hour. When it was all happening, everything was a blur.”
“What on Anyar’s name made you think to let them into the complex, instead of defending the walls? It worked, but it’s insane,” queried a grizzled, burly man in the boyerman’s party.
“It was insane, but somehow it succeeded, thanks to Denes Vegga here.”
Vorwich regarded Denes with a nod of approval and raised questioning eyebrows.
Denes was discomfited. “Oh … I agree. To the insanity. But it wasn’t my idea. Remember, Abbot, Yozef suggested it.”
Sistian’s face was blank for a moment, and then his eyes widened when he remembered the chaotic scene in the courtyard as they prepared for the raiders. “Yes, now I remember. Where in God’s creation did Yozef come up with the idea?”
“I don’t know, but I’m glad he did. It was a boon from God that he thought of it.”
“Or God whispered it to him,” murmured Cadwulf, who had been listening from the outer circle of the gathering.
Sistian threw his eldest son a sharp look, frowned, and took on a more thoughtful expression.
“Yozef?” asked Vorwich. “Who’s this Yozef?”
Sistian grimaced—or grinned. “Yozef Kolsko. The stranger who washed up on the beach here not two years ago. I’ve written you about him several times.”
Vorwich’s eyebrows rose. “The stranger who’s been introducing all these new products? The same one?”
“The same,” said Denes.
“Hmm . . . ,” responded Vorwich. “And now he’s some kind of warrior, too?”
“Well,” said Denes, “certainly not a fighter. He made the suggestion and tried to help during the fighting, but from what little I saw, I doubt he’d ever held a weapon in his hands before today.”
“Then how is it he understood enough to make the wild suggestion to let the Buldorians into the abbey? And now that I think about it, what made you listen to him?”
Denes grunted. “I think you’d have to be around Yozef to understand. After all of the new ideas that seem to come from him, it’s given him the status of someone to be listened to. I only paid scant attention to him before, but when he said to let the Buldorians inside the walls, it was like a light went off in my head. After today, I’m sure I’ll I find myself listening carefully to anything he says.”
“Denes is right. There’s no doubt he’s someone to listen to,” said Sistian. “A little strange he might be, and I’ll admit I still have reservations about where he came from and some of his ideas, but I can’t deny he’s brought major changes to Abersford. I’m sure even in Clengoth, you’ve seen the effect he’s having.”
“I know, I know,” said Vorwich. “The ether and the new lanterns are impressive. I wasn’t so sure about some of the others, but my wife and daughters assure me the . . . ah . . . personal products have given him considerable status among the women of Clengoth. I’ve also heard complaints from some of our craftsmen about this Kolsko ruining their trades with all these innovations.”
Sistian nodded. “I can see the argument, but Yozef has been a boon to Abersford workmen, and he’s extraordinarily generous in putting coin into works that benefit all.”
“Yes,” said Vorwich grudgingly, “I’ve heard several of the workshops in Clengoth are using his tools and techniques. It’s those who cling to their traditional methods who complain the loudest.”
“Believe me, I understand . . . and Diera even more so. There are still a few district medicants who resist the new treatments, including ether, and one brother at St. Sidryn’s still suspects Yozef is somehow an agent of the Evil One.”
“That seems doubtful, given those for whom the ether is considered a God-send, and if he really did help save Abersford and St. Sidryn’s from the Buldorians. I would have to say that gives him considerable credit to draw on.”
The boyerman looked around again at the courtyard. Only remnants of the barricade remained. His gaze touched the piles of raider weapons and armor, the pools and swatches of drying blood on the courtyard ground—and shook his head. “However you did it, you all deserve my respect.”
He turned again to Sistian and Denes. “What’s the final butcher’s bill?”
The abbot’s lips pursed, and his jaws clenched. Then he sighed and forced himself to relax. “I know it could have been far, far worse, but we have fifteen dead, about twenty-three serious wounds, a couple of whom might not live, and perhaps thirty lesser injuries.”
“How many dead Buldorians?”
Sistian looked at Denes. “I’m told one hundred thirty-three bodies,” answered Denes with a satisfied snarl.
“My God. A hundred and thirty-three dead Buldorians and only fifteen or more dead Keelanders,” summarized the amazed Vorwich.
“Only eleven of our dead were here at the abbey,” said Denes. “The other four were villagers who didn’t leave in time—one too ill to walk, two older citizens who either didn’t want to leave or physically couldn’t leave in time, and one younger man who his friends think was sleeping off a drunk.”
“Even more amazing,” said Vorwich. “The actual fighting to result in one hundred thirty-three to eleven dead, and the Buldorians all experienced fighting men. I’m willing to believe it a miracle from God.”
“Oh, I assure you, there will be many a prayer of thanksgiving this day and for years to come,” declared the abbot. “This will be a day Abersford remembers for many lifetimes.”