Royce could tell when the door opened by how the voices lost their muffled sound.
“Who are you?” a voice demanded.
“Tom the Feather.”
“The feather?” Someone farther away chuckled.
“He is a bit lean,” another remarked.
“We’re looking for two men. Thieves. Wounded. One my size, the other a bit smaller.”
“You’re the only strangers I’ve seen.”
Royce heard the door bang against the wall.
“We’re not strangers. We’re your church. That’s Sir Holvin of the Seret Knights outside.”
Silence.
“Our dogs tell us the thieves came here.”
“Then your dogs are mistaken.”
“Uh-huh.”
A shifting of feet and Royce heard the table move.
“This is my home. You can’t-”
“You miserable little woolly, out of my way!”
“You have no right to-”
A grunt, a stumble, then the sound of a sword pulled from a scabbard.
Royce saw in Hadrian’s eyes what he was going to do even before he moved. Royce was a fast learner, especially when it came to the study of people, and Hadrian wasn’t much of a mystery. The man was suicidal as long as he was acting for the benefit of someone else. He didn’t try to stop him, because this time it didn’t matter. After the knights killed Tom, they would be coming in anyway. But guessing Hadrian’s mind a second before he moved, Royce was able to follow right behind him.
Entering the main room, he saw Tom on the floor, a stool turned over. Two men in leather and helms waited near the door. One in chain mail stood over the farmer. The guy near Tom was drawing his sword, his eyes on the fallen man, lips in a sneer. He was angry at the impudent farmer who dared to do whatever it was he’d done. He also wasn’t wearing his helm. The soldier stood sideways to the bedroom, his head turned slightly, presenting the hollow of his neck.
Hadrian still had three steps to go when Royce threw Alverstone, which flipped half a turn before lodging in the man’s throat. The man collapsed with a gurgle and metallic thud as if someone had dropped a pot filled with rags. What surprised Royce was how Hadrian reacted. Without missing a beat, without surprise or pause, he ignored the falling man and went for the ones at the door. Neither of them had time to draw steel, and with a free swing, Hadrian’s massive sword cleaved the next closest man’s head from his shoulders. What impressed Royce the most was that his initial swing was from left to right, leaving the point of his sword aimed at the last man at the end of his stroke. A quick thrust and Hadrian finished the fight. At least in battle Hadrian saw three moves ahead.
A heartbeat later Tom’s wife saw the scene and screamed.
“The door!” Royce shouted.
Outside, the rest of the troop started for the house, but Hadrian was able to slam the door and slide the wooden brace into place, locking it. A moment later pounding began, making the door rattle.
“Now what?” Hadrian asked as everyone stared at the door.
“I’m pretty sure this is the point where I remind you I was right,” Royce said. “You should have left me on that tower.”
Royce retrieved his dagger from the guard’s neck and wiped it off. As soon as Hadrian was sure the door would hold for a while, he returned his big spadone to its scabbard and picked up two of the soldiers’ swords. The farmer’s wife clutched the boy to her as she stood between the rooms, staring at the dead bodies. Getting up, Tom went to her. They embraced as a family, the wife whimpering into the chest of her husband.
“Hobart! Beecham!” someone shouted from outside, and they continued to throw themselves against the door.
“There’s no other way out of here,” Royce said.
“Wouldn’t matter,” Hadrian replied. “These guys are professionals. They have the place surrounded. Another door or window would just make one more point of entry we’d have to secure. We’re actually lucky to have only two.”
“Two?”
“The door and the roof.”
Royce looked up at the rafters covered in widespread planking and thatch.
“Think they’ll burn it?”
“If it wasn’t pouring.”
“Rain won’t last forever.”
“No … no, it won’t.”
The pounding on the door stopped.
“Nice door,” Royce said.
“Thanks,” Tom replied. “Oak.”
“I’m guessing there’s an axe in the barn or a woodshed out there?”
Tom looked to the boy, who said, “I brought them in the house on account of the rain. Pa don’t like the heads to rust.”
“They might have brought their own,” Hadrian said. “Standard gear for a patrol is an axe, a pot, and a shovel.”
“They’ll be a long time cutting that door down. Wood is hard as stone. I dulled three saws.”
Now that the soldiers had stopped beating on it, Royce peeked out the cracks again. Four men stood right outside, including the knight, who remained on horseback. A few more lingered to the rear. The rest he couldn’t see. They spoke quietly.
“A shame we couldn’t have gotten the knight,” Hadrian said. “He’s likely the only thing keeping the others here.”
Royce took a seat at the table. He was feeling dizzy again, and the nausea was coming back. He had eaten too much too quickly. “So what else can they do? Find something to batter their way in? Figure out a means to tie on to it and have the horse rip the door off? They can climb on the roof and cut through it easily enough, or they could just wait for the rain to stop and set us on fire. Or they can do absolutely nothing. Time is on their side. They’ve likely sent a rider announcing their hounds have treed us.”
“Right.” Hadrian nodded. “The way those bells have been ringing, in a few hours we’ll have an army out there. We’ll have to make a move sooner rather than later.”
“What kind of move?”
Hadrian looked back at the door as if he could see through it. “We need that horse. We can’t hope to escape without it. If we can kill the knight and get on the horse, we’ll have a chance of getting away.”
“I think there’s about nine men out there. Nine men-some with bows-and a plated knight on horseback. What do you want to do? Throw the front door open and rush them? You with your wounded leg and me with a hole in my stomach?”
“Do we have a choice?”
Royce didn’t have an answer.
Hadrian said, “They’re going to kill us whether we sit here and wait or go out there. That doesn’t matter. But if we sit here, the rain will stop and they’ll burn these people’s home. Possibly kill them too. They didn’t do anything wrong. They gave us food, remember? If we charge them-we’ll die, sure, but this family will be safe.”
“How is that a benefit?”
“Okay, let me rephrase. We can sit here and let them kill us with fire and smoke or we can try and take a few with us.”
Royce smiled. “Better.”
Hadrian bent down and rolled the chain mail-dressed corpse over. “Looks big enough,” he said, and began pulling the mail over the dead man’s head. “Nice throw by the way. I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“You in there!” They heard a shout from the far side of the door. “I’m Sir Holvin of Ervanon, Knight of the Order of Seret. Drop what weapons you have and come out. You are hereby under arrest in the name of our Lord Novron and the Nyphron Church.”
Royce glanced at Hadrian, then at the family, still clustered and terrified. He shook his head and sighed, then stood up. “We have a family in here. A farmer, his wife, and a boy. I have a knife to the man’s neck as I speak. If you try and come in again, we’ll slit their throats. Do you hear me?”
“You can’t win. You have nowhere to go. If you come out now, I promise you will live to stand trial.”
“I mean it. I’ll kill these people in here,” Royce yelled.