Embers Like Fear

Part 3 - Raid

Crouched between the rocks, it's hard not to hold my breath. We all wait, listening to the rumble of carriage wheels, the dull thud of feet on the hard-packed dirt of the road. Laughter and casual voices. Rage stirs in my chest; the men guarding the caravan care so little for its contents they can joke and lay bets on the time they'll reach Juli, make plans for drinks and women and dancing this evening.

I shouldn't get so angry every time; we rely on the legendary ineptitude of our army, the soldiers too indolent to make a proper fist of any duty. If they were alert, competent – the soldiers of any other Kingdom – they'd spot our dubious hiding place. Make short work of my dozen - eleven now - so-called bandits.

Keth angles his knifeblade, flashing the sunlight down in our signal to make ready. Half my mind's still on the rider and the chances of this all going horribly wrong, but when the second flash of light comes I act without pause, leaping from my shelter with a cry of rage, my blade already plunging down.

It's a frenzy of noise and blood, screams from inside the wagons cutting through the shouts and commands of the soldiers and my raiders. A fist looms from nowhere, smashing into my nose. Light bursts across my vision and warm blood spurts across my chin. Into my mouth; I gag and spit. The pain catches up a moment later, splinters through my head, but I can't afford to be distracted. I'm already wheeling to face the attack, a knife in each hand. I was a fire dancer, in Juli; a skill that serves me well now as my blades slice across the soldier's chest, as smooth as silk over skin. He slumps to the ground with a look of shock in his wide brown eyes.

I spin into a crouch, ready for the next fight, but there is none. We've finished off the guards in a few breaths. Blotches float in my eyes. I sit heavily on the ground. I should be searching for keys, freeing the slaves and getting us out of here before anyone - that rider or another unfortunate traveller - happens across the aftermath of the raid. It would be a whole lot easier if the ground would stop spinning and my throbbing nose wasn't drowning out all ability to string a thought together.

"Let's have a look at you." Keth's the nearest we have to a medic. Knowledge learnt back in Yakim; he's one of the few foreigners to join our fight rather than hide in the camp and mourn.

I brace myself as he reaches for my face, his fingers thick and clumsy in my blurring vision though deft enough in reality. Pain shocks through me as he wrenches my nose back into place, then dies away to leave a sullen ache. He grins and hands me a scarf.

"You'll do."

I mumble thanks and wipe away as much blood as I can before wadding the sheer fabric over my nose, trying to stem any further bleeding. Keth's already moved on to the next injury, a woman so young I can't look at her without thinking she should still be in the schoolroom. Until she meets my gaze; her eyes are heavy from enduring as much as any of us.

Too many injuries. For all the guards' incompetence, there were more than we're used to dealing with, a caravan near double the usual size. Captives stumble out through doors unlocked or prised open, blinking at the sudden brightness. All Summerian, so far. A handful of children clinging to their mothers' hands; no matter how many times I see it my stomach still loops and churns at the sight of such young faces marred by brands and fear.