Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

Jarek nodded, and Riga steamed. He didn’t question Bellan. Had she given the same advice, she knew he’d have argued.

Bellan said, “Northwest, and fast. There are towns. Stop only for feed and water, and be sure they know the threat. From Little Town, head north to the rivers.”

“Start that way now,” Riga said. “We’ll catch up and guide you later.”

Then she turned, not wanting to know what they thought, and trying not to care. She saw a blue and yellow shooting star scream up: Snorru’s colors. It crackled and burst, visible for miles. She grabbed for her mail, and shimmied in. Then she helped Erki with his quilted staghide. It was loose on his frame, but it wouldn’t be for long. Handsome boy, she sighed. She worried more for him than herself.

One in seven, she thought. Wound or kill one in seven, and all but the most dedicated force would retreat. There were seventy-two troops, eight across and nine deep, with two mounted officers. They had bills and spears mostly, with shields, and leather armor. They were not elite, but they were definitely professional, even if levied.

They needed to wound about one each, if they didn’t lose too many themselves, though desperation gave them determination.

The troops looked nervous as they approached. The small Kossaki force approaching with weapons drawn was either insane or expected backup beyond the hundred militiamen in the caravan. The shooting star suggested backup. Where was it, though? Riga watched them cast glances about and ripple their neat formation.

Bellan quietly said, “First line, dismount, shoot on my order. Second line, prepare to charge.” He wore gorgeous mail with iron joints, and a polished helm.

She swung from the saddle, drew an arrow, and stood next to Blessi.

“Shoot. Charge.”

She nocked, drew, loosed, and shot again. She had three arrows in the air before he called, “Hold!”

Their timing and discipline were good. The other half of their force and Bellan had galloped ahead and were dismounting right in the faces of the enemy, hurling javelins as they did so.

The troops moved their shields in response. Only a couple shouted from wounds. A score of arrows and a half-dozen javelins used for that. It was amazing how expensive battle was.

Riga dropped her bow and sprinted forward, un-slinging her shield and drawing steel. She saw Erki gathering reins and backing, cajoling the horses. They were holding up well in the fight, and he was earnest in his task. She saw all that live steel, and her knees went weak. Sparring with blunt steel in the vollar was nothing like ugly strangers who wanted you dead. Her helmet was loose, but there was no time to adjust it.

The enemy spread out for envelopment and slaughter, and Bellan pointed to the left. She moved over that way, between Kari and Snorru. Lar tossed a javelin right past her, to break their line into clumps. One flinched as it caught on his shield and made the mistake of reaching over to unstick it. She reached him, snapped out her sword and took a chunk from his arm. He staggered back howling and got in the way of his mates.

The troops had numbers and were trained to follow orders. They had discipline but not the years of precision and skill she’d learned. She deflected a raised pole and got in close to thrust at anything exposed. The three nearest all turned to face her and started jabbing. It turned into a deadly dance.

This was how she’d earned her name. Father had always taught her that if you were blocking, you should also be attacking, if attacking, also moving. One foot should be aground for balance, one shifting, and both arms fighting. The shield boss could also bash, its binding smash, its broadness conceal your movement from your opponent. The sword could threaten as well as strike. Silence and noise were each intimidating. Moving targets were harder to hit. She’d inflicted no lethal blows yet, but her opponents, four so far, were cut and bleeding. A gimp arm took a warrior out of the fight and was easy to score. If they wanted to stick them out, she’d cut them. She was smaller, lithe, agile, and used to fighting one to one as well as en masse.

“One, back!” Bellan called, and Kari and Snorru turned and whipped away. She gulped and tingled in fear. Knowing it was planned didn’t make it easier to be left in front, face to face with angry strangers. They pushed forward, seeing the Kossaki retreat and believing they had won.

“Two, back!” Bellan shouted.

She turned and ran, keeping low so javelins could fly over her. Then she saw Erki off to the side. He’d dismounted to recover a bow, and one stray fighter was closing on him.

Her first thought was that it made no sense. The man was chasing a target of little value. She wondered if his plan was to take a hostage, or chase the horses off, but he was waving his polecleaver vigorously.

Then raw pain and nausea flooded through her mind. He was going to kill her little brother.