Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

Tactics said she should stick with the element and her orders or she’d make the disparity of numbers worse. Tactics be damned. “Erki, your left!” she shouted to alert him, and dodged past Bellan’s mount. Erki turned and grabbed for his weapons.

“Go, Riga!” Bellan said, acknowledging her, but she didn’t care. The first swing of that long weapon tore and splintered Erki’s shield to the boss. He stumbled back and raised his sword to block. The cleaver fell, met the sword in a dull clang. He dropped his weapon and howled, face contorted in agony, but he hadn’t been opened up yet.

Then the soldier realized he was being flanked and turned. He had no time to swing, so he thrust. Riga caught the tip straight into the tough leather and wood of her shield, twisted into it. He made the mistake of trying to hold on to the haft, and wound up sideways to her.

Her first swing hit too hard. She felt the blade bite and stick in his thigh, and had to fight it loose as he fell, kicking and screaming. Real battle was tremendously noisier and dirtier than the vollar, she thought as she followed up with a thrust to his torso.

She retained enough presence of mind to make a sweep around herself. Some officer had drawn the force back into a bristling defensive formation. Kossaki javelins chunked into shields but rarely found a mark, and one of the Grogansens had recovered his bow. She was safe for the present.

For a moment she thought Erki had lost an arm. He shrieked and squirmed and was painted with blood. A fresh bout of nausea started, and she grabbed for a bandage from her belt. It was only his thumb, though, or part of it. The blade had not been sharp and had mangled it. He might retain some use.

She dropped her sword in front of her, slapped his helmet to draw his attention back to the world and shouted, “Use this!” as she thrust a bandage at him. He gasped in surprise and nodded, before she reached under his hips and heaved him back across his saddle and the added pain of moving set him screaming again. She bent, grabbed her sword, made another sweep, then grabbed his blade and Snorru’s bow. It was heavier than hers, but she’d draw it if she had to. She said, “Off hand!” and flipped Erki’s sword up to him as he tumbled upright. Then she turned back to the fight, clutching at her quiver. Her hands were sticky.

Her first arrow wobbled. The bow needed heavier arrows than hers, but the range wasn’t great. She wondered where the brilliant flash of flame came from, then realized four shooting stars had been fired horizontally. Half the front rank clutched at their eyes and dropped their guard, during which Snorru, Lar, and the Grogansens charged in and speared any handy flesh, then jammed the points into shields and left them as they dove and rolled away. Those troops had to drop their shields, and she shot an arrow straight into the revealed mass. Two javelins followed.

She put her third arrow into the officer riding down on them. It was a lucky shot. She’d been aiming for the torso and caught him in the throat, right under the helmet. No one could see luck, though, only a hit.

He tumbled from his horse, and the fight was over, the foot troops retreating in ragged order, glancing back but with no heart to fight. They carried and dragged their wounded. Only two dead yet, four lame and being carried, perhaps twenty wounded, but infection would take others, unless their leaders were the type to waste healing magic on arrow fodder. She suspected not.

Still, the caravan would have to move faster, even if it meant losing a wagon and any contents that couldn’t be shared in a hurry. Where those troops came from there would be others. There wasn’t time to properly loot, only to grab pouches, weapons, and the occasional helmet, and to recover a few bows and javelins.

Snorru, mounted, led Erki by his left hand. The boy looked faint from pain and shock. They reached the caravan, and Snorru helped Erki down as Riga jumped from her saddle.

Bellan caught up, grabbed Erki, inspected his hand in a moment, and shoved him down on the gate of a wagon.

“Let’s do this fast. Riga, can you hold him? And Kari.”

“I can,” she said, voice cracking and tears blinding her. She grabbed his arm, pinned it down, and leaned her weight on it. Kari did the same on the left, as Erki panicked and started thrashing. Only his feet could move, drumming and kicking on the wagon deck. She closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears and nose. Snorru ran up and shoved a leather rein between his teeth for him to bite on. Riga heard his cries, and under them, the sound and smell of battlefield surgery. His screams hit a crescendo as Bellan said, “That’s it. Only one joint. You’ll still be able to work and fight. Drink this.” He handed over a leather bottle as he turned to help bandage Lar’s arm. There were several moderate wounds.