Fire and War

Alone on the roof of a burning building, Danielle Longbow took aim. Around her, the fire crackled. She thanked the gods for the tiles on the roof instead of the thatch that covered most buildings. Smoke brought tears to her eyes. She coughed.

            With a red arrow notched in her bow she aimed for a soldier with his helmet off.

            “You should have stayed at home,” she said, though he would never hear her over the rush of the fire and the yelling of hundreds of imperial soldiers who had destroyed her city. They were banging on the gate of the inner bailey of Leonor Castle.

            The arrow leapt from the bow. Air whistled. She held her breath.

            A scream said she’d hit her mark.

            Danielle hated the war.

            As the magic arrow began its work, she notched another, hearing the creak of timbers beneath her. She had to be fast.

            A hand raised as a fist caught her eye.

            Arrow two pierced the fist.

            The roof beneath her began to sag.

            Steadying herself she aimed with the third red arrow.

            The tiles and the timber beneath collapsed.

            In a shower of orange sparks she fell into fire and smoke.

Still holding the arrow and bow, somehow, she stood. Flames and black timber were all she could see. Her throat burned as she inhaled. Her skin stung. She was one floor up on creaking boards, ready to give way. She jumped.

            Boards snapped, dropping her into fire and mayhem.

            The door was open.

            Scrambling past the burnt body of a couple holding each other, she threw herself out of the door onto the cobbles of the square.

Two soldiers of the Empire of the Holy Proclamation were becoming ravenous trees, those around them had cowered back towards the walls of Leonor Castle. Arrows fell upon them from the walls.

            She saw a dozen shadows on that wall. Not enough to hold back the hundreds outside who had ladders and crossbows and guns. A shadow on the wall flickered and disappeared, hit by someone below.

            Sir Danielle was pain. Blood was coming from beneath the armour dyed white by the ash falling from the sky.

            She drew the bow for her last shot.

            She’d been seen.

            They were running. They were yelling.

            Her ears were ringing from her helmet smacking beams as she fell through the building.

            Off went the arrow.

            “Good luck,” she said to the length of metal, wood, and feather.

            One man fell, stone-dead mid step and tripped up a man behind.

            With the arrow shot and the other lost in the fall, she realised she’d left her shield in a house where a brave little girl was guarding a wounded soldier.

            She had her sword, her father’s sword. She had a gladius.

Holding her sword in her right hand, she held the gladius in her left. Her left shoulder screamed bloody murder about the agony of whatever had pierced her pauldron.

            “If you hear me, gods, save those I love. Let Lupita and Carl, and Fabian and that little girl Nettle and Anne live. And my mother, her as well. Please.”

            The sky rumbled with thunder. The gods played their war drums. Flashes danced in the darkness. Only the burning city lit what had become night.

            Looking at an old man who’d died in armour with a sword in hand she nodded to him. “Rest in peace. I’ll see you soon.”

            A sword swung through the air at her. She parried the attack, knocking it aside with her sword. Her gladius stabbed at the man’s face, but he ducked and charged forwards with his shield, which was usually her tactic. Using all her height and weight she kicked the bottom of the shield. It tipped forwards, betraying the soldier behind. Her sword kissed his throat in an instant.

            A shield smashed into her from the left and a gladius shot towards her face over the top. She sliced the arm of the attacker, hearing a scream in response. Her right side was crushed against the shield on the left by another man. When he stabbed, she dropped her own short sword and broke his wrist over the edge of his own shield. His cry stopped other men from advancing on her for a moment.

            Snatching a rectangular shield from her enemy she glanced around, seeing a horseshoe of men around her, shields forming a wall. She retreated towards a burning building. Her heel met the soft form of a corpse. She stepped over the body and moved backwards as the line of shields formed up and crept towards her.

            She couldn’t fight them all. Danielle was in an open space and there were hundreds of them. She dropped the shield and ran.

            “Get her!”

            Her footsteps clattered on the cobbles as she ran. She heard them behind her, panting and yelling.

            She had to avoid the house where Anne and Nettle were hiding.

            Streets narrowed as she hurried on, adrenaline drowning out her pain.

            An alleyway piled high with bodies. And armour. And shields. And a spear.

            Sheathing her sword as fast as she could she picked up the shield and spear. Turning, she met her pursuers with a spear tip. The first fell before the others ground to a halt, raising their shields. They couldn’t surround her there.

            “Go around,” said one, “trap him.”

            “Actually, little boys, I’m a woman.”

            “Even better,” snarled the man who had spoken. He pushed someone else down the alley in front of him.

            Using the reach of the spear she tested the foremost of the men. She jabbed over his shield and then beneath. Their armour did not protect their forearms, lower legs or beneath the brow. If she could hit him anywhere, death or injury were as good as each other. The spear hit cobbles by his feet as she stabbed the second time. He advanced, slamming his shield against her own. His little sword jabbed over both. She pushed with strength he could not match.

            He fell.

            The spear pierced his foot through his boots. She only hit the shield as she tried to finish him off. He was dragged out of the alley by the man behind.

            Through it all, the ash and rain fell.

            The next man slipped.

            Taking advantage as he overbalanced, she stabbed his neck and stepped back again.

            “I can do this all-night, boys.”

            “You’ll have to when we get our hands on you,” said one soldier. She heard them laughing.

            “Can’t find a woman who wants you?” Damnit. She couldn’t die. There was no way to be sure they wouldn’t have their way with what was left of her.

            “You want us girl, you just don’t know it yet.”

            The next one tried his luck. He kept his shield low. Since she couldn’t see his head, she assumed he was moving forwards with his back bent. She slapped the burning timbers of the alley wall and sent a shower of sparks down on the man.

            “Shit. Fuck.”

            He stood up, dropping his shield. His eyes were shut, and his face scrunched up in pain. She put an end to it with a single thrust.

            “You’re a clever girl,” said the man at the end of the alley. “I’ll have to take my time with you.” He turned around the corner. Out of sight.

            She waited.

            And waited.

            Nothing.

            Danielle backed out of the other end of the alley. Arms seized her, ripping away the spear and shield.

            “You’re mine now,” said that same man’s voice. He had his helmet off. She saw his blue eyes and his short cut hair. Two inches over six feet. Taller than her. “Get her armour off.”

            Thunder crackled in the sky. Lightning flashed. Teeth flashed hateful grins. She looked at the castle above. One beam of forking light seemed not to hit the castle from the sky but hit the sky from the castle.

            Danielle’s blood turned cold.

            As arms lifted her from her feet, she saw lightning hitting dark branches on the horizon behind. The wind whistled as greedy hands pulled off her armour.

They dropped her. Her head hit the ground, smacking cobbles, and sending a blinding shock through her brain.

            She rolled over. The men were smacking their heads. Growling.

            “I’ll fucking kill you.” One man lunged at another.

            “Not if I kill you first.”

            “Where do you think you’re going,” the big man had her ankle as she tried to crawl away. She reached for the sword in her scabbard. A blade passed through the man’s head. He fell on her with his belt knife drawn. She narrowly avoided being impaled as he landed on her. His killer threw the dead man off.

            “You next, infidel.” His pupils had doubled or tripled in size. He was mad. Grinning like a loon.

            He knelt over her with his own knife drawn, held in a fist, ready to stab. She grabbed the hand and struggled with him. Men were fighting by the alleyway.

            His muscles trembled as he leaned on the pommel of his knife, pointing it down towards her gambeson. The fabric was padding to soften blows that hit her breastplate and chainmail, both of those were scattered on the cobbles.

            The blade turned horizontally. He looked at her, smile turning to venom. He spat. She blinked with his phlegm in her eye. Holding the blade for dear life she rolled over, taking him down as she got on top.

            Before he could adjust, she turned the blade and punched it up into his throat.

            “How’s that for me fucking you, bastard.” She spat on him and wiped her face with the sleave of her gambeson.

            The two men were still fighting by the alley’s mouth. She grabbed her sword. In bare feet, with nothing but padding for armour. She advanced on them.