Chapter Twenty
The setting sun was creating a lush and shadowed landscape as the de Shera army was deployed to make their way down to the other end of town where The Crown and Anchor Inn sat, preparing to shutter its windows for the night.
Atilius had men lining the road through town, hidden in the shadows, and still more covering the entry on both ends of town.
He had everything covered as he and Fabius, and several other senior soldiers made their way down to the southern end of the town.
They were moving with a purpose.
The street was dark as the inhabitants of the town settled in for the night.
Smoke from cooking fires hung heavy in the air, mingled with the scent from the trees off to the east. It was still for the most part, making it easy for the de Shera brothers to move swiftly and unhindered down the street, staying to the recesses and shadows.
They were on the hunt.
“I can see The Marshal escort from here,” Fabius hissed into the back of Atilius’ head. “Do you see them over there by the barn?”
They had reached a small alleyway that was very close to The Crown and Anchor Inn, and Atilius followed Fabius’ finger to the old barn that was across the street from the inn, tucked back behind a house that fronted the street.
Indeed, he could see a few dozen men at least milling about, with a couple of big cooking fires that were well away from the barn itself.
Men were cooking the side of something small over one of the cooking fires, perhaps a goat or even a suckling pig, and the smell of roasting meat was particularly heavy on this end of town.
“I see them,” Atilius said. “They have no idea we are coming.”
Fabius nodded, startled when Nesta suddenly rushed up behind them, wanting very much to be in the forefront of what was going on.
“My archers are trained on the barn,” she said. “If the men try to break free to help those in the inn, they will be cut down or, at the very least, prevented from leaving the barn. They are also covering the entry to the inn in case anyone tries to come out through the front door.”
Atilius nodded with satisfaction. “Excellent,” he said. “With my men covering the street and both ends of town, we shall make it plain to The Marshal knights that they have no choice but to turn over the lady.”
“And if they do not?” Fabius asked.
“Then we shall overwhelm them with our numbers and take the lady by force,” he said. “I hope it does not come to that. Let us see how intelligent The Marshal knights are.”
“Then we enter from the rear?”
“We do, indeed. They will not expect us to come from that direction.”
It was a sound plan, one that had not taken them long to come up with once they’d moved to the slovenly tavern on the other end of town to flesh out their plans.
The stench of unwashed bodies, vomit, and stale alcohol from that terrible place was enough to force them to come to the crest of their plans quickly.
Now, they were prepared to act.
“Then let us see this through,” Atilius said quietly. “We will need to head around to the kitchen yard.”
But Fabius stopped him. “What about that carriage?” he asked, pointing to the large, painted carriage that was directly in front of them, in between them and the inn itself.
“Should we move that lest they try to take shelter in it? I noticed it when we came in the first time. It has Summerlin colors on it.”
Atilius nodded. “I saw it, as well,” he said. “D’Aubigney is allied with William Marshal and Summerlin is his garrison commander at Castle Rising, so I can only imagine the lady must have been brought north in that carriage. I see no Summerlin soldiers in town. Did you?”
Fabius shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I will have men disable the carriage so it cannot be used to escape.”
With that, he sank back into a group of soldiers who had been following them, whispering orders about the carriage.
As some of the men moved forward, climbing under the chassis to disable what they could, the rear door to the carriage opened up and a young man in the woolen robes of a priest suddenly emerged.
It was a move they’d not expected, and most of them sank back into the recesses to watch.
There was a single light inside the carriage, illuminating the inside somewhat, as the man jumped from the carriage to the street level.
He yawned and looked up at the sky, scratching his head, completely unaware that he was being watched.
It seemed he was heading for the inn where The Marshal knights were, but the moment he spied some legs underneath the carriage, he jumped with surprise.
That was all the de Shera men needed to swarm on him, coming at him from beneath the carriage and from the other side of it.
Before they could grab him, however, he shouted, something that turned into a strangled cry when one of the soldiers dragged his blade across the young man’s throat.
They shoved him to the ground and kicked him under the carriage as he bled to death from a slit throat.
After that, everyone flew into action.
As Nesta ran across the street to her archers, hiding over near the big barn, the arrows began to fly towards the barn itself as the soldiers inside were alerted by the cry of the dying man.
Meanwhile, Atilius, Fabius, and their group of elite soldiers began to move swiftly down the darkened alley in between two homes, with sounds of women cooking evening meals and fathers yelling at their children filling the evening air.
They rushed around the rear of the structures and right into the kitchen yard of the inn just as The Marshal knights, with a woman between them, were about halfway to the stable.
After that, the swords were flying.
*
Kress heard the running footsteps before he ever saw the bodies, but once they rounded the corner into the darkened kitchen yard, his sword was already unsheathed and striking out at the first man who came at him.
It was a blind strike because he’d only seen the body, not the face, and when he heard a roar of pain, he looked to see that he’d caught Fabius de Shera right across the base of his neck and along his right shoulder.
It was a deep, nasty cut and Fabius fell to his knees, sliced up by Kress’ razor-sharp weapon.
Kress had Cadelyn in one hand and she was his priority, so he didn’t go in for the kill, but Bric did.
Bric was on top of Fabius before the man could lift his sword to defend himself, and he gored him right through the neck, plunging his weapon straight down so it went into Fabius’ chest cavity.
The man fell aside, instantly dead.
But that wasn’t the last of it. Men were pouring in from all directions and Kress hustled Cadelyn over to Samson, who was pawing at the ground, eager to enter the battle.
It occurred to Kress that it would be a very rough ride for Cadelyn astride a horse that was built for battle, because the horse would fight rather than flee, but he had no choice.
He had to leave that yard before they were captured, or worse, so he tossed her onto Samson and prepared to mount the horse behind her.
As he moved, however, he heard a shout from behind, Achilles’ panicked voice, and he swung around to see Atilius nearly on top of him.
Slapping Samson on the rump, the horse took off, with Cadelyn screaming as the big animal bolted away.
It was the safest place for her, however, providing she could stay mounted on the beast, as he was a difficult animal to ride.
As he caught a last glimpse of her, the big, gray dog suddenly took off behind the horse, which gave him an odd amount of comfort.
With Goliath around, he felt as if no harm could come to Cadelyn.
That old mutt was worth his weight in gold.
As Samson cleared the yard with his silver tail flying, Kress found himself in a fight for his life.
Atilius was a skilled warrior. Even as he attacked Kress with surprising power, he was screaming at his men to go after the woman.
Kress used Atilius’ distraction to his advantage and came on hard, thrusting and chopping at the man in a skilled fashion and driving him right back into the yard.
He was being aggressive, purposely driving Atilius towards the boiling cauldron of water in the center of the yard.
Unfortunately for him, there were far more de Shera men, and he quickly found himself fighting on all sides.
He didn’t have one opponent; he had several, each man trying to gore him, but Kress’ years as a knight and his experience fighting in The Levant served him well.
He was able to keep from being impaled, but he knew, eventually, he would tire.
One couldn’t hold off a gang of men and not suffer for it at some point.
But he fought gallantly, not even looking to see that some Castle Rising men had managed to make it over from the barn across the street, and now more of them were filtering into the yard.
But they were still outnumbered.
Kress knew they were in a bad way. The de Shera men outnumbered them more than four to one, so even though the kitchen yard was flooding with Castle Rising and de Shera men, the fight was still badly uneven.
Because of that, Kress began to realize that this wasn’t a fight he could win, so he needed to get to a horse and get out of there before someone drove a sword into his back.
But the de Shera men must have been thinking the same thing because there was a fairly large wall of men between him and the stable. His path was very nearly blocked.