Chapter Seven:
An Arrow in the Dark
“Stay here and get the papers stowed!” William pointed at the rolls of parchment spread around on the tables. “If this blaze spreads, we need to salvage what we can! If I'm not back before you're done, head to the road north of the settlement, don't stay in here!” Trug gave a quick nod and scurried back into the shelter. William ran toward the sound of Branson's voice, still booming out commands across the frantic worksite.
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“Stephen, get that bucket chain started! Eddard you worthless sod, I know widows and orphans that could dig that firebreak faster than you!” He saw William running across the site and gave him a quick salute. “Sir, I've got the crews working as best we can, but that fire is burning like a bastard.” William gave a grim nod and surveyed the mill. The river side was fully engulfed, and the timbers on the near side were starting to smolder. His gaze fell on something lying under a fallen beam in the middle of the construction and his eyes hardened. “Any notion of what started this mess?” Branson shrugged. “No sir, site was buttoned up for the night. No lanterns, no workers, no nothin'.” William cursed under his breath. “Call the men back and get them armed, now.” Branson's eyebrows rose and he looked out at the mill. “Call them back? But sir, the mill –“ “Fuck the mill, Branson! There's a body in there, and unless my eyesight has completely gone to shit, he's got an arrow in his back! To arms!”
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William ran back to his quarters, slamming the door back on its flimsy hinges. Trug spun around in alarm, and saw William grabbing his sword belt from a peg on the wall, buckling it on quickly. “Trug, I need you to get on a horse and get up to Chernsburg as fast as you can.” Trug slammed the trunk he was packing closed. “Now? But sir, we only just –“ William tossed a cloak at Trug, and headed back to look out the door. “No time, son, you just need to go. For all I know there's a full raiding party out there right now, and I need the Count's help. You're the only one I can spare.” Trug pulled on the cloak and headed for the door, his face pale. William held out another sword belt, and Trug belted it on awkwardly, favoring his wounded arm. “Good thing that cane got your left arm, you can still swing a blade if you need to. Now go on, get out of here.” Trug swallowed nervously, nodded, and turned toward the crude stables next to the house. “Be safe, father. I'll return as soon as I can.” “Ride safely, son. Night is no time for a ride on these roads, but I don't think we have a choice.”
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Trug led a horse from the stable and saddled it while William stood watch. The rest of the crew had returned to working on a firebreak, but they were all armed with axes, mallets and bows – laborers' and hunters' tools, but no less deadly for it. The fire and shouting had the poor beast close to panic, but Trug was able to mount and point it more or less toward the north. As he turned to speak to William, a sudden commotion broke out in the camp, the men shouting and pointing at something off to the south. Then the wind brought a sound that chilled Trug to the marrow – the low, coughing barks of canes. A pack, from the sound. William gave a shout and slapped his hand on the horse's flank. “Go!”
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The horse sprang away, completely out of Trug's control. He could only bend low over the steed's neck and hold on for dear life. He turned his head to see what was happening in camp before a turn in the road blocked his sight, and wished he hadn't.
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A pack of canis rabbits had charged into the men working on the firebreak, and the fight did not appear to be going well for the workers. He saw at least two men that had been dragged from their fellows and were being savaged by the loping beasts. One cane was dead, felled by a lucky shot from one of the workers before it could close. But the rest of the men were locked in close combat with the canes, and blood was flowing freely on both sides. But horrible as that sight was, what followed was unimaginably worse.
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As Trug sped off, William had started to run back to the fight. Trug saw his father's silhouette against the flames suddenly jerk, as though he had been struck a blow. He wavered, and seemed to regain his bearings. But then, with a wet thud that Trug imagined he could hear over the din of battle, William was spun around with sickening force as another arrow found its mark in his shoulder, dropping him to the ground. Trug's cry of anguish rose to the night, and was answered by the savage baying of the canes.
