Read Online Casca 9: The Sentinel by Barry Sadler - Free Book Online
Authors: Barry Sadler
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would have spat up a mouthful of blood if his mouth hadn't already been stuffed full with his robe.
Casca held him down, cursing the racket the dying man's heels made as they drummed on the walkway. Removing the knife, he pulled the body up to where he was sure it wouldn't roll off. Then he walked the perimeter of the compound one more time to make certain that there were no others on the wall whom he might have missed and to get a good look at the layout of the houses and storerooms. Using the ladder to get down to the bottom, he moved swiftly to the longhouse that was normally used for bachelor males. It was the largest structure in the village; it stood to reason that Herac and most of his men would be sleeping there.
It looked peaceful enough: snow on the thatched roofs, a covering a foot deep over the rest of the grounds, except for the most commonly used paths going from one hut to another. Smoke drifted up easily from chimneys to climb in gray columns to the sky. There was a smaller fenced enclosure near the north wall where the cattle and goats were kept, protected from the worst of the winds. One thing was missing. Dogs! Where were the village dogs? He would need to know that. If the animals started to bark, they could give him away. Not seeing any of them bothered him. He made one more pass around the walls, staying close to the sides. He didn't see or hear anything, neither dogs nor people.
Using what cover was available, he moved to the longhouse.
It was the same as any of the others in a hundred other villages. He risked a peek inside, having to bend over to get into the small entrance. Inside, he could see men lying about in robes and furs. Which one might be Herac he didn't know. Doing a fast count, he came up with the number. Twenty! He had taken care of two on the walls, which meant that he was missing a couple. They might be anywhere in the village, or they might be dead. He knew that one of the guards on the wall would have come down to wake the reliefs, and so there was little chance that he could catch another one on the outside.
First things first. He would need some help. He picked a hut at random and swung open the door. Inside, three figures were huddled together on the community bed, using each other for warmth. Two were women: the man's wife and her mother. At the intrusion, the man started to roll to his feet, thinking that one of the raiders had come by for another hit on his wife. But this time he was going to fight even if they killed him.
His attempt to rise was halted by a rough hand pushing him back to the bed. The beginnings of a wail from the women were silenced with a harsh, "Shut your damned faces or I'll do it for you!" Hissing at the man he held down, Casca whispered, "I'm not with the bandits. Ireina has brought me to help you, but I need some help too. Are you with me?"
Molvai, grandson of old Hogar, nodded his head in agreement and then started to stutter when he recognized the features of his guest. It was the warrior from the cave. He was alive. So that was where Ireina had gone when she'd run off. He should have guessed. The girl had always had a soft spot in her head about the warrior, saying that he lived and would come down the mountain one day. His grandfather, too, had said the same thing.
Casca had to restrain the man to keep him from falling to his face in supplication. Jerking him back up, he said, "Knock that shit off. I don't have time for it. You know which huts have men in them. Get them for me and be quiet about it. Also, I want to know if any of the raiders are sleeping in huts other than the longhouse."
Molvai told his women to stay put. He and the warrior had things to do this night.
Once outside in the cold, Molvai started to move into the shadows, where he would be out of sight of the walls.
Casca spoke slowly. "Don't worry, I've already taken them out. There's no one on the walls but dead men." Shivering, he tried to get Molvai moving a bit faster.
Casca held him down, cursing the racket the dying man's heels made as they drummed on the walkway. Removing the knife, he pulled the body up to where he was sure it wouldn't roll off. Then he walked the perimeter of the compound one more time to make certain that there were no others on the wall whom he might have missed and to get a good look at the layout of the houses and storerooms. Using the ladder to get down to the bottom, he moved swiftly to the longhouse that was normally used for bachelor males. It was the largest structure in the village; it stood to reason that Herac and most of his men would be sleeping there.
It looked peaceful enough: snow on the thatched roofs, a covering a foot deep over the rest of the grounds, except for the most commonly used paths going from one hut to another. Smoke drifted up easily from chimneys to climb in gray columns to the sky. There was a smaller fenced enclosure near the north wall where the cattle and goats were kept, protected from the worst of the winds. One thing was missing. Dogs! Where were the village dogs? He would need to know that. If the animals started to bark, they could give him away. Not seeing any of them bothered him. He made one more pass around the walls, staying close to the sides. He didn't see or hear anything, neither dogs nor people.
Using what cover was available, he moved to the longhouse.
It was the same as any of the others in a hundred other villages. He risked a peek inside, having to bend over to get into the small entrance. Inside, he could see men lying about in robes and furs. Which one might be Herac he didn't know. Doing a fast count, he came up with the number. Twenty! He had taken care of two on the walls, which meant that he was missing a couple. They might be anywhere in the village, or they might be dead. He knew that one of the guards on the wall would have come down to wake the reliefs, and so there was little chance that he could catch another one on the outside.
First things first. He would need some help. He picked a hut at random and swung open the door. Inside, three figures were huddled together on the community bed, using each other for warmth. Two were women: the man's wife and her mother. At the intrusion, the man started to roll to his feet, thinking that one of the raiders had come by for another hit on his wife. But this time he was going to fight even if they killed him.
His attempt to rise was halted by a rough hand pushing him back to the bed. The beginnings of a wail from the women were silenced with a harsh, "Shut your damned faces or I'll do it for you!" Hissing at the man he held down, Casca whispered, "I'm not with the bandits. Ireina has brought me to help you, but I need some help too. Are you with me?"
Molvai, grandson of old Hogar, nodded his head in agreement and then started to stutter when he recognized the features of his guest. It was the warrior from the cave. He was alive. So that was where Ireina had gone when she'd run off. He should have guessed. The girl had always had a soft spot in her head about the warrior, saying that he lived and would come down the mountain one day. His grandfather, too, had said the same thing.
Casca had to restrain the man to keep him from falling to his face in supplication. Jerking him back up, he said, "Knock that shit off. I don't have time for it. You know which huts have men in them. Get them for me and be quiet about it. Also, I want to know if any of the raiders are sleeping in huts other than the longhouse."
Molvai told his women to stay put. He and the warrior had things to do this night.
Once outside in the cold, Molvai started to move into the shadows, where he would be out of sight of the walls.
Casca spoke slowly. "Don't worry, I've already taken them out. There's no one on the walls but dead men." Shivering, he tried to get Molvai moving a bit faster.
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