Read Online Casca 9: The Sentinel by Barry Sadler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barry Sadler
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They had to get away from the growing fires that were eating the floor out from under them, threatening to collapse at any moment, sending them down into the raging furnace beneath. The heat and flames licked through cracks in the boards, searing their feet and climbing the walls of the longhouse, transforming the interior into a flesh-blistering inferno.
Casca responded to Molvai's cry that the raiders were breaking out. Taking sword and spear, he rushed the spot in time to see a man thrust his body out of the wall, ax in hand, clothes smoldering. Wild-eyed, he'd struck down a villager who was too slow in moving out of the way. Casca speared him as he would have a pig.
Once the first man made his break, the others began to pour out, some on fire, others coughing and unable to breathe. Casca was concerned that too many of them would get out, but this wasn't to be. The floor of the longhouse collapsed, sending at least half of those inside crashing through to be roasted alive in the fire. The sounds of screams and sizzling flesh mingled with the new burst of oily smoke that came from human bodies being consumed.
Those who escaped the fire were mobbed by the village men, who had rallied their courage. Most of the warriors were still too weak from a lack of air and coughing to put up any resistance, even though they were better armed. They fell to flails, clubs, and pitchforks. Village men piled on them in twos and threes, hurling them to the ground to beat their brains out or stab them a hundred times with their short knives. It was bloody, unprofessional work, but it did the job. Herac was in the center of a group that burst out of the longhouse. He stood with two men, side to side, their backs to the flames and their eyes weeping rivers of smoke-agitated tears. Their skin showed the marks of fire: red welts over most of their exposed bodies. Their hair seemed near the point of bursting into flames.
Several men tried to get to them, forgetting to their eternal loss that they were facing killers who'd had a lot of practice at their craft. Herac and his surviving raiders cleared a space around them and then began to move out to the walls, where they hoped to be able to escape into the countryside. Three men, with weapons taken from dead. raiders, attempted to face them down. They died in less time than the telling of it takes. Herac was no tyro at the fine art of slaughter and provided the base for his two surviving men to work from.
The villagers had formed a living wall around Herac and his men. The women had come out from the huts with the news that the raiders were being killed and had joined their men in trying to keep the raiders inside the walls. Several women threw themselves at the swordsmen and were cut down with no hesitation.
Casca had been inclined to let the men of the village do the rest of the dirty work for themselves. But once the women got into the act, it changed things for him. Women were just too temperamental, and he knew that they would only get killed and confuse things even more for their men: He had to take a hand in the mess once more.
Pushing his way through the mob, he smacked them with the flat of his sword till they cleared a path for him directly in front of Herac.
The mob grew silent. The two men faced each other. Herac, hair smoking, skin black from ash and smoke, eyed this new danger through red-rimmed lids. Spitting out a hunk of phlegm, he grunted, "You must be the cause of this. Why are you here? You obviously have nothing in common with these sheep who would be men. "
Molvai answered with a triumphant yell: "This is the sleeper, the warrior from the mountains who has come to kill you."
Casca wished he hadn't been so dramatic about the announcement. It was embarrassing.
Herac wasn't convinced. He'd heard the legend of the sleeping warrior but thought nothing of it. This man most probably was using the tale to his own advantage to take over power in the village.
Casca moved closer
Casca responded to Molvai's cry that the raiders were breaking out. Taking sword and spear, he rushed the spot in time to see a man thrust his body out of the wall, ax in hand, clothes smoldering. Wild-eyed, he'd struck down a villager who was too slow in moving out of the way. Casca speared him as he would have a pig.
Once the first man made his break, the others began to pour out, some on fire, others coughing and unable to breathe. Casca was concerned that too many of them would get out, but this wasn't to be. The floor of the longhouse collapsed, sending at least half of those inside crashing through to be roasted alive in the fire. The sounds of screams and sizzling flesh mingled with the new burst of oily smoke that came from human bodies being consumed.
Those who escaped the fire were mobbed by the village men, who had rallied their courage. Most of the warriors were still too weak from a lack of air and coughing to put up any resistance, even though they were better armed. They fell to flails, clubs, and pitchforks. Village men piled on them in twos and threes, hurling them to the ground to beat their brains out or stab them a hundred times with their short knives. It was bloody, unprofessional work, but it did the job. Herac was in the center of a group that burst out of the longhouse. He stood with two men, side to side, their backs to the flames and their eyes weeping rivers of smoke-agitated tears. Their skin showed the marks of fire: red welts over most of their exposed bodies. Their hair seemed near the point of bursting into flames.
Several men tried to get to them, forgetting to their eternal loss that they were facing killers who'd had a lot of practice at their craft. Herac and his surviving raiders cleared a space around them and then began to move out to the walls, where they hoped to be able to escape into the countryside. Three men, with weapons taken from dead. raiders, attempted to face them down. They died in less time than the telling of it takes. Herac was no tyro at the fine art of slaughter and provided the base for his two surviving men to work from.
The villagers had formed a living wall around Herac and his men. The women had come out from the huts with the news that the raiders were being killed and had joined their men in trying to keep the raiders inside the walls. Several women threw themselves at the swordsmen and were cut down with no hesitation.
Casca had been inclined to let the men of the village do the rest of the dirty work for themselves. But once the women got into the act, it changed things for him. Women were just too temperamental, and he knew that they would only get killed and confuse things even more for their men: He had to take a hand in the mess once more.
Pushing his way through the mob, he smacked them with the flat of his sword till they cleared a path for him directly in front of Herac.
The mob grew silent. The two men faced each other. Herac, hair smoking, skin black from ash and smoke, eyed this new danger through red-rimmed lids. Spitting out a hunk of phlegm, he grunted, "You must be the cause of this. Why are you here? You obviously have nothing in common with these sheep who would be men. "
Molvai answered with a triumphant yell: "This is the sleeper, the warrior from the mountains who has come to kill you."
Casca wished he hadn't been so dramatic about the announcement. It was embarrassing.
Herac wasn't convinced. He'd heard the legend of the sleeping warrior but thought nothing of it. This man most probably was using the tale to his own advantage to take over power in the village.
Casca moved closer
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