People of the Black Sun(83)
Gonda turned and immediately saw what Sindak had noticed. Logs, evidently discarded during makeshift repairs, lay piled near the gate. Inside, a merry blaze was roaring through Gonda’s woodpile.
“Blessed gods. You’re a diabolical weasel, Sindak.” He slapped him on the shoulder. “Just my kind.” Then he glanced up at the archers overhead. “Think we can make it?”
“We’re dead men anyway. Let’s try.”
The warriors above had all of their attention fixed on dodging the flaming arrows that continued to drop from the sky. Sindak led the charge to the timbers at a desperate run. Gonda followed right behind him.
“It’ll take both of us!” Sindak shouted. They each took an end, lifted a log, and groaned as they hauled it toward the gates. The wood was wet and heavy.
The last remaining warrior over the gate ran to see what they were doing. “Sindak. It’s Sindak! Someone help me! It’s War Chief Sindak!”
To Gonda’s amazement, the warrior hesitated long enough that they could brace their first log against the planks, and run back for another before arrows started slicing the air above and around them. Most of the arrows came from the marsh, where Wampa and Papon were covering them. They grabbed the second timber and charged for the gate again.
“Blessed gods!” the man on the catwalk yelled as he dove for the safety behind the palisade. Incoming arrows slammed the logs in front of him. “I need help over here. Help!”
Warriors rushed along the catwalks toward him, their bows drawn.
As Gonda and Sindak braced the timber, Sindak bellowed, “Run!” and they sprinted for the safety of the marsh.
We’ve done it! Exhilaration pumping in Gonda’s veins, he leaped a rock and …
Crack!
A jolt ran through his bones. At the same time the muscles in his right calf ripped apart. He stumbled, went down hard, the wind knocked from his lungs. He slid face-first through the wet leaves at the edge of the marsh.
For a dazed instant he wondered what had gone wrong. He struggled to breathe, to get air into his now panicked lungs. The sounds of the battle had grown oddly distant, removed. Yellow sparks of light, like disembodied fireflies twinkled in his graying vision.
An arrow hissed past his right ear and thumped into the earth, quivering from the impact. A fierce agony burned in his leg. Gasping, he dug his fingers into the soggy leaves and tried to drag himself into the water.
“Gonda?” Sindak shouted.
Sindak charged back for him.
“No! No! Run!” Gonda ordered hoarsely.
Then Sindak was there, bending down.
“Leave me! Get of here, you fool!”
Grabbing a fistful of Gonda’s shirt, Sindak dragged Gonda’s wounded body up. The world spun crazily as Sindak muscled Gonda onto his shoulder and pounded back toward the marsh.
Gonda rasped, “My leg is broken! I can’t run. You have to go on without me!”
Arrows cut the air around them as Sindak splashed into the reeds. Weaving, half-stumbling beneath Gonda’s weight, he struggled deeper into the darkness, sloshing through the cattail stalks.
Gonda saw Wampa and Papon ahead, using the trees as cover to shoot at the archers on the catwalk, and he shouted, “Get back to Bur Oak Village! Now!”
Wampa and Papon immediately turned and splashed back through the marsh.
“Sindak, curse you, drop me! You have to get out of here!”
Instead of obeying, Sindak dragged Gonda’s arm over his shoulder and hauled him out beyond the gaudy halo of firelight to where the black water was neck-deep.
“Put me down!” Gonda shouted. “Blast you! You have never been able to obey orders!”
Sindak heaved Gonda aside, and commanded, “Hold tight to my shirt or I’ll knock you senseless and drag you!”
Gonda clamped on to the man’s wet shirt and Sindak stroked hard for Bur Oak Village.
Gonda mostly managed to keep his head above water until they reached the cattail shallows. When he tried to stand, to follow Sindak out of the water to make a run for the gate, his leg went out from under him. He flipped to his side and, dragging his injured leg, pulled himself ashore, gasping in pain.
Sindak never hesitated. He grasped Gonda’s arm, grunted, and lifted him, carrying Gonda behind the curve in the palisade wall, out of the shower of arrows. “Saponi! Disu! Where are you?”
Two of Sindak’s warriors appeared out of the darkness where they’d been hiding, demanding, “Sindak? Is that you?”
“Yes, and Gonda’s hurt!” Sindak managed through ragged breaths.
Through the pain, Gonda growled, “I swear you are the worst warrior in the world. One of these days, your problems with authority are going to get you killed.”