Page 64 of Highland Slayer
He would have done the same thing.
“The wall,” he said, pointing up. “Hurry, now. My family has arrived and they’re being attacked at the gate.”
Mateo nearly beat him up the stairs. Together, they ran to the second floor of the gatehouse, gathering with Titan and Rodion as they watched the fighting below.
“Listen,” Rodion said. “Do you hear them?”
No one was quite sure what he meant. There was so much noise from the battle that it was difficult to single out one sound or word.
“What is it, Rody?” Estevan asked.
Rodion pointed to a foe fighting against a smaller dun Tarh man. “Listen,” he said. “He’s saying something every time he strikes.”
They listened. As the men exchanged blows, it became clear what Rodion was pointing out. A strange, haunting sound was coming from the attackers, like a song. A prayer.
A curse.
“I hear it,” Estevan said. “They speak before they strike. Every time.”
“What are the saying?” Mateo asked. “I do not hear it.”
Estevan looked at him. “That is because yer ears are packed due tae yer illness,” he said. “Ye should be back in the sanctuary.”
Mateo cocked a dark eyebrow. “Yet I am not,” he said. “What are they saying?”
Estevan looked around for the rope he’d used to rescue Zora. “It sounds as if they are sayingdöda,” he said. “It means tae kill in the language of the Northmen.”
That had Mateo and Titan and Rodion looking at the men below with realization. “Then we have confirmed the Ormsfolk,” Mateo said quietly. “I wonder if they are blaspheming us when they say it?”
Estevan shook his head. “I dunna know,” he said. “Whatever it means, I intend tae help my family.”
He tied off one end of the rope to the mechanism that raised, and lowered, the portcullis, which was exposed on this level. Gripping the rope with one hand, he went over the side, essentially rappelling down the wall until he could rappel no more.
Then he jumped.
They all did.
The drop from the end of the rope to the ground was about ten feet, but they took that easily, except for Rodion, who was shorter than the rest of them. He had further to fall. But he leapt to his feet and, suddenly, there were four heavily trained knights now fighting off the horde of Ormsfolk who had decided to attack the dun Tarh escort. But the fighting was quickly dwindling as the Ormsfolk rushed back into the trees, leaving their dead but taking their wounded. There were a few wounded dun Tarh men, also, but no dead, fortunately. When the Ormsfolk faded back into the foliage, Estevan turned around and shouted to the gatehouse.
“Open the gates!” he said. “All is clear! Open the gates!”
There was a slight hesitation, but the portcullis went up and the gates opened. Very quickly, the dun Tarh escort moved into the safety of the bailey, and it wasn’t graceful by any means. They simply poured in, any way they could, so the gates could be closed again. The knights and the dun Tarh brothers tried to calm everyone down, at least moving them out of the way, so they could start focusing on assessment and recovery.
It was difficult for men who had just faced battle to ease their nerves, but ease them they did. They had to. Kaladin and Lucan were given the task of assessing the wounded while everyone else was still trying to take care of any needs the men might have—bandages or water or just a word of praise on a job well done. As all of this was going on, the women of St. Margaret’s, in their battle finest, watched with trepidation and suspicion.
Men.
Everything they’d been warned against.
Mother Michael met Estevan as he was walking in beside the carriage.
“How many wounded?” she asked.
Estevan turned directed the carriage to turn for the sanctuary before answering. “Four so far,” he said. “Nothing life-threatening, I dunna think. I told them tae take the wounded intae the sanctuary. I hope I did right.”
Mother Michael nodded. “Of course the wounded are welcome,” she said. “Butwhois this?”
“My parents,” Estevan told her. “The Earl and Countess of Torridon.”
