By the Sword Read Online Free Page A

He was big, and very well armored, with a heavy wooden shield. Kero shuddered as she realized that he could rush them behind that shield, and give his comrades the chance to get by the bottleneck of the doorway. It looked as if he had figured that out, too.
    But someone behind Wendar threw a carving knife at him. It was a lucky shot—it thunked point-first into the man’s buckler, buried itself in the wood, and remained there, quivering.
    The brigand started, stumbling backward up one step, and swore an unintelligible oath. And he gave in to the urgings of his companions, following them back up the staircase, leaving the kitchen to its defenders.
    Now it was Wendar’s turn to curse and attempt to follow. Panic seized her throat as she realized what he was trying to do.
    Dear Goddess— Kero grabbed his right arm as he charged past her, and hung on, hampering him long enough for Cook to seize his left and prevent him from charging up the staircase after their attackers.
    â€œStop it!” she shrieked, more than a touch of hysteria in her voice. “Stop it, Wendar! You can’t possibly do any good up there! You aren’t even armed!”
    That stopped him, and he stared down at the sooty, greasy spit in his hands, and swore oaths that made her ears burn. But at least he didn’t try to charge after the enemy again.
    â€œThe table—” Cook said, which was all the direction they needed. As one they turned back into the kitchen and with the help of the rest of the besieged, hauled the massive table into place across the doorway, turning it on its side, making it into a sturdy barricade that would protect them even if the bandits charged them with a makeshift battering ram.
    Then, having done all they could do, they waited.

Two
    Kero crouched in the lee of the overturned table and tried to keep from thinking about her folk in the hall above, tried to keep her heart from pounding through her chest.
    Tried to keep fear at bay, for now that she was no longer fighting, it came back fourfold.
    Tried not to cry.
    There are trained fighters up there. Nothing you can do will make any difference for them. They can take care of themselves, armed or not.
    The servants were watching her; her, Cook, and Wendar. She could read it in their faces, in their wide eyes and trembling hands. If any of the three leaders broke, if any of them showed any signs of the terror Kero was doing her best to keep bottled inside, the rest of the besieged would panic.
    She clutched her improvised weapons, her hands somehow remaining steady, but she wished she dared hide her head in her arms, to block out the horrible sounds from above.
    She wanted to scream, or weep, or both. Her throat ached; her stomach was in knots. Why did I ever think those tales of fighting were exciting? Blessed Trine, what’s going on up there? Are we winning, or losing?
    How could we be winning? No one up there is armed....
    Wendar didn’t even twitch. All of his concentration was focused on the staircase—he stared up at the flickering light at the top of the stairs, going alternately white and red with rage. Kero wished she knew what he was listening for.
    If this wasn’t hell, it was close enough.
    â€¢ * *
    It seemed like an eternity later that the sounds of fighting stopped—there was a moment of terrible silence, then the wailing began.
    â€œThat’s it,” Wendar said, and vaulted over the barricade. This time no one tried to stop him.
    Kero couldn’t help herself; she followed at his heels. Her skirt caught on the leg of the table as she scrambled over it. She stumbled into the wall, and jerked it loose, tearing a rent as long as her arm in it.
    Wendar was already out of sight and she scrambled on hands and knees up the turnip-slimed stairs, pulling herself erect just short of the top, and discovering with dull surprise that she was still holding the knife and pot lid.
    She peered out cautiously around the