The Traitor's Blade by Kevin Sands (fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

held ready. The Covenanters, focused on the surrounded Royalists, didn’t see us coming until it was too late.

Eternity caught one of the enemy in the back. Three more men screamed as they were trampled, falling under Lightning’s iron shoes.

One man turned to face us. I fired. I think I hit him, but I was never sure, because just then Lightning leaped across the ditch.

We sailed through the air.

Then we landed heavily atop the ridge. Tom yanked hard on the reins as the King’s Men shifted to close the gap. A hand grabbed the bridle, bringing us to a halt inside the circle.

I looked down to see the hand belonged to Charles, our king. He held a sword, just a simple blade, retrieved from one of his fallen men. His eyes gleamed with fire—the flame of the torches and the blaze of battle.

“Didn’t want to miss all the fun, eh?” he shouted with defiant glee as he helped us down from the warhorse.

Then our fight began in earnest.

CHAPTER

49

A KING’S MAN FELL RIGHT beside Lord Ashcombe. Tom took his place, hacking and slashing with Eternity at the spears, halberds, and poleaxes that thrust forward to open the gap. Men fell under his blade as he used all that Sir William Leech, Captain Tanner, and the King’s Men had taught him, and so, too, his own God-given strength.

I stayed with him, just behind, filled with terror. I thought of picking up a blade—I eyed a fallen halberd, wanting desperately to grab it and join him—but I knew my skill was no match for the Covenanters. Instead, I helped him how I could: with my pistols.

I timed my shots carefully. I placed one hand on Tom’s back, the other holding a gun at the ready. Anytime a gap opened beside Tom, I fired. When a shoving halberd unbalanced him, I fired. When a spear gouged the side of his leg, and he stumbled, I reached over his shoulder and fired, giving Tom time to steady himself.

After every shot, I reloaded. It was automatic now. Dump the powder in. Jam the paper wadding in the barrel. Ram down the ball. Fill the frizzen. Wait till Tom needed me.

Then fire.

The battle battered my ears. The boom of my guns, the clash of blades, the screams of the dying. The war cries, too.

“The Lord our righteousness!” the Covenanters shouted—

“Havoc!” Lord Ashcombe howled in return. A command to destroy everything, it was the greatest defiance he could cast at them, even as the King’s Men fell.

War now was my only thought, my only existence. Steel and smoke, blood and death. The bodies piled higher, making it harder for the Covenanters to get to us, but for every five of them, we lost one, and our circle got smaller.

Still I fought.

Fire. Powder, paper, ball.

Fire. Powder, paper, ball.

Fire.

And then I was out. My powder, my shot, all used up.

“I’m empty!” I shouted to Tom, warning him.

He nodded, focused on the enemy. But Lord Ashcombe, beside him, heard me. He ripped a pouch from his belt and threw it backward, where it hit me in the leg and fell to the ground. His own supply: powder horn and shot, for the pearl-handled pistols at his side.

I picked it up, reloaded.

Powder, paper, ball.

Fire.

There were only ten of the King’s Men left now. Charles had joined the fray, on the other side of Lord Ashcombe. He was a skilled swordsman, a warrior in his own right from an age even younger than Tom and I were now, and he fought well. The Covenanters recognized him and howled in glee, finally seeing their prize within reach.

But as they focused on the king, they left themselves open, and Lord Ashcombe, Tom, and I took full advantage, taking them down so quickly they had to swing their attention our way once more.

Powder, paper, ball.

Fire.

But still they pressed, and still we fell. Numbers ten and nine of the King’s Men went down in hard fighting. Eight, seven, and six just seemed to disappear, and we had to close in tight to fill the gaps. Five and four fell to Covenanter spears, and then there were only seven of us in total and more than twenty of them, and surely we were dead.

So… why were the Covenanters running?

All but four of them turned and fled. Their companions looked startled to be left alone all of a sudden, and the King’s Men cut them down until there were none. The remaining score of Covenanters sprinted toward the woods.

Then, through the ringing in my ears, I heard the thunder of horses. And I saw, galloping down the road from London, a score of lanterns swinging in the dark.

King’s Men, upon warhorses, rode into view, chasing the fleeing Covenanters to cut them down.

Sally had sent us reinforcements from Berkshire House.

How I adore that girl, I thought.

And then it was over.

We howled. No longer screams of pain or horror, but jubilation—sheer, unbridled joy. The battle was over.

And it was the most real thing I’d ever experienced.

The terror I’d felt had burrowed deeper than any before. So, too, did the exhilaration when I realized that no, I wasn’t going to die after all. I understood then, how soldiers spoke of the ecstasy of war, not just the fighting but the moment after, when you’re still alive, victorious.

I hugged Tom, and the soldiers, and even Lord Ashcombe. The king, too, embraced us all, joining us as we thrust our weapons high and howled our defiance into the night. We’d held the circle. Held it long enough, just enough, so we got to live. It was the most extraordinary, most joyous thing I’d ever felt.

And I would pray, every night, until the end of my days, that I would never have to feel that way again.

CHAPTER

50

“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?”

I heard the words, but their meaning didn’t even register. It took a hand grabbing my shoulder and spinning me around to bring me back