Pagan Siege (Tribes of Britain Book 5) by Sam Taw (10 best novels of all time TXT) 📕

water turned into a flow of mud, washing out the fine clay and sand until it crumbled into the pit below. The ground could no longer support his weight. He fell down the inside wall of the gaping hole, grabbing out at anything that could slow his descent.

My poor old heart almost stopped. I shut my eyes and bit down on my knuckle. I didn’t want to see him impaled on the sharpened poles lining the pit. There were too many painful memories of impaled loved ones swimming around in my head as it was, losing Tallack would be my end. With Kenver so close, though, I couldn’t afford to dally. He was just as likely to run me through as turn and finish off my poor nephew.

As it was, the collision with Massen had altered Kenver’s priorities. He seemed keen to avoid such a huge warrior. Stepping behind an unsuspecting miner to his left, he shoulder barged the young man into Massen’s path, allowing him to scurry back to the edge of the pit.

I hurried along the hurdles and posts, until I was close to the fighting but shielded from the main thrust of the skirmish. Kewri yelled from the riverbank, begging me to return to safety. I knew he was right, of course. This was no place for a meddlesome old woman, but the need to help Tallack overwhelmed me. My family was shrinking in size every moon. As frightened as I was to discover his fate, seeing his body was preferable to the agonising uncertainty.

Kenver smirked and positioned himself at the edge of the pit. From his expression, I thought the worst had passed; that I’d lost my nephew for good. It was when he crouched down and jabbed into the hole with his sword that I knew Tallack was still alive. I drew closer to Kenver’s right hand side where I could just make out my nephew’s shape in the darkness. He was clinging to a tree root embedded in the pit wall, just an eagle’s wingspan from the top.

More miners found their courage and streamed from the opening, outnumbering our few men. Those with decent blades fought two Alchemists at a time, relying on the crack shot of Senara with her leather sling to even out the sides. As they spilled out between the defences, I clawed along the broken hurdles with faltering steps. That wretch, Kenver was determined to send our Chieftain to the Summerlands long before his time. I couldn’t let that happen.

After the countless winters we’d sent grain to his settlement, the slaves Tallack took to bolster the tin production, the privileges afforded to his kin, this rogue leader chose to rebel against a family who’d ruled fairly and wisely for generations. This was the thanks we got for all the healing treatments and tinctures I’d made for him, the comfort I gave to his children and the injuries tended following several accidents.

My thoughts simmered in a mire of stinking hatred as I watched him poke and jab at my helpless nephew clinging on for his life. This was not a time for reflection and regrets. This was a time for vengeance. I took a long slow breath and unsheathed Nectan’s dagger from my belt. It felt at home in my palm as I tightened my grip, clenched my teeth and lunged.

The bronze tip fractured on its way into the muscle and sinew of his back, but that didn’t stop me. He squealed like a stuck pig when I rammed it in an upward thrust towards the most vital of all his organs. I knew where the heart would be, I’d cut out enough dead ones in my time. I only stopped pushing when my fist was flush with his back and covered in his squelching blood. Shock muted his voice. Kenver lived just long enough to twist his head to see who’d robbed him of life, before he fell.

The fresh corpse of the treacherous kyjyan, Kenver toppled over the edge and landed on the sharpened poles below. I heard his spine snap as it buckled and slumped to the base of the pit. Only one of the spikes managed to bore a hole through his body, but it was enough for me to be sure that he could no longer be a threat. A fitting end for someone who’d inflicted such torture rather than face up to his daughter’s lies and deceit.

I never expected to survive what I’d done. I turned around to face the enemy, my tunic and face dripping with blood. It took a few moments for the miners to realise that they no longer had a brutal leader commanding them. No one giving them orders to fight and kill their own tribe’s folk.

One of our men lowered his spear into the pit, allowing Tallack to crawl out. He stood by my side. “Red suits you, Aunt. You should wear it more often.”

Despite the seriousness of our situation, I couldn’t help but titter. He retrieved his sword from a short distance hence and returned to my side. With a peck on my cheek, he whispered, “Nothing you do or say will ever vex me again.”

Only then did the enormity of my actions dawn on me. I’d taken a life with my own bare hands, used a blade to kill and not cure. My gut twisted, sending bile into my throat until it burned me inside. Were it not for the confusion and noise all about me, the stink of spilled innards, the pools of muddied blood, the screams of the maimed and injured, I’d have lost control of myself. Shock froze me to the spot, unable to move.

By the time Tallack had skirted around the edge of the defences and mounted the boulders alongside Senara, most of the miners had dropped their weapons and were prepared to surrender to the mighty Massen. Those stubbornly refusing to admit defeat were encouraged to look up at our young Metern of the