Exile: The Book of Ever

14: The Path In Front of Him

Jared jerked the tip of the Marmack's knife away from his face for a second time and felt his left arm start to tremble. His strength was fading. The apostate was stronger than he was and they'd been wrestling on the narrow walkway atop Bountiful's southern wall for what seemed like hours already. He'd been trying to reach his own knife for some time now but the man had his right arm pinned.

After letting Bountiful's defenders waste arrows and stones on ill-equipped cannon fodder, the Marmacks' elite troops had come over the wall like dogs on a bone. The fact that a good part of the Blessed's fighting force was struggling to contain the destruction caused by the Marmacks' catapults meant that the walls weren't as fully manned as they might have been. Whoever was leading the Marmacks knew their business.

The man on top of Jared grinned, displaying twisted teeth the color of mud, and suddenly doubled his efforts. Just as his arm was ready to buckle and Jared was beginning to realize that this might really be the end, the Marmack shifted his weight onto his left knee, freeing Jared's left leg. Acting more on instinct than rational thought, Jared brought his knee up between the man's legs as hard as he could. The man let out a feral squeal of pain, blowing spittle and rank breath into Jared's face. Suddenly the worst of the apostate's strength was off of him and Jared flipped him onto his back, unsheathing his own knife in the process and ramming it deep between the Marmack's ribs. He twisted the hilt and pushed up; the man died with a wet gurgle; dark blood stained his greasy beard.

Pulling his blade free, Jared stared lightheadedly down at the man he'd just killed and took several slow breaths. If there had been any other enemies nearby he would surely have been killed, but when he shook off his shock a moment later and looked around, he saw that he was the only person left alive for at least thirty feet in either direction. The ramparts were thick with the bodies of Marmacks and Blessed alike; many of the raiders had come over the wall without stopping, leaping off into the village below, intent on stirring up violence inside Bountiful itself.

The horrible cracking noises had ceased, for the moment anyway. Peering over the battlements to make certain his section was truly still for the moment, Jared found the nearest ladder leading down and made his way to the gates.

Elder Betenson was yelling at a group of men bracing the great oaken doors with timber. They'd managed to stop the battering ram for the moment then. Jared had to stop and catch his breath before attempting to speak.

"What's happened?" Jared croaked. Elder Betenson, momentarily satisfied with the reinforcements to the gates, looked at him with bloodshot gray eyes.

"What're you doing off the wall, boy?"

"They've retreated from the southeastern corner," Jared said.

"Who's left in your unit?"

Jared only shook his head. Elder Betenson grimaced.

"Good you came to me then," he said, turning to call out orders. "Hamblin! Bennion! Cluff! The southeastern corner needs reinforcements!"

Reinforcements doesn't quite cover it. Maybe he's trying to be encouraging.

Elder Hamlin, who had a nasty looking gash running down his cheek, called back in frustrated defeat.

"Where am I supposed to find the men for that?"

"Send half of the riflemen up," yelled Elder Betenson. Elder Hamlin looked as if he might argue further, then shut his mouth, nodded, and turned away, beginning to bark orders himself. Elder Betenson always held the riflemen in strict reserve; they were meant to be a last line of defense. If he was using them now....