From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [188]
The archers had felled many, but they were still greatly outnumbered. Jax stood at the front of seven men on the northern side of the gate. Averella counted the heads of the enemy and got lost after twenty-three. There were still more than twice that many charging, swords raised.
Why had she wanted to come along again?
Jax drew his axes and crouched. Kates and the others raised their swords.
“For Arman! For our king! Hold the gate!” Sir Eagan yelled.
Averella looked over her shoulder to see her father pacing at the back of the line on the southern entrance, sword raised to the dark sky, yelling so loud his face was red.
This was no time to be timid. Averella stepped through the northern door and stood in the same position as her father. She lifted her sword high.
The enemy was close. Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten. A man fell at the front of their line, tripping two. The enemy trampled over the top of them.
Well done, Mother. Averella smiled, though the act felt oddly cruel.
Jax stuck down the first man to reach him. Two more rushed past. Kates lifted his sword. Metal clashed. Men growled. Screamed.
A man in black sprinted through their line, headed right for the door. Averella put her weight behind her shield and rammed into his side. He bounced off the wood and stumbled, screaming as he lost his footing and fell over the parapet and into the water below.
The fighting went on. Rather than swing her sword, Averella continued to take advantage of the tight space at the door, knocking men over the edge of the wall. She tried to knock them into the water, rather than to the ground inside the bailey, but it did not always work.
A few paces before her, Kates fell to his knees. A black knight stepped over his body and raised his sword to Averella. She lifted her own and did not miss the fact that her blade trembled.
He swung at her head. She lifted her shield to block, but his sword flipped around and cut at her legs. She crouched into the attack, but the blade struck her shield, knocking her back into the doorframe. She dropped her sword and slumped inside the doorway.
The black knight’s trousers swished as he stepped over her. She pulled the knife from her boot and stabbed it into the back of his knee, between the ties in his armor. He screamed, whirled around, and kicked her, flipping her on her side. A prick under her arm turned her head. The black knight stood above, the point of his sword set under her arm where he could drive it through to her heart.
But the man stood still, grimacing, eyes darting about, face pale. He grunted. His sword arm trembled, rattling his gauntlet against the chain mittens he wore underneath.
As he crumpled to the gatehouse floor, Mother’s voice said, Now, take more care, dearest. I am most displeased to find you here.
Averella released her pent up breath. Thank you, Mother. But she did not take care. She pushed to her feet and ran out the door. She grabbed Kates under the arms and dragged him inch by inch into the gatehouse. His body left a swath of red blood on the whitestone sentry walk.
It turned out to be a stab wound in his thigh. Most men died in battle from leg wounds. Not this one, if she could help it.
She reached over to the stormed black knight and pulled her knife from the back of his knee. She cut off Kates’s leather cuisse, then cut through his trousers so she could see the wound. It was not a stab at all, but a slice to the bone. She did her best to wrap it.
When she finished, she dragged him against the inside wall of the gatehouse, sheathed her boot knife, lifted her shield and sword, and ran back outside.
There were only eight left fighting on the northern side of the gatehouse. Four red cloaks, four black. The black knight closest to her cut down the last of her squad that stood between the enemy and her and kicked him over the side. He turned to face her