The Hob's Bargain

rage followed it.
    My hand tightened on the butcher’s knife, and I ran for the ladder. I climbed up three rungs and pressed my back against the trapdoor, but it wouldn’t move. I stepped up another rung and straightened my knees, forcing my shoulder against the door and pushing, but the shelving atop it was too heavy for me to move. I hammered it with my fists, screaming with fury at the barrier that prevented me from attacking the raiders.
    At last, knuckles bloody, I stumbled off the ladder and sat on the ground—numb in body and soul. The raiders were gone. If they’d been in the house, they’d have heard me and opened the door.
    I dropped the knife in the dirt and stood up again. A rough table against the wall contained a few tools in need of sharpening. One of them was a saw.
    I fumbled in the darkness. My hands didn’t feel quite right after hitting the door. I found the saw and set to cutting my way out. It took a long time to cut the cross braces of the door with the dull blade angled over my head. Once the braces were gone, I pulled the door into sections that fell from the opening and dropped below me.
    With the door out of the way, I slid through the shelves and climbed out into daylight. Bits of broken crockery were everywhere, intermixed with chunks of wood and scraps of torn cloth from Ani’s quilt.
    In the barn a few chickens, still spooked by the noise of the raiders, scattered away from me. Daisy the cow lay dead in the straw. They’d hacked off one hind quarter and taken it with them, leaving the rest to rot. I looked away from the cloudy film that covered her warm, brown eyes.
    Louralou, our riding pony, was gone from her stall, along with every bit of leather harness in the tack room. The piglet was gone as well. They’d left the sacks of grain.
    Out of habit, I took out a fair measure of corn and scattered it for the chickens. There was a saddle blanket lying in the walkway where someone had thrown it. I stared at it for a moment.
    I ought to cover their faces , I thought. The crows will come . The thought of Daryn’s eyes eaten by the birds made me violently ill, and I vomited in the straw.
    I rinsed my mouth in the bucket hanging in Louralou’s stall, then picked up the blanket. I beat it clean against one of the stall walls, and set off to cover my husband’s face.
    The wind was warm, carrying with it the sweet perfume of spring flowers. Only the torn-up soil of the trail showed that this afternoon was different from any other.
    I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have been worried about meeting the raiders again. But it was a distant thought, and I ignored it.
    Even so, when I heard men’s voices and the creak of a wagon, I stopped, then found a hiding place deep under the bows of an old spruce tree, ignoring the sharp prickles of the needles through my woolen gown. For a moment, I had a strange feeling there were two of me: one here and now, kneeling in my favorite dress, and the other…
    â€¦wearing a stained tunic and a pair of men’s trousers with a crossbow clutched tightly in my hand.
    I wiped at my eyes with the rough saddle blanket and bit my lip until the pain drove the vision away.
    As the sound of the wagon’s squeaking drew closer, I recognized Talon the smith’s smooth tenor as he shouted something over the rattle of the wagon. It was the villagers, then.
    I eased out of the shelter of the spruce. It was much easier to go out than it had been to go in against the growth of needles. Dirt from the cellar stained my gown along with flour from the crock that usually sat on the shelves by the fireplace; the hem was covered with cow’s blood. Pieces of spruce hung from my hair, brushing against my cheek.
    When they came over the hill, I knew they’d been to the field before me. Knew it because the wagon was carrying something covered by a blanket.
    I stopped where I was, unwilling to go any closer. Albrin, who lived closest to my parents, was there on his favorite mare. The wagon was his, drawn by his oxen. Next to him rode Kith, his son, who’d served under Lord Moresh as one of his personal guards until he lost his left arm. Kith had been my brother’s best friend.
    Three of the four other men also lived nearby; only Talon actually lived in the village. He must have been at Albrin’s shoeing horses. Except for Kith, who still had his sword from his time of service, they were armed