From the North Downs: Chapter IV

Traffic along the road towards Trestlebridge was heavier than usual. The clatter of wagons sounded loud in Jesmond's ears as she gripped white knuckles on reigns. Hayorda sat in the back with their children, one arm tight around Ketilve's shoulders. Wosi nervously fingered the hem of his tunic, occasionally glancing out the back of the wagon. The refugees could easily be mistaken for a caravan of wanderers, with so many wagons clustered together, but for the somber mood that hung over the group. There was the rustling of whispers filled with anxiety, but there was no laughter and none of the music that should have accompanied such a large group. 

Even the whispers ceased as the caravan passed by the fields of Fornost, the barrows creeping upwards in the East. The silence was interrupted by a harsh cacophony of shouts. Armed Orcs poured out from the trees to the left, screeching and shrieking at the farmers. Terrified horses bucked and whinnied, straining to be free of harnesses. Jesmond tightened her grip on her reigns, attempting to keep Grisel steady. The three people in the back were jolted roughly as the horse panicked, jerking the wagon about. Wosi reached one hand behind his back to grab his bow, but the unsteadiness of his ride hindered his aim. 

"Out! Get out! We're overrun!" Hayorda ordered, pushing Ketilve to the edge of the wagon. "Take what you can and flee." 

They haphazardly swept up belongings and exited the wagon. Wosi jumped to the ground, fighting his way out of the frightened crowd of farmers to get a better shot at their attackers. 

"Jesmond! Hurry!" 

Jesmond pulled the knife from her belt and cut Grisel lose, tumbling to the ground with a grunt as the horse fled. She scrambled to her feet, holding the knife in front of her shakily. Refugees milled about in confusion, some trying to save their belongings, others ready to fight. Hayorda grabbed Jesmond by the wrist. "Take Tilve and run. Wosi and I will stay and hold them off." 

Jesmond hesitated a fraction of a second, then nodded, taking the haversack the other woman had rescued. Although she was loathe to leave her friend behind, Hayorda had more experience with fighting; although she rarely discussed her life Before, she had not hidden that she had spent at least some of it engaged in conflict. 

She shoved her way to Ketilve, nudging the girl with one elbow to get her attention, gesturing toward the road ahead. Arrows flew thick and fast, and already some of the refugees had been stricken down. Nearby an infant wailed, its mother heedless to its distress. Its older sister sat nearby, thumping on her mother's shoulder. 

Ketilve inhaled as an arrow grazed her arm, wincing with pain. 

"Run." Jesmond whispered to her daughter, then bent over to run towards the children. 

"No! Mommy!" The oldest shrieked as Jesmond swooped her up, placing the little girl on her shoulders. The baby she scooped up in one arm, the haversack heavy in the other. It was difficult to navigate with a baby wiggling and crying in one arm and a small child pounding on her shoulders; she was grateful for the protection of the women and men who fended the Orcs off those retreating. Without them she was sure that nobody would escape. 

Soon the impressively large structure known as the Trestlebridge loomed into view. Jesmond breathed a sigh of relief as the guards hurried towards the refugees, taking in the dust and sweat and blood that covered the group. 

Aggy Digweed approached with grim expression. "We heard there would be some seeking shelter here..." She announced, her gaze sweeping across the refugees. "It looks as if you found trouble before safety." 

Jesmond nodded wearily. "Orcs waylaid us. Others stayed behind to fight them so we could escape." 

Aggy's eyes hardened. "Go into the town." She ordered, then waved one arm to her guards. "Quickly! Let us lend what aide we can."