The Provisioner's Daughter
an excerpt

Then Eyre felt a tremor run through the floor. She heard a thunderous crack, and the floor shook again. The Weiss were at the very gate of the castle.

"Thadeus! Cervantes! Barnabus! Follow me!” she ordered, and ushered the three frightened Librarians through the back entrance of the great dining hall. There was no time to lose if she was to vouchsafe their exit from the castle. A battle was no place for librarians.

To their credit, they followed her orders with alacrity. They were down the tower stair and out into the night with speed she would not have credited them with. Here, in the back of the castle, the sounds of the Weiss battering at the gate were muted. She was grateful for it helped the Librarians feel less panicked. The three of them looked to her now, awaiting instruction.

“Fetch your horses, never mind the tack, you can get tack in the village. Wait here in the stable until you hear the gate come down. At that time, the enemy will engage the Knights in the forecourt. Be ready, I do not think the battle will last long. If the knights are victorious, I shall come back for you. If the enemy presses in and enters the castle, use that opportunity to ride out the gate. Do not look back. Ride to the village and sound the alarm. Some may come to fight, but most will flee. You shall flee with them, believe me, you do not want to be caught prisoner of the Weiss.” Eyre looked at their trusting faces, so like children, and felt a pang of motherly love for them. It was not their lot to witness death and destruction, she wished she could do more to shield them, but the Knights needed her sword.

“May your path be well lit,” Thadeus said, nearly choking on the words of farewell.

“And yours-“ Eyre’s words were drowned by a deafening din, the sound of the castle gates falling. She said not another word, but sprinted back towards the castle towers, drawing her sword as she went. And not a moment too soon. As she reached the base of the western towers, she saw two dark shapes steal around the corner of the eastern tower. She paused, momentarily confused. They were too slight to be Weiss.

But then she pressed on. Dashing into the Western tower, she could hear the clamor and uproar of the battle in the front of the stronghold. She turned her footsteps west, towards the armory. With any sort of luck, the light chain mail made for Allecta wore would fit her as well.

It did, now, pausing just inside the door to the stronghold, she steeled herself. Eyre was not a warrior by trade, but she knew that even one sword could make a difference in battle. She took a deep breath, remembered the faces of her beloved Librarians, and opened the door.

Inside all was mayhem and gore. The Weiss resembled nothing less than frothing trowblacks. Their eyes were wild and red rimmed, and they swung their axes and swords like reapers in the wheat. Only three Knights remained standing, the rest lay dismembered on the floor.

Eyre had only enough time to see the three of them cut down, nearly simultaneously, before one of the Weiss spotted her and charged, axe raised overhead. She trembled but gripped her sword tightly, preparing for the blow. At the last moment, she raised her sword to parry and then stepped back, throwing the barbarian off balance. He went crashing into the wall.

It was then that she realized the thud of her foe hitting the wall was the only sound. All was silent. Twenty pairs of battle crazed eyes looked at her, and sick, twisted smiles appeared one by one on their bloody, bearded faces. Her only hope was to fight well enough to force them to kill her rather than take her prisoner.

She started by turning her back to the mob and running her sword through the throat of the assailant behind her who was picking himself off the floor. Now that she had tasted blood with her sword, she was hungry for more, even if this was to be her last meal. “For the Librarians!” she cried, and lay her sword about her, fiercer than a she night dragon protecting a clutch of eggs.

Perhaps at first the Weiss thought to take her prisoner, but as she bit into their hides with her sword, they soon decided she was too much trouble. Cry not for Eyre Blackwood, she died with honor, a warrior to the end after all.