Page 18 of Heart of Defiance

“You never know when you might see something worthy of collecting,” he says at my surprised glance, with a hesitant grin.

I’m not going to reject his contribution. It’ll beat hauling horse shit around in our arms.

We pick our way along the road, snatching up the harder, grittier droppings that are obviously older and tossing them into the bag. Wrinkling my nose, I grab a few pieces that are still partly damp as well. “To stick it all together.”

When we head back through the trees, we all stop to pick up any fallen leaves that’ve turned crackly brown. I add the tiniest stray twigs I can find to the mix.

By the time we reach Iko, he’s carved a branch as tall as he is off one of the trees and is testing its capabilities by launching rocks in the opposite direction from the guard post. He sends one flinging as high as the treetops just as we reach him and beams at us triumphantly. “Just need to trim a little more off the top, and it’ll be perfect.”

Jostein swipes his hands together. “I’ll survey the site around the building again and pick the best position to launch from.”

I hunker down next to the sack, and Landric follows suit across from me. “Looks like we’re stuck with manure duty,” he says.

I reach into the sack. “No one said you had to stick your hands into shit.”

He replies steadily enough. “What am I here for if I’m not going to pitch in every way I can?”

A fair question.

He watches me shape the first ball, packing several droppings with leaves and twigs and a little damp manure to glue it all together. The final result is as big as a round of bread.

Copying my technique, Landric forms a couple of his own. In the end, we have enough for five projectiles.

Returning, Jostein appraises our work and motions us all over to the edge of the trees by the back corner of the guard post. “We’ll want to fling them in there in quick succession, before they realize what’s hit them. Here’s the flint. I need to get to the door as soon as they start fleeing.”

He flicks his fingers down his front in the gesture of the divinities and unsheathes his sword.

A sense of ominous anticipation grips me like nothingI’ve ever experienced before. My heart is thudding, but I have the urge to yell some kind of war cry and pound my feet in a primitive dance.

We’re really doing this. We’re going to show these murderers what it’s like to really have your lungs filled with smoke.

Landric takes the flint. I hold up the first globe of dung while he lights the spark to its side.

On the second try, the spark catches. I adjust my hands, waiting until the flames have crept all the way over one side of our projectile and dug deeper inside. Heat wafts over me, but it only spurs on the excitement quivering in my chest.

I place the flaming ball on the back of Iko’s branch catapult. He shifts the angle slightly, braces himself, and lets it fly.

As the fiery dung ball careens through the air, I’m already holding out the second one to Landric. I only wait until I’m sure the fire has totally caught before yanking it over to Iko.

Shouts reverberate from the guard post. As Iko launches the second ball into the air, I’m vaguely aware of Jostein sprinting across the open ground between the trees and the building’s walls. Most of my attention is on getting the rest of our projectiles lit.

It’s only between the fourth and fifth that I let myself take the swiftest glance between the trees. My breath catches.

I drag my gaze back to the lump of dung and leaves I need to heft, but the flames flaring above the wooden walls and climbing to the lookout blaze on in my memory.

More yells ring out alongside the rising roar of the fire. Metal clangs, and bodies thump.

My heart stutters with the thought of the threats Jostein is facing alone, but all I can do is keep up my part of the bargain.

The instant Iko has propelled the final fiery dung ballinto the guard post, he drops his catapult, and we all run after Jostein. I whip my hunting knife from its sheath, not sure how to land the best blows but knowing I’ll fight with everything I have regardless.

As my gaze catches on Jostein in the wavering glow of the fire, my rushing steps slow. He’s just slamming his sword into the gut of one of the Darium soldiers, right where there must be a joint in the basic armor.

The enemy soldier crumples with a spurt of blood over his lips, next to four other foes Jostein has already toppled all on his own.

I guess a warrior has an advantage when they’re prepared and their opponents are dashing around in a panic. All the same, he cuts a magnificent figure. I’ve never seen anyone wield a blade that skillfully.

One more soldier stumbles out of the flaming building. Iko springs forward to run him through.

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