Pagan Siege (Tribes of Britain Book 5), Sam Taw [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

often bleed to death before you can cut through the limb. I stroked the fair curls away from the lad’s forehead. He was no more than sixteen, maybe seventeen summers in age. I had to at least try to save him.

My anger had to wait. This was not the time to vent, I had work to do. For once, none of the men argued with me when I directed an orderly line of minor injuries to wait in front of Kewri and Ren. Together, they took charge of stitches and relocating dislodged joints. My task was more critical and destined to fail. I glanced about me to see who among the uninjured could assist me with my operation. That was when Tallack stepped up.

“Tell me what you need, Aunt Mel. I’ll do my best to help.”

I thought he’d be distraught, unable to function effectively, but he was dry eyed and composed. It took me a moment to think of all my requirements. When I finally listed them, instead of ordering his men to fetch and carry on my behalf, he gathered the items himself. Nothing was too much trouble for him, in the attempt to save this lad’s life. Kneeling on the hard ground, I arranged the pull saw from the carpentry tools, Ren’s sharp knife, and a pile of clean rags in an arc around me. Once I begun, there would be no time to dally.

“What do you need me to do?” Tallack said, crouching at my side.

“Give me your belt and hold his shoulders down. If he wakes, pour some of this poppy resin water in his mouth until he passes out again.”

“That I can do. Anything else?”

I glanced up at the cloudless sky and closed my eyes. “Yes, ask the gods to guide my hands. If I can’t saw through his bone fast enough, he won’t be with us for long.” I sent a silent prayer to the Summerlands too. You never know if they will answer.

Rolling up my sleeves, I took Tallack’s belt and fastened it around the top of the lad’s thigh, pulling tight until the gushing blood reduced. With Ren’s knife, I sliced at the muscles and flesh until I could see the white of the bone. My haste left the raw meat ragged, but I couldn’t afford the time to make it neat.

I wiped the blade and rested it in the fire to heat up while I finished the job. In the time it took for me to position the pull saw inside the cut and against the bone, the warrior came to his senses. He thrashed about screaming in agony until he managed to loosen the belt, allowing the blood to pump out of him at an alarming rate.

“Hold him down.” I commanded, struggling to cinch the belt tighter. I’d done my fair share of amputations, but I wasn’t getting any younger and my strength was failing. Speed was critical if I was to save this lad’s life.

Tallack called to another warrior and together they clamped him down so that I could work. They tried to get the lad to take some of the resin, but he cried out and squirmed too much to swallow the mixture.

Putting my back into the task, I wrenched the saw through bone towards me, then the warrior on the opposite side wrenched it back again. The young lad’s lashes fluttered, his eyes disappeared into the back of his head, and he passed out again. It was better that way. The less he wriggled, the cleaner the cut.

With a searing hot blade, I pressed it against the open flesh until it sizzled like roasting pork. Memories of cauterising my brother’s severed arm came rushing back to me from all those summers past. In that instance, I knew Cador the Cruel would survive. This time, I wasn’t so sure. I’d never had to cut at the top end of the thigh before. It was a massive wound. The pain and shock of the procedure could still carry him into the Underworld.

I left the stump unbound to dry off for a while. When I looked up, Tallack was smiling at me.

“What?” I asked, wiping my hands on the rags.

“You are truly masterful at that, Aunt Mel.”

“You kyjyan fools give me plenty of practice.” I bit my lip, but it was too late. My anger could not be suppressed any longer. “Why didn’t you stop the warriors charging ahead? Surely you knew the Alchemists would set traps and defences in the gorge?”

His smile disappeared as quickly as it had blossomed. He lowered the boy’s head to the ground and got to his feet, dusting the dried earth from his bloodied leggings. “I’ll see if Ren needs help.” He wandered away from me without answering. I should have known that he wouldn’t be keen to hear my opinion after banishing me from all talks and decisions. He was eager to put me in my place.

As I watched him checking on the wounded, I suddenly saw his game plan. Each of the Hunters smiled through their pain, genuinely moved by Tallack’s concern for them. It had cost far too many lives, but by allowing Kitto free rein to fail, the Chief had secured the respect of the Hunter Clan. In one fell swoop, Tallack had restored order in the tribe.

We were a sombre group that evening. What little food we could scrape together was shared among us all. A few wanted to speak of the dead, but most did not. Their grief was too raw, too new to share. Every time I closed my eyes, I relived the crunching sound of necks snapping in the gorge. Those poor young men lay there still, alongside the warriors felled by the eagle-eyed archers. It was too risky to retrieve them for the customary pyre. A couple of the horses that had made it back to camp almost lame, were put out of their misery and drained ready to butcher for meat. Our survivors would