Plow and Sword Read Online Free PDF

happen to our grain, to our house and barn unless we fortify,” Rorr said. At some point listening to his sons and watching his wife agonize over losing hard-won furniture and keepsakes, he had decided. They would fight.
    “How?”
    “Board the windows. Rayallan, you’re good with a hammer. See to using that pile of cut planks out back.”
    “I’m good with a hammer? You mean it? Yes!” He rushed off, excited at being praised—and needed. Rorr hoped that the boy would live to brag about it.
    “What can we do?” Beeah asked. Fren scowled at his mother as she wrapped her arms around him in a fiercely protective hug. “Fren and I can help.”
    “They use fire arrows. Water will keep anything surrounding the arrow from burning, but the arrow itself cannot be extinguished.”
    “Tongs,” Fren said suddenly. “Fire tongs. And heavy gloves. I can pluck the arrows out that way!”
    Rorr nodded. It wasn’t likely to work the way his son thought, but it might save some damage.
    “What are you going to do?” Beeah wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold. She shook. Rorr moved to comfort her, then realized there was no time. He heard the pounding of hooves in the distance.
    He swung about and went to the oak where the hole among its roots still beckoned. Dropping to his knees, he pulled the final oilcloth-wrapped package from the ground. He stripped away the thick cloth and gripped the sword within. It felt familiar in his hand, bringing with it memories of other times. He settled the buckler on his left arm, adjusted his greaves, then went out to face the riders before they had a chance to set fire to his house.
    A quick glance over his shoulder showed his younger son hammering furiously to fasten the wood over the windows. Rayallan paid attention to nothing but his work. Every blow of his hammer drove a nail in. Some took two strikes, but Rorr approved. Through the open door he saw his wife and other son moving furniture so the doorway could be blocked in a few seconds.
    He had no more time to consider how the defense went. A dozen riders approached, slowing and finally coming to a halt.
    “You’re still here,” the lead rider called. He urged his horse forward a few yards, cutting the distance between them in half. He wore light plate armor emblazoned with the sigil the others had worn. An articulated glove on his right hand curved around the saddle horn. His ungloved left hand dangled free at his side but was only inches away from a large shield, also decorated with the gerfalcon rampant.
    “It’s my land.” Rorr held his sword at his side and partially behind him to hide it from the man.
    “Lord or no, Suvarian is far from noble.”
    “I’m Lord Suvarian.”
    Rorr knew the lord expected a reply. He remained silent.
    Suvarian bristled and drew his sword, brandishing it over his head.
    “You defy me, man of dirt. You are a farmer. I am lord of all these lands! Go to your knee! Show me respect.”
    “You’re a cattle herder who takes on airs,” Rorr shot back. “Are you truly royalty? Or are you some squire’s bastard son out to make a name for himself?”
    Suvarian roared and galloped forward, sword slashing. Rorr stepped to the left side of the lord’s horse, forcing the man to awkwardly reach across his body in a futile attempt to land a blow. Before he could gauge the proper distance, he was past Rorr and fighting to wheel his horse about.
    Rorr looked at the other soldiers. They wore heavier armor than the men he had killed. None carried a bow and arrow. That brought a slow smile to his lips. He might have destroyed all their bowstrings, or perhaps these were Suvarian’s personal guard and fancied themselves swordsmen. They sat awkwardly on their horses and seemed uneasy with their weapons.
    “These are back-stabbers, not fighters,” Rorr said. He pointedly turned his back on the dozen soldiers and faced Suvarian. “Take them and go. I have work to do.”
    Rorr widened his stance as