Limping, they reached for the cross bar. With
a mighty heave, the heavy oaken cross bar slid sideways out of the iron
rungs and into the receiver off to one side.
Old Maskron stepped back and self-importantly ordered them to open the
gates with a show of bluster. With a series of ineffectual lurches, the
crippled slaves put their backs into it, and slowly the big gates began
to creak open.
Suddenly a spear lanced through the air, flying through the space
between the opening gate doors, and struck Old Maskron in the chest,
it's iron point erupting in a welt of red from the backside of his
spine as he collapsed with a single amazed croak of disbelief, dead
before he struck the dirt.
In sheer terror, the boy screamed and turned to run. Halfway across the
courtyard, he was struck down by a flight of arrows that zinged through
the air and thunked sickeningly into his body and became inextricably
embedded in his back, which he arched agonizingly even as he tumbled
forward to hit the ground with an awful, nerveless slap and slid a
half-step in the dust.
At this, the terrified shriekings and screamings of the women and other
children suddenly filled the compound's surrounding buildings.
As the war party entered, their men marched quickly past the boy's
crumpled figure.
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