The Dread Hammer by Linda Nagata Read Free Book Online Page A

turned to Smoke, and nodded.
    It was Smoke’s task to go in first.
    He reached out to the threads that lay beneath the world. His reflection became a streaming gray vapor. He entered the village, made invisible by the encroaching dark. Moments later, his human reflection took shape within the shadow of the common hall.
    For several seconds he made no move, only listened.
    He heard the clucking of chickens, the rustle of pigs, but nothing more. There was no murmur of voices, no smell of supper cooking, no people in sight at all.
    Yet in the weft and warp of the threads he felt the gravity of some two-hundred people, far more than indicated by the number of houses. So he knew the Lutawan troops were hiding in the dwellings—they must have been there all day—in expectation of this twilight raid.
    Smoke grinned. Chieftain Rennish was in for a surprise.
    Or she would be, if he didn’t warn her. He started to slip again beneath the world. He was already half-gone to smoke when a flaming arrow ignited the thatch roof of a small shed across the street.
    He stared at it, stunned.
    Fire was the signal he used to alert Chieftain Rennish and summon the charge.
    The flame took hold while he was still trying to understand where the arrow had come from.
    Then several things happened at once.
    A chorus of Koráyos war cries resounded from the south, followed instantly by a thunder of hooves storming toward the village. An arrow shot past Smoke, missing his ear by a whisper. And a commanding voice shouted from somewhere nearby, “ All forward! ” And with that command, doors flew open, war horses were squeezed through doorways, and one after another, riders vaulted into their saddles.
    Smoke pulled his sword and attacked. The nearest Lutawan had only one foot in the stirrup when Smoke split his spine. Another fell with a slit throat. Then an officer who had made it into the saddle spotted Smoke and bore down on him at a gallop.
    Smoke retreated beneath the world. He emerged again across the square, the plank wall of the church at his back. The Lutawans were all on horseback now. They went charging off to meet the oncoming Koráyos militia—all but the officer who’d targeted Smoke.
    He had turned his horse around and was spurring it across the village square straight toward the church. Smoke glimpsed him: a tall man, lean, strong, with black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. As he bore down on Smoke he raised his saber high, anticipating the downward stroke. Smoke bared his teeth. Time to retreat again. Once more, he prepared to slip beneath the world, but this time the officer took him by surprise. He threw his sword.
    Smoke was young, barely sixteen. This was only his third battle. He hadn’t known it was possible to throw a sword with any accuracy. Then again, the blade missed its true target. It should have struck him full in the throat, severing his windpipe or his carotid artery, but instead it caught him at the curve of his shoulder and neck. The blade struck with force enough to hurl him backward against the plank wall of the church. The point of the sword passed through his neck and bit deep into the wood, pinning him.
    Again, he set himself to slip beneath the world.
    Or he tried to. But nothing happened. He didn’t go anywhere. He sensed the threads, felt their warp and weft, but his human reflection refused to yield. The steel of the sword had pinned him in the world.
    The Lutawan officer brought his horse to a skidding stop and vaulted from the saddle. Smoke grabbed for the hilt of the sword—he had to pull it out!—but he couldn’t reach it. The officer drew a long knife from a sheath at his waist—and Smoke did the only thing he could think to do. He wrenched his body down and to the side, letting the sword cut itself free. Hot blood cascaded over his back and chest. “Hauntén demon!” the southerner swore as Smoke dodged the first thrust of his knife—and then Smoke slipped away.
    Nothing about him ever