Free Covenant of War by Cliff Graham Page B

ditch.
    Benaiah, angry about the arrow in his chest and angry at himself for missing the warning signs of the ambush, frantically searched for other assaults. Keth shot another arrow into the tent and at the waste ditch to hold whoever else was in there at bay.
    Benaiah sat up, looked quickly at the tent and the hillside beyond it, saw no other attackers, and finally pulled out the weapon he preferred for these types of fights — in his right hand, a hardwood war club with a stone fixed at the tip, and in his left, a small iron-studded shield. It was light and could be wielded by his powerful arm for a lengthy amount of time, and in close quarters he did not risk cutting himself. It also made death very agonizing for his opponent.
    “We need to assault our way out of this,” Benaiah said, wiping sweat out of his eyes. “If we just escape they’ll run us down. They’ll have fresh water and we don’t.”
    “Hit the tent first. We need to conserve arrows, so give me clear shots,” Keth said, his arms a blur as he fixed another arrow. “They can’t be very experienced or they would have waited until we entered the tent. One of them got anxious.”
    Benaiah nodded. He allowed himself a few seconds to think about it. They wouldn’t be able to see him if he came at them from the side, buried as they were inside the dark interior and unwillingto step outside in the face of Keth’s arrows. But they would probably try to escape and attack out of the side openings.
    “I’m going to wait for them to slip out the side of the tent. When I draw them out and you have a shot, hit them.”
    “Why can’t I attack the other side?”
    “If we’re both fighting we won’t be able to see if more of them arrive. I need your eyes here.”
    Keth nodded. “Yahweh be with you, my friend.”
    Benaiah rolled to his side and sprinted forward while Keth shot another arrow toward the ravine. Benaiah felt a Philistine arrow whistle past his head from the tent opening. After a few more strides he knew he was out of the angle of fire for the archers in the tent. Crouching behind his shield as he ran, searching for any sign of other assaults, Benaiah reached the edge of the main tent.
    He hurdled a rope fastened to a tent stake and crouched on the side of the tent, waiting, his shield in his left hand, club in his right.
    As expected, a tent flap was briskly pushed open. Benaiah swung the club toward the arm holding the flap open. Bone snapped, and as the Philistine screamed in agony, Benaiah’s club crushed the man’s throat.
    Benaiah darted along the side of the tent toward the rear, the pain from the arrowhead in his chest agonizing. He decided not to rush inside because his eyesight would not adjust to the dark interior fast enough.
    Keth called out “Shot!” — a warning to him that an arrow was in flight and to watch out for it. Reaching the backside of the tent, Benaiah saw just in time another man peering through another flap.
    He swung the club and it crashed against an unseen helmet. The man cried out. Benaiah swung another hard strike.
    He spun on his heels, running back the way he had come. As he turned the corner, the first flap was opening again.
    Benaiah lowered his shoulder and ran into the body on the otherside of it. They fell through the flap together into the dark interior of the tent. Benaiah drove his elbow into the throat of the man.
    Something smacked against his leg. Benaiah whirled. Darkness. He had to get back outside where he could see. A shout. The arrow tip in his chest burned like a coal.
    There!
    A Philistine was swinging at him. Benaiah avoided the swing and dove back outside the tent. The Philistine chased him outside. Benaiah was just about to turn and face him when he heard an arrow thump into flesh. He stopped running and spun.
    The Philistine chasing him, now on his knees, groped at the arrow shaft protruding from his torso. He glared at Benaiah, cursing in the Philistine tongue. Keth came running.