Free A Chink in the Armor by D. Robert Pease Page B

me.”
    Within seconds, Job had mounted his horse. His men surged around him as flank-on-flank the horses stamped their hooves, eager for battle. In that moment, Job saw his victory. He knew, beyond all odds, he would triumph this night. He would get his men to a better position, and then he would show this northern scum the true metal of the South.
    He thrust his fist into the air. “For glory!”
    A hundred voices shouted back, “For glory! For glory!”
    Job kicked his heels into his charger’s side and the horse launched forward. Already the rain had turned the ground into a muddy slurry under the horses’ hooves. His men flowed behind, forming a wedge with him at the spear’s point. He pushed toward the southwest for a brief moment. Almost imperceptibly, he could see the forces arrayed against him shift in that direction. At their true target, a weakening in the lines opened up and he took advantage, changing course to the southeast.
    Horse and man alike sounded the battle cry. So fierce was Job’s onslaught, the enemy faltered. They dropped their torches and fell back, then Job smashed into the first line of soldiers. His javelin caught a man in the throat. He fought two-handed—a sword in one, the javelin in the other.
    His horse moved with a nudge of his knees. He heard the terror of the dying all around him—the crunching of bones as the horses trampled the fallen. Within a few heartbeats, Job found himself halfway through the enemy’s ranks. He could see out of the corner of his eye the main bulk of the army surging forward on each side.
    Then the arrows began to fall.
    The only sure defense against the horsemen was a barrage of arrows—death from the sky. Unconcerned for the loss of life on their own side, the armies of the north unleashed a hail of death against Job’s men.
    Horses screamed. His men died.
    Still, he led the charge forward. He must break through. He lost his javelin in the chest of a soldier, but only a handful of men stood between him and the safety of the hills.
    His horse shrieked. A shaft stuck out from its neck, and the charger stumbled, hurtling Job through the air.
    He slammed into a surprised northerner. Before the soldier could react, Job grabbed the man’s helmet and twisted, then let the northerner slump to the ground of his own weight. Job’s first thought was gratitude for the soldier’s body, which kept him from the brunt of the mud.
    He leapt to his feet and swung around.
    Only a handful of men remained mounted. They hacked their way toward him.
    “To me!” he yelled. Job strode forward with his great sword and opened a path to his men. It was his duty, his strength that would give his soldiers victory this day. The northerners fell around him like wheat under a sickle. So great was his assault, the enemy fell back in shock and fear.
    A horseman surged forward, and Job caught the tack and swung up into the saddle—behind Zophar.
    “You shouldn’t be out in weather like this without a horse,” Zophar said.
    “Unfortunately, my horse decided to take a nap.”
    Zophar swung his horse back toward the fighting. The remainder of Job’s men—no more than a score—broke through the last of the attackers. Turning his mount, Zophar charged toward the dark gap between two outcroppings of stone, and the last of Job’s men flocked around them.
    And right on their heels: the army of the North.
    Job could see the cut in the cliff. Bildad’s trail. If he could just make it another few hundred yards, they’d at least have a chance. He thought for a moment about his small friend.
Most likely dead.
A pain burned inside him, but he pushed it aside.
There’ll be time to grieve the lost later.
    A shout erupted from the northerners behind.
    Job looked over his shoulder to see them fall back. “Why do they hesitate? They had us in their grasp.”
    “I know not,” Zophar said.
    “Continue on.”
    The rock on either side rose around them until Job’s men had to form a