The blood chilling roar jerked Jonas from his trance as he stared into the burning fire. He looked up as the big form of Gorum quickly ran into the room from the bakery.
“Jonas, it is time. I need to get you in the oven.” Gorum quickly swept up Jonas’s light body as if it were a baby and hurried him into the bakery. His mother was there with a wool sack in her hand, her face streaked with new tears. She bent down and hugged Jonas tightly, her fresh tears wetting the side of his face.
Lorna finally stopped hugging Jonas, holding him at arm’s length. “Now listen to me, son. In the sack are food, a knife, and all the money we have including the gold coin. I want you to stay in the oven until either Gorum or I come for you. If neither of us come for you then stay in there until the morning at least.”
“Mother, where will you be?” Jonas asked frightened. More screams tore through the night as the attack on the town commenced.
“I will be right here, I promise,” she replied frantically.
“I’m scared for you,” Jonas muttered.
“I will be fine, now quickly, get in the hole,” she said, stroking his face one last time.
Gorum lifted Jonas’s tiny form, slowly sliding him into the dark oven. “Remember what I said, Jonas. Stay in the oven, no matter what you hear outside. Do not come out,” Gorum repeated, squeezing Jonas’s hand one last time before he left. Jonas could feel the soot cover his body and he looked out the mouth of the oven to see his mother’s face.
She reached in and touched his arm gently. “I love you, Sprout. Now I’m going to cover the opening with burnt wood to hide you. Push your body as far back as you can.”
Jonas scooted his body back until he bumped into the back of the oven. The light from the opening began to slowly disappear as Lorna piled up the wood. Jonas’s heart began to beat faster. I can do it, thought Jonas. The whole town is out fighting for their lives and I’m worried about being stuck in a hole. I can do it, he kept thinking to himself. Finally the last log was put into place and he heard his mother say, “I love you,” one more time.
“I love you too, Mother. Be careful,” he said before he was surrounded by darkness.
***
Braal swung his huge axe in a ferocious arc taking the boarg in the side of its neck, cutting deep into the beast’s collarbone. The boarg’s momentum carried him into Braal sending them both flying onto the bloodied snow. Braal scrambled out from underneath the boarg only to feel the crushing weight of another beast land on top of his chest, crushing him as its claws dug into his flesh. He couldn’t move as the boarg’s face slowly inched towards him, the fetid breath hitting him like a gust of wind. The boarg’s mouth was open, its yellowish fangs only inches from his face.
Suddenly the boarg jolted hard, arching its back violently. Braal saw the tip of a spear, dripping with gore sticking out of the boarg’s throat. It made a popping sound as it was pulled out. As the boargs hairy body fell to the side, Braal was able to painfully scramble up as he clutched his wounded chest. He saw the young boy, Fil, standing in front of him, holding the bloody spear, his eyes wide with fright.
“Well done, boy,” Braal said as he scanned his surroundings. The pain in his chest vanished as he looked around at the carnage. His line was breaking; he could see it as if it were in slow motion. Nearly fifty boargs were attacking the line and more were climbing over the wall as he quickly surveyed the scene. Dozens of townspeople littered the frozen ground, their bodies torn to pieces. There were boargs among the dead as well, but not enough. He turned back towards Fil and saw a boarg bearing down on the boy with incredible speed, running on all fours, covering twenty paces in seconds.
“Get down boy!” Braal yelled.
Fil flattened himself to the ground instantly as Braal’s battle axe flew over him, sailing head over end, striking the boarg in the chest. It was as if the boarg hit a steel wall. The axe head buried itself deeply in the boarg’s bony chest, sending it somersaulting