Thorn
The Shepherd, Book III
A Novel by Jeffrey B. Linn
All Rights Reserved
Chapter VIII
Still I beheld it when the the rampart sentry reported. "The archons are bending like wheat in a furnace." Shouts echoed above. "The gatekeeper has been felled by the great one!"
A jet of breath, someone gasped, then the jaw snapped closed. All eyes fixed upon the gate. The smith and the gardener ran about distributing farm tools and hammers to be used ostensibly as defensive weapons, but the hands that took them betrayed no understanding such a use, so complete the shield of prayer surrounding the fortress had been. I studied a hinge on the mighty door with the feeling of one bidding farewell. Burnished brass, it was bolted to oaken beams, its heavy pin secured at the bottom with a flange.
Abruptly the gate was struck. Another blow, and another, until the lower portion of the doors was bent inward. The battering ceased. Silence. Presently I realized that the flanges were twisting. The metal screeched. There was a sound like a smith's hammer and the flanges dropped to the ground. The gate flew upward and disappeared.