The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2)

by R. G. Triplett

"Quickly now, while the arrows have ceased!" Fryon whispered urgently. "To the keep! There is nothing we can do from within these iron walls, and you know as well as I do that your tears cannot wash away this …" he looked back at the image of the beasts, writhing in satisfaction atop the once immortal tree in mocking illumination. "They can't wash away this blasphemy, no matter how many join your sorrow."

  "He is right," Michael said wiping the tears from his eyes. "Engelmann, can you still lead us out of this place?"

  The storm in the eyes of the Arborist broke, and tears of his anguish clung to the moss of his beard like drops of dew after the morning mist. He nodded his head as he spoke. "We must hurry, then." His words held no sense of riddle or hidden wisdom, for he had neither the time nor the stamina; instead, he turned and without caution strode deliberately towards the entrance of the keep.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "GET HER OUT OF THERE!" came the shouted orders from Lieutenant Marcum after a dozen of his archers cut down the Raven scouts. Four guardsmen with blades in hand rushed to the aid of the fallen barmaid. As they reached to lift her to her feet, the sound of her sobbing took the battle-weary soldiers by surprise.

  "Sharon! Wait, Sharon ... please, no!" Keily wailed into the smoky blackness. "The little girl! Please don't leave her!"

  One of the guardsmen met her wild, tear-filled eyes with his own heartbroken gaze, and he nodded his agreement to her sorrowful plea. The tall man walked the few dozen paces to the child's lifeless body. With little effort he picked her up and carried her broken, small frame back into the stone chapel, entering it to hide with the rest of the gathered guardsmen and frightened citizens.

  The atmosphere in the cold, dark room was silent and heavy, for all of Haven had lost much this day. And though their losses were many, the fear of what was still unknown was too much for these homeless citizens of Piney Creek to even dare to whisper about.

  "Are you alright, lass?" Marcum said as he examined the tear-stained face of the barmaid by the muted glow of a small oil lamp.

  "Alright?" Keily blurted out. "What in this damned hell of a world would lead you to believe that I am alright?" she said as she removed the two raven-fletched arrows from the small, pierced body of little Sharon. "Our borough is burning, the tree has failed us, thousands of our brothers are dead, and little girls are being hunted like rats in the alleyways by whatever those green-eyed monsters are out there!"

  "Aye," Marcum said quietly. "I think we are all being hunted, aren't we?"

  The large door burst open, stealing what little breath was left in the lungs of the gathered remnant as they startled at the sound. To their great relief, it was Johnrey and a handful of others that appeared on the other side of the open door, and the group found their fears assuaged for a brief, blessed moment.

  As the newcomers found their way inside, Johnrey called out for the barmaid. "Keily?" he grunted amidst the whispered greetings. "Keily? Did they make it? Have you seen them?" The white-haired officer stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of her crestfallen and heartbroken face. She knelt on the floor, holding tightly to the blood-soaked body of a little girl who not an hour ago had held his hand in the cellar of the tavern. "Oh, I'm sorry, girl," he whispered his apologies. "Where did you go? What happened?" He put his bloodstained hand on the barmaid's shoulder in an effort to console her grief. "It's not your fault, you know. None of this is."

  The door burst open again. With their exhausted senses teetering on the edge of reason, the group could not help but gasp in fright yet again, though it was only a scout from the army of Haven.

  "Where is the lieutenant?" the bandaged runner asked.

  "What is the word, guardsman?" Marcum asked as he moved closer to the door, hoping that there were others coming to join their ranks.

  "They are burning it all, the whole borough, one building at time; we cannot chance staying here much longer," the scout urged.

  "But what about the others?" Marcum asked. "You told them to meet here, did you not?"

  The still breathless runner just shook his head. "No. No, there are ..." he paused as if replaying some horrific nightmare in the theater of his own thoughts. "There are no others."

  The occupants of the room stood in stunned, hopeless silence as the reality of the scout's words settled upon their weary hearts.

  "How many does that make then?" Johnrey asked the lieutenant, finally waking the group back to the urgency of their situation.

  Marcum surveyed the dimly lit hall of the old Piney Creek chapel. He counted quickly and nervously to himself. "Forty, I think ... I count forty guardsmen, and then two or maybe three dozen citizens, and ..." he paused, a sadness washing over him, "four children."

  "That is not a very promising tally," the runner said, a bit too frankly.

  "Aye lad, but a great deal more than that died out there in the bloody, black field beyond our broken walls," Johnrey reprimanded with the seasoned kindness of a veteran of war. "And whether it be two of us or two thousand ... I am going to live, so as not to make a waste of their valiant deaths."

  The runner nodded his apology, and Marcum turned to address the huddled remnant. "The corporal is right!" he whispered with worried authority. "We have to go north, and if the THREE who is SEVEN has any mercy left in His heart for us, perhaps we will find that the whole of the Raven Army has left the field of battle unattended whilst they storm the Citadel."

  "But where will we go? I mean, once we have left Haven?" a dark-haired young woman asked the lieutenant.

  "Aye!" an old man interjected. "There are no forests for us to hide in! And even if there were, we would have to cut them down in order to see!"

  "Perhaps there is still a cutter camp?" Keily blurted out. The weary sadness faded now to the back of her mind, waiting there to be dealt with when the time was right. Instead, she allowed a seemingly ridiculous hope to replace the weight of sorrow. "I know that many of them were lost, but not all, I'll bet. And if they too have survived, well ... they know the cold northern outlands better than any of us."

  Marcum thought on this for a long moment, for the very idea of woodcutters remaining in the North had not crossed his mind. When he was satisfied with the soundness of the notion, he spoke again. "Perhaps the barmaid is right. Perhaps there are still more woodcutters who managed to escape the assault upon the city. And they could very well be our best hope of surviving out there in the darkened middle grounds."

  "And if not?" Johnrey asked aloud. "What if they are all gone, then what?"

  "Then we will head for the foothills of the Hilgari, and we will carve out whatever life we can from its cold, grey bosom," the lieutenant reasoned.

  The crack and the crash of collapsing buildings woke them from the postulating and reminded them all too soberly of the imminent danger that hunted them here in this burning borough.

  "Men, take what you can carry on your backs only," Marcum ordered. "There will be no time to load carts of any kind, and we cannot risk the noise. We will move into the darkness as quickly and quietly as we can."

  "Corporal," Marcum continued on. "Take a dozen guardsmen and see to it that we are not surprised from the rear. And … barmaid?"

  "Yes, lieutenant?" Keily answered him, taken aback that she would be singled out for an assignment.

  "I want you and two other scouts to go on ahead of the main group and see to it that our way is clear. You know this borough better than any of my guardsmen, and I for one do not have the luxury of pretense at a moment when our need is so great."

  "Aye, I'll do it," she replied.

  And with that, the seventy or so that made up the strength of this remnant gathered up whatever food, tools, and provisions that they could carry and prepared their hearts for the long and dangerous exile from the walls of their home.

  When all had been gathered and secured, Marcum gave the word for the scouting party to advance. Keily and the two other guardsmen opened the eastward facing door of the old, stone chapel and began
to chart the course towards their freedom.

  "I think we are far enough east from the borough square that they might not notice us; at least not for some time yet," she said to the two other guardsmen.

  "But getting nearly seventy people to move quickly and quietly might not prove to be a simple task," the taller of the two reasoned.

  "Aye, they are going to kill us all," the other said in defeat.

  "Do not count it over just yet. This is our best chance. We will have to make our way across the open field first, and then we can take shelter on the other side of the stone knee wall," she told them. "Then it's not but a few alleyways before we reach the stone of the North Wall itself."

  "Do you have a plan?" Marcum asked the scouting party as he stepped through the humble threshold and out into the heavy, smoke-filled air of the darkened borough.

  "Yes sir, we do," the shorter of the scouts replied, glancing at Keily and drawing a sort of courage from her resolute gaze. "The hardest part will be this open field, but … if we can make it to the knee wall ... well, then we all stand a better chance of sneaking our way out of here."

  "And you agree, lass?" the lieutenant asked.

  "Aye, I do," she nodded. "We will go ahead, five hundred paces in that direction." She gestured to a shrouded point off in the darkened distance. "When you see our spark, then you will know it is time."

  "Very well," Marcum agreed. "We will send the main strength of the convoy as soon as we see your light. Johnrey, you and a dozen men will stay behind to act as our cover. Once the citizens are safe behind the knee wall, you and your company will join us on the other side of the meadow."

  "Yes, sir," Johnrey agreed with a salute. "We will guard your backs, just do us a favor and be quick about it, huh?"

  Marcum smiled an exhausted smile. "Well then, there is no time to waste. Go, now," he said to Keily and the scouting party. And with that, the three of them bounded off into the smoky dark in search of cover for the last remaining citizens of the North.

  "Do you see them?" Johnrey asked. "My eyes seem to get less and less useful the older I get."

  "No," Marcum said, his words drawn out and tired. "I do not see much of anything except dancing shadows from the flames of this burning place." The lieutenant held up a spyglass and scanned the shadowed horizon. "Wait!" he said with a renewed excitement. "There they are, I see their spark ... there, right there!" He placed the spyglass in the white-bearded corporal's hand.

  "I see them now," Johnrey said in agreement. "Time to be off then, huh?"

  Marcum nodded his head and then turned to focus his attention on the remaining party. "Be quick and quiet, and no matter what, keep going forward. There is no home or safety for you here within the walls of Haven; our only hope now is to flee." The gathered group whispered their understanding and with only a dozen bows strung at the ready to defend their movements, Marcum led the host across the chapel yard.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "HERE THEY COME," THE TALLER scout pointed out in a nearly silent whisper. "Quiet now, lads ... come on … come on!"

  "How much further?" Keily asked, not taking her eye off the horizon even for a moment.

  "Maybe two hundred, two hundred and fifty paces?" the scout guessed. "I'd say they are nearly halfway."

  Keily whispered her worried prayers as she kissed her clenched fists. "Come on then … hurry, please."

  The tension grew as the taller scout quietly reported on the diminishing distance between them. "Two hundred … a hundred and a half … just a hundred paces now, and all is still quiet."

  The fleeing remnant half-ran, half-stalked their way across the meadow, crouched low so as to try and make themselves as small as possible. The guardsmen were at the vanguard of the mismatched movement of shadows, scanning the flame-riddled horizon for any sign of danger. The four children kept quiet under the nervous, whispered lullabies of the frightened women who carried them while the men transported the burden of their supplies over their own anxious shoulders.

  "Hurry! Hurry!" Keily whispered anxiously.

  As the main body of the remnant came within fifty paces of the wall, the sound of fire catching to thatch broke the tension, and the scouting party watched the roof of the old miller's house catch fire and go up in a blaze of hungry flames. The light of the fire washed the meadow in an unwelcome illumination and the group of citizens and guardsmen alike froze in fear, now exposed to all who would look to notice them.

  "Run! Run now! They will see you!" The three scouts shouted in the loudest whispers they could muster.

  Soldiers and citizens alike broke their organized formation and took off in a sprint towards the wall as if it held the last long drink for the thirstiest of all mankind.

  THWANG came the sound of a bow loosing its arrow. "Oh no!" Keily whispered. "Run!"

  Just as the first people reached the stone knee wall, a single raven-fletched arrow pierced and cut down one of the guardsmen, sending him rolling in a heap of vanquished life.

  "Come on, hurry!" Keily urged them as she nocked an arrow to lend cover.

  Johnrey and his twelve found their target and quickly dispatched the Raven archer with arrows of their own.

  "Steady now, lads!" Johnrey urged his men. "Keep a sharp eye about you … you never know when one of these damned carrion soldiers will show his ugly beak."

  As soon as the last of the main host leapt over the rock wall, one of the scouts—the shorter of the two—began to strike his flint, sparking the signal for Johnrey and his men so that they might make their way across the meadow.

  "Cover their movements, men," Marcum ordered, and another dozen or so bowstrings were quickly pulled taught and aimed at the burning borough.

  Johnrey saw the signal light from the other side of the field. "Alright lads, let's be as quick and as quiet as we can. I'm sure that wasn't the only Raven we will meet today." With those words, Johnrey and his twelve were off and running as fast as their tired legs would carry them.

  He and his men were not more than halfway across the chapel field when the unmistakable sound of fire catching tinder woke the silent night sky with its hungry crackle and its all too familiar roar. "The chapel," Marcum whispered. "They are at the chapel."

  The final escape lost all cover as the yellow and amber flames of the now burning chapel fully illuminated its surrounding fields. "Hurry, lads!" Johnrey urged again and again. "They are going to see us if you don't get your legs to move any faster!"

  The rafters of the old chapel went up quickly in a blaze of hungry flames, and all who watched did so in horror as the once holy place was reduced to nothing more than a casualty of war. The first of the twelve reached the stone wall and in a single bounding leap, he hurdled himself over the knee wall and crouched in its relative protection to catch his breath. Within moments the rest of the men had done the same, until all of the remnant gathered and crouched behind the stacked stone perimeter.

  Marcum took account of those who had made it safely across the meadow, and then turned to address Keily and her scouts. "Alright, barmaid ... it is your turn again. Get us out of here."

  She nodded her agreement, and in a flash she and the two scouts had bounded across the alleyway and made sure that the back of the old widow's home on the opposite side of the street was not infested with any Ravens.

  Sparks flew from her signal, and the lieutenant began to send small groups of the main host across the alleyway a few at a time until the whole party was safe in the shadow of the stacked log house.

  "How much farther now, lass?" Marcum asked her.

  "Just another couple alleyways to cross, and then ... then we will be right there, staring at the mangled North Gate," Keily replied.

  "Alright then, lead on," Marcum ordered.

  Yet again, Keily and her scouts crossed the cobblestone back streets of Piney Creek, and likewise Marcum sent the host following in succinct fashion as the whole lot of them ducked and hid behind the ruined and abandoned houses of the nor
thernmost borough of Haven.

  "There," Keily whispered to the lieutenant as she handed him the spyglass. "Right there, look ... just between the guard house and the smithy's shop. Do you see it?"

  Marcum held the spyglass up to his eye, scanning and searching the muted horizon for whatever it was she was hoping to point out.

  "There is a breach in the stone. It must have been from where the dragons assaulted us. If we can get there we might not have to risk the attracting attention at what was once the Northern Gate."

  "Very good," Marcum agreed, with hints of both relief and respect crossing his face. "You and your scouts ... make your way."

  She nodded and then whispered her orders to the other two men. As they took off in the flickering shadows towards the breach in the North Wall, a small volley of Raven's arrows cut through the black, cold air and robbed the tallest scout of his life.

  "Take cover!" Marcum whispered to the gathered remnant. "Stay silent, now."

  Keily and the last remaining scout were pinned behind one of the large pieces of broken wall that littered the ground all around them. Marcum signaled Johnrey to make ready. Seven of his archers positioned themselves in front of the hiding host, while the rest of his bowmen moved to the rear so as to cut off any surprise to their already vulnerable flank.

  The Raven sentries were quiet, save their labored, gurgling breathing and the clank of their cumbersome armor, which grew louder and all the more distinguishable as they caught the scent of the scouts and moved to eliminate their presence. The host of Haven held their collective breath as they listened to the enemy move closer and closer to the scouting party.

  "Easy now," Keily said to her partner as he drew his bowstring and aimed through the open, jagged crack in the middle of the fallen wall that provided their cover. "We don't know how many they are. Let's not tell them how many we are just yet." Keily peered out through the crack, risking exposure in hopes of counting the enemy's number by the light of the siege fires. "Four? Maybe six ... it's hard to tell," she whispered back to the scout.