by T P Sheehan
“Indeed,” Magnus said, thinking of the numerous times a Juniper stone had come in handy during his travels.
“Good. You’ve a small breast pocket in your suit. Keep it handy.”
Magnus tucked the stone away as Marsala instructed.
“Farewell, Magnus. Farewell, Catanya.”
“Farewell, Marsala.”
Magnus and Catanya set course for the Red River.
FIRST WAVE
“Commander!”
Bonstaph stuck his chin out and itched his dirty beard, turning away from the voice. He spat blood on the ground. It had been a rough night. After leaving Sarah to dwell on her ‘gypsy oath’ that effectively condemned her son to death, Bonstaph threw himself into an altercation with two Quagmen who insisted on testing the patency of the newly assembled fortifications to the north. It was a bloody scuffle, but served as a valuable lesson to the greener swordsman of Brindle—Quag warriors are brutal in battle. ‘Move to attack. Don’t stand and defend. Fight hard and fight once,’ Bonstaph has instructed.
Now there was Walt, who insisted more than most on addressing him as ‘Commander.’
“Commander!”
“For the love of the Gods, Walt…”
“Sorry, sire.” Walt bowed awkwardly, breathless from his run. “It’s just that… I grew up with stories of your achievements during your time with the Knights of the Realms.”
“It was before you were born, Walt. Move on.”
Walt was not the only one digging up the past, but Bonstaph knew he was the catalyst for an awful lot of it. As chief runner, Walt was effective at getting information from one end of Brindle to the other faster than Bonstaph could ever have hoped for. Frustratingly, Walt usually delivered this information as instructions from ‘the Knight Commander’.
“What have you got for me?” Bonstaph asked.
“The census is done. Everyone is accounted for.”
Bonstaph had put the runners to task the previous afternoon to do a census of every person in Brindle. The town’s population before Ba’rrat fell was just over three hundred and thirty. “Break it down for me, Walt.”
“There is five short of nine hundred souls in Brindle,” Walt said, bouncing on his feet. Walt gave him the numbers of men, woman, children and wounded. Bonstaph turned the figures over in his head. When he was done, he gave Walt another task.
“Call a committee meeting in one hour in the town square. I want every member there.”
The calculations verified a hard truth—there were not enough resources to sustainably feed the swelling population in Brindle. Not for long, anyway.
Bonstaph paced the northern defence line, turning numbers over in his head. It was important to keep ahead of the game. Even without Ba’rrat strip-mining Brindle of its fish, meat and crops, the townsfolk would soon realise they cannot support such a large influx of people. That could lead to disorder, Bonstaph knew. Nothing will weaken the town’s defences more effectively.
The paradox was that many of the extra people were essential to man the defence at Brindle’s borders. Bonstaph needed a plan to solve issues of supply and defence. Fortunately, the solution came in the form of a third need. Many of the recent arrivals were keen to move on to their homes and of these, most were from the Four Realms north of the Corville Mountains. For them, Bonstaph knew it would be a perilous journey home. They needed an effective strategy of departure and protection.
An hour later, the forty men and women of Brindle’s committee were gathered in the town square. Walt placed a wooden stool at the square’s centre for Bonstaph to stand on to give his announcement. To his right, Bonstaph saw Sarah collecting plates and cleaning up after the first communal meal for the day. Bonstaph turned his attention to the committee.
“Before the fall of Ba’rrat, Brindle’s population was a little over three hundred. We are now pushing eight hundred.” Bonstaph paused briefly to allow the chatter to subside. “If we keep fishing, if we keep farming, and without Ba’rrat stripping supplies, we can comfortably sustain a population of five hundred.” The chatter rose louder this time. Now that Bonstaph had lit the fuse of truth, he needed to diffuse it.
“Forty eight hours from now, the population will be four hundred fifty.” The committee were silenced and all eyes stared at Bonstaph, including Sarah’s.
“We cannot force people to leave,” a man spoke out. Bonstaph recognised him as a Brindle townsman, which he saw as a good sign. Hopefully there will be no pre-emptive tension between people. “They will go to their deaths if they leave our guarded borders.”
“No one is leaving here unprotected. It will be a calculated undertaking.” Bonstaph was aware he spoke in his stern, Commander’s voice. The townsman gave a nod. “These are the numbers you need to know. All Brindle folk will remain—that is a given. In addition, twenty wounded who are not from Brindle, and not capable of travelling, will remain.”
“What of our defences?” a voice called from the rear of the gathering. Bonstaph could not place the source of the voice, but he knew it spoke for many of the quicker-thinking Committee members.
“Half of Brindle’s population is capable of bearing arms. Half of the refugees, such as myself, are also capable. A share of those refugees will remain to support the defences.”
“How many is that share?”
“An extra one hundred.”
The committee members talked amongst themselves with varying opinions and perspectives falling on Bonstaph’s ears. An elderly townswoman was first to speak out. “That’s not enough. There is no point in sending away good fighting men. If we can sustain five hundred, we must fill that number with such men.”
Bonstaph was not accommodating a vote on the matter, let alone the incompatible priorities of the various committee members. He was quick to reinforce his decision. “These numbers are fixed. Brindle will be left with two hundred sixty capable fighters—nearly the equivalent of your entire population.”
“What of the wounded? All but three are not Brindle folk. Who shall tend to them?” the woman pushed.
“Who tended to your fortifications and built a defence system around this town?”
“We all did,” a voice shouted.
“And with a sustainable population of four hundred fifty, you will continue to work together.” Bonstaph looked to each of the committee members in turn. “Work together, keep what systems we have put in place going, and the Quag will withdraw in time.”
“How can you be sure?”
“The Quag will only continue to challenge Brindle if one of two conditions are met. Either they’re making progress or they’re learning our weaknesses. We will not allow the first and we have no weaknesses.
“The Quag numbers are few. Significant portions of their resources supply the battle that continues in the Fire Realm. What remains is scattered,” Bonstaph continued. “With any luck, they will soon board their ships, sail through the Southern Gap and beyond the Neverseas, never to be seen again. If not, keep fighting strong and never, under any circumstance, find cause to quarrel among yourselves. Nothing will compromise your defences faster.”
“Three hundred ninety five men, women and children…”
With the committee meeting over, Bonstaph turned his attention to those leaving Brindle. Paramount to a clean departure was discretion. Three hundred ninety five refugees marching out of Brindle would give the Quag reason to attack either the travellers or the fortified town—both now appearing vulnerable. The solution was to have people leave in small groups at regular intervals. There was also the matter of the extra one hundred people Bonstaph had not publicly accounted for.
Bonstaph gave Walt orders to distribute amongst his runners. Each knew what they had to do with their information. “Groups of thirty three will leave Brindle every four hours, beginning half an hour after sundown. Twelve groups in total. Each group will have ten capable fighters and an equal number of men, women and children. It does not matter where they want to go, all groups
will take the same route in the beginning. Safety in numbers until we’re well clear of Brindle.
“We shall travel East toward Thwax and regroup there, three days from now. Once our numbers are consolidated, we travel the eastern reach of the Black Cliffs, then north along the Red Pass. Once clear of the Corville Mountains, we can regroup at the Plains Lake—a broad lake at the southern border of Froughton Forest. The lake will provide a good source of nourishment before we go our separate ways.”
Once Walt had given the command to his young runners, he returned to Bonstaph with the obvious question—“Sire, I told you there were nearly nine hundred folk in Brindle, not eight hundred.”
“Is that so?” Bonstaph winked slyly and took Walt aside, ensuring they were out of earshot.
“Walt, there are spies here in Brindle in the employ of the Quag.”
“Are you certain? Who?” Walt glanced about as though he may see who the rogue persons were by looking.
“I cannot name them, nor point them out,” Bonstaph explained. “But in a population as large and diverse as this, where most are strangers to one another, the primary honour is self preservation. There are guaranteed to be a number of spies. Trust me on this.”
Walt nodded quietly in agreement. He looked nervous, but Bonstaph knew he was a smart man and was quick to learn. “What do we do?”
“Everything goes as planned,” Bonstaph said under his breath. “The first group leave half an hour after sunset. The second leave four hours after that. This will establish a pattern. The pattern will more than likely be relayed via spies to Quag scouts who will take what they know to their superiors. They will not attack right away because their intelligence has revealed Brindle’s evacuation is a forty-eight hour ordeal. The more that leave, the better for them.”
“And the third group leave four hours after midnight?” Walt anticipated.
“This is where things change. The remaining groups leave every half hour after midnight. The ten remaining groups will be out of Brindle by sunrise.”
“Very good,” Walt remarked. A slight smirk came to his face.
“Now… for the one hundred extra people only you and I know about,” Bonstaph whispered. Walt was wide eyed. “These will be the hundred most capable warriors we have who are not Brindle folk. Many of these warriors are our own people from the Fire Realm. Fifty of them shall form a one-mile guard line east of Brindle, shepherding the travellers. The other fifty shall remain to reinforce the eastern fortifications. This is the most likely point of attack.”
“Very good, sire,” Walt enthused. “So then, how many in total shall be leaving?”
“Three hundred ninety five. Five hundred will be staying.”
“What of you and I?”
“We’re among those leaving. It’s time for us to go home, Walt.”
HANNAH - THREE
“There are eleven checkpoints in Froughton Forest before we reach my home,” Nëven said. “I like the number ‘eleven’. Not because is sounds a little like ‘Nëven’, in fact—my name sounds more like ‘Seven’, although not entirely, because the first ‘e’ is longer than the second. ‘Eleven’ is symmetrical, you see, but only as a number, not a word…”
Hannah was astounded by how much Nëven could talk and was quite impressed with how clever she was.
“How do you spell ‘Hannah’ backwards?” Nëven asked.
“The same as forwards,” Hannah answered.
“You are ‘even’, like me. My brother, Artur, calls me ‘even Nëven’. My sister, Vevila, calls me ‘annoying’.” Both Nëven and Hannah laughed.
They were travelling through the Outer Rim. Hannah had been here once before and the memory filled her with joy. Her family were travelling to Guame where Catanya led her on a wonderful adventure finding all sorts of trinkets and exotic treasures for sale at the busy stalls and markets. Here in the Outer Rim it was quiet, except for Nëven’s talking. Up ahead, light was piercing through the treetops in a colourful arc of rainbow colours, illuminating the road.
“Do you see that?” Hannah asked.
“What?” Nëven stopped her talking to see where Hannah was pointing.
“Do you suppose we’ve found the end of the rainbow?” Hannah was intrigued. They reached the rainbow and it turned to orange. The girls jumped from their steeds and walked into the light filled clearing. Hannah watched it’s splintered rays dance across the palms of her hands.
“I think there would be more colours if it were the end of the rainbow,” Nëven explained.
“Perhaps orange is the only colour strong enough to pass through the trees and reach the ground.” Hannah craned her head back, opening her mouth wide. She could just make out a hint of blue sky, the sun, and the light piercing through the treetops. “I think that is what it may be.”
“Do you think orange is a strong colour?” Nëven asked.
Hannah thought it an interesting question. “Perhaps, when it comes to rainbows.” Nëven looked up to the sky, squinting as she walked further into the path of light. “Your hair is orange,” Hannah observed. “It looks strong.”
Nëven smiled. “Auroch is orange. He is very strong.” Hannah looked at the huge Dwyer bull named Auroch and nodded in agreement. She tried to think of other orange things. “And you, Hannah,” Nëven said.
“Me?”
“You are of the Fire Realm. Fire is orange. That is strong.”
Up ahead, Nëven’s father turned about and looked at the two young girls as he walked beside Auroch. He snickered and shook his head. “The mighty fire dragons,” he mumbled aloud but in the silence of the forest, Hannah could hear him quite clearly. Apparently, so could her mother.
“What of them?” Alessandra asked. Creighton flashed a glance back at her but did not answer. “What do you find amusing about our dragons?”
“Their absence,” Creighton finally replied. Hannah thought he tried to say it in an amusing way. Her mother did not seem amused.
“And your own dragons?” Alessandra asked.
Creighton pulled on Auroch’s reigns to slow him a little then turned to face Alessandra. Hannah and Nëven looked at one another, then to the adults. “The Spindlefax dragons are gone. They died defending our lands.” Creighton pointed at Alessandra. “The Couldradt dragons—your dragons—have abandoned you. That is why your lands are threatened.”
“So, you resent them for that?” Alessandra said. Creighton said nothing. “You resent us for that?” This time Creighton shrugged. “Have you broached this topic with my husband? Or my sister, perhaps?” Creighton urged his bull forward. “Wait!” Alessandra insisted. Creighton turned back at once, as did Nëven. Hannah looked at her mother—her face looked flushed. “If your people are harbouring resentment for my people, I need to know.”
“We need to know!” Hannah contributed. Creighton and Nëven looked at her, then back to Alessandra.
“Yes, we need to know, before we travel through the Valley of Shadows and place our faith in you.”
Hannah looked to Creighton. He flared his nostrils and rolled his eyes. Then he started to look a little uncomfortable.
“Perhaps we should camp here tonight and think about things,” Hannah asserted. It seemed to be something an adult would say.
“I think that would be a smart idea,” Alessandra agreed. She was frowning at Creighton. Hannah felt proud. Nëven look surprised.
“We’ll be at the second checkpoint in a few hours. We can camp there.”
“Is the checkpoint along the Outer Rim?” Alessandra asked.
“It’s in the Valley.”
“Then here will do just nicely.” Alessandra looked at Hannah. “Thankyou, Hannah. A wise suggestion.” She started unpacking her goods off the back of her horse.
Creighton turned about aimlessly, then huffed and puffed a little. Hannah looked at Nëven to get her take on the situation. She shrugged, suggesting she had nothing to offer.
Happy the conversation was over, Hannah loitered back to t
he orange blades of light and looked up again, letting them bathe her face. She thought about what Csilla had said to her the previous day—‘I’m sure the god of fire wants to shine on your pretty little face before this summer is over.’ Hannah closed her eyes and let the sun glow through her eyelids. “Here you go then, it may be your last chance to find me in the forest.”
“Who are you talking to?”
Hannah opened her eyes and blinked away the sunshine. Nëven was standing there. “One of the gods.” Nëven looked up, squinting into the sun. She was wearing a necklace that had a large gemstone hanging from it, wrapped in macramé netting. The sunlight was throwing patterns in the stone. Hannah found it mesmerising. “Your necklace is beautiful.”
Nëven stepped back from the sunlight and held the gemstone gently in her hand. “Oh,” she exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?”
Nëven was hesitant to say. She looked toward her father who seemed resigned to the fact that they were staying the night and was setting up camp. Nëven turned back. “It’s my ‘Earth’ stone, also called a ‘Jasper’ stone. It’s like the Juniper stones found along the old paths through the Valley. Those ones are the purple ones fired by dragons. But the green ones…” Nëven rubbed a thumb over it. “The green ones are far more fun. We dig them up, but they’re hard to find and not all of us can use them. I think your Fire god was looking at it just now.” Nëven looked to the sun again—this time with caution.
Hannah was most intrigued. “It looked beautiful with the sun shining through it.” The colour of the stone intrigued her most. It was pale green and reminded her of foaming waves splashing against rocks in the ocean. The colours seemed to swirl within the stone. “When the sun was on it, I could see right through it.”
“That’s the secret of it,” Nëven whispered. “Not everyone can see through with it.”
Hannah was puzzled. That was not what she meant. “See through what with it?”
“Anything your heart desires. Anywhere you want. The stone can take you there.”