“Anyone in there?” he yelled through the thick wooden door, hammering on its surface twice for good measure. He thought he heard a muffled response, but when he tried the handle, he found it stuck fast. “Stand back!” he barked, hoping that whoever was on the other side could hear him. Aiden pulled back his arm, clenching his gauntleted hand into a fist and struck the door with such force it shattered in one blow.
Without taking any chances, he raised his sword and stepped into the barracks, unsure of what to expect. Splinters and dust covered the entrance, but as it began to clear he could see a large group of civilians huddled by the back wall. There must have been thirty of them, including a few familiar faces.
One of them was in the middle of strangling another man clad in the colours of Tulsone. As the soldier died, the middle-aged heavy-set man Aiden recognised as Tom Ballard, innkeeper of the Bracksfordshire Arms, released the body onto the ground without ceremony.
“Aiden?” asked Mayor Olaf, the elderly statesman of the town, standing nearby amongst the crowd.
“Was he the only one?” Aiden asked of Tom, ignoring the Mayor for the moment.
“No, he had a few sadistic friends we took care of when the fighting started,” the innkeeper replied grimly. By his side was his daughter Aislin, who clutched her father’s leg and watched the proceedings silently.
“We need to get you out of here,” Aiden explained. “We’re heading north, outside the gate and over the bridge. Take cover in the nearby trees until we have the situation under control. Let’s move.”
Without complaint, the people of Bracksford started moving towards the door, when Pacian and Criosa burst in, diving to either side as crossbow bolts began raining through the doorway. One bounced off Aiden’s magical shield, forcing him to take cover. The townsfolk did likewise, moving further into the barracks in fear as the situation changed.
“How many are there?” Aiden asked of Criosa.
“At least thirty,” she replied with a trembling voice, a thin sheen of perspiration on her forehead, despite the cool spring air. “They must have been covering the south gate when we attacked.”
“Robert and Nel have their hands full already,” Pacian said, changing out the cartridge on his repeater. “We’ll have to hold them off until they can get to us.”
“Spartan was supposed to be helping,” Aiden muttered, risking a peek out through the broken door to see dozens of soldiers taking up position across the street.
He has been watching the battle unfold, looking for the right time to strike, Salinder explained. The time is now. The silver form of the small dragon appeared just above the street as Spartan dived. He opened his maw and issued an ear-splitting roar that rooted his enemy’s feet to the ground. The sound was primal, latching onto a part of the human mind that still dreamed of monsters in the night. Only at the last moment did he extend his wings and talons as he crashed into a group of terrified Tulsonite archers.
The appearance of the dragon threw the reinforcements into a state of chaos, with half of them staring in horror, while others kept their heads and brought their weapons to bear upon him. Aiden watched as Spartan raised his head and took in a deep breath, but instead of fire spewing forth from his maw, the crackle of electricity danced across his teeth as a stroke of lightning cascaded across the assembled troops.
As soon as the electricity had dissipated, Spartan reared up on his hind legs and strode forward, tearing and clawing at the enemy with six-inch talons. It wasn’t long before the last remaining officer called for mercy, indicating his men should lay down their weapons and surrender. Sickened by the slaughter, Aiden headed outside and ordered for an end to the fight.
Of the several hundred Tulsonite men who had taken the town, only twenty-two remained. Bracksford was a slaughterhouse, with bodies of their slain enemies piled up in the streets. He moved in for a closer look at the remaining soldiers who cowered under Spartan’s aegis, and found them to be little more than boys, some of them younger than Aiden. All of them seemed underfed, unkempt and dirty, and some of the older ones were unshaven.
“What does this mean?” he whispered to himself. Criosa came over to stand next to him, equally at a loss to understand the situation. It was only when Robert’s horse came to a halt and the mercenary looked down at the scene that it all made sense. He leaned heavily to one side in his saddle and his right arm hung limply from his side, a crossbow bolt protruding morbidly from his shoulder.
“I think we just did Tulsone a favour,” he grunted, reaching into a pouch to produce a cigar and a spark box. “Unless I miss my guess, they’re deserters,” he explained as he lit his cigar with his one good arm. “If we didn’t kill ‘em, their own army would have, if they ever found out.”
“They’re so… young,” Criosa said in an empty voice.
“Reservists, probably,” Robert replied, then spoke a few words in their native tongue to the assembled troops. Their officer replied hesitantly in the same flowing language, going on for some time in a shaking voice. “Damn, it’s worse than I thought,” the mercenary muttered after the officer had finished speaking. “The Tulsonite forces were decimated by the Aielish army, so they called up their reserves… right before they ran into the Ironlord.”
“These men were all that remained out of a thousand, and that’s why they deserted. They came into Aielund through the fens, which goes to show how desperate they were. They lost over a hundred men in that bloody swamp, and most of their supplies as well. By the time they got here they were in no mood for negotiation.”
“Dear God,” Criosa breathed as Nellise arrived on the scene, her white robed similarly bloodied. “An army of young men, little more than boys, forced to fight that monster in their first battle. Little wonder they ran.” Aiden noticed there were more defeated soldiers trotting along behind her, bringing the total survivors to nearly fifty.
“The first thing they did when they arrived here was to kill most of the defenders and then pillage the town,” Robert explained. “We ran into the remains of some women over on the eastern side who met their end at the hands of some of these ‘innocent boys,’”
“What a bloody mess this war is,” Pacian spat, visibly disgusted with the whole thing.
“Welcome to my world,” Robert grunted. Looking around, Aiden didn’t envy the man his previous existence.
Chapter Seven
“So, what do we do with them?” Pacian asked, looking at the assembled prisoners.
“I’m open to suggestions,” Aiden drawled.
“We can’t simply let them go,” Nellise insisted, having just removed the bolts from Robert’s shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down for this?”
“I’ll survive,” he grunted. “Just get it done. I’m all for incarcerating the enemy, but they’d have to be guarded, and we’re a little short on prison guards right now. We can’t leave the civvies here either, as there’s no telling if this is going to happen again. I also want to put these prisoners to work digging a mass grave for these bodies, before disease starts to spread.”
“That’s a good idea, get them started on that,” Aiden agreed, recalling his home town, not far to the east. “After that’s done, we move the civilians to Coldstream. It’s only a day’s journey, and they’ll have supplies and accommodations for everyone.”
“The rangers will be coming this way soon,” Criosa added. “Perhaps they would be inclined to do something with these prisoners?”
“There aren’t many of them,” Nellise reminded her as she bandaged up Robert’s shoulder. “Their skills will be needed at the defence of Highmarch.”
“Then we bring the prisoners along as well,” Aiden said. “The guards at Coldstream can keep watch on them.”
“East it is, then,” Robert agreed. “I’m not sure we have enough people to guard so many, but Spartan’s presence will keep them in line.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sayana said, pointing to where the dragon was resting on his haun
ches before the assembled prisoners. “I think his terrifying mystique is being eroded somewhat.”
Peering over to see what she was referring to, Aiden could see Aislin Ballard, the innkeeper’s daughter, standing next to Spartan. She gazed up at the dragon gleaming in the midday sun with wide, dark eyes. An expression of wonder was evident on her little face, and Spartan didn’t seem to mind when she touched his flank, as if to make sure he was actually real.
“Aislin, get away from it,” Tom Ballard called to his daughter fear in his voice. Reluctantly, she backed away from Spartan, who looked at her curiously as she returned to her father’s side.
Robert stalked over to where the prisoners were awaiting their fate and barked out some orders to their officer in Tuscara. The blood drained from the man’s face as he understood what was involved, but Robert didn’t take no for an answer. Soon, the entire contingent of prisoners was picking up farming implements and shovels provided by the locals, and with Spartan vigilantly watching over them began the grisly task of burying the bodies of the fallen.
Olaf, the Mayor of Bracksford, walked past the scene and approached Aiden and the others.
“Your Highness, what are you doing here amongst all this?” he inquired with a polite bow.
“Doing my part to help the country,” she replied. “For the sake of their safety, we need your people to travel with us to Coldstream. Please make sure they’re organised and ready to move as soon as possible.”
“I will see to it, Highness,” he said, bowing once more. “Good to see you again, Aiden.”
“That’s Sir Aiden to you,” he informed him. Olaf gave Aiden a nervous look and turned back towards the gathered townsfolk.
“Finally feeling comfortable with your title, I see,” Criosa teased.
“I don’t trust that man,” Aiden muttered, ignoring her jab. “He was up to some shady dealings when we last met.”
“You’ll have to tell me about it some time,” Criosa suggested curiously. “For now, we have enough to deal with.”
They set about organising the locals while Nellise chanted some prayers to heal the wounded. Despite her earlier comments regarding the value of their lives, she tended to most of the prisoners with the same care she showed the wounded civilians. Aiden caught a glimpse of two men who had been interrogated by the Tulsonite soldiers prior to their rescue, and shuddered at the injuries they had sustained. Pacian was watching Nellise carefully, and brought Aiden’s attention to something that caught his eye.
“She hasn’t healed those five prisoners,” he whispered, pointing to some large, rough looking men at the edge of the group busily digging a big hole. “I don’t like the way she’s looking at them, either, and I don’t blame her — I know a bunch of thugs when I see one. I guess they weren’t too picky about the kind of people they recruited.”
“Were they responsible for interrogating the civilians?” Aiden whispered back.
“Without a doubt, and from what I’ve seen, they had their way with some of the local women too. I’m going to have a quick word with her,” Pacian advised, moving over to pull her aside for a brief word. Aiden hovered nearby, just within earshot.
“Don’t even think about it,” Pacian whispered to her as he locked eyes with one of the thugs.
“Think about what?” she replied, somewhat confused.
“Treat those prisoners the same as you would any other,” he suggested. “I know what you’re thinking, and that’s not the sort of person you are.” Nellise let out a sigh of frustration at this.
“You know me so well, my love,” she whispered to him. “It’s… difficult for me, you know that.”
“Believe me, I do,” Pacian assured her. “Don’t go down that path. One of us has to stay pure.” Nellise’s hard visage softened with a smile as she looked at him with adoration. They were an odd couple, to be sure, yet somehow, they found a way to make it work.
Once the grisly task of burying the dead was complete, Robert set about moving the large body of people along the road out of town. A couple of locals had taken up arms to assist, notably Tom Ballard and David Patel, a weather-beaten old man who happened to be a retired ranger wielding a longbow. With Aiden and Nellise riding to either side of the column of bedraggled people, they left the scarred town of Bracksford behind as they set out for solace of Coldstream.
The prisoners, cowed by their defeat, gave them no trouble as they trudged along the narrow highway. The men and women of Bracksford kept their distance, walking far ahead of their former enemies so they didn’t have to look at them. The memories of their town being invaded were fresh in their minds, and it would no doubt take a long time to recover from the anguish they had suffered at the hands of the Tulsonite conscripts.
The weather held fair as they travelled, the road becoming gradually steeper ascending into the foothills. As the sun sank in the west, lanterns and torches were lit, providing light for the solemn procession to continue through the encroaching darkness. Nellise and Aiden both invoked their less mundane light sources, as did Sayana. The sorceress even went one step further, sending a dozen small flames hovering over the line of captives in case any of them made a run for it.
Aiden suspected they were in no mood to break free. War had been especially cruel to them, and the prospect of spending the rest of the conflict being fed and sheltered in the country might be very appealing. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crying from up ahead. The experience of the last few days, combined with the journey was proving to be too much for some of the younger children.
Criosa rode closer and picked up two of the little ones, allowing them to ride with her. She spoke softly to the small children, too quiet for Aiden to hear but they soon settled down. The princess was tireless, using her boundless energy to raise the flagging spirits of the townsfolk with reassurances and encouragement. Watching her give what aid she could to the people, Aiden felt a sense of admiration for her he’d never before experienced. The image of the spoilt rich girl of recent months was fading, replaced by one of a confident, courageous young woman doing her utmost to save her country.
It was several hours after sunset by the time the weary group reached the gates of Coldstream, much to the surprise of the half-dozen or so guardsmen stationed there.
“Don’t just stand there gawking, son,” Robert grunted at one young soldier from atop his horse. “Get your commanding officer down here, and probably the Mayor while you’re at it.”
“Yessir,” the startled man replied automatically, turning to bolt up the road into the town.
“The rest of you get over here and help these people out.” The other five guardsmen followed his orders without question, rushing to help the exhausted men and women who had struggled to make it this far.
“Thanks, for everything,” Tom Ballard said to Aiden, pausing to shake his armoured hand briefly before helping some of the older people into the town. Criosa followed the townsfolk in, leaving the rest of them to deal with the prisoners. The defeated men began to file into town as more guards arrived from the other end of Coldstream, accompanied by an officer and a middle-aged woman quickly wrapping herself in a thick blanket.
“What’s going on here, and why is it happening in the middle of the night?” she asked of Robert as the captives filed past her. Aiden suddenly recognized her as the Mayor, Saorise Bathurst, although he had never seen her in nightclothes before.
“I’ll answer this one,” Aiden replied, climbing off his tired horse and stepping forward.
“Is that… Aiden Wainwright?” she remarked in disbelief. “How are you involved in all this?” Aiden took the time to explain the situation to her and the nearby guardsmen, focusing on the invasion of Bracksford and their subsequent liberation. He didn’t bother trying to mention anything about the dragon, since she wouldn’t believe him anyway, and Spartan seemed to have vanished as soon as they reached Coldstream. She took it well, all things considered, though her reply was interrupted when Robert swore
out loud.
“Excuse me?” Saorise rebuffed him, one eyebrow raised archly.
“There are five men missing,” Robert clarified without apologizing for his outburst. “I counted forty-seven back at Bracksford, but only forty-two have entered the town. Some wily bastards must have slipped away en route.”
“That doesn’t seem surprising, considering how spread out we were,” Aiden pointed out.
“They’ll likely turn to banditry and start raiding nearby farmsteads,” Robert continued. “Your men will have to keep an eye out for trouble over the coming days.”
“They’ll do just that,” Saorise assured them. “There’s nothing that can be done about it now, however, so why don’t you all get to the inn and get some rest. We’ll see to the prisoner’s welfare.”
“Thanks, Your Honour,” Aiden replied, suddenly realizing how tired he was. “We can talk more about this tomorrow.” Saorise nodded and turned to speak with her guards, while Aiden led his tired horse up the road with the others. It was yet another strange homecoming as the familiar streets came into view, still encrusted with snow even at this time of year. The implications of meeting his parents flashed through his mind briefly, but he was too tired to ponder it further at the moment.
After bedding down their horses in the dark stable, they headed to the Sleeping Bear Inn. The common room was filled to capacity with the refugees of Bracksford, and it was going to be a challenge to find enough rooms to accommodate everyone. Criosa had taken charge of the scene, assisted by a very bemused Mayor who found herself in the presence of royalty while garbed only in her nightclothes.
Platters of bread, cheese and water were brought out to the crowd, so Aiden found an unoccupied corner and slowly eased himself down against the wall. Before he knew it, a plate of food appeared in front of him, held forth by a pale and tired-looking Aislin Ballard. Her hazel eyes seemed larger than usual against her dirty skin, but she held the tray of food with determination.
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