by William Cali
He thrust the lit torch into the flag, stabbing like he was wielding a sword, and set the flag ablaze. The crowd stared with wide eyes, and then let out a series of cheers.
“No longer will we live under the thumb of the false knight Gilbrand!” the chief continued. “We reject the rule of him and the supposed ‘True King’ Yozer! Somerville is finished with tyrants and thieves. We are our own people, and we will live or die by our own hands!”
He looked solemnly at Lyle, and then at Pent. “I have little else to say that has not already been said. For those of you who are not prepared for war, ensure that you have everything you need for a hasty retreat. For the rest of you, steel yourselves for battle.” He turned to his companions and dropped his voice. “Would either of you like to say something?”
Mother Lyle stepped forward. “Fight for all you know and believe, fight for your very lives. And know that as you fight, we will fight by your side.” She raised her hand to a victorious shout from the crowd.
Then they gave their attention to Pent. Everyone stared at him, waiting for him to speak. He stepped forward as Lyle stepped back.
“Listen y’all. We’ve run this up and down a couple of times, we know what to do. And it’s just like Mother Lyle said, the three of us are with you all the way. We believe we can do this, and we believe in all of you. But what matters is that you believe, that you know you can save this town. If you know that, then we’ll all make it happen.” He trailed off at the end, his eyes looking to the ground. The crowd erupted in cheers, and those cheers carried on through the rest of the night.
* * *
When Pent went to bed that night, he did something familiar. It was something he did every night. He took off his clothes and laid out what he was wearing for the next day.
Tonight, his attire was set up a little differently than days before. He had a tight-fitting tunic, which was the best quality piece of clothing he had, compliments of Daley. Next to the tunic, a metal chest plate. Although Cenk hadn’t had time to construct more than the chest pieces, he had done Pent the favor of completing an addition for his chest armor. He grinned, looking at the armor where it lay on the floor, a pair of shoulder plates adding a dramatic line to the chest piece. “Just like a set of pads, like I’m back in high school all over again.”
Next to the armor rested a broadsword. He had used this extensively in training, and, while he still had the grace of a dead cat when it came to swordplay, the weapon felt much more familiar in his hands. He could swing it repeatedly, even with one hand, each swing forceful enough to land a killing blow. Hopefully, that’ll be enough.
Leaning against the wall, he had a shield, one of several they had crafted from the abundance of wood harvested from the forest. There were also two of Lemen’s firebombs, set carefully on the floor, and a belt made of twine, which had two woven nets in which to couch the cocktails when they weren’t being thrown. “Sure would have been easier to spark these on the go with my lighter.” He was sure that Hanar had a good reason to ask for it.
He had his boots lying next to everything else, and another, smaller belt made of twine. A hoop on this one served as a holster.
As his last bit of preparation, Pent reached under the hay bed and pulled out his pistol. His reliable M1911. He hadn’t made use of it since he first met Hanar, but he had made it his practice to ensure it was stripped every night before he went to sleep. The stripping and wiping down of the weapon instilled a kind of discipline in him. Sure wish I had something to actually clean it with, though. I’m a couple of hundred years before the invention of a gun store. He examined the weapon, cleaned it thoroughly, and laid it down next to the sword.
Staring at the gun, he couldn’t help but think of James. “I’m not sure if I could have really done anything to save you with this, man. And I know I can’t kill an army with a gun, but it could make a difference.” He rolled back into bed, but it took him at least an hour to get to sleep that night. When he awoke the next day, he felt more rested than he had in his entire life.
* * *
He rose from bed early in the morning, feeling lifted in both body and spirit. He had gone over the protocol with “his” soldiers. They would need to stay armed throughout the whole day, as there was no clear way to tell when disaster would strike. Pent followed the same guidelines. He put on his clothes like any other day. Then he slipped the armor over his head. It was a bit cumbersome, but he acclimated to it quickly.
The sword, he slipped into a wooden scabbard, and then strapped on his two grenades and his gun and stepped out into the world.
Most of the days in Somerville had temperate weather. A bright sun, a cool breeze, maybe seventy degrees outside. Not just pleasant weather, but consistent too. He studied the sky now and was greeted by a grim, foreboding set of clouds. “Overcast.” It wasn’t normal, but nothing about this day felt normal. His entire body was tense, wound up like a coiled spring. He gripped at his sword and started his daily routine.
First, Pent headed to their small training ground. It was just a circle dug into the dirt, but they had made good use of it. He waited for the trainees to show up. As they trickled in, everyone’s faces betrayed their nerves. He did what he could to keep their minds on the moment.
“Let’s take this day as any other, get into formation!”
They followed his lead and lined up in a row. He started giving them drills, but he could not get his mind off the weather. He conducted the entire training with butterflies in his stomach, certain that something bad was on the horizon.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Yozer yawned loudly, his jaw cracking and the air wheezing from his lungs. This affair was quickly losing the excitement it once held. He began to reconsider his earlier decision to go to Gilbrand Castle and recruit these people. It made sense. Invite them to bring in a cascade of death, and they would be more willing to do it again later. It would create witnesses to his might. They would be enamored by his great leadership.
But he could have just flown over to Somerville and rained death on them by now. He didn’t really know where Somerville was, but did that really matter? He would have found it easily enough. He was, after all, Yozer.
There was also the matter of this dark stranger. He could not help but feel curious. Gilbrand’s descriptions of everything he encountered were surely exaggerated. Still, there was something about this man, his apparently rebellious nature, which made a word float to the brim of Yozer’s consciousness.
Crusader…
He gagged on the word. There were no more of them in this world. The world now had a great magnitude of order. Order under his rule. The Age of Monsters is long past, as is their Age. Still, he had to see, he had to know.
He sat on his horse lackadaisically, both legs off to one side. He cast an absentminded glance to his subordinate soldiers. Around fifty well-armed men, less than half on horseback. The foot soldiers carried on from behind, while those on horseback trotted slowly so as to not break pace with them. Captain Ricard had cautiously taken up his place at the front of the troop, clearly not willing to offend Yozer. “It’s unfortunate to have so many men without horses.”
“Yes,” Ricard said, “surely it is an exhausting effort for them. To walk this distance on foot with no stops… It could hamper their prowess in battle.”
Yozer frowned, “Their prowess in battle is your responsibility, Captain. They’re delaying our approach significantly. We would be much faster if we didn’t have people marching behind us.”
“Of course, Master Yozer. I understand it is an inconvenience, but we must advance slowly and with them by our side.” He pointed forward. “This is the most direct path available, and it’s not wide enough for us to maneuver well with our horses. If a retreat is needed, we can at least have the men break to the right and left as we turn and head back.”
“Retreat?” Yozer laughed, a vile sound that raised goose bumps on the captain’s neck. “Surely, you are making a wicked joke, Captain.
There will be no retreat.”
“Of course, sir, of course. It’s jus—Wait a moment.” He looked out into the woods far ahead of the path. “Someone is approaching.”
Yozer turned his white eyes to the path. “Who could that be?” A tall, thin man with a shabby mustache was moving towards them. He had a look of deep concern on his face. Ricard called out to the men to arm themselves, but Yozer silenced them. “I would like to hear what he has to say.”
The man stopped a dozen feet away from Yozer and Ricard. “My name is Riven. I am the doctor of Somerville.” He appeared to be searching for someone among the troops as his eyes wandered from face to face. “I am looking for Lord Gilbrand and a man named Yozer.”
Despite his own rising anger, Yozer laughed. “‘A man named Yozer?’ What a presumptuous dog. I am Master Yozer, ruler of all you see. Gilbrand is dead. Speak quickly, you already try my patience.”
“My apologies, my lord,” Riven said around a lump in his throat. “I meant no disrespect. I am here to bargain with you! Only a few men of our humble village are responsible for these transgressions. Please, let us continue in peace. I don’t know the nature of Gilbrand’s passing, but we would be happy to reinstate the terms we had with him. And in return for sparing us and letting us live on in safety, I can deliver to you the people who have disgraced you,” Riven finished with a self-satisfied smirk.
Yozer had stopped paying attention halfway through the speech, waiting only for this peon to finish squawking. “You have forgotten your place. The weak can make no bargains in this world. Those with wants must take what they desire. I don’t need your help to bring retribution to the men who have disgraced me. I’m taking them, and your entire village, because that is what I want.” He addressed Captain Ricard, speaking sharply. “I have no interest in this. Kill him and be quick about it. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
Captain Ricard signaled to his men to grab Riven. The doctor tried to run but was quickly captured.
“Wait, no! Please!” Terror wiped the smile from his face as he pleaded with the soldiers. “I have so much to offer! I’m a healer of men; you won’t find a greater talent than me in all the world! Please!”
Riven’s shrill screams rang through the forest as the soldiers cut him apart.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hanar had taken his position. He was stationed in a tree a fair distance away from Somerville directly off the dirt road leading to Castle Gilbrand. If their assailants were going to approach with an army it would have to be on this path.
His perch made him feel like a flightless bird, stuck in a nest without any freedom to fly away. His pack was propped up against the trunk of the tree below, out of sight from the road. In a crook between branch and trunk, he had carefully stowed his bow and quiver. He pictured the others in his place on the branch: Faldo, the chief, maybe even Pent. They would be bored out of their minds if they could even make their way up here. For Hanar, this was second nature. Fishing, hunting—he could spend the greater part of a day just lying in wait, mind wandering.
The hours had begun to feel never-ending, and he couldn’t even be sure how long he’d been on that branch when he caught sight of a group of men approaching on horseback. Many of the men had armored chests that shimmered in the sun. One man wore a cloak as black as night. They have arrived, and in the light of day at that. I thought for sure they would come in the cover of darkness. He thought back to what Pent had told him, and the thought gave him hope. They must not have believed Somerville would try and fight back. Let’s hope their arrogance is misplaced…
They were some distance away but advancing quickly. They would be able to see him if he dropped down. Hanar could afford to wait no longer.
He sprang out of the branch, swinging down to the dirt fifteen feet below. A shout rose up from behind. They’ve spotted me, it couldn’t be helped. Hanar grabbed at his pack, rummaging through it in search of Pent’s lighter.
A subtle wind blew past his ear. The arrow had come so close that it brushed his knuckles when he turned toward the source of the sound. He was on his feet, moving quickly and keeping as low to the ground as he could manage. Two more arrows impacted close by, but he was on the move, and they were still far off. Hanar chanced a moment to turn and look.
Four men on horseback had left the pack and were charging him. They held their swords high and shouted out a war cry. They’ve already cleared that much space? He let his fingers take over, as he loosened his bow and notched an arrow.
The arrow flew straight, sinking into the closest horseman’s neck. The soldier grunted, toppled over, and crashed to the ground. His panicked horse veered into the horse charging beside it and knocked the rider askew. Hanar grinned as he notched and loosed a second arrow, which struck the floundering soldier’s hip. By sheer luck, the arrow glanced off the soldier’s plated thigh and up into the gap at his hip. The soldier howled in agony and dropped his sword, barely maintaining his seat. “Easier than hunting squirrels. Much bigger targets.”
Hanar shuffled low through the grass, his hands feeling around the ground for something he had laid out the night before. Then he had it: two branches tied together and thickly woven with leaves. The branches were quickly set across the path, supported on each side by a thick bush.
Lighter in hand, Hanar flicked it down as Pent said, and a bright flame appeared. It was an easy thing to light up the bushes and the branch. He ran from trap to trap, starting five different fires, and then scurried into the woods on the other side. He rushed like a rabbit through the forest along the straightest path to Somerville he knew. After traveling a fair distance, he turned, looking back at the invaders.
The three closest surviving horsemen had only made it as far as the trap he had laid, and now seemed to be desperately looking into the forest in all directions. Not a woodsman among them. Hanar’s small fire had quickly become a raging inferno, blocking the army from moving further. The bushes along the side of the path were feeding the flames, which grew to the height of a full-grown man in moments. From where he was standing, the path was completely obstructed. I hope it doesn’t burn down the whole forest, Hanar mused, frowning under his beard.
He had wasted enough time there already, and so he doubled his efforts to return to Somerville. He reached into his pack as he ran and pulled out his horn. He was nearly to the ridge overlooking Somerville as he gripped his handiwork carefully. He drew the horn to his lips and bellowed with all of the air in his lungs. The sound boomed out, echoing down the ravine and scattering birds into the sky.
“They have to have heard that.”
* * *
Pent heard Hanar’s horn sound off while in the middle of a training exercise. He was coaching a villager on his sword technique when the noise split the air. He could see Hanar running along the ridge towards the entrance of Somerville. Here we go.
“Alright, guys, this is it! Everyone on me!”
Heart hammering inside his chest, Pent took off for the fortifications at the entrance into town. He saw Chief Pohk draw up to the front, gripping a small sword, and he shared a nod with the older man, who seemed twenty years younger. They posted up behind Faldo’s fortifications. Pent looked around for the architect but didn’t see him. Cenk was there in a full suit of armor, decked out head to toe, and even had a helmet. Pent was green with jealousy looking at his outfit. Cenk did not have a sword though, instead wielding the same large hammer he used for his blacksmithing.
Chief Pohk was red-faced and breathless as he looked up at Pent. “So, you heard it too? Is this—”
He stopped speaking when they saw Hanar running into town, stopping in front of Pent and Chief Pohk. Mother Lyle rushed through the gathering crowd to hug her brother.
Hanar, looking tired himself, said, “You all heard the horn then. Our time planning was well spent.”
Pent regarded the ridge. “What’s the damage?” Hanar stared at him in confusion. “Oh, damn it, you know what I’m asking! What’s
the deal, the situation? What’s happening in the forest, Hanar?”
“It looks like many men. On horseback, armored as well. I did not have the chance to count them, but,” he gestured to the smoke rising into the air above the forest, “I think I’ve slowed them down a bit.”
Now I see why he needed the lighter. The forest was quickly becoming chaos, and the smoke was visible even from within the ravine. It would be a miracle for Gilbrand’s men to get through the wildfire at all.
“You’ve done well, Hanar, very well. Leave the rest for us,” the chief said. The children were approaching, and Hanar waved for them to join him.
“The moment of battle approaches, so I’d best be off. Good luck, my friends.”
“Hanar!” Mother Lyle took his hands in her own and held them close to her heart. “Be safe. Err on the side of caution.”
“I’m afraid those words would be better spent on you all. I’m sure the chief wouldn’t mind if you came with me. The forest will be a safer place to wait out this storm.”
She spoke before the chief could respond: “I won’t muddle our minds at this late stage, questioning our roles in this plan. Your place is out there, protecting those who can’t protect themselves. I’m not one of them.” She dropped his hands. “Now go, quickly! And with caution!”
Hanar gathered up his flock and marched into the forest to the south, away from the danger.
“Everyone! Take your positions! Behind the fortifications, you to the left. Pent, you take the right. Raise those fires up! Go!” The chief was gesturing with his sword, looking like a Roman commander.
Pent jogged over to the right, saw Faldo approach and nodded to him. Faldo took up position by his side. “It seems the time has finally arrived. Apologies for my delay. Just asking my father for good fortune.”