They’d lost one man already, the man whose leg had been torn apart by a Black Wolf had died of his injuries. They’d lose more now.
Hava grumbled, kicking the ground. He should’ve known he’d be kept out of the action, but he’d gotten used to the idea he’d be privileged enough to know Captain Goga, so that he could write about him.
Captain Goga was an intriguing character, and though Hava had been reluctant at first, he’d gotten some excitement out of their relationship. But now he was left out, and he wouldn’t know what’ll happen, only what Goga and his men would care to mention to him. Next time, Hava swore he wouldn’t be left out of Goga’s activities, he’d become involved.
The men had entered the grove, and next he heard a scream from that direction. It’d been an ambush, the trees themselves seemed to move with the force of the attack. Or were the trees themselves actually fighting with a magic spell? He picked up as many packs as he could and ran to get away before whoever was in the grove attacked him next.
* * * *
As Goga and his fourteen guards rode across the valley, he grimaced. Perhaps he should’ve planned this pursuit out better, but there was no way he could’ve anticipated every possibility.
Perhaps Fobata would’ve done a better job as the strategist of their unit during the campaign waged against Urso almost twenty years ago, but he wasn’t here, was he? No, it was just him and his men now, the way it should be.
Suddenly he noticed the lip of the ridge ahead. “Hold up!”
He jerked back on the reins of his horse, startling the beast and others tried to arrest their mounts as well. However, a few couldn’t stop and their horses either fell or jumped into the ravine ahead, close to a copse larger than the grove they’d passed before.
Goga and some of his guards skirted the edge of the ravine to check on their mates below, when suddenly arrows and even a few spells flew through the air from the direction of the copse. Several were seriously wounded as a platoon of Coe Wina guards rushed out of the copse.
Goga and his men charged at the other soldiers and desperately fought while the Coe Aela guards scrambled to get out of the ravine before they were massacred.
* * * *
The Coe Wina guard ordered Basha and his friends to duck down and hide when they spotted Goga’s forces approaching the grove. They waited, watching as the guards split up and heard and glimpsed the fight taking place in the grove.
“Are you fighting with magic?” Monika lifted her head.
“Some of us have a little training with the gift.” The Coe Wina guard nodded.
For a moment they saw someone running off toward a distant slope, but they ignored the runaway for now, especially as several Coe Wina guards had taken off after him. Once the battle settled down, the Coe Wina guard and Basha’s group got up to check the grove.
Squad A! Status!” the guard called.
Several men emerged from the grove, dressed in red and black uniforms. “We’ve captured two, the rest are either dead or dying,” One of them said. “Most of us are all right, though some need healing. All of the Coe Aela guards were on foot, but the first three who entered the grove were chasing their horses.”
Suddenly, the animals in question burst out of the grove, startling the Coe Wina guards present. But Basha, Monika, and Oaka called out to their animals, and staggered forward to greet and subdue the mounts.
“Are these your horses?” one of the guards asked.
“Yes, we’d been forced to leave them behind. We’ve missed them very much.” Basha brushed Talan’s forehead as the animal butted his muzzle at him.
“I suppose you can keep them,” Squad A leader said. “We’ve no use for them, and you can rest on the ride back to Coe Wina. We’ll collect the prisoners, and check on the rest of the platoon.”
Once they were ready, with Gnat sitting behind Basha on Talan and Fato flying above, they headed off toward the ravine. The group’s horses balked as they approached, and even humans with less sensitive noses gagged at the fresh smell of death, and what they saw was even worse.
The massacre had barely ended not long ago and some of the victims still lived, though they were fading fast. Coe Wina guards had taken charge of the horses, to stop the group from riding off if they so intended, and forced them to continue on as the B Squad rejoined the platoon with no prisoners and some wounded.
Gnat covered her eyes, unwilling to look as Basha, Monika, Oaka and Fato couldn’t stop staring, realizing they were responsible for this bloodshed, having brought the Coe Aela guards to the ambush.
They had to face what they’d done. Basha recalled the fight he’d been a part of in the warehouse, and how much worse it was to be part of such an action, like one of the Coe Wina or Coe Aela guards.
To be involved in such bloodshed, yet removed from it as well, unable to fully process what was happening around them except for what needed to be done in the moment. Everything was filtered through the senses, and the edges were dulled until reflection made them more vivid in the mind. The men who survived would remember.
He’d feared being chased down and killed by Goga’s men, and now it was the Coe Aela guards who’d suffered a similar fate. It didn’t make him feel any better, just worse.
Monika studied the dead and captured men. “Where’s Captain Goga? Was he amongst them?”
“We saw his personal flag at the grove, but he wasn’t there. Apparently, he was fighting here, but he got away. Several men went after him. Hopefully he’ll be captured or killed,” one of the guards said.
The group shuddered at the thought of Goga still on the loose, with Gnat in particular clutching Basha tighter. But there was nothing they could do for now, and they pushed on past the copse and its carnage towards the castle on its motte along with the captured Coe Aela guards.
* * * *
Bitter defeat, Doomba could feel it from far away, Goga had failed. Perhaps he should’ve let the Black Wolves tear up the Knights of Arria before they even arrived at Coe Aela.
Now as far as he was concerned, both Fobata and Goga were dead to him. He’d look to other Followers and Servants now.
Doomba raised his head then, the mask shifting with him, as a gruelmoff flew in through the window of his throne room. The bird had flown a long way, at great speed, to convey its message, which turned out to be a long-winded explanation and apology from Fobata. The gruelmoff completed the message before it promptly collapsed and died from exhaustation.
“Useless, what a waste.” Doomba called upon a gringrok to dispose of the carcass.
As several dragged it off, anticipating the feast to come, Doomba contemplated the full extent of what he’d learned or hadn’t learned from the message. It confirmed some things he knew, but there was also the matter of Lord Crow, who’d apparently told Fobata the barest details about these travelers.
Did Lord Crow know they were Knights of Arria with the tiger of light amongst them? Why hadn’t he said more to Fobata, who was bound to fail without understanding who and what he was dealing with? Certainly Lord Crow hadn’t told Doomba what he might’ve suspected or known about these travelers.
For this offense alone, Doomba could destroy Lord Crow, but he paused here to think. Lord Crow had served him loyally and provided him with useful information, such as ‘The Tiger Prophecy.’ Doomba couldn’t discredit him too quickly, or else he might lose a reliable source of knowledge and power, someone capable of coordinating and guiding other Followers.
Yet he might be a threat considering his personal influence had grown, and he could use that against Doomba if he so desired. Doomba had put too much trust into this man, who might not deserve it.
Who was Lord Crow that Doomba should fear him? Who was Lord Crow that Doomba should set such store in him? Who was Lord Crow to think that he could stand above other Followers?
It was foolish to think of Lord Crow as a threat as he was nothing compared to Doomba, yet he wasn’t completely harmless. He’d some skill and intel
ligence, after all, coming up with plans to take over the kingdom and finding out secrets kept hidden from Doomba’s sight.
He knew more than he expressed, which made him someone to consider. Not every man was like him.
For now, Doomba would observe Lord Crow whenever he got the chance, to ensure that the lord was going about his business as usual without any hidden or deceitful activity upon his part, unrelated to Follower business, of course. And then, if anything should come up that seemed too underhanded even for a Follower, Doomba would press upon his crony in every way possible until Lord Crow broke and confessed to treachery, or died. Though both ways led to death eventually.
One final question, though, who was the servant woman who’d helped the travelers, the Knights and the tiger, escape? That was something Doomba would dearly want to know, the first proof that the tiger’s protectors existed. They’d be severely punished for having kept the identity of the tiger a secret from him for so long.
One of the gringroks slipped back into the throne room, wiping off some drool and gruelmoff blood. “Oh, apparently, the great creatures in the Pits have stopped working.”
“What?” Doomba swiveled his head around to glare at the beast.
“Yes, a Trolla came with the message. It didn’t want to see you, though.” The gringrok cowered.
“Never have I tolerated such insubordination.” Doomba frowned. “The great creatures have stopped working, the flooding in the tunnel, the escape attempt, the stolen equipment and disturbances…yes, something is going on down there. Maybe it’s not the Trollas who are to blame. Maybe one of the great creatures is causing a riot. We know how to punish them, don’t we?”
“Yes, sire, I’ll pass it along.” The gringrok scurried off.
* * * *
Hastin wandered through the park in front of town hall, unable to imagine how so many people could squeeze onto this plot of land, especially with trees, bushes, benches, and even a clock tower in the way. But they managed somehow, with only minor spillage out onto the street that surrounded what had once been the town square the children had fought over so many years ago.
All of these witnesses, lumberjacks, farmers, mill workers, wives, husbands, shop owners, craftspeople, even a few members of the town militia, here to watch as the candidates running for mayor of Coe Baba stood up to give them great soaring speeches on why they should vote for this particular person.
Hastin didn’t know if it was some kind of spell, a delusion to make them believe these candidates could make some kind of difference in their lives. Or maybe it was just a distraction from their ordinary lives to see these individuals competing against each other, perhaps with a little bloodletting involved.
Whatever it was, Hastin thought it was working with its effect on the crowd. These people were intrigued and caught up in the action, perhaps even thinking that what these candidates offered them was real.
But it wasn’t real, it could never be real. No mayor in the history of Coe Baba had ever made a difference as far as he was aware of. As far as he knew, there was no chance that any mayor could cause any real change in the lives of these people.
Now his father Baron Augwys had some real power over the townspeople, being able to enforce laws, levy taxes, and officiate civil ceremonies. He could cause some serious, drastic changes if he so wished, though he hardly ever did.
People here had problems acknowledging the baron’s power over them, hating and fearing the possibility he might exercise it. Thus, Baron Augwys restrained himself as much as possible, knowing they might turn on him and Arria’s government if he went beyond the bonds of acceptable behavior, taxing them too strongly or being too strict in enforcement.
Hastin hated the fact that his father, technically the most powerful authority figure in town, had to bow down to the whims and expectations of the townspeople. He even relinquished some of his power to them. But Hastin had to acknowledge that the baron’s power would mean nothing if people didn’t accept him.
So Hastin had to accept the fact that the townspeople had the right to pick a mayoral candidate to represent them, and the baron had the right to stay out of this mayoral election, if he so chose. Thus, Hastin was here to witness the mayoral debate, and take the temperature of public opinion on his own.
His father had decided to stay at home, not wanting to be seen as favoring one candidate over another, which he might since one of those candidates was Lapo, his friend and business partner. There was also no chance that Hastin would ever run for mayor.
For one thing, he didn’t have to, guaranteed some security in life as one of Baron Augwys’s sons. He’d a certain amount of freedom to decide what he wanted to do with his life.
And he didn’t feel like parading about, degrading himself and his candidacy, and lying to people just for the chance to get a powerless position of authority. He already had one, thank you very much.
He didn’t know what he wanted out of life, or what he would do, but at least he didn’t have to stand up and make speeches about what he believed in, or what he could do to improve other people’s lots in life. He was comfortable with his lot, and he didn’t need to improve his own, or anyone else’s.
For another thing, he’d already embarrassed himself trying to take a stand for what he believed in, and degrade Basha and Oaka in the process, and what had that led to? His sister hated him, his father berated him, the townspeople distrusted him, Sir Nickleby had quit the town militia and Jawen didn’t love him.
He’d lost the popularity contest. A lot of people turned against him, and he couldn’t curry their favor. At this rate, he’d never be able to satisfy anybody but himself, and he didn’t feel very satisfied.
What could bring him peace, and maybe win again the hearts and minds of the people who’d turned against him? The position of mayor of Coe Baba didn’t have the strength necessary to win back people’s affections. He wondered where Jawen was.
“If I were elected mayor,” Lapo stood in front of the crowd on the stage erected for this event, “This town would enter a new age of peace and prosperity. We must turn our backs on the past, forget everything that’s happened before. We must look forward to a new era of progress. People deserve better than to receive the messes their ancestors have left behind.”
He held for applause and a few whoops from the crowd. His wife Mawen sat behind him, clapping her hands giddily with Tuki and Annalise sitting next to her. Their other children, meanwhile, wandered around, loose amidst the spectators.
Hastin spotted Fence and Rajar, Jawen’s two younger brothers, in an alleyway near the post office, fighting against each other with practice wooden swords. They greeted each other and Hastin complimented their father’s speech.
“Ugh.” Fence tilted his head back. “It’s all right if he becomes mayor, but what I would really like is for someone to replace Sir Nickleby as head of the town militia.”
“We can’t get anybody,” Rajar said.
“Who will train me or the other twelve-year-olds?” Fence asked.
“Surely there are some in the town militia who are willing?” Hastin asked.
“They say they’re too busy, training themselves and maintaining the patrols without Sir Nickleby’s help,” Fence said. “Sir Nickleby did most of the boys’ training, he’d the most experience and was the best teacher.”
“We can’t get anybody like Sir Nickleby. No one could teach us like Sir Nickleby could,” Rajar said, looking down.
Hastin hesitated, and then said, “First of all…may I borrow your sword for a moment, Rajar?”
Rajar handed over his wooden practice sword. “What’re you going to do with it?”
“Teach you both something. Now, when you’re in first position, you hold your sword up like this,” Hastin demonstrated before he helped Fence and then Rajar imitate it.
Habala stepped forward now to speak. “While my opponent is correct in saying we need a change, I don’t think we can turn our backs on the past. We must deal
with our ancestors’ messes, and change the world and ourselves in the process. We must face the mistakes and faults of the past to make a better world!”
The crowd roared. She still wasn’t sure what she was doing, running for mayor against Lapo, but she couldn’t let the merchant win without a fight. She’d been convinced by Geda, by the fact that Lapo was running, and by her friends, including Brigga, to consider the possibility.
As the applause died, Habala cried, “We must forge a new future out of the past, correct the mistakes. One of those mistakes, a fundamental one, was that we shut ourselves off, lost connection with the world. I say we should expand our connection to other communities, and welcome strangers to Coe Baba. For my first act as mayor, if elected, I’ll expand our town’s definition of what it means to be a citizen so that people would feel welcomed enough to stay and work here for the rest of their lives.”
“Come again?” Lapo said.
“You heard me, it’s time to open ourselves up.” Habala turned to face the merchant. “Coe Baba must not be shut out of the world. We must face and embrace the world,” She turned to the crowd. “Only then can we grow and prosper so that Coe Baba will become a great town, one that the rest of Arria can look up to.”
She missed her sons Basha and Oaka, but she hoped they’d be proud of her. She wanted to make Geda happy, honor the boys, and perhaps it was the right thing to do.
Geda sat behind her, listening with quiet approval as he wondered if she was thinking of Basha in that moment. After what happened with Smidge and Brigga, perhaps this was a step in the right direction to getting back to a semblance of normality and moving on.
Smidge had been released earlier today after ten days in solitary confinement, minus an afternoon in the stocks, and about twenty lashes for assault. He hadn’t spoken to his brother since leaving him at jail, just told him he wasn’t welcomed back at The Smiling Stallion inn, and he wasn’t sure what Smidge was going to do now. He didn’t care, so long as Smidge stayed away and left them in peace.
Servants and Followers Page 25