by Wilson Harp
But there was another blow of horns, this time closer. Croft knew he hadn’t imagined them; he just hoped that they were coming toward the inn.
“The horns,” Ermine said loudly enough to be heard by the men holding back the barbarians. “They sound closer.”
“We need to get the fires out,” Martel shouted. “We’ll still burn even if they get here in a few minutes.”
Croft felt his legs wobble, and he was panicked that he had taken a wound he wasn’t aware of. Blood loss can sneak up on a warrior in the heat of battle and bleed him out before he realizes it. But all of the barbarians he faced staggered and swayed at the same time. Thunder. It was a giant peal of thunder that swept over the inn.
Rain poured from the sky in the next few seconds—rain like Croft had never seen before. Sheets of water obscured the shadows moving just outside the windows, and the temperature in the inn dropped to a frigid level.
The barbarians in the common room started looking around and edging away from the line of defenders. The ones outside tried to work their way in to escape the deluge. Smoke was starting to fill the room from the small fires that had been successfully set and the smoke that poured in from the kitchen. Croft knew that even with the heavy rain he had only minutes to save the inn from burning down.
The horns sounded again. This time they rang out clear and true, no more than a hundred yards from the inn. The rain was starting to slacken, and the barbarians outside started shouting and running. They ran away from the horns and toward the town of Black Oak.
“Drive them out!” Baldric shouted as he ran at the closest barbarian.
The man was shocked by the quick dwarf and flew into the air as Baldric’s warhammer connected right under his jaw with a solid crack. The dwarf’s brutal strike set everything into motion again. The line of defenders yelled and charged forward while the barbarians in the inn scrambled outside through the broken windows and shattered door.
Croft allowed himself a few solid swings, two of which left another pair of dead barbarians on his common room floor, before he ran over to the ash bucket sitting by the fire place and hurried into the kitchen. Ermine was right behind him. She had dropped her crossbow and had an empty half-barrel that he kept behind the bar. She was thinking the same thing Croft was thinking; get to the well out back.
The almost frozen air in the common room made the kitchen feel like the furnace at the smithy. When the door swung open, the blast of fiery wind almost caused Croft to surrender his inn to its fate. Ermine dove into the smoke and flames ahead of him. Croft gritted his teeth and pushed forward, the smoke too thick to see clearly. He could feel the cold breeze from outside pouring into the kitchen making it a little more bearable the further in he pushed. He turned and threw the bucket of ashes onto the barrels of rendered fat that would burn the hottest and staggered to the door to make his way to the well just behind the inn.
He coughed and sputtered as he cleared the threshold of the kitchen door. He dropped to one knee to try to get under the smoke. Ermine was on her knees in front of him. She wheezed and coughed as she tried to get clean air in her lungs.
“Hold,” a deep voice commanded.
Croft looked up and saw five barbarians walking toward him. They each carried a sword and shield, but his eyes were blurry from the smoke, and the rain and dark kept the colors of their war paints hidden from him.
“Peace,” the innkeeper croaked out.
“Croft?” The voice was surprised and full of concern. The lead barbarian stepped forward, and Croft could see his face clearly.
“Kimil? Is that you?” Croft asked.
“It is. And that is Ermine,” he said looking at the wounded woman who knelt and coughed nearby.
“The Reytrus attacked the inn. Why are you here?”
“Go get Kragdin,” Kimil ordered one of his men. He watched his warrior run toward the front of the inn. “Kragdin will tell you; he is our battle chief now.”
Croft tried to pull himself to standing. He used the haft of his great axe like a staff, but the ash bucket dropped from his weakened grip.
“I have to save the inn,” he gasped.
Kimil motioned for two of his men to take the bucket by Croft and the half-barrel lying near Ermine. The men grabbed the containers and went to the well to fill them.
Croft sat down hard and watched as the Padashite warriors moved quickly to dowse the flames threatening his livelihood. The rain was steady, and even if it was not a downpour it would still help the men fight against the flames.
“Do you have a diviner with you?” Croft asked as he motioned to the storm clouds.
“No,” Kimil said. “The clouds suddenly formed over your inn when we saw the flames in the distance. I think the rains end less than an hour’s walk in any direction.”
Croft shook his head to clear it and looked around.
“We have no wizards in the inn. So who sent the rains if you have no diviners with you?”
“Perhaps it was the elves,” Kimil said. He pointed back to a row of trees about three miles from the inn.
Croft looked in the direction the barbarian pointed. If a bird flew straight, it would go over the line of trees and hit the Shadowmist Wood about ten miles later.
“How many elves did you see?” Croft asked as he gained his feet.
“Just one, standing on a branch looking this way. But there were close to thirty Reytrus warriors under the trees and two of their diviners,” Kimil said. “That would indicate at least a dozen elven warriors, maybe more.”
Croft just nodded instead of voicing his suspicions.
“Croft. Ermine. Good to see you alive, my friends,” the booming voice of Kragdin called out to the injured pair as he rounded the inn.
“The fighting is over?” Ermine asked. She had propped herself up against the back wall of the inn. She cradled her left arm against her stomach.
“The seemed to fight well, but most fled toward Black Oak when they saw that we were coming in force.”
“Why are you here, Kragdin?” Croft asked.
“You are not pleased to see us?”
“I am. I truly am pleased. It is like a gift from the Divine. But how did you know?”
“The Reytrus started gathering and marching two four days ago. When we saw some of their villages emptied along the edges of their lands, we sent in some scouts. What they reported back was terrible news. The Reytrus dogs had killed all of their slaves, their very old and those too sick to travel.” Kragdin made a face of disgust.
“They abandoned their villages?”
“Yes. All of their villages. The entire tribe of Reytrus have left the mountains and have come this way.”
“That must be fifty thousand men, women and children,” Ermine said. “Why would they march with the entire tribe?”
“Their diviners must have been told to do so. They must have been promised great power for the entire tribe to march.” Kragdin looked toward Black Oak. “About half went toward Black Oak, the others went toward Gen.”
Croft pushed himself to his feet with his greataxe. “Half went to Black Oak? The town can’t withstand an attack like that.”
“And they sent enough men toward Gen to prevent aid from getting to Black Oak in time,” Ermine added.
Kragdin nodded. “I sent a third of my men to prevent the Reytrus at Gen from joining those besieging Black Oak too quickly. The rest of my men will buy the town some time. Three days behind us march the combined armies of the Kormon, Lasroth, and Vis Rall. I hope we can save Black Oak, but we will make sure that the Reytrus are destroyed.”
“Three days may be too late,” Martel said as he staggered around the building. He looked at the innkeeper. “We have the fires under control, Croft. The inn will be saved.”
Croft released a deep breath and looked around at the inn and its surroundings. The rain had dropped to mere sprinkles, but the combined downpour and heavy smoke from the fires had created a thick haze.
“Why wou
ld three days be too late, Martel?” Kragdin asked.
“The Cult of Cathos is planning something big. We don’t know all of the details yet, but I think the Reytrus are a part of it.”
“Three Reytrus came through here about three months ago, a battle lord and a diviner among them,” Croft said. “They stayed for one night and headed out the next morning before dawn. They were asking about Balcchor. Some from the town said they passed through Black Oak in the early morning and turned south to the swamp.”
“My father died fighting Cathos and his men. I took vengeance on those of his followers I could find. If the Reytrus are followers of Cathos now, then I add to my honor for each one I kill,” Kragdin said. “It is good to see you again, my friends. I will leave Kimil here with a small group to guard you as you find rest.”
“It’s great to see you, Kragdin,” Martel said. “But I think we need to get someone to Gen as fast as we can to let them know about Black Oak. We have some friends that should be near there who can help.”
“Friends who are more capable than Mondroth warriors?” Kragdin asked.
Croft knew that his Padashite friend wasn’t offended, nor was he trying to be dismissive of the fighting men of Gen.
“Namos the wizard, Donal the woodsman, and Calaran the bard,” Ermine said.
Kragdin’s eyebrows rose in approval. “Those are some strong friends you have. If you can bring them, Black Oak may survive.”
Ermine pointed to a gray mare that had somehow broken free from the stables out front. It was under the apple tree behind the inn.
“If you can catch her, I can ride through the night,” Ermine said.
“Your arm is badly injured,” Martel said. “And you are exhausted.”
“Magda patched me up enough, and I am no more exhausted than anyone else. Besides, I’m the best rider here. If anyone has a chance of making it through the Padashite lines to the gates of Gen, I do.”
Martel sighed and nodded.
Croft heard sobbing and movement from the darkened door that led to the kitchen. Small wisps of smoked still trickled out, and soon Magda and Cassie appeared, dragging out smoldering bags and crates. Magda looked like she could chew sheet metal clean through. She had survived several assaults on the inn when Mancorl had owned it, and he had warned Croft to give her wide berth for a few weeks if it happened again. She disliked having to clean up after others had made a mess of her kitchen. Cassie was sobbing. She was scared, and tired, and frightened. But she would do what Magda told her without breaking down completely.
“Innkeeper? Innkeeper?” One of the merchants was calling for Croft from the front of the inn. Croft shouldered his axe and moved to where he could see the man.
“Over here, Master Devlin,” Croft called as he drew nearer the man. Both merchants and their three surviving guards were standing near the tall elm in front of the inn. Croft took a quick moment to survey the damage to his inn from the front. Windows and doors were broken open, and smoke still drifted up from various spots. The stables and outbuildings were gone, though. Piles of smoldering wood and thatch were all that was left.
Master Devlin’s wagon had been overturned, and some of his boxes and crates were broken open and scattered around the front yard.
Most of the animals in the stables, both the horses and mules, seemed to have been slaughtered by the barbarians.
Croft shook his head as he turned back to the merchants. This attack would wipe out all of his savings and then some.
“Innkeeper, where are my mules? I wish to upright my wagon and get on the road within the hour.” Master Devlin said.
“I believe they’re dead, Devlin,” said his companion, Master Alton.
“Then we demand new ones.”
“Master Devlin, I’m sure you can see that I have no mules or horses that I can loan you. We barely survived with our lives,” Croft said. “But the Reytrus have been driven off for now and the inn is secure. There might be a little smoke still lingering, but I’ll air out your rooms and you can stay here as long as you like for free.”
“Stay!” Devlin said. “I’m not staying one minute longer than necessary! I intend to be in Black Oak in an hour!”
“The men who attacked us tonight were just a small group of the Reytrus who are marching toward Black Oak now. They will attempt to destroy the town. You will be no safer there.”
“Then Gen! Get me a horse and I will ride by myself!”
“There are no horses, Master Devlin, and the Reytrus are heading toward Gen as well. They are planning to prevent aid from reaching Black Oak.”
Ermine rode out from behind the inn on the gray mare. She wheeled quickly when she reached the road and galloped away into the night.
Master Devlin stared at her with his jaw hanging open.
“We had one horse, but she is going to try to break through the ranks of their army to reach the men of Gen and let them know about the siege of Black Oak,” Croft said.
“Master Devlin, let’s just stay here for the night. In the morning we may have a better understanding of what our options are,” Master Alton said.
“Very well.” Master Devlin stepped over to Croft and pointed a finger in his face. “But someone will pay for my mules and wares. And I expect to have the cost of my rooms returned to me.”
“Of course, Master Devlin,” Croft said as he bowed.
Croft growled under his breath as he watched the merchants and their guards go through the shattered doorframe leading into his common room. The Mondroth warriors had moved out most of the dead bodies of the Reytrus. They were stacked like cordwood along the front of the inn. The lone body under the sheet was one of the merchants’ guards. Croft was sure that Master Devlin was not worried about who would pay the family of the dead guard.
“Maybe if his body had been in a stack, he would have been happier,” Martel said as he walked up beside Croft.
“You know merchants,” Croft said. “Their business is their life. They forget that their lives aren’t their business.”
“Where is Baldric?” Martel asked.
He and Croft looked around for the dwarf.
“Oh, Croft, I’m so sorry,” Martel said quietly after a few seconds. “I sent Baldric to tell those in the cellar that the fighting was over.”
“You mean… he’s down there with all of my barrels of beer?” Croft asked.
Martel nodded and both men broke for the front of the door in a sprint.
“I’ve already lost enough money tonight,” Croft snarled at Martel.
“I’m sorry, I’ll cover as much as I can,” Martel said as they ran.
The Siege of Black Oak
Medrick was dreaming when he drifted awake. He was younger and riding with his sister and one of her friends on the fields near his father’s farm. As he lay with his eyes closed, the last few images of his dream fading, he lamented the fact that his sister hadn’t ridden off on her own leaving him alone with Alana for a while. She would be eighteen this summer, and he often thought about returning to Loramund and wooing her again. As an apprentice wizard, he knew her father would be glad for the match.
He opened his eyes and was surprised by the darkness. The sounds of Master Orias moving about were what had pulled him from sleep, but even if the sun had not risen yet, the servants generally had lit the hallway lamps and started breakfast in the kitchen. There was only the faintest starlight coming through the small window in the room he had in the tower. He clearly heard Master Orias moving around in the room directly above him, though.
Medrick slid off of his bed and grabbed his robe from the chair. He wrapped it around him as he made his way over to the window. The slight chill in the air was indication that winter was soon approaching. At the solstice, he would be tested for his knowledge, and he felt that he would exceed Master Orias’ expectations.
He looked up at the night sky and calculated what time it was. According to the stars, it was only two hours past the midpoint of the night—another
three hours before the sun would rise. Master Orias must have some reason to be moving around so much.
The sound of a door opening followed by quick footfalls on the stairs leading down from the highest room of the tower alerted Medrick that Master Orias was heading toward his room. He turned and had started toward the door when it flew open.
“Medrick. Good, you are awake. Attend me on the balcony.” Master Orias barked his orders and turned quickly from the room. His quick steps on the stairs pressed the idea of urgency, and Medrick followed without delay. He reached his Master’s living chambers and went straight to the balcony that overlooked most of the town of Black Oak.
Medrick stifled a yawn as he stepped out beside Master Orias. The wizard already had his robes, belt of spell components, and heavy cloak on.
“Why are you up so early, Master?” Medrick asked.
Master Orias pointed toward the east gate of the town. There seemed to be a lot of movement. Men with torches were running back and forth before the gate and along the city wall. A vast swath of shadows seemed to stretch beyond the gate. It stretched along the road and across the fields as far as Medrick could see.
“What is that?”
“An army. An army meant to destroy Black Oak. Listen,” Master Orias said.
Horns started being sounded by the guards as they became fully aware of what was heading toward them. The warning horns of the town guard were answered by the bells of the Shrine and the town hall. Candles and lamps started appearing in windows across the town in short order.
“Go get dressed, Medrick. We will be needed at the gate. Bring your belt and be ready to keep wards and protections on me. I will direct the magic we will need this night.”
Medrick bowed to his master and hurried back to his room to prepare for the dangerous night ahead.
In his room Medrick laid out his robes and the pouches of powders and dust he would use for his magical spells. Master Orias had said that he would need Medrick to keep casting wards and protections on him. Medrick picked out those pouches that would be needed for such work. After he had dressed and put on his belt of pouches, he pulled out his heavy, fur-lined cloak. It wasn’t overly cold outside, but weather in Black Oak was known to change quickly. He also grabbed the staff that Horas, Lendin, and Baldric had taken from the wizard they had killed when they had destroyed the orc tribe. He had studied it since Horas had given it to him, but he still wasn’t sure what it did. He had deciphered a command word, but had been hesitant about testing the staff without Master Orias supervising.