The Grim Wanderer

by James Wolf

  ‘We must let the Kruns come to us.’ Taem looked to each of the other battle leaders.

  There was silence, as most of the Aborle just scowled at Taem.

  ‘And how do you propose we do that, farmboy?’ Shandor snarled.

  Taem wondered if he should just walk away, but there were lives at stake, and that gave him the confidence to speak up for himself.

  ‘I might have been raised on a farm,’ Taem glared at Shandor, ‘but on my farm I spent ten years being taught how to use this,’ Taem touched his sword. ‘My Master also taught me about the battles of history, and I have studied enough of war to know you are outnumbered and outmatched.’

  Every Aborle stared at him in shock. Taem would never normally have the self-assurance to talk like this, but this was what he had spent half a lifetime training for.

  ‘This has been done before,’ Taem said strongly, ‘these odds have been beaten before, at the Treblan Bridge – and we should copy the strategy the Aritians used there. A small force will lie in wait for the enemy. They will spring an ambush, kill some of the Krun – make them angry, make them witless. Then pretend to flee, back to the village, where our main force will be standing firm. Bring the Krun onto our arrows.’

  Some of the Aborle now looked impressed. Taem saw Shandor was no longer scowling, and seemed to be deliberating.

  ‘Make the Krun angry?’ Another Aborle murmured. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Anger may quicken the senses,’ Taem said confidently, ‘but it will dull what little thought these Krun have. When they see Aborle fleeing, they will be too eager for slaughter not to pursue. And if there’s one thing I know about Krun,’ Taem said darkly, ‘it is they will be excited by the prospect of murder.’

  ‘But how can we allow the enemy to come so close to the village?’ An Aborle muttered.

  ‘We are luring them into a trap,’ Taem nodded. ‘The Krun are fierce, but not too bright. The sight of our fleeing warriors will be enough for those savages to give chase. The Krun’s frenzy will force them onto the waiting spears of the Forest Guard,’ Taem pointed to the central area outside the village, ‘whilst they are bombarded by arrows from both sides, and the higher levels of the tree village.’ Taem drew imaginary lines on the map with his finger, showing the path of the arrows. ‘I know it is a risk bringing the enemy so close to the village, but it is a calculated one. The elevated shooting positions on the higher walkways will maximise the effect of your bowmen. The Krun numbers should be severely reduced before battle is even joined. It will blunt their charge before it hits. We must also keep a small force out of sight, to one of the flanks, held in reserve – the left wing looks best. More cover to hide behind.’ Taem gestured to the map. ‘Once battle has been joined those hidden warriors will smash the Kruns’ flank. Engaging them on two fronts will disorientate the enemy. It will deceive the Krun horde into thinking our army is far greater than it is, forcing them to panic.’

  Taem thought to himself how Logan always said the best tactics were based on deception. He was sure the Master would be pleased with this strategy.

  ‘The Kruns are weak individually,’ Taem held up a fist. ‘Their strength is their numbers, and their resolve is feeble. If our main line can hold them, a flanking manoeuvre will break them.’

  The Captain of the Forest Guard, and the other Aborle, looked from Taem to each other in sheer disbelief.

  ‘But we must not divide our spears, surely?’ An Aborle questioned Taem.

  ‘We have to,’ Taem said strongly. ‘We are outnumbered. We must engage the enemy from two sides, trick them, force them to panic. It will work.’

  All the Aborle at the meeting were silent, struck dumb by the surety in this young countryman. They all looked at the Forest Guard captain, to see what she would decide.

  ‘It is a daring plan,’ Shandor murmured, ‘and it will require perfect cohesion – but it is a good strategy. This young swordsman understands war very well,’ Captain Traylark murmured, looking at Taem in a new light.

  A Warder ran in from the outside and up to the table, ‘The enemy are on the move. They should arrive on the morrow, and will be some five hundred strong.’

  ‘So it is as we feared,’ Baek said, ‘they outnumber us twofold.’

  ‘It is the first time they have come into Borleon with such force in two decades,’ Gerandel muttered.

  Shandor sprang into action, ordering preparations based on the plan Taem had suggested, ‘Baek, you will lead the troop of Warders that will draw the Krun Horde towards the village. Sixty Forest Guard will take up the centre of the defensive line. That leaves the Aborle bowmen and women to make up the rest of the main force. Eighty will take up position above the Forest Guard, in the walkways and platforms of the tree village, from where they can use their raised position to rain arrows on the advancing Krun Horde.’

  Shandor pointed on the map as she spoke, ‘The remaining seventy bows will divide and form up on the flanks of the main Forest Guard unit. The rest of my Forest Guard, some forty spears, will wait under cover a couple of hundred feet away from the main army: the concealed flanking force.’ The captain nodded to Taem.

  Later that night, Taem felt the sense of unease that seeped through Leafholme, as each Aborle contemplated the threat to their lives. Taem knew these men and women were terrified, he saw it in their eyes. The doubt crept back into Taem’s heart, the dread that all these peaceful souls would be slaughtered by ferocious Krun. But as the frightened Aborle glanced to him, Taem endeavoured not to show his fear. If they could take some small hope from his defiant determination, Taem was glad.

  Taem climbed up to the largest high platform in the village. He knew it was quiet up there, and he did not want to be disturbed. Once on the platform, Taem drew his sword from his back, admiring its beauty as the lamp light gleamed along its blue surface. Taem quietened his mind and ran through the Forms, focusing on speed and power.

  Taem was one with his sword. He flowed between the precise movements of Lion Stands Proud, into the most aggressive Form, Bear Fights with Fury, and finished with the most reckless, Stag Knows no Fear.

  Breathing deeply, Taem opened his eyes to see Gerandel Malaran standing by the edge of the high platform.

  ‘I heard you approach,’ Taem said calmly, to Gerandel’s surprise, as the Sodan sheathed his sword on his back.

  ‘I have not seen moves like that in many years,’ Gerandel said softly. ‘And that sword you carry is of a distinct old style. Of the Old Ways of the Sword.’

  ‘Yes,’ Taem whispered. ‘I am Sodan. A warrior of that which has been forgotten.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ Gerandel murmured, hiding his bewilderment. The Aborle had seen much of the world, and he knew it could only be by the Light’s grace that this young man had come to them.

  ‘Let us speak plainly,’ Gerandel said. ‘You have seen our ways, and you must know – as I do – that few amongst the Aborle are true warriors. I have fought the Krun before, Taem, and they are dark and violent and brutal. Do you think the gentle forest folk can stand up to that?’

  Taem looked down at his feet.

  ‘They cannot, Taem. Not by themselves, anyway. But you are Sodan; you can show them how.’ Gerandel had a gleam in his eyes as he spoke.

  Taem took a deep breath as he realised the weight of responsibility that was upon him.

  ‘I have never known a place such as this,’ Taem said wistfully, ‘nor a people such as yours. I will do my utmost to protect them both.’

  ‘I know you will,’ Gerandel put a hand on Taem’s shoulder. ‘And we will need you tomorrow, young friend. I fear you may be our only chance.’

  Taem felt a tingling sensation run down into the pit of his stomach, and he tried not to show that he was trembling. He would fight with valour, but he was fearful of letting these Aborle down, or not living up to what was expected of a Sodan.

  ‘Come,’ Gerandel gestured for Taem to walk with him, ‘you should eat and sleep, be fresh for t
he morning. Baek has already gone to bed. He is still tired from his healing, but should be restored by tomorrow.’

  Taem woke an hour after dawn. Baek was up and waiting for him, and the Aborle took him down to the forest floor. Taem could feel how subdued Leafholme’s atmosphere had become. He saw the Aborle were in no mood for talking. They all sat in anxious silence round the breakfast tables, ate their porridge and left. Taem found the quiet unnerving. The Aborle had yesterday been talkative and open, but now they had all withdrawn inside themselves. Taem’s own dread returned as he wondered how these gentle Aborle men and women would stand up to the Krun charge, but all he could do now was show a confidence he scarcely felt.

  ‘I feel a warmth from these enchanted trees,’ Taem murmured to his Aborle friend, as they sat down at a table, with bowls of porridge in hand.

  ‘It is part of the magic of this place,’ Baek said pensively. ‘Even in winter the Aborle villages hold some warmth, whilst the world beyond the groves is bitterly cold.’

  Taem sensed his friend’s unease, and he knew Baek was terrified– like every other Aborle in the clearing.

  ‘I guess it is time for me to go,’ Baek said quietly, as he stood up from the table. ‘I must assemble the Warders.’

  ‘You will do well, Baek,’ Taem clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘You are a good man, and a good friend. And – so I’ve heard – the best shot in the whole of Borleon!’

  Taem saw Baek fill with new pride and confidence, and he was glad. All the other Aborle around the table looked at Taem with pleasant surprise. It was the first positive voice they had heard all morning.

  ‘The Light shine on your blade,’ Taem said strongly, aware that many Aborle were watching.

  ‘What?’ Baek looked at Taem in surprise.

  ‘The Light will overcome, trust in that.’ Taem let out a reassuring smile. ‘Aim true and run like the wind,’ Taem and the Aborle shook hands, each clutching the other’s forearm, ‘and I will see you after.’

  ‘See you after,’ Baek nodded to his friend, ‘and thank you, my friend,’ Baek touched his hand to his heart – the traditional Aborle blessing – before he went off to gather his Warders.

  Taem spent the next hour walking around Leafholme, observing the forest men and women readying themselves. The odd Aborle wished Taem well in the battle to come, and thanked him for standing with them, but most were too anxious with their own fears to even notice him. Taem saw Aborle on the brink of weeping, and forest men with an ashen-faced realisation that they were soon to confront death. He saw Aborle huddled up and shaking, and staring into the distance. Other forest men and women were on their knees in prayer, pleading for the Light to deliver them through this dark day. Of course there were also soldiers of the Forest Guard that looked determined, but Taem sensed that even these warriors of Borleon walked around with heavy hearts.

  Taem had thought his own worries were bad, but they paled into nothing as he saw all the terrified Aborle around him. This was the true nature of war laid bare. Taem felt the fear in his heart, but he dared not show it. And, to his surprise, the act of pretending that he was not afraid, actually made him feel less fearful.

  As Taem looked around him, beyond the trembling Aborle, he saw the magnificence and tranquillity of this mystic place, and he cherished it deeply. But he grimaced as he thought of the Kruns who were coming to destroy and murder. Taem wondered what drove these creatures to despoil something so fair? So beautiful? But he knew the Krun were pure evil. And it was his Sodan duty to defy evil.

  ‘To arms, Aborle!’

  ‘Time to fight!’

  ‘For the forest!’

  The calls came swiftly as the leaders sped through the village, rousing their troops to set. Taem noticed the second unit of Forest Guard heading off northwards into the trees, as he made his way to the eastern fringe of Leafholme amongst the lines of cloaked and armed Aborle.

  The leaders marshalled the Aborle to spread out in a thin, straight line, only two rows deep – facing away from their village. The Forest Guard held the centre of the battle line, and the Aborle of Leafholme took up the flanks.

  Taem moved to stand amongst the nervous Aborle bowmen and women on the right flank. He knew this part of the line would be the hardest hit. Taem looked about him and saw many frightened faces. But he also saw that they all knew there could be no going back. Their path was set. Each soldier turned to his fellows around him, clasping a hand on the others’ shoulders.

  ‘T-The L-Light be with you,’ an Aborle said hesitantly, as she placed a hand on Taem’s shoulder.

  Taem could see in her eyes that this Aborle was petrified.

  ‘And with you,’ Taem nodded to the Aborle, as he watched the open forest to the east.

  That same ritual was repeated many times until all were quiet, hushed in anticipation, facing the trees ahead.

  Taem felt his own nerves surge up inside of him, but he managed to ignore them and remain calm, as Logan had taught him. He tried to take in every detail around him; see everything, but only absorb what was useful. Taem looked down the Aborle line and saw how the bowmen and bow-women were dressed in a variety of natural forest colours, and each had a woodland cloak enveloping their shoulders, with a quiver at their sides or strapped to their backs. The Aborle now stood in solemn silence. They all knew battle was close. Dangerously close.

  Taem checked the tension on the bow he had been given, and he thrust half a dozen arrows into the ground in front of him, within easy reach.

  In contrast to the Aborle of the village, Taem saw the Forest Guard all wore the same uniform. These Aborle men and women were garbed in short green cloaks and a mail shirt over a yellow jerkin. They all carried long swords at their waists, in red scabbards, and wore a rounded helmet with a nosepiece and a soaring crest. Each Forest Guard carried a long wooden shafted spear, and a large green kite shield that was emblazoned with the symbol of a great tree.

  Taem could see Shandor Traylark towering in the centre of the Forest Guard’s front rank, composed and focused. The Captain was dressed similar to her soldiers except for the red jerkin she wore under her gleaming mail shirt. Shandor’s helmet also had a mohican of green hair that protruded along its crest. She was already a tall Aborle, but the helmet gave her an even greater presence. Shandor carried no shield; instead, she gripped a black shaft with a bladed spear head at each end. Taem was intrigued when he noticed the spearheads were inlaid with whirling leaf like markings.

  Taem could see the calming influence the Aborle Captain exuded over her troops, and the knock on effect their confidence had on the Aborle of the village. Taem realised the line would stand or fall with Shandor Traylark. He remembered what Logan had often told him: for an army to be great, the soldiers had to respect their general.

  The Aborle troops stood restless for half an hour, wondering if the Kruns had decided to go back to the pit from whence they came. No one spoke. All looked forward in expectation. Many wondered, where were the Warders? And hoped that, perhaps, they would not have to fight? Rays of sunlight shimmered down through gaps in the leaves, and no wind whispered through the forest. The army grew ever more lulled as time passed slowly by, and many wanted to sit down, but the leaders would not let them.

  The Aborle were becoming too relaxed, and Taem did not like it. Many of them had got past their initial terror. Nothing had happened in so long, they had almost forgotten they were waiting for battle. But Taem knew that a little apprehension would serve them well – nerves kept you on edge, kept you alive.

  The forest was quiet. Peaceful. That would be a blessing – many Aborle thought, as their thoughts wandered – if the Kruns had decided not to commit to battle. They could all go home, alive, and celebrate.

  The forest’s serene calm was shattered by the loud blast of a horn. Screams erupted from deeper in the trees. The Aborle soldiers were wrenched from their sleepy reveries by that horrifying sound.

  ‘Spears ready!’ Captain Traylark called to
her Forest Guard, as the bow-Aborle notched their first arrows.

  They would have to fight after all. And the nerves had returned threefold, as many Aborle strived to still their quaking hands.

  Chapter 7 – The Heat of Battle

  Baek crept eastwards through the forest, with his company of thirty Warders. When they were two hundred yards from the village, Baek motioned for them to spread out and take cover.

  Baek crouched behind a fallen tree with Cedran, a fellow Warder with whom he often patrolled. The two of them had been friends all their lives. They had played together as children, and later joined the Warders together, taking up the duty to watch the way-paths of the Great Forest. Cautiously at first, the inquisitive squirrels and rabbits edged towards the hidden Aborle. When the animals were confident the Aborle posed no threat they continued on with the hunt for their breakfast. The Warders sat motionless for two hours as they gazed over the woodland to the east. They spoke only in whispers, and their outlines melded with the surrounding forest. They knew how to stay still. To be a Warder an Aborle had to be a skilled hunter, which took the patience to wait for the right moment to strike.

  Baek realised the forest had gone quiet. The calls of the woodland birds were silent. Baek watched the creatures on the forest floor stiffen. Their ears trembled, their eyes darted to the east and their noses sniffed the air, before they dashed off to find hiding places. Baek knew the enemy were close. After half a minute of listening, Baek heard the rumble of foul voices through the still forest, and his heart thundered through his chest.

  Baek slowly removed an arrow from his quiver, and notched it in his bowstring. All around him he saw hidden Aborle doing the same. Baek sensed Cedran tense up beside him, as the enemy rabble crashed towards the Warders’ position. He glimpsed movement in the trees. Larger silhouettes stomped through the undergrowth, as smaller gangly ones loped between them. Wicked howls echoed through the forest, chilling the spines of all the Aborle that heard them.