by James Bee
Finally, Fletcher turned away from the door. Seeing Gerald staring at him, he started, as though he’d forgotten that he was there. To his surprise, the grizzled man seemed embarrassed.
“I fucking hate Blane Beesbury,”he said by way of an explanation. Shrugging, the man walked up to Gerald’s desk, taking a sudden interest in the papers lying there. “Got many more matters to attend to today? I hate being cooped up indoors.”Clearly he wanted to move the subject from what had just happened.
“Some, but it might be nice to get some fresh air. I think Lucan and Blane used up all of mine with their huffing and puffing.”Gerald stood, stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. “What do you do around here for fun, Fletcher? You don’t seem like a drinking and singing fellow,”Gerald asked. Fletcher broke out into a smile, one of the few Gerald had seen from him.
“I’ll show you, my lord,”he said, turning to walk out of the room. Gerald followed him, with a sinking feeling growing in his stomach.
*
Fletcher tossed a wooden training sword at Gerald’s feet. It landed with a dull thud in the glistening green and yellow tufts of grass. Bending over, Gerald picked it up. A few paces away, Fletcher stood with his own in hand, swinging it back and forth. His movements were worryingly precise, handling the blade like an experienced warrior.
“You want to spar with me? This is your idea of fun?”Gerald asked incredulously. The prospect of getting slashed by one of these blades was not a pleasant one. Wooden or not, they would leave a mark that would not soon go away.
“Aye. If I’m to protect you, I’d better see how well you can handle yourself. Saw you get knocked down by that beast Kayl. Didn’t look none too threatening.”Fletcher was taunting him, but why?
“Maybe you should swing your blade at him instead,”Gerald grumbled, stretching out his neck.
“I think I’d rather take my chances with you. Don’t fancy having my head knocked backward,”Fletcher replied, smirking. The man was watching him now, for all the ease he was showing, he was watching him. The intensity of the battlefield was in his eyes, not the training yard. An apprehensive shiver travelled up Gerald’s spine. He’d seen what these training blades could do to a man if a murderous intent was there. Suddenly, Fletcher’s words at their first meeting bubbled up into his brain. Wylliam should be the new mayor. Not some up-jumped bastard from the south.
An accident while training would do it. If he were incapacitated, someone would have to take control of Redstone. Blane, Rolan, and Lucan would never be able to agree to support each other. It would have to be someone else. Who better than Fletcher?
A slow smile crept across Fletcher’s face, as though he could read Gerald’s thoughts. There was no way for him to back out now. Word would spread throughout town that he’d been too frightened to fight the man. He couldn’t afford any more gossip about him. He’d have to find a way to beat him.
Leaping forward, Gerald slashed at the older man, hoping to catch him by surprise. Fletcher didn't so much as raise an eyebrow as he stepped aside. The blow threw Gerald off balance. Desperately, he twisted out of the way of the counterstroke. Fletcher was on him before he could set his feet. In moments, Gerald knew he was outmatched. The older man was lightning fast, hands, and feet moving in perfect unison. Reeling backward, Gerald parried and blocked the onslaught.
As he dodged a slash aimed at his face, Gerald’s foot caught on a stone. His other boot slipped in the early morning wetness and he went down hard on his arse. On instinct, he rolled away, waiting for Fletcher’s blade to slash him in the back. The blow never came. Coming to his knees, Gerald saw his adversary standing still, watching him with a bemused expression. Teeth gritted, Gerald rose to his feet. He’d have to find a way to strike first.
Fletcher came at him again, slowly and confidently. His eyes were triumphant. He knew he had victory in his grasp. Licking his lips nervously, Gerald looked around the yard. It was abandoned; there was no one coming to help him.
Fletcher flicked a stroke at his eye. Startled, Gerald raised his blade to block it. But the blow never landed. Instead, Fletcher’s sword slipped under his arm and crashed into his ribs. Groaning, Gerald collapsed to his knees, all the air driven from his body. Helpless, he could only watch as the sword flashed toward his head. Gerald screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow.
A moment passed.
Gerald opened his eyes. The blade hung in front of his face, so close he could see the grain of the wood. Confusion coursed through him as he stared at it. Why hadn’t Fletcher struck? He was helpless.
Fletcher tossed the blade to the grass with a grunt. Stepping forward, he grasped Gerald under the armpit and lifted him to his feet.
“Sorry about the blow, boy. Didn’t mean to put so much into it. Little pain always helped keep your mind off your troubles, though,”he said, winking at Gerald. A frown formed at the look on Gerald’s face. “Did you think I was gonna wallop you? I’m supposed to be protecting you, not bashing yer brains in. You’re gonna need protecting too, with sword work like that.”Shaking his head, Fletcher walked away, leaving Gerald wondering if he’d misjudged the man. Perhaps he did have one more person to watch his back.
22
Chapter 22
Trying to rub the soreness from his ribs, Gerald made his way slowly down the street. Fletcher’s blade had made one hell of a mark, causing enough damage to make every breath hurt. Still, it could have been worse, he supposed. He could have smashed my head in. Looking around, it seemed as though his dark mood was shared by others in the town.
People hurried by, heads lowered, faces stretched with fear. Living under the threat of imminent attack was taking its toll on the inhabitants of Redstone. Gerald sucked his teeth nervously. It’ll only get worse when the fighting actually starts.
The smell of wet earth filled the air as he walked past the graveyard. It was a suitably gloomy place, as graveyards are wont to be. Rows upon rows of chipped and misshaped headstones filled the ground. It looked as though there had been some effort to plant flowers, but it hadn’t taken. Instead, tufts of weeds dominated the ground.
The sight of the place took what little heart Gerald had out of him. No doubt there would be more bodies joining those already in the ground. Perhaps they would even have to dig some up in order to pile more and save room.
Dig some up…
Gerald felt the idea slowly slotting into place behind his eyes. Clues that he’d only half paid attention to fit together snugly. Heart racing, he ran into the graveyard, snatching up a nearby shovel. An old man standing in front of a grave with a flower in his hand looked up sharply at him.
“Any new burials?”Gerald yelled at him, struggling to keep his voice calm. Wordlessly, the old man pointed down to the far corner. Following his finger, Gerald dodged and leapt over graves. In the corner there was a new-looking headstone, unworn by the relentlessness of rain and wind. Gerald knelt down and felt the dirt.
“That’s old man Fillup’s grave, that is,”the old man said, standing beside Gerald. “Died ’bout a week before you showed up.”A week before? Then the body wouldn’t have completely decomposed.
“How deep do you bury bodies here?”Gerald asked him.
“Not that far down, in case any want to get out.”The old man grinned a toothless smile at him. Ignoring the man’s protests, Gerald plunged the shovel into the earth. It gave way easily, much more than it should have. Arms pumping, he tossed the dirt over his shoulder in a frenzy to get to the bottom.
Behind him, the old man’s protestations faded away as Gerald dug deeper and deeper. With every stroke of the shovel, a grim satisfaction grew. Finally, he had dug enough. Planting the shovel in the ground, he stepped stiffly out of the hole. Wiping sweat from his head, he stalked away, leaving the old man looking horrified into the empty pit.
Grave robbers. He knew the discovery would spread through the town by midday. Corpse robbing was taken seriously in places such as this, punishable by death.
<
br /> Despite his disgust, Gerald was smiling. He’d figured something out, solved one mystery at least. He might still have a mountain of problems, but it was a start. Now he could finally do something. Take action and bring the town back together under his control. First, he’d have to find Kayl and tell him what happened. Then they’d…
Gerald heard the bells ringing, and the smile slid off of his face. It felt as though a bucket of ice had been poured over his head. Heart racing, he turned toward the sound. It was coming from the northern part of town, the side closest to the forest.
Taking off into a sprint, Gerald ran through all the possible scenarios. It could be a fire, or a prank, he thought. Or it could be much worse. The attack could already have started. In the streets, people were milling about in confusion. Panicked voices shouted out, asking questions and calling names. Gerald wove and pushed his way through, ignoring them.
Rounding a corner, he came upon a nightmarish scene. On the street a desperate battle was being waged. Men and women in painted faces, clutching vicious-looking weapons, were streaming up from the gates. A mismatched group of soldiers, militiamen, and villagers had met them. Caught in the middle were many who were not capable of fighting back, some of whom already lay bleeding and dying. Behind the melee, Gerald could see others being dragged away, struggling and screaming.
He could not comprehend what he was seeing. A host of questions shouted in his mind, struggling for his attention. He didn’t know what to do. The bells would bring everyone coming, but would it be fast enough? He stood paralyzed. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move. What should he do?
A massive man wielding a sharp-looking spear look the choice away from him. The clansmen ran a soldier through with his weapon, driving him to the ground. With a satisfied grimace he ripped his spear free and looked up at Gerald. The moment their eyes men, Gerald realized he’d seen him before. The same eyes had stared at him at the bonfire in the woods. The daylight didn’t take away any of the giant’s menace.
Gerald tore his sword out of its sheath as the hulking woodsmen ran toward him. Leaping to the side, he batted the spear point away. Despite his size, the big man moved gracefully. He spun the spear and was attacking an instant later. For the second time that day, Gerald realized he was outmatched. The point of the spear danced and flashed at him. It was all he could do to keep it at bay. His whole world narrowed to the small piece of gleaming steel. So intent on it, in fact, that he didn’t see the shoulder coming.
The big warrior batted Gerald’s sword to the side and smashed into him. The point of his meaty shoulder butted him under the chin, sending Gerald reeling to the ground. On instinct he rolled to the side, avoiding a stab that would have skewered him. His head was spinning, and there was a taste of blood in his mouth. The giant clansman levelled his weapon, teeth bared in a snarl. Desperately, Gerald tried to get to his feet. He couldn’t. His legs were made from jelly, and they collapsed underneath him. The giant took a step forward, then stopped. He was staring intently over Gerald’s shoulder, as though he no longer existed.
Then, with a snarl, the big man turned and fled. Confusion battled with relief inside him as Gerald struggled to his knees. A moment later, men began to run past him, in pursuit of the fleeing clanspeople. Gerald felt a steadying hand on his shoulder, and a familiar face swam into view.
“You alright, mate? That big bastard almost did you in!”Orland said, looking at him with concern. Gerald coughed, spitting blood on the ground. He tried to stand, but Orland pressed him back down. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Everything’s under control. Kayl and his lads are taking care of them. Doesn’t look like too many got in.”Gerald’s eyes stopped watering, and he began to get his senses back.
Screams filtered into his ears. The cries of the wounded and dying filled the air. Already men and women ran toward them to give what help they could. Breathing deeply, Gerald grasped Orland’s shoulders and pulled himself up. The sight in front of him buckled his knees and nearly sent him back down into the dirt.
The street was littered with bodies, some writhing and some still. Numbly, Gerald counted at least two dozen people on the ground in front of him. Men, women, soldiers, and Sanish clansmen were all mixed together. Their wounds had turned the dirt crimson. Choking down nausea, Gerald walked toward them.
Up ahead, men were milling around the gate. A few archers had taken up in the guardhouse and were loosing arrows out into the woods. Shouted questions and orders mixed sickeningly with the screams. Dimly, Gerald knew that he needed to take control. Stop the spread of panic and organize a defence. More warriors could attack at any moment, using this breach as a diversion.
A blustery voice from behind him called his name, and Gerald turned slowly, still unsteady from the blow he’d been given. Blane was running toward him, with Fletcher in tow. Both had swords drawn and were sweating as though they’d ran across the whole town. Seeing the scene around him, they came to a shocked halt.
“Bastards! What happened? How did they get in?”Blane demanded, sheathing his blade angrily. All Gerald could do was shrug as he looked around helplessly at the carnage around him.
“Someone let them in. Slit the throats of the sentries,”Kayl said, coming up behind him. The knight looked grim, his armour splattered with blood. “We drove some off, but most got away. Took a few folks with them.”Gerald felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. Some of his people had been dragged away to suffer a fate he didn’t want to think about.
“We have to go after them!”Blane said, red-faced with rage. “I’ll take thirty men and hunt them down like animals.”The thought of racing off into the woods after the giant clansmen nearly turned Gerald’s bowels to water. He wasn’t sure that he had the courage of the older man.
“You’ll never catch them. You’d be lucky if you didn’t find anything. More than likely you’d lead your men into a trap, and we’d never see you again,”Fletcher said calmly. Blane rounded on him, hands balled into fists.
“Coward! What would you have us do? They took our people! We have to get them back!”he yelled, stepping toward Fletcher. Kayl stepped in and easily separated them.
“They’re already dead! You won’t do any good getting killed for them!”Fletcher retorted.
“He’s right, Blane. We can’t do anything for them. We can only protect those who are left,”Gerald said quietly, hating himself for saying it. And hating himself for the relief he felt at abandoning them. Spitting in disgust, Blane stalked away, screaming orders at his men. Gerald made to follow him, but Kayl stopped him.
“I found this by the gate. Looked like it was left for a purpose,”he said, pressing a small piece of folded parchment into Gerald's hand. Heart in his throat, Gerald unwrapped it, and stared blankly at what was etched onto it. Folding it up again, he slipped it back into his pocket.
“Don’t tell anyone else about that. Not yet,”Gerald said, giving him a significant look. The big knight nodded, rubbing his beard distractedly.
“That man you fought. He was the one you and Orland saw in the woods?”
Gerald nodded, massaging his throbbing chin.“Fought is a generous way of say it. He’d have turned me into a kebab if you didn’t show up.”
Kayl waved away his words.“No shame in getting put down by him. Bastard’s mother must have been a bear!”
“Aye. Hope I don’t run into him again. I’d feel better if someone put an arrow in him,”Gerald said. “We need to call the council together. Before the attack I discovered something. I’m afraid it’s going to be a busy night for all of us.”
Kayl’s face darkened at his words. “I’ll look after this and then gather everyone at the town hall. We’re going to need to do something soon. Once word spreads that someone let the Sanish in, there’ll be more bloodshed. Unless we can give them someone to blame,”he said, looking worriedly at the scene around them. Gerald clenched his teeth.
“I think I have someone in mind,”Kayl gave him a quizzical look but didn’t ask. Inste
ad he wiped some dust off Gerald’s shoulder before following after Blane.
Suddenly weary, Gerald looked down at the gate. He knew he should help, but what could he do? He had no skill at healing, nor did he have any words to comfort those passing away. His eyes suddenly focused on a head whose long red hair mirrored the sodden ground. Stumbling forward, Gerald made his way toward her.
Felicia was kneeling on the ground, back to him. Dreading what he was going to see, Gerald made his way up behind her. A man was lying on the ground before her, his head in her lap. His eyes were closed and a tall longbow was clenched in his grip. As she looked down on her brother, Felicia sobbed quietly, tears rolling down her face and onto his, making it look as though he too was crying.
23
Chapter 23
"It looks like it was just a small scouting party. Must have slipped past our scouts somehow. Luckily one of the garrison saw them at the last moment and sounded the alarm. Otherwise it could have been much worse,”Kayl reported, standing stiffly. His face was drenched with sweat, and he looked about ready to collapse. Motioning for him to sit, Gerald poured a glass of water and slid it over. All around the table, frowning faces stared back at him. Lucan, Blane, Rolan, and Fletcher crowded the small space.
“This will only be the first attack. They’ll come back, and in greater numbers,”Blane said. “We’ve done all we can to strengthen our walls.”He glared at Rolan as he spoke. The guildmaster appeared more interested in what was under his fingernails.
“It would seem that the greater danger is what lies within them,”Lucan said solemnly. Blane snorted in disgust. Gerald saw Kayl give him a significant look. Nodding, he took the note out of his pocket.
“This was found at the gate after the attack. I believe it was left for us to find,”Gerald said, opening the note and tossing it down. A chorus of sucked-in breaths raced around the table. A blood red half-moon had been etched bloodily onto the parchment. Lucan snatched the note and held it high above his head.