The Walls of Woodmyst

by Robert E Kreig

“As Richard said. They want us.”

  Alan sat in a deep cushioned armchair tucked into the corner of the living quarters of his house. Catherine brought him hot green tea in a small mug. It was something she gave him to settle his nerves.

  When she had first offered it to him, many years ago when they started courting, he turned it down believing it was a woman’s drink. Now it had become a custom within their home. He would walk through the door with a scowl upon his face, especially after a council meeting, and she would serve a cup of tea for him to sip as he sat in his chair.

  He had to admit that after a few short sips and time to breathe, he often felt relaxed and able to move onward. Today was not one of those days.

  The frustration and confusion he felt was clearly visible in his friends and the village folk he passed in the streets on his way home. Fear was eating Woodmyst from within and no one had an inkling of an idea of what to do about it.

  He sipped his tea and closed his eyes as he held the potion in his mouth. It was bitter and warm upon his tongue. Savouring it momentarily, he swished it around his mouth before swallowing with a loud gulp.

  Keeping his eyes closed, he allowed his thoughts to wander away from the worries that the invading force posed and onto the possibility of a peaceful life once again. He pictured himself farming, growing crops with his son Tomas and working the land in a way he had always dreamed since his days in battle were finished.

  Alas, it was just a dream he entertained once in a while.

  In reality, he was brought into the council almost immediately after the war and placed in charge of training the young men in the skills of weaponry and fighting. This had been his life for almost fifteen years.

  Five years after he had returned home, he met Catherine whose family arrived in Woodmyst when she was sixteen. Within the year, they were married. Some within the village talked amongst themselves saying that it was too long for a courtship. Others surmised that Alan wouldn’t marry Catherine because she was cursed with a barren womb.

  The truth was, Catherine’s father was not ready to relinquish his beautiful daughter to such a rough man who was not much younger than him. Eventually, it was his heart that Alan would have to win with the help of the chief, the elders and the other councilmen.

  Then came the delayed pregnancy. The gossip flared about Catherine and her barren womb again. Alan gave it no credence until he caught his wife crying into a pillow one night after a year of being wed. So, intent to not be precautious about getting her pregnant, he used every ounce of his being to plant his seed.

  After the introduction of undeniable evidence such as morning sickness and a broadening stomach, the rumours of barrenness were quashed. Catherine began to hold her dainty head high again and Alan wore a constant proud smirk that simply told the chinwaggers of Woodmyst, take that you bastards!

  One month before harvest came Tomas. He wriggled and jiggled his way out, excited to be in the world. His initial cry was more of a shout.

  I am here.

  Ever since, Tomas has always been a defiant child by nature. He never overstepped his boundaries and always respected his elders, but he was courageous and willing to explore new concepts. Alan often found Catherine covering her eyes or looking away when Tomas was discovering his abilities.

  From a young age, he would climb the wall in places where no ladder or device for ascending had been placed. He would jump upon horseback and entice the beast to gallop across the meadow. Twice, he had broken his leg from jumping from the mare’s back. Once, he had almost drowned from diving off Woodmyst’s mid-bridge into the river beneath it. Luckily, fishermen nearby rescued him in time.

  The elders, who had mended the boy’s bones, had also treated his cuts, bruises, grazes and sprains. All had instructed Catherine to keep a tight rein attached. She had argued that he would simply chew through it to get away.

  With age and learning, Tomas’ explorations became more controlled and the element of hypothesising before experimentation helped him to control his actions. Eowyn had told Alan that his son was an intelligent student with great promise. Alan had thanked the elder for the kind words, hoping that Tomas would perhaps pursue an academic or agricultural path rather than follow in his footsteps into a life of battle and war.

  Two years after Tomas came Linet. Little pudgy faced Linet with hair so blonde it shone like white gold.

  With a heart bigger than she was, Linet displayed the traits of a deeply caring individual who always put others before herself. Alan would see her every now and then meet her friends’ needs and desires at a loss to her own. Often, she would give a doll away to an upset little girl, pass a portion of her meal to someone her age that was still hungry or simply give someone a hug if she thought they needed it.

  He remembered times when she was still learning to walk, she would carry ants and small bugs from inside the house and place them somewhere safely outside before her brother would squash them with his boots. Sometimes she would miss one or two and Tomas would find them, smashing them into the floor with a gleeful chuckle. This always resulted with Linet screaming in horror at the sight followed by streaming tears as she mourned the loss of an innocent insect.

  Alan sipped his warm green tea and swished it around his mouth again. As he did so, Linet wandered in from outside, her golden blonde locks reflecting the light coming from the window. She carefully climbed onto her father’s lap, embraced him around his chest and buried her head into his neck.

  All he could do was wrap his free arm around her and allow himself to smile.

  Waterfowl swam about the reeds at the river’s edge. Once in a while they ducked their heads under the surface leaving their short tails to waggle in the air before righting themselves again. Dragonflies and other flying insects hovered above the stream or crawled upon the weeds sticking out of the water here and there.

  Lawrence stared transfixed as the small creatures carried out their daily rituals. When he had first arrived and sat down by the riverbank, the various animals had shied away from him. Slowly, they made their way back towards him to continue foraging among the reeds and lily pads that grew near the shore.

  The ducks and geese were still hesitant to get too close to him. They kept themselves at a safe distance with a watchful eye on the man, ready to take flight if he made any sudden movement.

  The sunlight shimmered upon the flowing water casting specks of light across the surface reminding Lawrence of the countless stars at night.

  A cold shiver ran down his back as his thoughts were cast to the dark, gruesome evenings he had witnessed. The vision of the first body they had discovered upon the hilltop still haunted his sleep.

  The staring eyes.

  The peeled face.

  The endless silent scream.

  He had awoken many times during with that image etched in his brain. Even now, he saw it amongst the reeds as rippled water created patterns and shapes that reminded him of the poor unknown victim.

  Then there was the cloaked figure that was watching from the very same place the following night. The faceless silhouette upon horseback hooded and concealed that rode into the grove when the village warriors drew near to him.

  His own heart sank as hundreds of torch lights suddenly burst to life at that moment. It was then that he knew they were going to die. There were just too many invaders in the trees for the men of Woodmyst to deal with.

  From that moment on, Lawrence found himself struggling with his thoughts. He felt he had an unbreakable bond to the people of his village, but none more strongly than with the men of the council. He had fought in the Realm War with all of them and could not imagine ever abandoning them in times of need.

  But now he had a family.

  While his son, Lor, and his daughter, Sevrina, were too young to understand the dread that had befallen Woodmyst, his wife, Elara comprehended it too well. Her tears had broken his heart and he didn’t know how to make her feel safe.

  To her, the walls weren
’t enough. The shelter and fortitude of the Great Hall wasn’t enough.

  She had asked him to consider taking her and the children to Ostwyn or Crystalvale where the walls were high, the keep was reinforced and actual armies resided. He had argued that they were more than a day’s journey but her sobs drowned out his words.

  So now, wrestling within his mind, Lawrence sat by the riverside alone. He knew it was too late in the day to begin a journey to any neighbouring village or city. The sun had passed noon and by the time he would have loaded the wagon and started on his way, he wouldn’t reach the end of the southern orchards before darkness swept over the land.

  He knew Richard and Alan were right in what they said about the strangers in the woods. Anyone trying to escape Woodmyst would be caught no matter what direction they ran.

  It was a gamble in either case. The possibility of being attacked on the road south was just as much a possibility of dying in battle on the wall.

  The sun bit at his neck. He lifted his hood over his head and stood to his feet. The waterfowl fluttered and squawked in fright, which in turn disturbed the insects resting upon the reeds.

  Lawrence turned towards the eastern gate and started walking slowly back to the village. His mind still weighed up the benefits of staying against those of leaving. He ignored the internal battle and made a decision. He would pack the wagon ready to leave in the morning.

  He thought by making a stand the conflict within would be over. Instead, the voices shouted louder at each other. It seemed, just like the outcome of the Realm War; there would be no victors today.

  Chapter Nine

  Chief Barnard Shelley took time to visit the blacksmiths of Woodmyst. He had a list of demands to be filled as quickly as possible. The list comprised mainly the forging of a thousand arrows, a hundred daggers and long blades. He was adamant that functionality should take absolute priority and that appearance should not even fit within the equation.

  The blacksmiths understood.

  “What item would you like us to work on first?” the lead blacksmith asked. His long dark beard was tucked behind his leather apron.

  Behind him, coals were kept hot with large bellows operated by young men. They pulled down on large wooden handles, causing the bellows’ air sacks to squeeze air into the ovens. The roar of air rushing into the fireplaces reminded Barnard of thunder as the coals flared bright red with each blow.

  Nearby, a blacksmith hammered a rod of iron on an anvil. Each hammer blow resounded a loud clang and send red sparks flying as the hot rod was flattened at one end. The rod, held by tongs at one end, was lowered into a metal bucket of water. A loud hiss screamed out as steam burst from the water.

  “I’d like all of them,” Chief Shelley replied as he watched the rod being lifted from the water for inspection.

  “No disrespect intended, but we’re limited in ore, my lord,” the blacksmith responded. “We could probably fulfil your order of arrows, but not get to all the blades. Alternatively, we could possibly produce half the blades but you will have no arrows.”

  “Surely the armoury still has swords, my lord?” asked one of the other blacksmiths.

  “It does, but the blades are dull and brittle,” the chief replied.

  The lead blacksmith scratched his beard. “I have an idea.”

  “Please,” Barnard invited.

  “Get the serves to bring the swords and daggers,” he began. “We can sharpen them on the stone. Any that are too brittle to last the night, we can reforge and use some old scrap from our stockpile. They won’t be as strong as a proper sword, but they will still cut and stab.”

  “Good enough,” Chief Shelley agreed.

  “That will leave the ore to be used on arrows,” the lead blacksmith told him. “Our apprentices can fulfil that part of the order by nightfall. The senior staff will look after the blades. That will require some skill to be a success.”

  “Thank you.” The chief shook the blacksmith’s hand before turning to leave.

  Barnard made it a few steps from the blacksmith’s storefront before a young female serve stopped him.

  “My lord?”

  “Yes,” he answered with a smile.

  “The cooks have sent me to inform you that the soup stock is too low to cater for our needs tonight,” said the serve.

  “What do they suggest?” Chief Shelley queried as he continued to walk along the road.

  The serve kept pace alongside. “They request that two of the cows be butchered. One for tonight and the other for tomorrow.”

  Chief Shelley pondered this momentarily as he walked. Eventually he returned his attention to the young woman by his side. “Tell the butchers to prepare two of the heifers,” he instructed. “The larger parts of meat for roasting and the tougher portions for mincing. Then tell the cooks we will have roast meat tonight and prepare pies for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she replied before scurrying away ahead of the chief.

  Chief Barnard Shelley watched her disappear into another street that led back to the Great Hall. He then moved his gaze across the many stalls about him. Most were empty. The street itself seemed almost deserted.

  He knew the reason for this was because most men who worked the markets were also standing upon the wall during the previous night. It made sense that these men would favour rest over work.

  The chief deeply appreciated their sacrifice. Closing their stalls to protect their loved ones and the wellbeing of the village tugged at his heart. Still, he would prefer to see smiling faces and busy streets before the need for men to stand upon the wall each night.

  Although it had been only three days since this turmoil had befallen his beloved Woodmyst, he longed for it to be over and for all things to return to normal. But could it ever be normal again? Ten scouts had lost their lives for the sake of the village. For the sake of the chief.

  Chief Shelley shook his head.

  How he wished he had never given that order.

  Richard, Michael and Hugh had decided to walk around the outside of the village walls together. None of the three men was able to sleep with the images of the ten mutilated scouts branded into their thoughts.

  Richard saw them every time he closed his eyes. He needed to find something to occupy his time and when Hugh suggested taking the dogs for a walk, Richard offered to accompany him within a heartbeat.

  The two men and six canines then sought Michael out and invited him to join them also. He was also experiencing difficulty coping with the occurrences of the previous three nights and jumped at the opportunity for distraction.

  The three council members decided not to invite the other village leaders as they had families and were possibly busy with their wives and children. The chief was always busy, so they left him to his duties as they ventured for the western gate.

  The dogs bolted across the open ground, sniffing and leaping over one another, careful to not move too far from Hugh and his watchful eye. Once outside the gate, the men turned north and scanned the wall as they strolled through the tall grass.

  They found themselves looking for weaknesses and places of easy access.

  The walls were tall and made of steep stone and wood. A few archers stood atop the entire length and a man was posted in each tower. At night, the walls were practically crowded with men. It would be near impossible for anyone to get as close as they were to the wall.

  Still, it could happen.

  Richard pointed to the north-western corner of the wall, just below the tower structure. The other men followed his gesture and peered at the area.

  “What do you see?” asked Michael.

  “The corners could be scaled,” he informed them. “Where the stones overlap. Someone could use the protrusions to grip with their hands and feet.”

  “We have archers and guards posted here,” Hugh said. “Do you believe this could be done?”

  “How many of us are there compared to them?” Richard asked. “If we are outnumbered, our eye
s could be diverted just long enough to allow one or two to get to places such as this.”

  Michael stood facing the wall right at the point where the northern wall met the western. He moved his eyes along the line of both tall barriers and saw many small protruding stones along the lengths of their entirety.

  “We need to pay more careful attention to the whole structure,” he said. “The wall is old and we have not been keeping her in the best of conditions. And Richard is correct. We don’t have the numbers to be able to watch everything that happens out here. It’s not just the corners that present climbing holds.”

  “Shall we continue?” Hugh asked, as he started moving east, keeping the wall on his right. The dogs bounded to their master’s side, stopping briefly for a pat before running ahead.

  “We could concentrate our numbers in this section,” Michael offered. “After all, the woods here and the grove are where they seem to be mustering.”

  “Seem to be,” Richard replied as his eyes moved along the wall. “For all we know, there could be thousands of them in the southern orchards.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” Hugh asked.

  “No. But I’ve been wrong before.”

  “There, there and there.” Hugh pointed to three places on the wall. “I bet you little Tomas Warde could climb those with his eyes shut.”

  “I wouldn’t take that bet,” Michael replied. “That boy could climb polished marble columns.”

  The men watched as the dogs vanished into a particularly dense patch of long grass. Every now and then, a brown face would pop into view with ears pointed towards the three friends before disappearing again.

  Richard smiled as he watched the canines bounding and leaping. One ran towards the tree line a short distance where it squatted. The men averted their eyes to the wall, looking for weaknesses and taking note of their position as they continued to move along the expanse.

  “Why do you think they are focused upon this area?” Michael asked. “I mean, you may be right, Richard. They could have men waiting in the south, but their efforts seem to be strongest here.”