“Perhaps the river poses a problem,” Hugh said. “The three closest bridges to cross are within the walls of Woodmyst. The next bridge to the west is beyond the woods, at least twenty miles away. The river is just as wide there as it is here. And there are no bridges to the east.”
“No,” Richard replied. “But the watercourse does thin out to a stream beyond the hills. There are rapids, which make it dangerous to cross but not impossible. Let’s not forget that these aggressors are gathered on our north. The river turns from that direction before reaching us. Surely they must know the northern territories if they come from that way. Therefore, they must know of places to cross safely.”
The men pondered this as they continued to stroll along the northern boundary of their village. The realisation that they may be surrounded on all sides at all times was in the back of their minds, but discussing possible strategies of the enemy wasn’t something they had done for many, many years.
Not since the Realm War.
Richard remembered a time on the front line of the battlefield; long before any of the council members were leaders of their community, long before any of them had been betrothed or had children. Before Barnard Shelley had been made chief of Woodmyst and any of them had been regarded as responsible, they were soldiers.
Fireballs were fired from catapults, streaming through the dark sky above and smashing into the earth, crushing the foot soldiers committed to combat beneath the barrage. Archers fired flaming arrows randomly into the field from both sides, oblivious as to whether they struck friend or foe.
The seven men, part of a troop of twenty, and one dog, moved in unison across the expanse of mud, blood and fire, slashing and hacking anyone they came across. In such conditions, it was impossible to differentiate between their own and enemy armour.
Survival was far too important to care about such trivial things.
“Wait,” Michael called to his friends.
The troop stopped and raised their shields.
“Look,” he called, pointing to the sky. A great fireball rocketed through the sky towards them. “Go left.”
The men scurried to the side.
The fireball crashed into the ground sending sparks in all directions. Two of the troop members had fire strike them on their backs. Alan tackled one to the ground and rolled him in the mud, extinguishing the flames immediately. The other man fled, causing the flames to grow and engulf him as he ran. The troop watched on as he eventually fell, screaming as he writhed in pain. The screams stopped when the body finally lay still.
Barnard moved his gaze from the burning corpse to lock with forty enemy soldiers just beyond. He gave a loud cry and ran for them. The troop followed and rushed towards their foes.
Swords clashed as the two forces met.
The men fought wildly, stabbing, slashing and hacking madly at one another. Barnard fought the hardest, taking three men on at the same time and dropping them to the earth within moments of engaging.
Hugh blocked and parried with a swordsmen of equal skill. Realising he had no chance with a long blade, he quickly pulled his dagger from his belt and moved in close to his opponent. In one swift motion, he pushed the thin blade up through the chin until he hit bone and twisted.
Blood dribbled from the lips of the enemy soldier as his eyes rolled back in their sockets. The man fell in a crumpled heap onto the ground before Hugh moved onto the next.
Five of the enemy soldiers turned and ran in the opposite direction after seeing what happened to their allies. Hugh glanced down to the hound, which immediately gave chase.
The dog closed the distance rapidly. It nipped the ankle of a lagging escapee and sent the man tumbling. His sword flew from his hand and landed out of reach.
Before he had time to react, the canine had its teeth buried deep in the soldier’s throat, ripping, tearing violently at the man’s flesh.
The fallen warrior gargled his last breath as the dog tore a large chunk of meat from the soldier’s neck.
“Good dog,” Hugh said as he caught up to the hound.
The troop finished the remaining enemy, losing another two of their own in the process. Now they were nine.
“Some escaped and headed for those trees,” Hugh announced, pointing to a forest some distance away.
Barnard turned his face towards the battle and thought about his options for a moment. Fiery arrows streaked across the air and plunged into ally and enemy alike. Giant balls of flame fell from the sky and exploded among groups of men battling upon the field.
“We give chase,” he instructed.
Richard brought his thought back into focus.
He didn’t know why his mind returned to that particular moment. There were many instances where swords had clashed during combat, but that was one battle he had tried so desperately to forget.
He closed his eyes tightly and willed the memory from his brain.
“There,” Michael announced.
Richard opened his eyes to see his friend pointing to a section of the northern wall. Some stones sat at odd angles and stuck out of the wall slightly.
There stood another possible climbing place.
“Perhaps we should get hot oil to pour over the wall,” Hugh suggested. “Just a precaution.”
Richard’s thoughts returned to the forest in his past and what lay within.
Chapter Ten
The potato peelings were piling high in the barrel beside her. She and seven serves had been placed on preparation duty beginning with the worst job of all; peeling the vegetables.
The small blade in her hand slid along the surface of the dirty, brown mass, lifting the skin to reveal white flesh beneath. She observed how quickly the serves were able to do this compared with her efforts.
“You’ve had practice, I assume?” she asked the young woman sitting beside her.
“I do this every day, my lady,” the serve answered. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”
Martha smiled as she plopped a freshly peeled potato into a pot of water before reaching for another from the pile of dirty vegetables on the floor.
“I just need to keep myself busy.”
“I understand,” the serve replied as she dropped a spud into the pot and retrieved a new one. “An idle mind can drive you mad. That’s something my father always says.”
“Wise words,” Martha said as she slid the blade across the potato’s surface. She noticed the young woman next to her was already more than halfway through peeling and well on her way to finishing. Martha had barely taken two strips off the spud in her hand.
“Don’t worry, my lady,” the serve said. “You’ll get quicker with practice.”
Martha smiled. She didn’t want to get quicker. She wanted to be home in her bed each night knowing her family was safe with her in their house. She would rather peel potatoes slowly as she talked with her husband, and then sit by his side after their meal as they watched their daughters play together on the floor.
Sitting in the kitchens wasn’t something Martha desired. What woman would want this for herself?
She was thankful to her husband and the chief for allowing her to work during this precarious time, but she didn’t want it. Having her family divided as Peter stood watch upon the wall and her children were under the care of others was not her desire.
She wanted her family together, in their living room, eating and laughing together as it was before the strangers came.
Still, she smiled outwardly as she peeled potatoes with the seven serves. Inside she screamed for familiarity and ordinariness again.
A few male serves carrying freshly cut portions of meat entered the room and stacked them onto a large wooden table nearby. The men’s coverings were spattered and smeared with fresh blood across their chests, stomachs and shoulders.
“This is for the roasting tonight,” said one young man. “We’ve got more to bring to you. Chief Shelley requires the meat to be seasoned before it is taken to the firepl
ace for cooking.”
“Ooh, spuds tonight,” said another.
“How many cows is this then?” asked one of the female serves as she dropped a peeled potato into the pot.
“This is just part of one,” said the first man. “We butchered two. Looks like we might need to bring some inside the gate for safety though.”
Martha gave the man a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”
“Some of the cows have gone missing, my lady,” he explained. “Probably just spooked by what’s been going on. You know. But the head butcher thinks these ghouls might have stolen them. Who knows?”
“I guess the ghouls get hungry too,” said the other man. “How many spuds you cooking tonight? Can I get three?”
“Shut up about your spuds.” The first man gripped the other by the arm. “Come on. We have got more meat to get.”
With that the men left the room.
“Those poor cows.” The young woman by Martha’s side shook her head. “I forgot about them being out there the whole time. Who knows what those things out there are doing to them.”
“Probably the same as us. Eating them,” suggested another serve with a chuckle.
“Why wasn’t I informed?” Chief Shelley turned his face towards a serve standing behind his throne in the Great Hall. Surrounding him were the four elders in chairs.
The large tables that spanned the platform during meal times had been stacked and placed to the rear of the raised area, beside the hidden stairwell that led to the living quarters above. Five serves stood before the stacked tables.
Martha stood on the rug in front of the platform, facing Chief Shelley. Three female serves of varying ages were behind her, preparing the grand fireplace with firewood.
“This is the first I have heard about it, my lord,” one of the serves replied, stepping forward. “Would you like me to investigate?”
“Absolutely,” the chief replied. “Who knows what else might be missing. Get someone to take stock of the sheep also.”
“Yes, my lord,” the serve replied with a bow before he walked off the platform and towards the large doors at the front of the Great Hall.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Martha,” said the chief. “Please let me know if you hear any other news such as this.”
“Of course, Barnard,” she replied. She then walked briskly through the passage to the side of the platform and vanished from the view of the men.
“Our livestock.” Chief Shelley shook his head.
“We had to expect something of the sort,” Edmond said. “The cattle have no protection outside the walls.”
“Are we able to bring all of the livestock into the village?” Nicolas questioned.
“And put them where?” responded the chief.
“Chief Shelley is right.” Eowyn leant back in his chair. “There simply is no shelter large enough. The only answer would be to let them roam the streets during the night.”
“That would not be wise,” Frederick put in. “Our soldiers and runners will need the streets clear of obstructions.”
Chief Shelley listened intently to the words of the four men. Each had a valid point but Frederick’s won the argument. The streets needed to be vacant during the night.
“The cattle and sheep remain outside the walls,” the chief instructed. “We will simply need to bear the loss.”
“And if they all disappear?” Edmond asked.
“We’ll need to survive on grain and vegetables,” Chief Shelley answered as he turned to the remaining serves behind him. “Boy,” he called to one.
The young serve stepped forward and bowed.
“Take a horse and cart out to the orchards to collect potatoes and pumpkins,” Chief Shelley ordered. “Gather as many as you can to help you. We are on borrowed time. Be back before sundown.”
“Yes, my lord,” the lad replied as he bowed.
Chief Shelley rubbed his hand across his forehead as the boy left the room.
“Do you think that will be enough?” Nicolas queried. “Pumpkins and potatoes?”
“I have no idea,” the chief retorted. “I do know that if we are starved out of supplies, terrible things could occur.”
As farmers worked in the southern orchards to gather what crops they could, shepherds and herders counted the livestock dotted upon the eastern pastureland. Dogs were used to steer the cattle and sheep together in small groups.
When final tallies were made and double-checked, the counters gathered by the eastern gate to combine the score. After careful deliberation, the men agreed that they were missing five cows and seven sheep.
The news was delivered to Alan, who was given the duty of overseeing the counting. He had never experienced something so uninteresting to do in his entire life. Watching the grass grow would have provided a much needed adrenaline rush compared to the excitement he experienced during the afternoon.
The final count and summation was written upon parchment and handed to the council member. Alan rolled the vellum into a scroll of sorts and entered the gate. He walked briskly through the streets of Woodmyst intent to bring the news to the village chief.
Politely, he greeted those who stopped him in the streets. Fortunately, there weren’t many who did this. Most of the men were still resting up in their homes after standing watch upon the wall during the night before.
Alan made his way to the Great Hall and entered. He passed the monolithic beams, under the watch of carved dragonheads as he rounded the grand fireplace.
The kindling had been lit and was now being cared for by two serves that started placing larger pieces of wood. Alan glanced to the ceiling out of habit and checked to make sure the panels that acted as a flue were open. The smoke from the fire was drifting upwards and disappearing through the vents into the open air beyond.
He climbed the steps to the raised platform where the chief and four elders sat. Without saying a word, Alan handed the rolled up parchment to Chief Shelley and stood back to wait for a response.
The chief eyeballed him, his expression perplexed as Alan handed the parchment over. He unfurled it and read it silently as the elders watched on.
“By the gods!” he exclaimed before reading the notes again. “Five cows and seven sheep? How could that go so unnoticed?”
“The men have been tending the wall, Barnard,” Alan replied. “They’ve neither had the time nor the energy to fulfil their regular duties.”
“Still,” the chief said, shaking his head, “that’s quite a number to simply disappear.”
“I’m surprised it isn’t a larger quantity,” said Alan.
“They could have been spooked and run off,” suggested Nicolas.
“Do you truly believe that?” Alan asked.
The old man scratched his beard and lifted his eyebrows.
“They will take more,” Alan opined. “We would do the same if the situation was turned around. May I suggest we butcher a few cows and sheep, salt the meat and put it into storage? It won’t last more than a week, but I honestly think if any of us is still alive by then, we would be rid of these strangers.”
The four elders puzzled over Alan’s words. Chief Shelley grimaced, understanding their meaning.
“In other words,” he said, “you think we’ll be dead before then.”
Alan cocked his head. “Not without a fight.”
Several farmers hacked at the hard ground with spades and hoes in a desperate attempt to gather as much of the crops as they could. Drenched in sweat and exhausted, they lifted potatoes and pumpkins from the soil and piled them into the cart that one of the serves had driven.
The crops had barely filled the wagon more than halfway and the workers feared they wouldn’t be able to add much more to the stockpile. Most of the crops were still immature and not ready for harvesting.
Still, they took what they could.
The sun was starting to dip towards the western horizon. They had another three hours of light left at most. The se
rve on the cart looked at the load and the faces of the workers around him.
“Do you think we can gather much more?” he asked a well-weathered farmer nearby.
“There’s not much left that we can call edible,” the farmer replied as he dug his spade into the dirt to lift a few small spuds from the ground.
The serve looked around one last time before setting his eyes upon the sun in the sky.
“Pack it up,” he called out. “This will have to do.”
The farmers and workers collected what reaps they could and placed them into the wagon. The serve flicked his reins and the mare towing the wagon leisurely moved forward. Slowly, the men made their way back to the village.
The blacksmith apprentices forged arrow tips and fixed them to long, thin shafts of wood. On the rear end of the arrow, they fitted three small triangular sheets of metal instead of the traditional feathers.
They were roughly halfway through filling Chief Shelley’s order. The senior blacksmiths instructed the apprentices to deliver what arrows they had made to the armoury. The sun was gradually lowering towards the top of the western wall and night would be upon them before they knew it.
The apprentices loaded up a hand wagon with finished arrows and a number of resharpened blades the older smiths had been working on. Two of the younger men pushed the cart carefully through the streets as another two walked ahead, clearing the path of obstruction and holding traffic back as they progressed through the village.
Eventually, they came to the building that housed the weaponry. With the assistance of a few male serves, they unloaded the wagon. Arrows were divided and slid into leather quivers that hung from hooks above racks of bows. Swords and daggers were sheathed and positioned upon the large, long tables in the centre of the room.
The young apprentices returned to the blacksmiths’ store with the hand wagon as the serves continued to prepare the armoury for the night watch.
“How goes it?” Peter asked as he entered the building.
“I think we’ve got it under control, my lord,” answered one of the serves.
The Walls of Woodmyst Page 9