A runner had been sent to investigate the reason for the sound but had not returned. Richard refrained from sending another as the hostilities in the eastern barrier had commenced by the time he realised one of his men was missing.
He decided he would wait until first light to send men out to find the missing runner. It was most likely the man had been sequestered by another group and was performing duties elsewhere.
Richard was a little annoyed, but understood most of the men under his command were not trained warriors. Most were farmers, shepherds and storeowners.
If he did find the runner again, he would simply remind him of his duty and leave it at that. There was no need to reprimand him for not fulfilling his military duty, especially if he was not military personnel.
Lightning flashed in the clouds above the field exposing the rows of fruit trees and tilled ground to the south. A few small houses dotted the landscape here and there.
There was no movement on the ground.
No hooded figures to threaten them.
Nothing but immature crops and farmland.
Still, Richard’s eyes widened in fear and he froze in place.
High above the harvest fields, nestled amongst the swirling clouds, was the dark form of the winged beast.
For a moment, Richard watched, as it seemed to glide around in a tight circle before the lightning dissipated and allowed the darkness to sweep back into place.
With the ability to see the view before him diminished, he found he could move once again.
“It’s back,” he called. “It’s back. It’s back.”
One of the tower guards lifted the hammer and struck the chime hanging from the rafters. The alarm rang out across the village drawing the attention of nearby eyes towards the source of the sound.
“Stop,” Richard ordered. The guard continued to strike the alarm over and over, unable to hear his commander through the clamour. “Stop,” Richard repeated as he grabbed the man’s hand. “Stop!” He kept his eyes towards the direction of his terrifying vision.
A long, guttural roar bellowed from the black sky above the orchards.
“By the gods,” the guard gasped as he dropped the hammer.
“Ready yourselves, men,” Richard called along the two walls by the tower. He wished he could recall the words he had spoken. How was anyone going to prepare themselves for what horrors this creature may bring?
A huge flash of light revealed the creature silhouetted in the sky, diving directly for the village. It moved at such an intense speed that Richard saw the air and vapour about it swirling, like a ship leaving its wake in the sea.
Darkness filled the sky as a deafening thunderclap erupted and the monster called out once more.
Richard placed the palms of his hands against his ears as the giant beast raced by his tower on the left, right above the southern wall.
The archers ducked as a great gust of wind followed the creature, knocking one of the guards over the side of the tower and two archers from the wall. All three landed in the lane below that passed between the wall and some houses below the tower.
Richard kept his eyes upon the large shadow that moved by as it continued to glide towards the Great Hall.
“Oh no,” he wheezed.
The soldier stood as straight as he could, both arms extended as Sybil Shelley loaded him up with blankets that were stored in an oak chest to the side of the raised platform. “Tell my husband this is all there is.”
“I will, my lady,” he replied as she took the last blanket from the chest and draped it over the others.
“And tell him his daughters miss him.”
“I will, my lady.” The soldier nodded.
“And that his wife loves him.”
“I will, my lady.”
“And to stay safe.” She smiled with troubled eyes.
“Of course, my—” He was interrupted by a guttural roar of the flying creature calling from outside.
The Great Hall shook from the force of the thing above as it swooped past the building, just skimming the rooftop with its long belly.
The soldier buckled at the knees and ducked instinctively. He glanced over to Sybil who was upon her knees holding her hands over her head.
Screams and gasps echoed through the large room as people dived for cover or froze where they were.
Small children hid behind the closest adults and started to bawl as the monster called into the night again. The sound was terrifying.
The enormous creature rose into the night sky and turned towards the northeast. It beat its giant membranous wings once, twice, propelling it higher and higher. Peter and Alan turned towards the flying beast as it called into the darkness, disappearing into shadow and cloud.
Flashes of lightning and thunder filled the air as the rain continued to fall steadily to the ground.
Both men were transfixed. Their eyes were locked upon one area of rain clouds.
“We don’t see any movement, my lords,” the tower guard called.
Both men snapped back to reality. There was an enemy out there.
“What did you say?” Peter asked.
“The invaders,” the guard replied. “They’re either hiding or gone.”
Alan peered over the edge of the tower. The sheep still huddled together beneath the structure.
He moved his eyes towards the pastureland and still found it difficult to see anything beyond the falling rain.
“How can you tell they’re gone?” Alan quizzed. “I can’t see anything.”
“Me either,” Peter agreed.
“The lightning,” the guard informed them.
Both men looked to the guard for more clarification. He must have sensed their confusion.
“Each time the lightning lit the sky we saw them moving about.”
Alan felt like a fool.
“And you can’t see them now when the lightning flares up again,” he said. “Can you?”
“No, my lord,” the soldier replied. “It would seem they have gone.”
Alan kept his eyes towards the east, waiting for the sky to light up again. It seemed every time he wanted the lightning to appear, it would go out of its way to test his patience. He felt as if he was waiting for something to happen that never would.
“I bet they used that beast to distract us,” Peter suggested. “That big bugger probably had every man on watch looking at it as it flew over the village.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Alan put in. “If that was their plan, it worked. I was watching the monster as it passed by.”
“As was I,” Peter confessed.
“And I,” the guard declared.
Keeping his eyes upon the meadow, Alan waited for the lightning.
His patience eventually paid off. Although he felt as if he was watching and waiting for an eternity, only mere seconds had passed.
The pastureland was revealed in bright white light.
Some cattle were gathered about halfway between the wall and the hill to the east. Steep roofed houses protruded from the long grass here and there. The river continued to flow on the southern side of the meadow and the grove bordered the north.
The tower guard was correct.
There was no sign of the enemy.
They were simply gone.
Chapter Fourteen
The rain had set in and continued to fall steadily. A grey veil blanketed the sky in all directions. The storm had long since past and the morning had arrived. The long grass appeared to be tinted with a fresh tinge of green and the meadow flowers opened up to expose their bright colours to the world.
Waterfowl frolicked along the banks on both sides of the river squawking and splashing. The sheep huddled in the open field allowing the rain to wash over them as the cattle chewed cud, seemingly oblivious to the conditions.
As serves and soldiers collected the fallen warriors from the walls and streets of Woodmyst, other kept watch and scanned the meadow for the enemy.
None could
be seen.
Not even the dead.
The watchers upon the wall shared their confusion, remarking how it was impossible for there not to be a sign of their foe ever being on the pastureland. Arrows had hit the cloaked figures during the night producing screaming and calling from the darkness.
Now, as the watchers scrutinised the expanse of grassland before them, there was no evidence of an exchange between themselves and the invaders.
No bodies.
No blood.
Not even a stray arrow.
“We should send the dogs,” Peter suggested to Alan. “Their noses might pick up a scent.”
“I have a feeling they won’t find anything,” replied the other. “But you are right. We need to get out there and conduct a search before any track is lost in this rain.”
Peter called down the side of the wall for dogs to be fetched and soldiers to conduct a search from the gate and up to seventy yards out.
Within moments, a line of twenty soldiers and five dogs walked carefully from the wall’s edge towards the east. The dogs buried their noses in the grass as they moved forward. The men scanned the surface for any mark or trinket that had been left behind by the enemy.
Alan watched intently as the line of men moved slowly and deliberately away from the village. He couldn’t believe the invaders’ capability for mobilising and disappearing so swiftly.
They were there only a few hours ago and now it was as if they had never been.
While others around him asked where they could have gone, he questioned how they could muster and gather everything so speedily and simply vanish.
He wondered if they had retreated to somewhere nearby and were watching and waiting for the cover of darkness to return so that they could attack once again.
He respected their strategy.
It was patient and slow.
It created fear and intimidation.
It produced confusion and anxiety.
It was tearing the village apart from within.
They wouldn’t need to do too much in order to become victorious and triumph over the inhabitants of Woodmyst.
All they needed to do was watch and bide their time.
Last night, Alan believed, was part of that strategy.
The enemy selected specific targets, thinning the defences of the village.
Then they unveiled the greatest weapon they had; the great beast of the sky.
Without directly attacking the village, it invoked fear by simply calling across the clouds and flying past the onlooking soldiers on the wall.
Clever, Alan thought.
The line of soldiers had moved to about fifty yards out from the wall. The dogs kept sniffing the ground and the men continued scanning the surface.
Nothing could be found and, Alan believed, nothing ever would be.
Running at full speed, Chief Shelley headed for the Great Hall. He ducked and weaved by weary soldiers who sluggishly made their way along the street. It wasn’t a long trek to the large building from the armoury where he had spent the majority of the night.
He bounded up the steps that led to the enormous doors, now opened after a very long night. The overnighters couldn’t wait to be free of the building. A desperate need to get out and find their loved ones who stood upon the wall overcame them and they packed at the door and caused traffic blockages on the steps.
The chief pushed and wriggled his way through the throng in order to get inside. His desperation to get in matched those wishing to get out.
Once inside, and away from the crowd, he scanned the room from one side to the other. Some families were seated around the edges of the auditorium while others made their way to join the mass at the door.
Glowing embers from the grand fireplace sent a thin shaft of smoke towards the ceiling. Strips of roast meat hung precariously from the spit hanging in the fireplace, appearing dry and inedible.
Chief Shelley looked past this towards the raised platform where he and his family would be seated for village banquets. The area was bare and those who he came to see were not there.
Briskly, he walked past the warm embers and dry meat, up the stairs to the platform and to the staircase at its rear. He quickly ascended the staircase and entered the living quarters above the auditorium.
There they were.
Sitting on the floor, playing with dolls, were Isabel and Alanna. They chatted and giggled, oblivious to their father’s presence. Near them, seated in a deep cushioned chair, Sybil was sewing.
“Thank the gods,” the chief breathed.
Sybil rose to her feet, dropping her needlework to the floor.
“Father,” the girls chorused as they ran across the room and wrapped their arms around his waist. He placed a hand on each of their heads before reaching an arm out to his wife. In four strides, she was in his arms holding him tight.
“I’ve never been so afraid in my life,” she admitted.
“Me either,” he replied.
The four of them held each other in a group embrace for a long time before letting go.
After some time, the girls returned to their dolls, Sybil returned to her stitching and the chief sat in his chair alongside her watching the children.
“What are you going to do?” Sybil asked.
His mind returned to the terrible sound of the beast roaring in the sky. It shook his innermost being to a place beyond fear when he had first heard it. Now as he remembered it, a slow shiver ran down his spine.
“I don’t know how we can fight against that thing,” he acknowledged. “I don’t know how we…” He stopped and looked at his daughters who were playing and giggling on the floor. Lowering his voice, Chief Shelley continued, “I don’t know how we can survive.”
She sighed. He appeared tired and older, worn out. He shouldn’t have to bear this load, she thought.
“Call a meeting,” she suggested.
“I was going to talk to the council members and the elders today,” he replied.
“No,” she said. “I mean the whole village. Let everyone have the right to stand and say their piece.”
He leant back in his chair and scratched at his chin thoughtfully before nodding. It was a good idea. After all, this assault upon Woodmyst affected all of its inhabitants, not just the council.
“You are a treasure to me,” he said.
“And I will remind you of that every day.” She smiled.
“Am I a treasure to you, father?” Alanna asked.
“You both are,” he replied as he stood to his feet. “A treasure more precious than gold and rubies.”
Sybil watched him curiously. “Where are you going?”
“To call a meeting,” he answered her. “We’ll banquet for lunch and call all available people to attend.”
He descended the stairwell to the raised platform and approached the serves in the auditorium. They were tidying up the mess from the night before. Linen was being folded and bundled for the laundry. Food scraps, plates and cutlery were gathered into baskets to be taken to the kitchens for cleaning.
“Serves,” the chief called to the group of young women and men busying themselves throughout the Great Hall.
They all stopped what they were doing and faced Chief Shelley standing upon the platform.
“Could you please send word to all available serves that there will be a banquet at lunch,” he instructed. “We will need the tables set and food supplied. Make a simple meal of bread, beef and mead. All places are to be set with food on plates and in place before anyone arrives. The time will also serve as a town meeting. You are all invited to attend and I want to begin in six hours from now when it is one hour past noon.”
The serves started a conversation of who was to pass the message on while the others remained to clean the Great Hall. Chief Shelley returned to his family as two young female serves dashed through the doors to pass the word.
The search for the lost runner had begun. Soldiers searched both within and beyond th
e western wall of the village. Some had taken to walking the perimeter outside the barrier while others carefully combed the streets and yards near the structure.
Richard checked the tavern, hoping his instincts were wrong. The last thing he wanted to do was reprimand a man for neglecting his duties, particularly if that man had decided to grab a jug of mead.
The tavern was empty. Not even the keeper was present. Richard assumed that, like him, the tavern keeper was engaged in obligations that had spilt over from the night and into the daylight hours.
He moved his attention to the streets again, searching back lots, alleys and hidden pockets between buildings that he didn’t know existed until now. Each time, he was confronted with either emptiness or discarded food scraps that he wished he hadn’t uncovered.
The search gradually worked its way from the base of the south-western tower towards the river. Some of the men in Richard’s charge headed towards the markets where the sound of hammers striking anvil and iron resounded through the streets.
Deciding to stick closer to the wall, Richard took a few men to search the area along the path he thought the runner would have most likely taken. In his mind, the runner would have navigated through the twisting lanes of Woodmyst, crossed West Bridge over the river that snaked through the village before heading for the north-western tower.
The search party lifted wooden pallets, moved large barrels and knocked upon doors as they edged closer and closer to the river.
It was as if the man had simply vanished.
After what Richard had witnessed during the night, a disappearing man didn’t seem all that far-fetched.
As families returned to their homes after spending a terrifying night in the Great Hall, he heard the children referring to the invaders as the Night Demons. He hoped the missing runner hadn’t suffered at their hands.
His mind returned to the first victim discovered upon the eastern hill. The poor soul was skinned, left fastened to a stake and garbed in clothes similar to what the enemy wore.
He then remembered the scouts left outside the eastern gate in a similar manner; men he knew. Richard forced the thought away as he focussed his attention back to the search.
The Walls of Woodmyst Page 12