As he explored through the streets, a male serve dressed in the traditional white approached him. “My lord.”
Richard paused and faced the young man. The soldiers nearby stopped searching also and started to gather around.
“Keep searching, men,” Richard gently instructed. “We need to find him. I’ll join you soon.”
The soldiers quickly returned to the search.
“What is it?” he asked the serve.
“Chief Shelley will be holding a banquet at one hour past noon,” the serve informed him. “It will also be a chance to hold a town meeting. He wishes all council members to be present.”
“Inform Chief Shelley I will be present as soon as I find my lost man and after we hold pyre for the men who were slain last night,” Richard replied. “Tell him I think it would be good for the banquet to also serve as a time for remembering our fallen friends. Thank you.”
“My lord.” The serve bowed before turning away.
Richard shook his head. “A banquet,” he said. “I swear all that man ever thinks about is eating.”
A flashing image of a murky swamp, deep in his past, flooded his mind. Low branches of old willow trees dangled their foliage towards the gloomy marsh. Twisted mangroves dug into the damp earth around the water’s edge. Vines and weeds laced the dirty liquid’s surface as insects and frogs called through the dank, thick stench that rose from beneath.
“My lord?” a soldier asked, forcing Richard to snap back to reality.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Keep searching.”
The search party moved within sight of the bridge. A few side streets and alleys lined the area between the water crossing and themselves. The soldiers moved along each access carefully, deliberately, turning over everything that they believed a man could crawl under or be hidden beneath.
Richard peer into an alley where a soldier was pulling some large planks away from a wall. Beneath them was a large object, slumped and dark.
Obscured by shadow.
As the soldier moved the lengths of timber, more and more light exposed what lied beneath. Richard kept his eyes on the spot. He hoped to the gods it wasn’t his lost runner, but wanted the search to be over. Selfishly, he wanted to be in his home sleeping in his bed. The looks on his men’s faces informed him they also wanted this for themselves.
He then thought of the missing man’s family. How would he explain their loved one had managed to pass away under a pile of boards leaning against the wall?
More light fell onto the area as the soldier moved the planks to the side.
Lying on the ground was an overturned barrel with an old blanket on top.
Richard felt a sudden sense of relief intermixed with frustration.
He was glad it wasn’t his missing runner underneath the leaning planks, but annoyed that the search needed to continue.
“My lord,” a soldier called.
Richard snapped his head around to the source of the sound.
One of the other soldiers stood atop West Bridge pointing to where the river flowed out through the western wall.
Richard ran towards the soldier, his other men in tow. They arrived at the pointing soldier’s side together, one man almost slipping over. Together, they carefully scrutinised the area to which he indicated.
The water was higher than usual and flowing rapidly after the rain. Boats tied to small docks bounced and knocked against the platforms as the river ebbed and swayed beneath them.
Iron bars blocked the causeway, allowing only water to pass through. It was a defensive structure that had been lowered on the chief’s command in order to prevent enemy forces from entering the village.
The gates prevented men from entering, but also stopped large objects from exiting. Forced up against the bars by the pressure of the rapidly flowing river, were small branches, a fishing boat, baskets and other debris. Amongst them was the form of a man.
Richard saw from the clothing that it was his lost runner.
The men felt their hearts sink and leant against the guardrail of the bridge. One lowered his eyes and silently prayed while another simply shook his head.
Tears welled in Richard’s eyes, falling upon his cheeks only to be swept away in the rain.
Chapter Fifteen
The scent of manure and straw was an inviting aroma. Something about it made Tomas feel he was where he belonged. He didn’t want to live in the stables, but definitely felt this was where he would like to spend his spare time.
He had filled three buckets with horse crud since he arrived at first light. The stable master had instructed him to be cautious around the animals. Tomas didn’t need the warning. It was clear the horses were spooked by the evening’s events.
An occasional loud noise or shouting passer-by caused the beasts to stamp their hooves and nod their heads in protest. A gentle word and a touch on the nose from a stable hand settled them somewhat, but Tomas saw the fear in their eyes. The workers inside the building tried to keep as quiet as they could for their benefit.
By mid-morning, Tomas had filled eight buckets with round, grassy turds and placed them onto a wagon. His next task was to unfurl bundled hay and lay it into the mangers. As he did so, the burly horseman followed him, pouring buckets of water into troughs.
“Master Lytton,” one of the stable hands called softly.
The stable master lifted his gaze to the other man. The stable hand pointed to the door where a serve was waiting.
Tomas kept watch as the horseman strode across the floor, past three stalls where curious horses followed the man with their eyes as he walked by.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” the serve said a little too loudly for the horses.
The brown mare in the stall Tomas currently occupied stamped its feet unhappily. The boy turned to the beast and placed a hand upon its neck.
“There, there,” he whispered.
The horse replied with a low nicker.
“Quiet,” the stable master instructed the serve. “The animals are scared. Try and keep the volume down.”
“I apologise,” replied the serve softly. “I bring word that a banquet and town meeting will be held one hour after noon. Chief Shelley would like as many of you that can be spared to attend. Again, I apologise for my inappropriate behaviour.”
“It’s all right, lad,” the stable master replied. “Go about your business.”
The serve took his leave as the horseman returned to the stall where Tomas stood. The boy had stayed with the mare during the conversation between the stable master and the serve. His hands remained on her neck, moving occasionally to pat her lightly along her nose. The mare had half closed her eyes and lowered her head for him to reach more towards her ears.
“She likes you.” The horseman smiled. “I think she has claimed you as her own.”
Tomas grinned from ear to ear.
He resumed loading hay into the manger as the hefty man picked up a bucket and poured water into the trough. Tomas looked to the door and back to the stable master.
“What is it lad?” the stable master questioned. “Do you have some grand concern about the town meeting?”
“Hmm?” Tomas grunted. “No. Not that. I was just wondering why the serves do what they do.”
“What do you mean do what they do? It’s their job, lad.”
“No, I mean, they’re not slaves or forced to serve. They could be shopkeepers or farmers or even work here. I don’t understand why they are servants.”
“Well,” the stable master started, thinking of the best way to respond. “Why are shopkeepers, shopkeepers? Why are farmers, farmers? For the same reason a serve is a serve. They chose to be. They put themselves in the service of Woodmyst and in reward, they are given shelter, food and clothing. When they become too old to serve, others serve them. It’s been a long tradition of the realm, not just our village, for centuries.”
“But why choose that for work over some other job?” Tomas asked as he spread the last o
f the hay.
“I see what you’re asking,” replied the burly man as he placed the bucket on the ground and stretched his back, twisting this way and that. “They mostly become serves out of family tradition. Some are serves because there wasn’t any other work available.”
“Can they become something else if work becomes available?”
“No. Once you swear to serve the village, you are a serve for life. There is a binding contract between the elders and the serves that cannot be broken. Punishment for abandoning your obligation as a serve results in banishment from the village with only the clothes on your back.”
“No food or water?” the boy queried.
“Nothing,” replied the stable master as he lifted his two empty buckets and turned to leave the stall. “You leave with only that which you truly own.”
“But the clothes belong to the village,” Tomas objected.
“Let’s call it a parting gift,” the beefy man replied. “Civilised people don’t leave a person naked to walk the wilds, lad. We can, at least, make sure the needy have coverings.”
The mare watched wistfully as Tomas followed so that he could retrieve more hay for the other horses.
“I don’t think I’ll ever want to be a serve,” he said.
The big man chuckled quietly at the boy’s words.
It had been a long time since a town meeting was called. Those who could recall the last time an assembly such as this remembered all too well the reason for the gathering. It resulted in most of the men from the village being called to duty for the realm. The overall consequence was a great many of their men not returning home afterwards.
Chief Shelley had this memory in the back of his mind as he sat upon the platform with his family and the families of his councilmen. This time they weren’t being called to fight for the realm in some distant land.
The threat was on their boundaries.
The danger was at home.
He allowed the gathering to enjoy the meal and had asked the serves to join them in the auditorium for the banquet. It was the first time the serves had the honour of sitting within the walls of the Great Hall to partake in a feast. Usually, they served the meal and ate in the rooms near the kitchens behind the building.
Not today.
Perhaps never again.
The appearance of the flying monster had caused the village leader to re-evaluate their circumstances. He honestly had no idea of how to defeat such a creature.
He looked towards the rafters of the Great Hall to the heads of the carved dragons that supported the beams. The resemblance was not identical, but appeared very near to the beast.
How the enemy could have tamed a dragon was beyond his comprehension.
No one had claimed to see a dragon since the days before the Realm War. The stories of such animals boasted that they were wild and unpredictable. There had never been any tale that mentioned the ability to train them.
Yet, here one was that seemed to be working in league with the invaders.
How could this be?
Raising his mug to his mouth, he gulped down the mead from within and lowered the empty vessel back to the table. Sybil noticed and placed a hand upon his knee. Slow down.
Nodding his acknowledgement, he scanned the room carefully to gauge if the gathering was ready to commence the meeting. He surmised that they were as their conversations grew increasingly louder indicating they were done with feasting.
He quickly looked in both directions along the table, checking that his council were ready to begin. They signalled their reply, all except Lawrence who, along with his family, was absent from the table.
A quick look around the room, in case the man had decided to sit with friends elsewhere, informed him that the council member had not come to the meeting. Shelley didn’t see the point in waiting for him. They had finished the meal and it was now almost two hours past midday. There were still preparations for the night to be made and who was to know how long the meeting would last.
He stood to address them all.
“People of Woodmyst,” he shouted. “People of Woodmyst,” he called again, ensuring their undivided attention.
Silence flooded the giant room as all voices ceased and eyes moved towards the platform.
“People of Woodmyst,” Chief Barnard Shelley continued. “I have called this meeting to discuss our options concerning the current plight. We have had to hold yet another pyre today. I predict we will need to hold another tomorrow.
“For whatever the reason, we have an enemy on our lands. We do not know who they are or why they have chosen us, but nevertheless, they are here and it doesn’t look as if they intend to leave any time soon.”
He glanced down at the table in front of him, looking for his full mug of mead. It remained empty after his last interaction with it. Returning his gaze to the villagers, he continued addressing them.
“I am going to be honest with all of you; I plan to fight them and die if I have to. I plan to stand until the end—”
“Easy for you to say, Barnard,” a man called from his seat. “I haven’t seen you upon the wall with the rest of us.”
“No!” Alan stood and shouted back angrily. “You haven’t seen him up there because he’s running tactical operations from the armoury, sending you much needed supplies while you’re on the wall. No you haven’t seen him on the wall. But you have seen the rest of us up there with you and we support him wholeheartedly.”
Chief Shelley looked along the table to his friend who was lowering himself back to his seat. A short nod signalled his gratitude to Alan who simply raised his mug in reply before draining its contents.
How he wished he had some mead of his own right now.
“Last night was our first real night of conflict,” the chief informed the assembly. “I have no doubt we will face something similar, if not more intense, tonight. We need to be ready.
“I believe we should stand and fight. If you have any other solutions to our shared problem, then now is your chance to speak your mind.”
Chief Shelley sat back down next to his wife who returned her hand to his knee under the table hidden from view.
A thick silence fell over the room, as eyes looked this way and that as an intense moment passed as the gathering waited for someone to stand and say something.
“I have something to say,” called a woman’s voice from the back of the room.
All eyes turned to see who the speaker was. Some grumbled their disapproval of the utterer, wanting to leave the Great Hall to prepare for the evening. Others turned in order to listen more intently.
Chief Shelley leaned in his seat to see past the fireplace, which obstructed his view of the owner of the voice. The attempt was in vain as the hearth was simply too wide.
“Please speak your piece,” he called to her.
“Why can’t we just leave?” she asked. “I look along your table and see that one of our council members is missing.”
Where are you, Lawrence?
Chief Shelley took a deep breath and tried desperately not to glance along the table to his missing friend’s place.
“I know he wasn’t counted as one amongst those who were on the pyre,” she continued. “What I have heard that he has left the village with his family. I don’t mean any disrespect, Chief Shelley, but some of us simply don’t want to be here and I’m guessing Lawrence Verney didn’t either. We’re scared and we want to go.”
She sat back in her seat and started sobbing. The man beside her placed his arm around her and she buried herself into him.
“We can’t leave,” a man from across the room called out. “My apologies, Chief.” The man stopped. “I’m not sure of the formalities.”
“Please continue,” the chief replied.
“We can’t leave because we don’t know where the Night Demons are,” the man said.
Richard was reminded of what the children had called the invader earlier in the day.
Night Demons.<
br />
It would seem that the designation for the enemy was spreading to the adults, or perhaps had started there and had been overheard by the youths.
“They only come out at night,” someone else shouted.
“We don’t know that,” continued the man who was speaking. “They’ve attacked us at night, but they could be sitting out there watching the village as we speak. They could be waiting in the forest for us to try and escape only to cut us down as we run. We’re safer here, behind the walls. They haven’t made it in yet.”
“But they have a dragon,” called another. “You’re all fools if you believe the walls are going to stop a dragon.”
“They won’t stop a dragon.” Peter stood upon his feet. “Nothing will. I can’t begin to know how these Night Demons, as you call them, could ally with such a terrible creature. But they did.
“If it can get inside the walls, so can they. So if nothing can stop the dragon, then nothing can stop the Night Demons. That being the case, leave Woodmyst.”
Shocked by his words, all eyes at the table fell upon him. Chief Shelley couldn’t believe what his friend was suggesting to the people of his village. Peter, however, hadn’t finished.
“But our friend there has a point. What if these bastards are watching and waiting for you to run? Perhaps you and your children will be skinned just like our scouts were, and placed on pikes outside the eastern gate for us to find tomorrow.
“Now let us consider what our other speaker said. They only come out at night. Let us believe for a moment that this is true. That perhaps the sunlight causes them pain. Fine.
“The hour is late. You won’t get much farther than the far end of the orchard before nightfall. With your family in tow, and even with the fastest steeds pulling your wagon, they will be upon you before you knew it.
“So leave if that’s what you want to do. Nobody will stop you. But don’t expect us to come to your rescue. I will not put any man at risk when there is an enemy surrounding us. No way.”
With that, he plonked himself down and raised his mug to his lips.
The Walls of Woodmyst Page 13