by Bill Mays
- Chapter 9 -
Onward
Barst Durgan awoke under the caressing touch of a most beautiful creature. Arianna had just completed her latest healing prayer and was enjoying the feel of the mature man’s hairy chest. The mayor immediately realized he was covered by nothing but a thin sheet and then only from the waist down. His modest instincts kicked in as he pulled the sheet higher in an attempt to cover himself. Embarrassment flushed his ruddy cheeks beneath his beard. The priestess broke into a lighthearted laughter. She liked the shy ones.
“So, you are back among the living. It’s nice to know my prayers didn’t go to waste.” She traced one finger up the center of his defined chest and ran it along his collarbone. He was well muscled for a man of his age.
Barst closed one strong hand over the woman’s delicate fingers, stopping her teasing touch. “Not that I don’t appreciate the attention, but who are you, and where am I?” The bearded man was at a loss. He strained to remember what he could.
“Relax,” Arianna cooed as she ran her other hand through his curly head of salt and pepper hair. “Everything will be fine. Timbre is saved.”
That news alone put the mayor at ease. The statement also gave his memory a boost. “You are one of those who came to our aid. I remember now.”
“So you do remember me, very good! I would hate to be forgotten so easily,” the priestess whispered as she leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. She began nibbling up his jaw to his earlobe.
“Uncle Barst!” The name was nearly screamed by the young girl who had stopped by to check on him.
The mayor saw little Jillian Pandle’s cheerful face and suddenly realized how he must look to the girl. He quickly released the priestess’ hand and pulled away from her kisses. He then gathered up his covering to appear somewhat decent. This girl had also known his late wife of fifteen years. He felt so embarrassed.
“I thought you were …,” he choked back tears that came from nowhere as his memories instantly flooded back to him.
“Me too, but you saved me, Uncle Barst. Sure as a mule is stubborn, you saved my life!”
The girl had a few bruises, but she looked none the worse for wear. She was a tomboy and always had a few bruises to show for it. She ran to his bedside and threw her arms around his neck. The older man was tempted to sob, but he held the urge in check. He pulled away to examine her square in the face. There was a look of confusion on his rugged features.
“I saw you go over the edge of the platform. I tried to reach you, but I couldn’t. That … that creature blocked the way.”
“You bought enough time for the ranger, Flade, to get to me. He flew to catch me like a hawk set on its kill. I thought I was done for. My fingers were ready to give out. It’s because of your bravery and his, I’m standing here today.” The girl hugged Barst again even tighter this time.
“She’s been by to check up on you every chance she’s had,” Arianna added with a coy smile.
“How long have I been down?” Barst asked. He was suddenly aware that he had no concept of the time or day. There was daylight filtering into the room through its small window.
“Not long,” the priestess answered. “You have an impressive spirit. Like your body, it is strong. The battle was only yesterday.”
The tall woman’s compliments again brought a flush of embarrassment to the bedridden man. He had not had the attentions of a young maiden in some time, and never one as striking as Arianna.
“How have the town and our people fared?” His practical nature took control. He was the mayor after all.
The question was directed at Jillian. Her gaze dropped to the floor and her answer was delayed. “There’s a bunch of repairs to make, and a lot of folks didn’t make it. Those goblins were like a pack of rats. When you killed one, you found two more behind it.” The girl tried to stay strong for the mayor; but when her eyes again met his, they held much sorrow. “Uncle Barst, so many died. Uncle Reld, Aunt Jenna, Brenden, and … and Pa.” The girl swallowed hard to continue. “They fought hard, though. They were all strong for Timbre’s sake. Pa was his usual self, stubborn to the end and mean as a blind badger.” She could not go on anymore; her throat was too tight to talk.
Barst pulled the girl into a firm hug and let her weep on his shoulder. “We are alive, and so is Timbre, that is what’s important now. We will rebuild everything stronger than it was before. You’ll see.”
She appreciated the emotional interaction, but Arianna began to feel like an intruder. Her presence was not needed here any longer. She quietly excused herself from the small room. She whispered another prayer for the souls of those lost. The priestess knew she was needed elsewhere. There were plenty of others that could benefit from her attentions, healing and otherwise.
* * * * * * * * * *
Flade and Dalia walked side by side, as they made their way to one of the inn’s upstairs rooms. It, like the majority of the structure, had been converted into a place to tend to the injured. They entered the chamber after their light rap on the door drew no response. As was expected, they found Mani here. He sat in the room’s lone chair. Since driving the siege away from Timbre’s walls, the knight had not left the bedside of the young man kept within. The patient was his man, the youngest of his Kandairian soldiers, Tobin. The youth had been near death since before they entered the town. The goblins overwhelmed the boy early in the attack and now he clung to life by a thread. One of his men had died outside the front gate to the town. Another was crippled for life, his leg shattered beyond repair. Mani began his mission to report the king’s death to the resistance with only five of his soldiers by his side. They were the meager remnants of survivors from the attack on The Council’s Reverie. Now he was down to two active soldiers. Was the decision to aid the small logging community worth the price? He pondered the thought over and over, as he watched the young man breathe erratically in his feverish state.
“Yes. It was a good decision and a remarkable accomplishment,” Dalia answered his unspoken question. “You saved many lives, sir knight.”
“What?” Mani jerked his head up to greet the two.
“It is plain on your face,” Dalia replied evenly, “You question your judgment. I am telling you it was a sound call. You saved many lives and routed a Drackmoorian raiding party of well over a hundred members with but eight people at your command. Not to mention one of the enemy leaders was captured. That is a feat no one would ridicule. You are truly a knight of the crown.”
“The lady is right, Mani, you’ve done well, very well,” Flade offered honestly.
“You should be congratulating yourself. It was your idea in the first place, ranger,” Mani yawned back. He had not slept a wink since the battle. “Pixie tactics, remember?”
“I merely supplied a few ideas. You were the one who organized and led us to victory. As I recall you even saved the day at the end, you and your two man rescue party.” Flade moved to place a hand on the stocky knight’s slumped shoulder.
“Do not discount your skill or part in this accomplishment, Manifor. Without you this victory could not have been reached,” Dalia added. “Even this young man was proud to serve at your side.” She spoke softly as she gazed down on the fallen soldier.
“A lot of good pride has done him,” Mani grumbled.
“Do not throw your pride away so quickly, knight of Kandair,” Dalia shot back. “Pride can be a powerful force. It has the power to carry us through much we would otherwise crumble from.” The lady’s stoic nature was betrayed by the passion behind her clear eyes. She was speaking more for herself than anyone else.
“Pride, tempered by good judgment, is indeed a powerful tool,” Flade injected into the conversation. It was a statement meant for both lady and knight. “But more importantly, when do we head out? There is no sign of the resistance here.”
Mani looked to the bedridden soldier then back to his two traveling companions. He still seemed a little defeated. It was evident he did not
intend to leave any of his men behind.
The lady continued Flade’s train of thought. “Forgive my forwardness, but your mission is of the utmost importance as is ours and both are time sensitive.” Dalia’s face was a stone mask again. “When do we leave?”
Though she seldom spoke of him, Tark was always on her mind. She was worried about the big man. His mental state was rocky and his emotions running wild when he left them. There was more to it than just the concern for a close friend, though. She missed him terribly. Their time together was rushed, too rushed. She had not known him for more than a few months, but still she missed that interaction. She missed his stories and his smile. She even missed their half-hearted practice sessions. She could not drive the image of him leaning forward to kiss her from her thoughts. She longed for the chance to change that scenario, though she doubted her resolve would prove much different than before. Memories of his strong arms embracing her were so comforting.
Mani seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a moment before answering. “You are right, of course, and never apologize for sound judgment, my lady. We will depart in the morning. There is no time to waste.” The knight’s thoughts shifted to another important topic. “What of the captured Drackmoorian, and the mayor of this town?”
“I can speak for the second half of that question,” Arianna strolled into the open doorway. “The mayor is awake and doing well. I tended to him myself.” The priestess moved to the young man’s bedside and began stroking his fevered forehead with the back of her hand. She felt sorry for the boy. Her powers had proved of little use to him. He rested in the gods’ hands now.
“That is good news,” Flade smiled. He had thought the mayor lost when he carried him down from the watchtower.
“As for the Drackmoorian, he is cooperating fully. It would appear he has all but defected,” Dalia added. “Ganze is questioning him as we speak.”
“Ganze?” Mani was surprised to hear that the useless coward of a man was involved in anything constructive.
“Yes,” Dalia replied with a smirk. “It would seem even he has his uses at times.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The townspeople converted one of the stable pens into a holding cell of sorts. It was here they found Ganze and his bird, Coal, seated on a large bag of feed. The young Drackmoorian soldier sat on a small stool. He was stripped of his weapons and armor and his head was buried in his hands. He looked rather small and frail in his current state, like a lost child. It appeared the young man was weeping. As they approached the pen, Ganze looked up with a sly smirk on his face. He gestured quickly to the prisoner and spoke loudly for intimidation purposes. The small, gangly man did have his talents, persuasion being paramount among them.
“Ahhh … Sir Manifor Stormblade has arrived. It looks like the time to decide your fate is at hand, boy. Stand and show some respect to the king’s personal attendant.”
The weeping youth quickly brushed away his tears with his sleeve and jumped to attention. He was trying to seem strong, but his knees were shaking, as were his hands. The fear in his puffy eyes was apparent to all. Mani entered the holding pen followed by Flade and then Dalia.
“This is one of the captains of the raiding party?” Mani questioned, as he looked the youth over doubtfully. “He is little more than a child. Are you sure this is the right man?”
“Positive,” Flade spoke up, “I took him down myself. He’s fast on his feet.” The ranger shot a wink the frightened boy’s way.
Dalia merely stood by watching the prisoner intently. The lady’s gaze was drilling into the boy. Arianna stayed behind to continue with her priestly duties at the inn.
“What have you learned from the prisoner?” Mani directed his question to Ganze as he paced around the distraught soldier eyeing him with a cold gaze.
Even though they were the same height, the youth was quite intimidated by the stocky knight in his full plated-armor and his sword, hanging ready at his side. It did not hurt that Ganze had portrayed Mani as a ruthless fanatic of Kandair who wished only to cleanse Kandair of all Drackmoorians.
“He was one of three co-captains leading a raiding party of goblins and marguls across the scattered Kandairian outposts. This was their third target and the only settlement that was not a soldier’s barracks. He swears he didn’t know they were intended to move on innocent townsfolk. He also swears he caused no personal harm to anyone during any of the attacks. Oh, and his name is Petre, Petre Knob. I’m not sure I believe him though, on any account.” The frightened boy’s eyes pleaded for understanding when he heard the rodent-like man doubted him.
“He is being truthful,” Dalia stated confidently.
“Ahem, yes, well …” Ganze brushed the lady’s statement aside. She was killing the mood he was setting. “His co-captains were slain and he has pledged his full cooperation. He even handed this over voluntarily.” Ganze held up a chain with a silver charm dangling from it.
“What is it?” Mani asked still eyeing the prisoner harshly.
“According to him, it is a device given to each captain of a raiding party that when sounded will call for reinforcements from the main army. It’s some form of instrument you blow in, a sort of whistle. That is if you believe him.” Again, the gangly man played on the youth’s fear.
“I saw one of his comrades use that same device just before I took him down,” Flade offered. “But I neither heard nor saw any result. Maybe it was passed out as a false sense of security to make them fearless. I wouldn‘t put it past those Drackmoorian scum.”
“Or perhaps it involves magic?” Dalia offered.
“Well soldier, which is it?” Mani stood face to face with the prisoner brow beating him with every word.
“I-I don’t know, sir. I never used it and I never saw it used.” His voice was strained and his throat was painfully dry.
Mani glanced toward Dalia’s for confirmation. Somehow, the lady could discern truth from lie. He assumed it had something to do with her religion, as did her healing powers. Dalia nodded her approval. The boy was telling the truth.
“Is there anything else you can offer me to make me want to spare your life?” Mani was serious.
The boy began to weep again, though he fought unsuccessfully to hide the tears. He was struggling for a response, but nothing came to him. “I-I don’t want to d-die,” he croaked meekly.
“You should have thought about that before you joined the Drackmoorian army. You should of thought about that before you agreed to bring those wretched goblins down on this town. One of my men died, another is injured for life, yet another struggles to survive this very moment. Do you know how many of the locals were killed in the attack? What right do you have to live?” The knight’s calm composure was quickly fading. He was tired and his voice was rising fast as was his temper.
“We appreciate your aid more than you can know, king’s knight, but we have lost many to this young man’s efforts. As mayor of this town, I will decide what is to become of the boy.” Barst stood behind them at the open door to the stable pen made cell.
Mani turned and looked the sturdy mayor over carefully. “He has been tied to the death of a Kandairian soldier, albeit indirectly, by his own admission, not to mention the deaths of numerous citizens of Kandair. There is little choice in the matter. We have laws that dictate his sentence.”
“I understand the king’s rules. As I stated earlier we do appreciate and owe you and your companions our lives, but we don’t agree with the ways of the crown. Out here we decide the punishment of our criminals as we see fit.” The two bearded men stared hard at one another. The mayor was a full hand taller, but the knight was broader.
“Maybe it’s best if we discuss this over a meal. It has been some time since either of you had solid food in your stomachs.” Flade offered in an attempt to calm the situation. The ranger was not so sure either man was in the best of moods to be deciding anyone’s fate. Besides, the boy was so frightened it was painful to watch.
“Flade is correct,” Dalia seconded. “We are all tired and our choices may be strained.” The lady cast a look of pity on the terrified boy. His fear was screaming out to her and his eyes pleaded for help.
“I need no time for thought on this matter. My decision is simple. A life for a life, it is the law.” Mani was strong in his conviction.
“That is for a council to decide, even by your laws, and I see none present.” Barst was not backing down. “How old are you, son?” The question was directed at the prisoner.
“S-sixteen summers, sir,” he choked out in response.
“We are all guilty of mistakes, especially at this age. I would like to speak with him before any punishments are casually thrown out.” Without waiting for Mani’s reply, the mayor moved to the young soldier’s side. “Why did you join the army of Drackmoore?” The sturdy man’s question was simple enough.
The boy seemed confused at first. “A-all of the men of age in my town were recruited, some younger than me. It was the law Lord Meiron set forth. Unless you are pardoned for some reason, or skilled in another important craft you become a soldier. I’m only a farmer. Since the beginning of the war, they have always said more soldiers are needed.”