by Travis Peck
Turning back in the saddle, he saw the ravinors running in pursuit, and this time, he consciously gave a triumphant shout. He could hear Hossen whooping as well. The ravinors could not catch them. Already they had outpaced the creatures, and he saw them abandon the chase. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be followed, though.
His hands were trembling on the reins, and his heart pounded away as fast as his horse was galloping. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes, but he did not even bother to wipe his brow. Any movement seemed like it would slow them down, and that was the last thing he wanted. He and Hossen continued to urge their mounts to keep up their full gallop, neither man thinking of their route. Right now was all that mattered. They had escaped Deepbrooke.
Chapter Fifteen
THE SUN BEGAN TO emerge from between the distant peaks far to the east of Garet’s walled home. The sunlight, in conjunction with the ravinors’ unfettered gorging, had triggered the remaining creatures to seek shelter on the west side and at the base of the wall. Though they could brave the rays of the sun, Garet had not seen them choose to do so if there was any shade. He thanked the Giver once more for whatever had kept the ravinors from immediately chasing after Shiya and Osbar.
The ex-captain had stood guard through the remainder of the night, after finally persuading Crallick and the others to seek out their beds. The two-dozen surviving ravinors were a problem he had been mulling over during the last candles of darkness. He did not dare sneak his family and the Ayersons out from the safety of the walls to the dubious safety of Haelle.
With Crallick’s discovery of a second coven in the area, he would have to assume that they were now roaming about the countryside. It was entirely possible that the village had already been attacked. Haelle would not fare as well as his home had; it lacked any sort of defensive perimeter, nor did it have a militia for defense. It also lacked two seasoned veterans and three full-grown, and fully trained, war mastiffs.
Haelle was out of the question until he had more information. First, he had to deal with these remaining ravinors. He had some ideas about that, but so long as the sun was up and the ravinors were all clumped together in the shade of his walls, he decided to let the others sleep as long as possible before he needed them.
If not for his family’s, and that of the Ayersons’, well-being, he, Crallick, Rogair, Barsus, and his three war mastiffs could sortie out and dispatch most of them, but the chance of infection was just too high. He couldn’t bear the idea of leaving his wife and children alone in such a situation. Five years of retirement and family life had made him more averse to danger. Ignoring long odds that would have sent him and his old cohort charging into danger was no longer a viable option.
By mid-morning the ravinors were soundly asleep. Garet decided to wake up the others; he didn’t want to let the opportunity that he saw slip by. He woke his old sergeant first. The veteran was up and clear-eyed in moments. Myrna and the children were much more difficult to rouse and were still groggy. Barsus woke up disheveled, no doubt he had not slept well, either. Garet knew that after a person’s first encounter with ravinors, the nightmares would not allow much rest. He was proud of his eldest son. He had seen more experienced men fare far worse in less dangerous circumstances. Barsus had kept his head and had done what was required of him, and he had done so without hesitation.
Rogair had not slept at all; the dark circles under his eyes spoke of a night filled with worry. The Ayersons’ patriarch was not a fighter. He was a farmer and a generally mild-mannered and unassuming man. Garet knew that such an ordeal as the man had been through the day before would have shaken anyone. Being chased by ravinors and trying to get one’s family to safety—that would stress the hardiest of warriors.
The whole household was up and about now. Myrna and Ester, Rogair’s wife, already had breakfast cooking and kof brewing on the stove—which everyone could certainly use. Shiya and Osbar kept rubbing their eyes, trying to get up with the adults, but they too had been through a trying day. Garet went over to his two young ones and gathered them up in his arms despite their halfhearted protests. Setting the children back on their feet, he walked over behind Myrna and engulfed her in an embrace as she attended to their breakfast.
She turned and gave him a quick kiss and a tired smile. She must have been worrying through the night. He wanted desperately to talk with her and comfort her, but in front of the Ayersons and their children, they had to keep up a confident and unworried countenance. Not unlike how an officer had to act in front of his men.
“Barsus. Go take a walk around the wall before breakfast,” Garet ordered his son. “Most of them are still sleeping against the west wall. See if there are any others around, and by the grace of the Giver, don’t wake them.”
Barsus nodded and walked out, grabbing his altered pitchfork by the door.
Garet drew Crallick aside, and the two men discussed tactics for what the former captain had in mind.
After a brief conversation, the plan had solidified. The two veterans sat down at the now crowded table while Myrna was serving up plates. Eggs steamed invitingly, and the smoked ham looked succulent and sweet. Crallick, as was his custom, cleared his plate in the blink of an eye, and Myrna was already scraping the last of the remaining eggs out of the pan for the large man with the equally large appetite.
Barsus came back inside and set the pitchfork down next to the door again. “All of them are still on the west side,” he said. “I didn’t see any others along the walls.” His eldest son sat down at the only remaining place at the table where a full plate was waiting for him.
Garet nodded to himself as he finished off his food. He got up and relieved Myrna so that she could eat something as he finished straightening out the kitchen. Once most of the dishes were rinsed and stacked, he helped Shiya and Osbar cut up their ham. Osbar chafed at the assistance. He was at the age where he considered himself grown up. He certainly is more grown up now than he was yesterday morning, Garet thought with a sense of pain at the lost innocence that occurred while witnessing such events. He continued to slice the slab of ham despite his youngest son’s protests. He just wanted to spend more time around his young children a little longer before he had to see about the day’s grisly—and necessary—task.
The meal was over quickly, and the table was cleared. Ester was bustling about while trying to help Myrna with whatever she could. The Ayersons’ youngsters, of an age with Shiya and Osbar, hovered around the two women. He saw from the animated discussion going on between his two youngest that his children were planning out which games to play.
Garet spoke softly to his wife while their younglings were safely distracted. “Keep them inside for a while. I’ll let you know when they can come out. It will not be pleasant.” Myrna nodded without asking what he had planned. “Don’t even let Osbar stand watch on the balcony or the roof. I don’t want them to see this.”
“I will keep them occupied. You be careful,” Myrna said.
Garet gestured for the other men to follow him outside. He tried not to draw attention to himself leaving with the other men lest Osbar be distracted from the game that the children were now engrossed in.
A candle later and everything was ready. The ravinors at the foot of the wall were still sleeping, though Garet thought that they weren’t slumbering as soundly as before. He and Crallick had the barrel of lamp oil hoisted up onto the top of the wall. Barsus and Rogair had their torches ready to light. They would hand them up to the two on the wall once the oil was poured out.
Garet waved down to his son and Rogair, then he and Crallick began to dump the contents onto the unsuspecting ravinors below. Grunts of surprise and irritation were being voiced from the base of the wall. The two men spread out the lamp oil as evenly as they could. They shuffled along the top of the wall while slowly saturating the ground and bodies of the now stirring creatures. Garet saw Crallick flinch ever so slightly once the wooden barrel was tossed down from the wall. He knew as well as
Garet did what was about to happen.
The creatures were becoming more and more agitated, even though they did not understand the significance of the odd-smelling liquid that was dousing them from above. Garet turned and leaned down from the wall to grab the flaming brand from his son while Crallick reached for the other torch from the wide-eyed farmer.
They waited a heartbeat, then tossed the guttering torches down amongst the unsuspecting ravinors.
Whoompf!
Garet and Crallick sprang back from the heat that suddenly boiled up from the ground as the lamp oil ignited. Ravinors screamed from below. They sounded more like wounded horses than men. It was a sound the two veterans despised, having heard it all too often during their lifetime of battles. Garet had to remind himself that he was protecting his family by doing this.
Crallick had a slightly greenish cast to his face, but he held strong on the wall beside his old captain. He heard one of the men down below vomiting up the breakfast they had just consumed. He had assumed it was Barsus, but when he turned, he saw the farmer on his knees sicking up while his son handed him a ladle-full of water from the well. Although his son had not emptied his stomach, Garet could see the nausea writ on his face as plain as day. And for good reason.
The smoke and reek of burned flesh wafted up and over the wall as two dozen ravinors smoldered below. Eventually, the heat died down and the smoke cleared enough for Garet to see how many were left. He knew that the scene below would be added to the other ghastly images that haunted him in his sleep. There was no movement at the base of the wall. Still-smoldering corpses lay scattered against the stone wall as if seeking escape together. He felt a pang of disgust and regret. It was the most human he had ever seen ravinors appear and act. Only in such a horrid death had he ever seen such a striking similarity between the two antagonistic species.
He and Crallick didn’t waste a moment getting down from the wall and away from that horrible spectacle.
“We got them all,” Garet said with no sense of enjoyment at the carnage he had caused. Rogair had regained his composure and nodded without speaking. The farmer’s mouth was closed tightly in his effort to maintain control over his stomach.
“Get a barrel and fill it halfway up with wine and the rest of it with water. Add a half stone of salt to it and stir it up well.” Garet gave his son the task mostly to keep him away from the nightmare on the other side of the wall.
“Now?” Crallick asked, his voice conveying the revulsion he felt by taking on such an unpleasant task so soon after seeing the ravinor- and oil-fueled conflagration.
“We don’t know if that other coven is near yet, and I want to have as many arrows recovered as possible. We should also gather the bodies and burn them.” Garet did not want to go out there any more than Crallick did. He had already had his fill, and then some, of the sickening sights of the day. But they had to do it. And sooner was generally better than later when it came to such foul tasks.
Crallick nodded his understanding of the situation. It was clear that he wasn’t looking forward to it—neither was Garet.
The former captain took pity on Rogair and asked him to go inside and tell the others the good news. He also advised the farmer to have Myrna keep the children inside for a while longer. Barsus returned with the barrel and readied the antiseptic to wash the recovered arrows from any trace of the tainted ravinor blood. Garet grabbed his and Crallick’s swords while his sergeant retrieved some heavy leather aprons and long leather gloves they normally used for butchering. He would have to get new ones after this, but at least they would provide some protection while they retrieved the precious arrows and disposed of the ravinor dead.
The two men cleared the obstructions from the gate and unsheathed their swords. When they were both ready, Garet removed the bar from the heavy door and pushed it open, ready for any surviving ravinors to attack. There were none. He hadn’t expected any survivors, but there was no way he would go out there unarmed. Ravinors did not possess the guile to play dead, but if one were rendered unconscious from blood loss and came to when he or Crallick pulled an arrow out of it, he would be damned if he did not have a weapon on him to deal with it.
The ravinor corpses slain in the initial wave were much easier to look at than the charred ones. During the night, the blood had been given enough time to soak into the ground. That, and the fire, had dried the bloody mess so their boots did not get too terribly soiled. They took turns recovering arrows and guarding the other’s back during the recovery. Neither men hesitated to give a corpse a stab through its heart if it didn’t appear to have obvious wounds; this practice ensured that a ravinor body was truly dead. There were no surprises, and Garet was pleased that they were able to recover a good percentage of their arrows. Fifty or sixty, he figured.
They both returned inside the gate with the recovered arrows. They tossed them into the soaking barrel. Barsus was ready for them. He, like the veterans, wore a pair of leather gloves with high wrists and also a leather apron. His oldest son was also armed with a long-handled brush to keep as far away as he could from the tainted blood and gore on each arrow. Barsus had set up a rack next to the barrel, and after giving each arrow a thorough cleaning, he set it on the rack to dry.
“You’ll probably have to change out the barrels once or twice to keep it clean. Dump the soiled mixture outside of the wall—that area is already tainted,” Garet advised his son.
“Yes, sir!” Barsus said with a straight face.
Crallick guffawed behind him.
“Don’t encourage him!” Garet shouted at his sergeant, though he was glad his son had any sort of humor in their situation. A good mark of a soldier. Battlefield humor was never the best, but it did wonders at raising morale and gave their circumstance some semblance of normalcy.
Leaving his son to disinfect the precious arrows, he and Crallick went back out to the field. This time they led two of their horses out beyond the walls to help. They had several coils of old rope that he didn’t mind burning after using. No sense touching the foul corpses more than they had to, and the animals could not get infected, so it was better that they did the lifting instead of the humans. That reminds me… Garet gave a loud whistle and the three war mastiffs went bounding through the gate.
Without giving them a chance to sniff at the bodies, he gave the order, “Separate and guard.” The three did just that. Aelpheus raced off toward the sentinel trees, then sat down on his haunches; from this distance, the giant mastiff appeared as a small tawny figure sitting at attention. Tyrant and Amalia disappeared out of Garet’s view as they circled back around the wall. Each war mastiff knew that it was responsible for a third of the perimeter. It was amazing how adept and trainable war mastiffs were. If such creatures hadn’t been on their side during the three ravinor wars, he knew that many more men would have been killed or turned.
With the security of knowing that a coven of ravinors would not be able to surprise them with the mastiffs on duty, the two men were able to set to work with a will. Both veterans sheathed their swords and focused on tying corpses together so that each horse could drag them over to a likely pyre location. The unburnt bodies were cleared in a few candles and ready to be incinerated.
They needed shovels and a wheelbarrow to remove the terrible heap of charred corpses against the western wall. Three sickening trips later with a fully laden wheelbarrow, and the pyre was ready. With handkerchiefs over their mouths, Garet and Crallick set the pyre ablaze. Stripping off their gloves and aprons, the two added their potentially tainted clothing to the flame and went back to the safety of the wall. They left the gate open for the mastiffs while Aelpheus and his pack kept watch.
Once inside the walls again, Garet inspected the arrows drying on the rack. They all looked clean and usable. He felt a little weight lift from his shoulders, knowing they still had some means of dispatching the creatures from a safe distance.
Myrna must have read his mind. He saw his wife and Estel Ayerson hauling a
steaming bucket of water to the barn where they had sectioned an area off for bathing. Even though Garet had taken every precaution he knew of to keep safe from infection, a bath would put his mind at ease.
The veterans bathed quickly, knowing that everyone else would be wanting to clean up too. They emptied out the tubs and hauled clean, hot water back to the barn, refilling them for the next two occupants. By midday, everyone was bathed.
If they ignored the lingering scent of charred flesh that hung in the air, it could have passed for a normal visit between friends. The children were playing around the yard, chasing one another and screaming and laughing while being pursued. Garet marveled at how adaptable young ones were compared to adults. Each of the children had been through a terrifying experience the previous day, but they took it as a matter of course, and they now went on about the important task of playing their games. He knew that the night time would likely be another story, and that the children would be having nightmares for some time—he would too.
While the merrymaking continued all across the yard, Garet joined Rogair as the farmer tended to his exhausted mounts. Crallick excused himself to go take a closer look at their stock of supplies.
“I’m surprised they pulled through,” Garet said. He had seen how tired the old horses had been when they galloped through the gate, and he thought they would, like as not, perish during the night.
“They have heart, bless the Giver,” Rogair replied. The affection for his aged horses was plain in his voice, and also the pride that he felt for them. “They saved my family, and Crallick as well. Thank you… I cannot possibly repay you for this,” the farmer said sincerely, his voice choked with emotion.