Overlords

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Overlords Page 25

by Matthew M Pyke


  King Pallan looked at the ground, with bow in hand.

  Jaegar chuckled very softly to himself; the shot was a remarkable one by any standard.

  Garan seemed hesitant to take another arrow.

  With a light jiggle of the bag, Jaegar signalled for him to fetch another arrow. “Take one.”

  Garan’s expression revealed a muted rebellion at the regiment’s commander, a man hard and unrelenting. Taking an arrow from the quiver, he placed the arrow in his bow; securing his stance, he took in several slow breaths with controlled exhalations, releasing the arrow upon the fourth or fifth breathing cycle. The arrow zipped across to a pottery jar, glancing its side harmlessly and sailing into some bushes.

  King Pallan commented, “Not bad. With time, you could be a pretty good shot.”

  Garan relaxed his stance. “Thank you, sire; but I am afraid no amount of time or training could make my skills, average at best, the equal of yours. Yours are of a different kind—a very different kind. I am sure we will count on them in times to come … about that I am certain.”

  King Pallan lowered his gaze a few degrees and said with humbleness, “I am what I am, Garan. An injured reed in a field of sparkling grass. I can no more say how it is I have what I have than you can say what I may be, or what compels you to me.” He nodded to Jaegar to hand him another arrow. Swiftly loading it in his bow, he dispatched most thoroughly the pottery that Garan had tried so hard to hit. Pieces of the jar ricocheted off tree trunks, one fragment flying as far as a nearby thicket, lying even beyond the one that Garan’s arrow had intruded so purposelessly.

  Jaegar let out a “ha!” Jardarah looked over at him quickly, as if to say, show some kindness.

  Garan looked utterly defeated. His head sunk low.

  King Pallan noticed the man’s disappointment and smiled a degree. He came over to Garan and laughed. “Cheer up, lad. Do not be so down. I shall reveal some of my secrets to you.” He put his chin up with a cheeky air.

  Garan raised his head; his countenance brightened before his adopted king. “Do you jest, sire?”

  King Pallan laughed heartily. “I do not jest, lad. I shall show you some of my secrets! Here—take my bow.”

  Garan’s eyes grew large with anticipation. “Are you sure, My Lord? I do not—”

  “Nonsense! Take it. I insist.”

  Garan took the bow timidly from King Pallan and, after a moment of hesitation, readily began inspecting it. King Pallan watched him with a thin grin on his face. When Garan pulled on the bowstring, his eyes almost popped from his head in surprise. “My Lord—it would take an ox to draw this. The bowstring—its tension is astounding!”

  King Pallan chuckled before him. “I know—how do you think I was able to send those arrows at such mighty speeds to the targets.”

  Garan shook his head in amazement. “But the pull—it’s incredible. I can hardly draw back the bowstring. And yet you were able to do so with such swiftness and deadly precision.”

  King Pallan quipped, “Years of practice, Garan, and a whole lot of meal.”

  “Meal of grain?” Garan looked astounded.

  “It was a joke.” He winked at him.

  Garan bobbed his head a few times. “I get it. But still—I cannot fathom how it is you can draw a bowstring with such seeming ease, as if it were almost nothing, time and again, and improve upon your accuracy.” He then remarked to himself, “I could have taken you on raids …”

  King Pallan looked ahead for some moments. “I have no taste for war, Garan … or those who kill for profit.”

  Garan struggled to swallow. “Yes, My Lord; nor do I. Any more.”

  King Pallan looked back at him with a smile, growing on his face. “Then we are alike.”

  Garan held his response momentarily. “You are a man of many facets … My Lord.”

  King Pallan, laughing, replied, “As I am sure you are, Garan; I should think we have yet to hear more of your story.” He slapped him lightly on the top of the shoulder and walked away.

  Garan remained holding King Pallan’s special—unique—bow.

  Jaegar came up to Garan and paused before him for a moment, on his way to follow his king.

  Garan murmured, “Your king is an incredible shot.”

  Jaegar shot back, “He’s the best.” With a brief look into the Kae’lem mercenary’s eyes, he headed for his king, who had taken up position again at his painting.

  Jardarah walked past Garan, giving the bewildered warrior a faint nod.

  The preparations for the journey to the Castle of Tears, in the Valley of Kreven, went smoothly. As the days passed, the Paladians equipped themselves with as much as the land could provide. In short time and after many laborious hours, working in parallel, the tenacious northerners had ample supplies of victuals and medicinal items, in the form of makeshift bandages (infused with exotic aloes), in case of war, herbs ground into pastes or powders, and some flowers prepared in like fashion, thought to provide some health benefit for a particular wound or ailment.

  One day, a short while before they left the new camp, Jardarah found King Pallan dozing on a cot outside his tent. Glancing at the guards standing nearby, who kept watch over the Paladian king, Jardarah, after some hesitation, decided to wake his king, most gingerly. He whispered, “My Lord-My Lord …”

  King Pallan made a half-turn in his cot and wiggled his nose once or twice, as if a fly or other insect troubled him; he then shot straight up. “What the deuce—”

  Startled, Jardarah stammered, “I am sorry to wake you, My Lord.”

  King Pallan made a sour look; it lifted at once. “Yes, what is it? Bloody well I got up anyway; spent nearly the entire afternoon dozing. And what a glorious afternoon ’twas …”

  Jardarah grinned. “Yes, My Lord. Jaegar, Garan, and I are fishing in the stream yonder. We were thinking, it would be an honour for you to join us—I can assure my Lord we have completed all our day’s work.”

  King Pallan smiled back at him; he puffed out his nose. “I am sure, Jardarah.” He pondered the request for a few seconds. Bobbing his head, he answered, “Sure, why not? Best I be about doing something anyway. I shall fetch my pole straightway.”

  Jardarah’s face lit up. “Very good, sire. Very good. I shall tell the men you shall be joining us, directly.” He tore off.

  Sometime afterward, King Pallan, with fishing pole in hand, came around the bend in the stream, spotting Jardarah, Jaegar, and Garan fishing at a little distance; the three men were standing in the brook, casting their lines out, the semibrackish water nearly up to their knees.

  Jardarah caught sight of King Pallan approaching quietly. “Oi, My Lord; over here! Over here! There’s some pike to be caught yonder, near the reeds. They pass by it, on occasion, in schools …”

  King Pallan perked up significantly. “Aye—we shall sup well tonight!”

  Jaegar made room for King Pallan. “Here, My Lord, here; stand adjacent to Garan.”

  King Pallan began wading through the water. He winced and shuddered. “Aye … water a bit cool, ay?”

  Jaegar laughed for a moment. “Indeed, My Lord—but you get used to it. Rather refreshing, I should think.” The sun overhead was somewhat potent during midday, especially without trees to block its powerful light.

  King Pallan came by the three men. He looked around briefly. “The air is a tad cool, the sun quite warm. Not a cloud in the sky … such a beautiful day.”

  Jardarah finished the thought. “For fishing, My Lord.”

  King Pallan turned to him and grinned. He then began setting up his pole.

  Jaegar said, as he took the end of King Pallan’s line and began attaching a lure to it, “They seem attracted to bright colours; these lures in the shape of beddataeks have produced admirable results thus far. Jardarah has caught three fish already!” Beddataeks were small fish with large, rounded, blue eyes, a white ventral, and an almost shimmering, dark-emerald dorsal. Jaegar and Jardarah had carved lures in the form of the
small fish, perhaps of six to eight inches in length, for use in such brook fishing.

  King Pallan remarked, “Jardarah is our expert.”

  Jardarah answered straightaway, “Right, My Lord.” He grinned mischievously as he scanned the clearer waters for the passing sharp-toothed fish.

  King Pallan turned to Garan. “Have you caught anything, Garan?”

  Looking directly ahead, Garan responded, “Nothing, My Lord—but this is fun.” He grinned. I hope to catch one of the beasties directly.”

  King Pallan replied, “Ha, ha, ha; let us hope, for I am getting quite hungry just thinking about their roasted flesh.”

  Jaegar added most enthusiastically, “Aye, My Lord, as am I!” He tightened a securing knot at the end of the lure. “It is ready, My Lord. Cast over there … and wait and see if they bite. Be mindful not to tangle the lines, please.” His eyes pivoted over to Garan as he began to smile. Garan was oblivious to his commentary.

  King Pallan chuckled softly, affirming Jaegar’s instructions. “I shall be mindful not to tangle the lines, my good Jaegar.” He placed his hand over his chest—“A king’s honour”—and made a thoughtful bow.

  Jaegar chuckled to himself for a time as he stepped back into position, casting his line a short while afterward.

  King Pallan glanced to his right, and then to his left. With a powerful overhand cast, he sent the fishing line with painted wooden lure toward the centre of the brook, out-casting even Jardarah’s last attempt.

  Jardarah shot a look over to him; he appeared startled. He mumbled, “That was quite the cast, My Lord.”

  King Pallan pretended to ignore him as he began whistling to himself.

  A short while later, Jardarah announced excitedly, “I’ve got another!” He began pulling in the line eagerly, with a swiftness and subtlety that was bewitching to both fish and the human eye.

  Jaegar complained loudly, “Bloody, witch. The man’s a blooming fish cannery—catching them straightaway, as if it were a ruse, the whole thing. Now be true, Jardarah. You and the fish have struck a deal. Twenty enars for the catch and let go.”

  Jardarah quipped hastily, “Don’t be ridiculous, Jaegar—it is ten enars for the whole affair. I wouldn’t want you to think I was getting a bad deal—and to think you’ve been round me all this time—and not known me. My skills at trade.”

  Jaegar scoffed most readily, “Skills. Please, lad. At barter? Those fish are a’quicker than you would have us believe. It is ten enars per fishy, and not an enar less. They go round and tell their lads that there is a naïve nape, sporting a gentlemanly game of fishing their lads. They are in cahoots with you. Come clean!”

  Jardarah laughed and then admitted, more seriously, “I think you are right.” He dragged the large fish through the shallower water.

  King Pallan remarked to Garan, who was observing the bickering between Jaegar and Jardarah with surprise, “Happens every time they go out … Jardarah catches all the fish, and Jaegar catches the wind. Or is it, he misses the wind and loses his breath!”

  Garan shook his head and turned back ahead. He muttered, “Unbelievable. Two grown men fighting over fish …”

  Jaegar waded over to Jardarah, who was glancing anxiously back and forth between Jaegar and the limping fish. “Now, you just wait, Jaegar. Hold off, my good man. I am about to grab hold of the beastie straightaway. Back off! King Pallan!”

  King Pallan smiled as he shook his head. He began to hum more loudly.

  Holding his pole up, line still out in the stream, drifting somewhat toward some reeds, Jaegar demanded, “Now, let me see; now let me see, Jardarah.”

  “Back off, ogre. And let me finish reeling it in … ah, indeed, a fine catch. Shall make for some tasty meat, I should think. Bloody tired of eating berries … berries are for grubs and birds.”

  Jaegar repeated impatiently, “Grubs and for birds.” He stooped to pick up the fish. “Now let me see what you have caught this time, lad.”

  Jardarah went to slap Jaegar’s hand, but Jaegar brushed it off in an instant, and then lifted the large-bellied fish from the water by its mouth, water dripping from its underside as though from an overhang or a rain-sodden branch after a steady downpour. He eyed the fish up and down.

  Jardarah protested noisily, “Get your hands off my fish.” He repeated this several times and gave up.

  Jaegar commented most dryly, “Quite the fish … I should think.” He then flung it at Jardarah. “There, take your fish …”

  Jardarah gritted his teeth at Jaegar and laughed. He removed the lure from the creature’s mouth with great rapidity. “Spoilsport,” he said under his breath. And continued laughing.

  Jaegar growled as he adjusted his line.

  King Pallan reminded them gently, “Gentlemen …”

  Both Jaegar and Jardarah insisted, “No trouble ’tall sire, no trouble at all. We were just fishing …”

  King Pallan grumbled to himself, “Right.”

  There was a period of relative quietude among the fishermen as the day bore on. The tranquil running of the stream, the sporadic fish breaching the water, the elegant bird with its majestic span drifting by overhead, and the sun dancing on the surface of the brook were interrupted abruptly by a boisterous Jaegar.

  “Bloody! I got one! It is a biggie! Stout one at that.” He strained and tugged hard on his pole.

  Jardarah awoke from his seeming trance, for he had been standing almost asleep at his pole, after corralling many large fish. “Aye … reel it in. Reel it in …”

  Jaegar boomed, “I am trying—fish more like a leviathan.”

  Jardarah shook his head. “Pfft. Leviathan; that is a good one. Be right there, Jaegar. Do not let me hold you up.”

  Jaegar replied angrily, “Get over here, Jardarah. That is an order!”

  King Pallan urged Jardarah softly, “Go and help him.”

  “Yes, sire.” Jardarah put down his pole on a nearby log that was sticking somewhat out of the water.

  Jaegar grunted and groaned as he yanked hard on his pole; the pole was bending like a bow.

  Jardarah’s eyes grew wide. “What the blazes you hook?” He glanced at Jaegar’s bent fishing rod and the area of water where the line was drawing crazy circles in the brook.

  Jaegar growled at Jardarah, “Give me a hand, will you?”

  After a moment or two of delay, Jardarah grabbed hold of Jaegar’s fishing pole to help him reel in whatever was at the end of the line.

  The commotion drew the interest of King Pallan, who gestured to Garan, with a slow tilt of his head in Jaegar and Jardarah’s direction. “Come, let us see what is going on. By the sound of it, they hooked something rather large. Let us see what it is …”

  Garan made a few reluctant looks over to him and the stream, and then quickly reeled in his line. He began following King Pallan over to the two men, whose faces were flushed from struggle.

  “What have you, both?” King Pallan asked as he approached his two soldiers.

  Jaegar could barely answer. “Something—huge. Very strong!”

  Garan and King Pallan came alongside them, at a safe distance; the two men growled like bears as they yanked, tugged, and pulled with all their might on the fishing pole.

  In moments, a long, narrow shadow seemed to appear beneath the surface. Jardarah and Jaegar pulled even harder on the fishing rod, which defied breaking. Within seconds the dark shadow became more distinct; it appeared like a giant serpent, perhaps the length of a man and a half, maybe more.

  King Pallan’s jaw swung open. He pointed at the water, his hand shaking noticeably. Jardarah and Jaegar did not perceive what was happening, as all their efforts were devoted to reeling in the catch.

  A sign of fear rushed over Garan’s face. “Beratoss! Beratoss!”

  Jardarah cracked open one eye; it pivoted to Garan, then to Jaegar. “Jaegar, Jaegar—beratoss.”

  Jaegar’s eyes shot open in terror. He released the pole. Jardarah immediately followed suit, additi
onally flinging the pole away from them. The two terrified men began running away.

  King Pallan froze by the bank as the twelve-foot-long serpent—with short fins on the side, a low but long dorsal fin, an overly muscular head with teeth like steak knives, and blood-red eyes—made for the Paladian king.

  Garan stepped in front of King Pallan and drew out his sword. With a grit of his teeth, a mean look, and a fast growl, he stood his ground most defiantly.

  The beratoss came to within several feet of the men, spat water at them with considerable pressure, and finally turned and sped off, line and hook still in its mouth as Jaegar’s helpless fishing pole was dragged into the water, trailing the powerful creature.

  The ferocious stream serpent disappeared beneath the rippling of the brook. A few seconds later, the fishing pole snapped and began to sink. Almost as suddenly as it appeared, the beratoss vanished among the cloudiness of the brook’s moody waters.

  The men stared at the water for many moments. King Pallan broke the silence. “Bloody blazes you both were not injured! That is a man-eater.”

  Jaegar acknowledged, “Aye. A close one, sire.”

  King Pallan breathed in very gradually. He appeared to address the brook. “So, you are not without secrets, ay? We shall be on our guard, next. That I promise.”

  Jardarah asked Garan, “What were you going to do with your sword?”

  Garan answered him very coolly, “I was going to stab it, the beratoss—if necessary, repeatedly, until I killed it.”

  King Pallan, Jaegar, and Jardarah became startled.

  Garan put his sword back in its leathern holder, securing the metal clasps. His air was that of a man who had gone out for a walk and returned calm and unmoved.

  The fish that were caught during the afternoon’s outing at the stream were gathered and prepared for the evening meal. The excess was distributed among the people. The choicest fish, of which there were two, were flayed, cleaned, seasoned, and then roasted over a campfire, for King Pallan and his closest comrades to eat beneath the stars. After the evening meal was done and many stories were traded, along with puffs on a pipe, Jardarah, Garan, Jaegar, Genray, and King Pallan each went to their tents as the velvet blackness of night seeped into the forest, and the sounds of cacidees and karitens rocked to sleep the weary inhabitants of the mountain.

 

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