Knight's Creed

by P. J. Cherubino

  “Who are you?” the man asked, stepping in front of Astrid’s wagon. He was brave.

  “My name is Astrid Sala,” she replied.

  “I am Elder Tolan,” he said, walking around to the back of the wagon. “What are you doing with the tribute wagons?”

  “What happened here?” Astrid said, looking around.

  “They came for tribute season, then they came back and started taking more. When we objected, they started breaking things and beating people. Some of the women, they… ” The man trailed off. “Like common bandits.”

  “Hey!” Gormer shouted from the other wagon. “Bandits never do that!” Astrid shot him a sharp look, and he stopped.

  “Empty the wagons. Take everything back,” Astrid said.

  “Everything? We pay our tribute. That is the way. We have enough to be comfortable over the winter. We support our Territory. We just don’t want to pay more than our fair share. I’ll just take back what they stole.”

  “You’re a good man,” Astrid said. “Maybe we should get going on this sooner rather than later. We’ll take the lead on unloading the wagons.”

  Tolan snapped out of it when he saw the increasing anger on the faces of his neighbors as they approached.

  “Who are these people?” a woman with a handsaw in her hand asked. “Why do they have the tribute wagons?”

  “That’s a good question,” Tolan said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s obvious they took the wagons from the agents. I asked once, but haven’t yet had an answer.”

  Astrid stood on her captured wagon, introduced herself, and explained what had happened. “We came to take back a share of what was taken from Argan Village without cause. We found these men torturing this person—” she pointed her hand toward Charlie “—so we stopped them. They resisted, and all but one died as a result.”

  “You mean, you came to steal the tribute,” the woman sneered. “You’re just like the collectors.”

  The crowd murmured, debating the point among itself.

  “If we were like them,” Gormer said, standing up, “we wouldn’t be here, lady. We came here to give you your shit back. We’re taking some tribute back to Argan Village so they won’t fucking starve. These assholes took all their winter stock.”

  Astrid didn’t shut him up. The delivery wasn’t what she wanted, but he made a fair point.

  Tolan stepped closer and looked up at Astrid. “But that doesn’t answer who you people are. Not just your names,” he said. “Why are you doing this?”

  Astrid found herself looking at Gormer, who shrugged and scowled deeply. Vinnie just scratched his chin while Moxy sat with her head covered by her green, silk hood. Tarkon sat motionless as a statue. Astrid didn’t have a ready answer.

  “I guess you could say we’re concerned strangers. We see things aren’t right. We’re here to change them.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Road to Argan Village

  Compliance Officer Jank was in a foul mood. He wasn’t accustomed to being defied, especially not by the lowly. His job was to make sure the tribute flowed when there were problems. He took care of bandit issues and reluctant farmers.

  He felt fortunate when he got to lead his men against some border incursions from one of the rival Protectorates. But he felt that playing games with a village that thought it could stand against law and order was beneath him.

  He thought that thirty men should be enough to teach the village a lesson. That was nearly double the number he showed up with the first time. Before, he planned to spend a while in the village while he tracked down the strange, lawless woman who beat up Pleth's men.

  Now his plan was to occupy the village indefinitely and use it as a base of operations to hold down every settlement in the region.

  Argan was concerned about starving over the winter? Fine. It could work to support his compliance force. By spring, they would be so far in debt to his company that he would practically own the village. He had three others like that down south. He would love to have a fourth.

  Jank smiled at the thought and lost himself while thinking about the extra income. A shout jarred him from his daydream.

  “The road is washed out up ahead!” the scout called out, galloping up on his lean stallion.

  “What?” replied troop leader Jim. “How can that be?”

  “We checked it out. A beaver dam upstream broke,” the scout reported.

  “This could be a trap,” Jank said. “Did you see any signs around the dam?”

  “No, Officer Jank,” the scout replied. “We checked carefully. No signs of tampering. Must have been all the rain.”

  “Last rain was a week ago,” Jank replied. He thought for a moment. His scouts were good. He had picked them himself, so he trusted their report. Still, these bandits were tricky. “Good work.”

  “Two scouts go cross the stream. Leave one stationed near the village. The second is to report back to us what they see. We will need to go back to the junction and take the back road to Argan.”

  “Begging your pardon, Officer Jank,” Dan said. “May I suggest I take a foot squad up after the scouts to wait as a reserve?”

  Jank met the man’s eyes and nodded his head slowly. “I considered this briefly, Jim. If this is a trap, I want us at full force. If we split up, we’ll be weaker everywhere. Facing this choice is what makes me uneasy. It’s a bad setup any way you cut it.”

  “Understood,” Dan replied, peering into the forest and looking worried.

  Jank liked having Dan along because he was smart and not afraid to speak up when he felt the need.

  “Let’s get this party turned around!” Dan shouted.

  They weren’t on the wide, well-paved Toll Road. The Branch Road was established well before the Protectorate. They had to unhitch the horses to turn the wagon around with seven men. If an attack was to come, this would be the perfect place. They stationed up in the woods in a circle in case of attack. Nothing happened.

  Soon, they were back on track. They backtracked to the fork and took the secondary. They found no trouble.

  “So far, so good,” Dan said when they were about three miles from the village.

  They had one more hill to climb. The road dropped first and cut through a small clearing full of tall, dying grass.

  “Hold!” Jank ordered. The whole operation stopped while the forward scout rode his horse through the clearing. He rode slower on the way back, scanning the grass carefully.

  “Looks clear,” the scout reported when he returned. “Just a bunch of fallen trees in the middle. I think I saw some bees, but that’s about it. Nothing to worry about.”

  Jank motioned them forward, and the troops marched again. It wasn’t that far across the field. Now that they were in the middle of the clearing, Jank could see the opening in the woods where the road entered.

  “I thought for sure—” Jank started to say, when the sound of splitting wood reached his ears.

  A huge tree fell across the path ahead. “It’s a trap!” someone shouted. They were forced to stop right in the middle of the field.

  “Hold fast!” Jank screamed.

  “Circle up! Bowmen alert. Two ranks!” Dan ordered, and the men sprang into action.

  “Hello there!” a voice called from the woods.

  More splitting wood echoed through the forest and another tree fell across the road behind them.

  “Hello!” a voice called again from the other side of the clearing.

  “Hello!” again from behind.

  “They’re everywhere,” one of the troops said, fear lifting his voice a few octaves.

  “They don’t have the numbers. It’s a trick,” Jank said, annoyed. “Superior training, superior weapons, and superior strategy always win. That means us.”

  “What brings you to the woods?” Woody called out, rising up from the fallen tree ahead. He was well within crossbow range, but Jank raised his hand to stop the bowmen from shooting.

  “These woods b
elong to Protector Lungu,” Jank shouted back. “You are merely a tenant here.”

  “Oh, I’m a tenant, alright,” Woody said. “I agree. They call me the Woodsman for that very reason.”

  “That makes no sense,” Dan muttered. “Ignorant fool.”

  Voices jeered and snickered from the woods. Jank knew the game. They were running around from position to position, making noise to make it seem like they were everywhere.

  “But you are wrong about who these woods belong to,” Woody continued. “They don’t belong to me. So, I will make you an offer. Leave your armor and your weapons on the ground and run away. If you do it now, that will save you a lot of trouble later.”

  Jank sighed. “I have no time for games. I’ll give you my one-and-only counter-offer because I have business to attend. You simply go away, and I promise not to have my men here come into The Protector’s forest and fertilize the trees with your guts.”

  “Ho ho!” Woody shouted, then ducked back down behind the tree.

  A few seconds later, his voice came again from the woods to their right. “You should have taken my offer!”

  “How did he… ” Dan asked.

  “These bandits know the woods like the—” SPLAT!

  Something gooey and foul smelling hit Jank in the chest.

  “The woods belong to no man!” Woody shouted. SPLAT!

  Another ball of goo hit Jim.

  “What the fuck is this!?” Dan asked, wiping slime off his shoulder. “It looks like ground up insects.”

  A hissing sound came from the woods and white smoke billowed up. SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! The goo bombs rained down on everyone. Some of the men started to take cover behind the wagon.

  “There!” one of Jank’s men shouted.

  Jank turned to where the man pointed to see a skinny bandit pop out of the woods through a cloud of smoke, he dragged what appeared to be a straw basket attached to a rope. The man spun around in a circle twice before releasing the basket.

  More people jumped out from the woods and hurled similar baskets. “Shoot them, you idiots!” Jank screamed.

  The clearing was small, so the bandits were close. Not a single bowman scored a hit. There were too many bandits who popped in and out of the smoke far too quickly for them to aim at.

  One of the baskets sailed over Jank’s head and hit a crossbowmen in the back.

  “Bees!” Jank screamed when the basket broke open and a beehive dropped out and broke open.

  Two more baskets landed, and more hives tumbled out, breaking apart on impact to send swarms of bees into the air.

  “You guessed it!” Woody shouted from behind a wall of smoke. “The woods belong to the bees, the bears, and the birds, not to you and me!”

  The air was suddenly filled with the sound of buzzing and screaming men.

  “It’s only bees, you cowardly fools!” Jank screamed.

  Laughter peeled from the woods behind the smoke.

  “Not just bees,” Woody shouted from a different location.

  “Look!” someone screeched.

  Black clouds rose up from the fallen logs in the middle of the field. “Hornets!”

  “We’re covered in dead hornets!” Dan shrieked.

  In seconds, the hornets were everywhere. Men being stung smashed bees on their armor, which only drew bee attacks. The beehives in hornet territory seemed to fill every insect with rage.

  The hornet goo drew hornet attacks. Jank was soon stung around his eyes, hands, and face—anywhere skin was exposed.

  Men screamed and flailed around as they dropped their weapons, stripped off their armor, and ran into the woods. They fled, panicked, right toward the bandits who waited for them with good, strong rope.

  Lungu Fortress, Protector’s Offices

  “Bees, you say?” Protector Lungu asked, looking the bedraggled scout up and down. A large, purple welt covered the side of his face, and both his hands were swollen with multiple red splotches.

  “And hornets,” the messenger added. “The beehives the bandits threw at us made the hornets in the field angry, and—”

  “Yes, yes,” Lungu replied with a wave of his hand. “I don’t need a nature lesson from you.” The scout froze and looked down at his feet. Lungu sighed. “And the other men, they stripped off their armor and dropped their weapons?”

  “Most of them, yes, sir. The bees got under the armor—”

  “But not you. You managed to keep your armor,” Lungu said. The scout looked up with one open eye.

  “Yes, sir. Officer Jank tasked me with bringing his report to you.”

  “And where is Jank now?” Lungu asked.

  “I assume he is at Keep 52,” the scout replied.

  “You assume?”

  “Yes, Protector. Officer Jank sent me directly from the battle. I came—”

  “Battle!” Lungu balked. “That was not a battle. That was a mockery.” Lungu shook his head at the pitiful scout. “You’ve done well,” he said begrudgingly. “Go see a doctor if you have the coin. Report back directly to my secretary in—” Lungu pulled out his gold pocket watch by its chain “—three hours. I’m sending you back to Jank with my response.”

  Lungu turned his back and waved his hand at the scout as he shuffled out of the room.

  “You’ve worked with Jank before, but he’s never failed this badly. What do you think, Clarence?” He draped his short, red cape back over his shoulders and paced the room.

  Clarence paused for a moment and pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger. “I think this situation is escalating quickly, Father,” Clarence hurried over when Lungu fixed him with an impatient glare. “So, our response should be proportional.”

  “I’m not sending in troops,” Lungu said. “We’ve not had unrest for twenty years. My compliance measures have worked for decades. Steady, constant pressure has kept everyone beneath us in line.”

  “Indeed,” Clarence said. “So, let’s double down. If Argan is a problem, let’s make it a problem for all the surrounding villages. Give Jank’s compliance company more men. A lot more. I’ll draw up a collection contract for the entire Eastern Region and assign it to Jank. The villages will be on the hook for paying for Argan’s compliance. Let’s see how this growing defiance works out for Argan then.”

  “Very well,” Lungu said. “You meet the scout back here, then. I have a meeting with Protector Orvid. You need to keep this quiet. If the other Protectors get wind of this unrest, it will spell trouble for us on the borders.”

  “I’ll deliver the contract to Jank myself and make everything clear to him,” Clarence said.

  Lungu turned to him with raised eyebrows. “You’ve been itching for a fight for quite some time. Let me be clear. Don’t make this that fight. End this quietly. Make Argan submit. Pacify the Eastern District. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Entirely, Father Protector,” Clarence said with a bow, then swept out of the room.

  On the Road to Keep 52

  Clarence rode along behind the weary scout along the Toll Road. The late afternoon sun was shrouded by a low cloud cover.

  “We might get a nice fall storm,” Clarence observed, not caring whether or not the scout had anything to say.

  “Ah, maybe. Sure,” the uneasy scout said.

  “Not much of a student of the weather, are we?” Clarence mocked. He watched the scout’s shoulders rise a bit.

  That got him.

  “When I need to be, I am,” the scout replied. “To do my job.”

  “I see,” Clarence taunted. “I guess you don’t feel that’s part of your job right now, then.”

  The scout said nothing, which Clarence thought a wise move. “I love a good storm. Nothing like the wild elements to let you know you’re alive.”

  The scout pulled back on the reins and stopped short. He held up his fist to signal “stop.” Turning his horse in a circle, he scanned the woods. Clarence stopped his horse and listened. He heard a twig snap.

  “I know you’
re in those woods,” Clarence shouted. “Please don’t be rude. Come on out and say hello.”

  The scout rode his horse closer to Clarence. “I hear at least five,” the scout said.

  Clarence just smiled back, dismounted, then handed the reins of his horse to the scout. He swept his short, black cape off his shoulders to reveal the hilt of his short sword.

  “Won’t you come out of your hiding places to play, little bandits?” Clarence said, moving closer to the treeline. He moved in the direction of the snapping twig.

  At the first hint of motion in the woods, Clarence crouched down and jumped. The scout gasped as Clarence sailed thirty feet into the woods and crashed down into the brush. A second later, a body flew back out into the road and tumbled across it.

  Clarence jumped again, sailing fifteen feet into the air. He landed near the female bandit’s head. She jumped up, leaving her bow and arrows behind and tried to escape back into the woods. Clarence reached out his hand, made a fist and pulled back his arm, grabbing nothing but air.

  The woman’s hair came straight out from the back of her head and snapped her neck back. A downward motion from Clarence’s hand brought the woman back down to the ground again.

  The woods exploded with motion as five bandits burst out onto the road. The scout jumped off his horse and drew his long daggers.

  Clarence took two steps to the bandit woman, then stomped on her ankle. She screamed. “Don’t go anywhere,” Clarence growled, then whirled to face the attackers.

  “We weren’t fixin’ to rob you,” one of the smaller bandits said. “Let us take her, and we’ll leave you alone.”

  “It’s far, far too late for that,” Clarence said. He swept his hand through the air, some ten feet from the bandit, and something invisible slammed into his head, knocking him down.

  The others screamed and charged. The scout ran in behind Clarence, but it was over in seconds. The Lieutenant drew his sword and nearly decapitated the closest bandit. He reached out with a telekinetic grasp and crushed the throat of the second. The rest fell to sword strikes nearly too fast for the scout to see.