by Trish Mercer
Jaytsy looked around for a makeshift weapon and decided on a fallen tree branch, which she swung experimentally.
Deckett’s eyes bulged. “And what do you intend to do?”
“Help you,” she said. “I’ve learned a few things over the years,” and she thrust and swiped with the branch.
Deckett shuddered and firmed his grip on his pitchfork. “No one would really attack all the way up here, would they? I mean, I’m right across from the fort! They’d have to be stupid—”
“Most of Edge is stupid right now,” Peto told him. “Trust me.”
Jaytsy nodded and was about to add her opinion, but voices coming up the road clamped her mouth shut.
Peto’s eyes grew large when he heard them too. Even though the barn was well off the main road, some voices just carry.
Peto held out his arm to push Deckett back against the wide barn doors, and he and Jaytsy also pressed themselves against the wood, trying to blend in to the faded gray.
“—and Offra,” they heard Colonel Shin say as he strode briskly to the fort, “I want four guards over here at the Briter farm. This is, after all, our farm, our cattle, our chickens, our produce, and our farmer in charge of it all. No one’s to touch him or anything else.”
Between Peto and Jaytsy, Deckett sagged in relief.
“Of course, sir,” Offra said. “I’ll get some men down here within the next few minutes.
Colonel Shin, flanked by half a dozen soldiers and now in view of his frozen children, pulled his wife alongside who struggled gamely to keep up with their rapid pace.
“And send down two more soldiers as well,” Shin said as they hurried up the road, “to escort my children home and to stay posted at my house.”
Jaytsy’s mouth dropped open, and Peto, scoffing loudly, broke formation. Swinging his hatchet in dismay, he called, “All right—how’d you know we were here?”
Their father stopped and turned to the three poorly-hidden defenders.
Mahrree stared in surprise. “What in the world are you doing up here? I told you to go home and bar the windows and doors!”
While the other soldiers tried not to chortle, Perrin nodded for them to continue on to the fort, and Offra broke into a jog to get the six soldiers.
The Shins ducked between the railings of the fence that ran the perimeter of the farm and picked their way through the cucumbers.
“For starters, none of you would make very good Guarders,” Perrin told them as he gingerly tried not to step on anything green. “You’re supposed to blend into your surroundings. Against that gray, the three of you stick out like weeds in dirty snow.”
Jaytsy frowned at her yellow and green dress while Peto and Deckett nodded feebly at each other’s tan shirts.
“And second,” Perrin continued, his voice gentler as he came to the barn, “I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t come here. Proper help is on the way, Mr. Briter.”
“Thank you, sir,” Deckett sighed, loosening his grip on the pitchfork.
Perrin tilted his head at it. “Good choice of a weapon, though, Deckett. Peto, never use a hatchet. You throw it at someone and miss, then you’ve just given the enemy a new weapon. Jaytsy, you could likely do some damage with that branch, but it looks rather brittle, so one hit is all you’d get before it broke. But Deckett, take a look at this.” He stepped back, drew his father’s sword, and Mahrree took a few protective steps out of the way.
As Deckett’s eyes bulged again, Perrin held the gleaming sword out in front of him, pointed at the young farmer’s chest. “See how long my reach is?”
Deckett swallowed and squeaked out a, “Yes, sir?”
Jaytsy squeezed his arm. “I doubt he’s trying to run you through tonight.”
“No, I’m not. Now your turn,” Perrin beckoned. “Hold out the pitchfork. No, don’t choke up on it. Slide your hands down . . . a bit more. Now, aim it right here,” and he gestured to his belly.
Shaking, but trying hard not to as he felt Jaytsy watching him, Deckett held out the pitchfork parallel to the ground. The four rusty-sharp tines were only inches away from the colonel’s stomach.
“Look at that, Deckett,” Perrin said cheerfully, which, considering their positions, seemed to Deckett completely inappropriate. “Your reach is longer than mine. Do you realize what that means?”
“No, sir, and I really don’t want to—”
“It means you have the advantage, and four sharp points instead of my just one. Think of the kind of damage you can do puncturing my lungs or gouging my gut.”
“Do I have to, sir? Think about the damage?”
Perrin chuckled and sheathed his sword again.
Deckett promptly put the tines of his pitchfork in the air.
“Deckett,” Perrin said, taking the tool out of his hands, “I’m afraid you do. First lesson in defense, since the road’s still quiet.”
Jaytsy and Mahrree exchanged a quick smile.
Peto squatted, grinning that he wasn’t being lectured for once.
“Now when you hold out the fork, lead with this hand,” Perrin repositioned Deckett’s unsteady grip, “and stabilize with this hand. Then you can thrust, like this. That’s right, son. Now—”
But Jaytsy didn’t hear anything else, because her mind was repeating what she just heard her father call Deckett: “son.”
He rarely called anyone “son.” Not with that tone of voice.
She clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking in too much joy. All she could think as she watched her father explain why stabbing in the chest likely will get the tines stuck in the victim’s ribs, and watched Deckett grow gray at the thought, was, Father called him “son.”
It was only a moment later that six soldiers arrived at the farm, jogging carefully through the plants to reach the barn.
Perrin nodded to Deckett that the lesson was over. “Maybe you want to help guard the house?”
Deckett shook his head. “No, sir. The structure’s not important. They can take whatever if they happened to come up here. The animals are what we’ll defend. All that I care about is alive.”
Jaytsy beamed with pride, and when she turned to look at her father, she noticed he was watching her and smiling faintly.
He turned back to Deckett. “Well said, son.”
Jaytsy was sure her chest would overheat at any moment.
Perrin pointed to two sergeants. “I want you to escort my daughter and son home, then stay posted at my house. I doubt anything will happen, but remember: we’re protecting the innocents. Protect those who don’t want any part of this.”
Mahrree kissed her children quickly, and Jaytsy sent one last look back to Deckett as she started for home.
He nodded once to her, adjusted his grip on the pitchfork as Colonel Shin had showed him, and rooted himself before the doors of his barn.
---
A minute later, as they headed again for the fort, Mahrree squeezed Perrin’s arm. “You really don’t think Deckett could ever use that pitchfork on another human, do you?”
“Of course not,” he said. “There isn’t a drop of soldiering blood in that man.”
Mahrree smiled as they entered the compound. “You sound a bit pleased by that.”
He bobbed his head back and forth, which was his usual reaction when he didn’t want to articulate his agreement.
“So I’m guessing,” Mahrree continued, “that you went through that little lesson on how farm implements can cause injury or death because you were stalling until the soldiers arrived?”
“Once again you show the insight that very few officers possess. None of those three had any hope of holding anyone off, nor do I think they’ll have to, either.”
“But it was nice to see them try,” Mahrree said as they started up the stairs to the tower.
“Now I’m questioning your insight, because Mahrree, it’s not,” he said darkly. “Not nice to see them holding weapons at all.”
“You’re right,�
� she murmured apologetically. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
Chapter 23 ~ “The most harmful sentences begin with, ‘I deserve . . .’ ”
Shem and one-fourth of the army rode their fastest to the blazing fire. It was the first but likely not the last. Already he had passed several villagers with torches running to another abandoned house, and had dispatched one of his sergeants and ten to monitor the situation. Behind him were three more sergeants with their tens, and they joined Captain Thorne with his twenty, already calling for fire wagons.
“Disregard that order!” Sergeant Major Zenos yelled.
Thorne, on his feet with his sword drawn, spun to face him. “What?! Zenos, that barn will burn to the ground!”
“Let it,” Shem said, dismounting and drawing his weapon. “It’s a hay fire and impossible to extinguish. Besides, you heard Colonel Shin’s orders: defend only the innocent, stay out of the fights!”
Thorne gestured furiously to the fire behind him. “Even if the fights start a fire?”
“Especially. If you see livestock in danger, or people who need help getting out the way, then by all means help! Otherwise, we stay out of it.”
“I don’t think so, Sergeant,” Thorne announced and turned on his heel.
Until Zenos shouted, “Thorne! About face!”
Habit made Thorne spin around, and when he realized he’d automatically obeyed the sergeant major he glowered.
Zenos pointed with his sword. “Thorne, you will do exactly as Colonel Shin has commanded. And you will notice that we have swords drawn. Thorne, what does that dictate about the situation?”
Thorne swallowed as if gagging on something nasty, and glanced around at the enlisted men who watched the officer closely. “Means battle situation.”
“Battle situation . . .” Zenos repeated and tilted his head waiting for Thorne to finish properly.
Thorne’s jaw shifted. “Battle situation . . . sir.”
“That’s right,” Zenos said, smiling inwardly at how much pain Lemuel’s eyes registered as protocol required that he direct that sir to Shem. “Since I’m on the field in the battle situation, and I’ve been serving longer than any man besides Colonel Shin, I am in command—here and now—and I will enforce every order of Colonel Shin. Is that clear, soldier?”
Thorne’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his hilt. But no matter how enraged he was, there was no other response than, “Yes . . . sir.” There were far too many witnesses.
Zenos nodded once. To a sergeant of one group of ten he said, “Head to the southwest section. There are at least two houses empty there. Protect the innocent, stay out of the fighting.”
“Yes, sir!” The sergeant grinned broadly and took off with his soldiers in pursuit, but not without first sending the captain a filthy look.
Zenos pretended not to notice as he gave directions to the other sergeants and their tens, and finally turned to a steaming Thorne.
“Keep your twenty in the area, Captain,” Zenos used his most commanding tone. “This is a central location, and you can send out soldiers in twos and fours as needed. Protect the innocent—”
“We know, we know!” Thorne seethed.
Shem arched an admonishing eyebrow at the captain. He folded his arms, a rather difficult thing to do while holding one’s sword, but Shem wasn’t going to sheath it for anything. Not so much that he needed it to defend himself, but because he didn’t want there to be any question that this was not a battle situation. In fact, Shem had practiced holding his sword and folding his arms just for such an occasion. Yes, he knew he had odd hobbies.
“Thorne, I’m so glad that you know. Now, I will be surveying the village and reassigning soldiers as needed. Shin’s agreed to send one hundred to help—”
“Why not the entire army?” Thorne demanded. “We could—”
“—Get into a whole lotta trouble we don’t want, Thorne!” Shem countered, with additional layers of meaning on top. “Now, as I was saying,” he did his best to leer at the insubordinate captain while ignoring the encouraging grins of his fellow enlisted men behind the hated officer, “I will reassign soldiers as needed, so make sure you’re aware of where yours are at all times, should I need a few.”
Grumbling under his breath Thorne turned to leave, but Shem grabbed his arm and snapped him back. To Thorne’s affronted expression, Shem said, “I didn’t hear your response, soldier!”
Behind Thorne a few enlisted men punched the air in fiendish pleasure, because they knew what Thorne would have to say next.
Captain Thorne squinted, livid, before saying, “Yes . . . sir.”
Zenos gave him his most generous smile, as if releasing a school boy who’d finally learned his lesson. “Off you go then, Thorne!”
As Shem sheathed his weapon—only for the moment while he mounted his horse again—Thorne murmured, “Slagging Zenos!” as he stormed off, without any semblance of a salute.
The sound of twenty enlisted men sucking their breath through their teeth slowed down his stalking, momentarily.
But Zenos only called, “I heard that. And I’ll remember it, Thorne. I’ll remember.”
Accompanied by two privates, Shem rode off to the east where he knew a large home would be the site of contention. He wasn’t surprised but disappointed when he found a raging argument between two families.
Obediently the six soldiers there guarded a nearby house sheltering residents from Moorland while they watched the feud.
Shem reined his horse to a stop several paces away from the screaming neighbors, and they all turned to him first with annoyance, then with hope for allegiance.
“Sergeant Zenos, explain to these imbeciles how we’re the closer neighbor! I walked out the distance myself!” one man insisted.
His neighbor scoffed. “Oh yeah? What’s his first name—”
Shem drew his sword, the antidote to all arguments. The Edgers stared anxiously at him. “Nope,” he said simply. “I’m not going to argue for either of you. But I will tell you to let that little girl get out and stand over there by my soldiers so she’s safe from whatever stupid thing you’re all about to do next.”
The mother harrumphed, but the girl, about eleven years old, gratefully skitted away to the soldiers posted at the other house.
“Thank you! Not like I want to take care of even more sheep.”
Shem smiled sadly and was about to say something more to the adults shouting again about who should claim the former shepherd’s home, when a movement behind it caught his eye. He nodded to the privates to remain there, and he wheeled his horse around and kicked it to trot around the sheepfold where several dozen animals bleated at him. The movement he noticed wasn’t wild dogs, but something even more menacing; thieves of the two-legged kind.
He wasn’t surprised, but again disappointed. While two families bickered in the front, another family was raiding the house from behind. Shem saw a boy of about seven come running out of the back of the house, grinning and cradling an iron pot containing several silver utensils. His younger brother burst out as well, triumphantly displaying a—
Shem blinked to make sure he saw it correctly in the dim light. Yes, it was an old chicken carcass, likely the dead owner’s last meal some weeks ago. Still his parents cheered his efforts, until they noticed the sergeant major glaring at them.
The father stood tall and defiant. “No one wants these, Zenos.”
Shem scoffed at that. “Not the carcass, no. But someone would want the other boy’s haul, and you’ve taught them to steal—”
“We’ve taught our sons how to get what we deserve!” the father countered.
“Yes,” Shem said steadily, “I can think of all kinds of things you deserve right now, but instead I’ll advise you to get those boys inside where it’s safe! And in your OWN house!”
The man smiled slyly at him. “I don’t want this house. I’ve got everything I need.” He took the carcass from his little boy and tossed it over to a milk cart. But
it wasn’t hauling milk and cheese tonight; it was loaded with all kinds of shiny baubles, proudly topped with a chicken skeleton.
Shem gritted his teeth and stared hard at the young father. Years ago they had suspected him as one of the first to go raiding for the Guarders. While they caught Poe Hili with embarrassing frequency, Shem could never catch up to his older partner in crime, who now patted his mule to pull the overloaded cart. His wife slipped her hand into his and sent a challenging look to the sergeant major.
Shem clenched the reins in his hands. The next generation of bandits had been born that night, tutored by their parents.
“We were at the amphitheater, Zenos,” the thieve-turned-milkman-turned-back-to-thief told him. “There’s nothing you can do to us, and you know it too.”
Shem bit back his frustration as he watched the young family slink away into the night. Years ago he’d drawn conclusions that he now realized he needed to revisit. He’d charitably thought, when they first started nabbing teenagers, that the boys were simply bored and looking for an adventure. It wasn’t as if they were bad, just boys. That’s why the Guarders had so much success with them.
But maybe that wasn’t it at all. Shem knew, better than most, that people had many different sides. Usually only one or two are presented to the public, and friends assume they see the truth. Yet in the corners of each soul resided facets that most people kept under control; tendencies toward violence, or abuse, or deceit, or selfishness, or lust—shoved down deep to keep them from surfacing.
But now Shem considered that some people kept those facets down only until the right situation presented itself. Maybe people truly were more bad than good, waiting for the opportune time to give in to their urges. And now, they were teaching their children how to lead double lives as well.
Shem wheeled his horse around abruptly, because he knew he was the worst example of them all.
---
Later that night a sullen Colonel Shin sat in the forward office and stared out the wide windows. On top of the desk was a stack of notes being added to every few minutes by soldiers, such as Lieutenant Jon Offra, currently bounding up the tower stairs.