“I’ll admit I’m done in lad. Don’t recall the last time I slept. Call me when ya need me. I’ll be ready.”
When Jorem turned around, everyone was looking at him. They’d all heard what Conrad had said. Most of them looked confused and a number of them looked scared. The rest were just waiting for someone to tell them what to do.
What was he going to do? He didn’t have the manpower to take on a hundred plus men, let alone a horde of bloodthirsty monsters. Jorem’s mind raced with possibilities. He’d read somewhere there was no disgrace in retreating from a superior force. Would these people run? For that matter, could these people run?
All of these people and they were waiting for him to decide their fate. Not long ago they would have laughed at the idea of following the spare heir. Now they were putting their lives in his hands without a second thought. This wasn’t what he’d dreamed of as a child. All of this responsibility, he didn’t want it. But who else was there?
He and his men could get far enough away. Most of the older children and some of the elderly should be able to travel a fair distance. The elderly unable to travel, the very young children and the infants would need a great deal of assistance to hike through the mountains.
Perhaps if the King’s men hadn’t taken all of the wagons and horses they might have managed. On foot, there was no way to get all of these people to safety. They could take those able to travel and go, saving at least some. Well, his men could. There was no way he could leave any of them to die while he ran away. They could choose to stay or go. His choice was no choice at all.
With his mind set, Jorem stepped up on a low table to get everyone’s attention. As he looked around at the people gathered here, a lump formed in his throat; so many were obviously unable to make a strenuous journey. He needed an army to save these people.
“We have two choices,” Jorem’s voice nearly cracked as he spoke. “We can stay and fight, or we can run.” A few whispers came from around the room. “I have eleven fighting men with me.”
“Twelve,” came Neth’s voice from across the room.
Jorem smiled at Neth and nodded. “Right, twelve. That puts us at about ten to one. Not exactly the most promising of odds. Retreat might be a better option.”
“You mean you’re just going to leave us?” someone asked.
Jorem clasped his hands behind his back. “My men will escort those of you who are capable of travel and wish to leave. I will remain here to negotiate, be it with words or swords, with whomever or whatever comes. Those wishing to leave need to be in the courtyard and ready to depart in two marks. The sooner you get started, the farther from danger you will be.”
Jorem stepped down from the table. Conrad was still there, not having had the energy to search out a place to rest on his own.
“Sorry Con, two marks is all I dare give if they’re to get far enough away. Do you think you’ll be ready by then?”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere!” the scout said gruffly. “If’n yer stayin’, I’m stayin’. An' I’ll tell ya this right now. Ain’t none of the others’ll be willin’ to leave either.”
“Whether they want to or not, I’ll need some of them to get these people to safety.”
Just then, a hand grasped Jorem’s shoulder from behind and squeezed firmly. Turning, he was confronted with Neth’s sparkling blue eyes. Her face was set with determination. A slight smile curved the corner of her mouth.
“I’ll be staying as well.” She sounded more resigned than determined. “This is my home. I hold few here close, but I’ll not leave them to die without a fight.”
“Well, if we’re going to fight, we’d better come up with some plans,” Jorem responded. “Gather up whatever maps of this area you can find and meet me in the dining hall.”
Chapter VIII
Two marks later Jorem walked out to the courtyard to see off those who had chosen to leave. To his surprise, there was only one person there, Lady Bethania. She looked up at him as he approached, and a sad smile came to her face.
“I thought at least some might leave,” she said in a quiet voice. “The old will not or cannot leave their homes and friends. The children will not leave without them.”
“It’s probably just as well. The invaders would likely have hunted them down eventually.” Jorem knew he was being a bit blunt, but the time for niceties was past.
“I need you and your council to meet me in the dining hall. We have a battle to plan and little time to prepare.”
“Do we have any chance at all?” she asked plaintively.
Jorem was silent for a moment before answering. “Personally, I have no desire to die here, so I’m going to use everything and everyone I can get my hands on. If we go into this thinking we’re going to lose, we already have. It’s not going to be pretty. It’s not going to be heroic. We live or we die by what we decide today.”
Together they turned and walked back into Cragg Keep. Jorem’s men and Neth were waiting for him when he entered the dining hall. Moments later, several elderly men and women came in followed by a few of the older children. The children were small, but for some of Jorem’s ideas he thought they could be very helpful.
Several maps were spread across a large table. Jorem gestured for everyone to gather around. He’d spent the last two marks poring over every detail of each map. He expected to spend most of the night doing the same. They would need to take advantage of everything the land had to offer.
Shuffling through the maps, Jorem pulled out the one he wanted to start with. Spreading it out flat, he picked up a piece of marking stick. Cragg Keep was just a dot on this map. The canyons, streams and forest were well-defined on the map for quite a distance around the Keep.
“This is where we’ll start our fight.” Jorem drew a line across the map a good day’s march north of the Keep. Several of the “council” looked at Jorem as if he were insane. A few of Jorem’s men looked a bit dubious about the plan as well.
“You plan to attack?” one of them finally asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Jorem said, “yes. These creatures, whatever they are, aren’t coming to defeat us, they’re coming to kill. The more of them we can take down before they get here the better.”
“So,” Neth said with a raised eyebrow, “what have you got in mind?”
“At first light tomorrow, or earlier if they can, I’m sending eight of my men up here.” Jorem pointed at the line he’d drawn. “I want snares, traps, pits, anything their devious minds can come up with to kill or incapacitate whatever comes this way.”
“Jake and I want in on that,” one of Jorem’s men, Elson, interjected. “And if he’s up to it, Con would be a good choice.”
“I’ll be ready,” Con growled.
Jorem smiled at the comment. Two hours sleep hadn’t helped the scout’s appearance. “When it comes to devious ideas, no one’s better than Con. Choose five more men and head out as soon as you can. I’ll need you back here as soon as possible. Oh, and keep an eye out for Hector. If he’s still alive, he’ll be headed this way soon.”
Jorem watched as Conrad levered himself out of his chair and staggered out of the room. Jake, Elson and five others followed him out the door. With Con along, Jorem felt better about their chances of being successful. He had seen the creatures so he would have a better idea of what might stop them.
“That will have to do for long-range work,” Jorem said as he shuffled through the maps.
Finding the next map he wanted, he pulled it from the pile. The map was too large for the table, so with a little help from Neth, he pinned it to the wall. It was an older map of the area around the Keep. It didn’t show any of the smaller buildings in the courtyard, nor the shacks Jorem had had his men take down.
The clearing to the north of the Keep was well-defined, as were the borders of the chasms to the south, east, and west. From what Jorem had seen, little had been done in recent years to clear more land. What had been cleared was still open and used for cro
ps. The map showed a small building at the very edge of the clearing and, as Jorem recalled, it was still there.
Once again Jorem started drawing lines, this time three parallel lines starting about four wagon lengths from the tree line and ranging from the chasm on the east to the chasm on the west. Each of the three lines was about a wagon’s length apart from the others. He then drew three more lines four wagon lengths from the first three, and another three after those. Three sets of three. Something about the symmetry of the design felt right.
From the Keep-side of the clearing, Jorem moved in about six wagon lengths from the outer wall of the Keep and drew a single bold line parallel to the other nine and spanning the entire breadth of the clearing. Between the bold line and the closest set of three, he drew random dots and dashes.
“Where these lines are,” Jorem said, pointing to the nine lines spanning the far side of the clearing, “I want trenches. As deep as we can, as fast as we can. Here, closer to the Keep, I want an even deeper trench sloped so we can see the bottom of the trench from the top of the wall.
“The outer trenches will be filled with spikes and covered with light branches and a thin layer of dirt. The inner trench will be left open, but it too will be filled with spikes. It’s a lot of work and it will take all of us to accomplish it. Those who can’t dig can make spikes, gather branches or carry water to those who need a drink. Every task is important. If we’re to have any chance at all, we need to get this done.”
The silence in the room told Jorem that few of those gathered here truly understood what he was asking of them. These were good people, accustomed to the peace they had enjoyed for most, if not all, of their lives. The horror of what was coming was beyond their ability to comprehend. He had read of battles that had included the use of strange creatures to awe and overwhelm the opposition. There were ways to defeat them he knew but as he had come to find out from the few battles he had been in, reading of them and experiencing them were vastly different.
“We start at first light.” Jorem’s voice broke into the silence. “Between now and then,” he continued as he walked back to the map laden table, “we need to gather every weapon, shovel, bucket, and handcart we can find.”
“Ha!” blurted a man gray with age and barely able to stand. “What we need is a mage. A mage would just wipe these vermin clean out of the land.”
The old man’s chin was jutted out in defiance. The man’s statement was one Jorem had heard before. A little bit of magic would solve all the problems in the world. It was also a subject on which he had been lectured by his friend and mentor, Pentrothe. “Mages don’t grow on trees, and magic extracts a price of its own,” the old wizard had said during one of their many conversations.
“What you say is true.” Jorem spoke loudly to be sure all in the room could hear what he had to say. “An extremely powerful mage likely could do what you say. Unfortunately, we don’t have one of those at hand.”
As he spoke, the sword shaped amulet hanging from a chain around his neck seemed to warm against his chest. A gift from the most powerful mage he knew, Lady Dragon Mage Zensa. A gift from her should he ever find himself in dire need. A gift he’d only used once before, to save another.
True, he could break the amulet and she would come. She would save him, and perhaps one or two others if she felt it did not violate her vows. Dragon Mages had their own ideas of what was right and wrong. They answered to no one other than their sworn liege Dragon.
“Why aren’t the Dragon Mages taking care of this matter like they used to?” asked another.
Jorem let the grumbling continue for a while before holding up his hand for silence. “Many of you recall wars in which the Dragon Mages took part. I fear that was before my time. I know of the Dragon Mages. In fact, I’m acquainted with one of them.” Jorem paused to let that sink in. To be associated with a Dragon Mage was rare indeed.
“In all the wars you recall or have heard of, have any of you ever heard of a Dragon Mage taking part in a war other than one of magic?”
Another pause, accompanied with much whispering.
“No!?” Jorem stated more than asked. “Because they don’t get involved in the politics and ruling of humans. Ever! They are not our keepers, nor do they wish to be. We have to do this ourselves. We will do this, and we will survive!”
An unexpected cheer rose from those around the room. Jorem wasn’t sure what they were cheering about. The next sevenday might find them all dead. He let them cheer anyway. Every bit of enthusiasm was going to be needed over the next few days.
“Bring any weapons you can find here to the dining hall. Take any carts, buckets, shovels, and spades to the courtyard. Then get some sleep. We’ve some hard work in the coming days.”
As the crowd began shuffling out the door, Jorem noticed someone standing by the map they’d hung on the wall—someone he didn’t recognize. He looked to be a young man, but the King’s men had taken all of them. As Jorem watched, the young man erased some of the lines Jorem had drawn and drew in new ones.
Curious as to the man’s motives, Jorem walked over. A closer look at the man raised a few more questions in Jorem’s mind. Though he was not quite as tall as Jorem, he was easily as broad. His features looked slightly swollen, and his light sandy hair had begun to thin.
“Excuse me,” Jorem said politely. “Is there a reason you’re changing the map?”
It wasn’t like the man ignored Jorem, but more like he didn’t even notice Jorem was there. He continued to stare intently at the map, then erased another line and drew it elsewhere. Then he returned to staring at the map. Thinking maybe the man was too engrossed in his task to notice anything, Jorem reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.
The man slowly turned toward Jorem. The look in his eyes seemed a little out of focus, as if he were looking through Jorem instead of at him. Just as Jorem was about to repeat his question, an elderly woman came bustling up.
“Cort!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing in here?” She turned to Jorem. “Please forgive him. He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s a bit slow and doesn’t think right. His mother usually looks after him and I’m afraid I lost track of him. Come now, Cort, let’s leave the Prince to his tasks.”
The woman took Cort by the arm and started leading him away.
Cort looked back at the map. “Iss wong,” he said as he was led away.
Jorem recognized the man’s affliction. He’d heard of it and even read accounts of it before. It was rare, and even rarer for someone with the condition to live as long as this man had. Some called it God-cursed; others thought it to be an injury from birth. One man who’d made a study of it said he believed these people actually thought on a higher level than the rest. Their minds worked perfectly well, they just had difficulty communicating with those who couldn’t think as they did.
“Iss wong,” Jorem thought as he looked at the map. The lines were still there, just shifted a little from their original positions. “Why move them such small distances?” Jorem glanced back at the old woman leading Cort away. Could there be a good reason for Cort’s actions?
“Slow.” Pentrothe’s grating whisper echoed in Jorem’s memories. “Do not confuse slow with unintelligent. Some of the greatest minds in history were considered slow at some point. Yet without their contributions, we would likely be no better off than the beasts of the wild. Take wisdom where you find it lest it be lost to you.”
“Wait.” Jorem’s voice echoed across the nearly vacant room.
The old woman hesitated, uncertain whether Jorem spoke to her or not. Jorem walked briskly over to them. Once at Cort’s side, Jorem gently laid a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention. Cort turned to him with the same distant expression.
Jorem pointed back at the map. “Show me, please.”
Cort brightened as though he’d been invited to play a game. Together, the three of them walked back to the map hanging on the wall. Jorem pointed to the line Cort had moved. “Why here?”
“Deys ditses. Is bettew to do where dey was.” Cort’s slurred words made it difficult to understand him, but something told Jorem this was important. “My dog bewied his bones out dewe. Dogs is smawt. Dig whewe is soft. Whew da ditses wew.”
Cort turned back to the map, erased another line and drew a new one a little bit away from the one he’d just erased. The old woman looked as though she thought Jorem had lost his mind. Jorem closed his eyes and let Cort’s words repeat over and over in his mind.
Dogs and bones he’d caught. Dogs bury bones. That made sense. Swapping r’s for w’s or l’s wasn’t so unusual. Many children had the same speech problem. So dogs dig where it’s soft. So maybe only some parts of the ground in the open area are soft. But how would you know where?
What are ditses and how would they affect the hardness of the ground? When he asked Cort what a dits was, all he got was a look of exasperation. The old woman was no help at all in deciphering Cort’s words.
“Reason it out,” Jorem told himself. What makes the ground soft? Water was the first thing to come to mind, but that didn’t make sense. If there was water out there, it would be fairly obvious. Plowing would soften the first couple of hand spans, but not much more. Digging would do it, but who would dig straight lines across…?
“Ditches!” Jorem exclaimed.
Cort just looked at him as if to say ‘Duh, it’s about time!’
“There used to be ditches across the field for watering the crops.” Now Jorem was getting excited. This information could save a great deal of work.
“How do you know where the ditches were?” Jorem asked.
“Thin da books,” Cort replied as though this were an incredibly obvious thing. “Aw da books of aw da times is in da book woom.”
“Of course they are!” Jorem grinned. “And you’ve read them, haven’t you?”
“Not aw of dem.” Again the exasperated look. “Some don’t wead an’ some too daw.”
Jorem seemed to be getting the hang of Cort’s speech. He thought of the library at the castle and had to agree with Cort. There were some books you just couldn’t read due to a language difference or damage, and other books were on subjects too dull to endure.
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