“Any accomplished mage won’t be impressed with a little flash,” Pentrothe murmured.
“That’s why I’m planning to use a lot.”
************
Jorem gathered his men outside the Keep to instruct them on transporting the powder.
“This stuff is fairly dangerous. If you spill it or drop it, I cannot guarantee your safety.”
The looks on their faces ranged from indifference to disbelief. To prove his point, Jorem held up a bowl of the powder. Very gently, he took a small pinch of powder between his thumb and forefinger. With a smooth, even motion, he threw the pinch of powder on the ground. A white flash and whooshing sound brought exclamations of surprise from all. A pillar of smoke billowed up from the spot and drifted up into the air. When he held the bowl back up, everyone took a step back. Apparently his point had been made.
“Carry no more than two at a time,” Jorem said to a now very attentive crowd. “If you prefer, carry just one. Safer is better.”
Jorem and the others headed for the stone building on the far side of the clearing. They took their time traversing the planks crossing the trenches. All of the planks held firm with little or no rocking. He felt confident that his men would be able to get the powder from the dining hall across the clearing without accident. None of the residents of Cragg Keep would be involved in this project. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.
Inside the building Jorem knelt on a beam and steadied himself with one hand on an adjacent beam. He reached down into the gap between the two beams, getting as close to the ground as possible, and gently poured the powder from the bowl he’d brought. He started on the stove side of the room. As more powder arrived, he repeated the pouring process until the ground under the area where the first floor plank would go was covered.
Grabbing a plank off the top of the pile, he carried it over and set it in place. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t seat. Closer inspection revealed that the holes in the plank didn’t match up with the pegs in the beam. Jorem hadn’t thought to keep the planks in order as he removed them. In fact, thinking back, he realized that some of the planks would need to be swapped end for end to get the holes lined up. He could tell top from bottom, but this was going to take a while.
Take a while it did. Matching the planks up with their original location made it so he was barely able to keep up with the incoming powder. Once he got a plank in the right place, all he had to do was walk on it and it would settle into place. The only plank that was easy to identify was the one he’d cut the hole in. The rest he had to puzzle out.
Pour the powder, find the right plank, place the plank—all the way across the room. There were only two planks left when they ran out of powder. He felt like he wasn’t finishing his task, but he also knew there was nothing he could do about it. Setting the last planks in place took but a moment.
Stepping outside for a short break, Jorem found all of his men, save Con and Braden, waiting for him. They had been talking amongst themselves and when he stepped out, they turned to him expectantly. These were good men and he admired each of them. It was easy to see how so many considered the guard their family. The sun’s position told him it was nearly midday.
“Well, my friends,” Jorem said, “the time is nearly here. If Hector’s right, we have maybe four marks before company arrives. Con and Braden should be coming in soon. If there is anything any of you can think of that will help, now’s the time to bring it up.”
By the way they glanced at one another, Jorem could tell that they had something to say.
“Well…,” the shortest member of the group drawled out, “now that you mention it, we’ve been talking with Hector about the soldiers that’re coming.”
The man, Bertram was his name, paused to glance at the others. At their nods, he continued. “Hector told us the soldiers are well-armed and carrying shields. Arrows won’t go through a good shield and we haven’t got that many arrows to begin with.
“Now if we were to have a few men to either side of the clearing, we could shoot at them from the sides where they haven’t any shields and armor tends to be thinner.”
Jorem contemplated the idea for a bit before answering. “It’s a good idea,” he said, “but as soon as they figure out where our men are, they would converge on them. Our men wouldn’t stand a chance and there’s no way we could rescue them.”
Bertram grinned. “We thought of that too. If we put someone on the far ends of the wall, as soon as the shooters were spotted, a rope could be thrown down. They could climb up before the soldiers knew what was happening.”
Jorem had to admit it was a good idea. As long as the shooters could get back inside the walls before the enemy reached the gates it would work. The comment about their limited supply of arrows gave him something else to worry about.
“All right, let’s do it.” Before the men could congratulate themselves on their cleverness, Jorem held up a hand. “But I want everyone inside the walls before their first man reaches the gate. Understand? Make sure whoever’s outside the walls practices climbing the rope. We need all of you. Our odds are slim as it is. Let’s keep each other alive.”
Before the men left, Jorem had them gather up all the dishes except one and return them to the Keep. He had Hector stay with him long enough to move the stove back into place. Before he did anything else, he placed the plate over the hole under the stove. No point in setting up his trap with himself inside.
A little bit of searching around the building yielded a nice round stone about the size of his fist. Using the string he had previously waxed to the bottom of the stove, Jorem suspended the rock over the hole in the floor. It took a few attempts before he got the rock to stay where he wanted it, making him very glad he’d put the plate over the hole.
Once the rock was in place, Jorem replaced the kindling and wood into the stove, ready to be lit. Once the army arrived, this building would be the safest and most comfortable place outside the Keep. One thing Jorem knew about mages and wizards, they liked their comforts. If one of them didn’t light the fire, one of their underlings would. The biggest risk would be if someone lit the fire before the mages arrived.
Standing in the doorway, Jorem looked at the room to see if anything would warn of a trap. He quickly realized his mistake. The room was too clean. An abandoned out building should not have the appearance of a room at an inn. That alone would cause someone to be wary. He had to presume these men were reasonably intelligent. They would be watching for a trap, especially when they discovered that their monsters had disappeared.
Stepping outside, Jorem scooped up a handful of dirt and debris. He tossed the dirt into the building, then went in and scuffed it about with his feet. It took repeating the process a few times before he was satisfied that the room looked suitable.
Before leaving, Jorem retrieved the plate covering the hole under the stove, setting the trap. The plate he smashed against the edge of the table, scattering chards across the floor. These too he scuffed into the dirt on the floor, giving the newly broken plate the appearance of having been there for some time.
Standing outside the building, Jorem decided on one final touch to set the stage for his trap. Grasping the door and bracing a foot against the wall, Jorem heaved. The door creaked and he pulled harder. He had just about decided the task was beyond him when the top hinge groaned and tore from its seat. The door sagged on its remaining hinge. Hopefully, when this was all over, there would be someone to repair the damage.
************
Back at the Keep, the atmosphere was somber. There were a few people on the wall gazing into the distance. A couple of people scurried about the courtyard intent on some errand. Most everyone else remained inside. Everything appeared to be as ready as it could be. All that remained was to wait.
Jorem stepped into the Keep and found a cluster of children sitting in a circle on the floor. As he entered, the children looked up at him. His stomach clenched at the look of worry on those young faces. Thi
s was a situation no child should have to face, yet here they were.
Finding an open space in the circle, Jorem knelt down with the youngsters. Looking from face to face, it was easy to see the fear in their eyes. What could he say to them? He could tell them everything would be fine, but they’d know it for a lie. These children had already figured out that life was not fair.
“How are you doing?” Jorem asked in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.
Most of the children just shrugged their shoulders. A few murmured that they were fine. One little girl covered her face with her hands and started to cry. The girl next to her put an arm around her shoulders.
“Sandy’s just scared,” one of them said.
“Yeah,” Jorem sighed, “me too. In fact I think we’re all scared.”
Sandy’s crying stopped. She peered up at Jorem and sniffed. Jorem looked at her and winked.
“There’s nothing wrong with being afraid. In fact, there’s nothing wrong with having a cry. Most of us would be better off if we did.”
“I’m not afraid,” declared a black-haired boy.
Jorem looked closer at the defiant lad and chuckled.
“Willy!” Jorem exclaimed. “I’m glad to see you up and about. Almost as glad as I am that you’re inside the Keep this time.”
Willy grinned at the comment. “Gramps said he’d tan my hide if I didn’t stay here.”
“Well, at least you’re smart enough to listen to him. You were mighty lucky last time.”
“I ain’t afraid of them. I got my sling and I’ll show them what for!”
Jorem had to smile at the boy’s bravado. Armed with a sling and a stone, he was ready to take on an army. A sling could be lethal against birds and small rodents, but against an armored soldier, not likely. At best, it would be an irritant—an irritant and a distraction. But a distraction in the heat of battle had won many a war.
“Do any of the rest of you have slings?” Jorem asked the group.
“Mr. Craig makes them,” Willy replied. “He gives them to all the kids so we can keep rats and other critters out of the crops.”
The other children nodded at Willy’s statement. Jorem looked at each of them in turn, trying to decide how best to present his idea. These children were scared, but they had also chosen to stay. As much as he would rather they were not here, they just might prove the difference in the end.
“I want you all to get your slings and fill your pockets with stones. Tell the other youngsters to do the same,” Jorem instructed.
“But we all have bows,” one of them said in confusion.
“Yes,” Jorem replied, “but we only have so many arrows. Once we run out of arrows, we won’t be able to keep them outside of the walls. So, as soon as you run out of arrows, I want all of you to get to as high a place as you can find. One of the upper windows would be good, the roof would be even better. When you see one of us fighting with one of them, hit them with a stone. It will give us an advantage—one they won’t be expecting. As long as you hit them and not us,” Jorem said with a grin,
“Do you think they’ll get in the Keep?” Sandy asked.
“I wish I could tell you no, but I can’t. This is something you shouldn’t have to face, but it’s here and it’s now. If we’re overwhelmed, find a place to hide and, if you are lucky, they’ll move on when it’s over.”
The children took his words soberly. When Jorem stood, they stood up as well. They were still afraid and there was nothing he could do to change that. But at least now they had a plan where they could contribute to the imminent battle with a modicum of safety. Jorem reached out and tousled the hair of one of the boys.
“Go now, tell the others. Find a place where you can see the courtyard but not be seen. Find a place where you can hide and not be found. Most important of all, stay safe.”
As the children dispersed into the Keep, Jorem turned and headed for the dining hall. There he found a small group of adults sitting around a table. Had this been a normal day, he would have suspected a group of old friends had gathered to swap lies and spread gossip. As it was, he knew these were the grandparents of some of the children he’d just left. Telling lies, maybe. Spreading gossip, probably. Commiserating on the harshness of life, likely.
Lady Bethania, Neth’s mother, was among them. Jorem had seen very little of her since his arrival at Cragg. Once the dangers Neth had suspected proved real, Lady Bethania had stepped back and allowed Neth to take charge. Now she sat with her friends and waited. Instead of a dress, she wore breeches and a tunic like the others. Even so, she was still a striking woman, regal even when relaxing.
The group turned to face him as he approached. He directed his steps to Lady Bethania. Stopping a few paces from her, Jorem bowed deferentially. Technically, he out ranked her, or maybe not, depending on his questionable status as prince. Either way, he felt he owed this woman a measure of respect. She was, after all, the one these people looked to for leadership.
“Lady Bethania,” Jorem started. “I—.”
“Prince Jorem.” She interrupted him before he could continue. “Please, sit down.”
Reluctantly, Jorem pulled up a chair and sat down. Lady Bethania looked weary. In fact, they all looked a little worse for wear. The past sevenday had been a difficult one for all. Yet here he was, about to ask for more. How many of these good people would still be alive on the morrow?
“Prince Jorem,” Bethania began.
“Please,” Jorem said in sincerity, “just Jorem. I’ve never been very good with titles.”
“Jorem then,” she continued, “in all of the chaos these past few days, I fear I neglected to officially welcome you to Cragg Keep. Even more, I fear that if I do not do it now, I will never have the chance.”
Jorem nodded at her words. “I once heard that the day is not over until the sun goes down.” Quietly, he looked each person at the table in the eyes. “Today will not end for me until the last foe has fallen.”
“If we had left as you counseled us to do, you would not have this battle to face.” Lady Bethania bowed her head. “For that, I am truly sorry.”
The corner of Jorem’s mouth quirked up into a lopsided smile. “The King sent orders that no enemy troops were to pass Cragg Keep. Had you and your people not been here, I would be fighting this battle differently, but it would still be mine to fight.”
“You still obey the King’s orders?”
“In this I do.”
Before she could say more, Jorem pressed forward with his reason for being in the hall. “I need everyone to gather in the courtyard. If you could pass the word for them to be there in half a mark I would appreciate it.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you.”
Standing, Jorem gave a slight bow, turned and headed out of the room. He could hear whispering coming from behind him. What they said, he did not know. What he needed now was some time alone to prepare himself for what was coming.
It took but a moment to find his pack. From it, he pulled a tin of oil, a bit of rag and a course stone. With these items in hand, he headed for the courtyard. There he found a sunny spot on the stone steps in front of the Keep. Sitting down, he made himself as comfortable as possible and began removing all of the hidden blades from his Ovack armor.
The bright sunlight beat down on him, warming his body and relaxing muscles he didn’t realize were tense. Putting stone to steel, he began sharpening each blade in turn. The hissing of the blade and the slight ring as the stone left the end of the blade seemed to relax him even more.
One by one, he worked his way through the blades, from largest to smallest, as was his custom. Some needed just a slight touching up, while others, like the one he had used as a pry bar, needed a good working over. When he had finished putting an edge on the last of the blades, he looked up to find that he had an audience.
As instructed, what remained of the population of Cragg Keep had gathered in the courtyard while
he had been concentrating on this task. He had been aware of people moving about, but his thoughts had been focused inward as he wrestled with his own doubts. The children were closest, all ringed about him and watching his every move. The adults ranged about the courtyard in groups, some waiting patiently, some not so much.
A shuffling sound behind him caused him to look up. Behind him to his right, stood Nethira and Lady Bethania. Neth looked just as she had the day he’d first met her—cold, hard, detached and dangerous. Lady Bethania, aged though she was, stood tall and proud. Her steel gray hair was gathered in a tight bun and one hand rested on Nethira’s arm for support.
To Jorem’s left stood Pentrothe. The old wizard’s shoulders were stooped with age. The wooden staff he held looked to be all that was holding him up. Even so, something about his appearance warned of danger. Perhaps he had recovered enough to gain some of his powers back.
“Pentrothe,” Jorem said quietly, “are you up to throwing a few lightning bolts?”
Pentrothe’s grip tightened on his staff. “If it’s lightning you want, I might manage one or two. Better, I think, that I use smaller magics. Tripping a man at an advantageous moment can give the same advantage as incinerating him. I can trip a hundred men with the magic it would take to destroy one.”
“By small things are great battles won!” Jorem quoted.
“From the treatise of Esinock,” Pentrothe nodded. “It is good to see you keep your mind as sharp as your blade.”
Jorem smiled. Picking up the rag he’d brought, he started wiping off the grit from his blades. As he worked his way through the blades, he looked out at those gathered around him.
“We’ve little time and few resources,” he stated loud enough for all to hear. “In a short time, the enemy will be upon us. We must fight if we wish to live. More than that, if we allow them to pass, they will continue toward the capital, destroying all in their path. We must not allow that to happen!”
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