Sunset of Lantonne

by Jim Galford

  Raeln sat down on the hay off to one side of the stall, trying to give Greth room on the other. He flopped onto his back, not really sure what else to say. His mind raced through scenarios of combat, making relaxing difficult. Each thought led back to how he would get Greth out of the city.

  “You have someone to go home to,” Raeln finally said once Greth had lain down on the far side of the stall. “I overheard you talking with Ilarra. I’ll do whatever I can to get you back to her alive.”

  “To Ilarra? I’m really confused right now. Did you hit your head?”

  “No, to whoever you have back in the wilds. I swear to you I’ll find a way to have you set foot in the mountains again.”

  “Raeln, I don’t have anyone. I already told you, everyone I know to still be alive is here, and it’s usually my job to watch your back, not the other way around.”

  Raeln propped himself up on one elbow to look over at Greth, though he could barely see him in the dark stall. “You told Ilarra that you were going to leave, to be with someone, and you were sending her and I home.”

  Greth snorted and laughed. “Spying is rude. You’re also awful at it. Stick with kicking people in the head—you do that a lot better.”

  They lay there in silence for several minutes until Raeln settled back down, confused but not willing to push the issue further. He had already said more than he should have and had likely made Greth uncomfortable, especially admitting that he had listened in on his and Ilarra’s conversation.

  As Raeln started to drift off, he realized Greth had moved and was in the process of lying down at his side. He tensed and listened for an attack or other reason for Greth to have gotten up, but heard nothing but the creaking of the stable.

  “I’m only cold, so don’t get any ideas,” Greth said unconvincingly, putting an arm over Raeln’s chest and burying his face against Raeln’s neck. “If you say a word, I will claw your face off. We’ll talk about this if and when we live through the siege. Understood?”

  “Does this mean…?”

  “Claws. Face. I’m serious about that,” Greth warned again, tapping his claws on Raeln’s chest for emphasis. “Go to sleep.”

  Raeln opted to keep his mouth shut at that point and accept the company. Whether it meant anything or not, he was happy to have Greth close, knowing they would likely both die as soon as the undead attacked.

  *

  Raeln woke late in the morning to a loud kick to the stall door. As he came to, he realized he had his arms around Greth and quickly let go before Greth was fully awake. There might be regrets on Greth’s side of things as it was, and there was no reason to compound the problem.

  “We’re awake,” Raeln called out, though a mumbled remark from Greth sounded as though he were disagreeing.

  “They’re forming up,” came Phillith’s voice outside the door. “Looks like the other groups are pushing hard to circle the city. Main force could be marching down our throats inside of three hours, but we’re probably looking at eight or more before we’re trapped. You have time, but I want everyone on alert in case there are surprises.”

  Raeln looked over at Greth, who had just begun to open his eyes and look around. He nodded and reached for his weapons, clearly having heard what was said.

  “We’re ready,” Raeln answered, digging his own weapons out of the hay. “Let’s see what we have going for us today.”

  Stumbling out of the stall, Raeln found Phillith leaning against the wall outside. The man gave Raeln a grim stare, then shoved a thumb toward the stall.

  “You two good with whatever happens today?” he asked softly. “Made peace with the possibility of losing each other?”

  Raeln’s fur went up and he tried to find some way to explain away anything Phillith had seen, but the old human raised a hand to stop him.

  “I have four sons and a daughter, Raeln,” explained Phillith. “The girl and two boys are married and churning out kids. One son only wants to be in the army and couldn’t care less about anything else. The other boy, him and his husband moved south a couple years back.

  “Every soldier looks for someone to comfort them on the night before war,” he added. “The married ones go see their wives. The unmarried ones find a whore. The ones that don’t do either usually end up sharing a bed. I’m too old to be ignorant of how things are, and by my old bones, I couldn’t care less. I need my men to think straight, no matter what it takes for them to get ready.”

  “This isn’t a problem, then?” asked Raeln nervously. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s not a problem for me,” Phillith answered, laughing dryly. “If it’s a problem for you, then you two have a lot of explaining to do to each other when this battle is over. Now get your fuzzy ass out to the gate before I drag you by the scruff like I did when you were still smaller than me.”

  Starting to turn but then stopping, Raeln debated whether to bring up what plagued his conscience, but Phillith’s expression seemed to say Out with it, already. “When did Lantonne begin enslaving people?” he asked, lowering his head to avoid the confused and upset look Phillith gave him. “I’ve seen the camps.”

  “It’s…well, they tell me it’s temporary. Only foreigners and only until everyone’s sure they aren’t working with the enemy. They aren’t really slaves—”

  “I’ve been in a camp,” objected Raeln firmly, noticing Phillith’s shoulders dipped slightly. He must know what was going on there and had tried to convince himself it was something it was not. “Hundreds of hardy people that would give anything to stand at our sides and fight their enemies and ours. They’re all going to die out in those camps when the undead overrun the city. Even if they aren’t allowed in the city, we should be putting weapons in their hands and setting them free to fight for their lives.”

  “I know, boy. Trust me, I know. I’ve sent at least a dozen messages to the king, but his bloody regent keeps telling me to worry about the army, not the foreigners.”

  “Phillith, I’ve seen you punch the king’s messengers in the face for delivering bad news. Would you let a regent order you to do the wrong thing? There are people out there who know how to fight, who have skills we need. While I was there, I met one of the most skilled healers I’ve ever seen…and we both know we’re going to need healers when this battle starts. We need those people.”

  The old man’s frown deepened to the point Raeln worried he might hurt himself. Finally, he shook his head. “I’ll send men down there immediately to arm the prisoners and bring them in through the south gate before the regent can argue. Get yourself to the wall before I change my mind.”

  Raeln thanked Phillith, then hurried from the stable before he had to face Greth, who he could hear moving around in the stall. He had no idea what to say and worried any argument or confrontation about the night might put them both at risk in the upcoming battle, so made his way to the gate alone to head off any discussion.

  When Raeln arrived at the gates, he was somewhat pleased to find there were more soldiers than there had been during the night. They were still spread thin along the walls, but from the looks of things, dozens of men and a few women from the populace had come to aid the armored soldiers. Some appeared to be hunters or at least moderately trained to use the weapons they carried, while others were eyeing their bows as if they might bite. Still, more people armed and willing to fight was a good thing, even if they were not trained. These people knew what was at stake and were willing to stand at the front line, and that was certainly something.

  The barricade that had been set up at the gate had been heavily reinforced during the night. All the gaps and openings a zombie might crawl through had been closed off with stones or barrels taken from around the district. The only way anything was coming through the gate was down the narrow passage between the toppled wagons and any defenders waiting there, while the people on top of the wall fired down on them.

  Raeln made his way into the gap between the wagons and sat down with his sword across his l
ap. He closed his eyes and waited, forcing himself to relax through meditation and calming himself for what was to come.

  “What armor or weapons do you need?” asked a young elven man minutes later, stopping near Raeln with a cart piled high with mismatched armor, shields, and weapons. “A sword, pants, and a shirt aren’t a good way to face this.”

  Raeln stood up and looked over the cart’s contents, trying to decide how best to help himself. He preferred fighting without the bulk of armor, and weapons were unneeded when he fought living beings, but he knew this was going to be very different from past battles. Weapons would give him reach against the undead, and he would need to minimize the injuries he sustained if he was to keep fighting.

  “I’ll take this,” he said, pulling a hardened leather jacket with metal studding from the pile. “When you’ve given everyone else what they need, bring any melee weapons back here. I’ll want them close when the battle starts.”

  “I’ve been bringing weapons to people since well before dawn,” the man explained. “Take whatever you want now. If we run out, there’s hundreds more back at the barracks, but there’s no one else to use them.”

  Raeln scooped up a stack of swords and axes, dropping them next to where he had been sitting. Next, he picked up a pair of spears, a bow, and a pile of arrows from the remaining weapons. He let the man know he had all he needed, and the young man hurried away, occasionally glancing back at Raeln with a confused look that told Raeln he was wondering how Raeln could possibly use as much as he had taken.

  Raeln began shoving the swords and axes into every crack in the barricades, making sure anywhere from the gate itself to the back of the tunnel-like gap he had at least two different weapons available at all times. The spears he drove into the soft ground near the front of the barricade, standing straight up, so he could snatch them as he ran. Going to the very front of where the path narrowed under the gate itself, he propped the bow against the wagon on his left and his sword against the right, before setting up a line of arrows point-down in the dirt, ready to be grabbed and fired as needed.

  “By the look of this place, I’d think you had a whole group of people helping you,” Greth said as he came up behind Raeln. “You do know it’s just me, right?”

  Raeln smiled and glanced over his shoulder, then turned around as he caught a glimmer of steel in sunlight.

  Greth had apparently found another person outfitting the troops and gotten his own collection of what he felt might come in handy. He wore a loose-fitting jacket of polished chain, held tight with a well-oiled leather belt. Mismatched metal plates covered his knees and shins, as well as his lower arms. The man had even managed to find a leather helmet that had been designed for wildlings, allowing his ears to poke out. Strapped to his left arm, he bore a metal-edged wooden shield and carried a sword that looked as though it had never seen a fight.

  “Always wanted to dress up like a human knight as a pup,” he said, grinning. “My father thought I was insane. If I’m going to die anyway, I couldn’t help myself; it’s now or never. I’ll be the best-looking wildling corpse out here.”

  “Can you even fight in that?” Raeln asked in reply, eyeing the heavy armor.

  “Yeah,” Greth answered, hopping a little, then adjusting his belt. “When I didn’t show any skill with magic as a pup, my father made me carry bags of stones when I ran or sparred with the other wolves. This moves with me…much easier to carry than rocks.”

  Greth then seemed to take note of what Raeln was wearing and the leather body armor lying at his feet. “Tell me you’re going to wear more than that,” he insisted. “They’ll tear you to shreds.”

  “I can’t fight with more than that on and still be fast enough. I’d rather get scratched more than be weighed down and have them catch me. I fight better by myself and unburdened.”

  Greth was clearly upset by that, but said nothing for a minute as he sat down near Raeln. “I hate waiting,” he muttered soon after, chuckling.

  Closing his eyes again, Raeln let his muscles relax as he rested. He could wait as long as he needed to. He was ready.

  Raeln felt the sun rise over the city as he meditated, warming his fur and heating the air. Hours passed, measured mostly by which direction the sun’s heat came from. Occasionally, he heard Greth shift or get up and pace, but each time the man returned to Raeln’s side to wait, though he did mutter to himself every so often.

  A distant bleating call from a horn atop the walls finally announced the coming of the army, and Raeln opened his eyes part way, sighing.

  “They’re coming in!” cried someone above the gate, thirty feet above Raeln’s head. “Two hours at most, maybe less!”

  Raeln double-checked the location of his bow and sword, then knelt and readied himself for a long wait during which meditation was out of the question. He suspected the soldiers on the wall would be working themselves into a nervous fit the whole time they watched the enemy approaching, but he had no intention of allowing himself fear. He needed calm to fight the way he intended.

  “I’ve always meant to ask,” Greth said, having noticed Raeln’s eyes open. “What’s with the sleeping sitting up thing?”

  Raeln laughed. “Meditation,” he explained.

  “I snore when I sleep and would probably fall over.”

  “It’s not sleeping, Greth. It’s resting, so I can relax and fight better. The more tense you are when you fight, the more likely you’ll make mistakes or be too slow reacting to the enemy”

  “I know that. It’s why the people up top who’ve never held a bow are going to get torn apart if the undead get past the gate. Most of us drink heavily to relax.”

  “This is more than that,” Raeln continued. “When we fought in the wilderness, it was sudden and unplanned. I could be calm about fighting, but that’s different. When I have time to prepare myself, I can see what others are intending to do by their posture, letting me react before they have even committed themselves to an attack. So long as I stay ahead of my foe, they can’t hit me.”

  “That makes about as much sense as all of Ilarra’s talk about magic, Raeln.”

  “If we live through this, I’ll teach you. You need your anger to fight properly; I need absolute calm. Maybe you can go back and show Olis a thing or two.”

  Greth grinned broadly at that, shaking his head. “You know how I said Olis ran me off? I may as well admit, the same thing we’re not talking about from last night is the reason he did that. He didn’t like my kind…ours, I guess. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to go back out there. Let him fight off the undead on his own—he’s not my problem anymore. Much as I’d love to pound his face with a rock, I’d rather leave it all behind me.”

  Raeln closed his eyes again and rested his hands on his thighs. Almost immediately, Greth took his left hand. “I’ll be behind you on the wagon with my bow when they get here,” he said, squeezing Raeln’s hand. “You aren’t alone out here. Say the word and I’ll be down here at your side within a second or two. We’re getting out of this alive.”

  Raeln smiled at Greth, clinging to his hand for a moment before letting go. “Concentrate on the fight, not protecting me,” Raeln warned him. “We need to hold this gate, even if I die. All that matters is keeping the undead moving through this one opening so they don’t pile up at the walls and climb over them or tear them down. Promise me that if I fall, you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Why would I promise that? I do stupid things all the time.”

  Before Raeln could say anything more, Greth got up and moved to the back of one of the wagons and picked up a bow and a huge bundle of arrows. He set his shield and sword aside on the ground at the base of the wagon. Then, he climbed up on top of the wagon so he was high enough Raeln could barely have grabbed at his ankle. He waited, watching through the partially open gate with fear in his eyes but determination on his face.

  Near where Greth waited, a group of dwarven youths had gathered with axes. They were too young to figh
t at the walls, but they seemed determined to stay close and help however they could and kept peeking around the ends of the wagons at Raeln. Raeln watched them in turn, wondering if he would have to watch children die as part of this fight.

  With effort, Raeln slowed his rapidly beating heart and uneven breathing, relaxing once again. After he was sure he was entirely calm, he pulled on the leather tunic. He looked out the gate and up the road, and he could distantly see a wall of shambling bodies marching steadily toward him into the farthest buildings of the outer city. It would not be long.

  Screams erupted a minute later from beyond the gate as those who had stayed outside the walls were found in their homes and butchered. Raeln could hear faint sounds of battle out there, but the undead on the road were all he could see. Whoever had attempted to defend their homes were already dead, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it.

  “Brace yourselves!” came another cry from the wall.

  The undead were close now, picking up the pace as they spotted him. The leading corpses accelerated to a limping run, reaching out toward him and opening their mouths in anticipation of digging their rotten teeth into his flesh. As he had hoped, they did not look up at the soldiers on the wall or for another way into the city. They saw only Raeln, sitting in the middle of the road into Lantonne. A hundred undead knew he was in their path and raced to be the one to take him down. For them, there seemed to be nothing else.

  “Hold your fire!” shouted Phillith somewhere nearby, though Raeln could not pinpoint where the man was. “Wait…wait…wait…”

  The undead were nearly to the gate, tripping over one another as they pressed together, trying to line up with the narrow entrance to the city and the wildling just inside.

  “Fire!”

  Arrows fell like rain on the undead, impacting with soft thumps but never so much as slowing the vast numbers. A few zombies were hit in the heads or legs, knocking them over, where they were trampled by their fellows.