by James Fuller
“It will be a shame if this plan does not work and all that food goes to waste.” The blond-haired soldier put in. “Rations seem slim as is - we might very well end up eating our horses.”
“Amen to that,” they all muttered, the crackling of the fire doing well to hide the grumble of empty bellies.
“Keeper’s balls, I have to piss again,” the blond soldier cursed.
“Hold it in as long as you can, it will help keep you warm,” another offered.
“Ya, but once the battle starts you are likely to piss yourself,” another man said as the group shared a laugh.
Before anyone else could speak, a battle cry sounded on the far side of the camp and they all knew what they had been waiting for had finally begun. Swords rang free on sheaths, spear hafts were gripped tightly and shields were strapped firmly in place, as they prepared to make a good show of it.
“Bleh, I am getting too old and soft to be out here on nights like this,” Lord Andras grumbled as he moved closer to the fire’s warmth, pulling his thick cloak tighter around him. He would have to remember to thank his wife for packing the gift he had been given years ago by a wealthy merchant, but never thought he would ever use. Zandor never knew much of cold weather and so he had left the finely crafted cloak packed away, collecting dust. He grinned to himself - he would also have to pay the merchant a visit and thank him personally…and perhaps pick up another, just in case.
Jarroth cracked a grin. “Wait until the rain turns to frost, then you will have reason to complain.”
Andras grunted his displeasure at the thought.
“Drandor must be seeing snow by now,” Master Tomas remarked, adding another log to the crackling flames.
“Never understood how Tundal could live there so contentedly,” Andras said, with a shake of his head. “Blasted cold could freeze a man’s cock off if he tried to take a piss in this weather.” They all shared a hearty laugh.
“But with a beautiful wife like Lady Tora…you know how he keeps warm on cold nights,” Jarroth put in with a remorseful smile at the thought of his dead friend.
Lord Andras beamed. “I had not thought of that,” he paused in thought, “maybe me and the wife should visit Drandor next year, once this is all over. I could use a few solid weeks of ‘keeping’ warm.” The group laughed again. “Ah Tundal, may you be dining with the Creator himself and keeping him entertained with the stories you told so well.”
“Father, how can we just sit idle like this?” Andras oldest son - Kain - interjected, barely able to stay seated.
“And what do you think we should be doing?” Andras asked his son.
Kain licked his lips nervously, now that all eyes were upon him. “We should not just be sitting here making idle chat. There are enemies out there who need to be killed.”
“The trap has been set my boy - all there is to do now is to wait and see if it is taken.”
“It just seems cowardly to me,” Kain replied. “It should be steel on steel!”
Andras sighed. “This is why I allowed you to come with me, son…because you need to learn these lessons before you can expect to be a ruling Lord. War cannot always be honorably met on an open battlefield…not as the bards tell tales of. Too many lives are foolishly lost that way. Sometimes, you must play on your enemy’s weaknesses and needs, such as we are now.”
Kain sat there silent for a moment. “I still do not like it, father.”
Andras just shook his head. “When you are able to see your countrymen return home to their wives and children, then you will understand.”
“What if they do not take the bait?”
“Then son, you will see steel on steel…and the true horrors of war.”
Kain looked confused. “But you have always told me war was glorious and paved the way to strength of leadership.”
“You misunderstood my words,” Andras sighed. “There is no glory in war, only what is the expected outcome.”
“I do not understand,” Kain confessed.
“Let me explain. We go to war with the barbarians - to push them back from our lands and to stop them from killing our countrymen. If we are successful, the glory is to know our effort will help keep people safe, so that they may tend to their fields and live without fear. That is a glorious thought. True strength of leadership is more often than not proven by war, but a good leader does not welcome war – he simply accepts it when it is necessary. A true leader should never relish in the thought of sending men off to kill or to die.”
Kain was nodding. “I think I understand father.”
“They have taken the bait, my Lords!” A soldier huffed as he ran through the camp and the soldiers all around began to cheer. “They have taken the bait!”
“Soldier, over here!” Jarroth called out with a wave of his arm and the man quickly changed course, stopping in front of them, doing his best to catch his breath. “Tell us everything you can.”
“They did just what you thought they would sir. They waited until the dead of night and then attacked when they thought our men were sleeping.”
“Did you get an idea of their numbers?” Andras asked, his mind racing.
“It was dark but there were easily a two hundred of them. They were taking no chances.”
Master Tomas smiled. “That is good news. It means they are more desperate than we first thought.”
“Fatalities?” Jarroth asked.
“Twelve and a few wounded, sir.”
Jarroth nodded - it was much less than he had expected, yet still more than he had hoped. “Have the men eat and have a drink tonight in their memory, then find your beds and sleep well. You all have earned it.” The soldier nodded and took his leave.
“Now we wait and see just how gullible they really are to think we would so foolishly lose so much food,” Tomas said, adding another log to the dwindling fire.
*****
“My Lord, my Lord!” A servant bellowed, running into the garden where Lord Dagon, Lady Angelina and Lady Tora sat, enjoying the rare sunny occasion during the rainy season. “And Ladies…” He quickly added. “I hate to disturb you, but it is of great importance.”
“What is it, Melnic?” Dagon asked, concerned as he wiped the juices of a soft fruit from his chin.
“Lady Jewel marches towards the city with haste, my Lord.”
“Sweet heavens, why?” Lady Angelina asked, her tone full of panic.
“Dragon’s Cove has fallen to the savages - those who escaped are with her and the remains of their army,” Melnic replied fretfully as he watched their faces turn grim.
Dagon opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as his mind raced with the most important questions. “How many are with her?” he asked.
“Thousands, my Lord.”
Dagon gritted his teeth as his mind tried to work out where to put them all. Draco was already well past its capacity and food was already becoming an issue but they could not turn them away. “I need a large favor from you, Melnic.”
“Anything, my Lord.”
“See to all the newcomers comforts; find them places to sleep, food to eat and baths to clean themselves,” Dagon explained with a wince, knowing it would be a near impossible task. “Do what you must to house everyone within the castle or the city, you have my order to command as you see fit in this.”
Melnic straightened his back as the weight of the task hit him. “I shall do my best, my Lord.” He quickly took off, back through the garden, to begin what would likely be the hardest task of his life.
“Dragon’s Cove has fallen...” Lady Tora’s voice was on the brink of cracking and her eyes glistened.
Angelina hugged her friend close. “At least they made it out alive,” She whispered. “We can be thankful for that at least.”
“That means Drandor will likely be next.” Tora was sobbing now as if the worst had already befallen them.
“Shh do not say that…we will stop them before that happens.” Angelina did her best to ease her friend�
��s mind. She looked up at her husband, hoping he had something to offer.
“Drandor will not fall!” Dagon stated firmly, his expression hard. “Those heathen bastards will not step foot in Tundal’s Castle…on my life I swear it!”
Tora looked up to her old friend; her face was grave and determined. “I need to be there,” She whispered. “I need to go home.”
“Jewel!” Dagon pulled his old road-weary friend into a tight embrace as she was escorted through the doors to the library.
“They took it from me,” Jewel cried into his shoulder. “I tried everything I could, but it was not enough.”
Dagon held her firmly, knowing if he let her go, she would likely collapse from exhaustion. “Do not blame yourself - it is not your fault. You did all you could.”
“Did I?” She questioned, her tone defeated. “How can you know?”
“I am sorry about Marcus,” He whispered.
Jewel pulled herself away her features seemed to brighten tenfold. “He lives and will be here soon.” She could tell Dagon did not understand. “He made it through the Fever and woke before we had to escape.” She had to steady herself with the use of the table. “He has a hundred men and was staying to ensure everyone made it out of the castle and would protect our flank.”
“By the Creator’s will,” Dagon exclaimed, his own mood lifting. “How long until he is here?”
Jewel mood soured and her eyes dropped to the floor. “I do not know. The last I saw of him was when I left the castle. I have had scouts go back to try and find him, but they have come back with nothing. But he is coming!” She proclaimed confidently. “He promised me he would follow.”
“I will send fifty men out to find him and hurry him to Draco.”
“Bless you.” Jewel finally sat down on one of the plush chairs. “It... it has just been so much.”
Dagon had to wonder how much she knew about what had gone on here. But thought better than to add more worry to her at this time. The poor woman had been through so much already - he would not burden her with anything else until she had rested.
As if on cue, Jewel jumped to her feet. “Sweet heavens, I nearly forgot!”
Dagon’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
“Ursa brought Princess Nicolette to Dragon’s Cove when he escaped from here! Prince Berrit is not who he seems to be…he is an evil wizard and must be stopped!” She cried out. A second of stunned silence followed, and her hand went to her mouth as she realized how loud she had been.
Dagon sighed and motioned her to calm herself. “If only your news had come earlier. Alas, we already discovered the truth and sadly, he escaped before we could deal with him,” Dagon explained. “But Ursa and the Princess are with you?”
Jewel eyes welled with fresh tears again. “No, I fear not.” She began to cry as she went into full detail of what had transpired, from the moment Ursa had arrived at Dragon’s Cove until they had escaped.
Dagon sat and listen carefully to her every word until she had finished. By the end of it he was up pacing the room franticly, his nerves frayed even further. “If Queen Nicolette is out there and in trouble, we need to find her!” Dagon exclaimed anxiously, knowing Borrack’s only heir was in the hands of slavers.
“But we do not even know where to start, Dagon,” Jewel told him.
Dagon turned and slammed his hands down on the wooden table. “That is not the point! Our Queen is in the hands of slavers!” He bellowed, throwing one of the chairs to the floor in a fit of rage. “Who knows what is happening to her right now!” Dagon knew all too well what slavers did to women and shuddered at the thought, keeping quiet.
“Dagon, Ursa is out there searching for her,” Jewel explained. “He will bring her back to us. He has the help of that girl that knows things and she will do what is right! They will bring her back.”
Dagon was about to snap back a rebuttal when his voice caught in his throat and he crumbled down into a nearby chair. “I just... there is...” He sighed. “There are just too many things that are not within my control.”
It was now Jewel’s turn to comfort him. “Look at me Dagon. Ursa is out there. If anyone can find her and bring her back to us, it is him. You know this as well as I.”
He nodded. “You are right.” Dagon forced himself from his seat. “You are exhausted…go and rest; we will have plenty of time to finish talking later.”
Jewel took her leave without argument, knowing he was right and the prospect of a soft bed was all the encouragement she needed.
Dagon stood, staring at the fallen chair for what could have been mere moments or hours… he could not be sure. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, actions that had to be committed and planned, yet he did not know where to start.
“My love?” Lady Angelina called from the doorway.
Had it been anyone else, Dagon would likely not have heard them. But the sound of his wife’s beautifully sweet voice could pierce through even his darkest of moods. “I shall be all right my sweet… how fairs Tora?”
Angelina frowned. “She fairs no better, I am afraid - she is set on returning home at once.”
Dagon rubbed his eyes. “I fear that would be most unwise right now. The country is swarming with enemies and we would have no way of ensuring her safety.”
“I told her as such, but she would hear none of it. She is adamant that her safety is her own concern.”
“She is an intrepid, stubborn woman,” Dagon muttered.
“All the good ones are, my dear,” Angelina added with a slight smile. “She will not be talked out of it I am afraid.”
Dagon cursed in defeat. “When does she plan on leaving?”
“On the morrow. She is already organizing her people.”
“I shall make sure I double her escort.”
*****
“My Lord, I return with bad tidings,” the soldier called from his saddle.
“What news do you bring?” Marcus asked, his eyes scanning the men behind the man. “Where is Master Antiel?”
The soldier’s eyes wavered to the earth. “Dead, my Lord…” his eyes drifted upwards, “…all of them.”
Marcus released a sigh of regret; mournfully, he knew he should have sent for them earlier. “Thank you, soldier, that will be all.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The man saluted and rode off.
“Maybe it is time we head to Draco and regroup my Lord,” his Captain offered, seeing his Lord’s mood soured even further. “They are sending out larger and stronger patrols with at least two of their Gifted, sometimes more.” He sighed. “Without Master Antiel or another who is experienced with the Gift, I cannot see how we can stand against them with the little force we have left.”
Marcus regarded his old friend for a moment. He had forgotten he was even there. He knew the words his Captain spoke to be true, yet his pride gnawed deep within him. He had not been able to see to his people’s needs - he was lying on his death bed as this all unfolded. But a blessed miracle from the Creator had happened, and he had overcome the Fever. It had to be for a purpose… the only purpose he could see was to win back his lands. He looked around at the men that inhabited the camp - hard veterans, all of them to a man, all loyal to their deaths. They would follow him into the Keeper’s lair and back if he asked them too, but what right did he have to ask.
“I know what it is you are thinking, my Lord. We will fight and we will win, if you ask us to.”
Marcus stared out at his men. “Good, because I am asking it.”
Chapter 15
“Apologies for speaking so boldly, but maybe it is truly time for you to move on,” Stefan offered, as he lifted himself from his translations. “It has been months and you know there is no bringing her back.” He paused, considering his next words carefully, not wishing to upset his friend. “She would want you to be happy, or at the very least, would want you to try to find such happiness again as you would her, if the roles were reversed.”
Meath leaned back in his chair.
Unconsciously, his hand fidgeted with the dragon-bone dagger’s handle - he knew the words his friend spoke to be truth, but he could not rid himself of the guilt he felt every time he even entertained the idea. As if the very thought sullied the memories of what they had once shared. “I know you are right, but something still lingers inside of me, something I just cannot let go of.” Meath looked up at his friend and again noticed Stefan’s eyes fixed on the dragon blade. “What is it about this dagger that so holds your interest?”
Stefan shook his head and looked away. “I am sorry... I... I am just not overly fond of weapons and to see that one out of the—” He stopped himself.
“It is no big deal… I will stop wearing it then,” Meath offered.
Stefan did his best to not allow his eyes to be pulled to the blade again. “No, no do not fret over me, Meath, it is fine.”
“Are you sure? If it truly bothers you that much, I need not wear it.” Meath pushed the matter, truly beginning to wonder what his friend’s quandary was.
“I am sure,” he replied quickly. “Now, about your problem. I have oft heard of such distresses when one did not witness the event or see the aftermath, in this case— a body.”
“So you are saying I may be hindered by this forever then, simply because I did not look down upon their bodies?”
“No, not forever, time heals everything... or so they say. I am sure after a few years it will fade into the back of your memory.”
Meath sighed. “I am not so sure about that.”
“There may well be another way to resolve it, or at least find some solace,” Stefan offered.
“I am willing to try anything. What do you suggest?”
“If you could go back to the place where it occurred and see what was left- though, by this point, it would not be much… it may be enough to gain closure. It is possible you may be able to accept the loss and find some peace, no matter how minimal it might be.”
Meath drummed his fingers on the chair’s armrest as he considered his friend’s words. He too had heard such a thing, when he was in the army. Many grieving widows visited the places their men had fallen or were even given their fallen beloved’s weapon, shield or helm, as a way to honor their memory and grieve over them.