by Troy Osgood
Another swing with the right, a strong and wild one, almost spinning the skeleton around. Culann swung low with the left, taking the legs out. The skeleton toppled to the ground, falling backwards. He wanted to keep bashing at it, but the other two were closer now.
Glancing behind his shoulder he saw that Sheren and Jemas were entering the tree canopy. Still not enough distance. The skeletons would catch up before they were even halfway to the village and its relative safety.
The clacking of the other two was louder. The first was rolling around on the ground, struggling to get up. Culann looked around him, searching for anything he could use. Even with the two maces, without magic the skeletons would overwhelm him. He had to stop them somehow, or at least slow them down.
He shifted to the right, away from the skeleton on the ground and further away from the road through the trees. The two skeletons, jaws clacking constantly, turned towards him following the noise of his movements. Or his life energy. Or something. He had no idea how the skeletons tracked him.
The two creatures were closer, arms outstretched and fingers grabbing.
“Come on then,” Culann said to the two undead.
CHAPTER TEN
Sheren Tobiason grunted with the effort.
The old soldier, Jaspers, was heavy. A dead weight, though the man was still alive but barely breathing. It wasn’t just the armor, the man was solid. Private Jemas, who couldn’t have been more then seventeen or eighteen, maybe twenty at the most, was trying but the young man just wasn’t strong enough. It was all falling on Sheren.
And he was approaching his limits.
He shook his head, gritting his teeth, and walked backwards.
The second time in as many days that he was carrying a body back to the village from the cemetery.
Jaspers hung at an angle. Sheren carrying him high, Jemas barely holding the wounded man’s feet. Luckily Hawkfall had done something to Jaspers, some bit of magic that had put the man to sleep. He would have been screaming in pain constantly if he had been awake for this.
And they had just barely made it into the small forest along the road. It was still a long walk back to the village itself.
“I’m sorry sir,” Jemas said quietly and Sheren didn’t know if he was talking to the Sergeant or him.
Culann waited, watching as the two skeletons came closer. They moved quickly for being nothing but bones. No muscles, no blood. Just bones. They were staggered, one three feet or so behind the other, but almost in line.
Perfect, he thought smiling.
“Good thing ye things are dumb,” he said swinging with the left mace.
He aimed wide, not wanting to connect, but testing the skeleton. Whatever gave it life didn’t give it any intelligence. The thing did not even try to get out of the way. Adjusting his feet and grip on the two maces, Culann started swinging them back and forth, opposite from each other and over each other. The left swung to the right as the right swung to the left, the right mace over the left about a foot. Culann took a step forward.
From his first swing, he knew the skeleton would not try to get out of the way. It was single minded, to get to him and to kill him. With the maces swinging in wide arcs he advanced on the creature. The higher right mace, on its return swing to the right, perfectly lined up, drove the two arms of the skeleton out of the way. Culann adjusted the speed of the swing on the left mace and took a quick step forward.
The backswing of the mace caught the skeleton in the side, the right mace turned at an angle that kept the arms moving to the right. The body moved to the left, the arms to the right, and the skeleton went off balance.
Pulling both maces back, Culann kicked out with his right.
The leather boot caught the skeleton in the chest and pushed the creature backwards.
It fell, toppling straight back and into the other one.
The second skeletons hands, with the bony claws, grabbed onto the one that fell into it. It grabbed and clawed at the first as the momentum carried them both to the ground. The two fell with a clatter of bones and clacking of jaw. They rolled as each tried to grab at the other.
Shaking his head, Culann turned and ran after Sheren and Jemas as now all three skeletons rolled around on the ground, two fighting with each other and one just trying to get up.
They were halfway through the corpse of trees when Culann caught up, the sound of the skeletons barely audible. The two men were struggling. Hauling a body like they were was awkward, especially with the size and strength differences between the two men.
“Let me lad,” Culann said taking a leg from Jemas.
The young Private looked like he was about to protest but relented. He was sweating and was visibly relieved to take the maces back and let Culann take Jaspers limp body. The pace quickened now that Culann was helping carry the Sergeant.
“The skeletons,” Sheren asked, breathing hard.
“Distracted,” Culann replied. “But nae fer long.”
Sheren looked over his shoulder, down the road. He knew how far a walk it was from the cemetery to the village. He had made it carrying the body of Timon Mackel but that had been on full strength, not after a day of fighting magical skeletons. And that had been without pursuit. He didn’t want to have such thoughts but reality was setting in. Maybe if they could stop and built a liter, but he knew it was foolish. He could hear the sounds of the skeletons coming from the cemetery; reminding him that time was something they did not have.
He looked down at the barely breathing Jaspers, the blood still dripping from his many wounds. He could feel the Far Rider’s eyes on him. Sheren looked up, seeing Culann watch him. The man gave a small shake of the head. Not yet, the motion and the look in the eyes said. Not yet.
Gritting his teeth, he adjusted his grip, and was relieved and a little guilty. The decision would not have to be his.
“Jemas,” Culann said to the Private who was walking alongside and constantly looking back towards the sound of the skeletons. “Run ahead and get help.”
The young man looked at Sheren and Culann, at the burden they were carrying. He wanted to stay, to protect them, but he also wanted to run and hide. He was scared.
“Do it lad,” Sheren said.
Jemas nodded. He knew what the two men were thinking. If the skeletons came, they would have to leave Jaspers behind, alive or not, and save themselves. It was practical. It was the right thing to do. It didn’t make it easier. It hit Jemas then, that they were sending him away so he would not be part of that decision if it came to it.
He made to hand the maces over to Culann and then realized what he was doing. He held them awkwardly, not sure what to do.
“Keep them,” Culann said. “Give them ta whoever comes.”
Nodding, Jemas took off down the road at a run.
“Poor lad,” Sheren said once he knew Jemas was out of hearing. “He should never have come here.”
“Aye,” Culann replied.
Jemas ran.
He had run during training to be a Kings Guard. He had grown up running on his family’s farm. The fourth son, he never would have inherited the farm or found a good wife in their village where the boys already outnumbered the girls, so he had decided to become a soldier. The training had been hard. He had taken to it well, learning to use a sword and ride a horse. And the first couple months was easy, the work easier than anything he had done on the farm.
Until now.
He was not ready for this.
He had known that someday he would have to fight, but he thought it would be bandits or a foreign army, and in a way even looking forward to it. Maybe even the army of the Romus Empire. It was said that the Roma were looking to come across the Divide into the Centerlands. He could imagine himself distinguishing himself on the battlefield, getting promotion after promotion and soon becoming a General and catching the eye of some noble’s second or third daughter.
He had found, now that he was done his training and been assigned, that soldier
ing was not what he had thought. The path to being a General was a long and hard one. Sergeant Jaspers had been just that, a Sergeant, for a couple decades now. There was little room for true advancement and the glories that he envisioned coming with the job were few and far between. Being a soldier, at least so far, had been boring. Lots of time spent standing in front of doors and gates. Lots of time spent standing on castle walls. Very little in the way of action. No grand battles. Some farmers acting up and threatening was the most he had encountered. And they quickly backed down once a squad of soldiers rode into view.
This was not what he thought he would face his first time in action. Not in his wildest imagination.
It wasn’t anything like he had thought. It wasn’t heroic. It wasn’t brave or noble. It was nothing but scary moment after scary moment. And he hadn’t done anything yet. Just the sight of the walking skeletons scared him more than he thought anything could. They terrified him.
All his training was forgotten.
He felt useless. Useless and afraid. And embarrassed.
The Far Rider, Culann Hawkfall, knew what to do and didn’t let fear freeze him. Even the miner, Sheren Tobiason, was handling it better then he was. He was a trained soldier. The other man was just a simple village miner.
Even this, running to get help, made Jemas feel shame.
He should have stayed. He should have fought.
He couldn’t even help carry the wounded Sergeant Jaspers.
The two maces swung up and down as he ran; the weight heavy in his hands, but he held on. He had a job, a task he had been given.
He rounded the last bend in the wood and could see the wagon ahead. There were six men on the other side; shovels, axes and hammers in hand. They spotted the running Jemas and started yelling, gesturing. Jemas couldn’t hear a word they were saying.
“Help,” he yelled but it came out quieter then he had intended.
He started coughing, stumbling as his steps went off balance. He almost fell but caught himself, remaining upright.
He came to a stop at the wagon, dropping the maces and bending over. He coughed, trying to catch his breath. His armor, well normally not light was unbearably heavy.
“Help,” he started to say. “Back there,” he continued, coughing between words and breaths. He gestured wildly behind him.
“What are you saying,” someone asked.
“Get Hesh,” another said.
Jemas took a deep breath and another. He closed his eyes and took another breath, steadying himself.
“They need help,” he managed to get out.
The six men, ranging in age from Jemas’ own to gray, looked at each other. None of them seemed in a hurry to move. The young soldier just looked at them. What were they doing? Why weren’t they moving?
“They need a litter,” he said. “Jaspers is wounded.”
Still no one moved except one turned and ran back to the village.
“There are skeletons chasing them,” Jemas added as a coughing fit overtook him.
He looked down at the maces he had dropped. He couldn’t blame these men. He had done the same hadn’t he? He had froze when faced with the danger, the fear sapping his strength and reason. These were miners, farmers, villagers. They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t trained or prepared to deal with threats like this.
No one was.
He couldn’t get mad at them. He was them.
Or had been.
Something deep down changed. It was like a wall being removed. He was still him, still Private Tern Jemas, but he was something else. He remembered one of his instructors talking to the recruits about moments like this. The instructor had said that ever soldier, every man, would face a moment when they thought they would run or give up but something deep inside would break and they would stand up and face their fears, face the danger, and rush head long into it. For some it was wanting to protect their families. For others it was not wanting to be seen as a coward. For some it was as simple as not wanting to die. Whatever the reason, it happened.
He straightened up, watching the men on the other side of the wagon. They stared back at the soldier, hands holding the assortment of tools turned into weapons. They were nervous, scared.
Jemas was scared too. Terrified. But he knew what he had to do. He would not let fear take him again.
“You,” he said taking a commanding tone. “Go and get a litter. There is a wounded man that needs to be carried. You four are coming with me, leave your weapons. You’ll need to carry the wounded.”
He bent down and picked up the two maces, turning and moving back down the roads towards the cemetery. He didn’t hear any footsteps coming towards him or any moving away. He stopped looked over his shoulder.
“Now,” he ordered in a tone that none could refuse.
The five men looked at each other and back at Jemas. The one that had been singled out ran back into the village. The others all dropped their tools and stepped around the wagon, running to catch up with Jemas who had turned and was now sprinting back up the road.
“Stop,” Culann Hawkfall said.
Sheren was grateful for the break. They had not gone far. It was slow, carrying the armored body of Jaspers, and trying to keep it as smooth as possible. The man was still bleeding some and any major jarring could rip open the scabs over his many wounds.
“Set him down,” Culann said. “Gently,” he added as the two men worked together and laid the wounded soldier on the ground.
Jaspers moaned in the magical sleep he was under.
Culann turned around, facing the stand of trees that was not as far away as he had hoped. He could see shadows moving, the skeletons coming closer. Looking around he figured this was as good a spot as any. The road was still wider then he would have wished, but this was the thinnest part. The mountain was on one side and a steep drop to the forest below on the other.
“How is he,” Culann asked.
Sheren knelt down next to the wounded man, watching Jaspers chest rise and fall slowly. The soldier seemed to be breathing fine. A little ragged, but he was breathing.
“Stable,” the miner said standing back up.
The skeletons stepped out of the trees. Three of them, all dirty from having rolled around on the ground. Two of them bore visible wounds. The two that had been pushed together. The skeletons were tough to normal means but apparently were not as strong against each other.
“Ye kin go ta the village,” Culann said. “I will hold them here.”
“No,” Sheren said coming to stand next to the Far Rider. “I’ll stand with you.”
He held out his hand.
Culann reached into the satchel at his side and pulled out the sledge, somehow bringing the large weapon out of the small bag. He handed it to Sheren.
“When we get back ta Minoda,” Culann started optimistically, even though both knew it might be false. “I think I have a way ta strengthen that fer ye.”
“That would be nice,” Sheren said.
He looked at the sledge hammer. He remembered the day it had been forged. It had been a companion for many years now, always with him as he worked. He had never really appreciated the craftsmanship until now. It was an exceptionally well made sledge hammer. He hefted the familiar weight, as known to him as his family.
“It’s funny,” he said staring at the tool. “I’ve used this almost daily for so many years. I never saw it as more than a tool. An extension of myself, helping to do the job. But now. I’ve used it as a weapon and it feels as familiar as it did when I used it to mine.”
“A weapon is a tool,” Culann replied. “A warrior wants that familiarity. He wants ta be one wit’ his weapons. That is how they save his life. The weapon is an extension o’ the fighter. He needs ta move it as if he was moving his own arm, nae hesitation, nae disconnect. Ye are using that sledge as ye always have. Just the target has changed.”
Sheren watched as Culann fished around in the satchel, the man’s arm disappearing inside the bag. T
he big miner shook his head, amazed at the magic the bag must have possessed. How much space was inside of it? What else did the Far Rider have in it?
“Found it,” Culann exclaimed and started pulling out a long quarter staff.
The weapon, made from one piece of wood, was longer then Culann who was a tall man. It was about an inch in diameter and made from a dark wood. It was smoothly polished, the sun glinting off it. The tips were rounded and smoothed.
“I’m nae all that good wit’ this,” Culann admitted taking a step forward. He held it in both hands and set it twirling in a circle. The staff made a whistling noise as it cut through the air. “Ye should see Kat, another Far Rider. She is a wonder wit’ a staff.”
He spun it around and snapped the staff forward, the wood sliding through his hands straight out. He grabbed it at the end and held it level in front of him.
“But I kin hold me own.”
They heard running behind them and turned.
Private Jemas, maces still in hand, was running towards them from the village. Behind him, coming slower but still coming, were four villagers. The young soldier came to a stop, breathing heavy. He looked down at Jaspers and then up at Culann.
“He’s still alive,” Culann answered. “Good job,” he added nodding to the four villagers.
Jemas smiled and stepped around Jaspers unconscious body. He took up position between Culann and the mountain side, with Sheren on the other side.
“Take him back to Minoda,” Sheren told the villagers.
The four men moved around the soldier. One at each shoulder and one at each leg. Together the four men lifted the wounded soldier and started carrying him back towards the village. The four of them, miners and strong men all, were making better time.
“How long did ye say it took ta destroy one,” Culann asked Sheren.
“Over an hour of continuous pounding,” the man replied.
“Loki’s Hand,” Culann cursed. He sighed, watching the three undead creatures move closer. “We kinnae let a single one by or those five are dead and more in the village.”