The Bellringer

by William Timothy Murray

  Without expression, Sheila pulled the string, took careful aim, and let loose. The arrow hit the thigh of an exposed leg in the first group and as this man stumbled down, she let loose another into the group as they tried to reform. The fellow next to Robby was hit and as he tried to fall away from the group, he tripped. In an instant, the entire group fell on top of one another in a confusion of clanking shields, kicks, and yells. Quickly, arrow after arrow flew into the pile-up, until Robby alone was unstained, hiding behind two shields that he held before him as he knelt low. Sheila was now openly laughing at them, a bit too gleefully, thought Robby.

  "Not so easy as it looks, eh?"

  Robby turned and saw Billy lounging with his head propped on one arm and gnawing on a long blade of grass. He, too, was grinning.

  "I'm not sure I understand the point of all this," Robby replied as another arrow cracked off of his shield.

  "Oh, ye'll get the point ready enough if ye get smeared with that sticky goo flyin' yer way."

  "Somebody's eye could get put out!"

  "Yep. Oh, an' yer shield's a mess, by the way."

  "Thanks very much for letting me know. You're a lot of help."

  "Think nuthin' of it."

  At that, Robby darted over to the other group that was still making progress toward the flag, but losing a man every five or six steps. Nearby was Ibin, lying on his back. At first Robby thought he was pointing up into the air, but then he realized Ibin was just letting a dragonfly land on his finger. By the time this group had gotten within a few feet of the flag, there were only five of them left, each holding two shields against what seemed a steady stream of arrows.

  "Ain't she ever gonna run out of arrows?"

  "Robby!" said one of them crouched nearby. "Yer likely the fastest runner of us that are left. Grab that ribbon an' make off the other way whilst we block her aim."

  "Right!"

  "On three. One. Two. Um, THREE!"

  Robby darted to the lance and pulled it up as the others stood and charged straight at Sheila, their shields held high and yelling what they hoped were terrifying war-cries. By the time Sheila had felled them all, Robby was halfway back to Ullin, flinging his shield away and pumping his arms and legs with all his might and speed. Ten yards away from Ullin, he felt a sharp sting in the center of his back.

  "Yow! That ain't fair!" he yelled. "In the back?"

  Ullin chuckled and gestured for Sheila and everyone else to come.

  "Perfectly fair," he said. "Would you hesitate to put an arrow into the back of some foe who was running away with your mother?"

  "No, sir."

  "Well, then!"

  Robby tried to rub his back, sullen with disappointment and a little anger, as Ullin called everyone together.

  "You should have slung your shield over your back," Sheila said, walking up. "As it was, it was a lucky shot that got you."

  "Oh, I doubt that very much," Robby said, resigned to his failure. "Your skill had more to do with it than luck."

  "Very well!" Ullin said loudly. "That was just a taste of what a single archer can do. Now, imagine facing a dozen archers. Or a hundred! We are going to train both sides. How to use arrows and how to defend against them in the face of a determined opponent. That is, not only will you learn to shoot, and shoot well, but you will learn all about how a soldier may try to avoid being hit by arrows. Starting today, one third of us will train. Another third will rest, while the other third will serve with Sheriff Fivelpont. We will draw lots to start off. One group to serve with Fivelpont from noon until midnight and the next group from midnight until noon, then the third group from noon until midnight."

  Ullin had to explain the plan several times before they finally drew lots from his helmet and the company was split up. Ullin appointed one militiaman from each group to be in charge of the group, and Robby was one of those he selected.

  "There is much that I need you for," Ullin told him, "but I think it wiser to put you in charge of this lot." He nodded toward Billy and Ibin. "Maybe you can keep them out of too much trouble. Fivelpont doesn't care for wisecrackers."

  He then sent Robby's group to report to Fivelpont at his office near the Common House and another group off to the barracks to rest. The others remained with Sheila to begin their instruction.

  • • •

  It was a long and rather boring afternoon and evening, thought Robby as he trudged with his group back to the barracks late that night. Fivelpont had various members of Robby's group tag along with his deputies while the old sheriff led Robby and Billy around to check on the wagons at Wayford Common, to be sure they were properly registered, as it were, and no disorderly conduct was apparent. It all seemed rather nosey to Robby, who knew the carnival-folk were just trying to make a living, and he did not enjoy poking around in their wagons, looking through their belongings for whatever it was they were looking for.

  "Just take a look-see that there ain't somethin' amiss," Fivelpont had told him, pointing at a particularly modest caravan. "We want 'em to be comfortable with the notion of us looking 'round, see? In case somethin' happens later on what needs it. Like something goin' missin', ye see?"

  So while an old woman holding her grandchild watched, Robby looked around the inside of the wagon, mostly at the little miniature portraits that she specialized in, examples of which were hanging all about the walls.

  "Looks all in order to me," Robby said, rather officiously. Feeling embarrassed and ridiculous, he stepped out of the wagon and quickly walked away to where Fivelpont was haggling with another wagon owner over some kind of camping fee. When that was negotiated, and the fee collected, they walked a few miles to Porter's farm, where, as Fivelpont told them, someone was seen poaching fish out of Farmer Porter's pond. Robby and the others waited patiently at the gate, while Fivelpont spoke with Porter. After about an hour of trying to decipher the old farmer's complaint, and with much examination of the pond's edge, Fivelpont finally threw his hands up and waved goodbye.

  "Dang raccoons!" said Fivelpont in disgust. "He's been seeing raccoons down at his pond. I know tracks when I sees 'em. An' no wonder they wore masks! Old fool! Well, I ain't no trapper! What a waste of time!"

  It was well after dark by the time they got back to Wayford Common, and Fivelpont left Robby and Billy at the gate to the fairgrounds to check any further arrivals until the next shift relieved them. After an hour of shivering in the sudden cool breeze, several other Passdale militiamen came up out of the darkness along with one of Fivelpont's deputies to take over the chore.

  "Borin', borin', borin'!" Billy said in disgust as they walked back into town. "I never spent more time doin' nuthin' in all me life! An' I'm well practiced at it!"

  "Not exactly what I had in mind, either," Robby agreed. "But I guess it's all part of it."

  The next week was more of the same, with the groups shifting around their days and nights. Robby and others had group lessons with Sheila, and he enjoyed how she stood so close to him, with her arms around him to show him the proper way to hold the bow. He tried his best, and with instruction and plenty of practice, Robby became a fair archer, and he better appreciated Sheila's skill. Alas, those lessons were all too brief, it seemed, and were followed by a day of chores at the store and a day of patrol with Fivelpont before again his group gathered with Sheila. Being enthusiastic in more ways than one, Robby was the first one to show up, and the last to leave when her next group of pupils came along.

  So all went according to Ullin's plan, the result of which was growing skill on the part of the militiamen, and a growing pride in their duties and their roles. Under his skillful leadership and intense lessons, Ullin's militiamen learned to hold their own against him and each other while sparring with sword or lance. They gained endurance, strength, and quite a few bruises, along the way. They also learned to protect Ullin and themselves from Sheila's rain of arrows, and how to put their own arrows on the mark. And they triumphantly retrieved the ribbon from Sheila's side of the
field so consistently (and with hardly any "casualties") that, after a few days, they faced both Sheila and Ullin simultaneously shooting arrows at them. In spite of this added threat, the militiamen proved themselves time and again.

  At last, Ullin arranged for all of his militiamen to have an evening off from their duties and training so that they could all meet together at the Common House for supper. As they ate, they celebrated their hard work, their accomplishments, and their good company. When the meal was eaten and the dishes were cleaned away, they assembled into formation out in the Common House yard for a final inspection before being dismissed.

  "I want you all to rest and clean your things tonight," he told them. "Tomorrow is the first day of the Counting, and, perhaps more important to most, the first day of the festival. I've arranged a special early ceremony for all of you to make your annual oath. After that, I'll want you to serve as an honor guard for the mayor and council during the opening ceremonies. Most of the wagons have arrived, and Fivelpont's men can handle the few remaining ones. You'll be needed again when the festival is over for a few days. Until then, we go to regular shifts, with half on duty and half off. We rise two hours before dawn and breakfast in the yard. Mayor Ribbon will meet us here at dawn. Afterwards, and for the rest of the week, I want all of you to look your best. Let us take pride in being the defenders of this land and people, and let that pride and honor show in our appearance. Those of you with beards, get them well-trimmed. Haircuts and washings. Polish and shine leather and steel and brass. You will all be closely scrutinized by the townfolk, by the Barley folk, including the Bosklanders, and by our visitors at the fairgrounds. Make them proud of you! Look your best. Good-night!"

  Chapter 19

  The Bellringer

  Day 81

  164 Days Remaining

  The Week of Counting came at last, and the inhabitants of the region came to Wayford Common to open the Fall Festival, to renew their pledges to King and community, and to sign the Census Book. A small dais was set up before the gates of the fairgrounds upon which Mayor Ribbon stood. He was surrounded on either side by the councilmen of Passdale, the heads of the great houses of the area, including Mr. Bosk. Behind the dais stood the Passdale Militiamen all in a line with shields at the ready and lances planted straight and tall. Banners fluttered gaily from tall poles and ribbons decorated the dais. The sky was clear and the air was cool, but by noontime the sun was warm, and the ceremony was begun. A councilman stepped forth and addressed the crowd in a loud voice.

  "Hear ye, all gathered here, inhabitants of Passdale, County Barley, and the regions surrounding of the Eastlands Realm! Now attend to the duly appointed master of this day, Mayor of Passdale, Robigor Ribbon."

  There was clapping and hurrahs as Mr. Ribbon stepped forward, clearing his throat for the words that had been handed down, practiced, and recited for many, many generations, and now to be delivered once again. Over the eons, the speech was little changed and had remained very much the same from one year to the next, except perhaps with some minor variation if there was anything in particular worth mentioning on a given year.

  "My people," he said. "I'm proud an' honored to have been asked to serve in the place of the Honorable Mayor Greardon, recently an' tragically departed. In his name an' for his sake I dedicate these proceedin's. The season is now upon us when the farmers are reapin' the rewards of thar lands, proud of thar good efforts an' hard work. They are a determined lot, an' should rightly be commended for the bounty they provide to us all. All done, I might add, in spite of the great storm what tore up many of our fields an' much of our properties.

  "Still! Barley is threshed an' laid by, corn put by, an' beans, an' hams, an' all manner of provision for winter. Times are good, an' our tables'll be heavy with good food all winter long.

  "As well, we gain benefit from our workshops an' from folk at thar crafts, makin' the tools an' cloth an' all the things we need for use an' for trade.

  "Now, of course thar're some what are poor an' in debt. We also had sickness an' injury among our friends an' kin. Some have passed away, an' our thoughts are sad since we miss 'em so.

  "But gen'rally speakin', our people are well off an' fairly prosperous. It's been a year without plague, an' our children an' old folk haven't lacked for care er food. An' with the great storm, we learned again what good neighbors may mean to one another, an' what wealth is stored an' shared by goodness an' by kindness.

  "Now I commend ye to yerselves. An' as way of openin' this celebration of the year, an' of each other, I summon all to renew thar pledges, an' to make thar name or thar mark in our census as a record of thar presence an' of thar pledge. In so manner, may we all enjoy the spirit of this bountiful season throughout all the seasons of the year, with thanksgivin' an' goodwill."

  Here, Mr. Ribbon motioned to a lady on the podium who moved to stand next to him.

  "I ask our Mrs. Greardon to lead us in our pledges."

  "Thank you, Mayor Ribbon. And on behalf of my family, I want to thank all of you for your support and for your loving kindness these past months since the great storm."

  "Hear-hear for Greardon," someone in the crowd cried out. This was followed by a round of cheers for Mrs. Greardon in honor of her late husband, all of which brought tears to her eyes. For many moments, she was so moved by this outburst that she was unable to continue. Mr. Ribbon put his arm around her, said something to her, and they hugged. Mrs. Greardon faced the hushed gathering and continued. She spoke each line of the pledge, which was then echoed by the crowd.

  I will say the truth.

  I will honor my elders.

  I will protect the young.

  I will obey the law.

  I will respect the property of others.

  I will be a good steward of the land and of the water.

  I will be watchful of strangers.

  I will defend the Realm.

  To these things I give my bond and my oath,

  Upon my blood and upon my life,

  In the name of the King,

  By Duinnor I swear!

  Long live the King!

  After this last utterance, there was much applause and cheering, and musicians burst out in a gay tune. Mr. Ribbon motioned all toward the gates, where there was a table. Upon it, a large bound volume was opened, and a cup of quills and a pot of ink set out. As each person passed, they signed their names below the oath that was written upon the page—the one they had just spoken—and then they were admitted into the fairgrounds. Thusly the festival began, much as it had begun year after year, since before the memory of anyone present. Indeed, there was much to be thankful for and much prosperity, in spite of the storm damage, and everyone was in high spirits. Soon children and adults alike were agog with excitement. They were fascinated at the exhibits, amazed by the dancers and tumblers, delighted by the music and food, and by the games and swing-rides.

  After the ceremony, Ullin came along to disposition his men. While half were dismissed to rest before their evening watches, Robby, along with several others, including Billy and Ibin, enjoyed the duty of the afternoon and early evening, which mostly involved greeting those that entered. From all over Barley people came, laughing and in high spirits, and none so full of joy and excitement than one large wagon that was crammed full of hay and children and drawn by a team of powerful mules. It was driven by Mr. Broadweed, bringing children along early so that their parents could work until day's end. Though covered with hay and straw, he did not seem to mind and smiled serenely as he guided the wagon along the road toward the entrance. Meanwhile, his young passengers squealed and laughed, thrilled by every bump and jostle, throwing hay into the air and all over each other, leaving a trail of fodder in their wake, jumping up and down, and climbing all over each other and the wagon, too. One boy clung so precariously over the side that Robby felt compelled to run up and shove the precocious lad up and back into the wagon, igniting new howls of mirth. Dusting hay and straw from his head and shoulders, Rob
by then resumed his station beside his friends at the entrance of the festival ground. Their watch lasted until early evening, when their relief came, just as the last glow of day was overtaken by the colorful lanterns and lamps, and the braziers and torches of the lively fair.

  • • •

  Many miles away, on the far side of Barley, Ashlord was busy going over the latest dispatches he had received from Glareth. Certina flew in through the open window and circled the room, and Ashlord absently pushed the window closed while still reading a letter. He settled back into a chair at the table, and continued to read, while Certina continued to fly about the room, perturbed beyond containment, fluttering across his table, and upsetting Ashlord's papers for the fourth time in as many minutes.

  "What has gotten into you?" Ashlord held his hand out in a useless attempt to get her to perch. She continued to whistle and screech with uncharacteristic impatience, flying around Ashlord's head, sometimes darting so close that his hair blew back from her wings.

  "If you would just settle down, perhaps you might show me what disturbs you!" he said in an exasperated tone. He looked around the cottage rafters, glancing at the top of the cupboard and over at the mantel, but Flitter was nowhere to be seen in any of his favorite perches. Now Certina was flying and squawking at the door, going back and forth in front of it as a clear sign for her master to open it. Sighing, he rose from his chair and did so, and she shot out into the darkness of the evening.

  "Is that all you wanted?"

  But before he could close it, she shot back in, calling even more loudly than before.

  "What? What?" he cried.

  She flew back outside.

  "You mean for me to follow, eh?" Ashlord grabbed his cloak. "Very well! Why didn't you just say so?"

  To Tulith Attis she led him, and the closer the two got to the place the more he sensed that something was very wrong. By the time they came within sight of the moonlit fortress, Ashlord was at a long striding run. Through the gate he dashed, Certina circling him, urging him onward. He looked over the interior grounds, then followed, charging up the nearby stairs to the ramparts. Walking swiftly along the south-facing wall and then through the crumbling remains of the western side, he saw nothing amiss with the fortress or beyond the parapets. As he rounded onto the northern side and made his way to the place overlooking the old bridge, he slowed to a careful advance. The river, full and flowing as it had in the old days, could just be heard rushing softly under the bridge, and a fitful breeze rattled the dry leaves still clinging to nearby brush. There was another sound, too, unnatural and muffled, coming from the forest beyond the river. His eyes strained as it came slowly closer, moving vaguely toward the bridge, but the dense brush and trees, dark and gloomy in the low light, were like shadows crowding any view of the source. He heard a distant, dull crack and some slight clink of metal against metal. Cocking his ear and closing his eyes, Ashlord redoubled his efforts and heard the sound of distant voices. Patiently, he waited, listening as the sounds grew ever closer, growing in strength and clarity. An hour passed. By the time his eyes opened again and he saw the first signs of it, he already knew what it was. Instinctively, his legs tensed to run, but still he waited, to be sure of things, watching as the shadowy brush at the far side of the bridge was cleared away by axemen, some bearing torches, the yellow light jabbing through the breaks in the brush and branches. They worked quickly, tossing the brush and saplings over the side of the bridge and pushing fallen logs aside with great effort and strain and grunts. Out of the wood and onto the bridge emerged several riders, their armor glinting dully in the moonlight. More riders came behind them as they poured onto the bridge, and soon soldiers on foot came, too.