He glanced over at the far end of the line and immediately realized it was sloppy. He cursed under his breath, now he would have to walk over there to see to it himself. He wondered if he should take his numbleaf, but decided against it; better to be in discomfort and alert than to have his senses dulled. With the first step forward, his leg threatened to buckle as the unwelcome, but familiar shooting pain returned. He stopped to catch his breath as he examined the line, trying to hide his weakness. His hand instinctively sought out his belt pouch, and he withdrew a small, pale green leaf. The line was still facing forward; no one was watching him. He looked at the small leaf in his hand and was overcome with guilt knowing that each one cost him dearly. The bulk of his pay funded the relief he now sought. He was tempted to put it away, but he knew he would welcome the relief the leaf would bring. He popped it in his mouth, looking around conspiratorially, lest anyone see his actions.
He quickly chewed the leaf, and as soon as the skin was broken, he felt the effects. The slightly minty taste enveloped his mouth and then the blessed numbness soaked into his limbs. His leg no longer pained him, but he knew his senses were dulled. He cursed the Norland blade that had wreaked so much damage. Looking back toward the line, he saw that Henderson was still out of place, and he began moving again, hobbling down the line to stand behind the man.
“Henderson,” he said, “move forward, you're in a battle line, not a brothel.”
The man moved forward, and the sergeant stared at him a moment.
“Where’s your helmet man?” he yelled.
Henderson looked back at him and blushed, “Left it in the brothel, Sergeant.”
The soldiers around him laughed at the joke. The man had likely sold it for some coins to buy drink, but now the mistake could very well cost him his life. The laughter died down. They were good men, but inexperienced in combat, and he wondered, not for the first time today, if they would do their duty. He knew they were nervous; he must keep them occupied so they wouldn’t focus on their fears.
In an undertone, he uttered, "All right lads, when you see the mob, I want you to spread out to your left. Never mind what his lordship says."
The muttered response indicated they understood. He casually strolled over to the other end of the line and repeated the same command. Confident that everything was taken care of, he marched back to the captain and stood beside him. The officer’s horse, already skittish, shied away from him, while the rider tried to maintain control over his mount.
"It’s cursed hot out here today Sergeant!" his lordship exclaimed, trying to sound calm.
"Yes, my lord," he answered.
The officer was nervous; he was trying too hard to appear nonchalant. For a captain who barely spoke to his social inferiors, he was positively chatty. Gerald had stood with officers behind a line before. Lord Fitzwilliam of Bodden had an easygoing attitude toward his men. His capacity to entrust his sergeants to carry out orders had inspired their loyalty, but that was the frontier. Here, in the cesspit of the kingdom, the quality of officers was limited to those who spent most of their time socializing with the elite rather than training.
He stood still and waited as the sun grew hotter. Noon was approaching, and his right leg began to ache again. Had the numbleaf worn off already? Each time he sought relief with the remedy, it was less effective, and now he could barely get a morning out of a single leaf. He hobbled back and forth behind the men to try to hide his unease, knowing the pain would return shortly. He had reached the end of the line and turned, beginning to retrace his steps when he heard a noise in the distance. He stopped to listen; a dull roar echoed through the streets.
"Shields!" he yelled as he made his way back to the captain. "They're approaching, my lord!"
"Steady men," the officer yelled, rather unnecessarily. The soldiers stood at the ready, shields to the front, swords held up, braced to receive the enemy. Gerald would have hoped to form a proper shield wall with their shields interlocked, but the men here had no such training.
Two blocks down, a swarm of people rounded the corner. They strode confidently, brandishing clubs, daggers, and even broken bottles. There were old men, young men, women, even children in the crowd yelling and screaming. When they saw the soldiers lined up across the street, it was as if a tidal wave was released. The mob surged forward, increasing their speed. He saw the soldiers begin to shift.
"Hold your positions!" he yelled.
The last thing he needed was the soldiers to break and run. He drew his sword and walked behind the line, peering over his men’s shoulders to see the oncoming mass of humanity. It was the job of the sergeant to make sure soldiers didn't run from battle. In the North, he was confident that every man would do his duty, but here, there was not the same level of dedication.
"Wilkins, lift up that sword!" Gerald yelled. "Smith, plant your feet properly, or you'll be knocked down."
He distracted the men, made them think about what they were doing rather than focusing on the mob. The officer was yelling something, but he didn't give a damn.
"Here they come, steady… steady… hold your ground!"
The mob slowed, then stopped short of the line, jeering at the soldiers that barred their way. He couldn’t blame them. The king had been brutal in his suppression of past riots. The crowd was hungry and desperate, and he knew desperate people would do desperate things. Somewhere in the throng, yelling started; he watched people trying to gather the courage to attack.
“Don’t do it,” he said under his breath, “don’t throw your lives away.”
“What was that Sergeant?” said the captain.
“Nothing, my lord, just keeping the men in line,” he lied.
The noise in front grew more intense, and then suddenly, bottles and rocks were being thrown. Most hit the shields doing no damage, but Gerald saw the poor bloody fool Henderson take a hit to the head. The man collapsed like a rag doll, and then the anchor at the end of the line was gone. The yelling intensified. He knew it was only a moment before the crowd attacked. He moved as quickly as he could to Henderson’s position and dragged the fallen man back from the impending onslaught. A sudden primal scream emanated from the middle of the press of people, giving them the courage to surge forward. He stepped over Henderson’s body quickly, grabbing the man’s shield as he drew his own sword just in time.
The rioters hit the wall like water breaking against rocks. A thunderous sound erupted as bodies slammed into the wall of soldiers. The line moved back at least a foot and a half, but it held. He knew that if they could only continue to hold, the crowd would give up. He didn't want to have to kill these people. He silently prayed for them to retreat, but they clawed and stabbed with their makeshift weapons. The soldiers occasionally struck back with their swords, but mostly they hid behind their shields, trying not to be hit themselves. During the war, a soldier who didn't fight back was considered cowardly. Here, he was thankful, for perhaps blood on both sides would be spared because of their inexperience.
Sure enough, after the initial surge, the mob, resembling some obscene monster, backed away from the line, and the confidence that they had displayed began to be replaced with fear. The grim reality of swords versus clubs, of bottles versus shields and armour, began to sink in. You could see it in the face of the townsfolk; the sudden look of terror as they realized what was about to happen. Gerald was glad. They would retreat, and the already tense situation would be over. The troops would have stopped the mob, and things would return to normal. All that changed in an instant.
As the crowd began to cautiously back away, the captain found his voice.
"Kill them!" he screamed. "Kill them all!"
Gerald looked up with horror at the captain’s orders, "My lord, the people are dispersing, we should hold the line!"
Captain Walters had a wild look in his eyes. His fear had overcome him, and he looked down with rage at his sergeant.
"Do as I say, Sergeant! Kill the stinking peasants!"
&nb
sp; Gerald heard a yell come from the soldiers, and suddenly the terror they had held in for so long was unleashed, and they surged forward. This was no organized manoeuvre, but a mad rush at the enemy, many of whom had turned their backs to run. It was too late to stop it. The captain was yelling and screaming incoherently at the men.
The sergeant stepped forward, determined to stop the madness, but collapsed to the ground, his leg giving out beneath him. He sat, stunned for a moment, staring at the pool of blood forming around him. He’d been cut in the assault, but the numbleaf and adrenaline had prevented him from feeling it. Now, he was bleeding out, too weak to do anything but look on in horror as his life ebbed out of him.
“How did I get here?” he wondered. “How did my life culminate in bleeding to death in this stinking street, of all places?”
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Continue Servant of the Crown
A Few Words from Paul
Flames is, at its heart, about people, be they Orcs or Humans. It is the friendships they make along the way that prove to be of the greatest benefit in their quest for a home. Indeed, they are the very thing that makes their victory over the Holy Army even possible.
As Athgar and Natalia finally find a place they can call home, their two greatest foes, the Church and the family, seem to be in conflict. What is the family up to, and why have they taken steps to weaken the Temple Knights, the most powerful military force on the continent? The bigger picture is just starting to emerge.
The fragile peace sees Athgar's people claiming the land for their own, alongside their stalwart allies, the Orcs, but this new alliance may very well threaten the Petty Kingdoms' fragile peace.
Flames marks the third book in The Frozen Flame series and was definitely a joy to write. These characters have grown so much since we first met them, yet there is so much more I have to reveal, beginning in the next installment, Inferno.
This work, like all my other stories, relies on the support of many people. At the top of the list, I must thank Carol Bennett, without whom these tales would never see the light of day. It is her encouragement and enthusiasm that keeps me going. I should also thank Christie Kramburger, Stephanie Sandrock and Amanda Bennett for their support and interest.
Thank you also to my fantastic Beta Team: Rachel Deibler, Michael Rhew, Phyllis Simpson, Don Hinckley, James McGinnis, Charles Mohapel, and Debra Reeves.
Finally, a big THANK YOU to you, my readers, for encouraging me with your reviews and comments. If it wasn't for your interest in reading my stories, I wouldn't be writing these tales, so please take a moment and let me know what you thought of Flames.
Also by Paul J Bennett
Heir to the Crown Series
Battle at the River - Prequel
Servant of the Crown
Sword of the Crown
Mercerian Tales: Stories of the Past
Heart of the Crown
Shadow of the Crown
Mercerian Tales: The Call of Magic
Fate of the Crown
Burden of the Crown
Mercerian Tales: The Making of a Man
Defender of the Crown
Fury of the Crown
The Frozen Flame Series
The Awakening/Into the Fire - Prequels
Ashes
Embers
Flames
Power Ascending Series
Tempered Steel - Prequel
Temple Knight
Warrior Knight
The Chronicles of Cyric
Into the Maelstrom - Prequel
A Midwinter Murder
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An enemy commander. A skilled tactician. Only one can be victorious.
The Norland raiders are at it again. When the Baron of Bodden splits their defensive forces, Sergeant Gerald Matheson thinks that today is a day like any other, but then something is different. At the last moment, Gerald recognizes the warning signs, but they are outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and out of luck. How can they win this unbeatable battle?
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If you like intense battle scenes and unexpected plot twists, then you will love Paul J Bennett's tale of a soldier who thinks outside the box.
About the Author
Paul J Bennett (b. 1961) emigrated from England to Canada in 1967. His father served in the British Royal Navy, and his mother worked for the BBC in London. As a young man, Paul followed in his father’s footsteps, joining the Canadian Armed Forces in 1983. He is married to Carol Bennett and has three daughters who are all creative in their own right.
Paul’s interest in writing started in his teen years when he discovered the roleplaying game, Dungeons & Dragons (D & D). What attracted him to this new hobby was the creativity it required; the need to create realms, worlds and adventures that pulled the gamers into his stories.
In his 30’s, Paul started to dabble in designing his own roleplaying system, using the Peninsular War in Portugal as his backdrop. His regular gaming group were willing victims, er, participants in helping to playtest this new system. A few years later, he added additional settings to his game, including Science Fiction, Post-Apocalyptic, World War II, and the all-important Fantasy Realm where his stories take place.
The beginnings of his first book ‘Servant to the Crown’ originated over five years ago when he began a new fantasy campaign. For the world that the Kingdom of Merceria is in, he ran his adventures like a TV show, with seasons that each had twelve episodes, and an overarching plot. When the campaign ended, he knew all the characters, what they had to accomplish, what needed to happen to move the plot along, and it was this that inspired to sit down to write his first novel.
Paul now has four series based in his fantasy world of Eiddenwerthe and is looking forward to sharing many more books with his readers over the coming years.
Copyright © 2020 Paul J Bennett
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2020 Christie Kramberger
Portrait Copyright © 2020 Amaleigh Photography
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
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First Edition: October 2020
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ePub ISBN: 978-1-989315-65-1
Mobi ISBN: 978-1-989315-66-8
Apple Books ISBN: 978-1-989315-67-5
Smashwords ISBN: 978-1-989315-68-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-989315-69-9
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This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any person, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Inferno Page 33
