by William Cali
“Just run away…” Pent wasn’t sure what he expected from the magician, but it was not this. He was not going to turn tail and run away. That wasn’t what he wanted. He nodded towards Hanar, who nodded back and turned to walk out the door in silence, his expression unreadable. Pent followed him out, muttering to Gordenthorpe as he left, “Thanks for nothing.”
They went down the ramp together, each supported by the other’s anger. Pent glanced backward at the hut as it began to shimmer into nothingness. He grabbed a rock off the ground and chucked it. It made a dull thwack sound against the wooden side of the hut before falling to the earth. Unsatisfied, he grabbed another and threw it even harder.
This time, the rock made a ringing sound as it bounced off nothingness. It shot into the woods at a frightening speed, nearly taking Hanar’s head off with it. Pent stared after the stone with a puzzled look on his face.
The voice of Gordenthorpe boomed through the clearing: “Do not mistake my apathy for weakness!”
Pent was more confused than frightened, though.
“What just happened? What did you do?” he asked, sure the hidden mage would hear.
“I have erected a shield around my home! If you would choose to do me harm, this field will repel you with absolute certainty.”
“But the first rock hit your house no problem. If you just want to sit in there and hide, why not always have that thing up?” Pent glanced around. He could see no evidence of any kind of shield. He picked up another rock and flung it at the hut. Again, it bounced off harmlessly.
“Stop that!” Pent heard the voice of Gordenthorpe yell out. “You try my generosity. At most times my unseen hut is enough to keep me from harm. But a shield of this design takes a considerable effort to conjure. And one can’t carry on with cumbersome enchantments they’re sure to not use. I needed a strong defense, so I have channeled my will to produce just that. Now be gone!”
Pent stared for a few moments longer as the hut vanished into nothingness again, leaving him and Hanar staring into the empty clearing. He thought about what Gordenthorpe had said in the hut, and outside, and wondered what they were going to do now.
* * *
Hanar was far worse for wear after their conversation with Gordenthorpe. Before, he was pleasant, and all too willing to believe that Gordenthorpe would solve their problems. He had been shaken to his core. Now, his face had the same melancholy acceptance of doom that the other villagers wore.
“Don’t listen to that guy, Hanar. He’s just some old coward, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Hanar kept moving forward through the brush without slowing down. “Gordenthorpe is the wisest man I’ve ever known, and he believes our cause is utterly without hope. I now believe he is right.”
“He doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know how to get me home. What if he’s not right? What if we actually do have a chance?”
Hanar stopped so abruptly that Pent almost ran into him. “He’s not just wise, Pent, he’s powerful as well. If he has been frightened to submission, scared to the point of cowering in seclusion, what hope could we possibly have?” He hung his head and held back a sob. “Lord, all of our lives are at an end. To lose Somerville to such a vile group of people as Gilbrand and this Yozer, what a horrible fate. My home up in flames, and all my friends and family with it.” He shook his head like an animal shaking off a bug. “I should have stopped you from interfering. I should have dragged you into the woods so you couldn’t have struck Gilbrand. This is all my fault.”
“If you think you’re responsible, then why don’t you do something about it? Don’t just tuck your tail between your legs and run away.”
Hanar raised his head and forced a smile. “I actually know that expression.”
“Look, man, way I was brought up, you don’t give up without giving it your best shot. I’m not about to run away.”
“That is a noble claim, my friend, but I don’t think the rest of Somerville will agree with you.”
Pent stepped past him, patting him on the shoulder as he went. He pointed ahead to the path leading to Somerville. “We’ll just have to find out. Come on, I think I know the way back to town from here. Follow me.”
Chapter Twenty
Dirty bastard. Filthy bilge rat cretin. Scoundrel vagabond tumor of a fool!
Gilbrand’s mind was clouded by a haze of red. He urged his horse on towards the home of the great Lord Yozer, who would certainly exact swift revenge on the small town of Somerville for this arrogant display of disobedience. He couldn’t oust the image of the dark-skinned man out of his mind.
“I’m full of surprises.” Indeed, he had been. Gilbrand had never expected to be bested by a peasant with no sense of how to wield a sword.
I was not bested, I was cheated. There was more sense to that. The man had a fine blade, finer than he deserved, and he pushed him. He pushed me over! What kind of foolhardy swordplay was that? Swinging his sword like it was some kind of giant club… The workings of a savage. No tact, no decency, no honor.
And now, here he was, galloping on his way for vengeance. His arm dropped to his hip, and he grimaced. Robbed of my sword! The sword was just a piece of tempered steel; he had no sentiment for it. The situation itself is what disgusted him so much. He was disarmed and robbed of what was his. Robbed of his weapon, robbed of his tribute, by some complete and utter fool.
“Unbelievable,” he said aloud to no one in particular. The path forked ahead of him, and he reined in his horse, pausing for a moment. His people had carved this path out years ago; it was helpful to have a clear route to his major vein of tribute. Navigating the harsh landscape could be time-consuming and physically exhausting.
Gilbrand surveyed the land around him. To his left was the path home, a day’s ride to Gilbrand Castle, aptly named after the lord of its humble affairs. Gilbrand thought of returning home, but he immediately brushed that thought aside. He knew his people would doubt him as a leader if he went to them defeated. They would ask where his tribute was. They would ask what happened to his sword. And he would be obligated to explain that he had lost them. That was a shame he could not bear. It could even spell rebellion—his family cast out, a new contender rising to the throne. He was feared, not loved, he knew that much. Coming back in such a state of weakness would be a horrible mistake.
He glanced back from whence he came. He had a small dagger with him, nothing like his broadsword, but sharp enough to slit a man’s throat if he was not aware of his surroundings. Sharp enough to gut that cowardly giant like a fish. That would be excellent, that would be…
Gilbrand watched as his two servants, puffing and wheezing, approached. They had barely been able to keep up with his horse, and he had nearly forgotten them. Damned. They were a problem. They’d seen too much.
The knight dismounted smoothly and stretched out his weary muscles, carefully drawing the dagger and keeping it hidden from the dirt-caked, sweat-stained servants as they finally caught up with him.
“My lord,” the first servant gasped as he bowed, going to both knees. The second fell to his hands and knees, unable even to gasp out that much.
“What will you do, my lord?”
“Resolve the situation, of course.” With a vicious slash of the concealed dagger, Gilbrand cut the man’s throat. The second servant, still on his hands and knees in the dirt, did not even realize what was happening before the lord was on him, the dagger plunging. Within moments, it was over.
Gilbrand cleaned his dagger on a dirt-stained tunic and dragged the bodies away from the main path. Now Somerville has cost me two good servants as well. Looking at the dagger in his hand, Gilbrand thought again about the giant who had so embarrassed him…
He shook his head. The idea of returning to Somerville… He would have to dismount and approach by foot, without armor if he didn’t want to be discovered. And then what? Go door to door stabbing men in their sleep? It was inevitable that he would be discovered, and without a true
weapon or armor, he would surely be overpowered. That would be another mistake, a clear and obvious one. The shame of returning home was one thing, but the injustice of not receiving what he deserved? The injustice of not exacting swift revenge? That was completely unacceptable.
The choice was clear. Gilbrand remounted his horse and turned it onto the path in front of him. The path to Castle Draemar.
Chapter Twenty-One
The attitude in town had changed; Pent had grown used to the jovial and relaxed atmosphere in Somerville. When they arrived back all the villagers seemed trapped in their own thoughts. Eyes pointing towards the ground, many laced with tears… They were unsure of their fate, and so they channeled the feelings of their leadership. If Chief Pohk had resigned himself to doom, of course the people would accept that as inevitable.
There was no time to delay, and they made their way to the chief’s home. Hanar knocked twice and the door swung open. They entered to find the old man sitting at his table, holding his head in his hands. Mother Lyle was standing across from him, drinking from a mug. She stared as Pent and Hanar entered the house, her look unreadable.
“So, you’ve returned from your fairy tale adventure,” the chief said. “I’m surprised to see you back here at all, truth be told. Mother Lyle and I were just discussing our plans. The only sensible thing to do is to evacuate. I’ve informed the people. They’re tending to their personal affairs, packing their belongings as we speak. We’ve decided to separate into several different groups. You’re entitled to go wherever you feel. With any luck, some of us will survive.”
The chief droned on about his desperate plan to flee. It was a horrible situation for him. Being a leader for all these people… It was an impossible burden, an unfair level of responsibility on the chief’s shoulders. And I put this burden on him. Pent tried to put himself in the chief’s shoes and thought about the times he had to be a leader.
Not very often, he realized. Whether it’s this Somerville or the one from my world, I’ve always been following the crowd. Not doing anything to change my own life. In work and in school, he had never been much of a leader. It was different in sports, where he had led the charge on the football field many times. His team, his school, all of his fans. They had counted on him. And more often than not he had come through for them to win the game.
But this wasn’t a football game. The stakes were so much higher here. This wasn’t for a trophy, it was for people’s very lives. But maybe I can still pull something from the football field. People had considered him down and out many times in life. Whenever someone counts you out, that’s the best time to stage a comeback. Despair wouldn’t lead them out of this hole; sometimes your only choice is to hold it down.
“Hey, chief. Listen.” The chief continued to ramble on, going through many iterations of the same plan.
Pent slammed his fist onto the table, the dishes and utensils on the table rattled. The chief stopped talking and looked up at him, Mother Lyle looked at him, and Hanar had given him his full attention.
“Listen. I know this situation is not ideal. I know it’s my fault. I did what I thought was right, and I’m sorry for that. I get mixed up in trouble sometimes. I try to keep my head down, but sometimes I can’t help it. And it seems like I’ve opened a real big can of worms.”
“A what?”
“Never mind. The point is, I’ve really messed up. But I’ve got a different plan than just ducking out and hiding in the woods.”
Chief Pohk stared at the table in front of him, looking dejected. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”
“We stand and fight. If we all work together, we can give them a fight they’ll never forget.”
The chief only shook his head, and Mother Lyle took the brief pause to say her piece. “Perhaps things work differently in your world, but this is no child’s jest. Gilbrand is coming, and he means to kill us all. He is bringing a power with him that is beyond our comprehension. You’re asking everyone to fight and die to fix a mess you created. That’s hardly a fair plan.”
“It’s not a fair plan. I’m not giving you a fair plan here. Something I’ve been learning every day here, every day of my life, is that you just don’t get a lot of fair plans. You can sit and wait for things to get better and live in the same pattern every day. Or, you can try and break that pattern, and maybe get burned for your efforts.”
“So, you have chosen for us to burn with you,” Chief Pohk said.
Hanar stepped forward, drawing everyone’s attention. “We spoke with my friend in the woods.” The chief snorted, but Hanar continued: “He told us a great deal about the past, and what has brought us to this point. He told us many things about Yozer, as well. And he can’t help us. But…”
“But?”
Pent raised his arm for the group’s attention. “But we learned something of value. Yozer has been in power for a long time, years upon years. He was in power when this village was founded.” He glanced at the chief for confirmation, who nodded.
“Yes, that is correct. He has ruled unopposed for over a century. What makes you think we are in any shape to face him?”
“That’s exactly the point. He has been unopposed for all this time. He doesn’t expect a fight, because no one has even tried to step to him. He’ll go on thinking what he’s always thought; He’s unstoppable, and Somerville is a pack of scared peasants. He’ll think that we’re gonna tremble and run at the sight of him, that’s what we’re expected to do.” He knocked on the table with his knuckles. “So, we’re going to do the opposite of that. We’ll take him by surprise, we’ll be ready, and he’ll think he’s coming in to sweep us off the map. We’ll give him what he’s not expecting. The fight of his life.”
He considered the expressions at the table, from Hanar’s face to Lyle’s to the chief’s. Hanar was smiling and nodding his agreement. The chief was skeptical but not as downtrodden as he was moments before. Mother Lyle seemed nervous, but also thoughtful.
“It’s been a long time since Somerville had anything resembling a warrior,” she said, eyeing Pent uncertainly. “Words will only bring us so far. We need an actual plan. So, what did you have in mind?”
“I’ve got a couple of ideas…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pent laid out a basic plan to the three of them. A multi-tiered approach involving traps around the village, an armored and trained force of people, and a new style of weapon that this age of people were not familiar with.
“When I was a kid, my dad used to watch this one movie with me. He loved westerns the most, big Yul Brynner fan.” Noticing the confused looks on everyone’s faces, he changed directions. “Never mind. The point is that I know this one story, and in this story, these townsfolk defend themselves against impossible odds. They press every advantage they have, and they’re able to turn things around. That’s our story right here, that’s what we’re going to do.” Pent could tell that he was beginning to convince Mother Lyle of the value of standing and fighting, but Chief Pohk was more skeptical.
“I will do what the people want, but, whether you like it or not, you are not a representative of the people.” He pointed towards Lyle. “She’s just being kind. She’s doesn’t agree with this madness either. No one will choose to die senselessly for your mistake. If you can convince the people otherwise, then maybe I can support this course of action.” He rose, beckoning Pent and Hanar to leave. “As for now, we will continue to plan our evacuation. A clear better use of our time and resources.”
And so Pent left, Hanar by his side.
“I fear he was not excited about your plan,” Hanar said. “Not nearly as much as I thought he would be. It sounded sensible enough for me.”
“Honestly, it went better than I thought. I pictured him chasing me out of here with a hatchet. He wasn’t on board though, so, for now, we’re just gonna have to move forward without him.”
“You are an optimistic person, Pent. I think we’ll need as much optimism as we can m
uster for this plan to work.”
“We’re going to need more than optimism, man. It’s like the chief was getting at: Talk is cheap. We need to get as many people on board with this as we can. We’ll have to split up for that, divide and conquer, you know?” Hanar looked absentmindedly at Pent but slowly nodded. “We only have a limited amount of time here. We have no idea how long it’s really going to take for Gilbrand and Yozer to get here.”
“That’s right. It’s maybe a two- or three-day journey to Draemar Castle, but who knows what route Gilbrand has taken.” He scratched at his beard. “He would have to make his way back to his own castle to the west at some point if he plans on gathering his forces. We won’t know until he returns I’m afraid.”
“We can’t waste a minute then. Go ahead and try to convince as many people as you can.”
“I can do that. You can depend on me.”
“I know I can,” Pent said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “While you’re taking care of that, I’m going to talk to a couple specialists. We definitely need them on board.”
Hanar nodded before turning and walking purposefully away. Pent sighed a breath of relief. At least Hanar was on his side. Hanar was a reliable man, and reliable men were what he needed now. Now he had to meet with one of the most unreliable men he had ever met.
* * *
Minutes later, Pent stood staring at Lemen’s still. In a way, the booze was the cause of all their problems. If Somerville didn’t make the liquor, Gilbrand wouldn’t have had anything to take. Pent shook his head, denying his own line of thought. That’s not right. People like that will take anything they can get their hands on. If it wasn’t that drink, it would be something else.
He approached the front door and was about to knock when he heard someone groan from the other side of the building. He followed the noise around to the side of the distillery to a fenced-off backyard. The drunkard was sitting on the ground, back hunched over, with a mug of strong liquor flowing down his throat. How have you not died of alcohol poisoning…
