The Walls of Woodmyst

by Robert E Kreig

  Chief Shelley stared at his friend in silence. The words were blunt and to the point. He didn’t believe he could have put it in such a way, as it would have tested his diplomatic standing that he had worked so hard to accomplish over the years.

  “Barnard,” Sybil hissed in his ear.

  He snapped back to reality and moved his eyes to the staring crowd. They all gawked at Peter. Some who shared his sentiment raised their mugs while others clapped. Those who didn’t agree simply shook their heads or whispered unkind words amongst themselves.

  Chief Shelley stood to his feet and called, “Any more speakers?”

  Some mumbled for a moment, but none stood to take the floor.

  “Very well,” the chief announced. “Meeting adjourned.”

  High upon the southern slopes, on a thin winding road leading into the mountains rolled a well laden, rickety wagon with a red bearded man, his wife and their two children. He steered the gelding carefully along the track as his children stared back towards the only land they had ever known.

  They had travelled in silence for some time and the need to speak was becoming overbearing. Finally, Elara broke.

  “Where will we spend the night?” she asked. “We’re not as far as we thought we would be by now.”

  “We’ll move some of the load and put the canvas over the cart,” Lawrence replied. “It’ll be one night and then we’ll make the other side of the range tomorrow. We should be in Dweagan in a day or two after that.”

  “But what if they come for us during the night?” she questioned nervously.

  “They won’t,” he answered confidently. “They were numbered on the northern side of the village. We won’t even be worth their consideration this far south. We’ll keep moving until dusk and set up camp. It will be fine.”

  He smiled and leant over to kiss her.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw her son and daughter still looking back. Woodmyst was well out of view and the tail end of the plantations was a distant blur.

  Turning to face forward, she saw the grey rock faces of mountains with protruding thickets of pine trees here and there.

  “You heard your father, Lor, Sevrina,” she said, trying to assure herself that they made the right decision. “It will be fine. We’re going to find a new home and start all over again.”

  The children continued to keep their eyes facing away from their parents. It wasn’t a longing for Woodmyst more than it was a protest about being made to leave their friends.

  Lawrence understood this and had decided to let them be. He believed they would eventually grow out of their unhappiness once they were established in their new home.

  Far away from Woodmyst.

  Far away from death.

  It will be fine.

  It will.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It had stopped raining but the clouds had remained in the sky threatening more precipitation at any moment. The sun’s light refracted through the grey blanket signalling dusk by presenting a red tinge to the cover as she sank closer towards the horizon.

  A few men were positioned upon each wall, watching and waiting for any sign of their foe, and for the long expected relief that was due to take their place any time now. Most of them had been on the wall since the night before. The desperate need for sleep was overpowering as some felt their heads dip every now and then as they tried so hard to keep their eyes open.

  Arriving early to his position, Richard had climbed the tower and given the guard his release. The guard was most grateful and immediately descended the tower to make his way home. He wanted to rest, but knew that if the night ahead was like the previous one, he would be back upon the wall before sunrise.

  Richard moved his eyes over the tree line of the woods on the western border. The foliage appeared bright and luminous as it usually did after rain had fallen. As if new life had been birthed or a fresh canvas just had paint applied.

  He admired the scenery as he listened to the birdcalls ringing from within the forest. It was hard to believe that something that appeared so beautiful could possibly harbour a sinister enemy who had practically held them at siege over the previous three nights.

  The lush green landscape before him faded as a memory of another forest returned. Soft sounds of birds happily chirping drifted away as he recalled the snapping of branches and rapid footfalls in the scrub as he, and eight others with him, ran and ran.

  The dog barked as it spotted one of the escapees running along a dry riverbed. The man stumbled upon the smooth stones and fell upon his knees. A crunch was heard followed by a cry in agony as the soldier fell onto his side, gripping his knee in his hands.

  “There,” called Barnard, pointing with his sword past the fallen warrior to another four men climbing the embankment on the far side of the stony ground.

  The band of nine hastily moved across the ground. Alan drew his sword as they drew closer to the injured man. The warrior’s eyes locked onto his and widened in fear.

  “No,” he called. “Please, no.”

  But it was too late.

  Alan dug his blade deep into the enemy soldier’s chest. The man went limp and lay still upon the dry riverbed as Alan withdrew his blade and continued after the other runners.

  They climbed the embankment after the four fugitives. The dog reached the peak before the men and yapped towards something out of the nine men’s view. It remained at the top, waiting for them but turning in circles impatiently, urging the humans to hurry up.

  Once at the top, they were confronted with a marshy area overgrown with weeds and fungus. Some willow trees enfolded the area, draping the surroundings with long foliage that dangled from twisted limbs.

  The four runaways were a few yards into the swamp, splashing and falling awkwardly as they used every ounce of strength to escape their pursuers.

  The nine men waded into the water and pushed their way through the growth that laced the surface of the march. Richard felt the soft ground beneath the murky water swallowing his feet and attempting to suck his boot away from him as he tried to move forward.

  The chirp of the crickets and the croak of the frogs stopped, as if they knew what horrors were about to follow. Only the buzzing of flying insects could be heard over the sound of the sloshing ripples that the men made as they waded through the thick liquid.

  The escapees stopped running.

  They understood they had no chance of escape.

  They turned towards their hunters and dropped their swords into the marsh.

  The blades glinted momentarily before sinking below the weeds and out of view.

  “W- we surrender,” one of them announced as he raised his arms. His allies followed suit and lifted their hands also.

  Barnard stepped forward slowly and measured the men visually before plunging his sword into the first warrior’s face.

  “I don’t care,” he hissed.

  The other enemy soldiers were stunned. This wasn’t how prisoners should be treated. There were rules.

  But before they could protest, the blades of Alan, Peter and Michael cut them down.

  The silent bodies fell into the murk with a loud splash that caused the growth on the surface to ripple outwards in an odd circular pattern. When the water finally settled, there was no sign that the enemy soldiers had ever been there.

  “So,” Barnard said chirpily, “where are you two from then?”

  The two men that accompanied the troop looked to one another, silently deciding who should speak first.

  “Well,” one started. “I’m Travis from Selidien and this is Lewyn from Rhendalith.”

  Travis from Selidien and Lewis from Rhendalith,” Barnard bowed slightly, “welcome to our little group from Woodmyst.”

  The men started slapping each other on the shoulders, smiling and laughing as they stood thigh deep in murky water.

  Richard looked on in disbelief.

  Had he truly seen his own friends do what was just done? And now, they were
acting as if they were meeting in a tavern.

  He shook his head and started to speak.

  “Wh—”

  CRACK!

  All nine men snapped their heads around to the source of the sound.

  The dog gave a muffled woof as it stared towards a place where the land rose back out of the marsh.

  A pair of large yellow eyes was looking straight at them. The small figure they belonged to was half hidden behind the trunk of a willow tree. Afraid.

  The dog stepped forward and growled.

  The creature ran in the opposite direction.

  It wore tattered rags about its body and moved similarly to a man. Richard saw, in the short moment that he had, that it was hairless and had no ears. The creature reminded him of a frog or a toad of sorts, except it ran on two legs.

  His curiosity got the better of him and he moved towards the shore.

  “Where are you going?” Peter questioned.

  “I need to know what that thing is,” he replied as he waded through the marsh.

  “Can’t let him go alone,” said Hugh as he followed the other with the dog in tow.

  The remaining men looked to one another. Barnard simply shrugged and waded after the other two men.

  Eventually, the nine made it to the bank and climbed ashore.

  They stared dumbfounded at the sight before them.

  Mud structures were grouped together at the bases of several trees. They were formed into miniature cave-like constructions with openings big enough for men to fit through.

  Wicker baskets and crude wooden tables sat beside the buildings. Wooden plates with fruit possibly gathered from the surrounding forest sat upon tables. Some had been spilt and laid upon the ground. Several small campfires continued to burn unattended.

  The dwellers of this primitive village had hidden in haste.

  Richard scanned the black doorways of the mud structures.

  Staring back at him from the darkness within were several yellow eyes.

  The leaves lost their luminosity as the sunlight disappeared behind the forest. In places, the sky turned to lilac and the canopy cast dark shadows into the undergrowth.

  Richard forced his memories away, replacing them with thoughts of the here and now. Men had started to arrive upon the wall, ready for the night watch.

  Returning his observation to the scenery outside of the wall, he scanned the area from the river’s edge, past the forest and to the southern plantations. Occasionally, he moved his eyes skywards for any sign of the flying monster.

  Only dark looming clouds and dimming scenery met his gaze. But in the recesses of his mind he saw yellow eyes staring back at him.

  This terrible memory just wouldn’t leave him be.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chief Shelley climbed to the viewing platform of the south-eastern tower where Michael and two tower guards were already engrossed in lookout duties. He crossed the well worn boards to Michael’s side, where he placed his hands upon the guardrail and commenced scanning the environment for any sign of the enemy.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” said Michael as he stared towards the river before moving his eyes to the chief upon his right. “You should be in the armoury ordering runners around and making tactical decisions.”

  “They don’t need me for that,” Chief Shelley replied. In truth, he would rather be anywhere than upon the wall, but the words of one man during the town meeting had resonated with him. I haven’t seen you upon the wall with the rest of us.

  So here he was, attempting to prove to the watchers upon the wall, perhaps even more so to himself, that he was just as brave and ready to fight as they were.

  The fact was the serves and soldiers were quite capable of running the operation from the armoury without him. He had felt out of place over the previous nights. Filling boxes with arrows, sending supplies to the walls and barking orders all night for men to collect and distribute blankets could be done by any man, woman or child for that matter.

  Now, as he stood upon the tower overlooking the land outside of the village walls, he felt unprepared and even more out of place. His hands shook slightly as he gripped the guardrail in attempt to settle his nerves.

  Noticing his friend’s edginess, Michael closed the distance between himself and the chief.

  “Calm down,” he whispered. “You are supposed to be our leader.” Michael tilted his head towards the two guards upon the platform facing towards the south, “If they see you like this, it will make them second guess every decision that is made tonight.”

  Chief Shelley took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “I’m sorry, Michael,” he replied. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to fight. We’ve had it too good for too long. We got lazy and soft.”

  Smiling wryly, Michael shook his head.

  “You got soft,” he said. “I, my friend, am in my prime. And as far as having it too good; well, that is a state every man longs for. As far as for too long, it’s never long enough. Except when the ladies require some Michael Forde time. Then length is adequate and fulfilling.” He clasped his hand upon Chief Shelley’s shoulder as he bore a great smile.

  “Is that all you think about?”

  “Well there was that one time I thought about becoming a minstrel,” he chuckled. “But the flutes they use just weren’t as much fun to play with.”

  “Disgusting.” Chief Shelley laughed. The tower guards had overheard the latter part of the discussion and snickered as they kept their eyes to the south.

  Faint outlines of tilled ground and cottages could be made out in the distance. The neat rows of trees and a discarded plough leaning against a barn slowly dissolved into shadow as the light in the sky faded.

  Night had come.

  “You’ll be fine, Barnard,” Michael assured his friend, stepping in close to do so.

  “Thank you, Michael.”

  Standing upon the north-western tower, Hugh Clarke felt slightly vulnerable and alone. He was accompanied by two tower guards, but the absence of Lawrence Verney had become all too real after he had climbed to the tower’s platform.

  Selfishly, he considered the lack of banter he and Lawrence had exchanged over time. He then thought about the solemn manner of his friend on the previous night and how there really was no mocking or teasing at all.

  Something had been troubling his comrade. Something so disturbing that it had changed his disposition.

  Lawrence was usually a happy man. He would joke and tease and take it just as good as he could give it. His bravery and fighting skills always awed Hugh. Usually first into the fray, Lawrence would take the enemy on head first and, more often than not, walk away unscathed.

  So, why the change in mood?

  Why wasn’t he here?

  What had happened to him and his family?

  Hugh folded his arms and leant against the guardrail as he stared blankly to the place where the grove met the forest. He remembered his friend had held his gaze towards the very same place during the night before. Maybe gazing to the same spot would see his questions answered.

  They were not.

  Peering up to see if the answers were to be found in the stars above, he was presented with pitch-blackness and nothing. The clouds had obscured the night sky for a second night.

  At least it wasn’t raining.

  The evening was still and silent. Even the men upon the wall were still and nervous as they peered into the shadows of the trees beyond. There were no murmurs or whispers that he heard from his position upon the tower.

  Turning his head to his right, he saw the archers upon the northern wall were tucked behind the battlements along the wall, peering cautiously out towards the grove through the crenels. The design along the top of the wall had always reminded Hugh of teeth with gaps between each just large enough for an archer to aim and shoot through.

  They were not tall enough to protect a man.

  The attack upon the eastern wall had proved this poin
t during the night before. Several archers who stood taller than the defensive barrier were lost to enemy arrows. Now, the men upon the wall crouched uncomfortably behind each battlement in fear for their lives.

  Turning his face to the left, Hugh saw the men upon the western wall were using the village’s defences in a similar manner. No one was taking any chances tonight.

  The disadvantage for the men along the wall was that they could not clearly view the entire environment surrounding them. This could provide an opportunity for a surprise attack.

  Given that darkness had enveloped everything in sight, a surprise attack was a considerable possibility in any case.

  Hiding behind the battlements left effective viewing to those upon the towers. While the towers provided cover from the platform to the guardrail, such as Hugh leant against, the men upon them were more vulnerable during an attack than those upon the wall.

  The protective barriers of the towers were thick planks of timber. These were smothered with a few layers of grey mud found on the river’s banks. When the mud dried, it became hard like stone.

  The protective layering of mud, however, had not been up kept for several years. Parts had flaked off and exposed the weather worn planks beneath which had become rotten and weak.

  Hugh made a mental note to bring this up with Chief Shelley in the morning. For now, he and the tower guards would have to make do with what they had.

  “There,” one of the tower guards whispered and pointed.

  Moving his eyes to the place the guard indicated, Hugh saw a lone small flame flickering among the trees of the grove. He was reminded of the single torch from the night before that stood where the forest and the grove joined.

  Tonight, the light flickered some distance to the east. Hugh calculated that it sat about halfway between the two towers on the north wall.

  Was this, as with the night before, a distraction from an attack elsewhere on the village?

  Perhaps this was the enemy’s rallying point.

  He was about to call for the alarm to be sounded when he heard clanging from the north-eastern tower. They saw it too.