“Selidien?”
“Yes, Selidien,” he acknowledged. “Why does that place spark an ember in me?”
“It was burnt down,” said one of the stable hands. “Just the other day.”
“That’s right,” a swordsman agreed. “We sent a rider to Winterspring and he said he went out to Selidien with their riders. You remember, my lord?”
It was coming back to Richard, but that wasn’t it. There was something else about the name that itched at the back of his mind.
“Something troubles you,” Francis said, placing a hand upon Richard’s shoulder.
“Yes,” he replied, “but I’m not quite sure what it is. It has something to do with that village.”
Well, I’m Travis from Selidien and this is Lewyn from Rhendalith.
The sudden return of this memory sent a shiver up his spine.
Thunder cracked in the sky to the east signalling the approach of another storm.
“By the gods,” he said. Finding a stool by the fire, he left the men and sat down.
The men watched him, befuddled and perplexed. They followed him over to the fire, some choosing to sit nearby. Francis lowered himself onto the stool next to the council member.
“What is it?”
“Selidien and Rhendalith,” he answered. “Selidien was destroyed. Quite possibly by these Night Demons.”
“But why?” asked a swordsman. “Do you think it’s something to do with the Realm War?”
“Does anyone know if Rhendalith was destroyed?”
The men exchanged glances. Some hadn’t even heard of the place.
“What is this about, Richard?” Francis asked.
He shook his head. “It’s probably just a coincidence,” he answered. “I apologise, gentlemen.”
Some of the men nearby gave him a pat on the shoulders before they all returned to the makeshift table with their meal upon it.
Rain started to sprinkle.
Tiny hisses erupted from the fire that Richard sat by as tiny drops of water fell into the flames.
He rose from the stool and entered the stable to get out of the rain.
Just when the men were starting to enjoy their meal again, and the conversation returned to trivial subjects, the trumpet called from the east.
All heads turned to the open doors of the barn.
The rain was falling steadily and darkness had fallen upon everything in the street. No one wanted to venture into the rain, through the darkness and the void beyond. The stable was warm and much more inviting than anything that the Night Demons could have prepared for them.
Still, they prepared themselves to go.
The bowmen slung their quivers and bows over their shoulders as the swordsmen checked their blades. Alan tightened the straps of his armour and took a deep breath.
“What’s the plan?” asked a bowman.
“You seriously think there’s a plan?” quipped Francis.
“We hold the breach on the eastern wall,” Richard informed them. “Archers on the wall and swordsmen in the gap.”
“That’s it?” asked a stable worker. “What about the northern breach? They’ll sneak up behind us.”
“I don’t think so,” Richard replied. “They won’t need to. There’s twenty-two of us and, the gods know how many more of them. They won’t need to use such tactics upon us tonight.”
“Simply put, lad,” reaffirmed the burly horseman, “we will fight and hold the ground until we can’t anymore. Understand?”
The man nodded.
“Let’s go then.” Richard led the band of men into the rain. Together, strengthened by their solidarity, they moved towards the breach to face their enemy one last time.
Behind them, the Great Hall continued to burn. The roof had collapsed and giant flames lapped the sky as an enormous pillar of smoke mingled with the clouds above.
The men moved forward with determination, drawing closer to the eastern wall. They saw the upper section of the breach over the rooftops of nearby cottages first.
Their hearts raced as anxiety and adrenaline pumped through their veins. They rounded the corner past the nearby buildings so they saw the mound that was once part of the wall, heaped at the base of the breach.
What stood beyond the gap made them stop cold.
Their hearts froze and their jaws dropped in shock and awe.
Six large lampposts had been neatly positioned in a row just on the meadow side of the breach.
Large torches were aflame on top of the posts, casting light in a wide circle into the pastureland.
Bound to each lamppost was one body.
The bodies were those belonging to the missing council members of Woodmyst.
Michael Forde, Lawrence Verney, Alan Warde, Chief Shelley, Peter Fysher and Hugh Clarke.
Their heads were left to hang loosely on their necks. Their hands were bound behind the lampposts and their feet tied together.
They had been hung upon the posts several feet above the ground and their tunics removed, exposing their bare torsos to the stormy night.
What was most shocking of all was the sight of their bellies having been sliced open and their intestines left to dangle from the open wounds, almost touching the ground below them.
Blood still spilt from their cuts leaving Richard to believe that this spectacle had only just been put in place.
The taste of bile burnt his throat.
He swallowed hard, but that just made the sensation feel worse.
What kind of beings would do this?
How could anyone destroy men and their families in such a horrifying manner?
The trumpet blew again and a terrible, thunderous roar of many voices was heard.
Chapter Thirty
“Quickly,” Richard hollered to the bowmen, “climb upon the wall.”
Two of the men ran northward along the inside of the wall to climb the nearest ladder while the other archer ran towards the south to do the same. Within moments, the archers were positioned behind battlements ready to fire.
The enemy remained hidden in the darkness beyond the light cast from the lampposts. Their hoots and calls could clearly be heard giving the gathered men the impression the Night Demons were not too far away.
The remaining nineteen men upon the mount formed a line, swords brandished and eyes wide open. Fatigue and exhaustion had faded as fear and anger took control.
The men were ready for a fight.
A great roar from the sky signalled the arrival of the flying monster. The men saw its dark form exploding through the clouds above the hill as it spread its wings and dived straight for them.
Richard believed the battle would be over before it began as the giant beast drew closer and closer.
“Nice knowing you, boys,” called Francis as he braced himself for the worst.
The dragon corrected its trajectory at the last moment and passed over the men, continuing towards the inferno at the centre of the village. The three men upon the wall were nearly blown back to the ground from the force of wind caused by the passing beast.
One of the swordsmen followed the dragon with his eyes, watching it soar over the rooftops as it moved away. It circled the plume of smoke rising from the Great Hall before lowering itself nearby.
It was a guess, but the swordsman believed it had grounded itself beside the fallen monster Richard had slain in the dark hours of the morning. The dragon lowered its head out of the soldier’s view. All he saw were its wings and scaly back as it moved slightly.
The soldier turned his face back towards the sound of howls and hoots coming from the darkness. Lightning flashed, revealing countless hooded figures upon the meadow.
“Dragon’s on the ground,” the swordsman reported. “It landed near the Great Hall.”
“Good to know,” replied a stable worker. “With luck it will remain there while we deal with this lot. After that, we’ll go and deal with him.”
The men began to laugh loudly. Richard believed their wits had finall
y broken. His laughter was among the loudest.
The trumpet blew long and loud.
A group of warriors appeared in the lamplight. A quick calculation by the stable master and he suddenly shouted, “Only fifty.”
A few arrows were flung at the oncoming group. The bowmen managed to knock eight of them to the dirt before they reached the men upon the ground.
The swordsmen ran forward a short distance to meet the enemy. A few of the blades rang into the night air as they clashed near the onlooking corpses of the fallen councilmen.
Richard’s blade came down heavy upon his chosen adversary, slicing through the shoulder and landing deep in the warrior’s chest. The pouring rain rinsed the blood away to the mud on the ground.
The body fell with a slap as Richard swung his sword rapidly, connecting with another hooded figure in the belly. It crumpled on top of the other fallen Night Demon in the mud.
Richard looked around to see how his men were holding up.
Each of them had placed his share of enemy warriors upon the field and was ready for the next round.
They backed away from the lampposts without taking their eyes from the dark meadow. Together, they stood upon the mound again, waiting, listening and watching.
The horn blew again, two quick blasts.
The sound of fast approaching warriors approaching from two directions alarmed one of the bowmen.
“Let them come in,” he called down to the men gathered near the breach. “Force them to climb through the rubble. Don’t let them surround you.”
Richard understood. They would need to bottleneck the invaders in the mess by the walls, forcing them to funnel through the gap in order to reach them.
“Back,” Richard commanded. “Back to the base of the mound.”
The stable master pointed to the lone archer on the right of the gap. “You shoot as many of the ones who make it through as you can.” He then looked to the two positioned on the left. “You two, shoot every bastard before they get to the breach. Got it?”
The two bowmen nodded and turned their attention to what was coming beyond the wall.
Several hoods appeared in the lamplight and were met with deadly arrows. They fell upon the mud in awkward heaps causing a few of their comrades to trip over them and splash into the puddles at the base of the poles. More arrows hit them as they struggled to rise out of the mire.
More hoods appeared and navigated past the fallen warriors. Arrows from above still managed to hit a few of them before they reached the gap, but a vast number pushed through. The third archer, positioned on the southern side of the breach, picked off as many as he could, but there were too many for him to prevent them all from getting to the band of men.
Francis, the stable master, didn’t need to count his opponents this time. It was clear to him that their numbers were substantially more than the previous group they had jostled with.
The nineteen swung and sliced their blades through the air, not caring what and where they hit as long as it wasn’t each other. Careful to keep at a safe distance from one another, they cut and chopped into the hooded ones’ flesh over and over as the bowman on the south side of the gap took pot shots where he could.
One of their own fell during the squabble, copping a curved blade through the guts. The young swordsman responded by lifting his dagger from his belt and sliding it into the Night Demon’s throat.
Both warrior and soldier fell upon the ground in a pool of their blood. Rain streaked over the slain corpses as the battle continued around them.
One of the stable hands had the privilege of putting the last enemy warrior on the ground. It was only then that they noticed the fallen swordsman.
“Move him to the side,” Richard ordered. “Near the side of that cottage.”
Two soldiers dragged their comrade to a patch of grass by a cottage’s wall and laid him down. They returned to the band of men, now numbering eighteen.
Gathering upon the mound again, the stable master taunted the enemy.
“Got any more?” he shouted into the blackness.
The trumpet blew three consecutive notes.
“Guess that means they’re sending three groups this time,” remarked a stable hand.
“You’d want to hope they count the same way as me and you,” a soldier replied.
“All right,” Richard called. “Three groups. Teams of six.” He counted the stable master and five others, “You lot go down there a little way.” He pointed to the thin street heading towards the south. “You guys go along there,” he said to six swordsmen as he directed them a short distance to the north. “You lot with me,” he said to the remaining five men.
The groups moved hastily to their positions.
The two archers on the northern side of the breach started firing bolts to a large group of Night Demons. Richard heard the screams and groans of the dark warriors as they fell into the slush forming outside the walls.
A few hooded figures burst through the gap where arrows met them from behind. One of them turned to seek out the bowman responsible for putting two of the Night Demon’s comrades down. Before the archer could be located, Richard and Francis started calling from their positions. The swordsmen around the corner in the northern lane saw what the other two were doing and joined in with calling the enemy over.
The Night Demons split into three groups to confront their antagonists. The bowman continued to pick them off one by one, alternating between the three groups to even the odds.
By the time the hooded warriors reached their opponents, the balance of fighters had become six men to eleven Night Demons.
Francis was first in his team to plunge his sword into the neck of a warrior. One of the stable hands thrust his blade through the leg of his foe, removing the limb entirely.
The swordsmen to the north used their team skills proficiently. While one hacked, another parried and another plunged. They didn’t single out one warrior for one soldier. They simply looked for openings and took advantage of them. To them, all enemies were enemy.
As the numbers of their rivals dropped, the ratio between the two parties improved in their favour. In the end, one enemy warrior had six Woodmyst men to contend with.
Richard’s team used a similar approach. Most of them were young. It was Richard who was the odd one out. His technique was rusty and he felt age in his muscles.
Warfare was a young man’s game.
Old men belonged in rocking chairs.
He started to laugh out loud at the thought of him in a rocking chair.
His men didn’t understand what was humorous, but the laughter was infectious.
Before long his team were laughing boisterously in the street. The stable master found the idea of laughing in the middle of the street while the rain pelted down from above a laughable thing in itself. So he joined in.
The sound resonated across the grass beyond the wall.
It must have caused offence amongst the Night Demons for the trumpet was sounded again.
“More coming,” called a bowman.
“Same tactic,” Richard called to the men.
The men readied themselves for the onslaught. If the pattern so far was anything to judge by, they should expect more Night Demons this time. Richard had to admit they had been quite fortunate up until now. He could only hope their luck would hold up.
The bowmen loaded their arrows and pulled back upon their strings tightly.
A large number of hooded figures crowded into the circle of light beneath them. There were so many this time that the horde expanded beyond the illuminated region and spilt over into the darkness beyond.
The two archers let their arrows fly, dropping one enemy warrior after the other. But the small decrease in numbers making it into the breach barely made a dent in the onslaught.
The third archer started his attack, aiming for the back of each hood. He dropped several of the invaders to the ground but not enough to slow the throng.
Richard b
elieved the only chance they had was to find a thin alley to draw the enemy into. This way they would be facing three or four across instead of ten or fifteen in the wide streets.
“Move into an alley or a thin access,” he called over the massing crowd of enemy warriors.
The other teams heard his command and immediately looked for a suitable place to make their stand.
The stable master chose a tiny lane that passed tightly between a cottage and a tiny baker’s store.
“Up there,” he shouted to his men.
They moved rapidly into the lane as a number of cloaked warriors turned in their direction.
One of the stable hands raced ahead to the far end of the lane. Within seconds he was running back towards them.
“Dead end this way,” he informed them.
“Dead end that way too,” said a swordsmen referring to the crowd of hooded soldiers blocking their exit.
“Guess this will have to do then,” said Francis as he turned to face the enemy.
Three Night Demons led the charge towards them, as it was all that could fit shoulder to shoulder in the narrow passage.
The middle warrior raised his curved sword above his head. A stable hand swung his sword in an upward curve and stabbed the invader just below the ribs. The two on either side were hacked by the swordsman and the stable master.
More hooded figures crowded into the alleyway and ran towards the six men standing about halfway along the channel. With a quick parry from the big burly man, one of the stable workers standing behind him slid his blade between two of the three men before him and buried it into the chest of the attacking warrior.
“We need to do more of that,” shouted Francis excitedly.
The men fought hard and managed to wear their enemy down. Thinking the fight was over, they relaxed and admired their handiwork.
Using the constricted space to their advantage, they managed to create quite a large pile of enemy soldiers.
The fight wasn’t over, however, as suddenly more Night Demons discovered the team’s hiding place and started piling into the narrow alley.
Chapter Thirty-One
The team of swordsmen had no such luck in finding a narrow access lane to draw the enemy into. They ran back along the lane they were in only to find that it opened into a wide street.
The Walls of Woodmyst Page 24
