The Walls of Woodmyst

by Robert E Kreig

  “We should leave,” he suggested.

  “I’m hungry,” Lawrence replied. “All we have is dog to eat and Hugh won’t let me near this mutt.”

  “Well then,” Richard began. “Let’s take their fruit and go.”

  “I’m in no mood for fruit, Richard,” Lawrence sneered.

  Richard looked to the faces of his companions. Something sinister had invaded each of them. Their intent had suddenly become clear to him and he could not understand how they could let themselves come to this.

  “Lawrence is right,” Barnard said. “The stores back at the base are empty. There’s only so much porridge a man can take. And I can’t take any more. We need meat.”

  Richard couldn’t believe his ears. Only moments ago, he fought side by side with these men upon the battlefield. Now they were contemplating doing something unspeakable.

  “But these creatures—” Richard began.

  “That’s just it,” Peter interrupted. “They’re creatures. Look at them. They’re not men. They’re animals.”

  Richard saw construction, houses, tables and family units. Although primitive, this was a civilisation. A society.

  “I can’t be a part to this,” he managed to say.

  “Then starve,” Alan said as he raised his sword and entered the nearest hovel.

  The other men jeered and entered some other huts near by.

  Richard stared dumbly as he heard guttural calls as creature after creature was slain in its own home.

  Lawrence dragged one into the open. It clawed at the ground in desperation with its thin fingers as it cried loudly.

  “Oh, shut up,” Lawrence blurted as he stuck his blade into the creature’s head.

  It went limp and fell silent instantly.

  A smaller creature came tearing out of the mud hut that Lawrence had dragged the first one from. Its wide yellow eyes were fixed upon the fallen beast upon the ground as it ran screaming.

  Lawrence spun around and stabbed the small being in the chest. It turned its eyes up to the man, glaring at him with a confused expression. In response, Lawrence placed his foot against the creature’s chest and pushed with his leg to repel it away from him as he pulled the blade from its body.

  It fell to the ground and attempted to crawl away before its energy diminished entirely. There it lay, not too far from the other on the ground, motionless. Lifeless.

  Richard stared blankly at the two dead beings. He realised he was looking at mother and child.

  Stinging bile rose in his throat. He raised his hands to his head as his friends started laughing.

  “Did you see that?” Lawrence called to the others. “Came straight for me, this one did.”

  “Probably has never seen such a lovely red beard before,” Alan called back as he retrieved a flaming stick from a nearby campfire and tossed it into the nearest mud hut. Flames took almost immediately, forcing the three inhabitants out of the shelter and into the open. Michael and Alan introduced the two youngsters and one adult to their blades.

  Richard turned away repulsed and walked into the forest leaving the sounds of screaming, hacking and death behind him.

  He felt responsible for what was happening. If only he hadn’t been so curious. If only he had allowed that little creature by the tree to run away.

  But he needed to know what it was.

  He fell to his knees and wept beside the trunk of a large willow.

  How his friends came to this was beyond his comprehension. He too was hungry. But to lower oneself to this level of depravity was something he just simply couldn’t do. Nor should any man be able to do.

  Footsteps to his side made him snap his head around.

  Before him stood two tiny figures clad in tattered rags and hand in hand. Their pale grey faces stared at him with wide yellow eyes, petrified.

  One carried a large round object wrapped in a hessian sack. The other had a deep wound upon the forearm, caused by a blade.

  Inflicted by one of his friends no doubt.

  He beckoned to them. The little one with the sack turned to protect its treasure. The larger of the two, snarled. They had just seen what men were capable of, so he didn’t blame them for not trusting him.

  Digging into his pouch, he retrieved a length of cloth. He reached out and grabbed the injured infant by the arm and pulled it towards him.

  It hissed and struggled.

  Richard placed the cloth over the wound and wrapped it around the arm as best as he could. The creature seemed to understand and stopped struggling, eyeing the human untrustingly during the exchange.

  Wrapping the arm with two hands was easier now he was able to let the creature loose. Richard tucked the cloth’s ends under the wrapping and sat back against the tree.

  The two creatures stared at him blankly.

  Their heads suddenly looked back in the direction of their home. Richard heard barking and footsteps approaching through the growth.

  “Go,” he said to the infants, waving them away with his hands. “Run. Go.”

  They took the hint and bolted into the forest, disappearing in the undergrowth with little sound.

  The dog was first to arrive. It ran up to Richard and licked his face with its bloodied snout. He pushed it away from him. It stood facing him, panting and wagging its tail.

  Hugh came next.

  “There you are.” He smiled. “We’ve started a fire. Come along.”

  “I think I’ll camp here until you are finished,” Richard replied. “Thank you all the same.”

  Hugh shrugged. “Have it your way,” he said before turning away. “Come, dog.”

  The hound gave Richard one last confused look as it cocked its head before trailing off behind its master.

  Richard took a long, deep breath as they disappeared into the trees.

  He started a small fire to keep warm and rested against the trunk of the willow tree as he watched the flames dance.

  The smell of cooking meat gradually made its way towards him. He shook his head in disbelief and wept.

  From somewhere in the growth, he felt their gaze upon him. Two sets of yellow eyes.

  Frightened.

  Richard would always remember.

  How could he not?

  His eyes looked deeply into the commander of the Night Demons. The one he had bandaged in the swamp.

  “What do you have planned for me?” he asked, expecting the worst.

  The commander summoned two of his warriors over and grunted something to them. They hoisted Richard to his feet and allowed him to lean on them as they moved towards the breach.

  The bodies of the other councilmembers were still hanging from the lampposts.

  “Is this my fate also?” he asked as they walked him over the mound.

  The Night Demons filed out through the gap in the eastern wall after them as they continued past the lampposts and his dead friends, into the darkness beyond.

  They directed him towards a farmhouse near the river’s edge about halfway between the wall and the hill in the east. There, under a large awning outside of the cottage, was a table with a burning lantern placed in the centre and a high-backed wooden chair.

  The warriors lowered the man into the seat as the commander blew a long note on the trumpet again.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The great dragon unfurled its wings as the last of the Night Demons hurried out through the breach and into the meadow. Some remained behind to cut the bodies of the councilmen down from the lampposts and carry them back inside the village walls.

  The dragon beat its wings and lifted into the night sky, sending swirling drifts of rain in all directions. It headed back towards the centre of the town, where a faint orange glow reflected from the clouds above the smouldering remains of the Great Hall.

  A long jet of flame spewed from its mouth as it flew, igniting several buildings in the village.

  The dark warriors returned from the breach having discarded the bodies of Chief Shelley, Ala
n, Peter, Michael, Hugh and Lawrence.

  Richard watched in awe and sadness as the great beast swooped through the pouring rain, streaming its fiery breath over everything beneath it.

  Flames rose like great blooming flowers, orange and red. The sight was humbling as the power that the dragon demonstrated.

  Richard thought back to the round object that the infant in the swamp carried all those years ago and wondered if it was an egg from which hatched a beast such as the one he observed. Was it possible that this creature came from that egg?

  The commander approached as the dragon passed by the eastern wall, sending a line of flames along the cottages just inside. The heat was intense, even from this distance. The commander raised his arm over his face to shield himself from the sudden blast.

  He pulled up a stool and sat across the table from Richard, watching the dragon circle back to send another barrage of fire down the centre of the town from north to south.

  Richard looked across the table and caught the yellow eyes watching him. His stomach tightened as a sudden fear overwhelmed him.

  The commander pointed to him, pressed his finger against his own head before pointing to the inferno.

  Richard nodded. “Yes I understand why you’re doing this. You are destroying everything we have because my people destroyed everything you once had.” He shook his head and wiped his eyes.

  The commander moved his eyes back to the dragon as it swooped in an arch, throwing fire into the western region of the town.

  “So many people died these past few nights,” Richard whispered. He could tell from the expression upon the commander’s face that his words were understood. “Yours and mine.”

  Taking a deep breath, the commander leant against the table as he watched the great beast burn the village to the ground.

  “And what of the children?” Richard asked.

  The commander glanced at the man sideways before standing to his feet. He walked a few paces into the rain and raised the trumpet to his mouth as he faced east. A long call ensued that echoed towards the mountains.

  The dragon passed through the village again, igniting more buildings that were not yet ablaze. As it did so, a warrior ran to the commander’s side carrying Richard’s sword. The commander took it from the dark soldier and inspected the blade.

  He turned back towards the man, holding the hilt with one hand and nursing the blade in the other. He lifted it for Richard to see before placing its point into the soft ground in the middle of the meadow.

  I guess I can get that later, Richard thought.

  He returned his eyes to the devastation the dragon fashioned as it passed through the village again.

  Some time paased.

  Richard wasn’t sure for how long he had been watching the dragon heap destruction upon his home, but the sky was beginning to change its tone in the east as a deep mauve formed upon the dark rainclouds. Dawn was near.

  The commander blew his trumpet long and loud.

  The dragon ceased spitting fire and took off towards the mountains in the north. Richard watched it intently as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance before disappearing behind the peaks of the nearby range.

  It was gone.

  But the damage it had caused was irreversible.

  Woodmyst burned.

  The sound of horses snorting and braying as they approached over the hill to the east drew Richard’s attention away from the firestorm. There, he saw a number of dark riders leading other horses with women and children upon them.

  The Night Demons were returning the youths of Woodmyst to their home.

  They pulled the team of steeds to a halt upon the grass near the farmhouse where Richard sat. The commander gave an order to his warriors who pulled daggers from their belts to cut the bindings around the captives’ wrists. Next, they lifted the hessian hoods from the prisoners’ heads and moved their own chargers away.

  The commander turned back to Richard and approached him again. He moved under the awning and leant upon the table, peering directly to the man. Richard faced him and gave his full attention to the warrior.

  “We,” the commander said in a deep, grating voice, “won’t be back.”

  With that he turned and walked back into the rain.

  A rider, leading another steed, pulled up near the commander and handed him the reins. He mounted his charger and peered around to his warriors.

  The Night Demons had all climbed upon steeds of their own and awaited instructions.

  With a final glare towards Richard, the commander blew his trumpet and tore off towards the hill with his warriors in tow.

  As they disappeared, Richard stood up and peered after them.

  “We need to run,” a voice called.

  Searching for the source of the voice, Richard found Tomas Warde sitting upon a brown mare.

  “Tomas,” Richard called. “Thank the gods.”

  “We need to go, Richard,” he called again. “We need to go before they return.”

  “They won’t be back,” Richard replied as Tomas dismounted his ride and dropped down to the ground.

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me so.”

  Richard looked towards the hill as the sky brightened above.

  The clouds still loomed and rain fell heavily to earth.

  The young women sitting upon the steeds wept as they stared towards their home before them.

  As the new day began, smoke and flame rose from Woodmyst.

  Epilogue

  Sitting by the bank of the river, near the farmhouse, he sat watching the waterfowl play amongst the reeds and lily pads. The sound of insects buzzing and birds chattering was calming.

  He turned to see the remains of Woodmyst still smouldering to the west and remembered what her streets were once like.

  The markets with trinkets, the clanging hammers upon anvils in the blacksmith’s stall, the shouting of bartering and haggling for the best bargain. He missed that almost as much as he missed the mead of the tavern and the wenches who served it.

  He had gone back inside the village two days before; to see what could be scavenged and used as the young women and the mothers of newborns helped to care for the young ones left orphaned by the assault. There was very little that could be salvaged.

  The three bridges had been incinerated and the only way to cross the river was by the fishing boats left near the farmhouses in the meadow. It mattered little in any case as most of the southern side of the town had been burnt to the ground.

  The plantations farther out were beyond repair. The ground to the south had been so scorched by dragon fire that it had dried out completely. The rain fell afterwards, turning the area into bog and had remained so.

  Nothing of use would grow there for a long time.

  The sounds of hammering nearby grabbed his attention.

  He saw several young adolescent girls assisting some of the young lads with building a large pen for the horses. It was a crude design, made mostly of fallen logs and long limbs from trees in the grove, but it was a start.

  The cattle had gathered upon the hill to eat the long grass growing upon its crest as the sheep favoured the company of people of late. Their memory of previous nights had not left them and they were easily spooked by sudden sounds that came from the line of trees to the north.

  “Richard,” called the boy. “Come and see.”

  He turned his face towards the crude enclosure. It appeared sturdy enough to serve its purpose.

  Rising to his feet, he stretched before heading in their direction. His muscles still ached and he still needed more sleep.

  “It looks good, Tomas,” he called as he approached.

  The task ahead was going to be an arduous one that would take a long time to accomplish.

  The small group of survivors had all promised one another to see it fulfilled, no matter what.

  They intended to rebuild Woodmyst.

  Starting was the hardest part. They had no de
lusions of recreating the village they once knew. This was a chance at a new beginning.

  This was a chance to make things better than before.

  He stepped up to the boy’s side and gave the frame a hard shake with his hand. It was sturdy and would hold.

  “Good work,” he said to the gathering.

  “Have you slept yet?” the boy asked, noticing the dark lines under the man’s eyes.

  “I will,” he promised, not knowing if he could keep his word.

  Night after night he closed his eyes only to suddenly open them again and again as the terrors in his mind met him there.

  Tossing and turning, sweating profusely, he struggled to rest and had not had a good slumber since the dragon fire.

  He was so tired that keeping the nightmares at bay was impossible. The terror had started to visit him during his waking hours.

  The gentle sounds of running water and life on the meadow soothed the beast within.

  But from time to time, when his guard was down, they came and attacked him.

  Even now he saw them.

  The bulging yellow eyes of the Night Demons.

  About the Author

  Robert E Kreig was born in Newcastle, New South Wales Australia during 1974. He grew up in and around the suburbs of the Newcastle and Lake Macquarie areas near the famous Hunter Valley.

  In 2001, Robert embarked in a career in teaching, continuing to educate and challenge young minds to this day.

  His decision to take a lifetime hobby of writing to the next step resulted in Long Valley, Robert’s first novel.

  Robert currently resides in Sydney with his pet beefs and television.

  Robert E Kreig

  LONG VALLEY

  In the small community of Long Valley, nestled comfortably beneath snow-capped mountains, people quietly go about their business. Everybody knows everybody and there are no worries to give mind to.

  But something has awakened.

  A tragic accident near the valley’s army base sparks a number of terrifying events placing the local civilians in mortal danger.