by Dan Gillis
“Well then, you’ll be needing to get along! G’day!” the man announced.
Tohm snapped the reins instantly and muttered a quick “Mother’s blessin’upon ye” and the waggon was moving. Firah remained low. Something wasn’t right and the apprehensive feeling remained. They passed into a wood and after a minute, the waggon stopped again. “Curses!” Tohm shouted. Firah felt the wagon lurch as Tohm dismounted. She chanced a quick glance down the side of the waggon. A large tree had been felled which blocked the path completely. Tohm tested the weight of the tree, but it was evident that it was too heavy for one man.
An arrow slammed into a keg above Firah’s head. She jumped in fright. Several forms leapt from the trees on both sides of the road. They charged down the short hills shouting indistinctly, weapons drawn. Firah knew she was exposed prey so she climbed off the back of the waggon and crawled beneath. She felt so useless. If only she hadn’t forgotten her knife!
Zyr had other more efficient ways. He glanced both to the right and left as the assailants charged towards the stranded waggon. Ahead, he spied Tohm quickly taking stock of the situation; however, he also appeared indecisive due to foes on either side. Concentrating inwards, Zyr moved his arms in a circular motion, and weaved a central focus of energy from the land and his own reserves. He projected a portion of it outward.
Aside from the three of them, he detected sixteen healthy bodies in the area, fourteen visible and two hidden. Zyr stooped and picked up a large weapon that Tohm had brought along. Its haft was about four feet long, while a massive double ended hammer was fastened firmly upon one end. “Here!” he shouted to Tohm, and tossed the weapon to him. Tohm caught the weapon with surprising ease and flourished it towards the nearest enemies.
Their full charge was stalled, and for some their exuberance caused them to stumble to the ground. The weapon was intimidating.
Zyr leapt from the cart to an adjacent side and assumed a defensive stance. “Firah, stay put,” he whispered to the waggon undercarriage. He directed a small portion of energy from his central focus down through his arms until his fingers tingled. They emitted a pale glow which was masked by the morning’s rays through the trees. He waited upon the charging mass patiently.
One came at him swinging a short sword in a low attack. Zyr hopped lightly over the blade arc and swiftly struck out, gripping his fingers beneath the attacker’s jawbone. Zyr sent a quick charge of power though his fingers into the nerve cluster located there. The man collapsed on the spot without a whisper of pain. He was unconscious; Zyr would not kill the ignorant. The next attack came from above, a wide arcing swing from a club. Zyr dropped his stance into a partial leg split and shifted under the man, where his thumbs found the nerve clusters just inside the groin. Then there were two down with fourteen left.
Tohm eyed the seven assailants warily as they slowly advanced. The hammer looked unwieldy but it had significant reach. They had a mix of weapons: a sword, two clubs, a make-shift mace, and three rough-hewn staves. The grizzled bandits jeered on, casting insults and calls to fight. Tohm focused upon himself. He had not fought in years. The Dryke skirmish … yes that was the last time. He tried to forget, after all the pain and sorrow he witnessed. Somehow, he felt he could escape all the violence in the world. His was a gentle heart, and it still ached from this morning. He wished he could leave all this now, but Firah …
One of the attackers with a staff snuck a poke at Tohm’s leg. With one hand Tohm swung the hammer hard and smashed the cudgel to pieces. The bandit’s arms shuddered from the blow upon the staff. He stared dumbfounded at the short stalk of wood in his hand. He glanced at his fellows, threw the bit of wood down and, shrinking away unarmed, ran for his life. The others glanced at each other, and the jeering stopped. Each assailant had imagined what such a blow could do to them. They hunched down and circled slowly. Then, on a signal, they attacked as one.
Whirling the hammer, Tohm’s body became one with his weapon. He altered its momentum and switched the trajectory, but the attackers still came. When possible, Tohm pulled the hit, glancing blows only, while the group gave no such ground. Tohm connected with an assailant’s hip with enough force to knock him down and dislocate his joint. He followed up with a downward blow to break another weapon. His hammer struck dirt and he felt a blade bite into his calf, just missing the hamstring. He roared in pain and swung the hammer in a sweeping motion above his head. The mob pulled back and he slumped to one knee breathing hard. With one down, and two fled disarmed, he waited for the next to come.
Firah watched the battles ensue. Zyr was incredible. His speed was such that his attacks rendered his opponents prone and incapacitated before they could react. Amazingly, his weapons were his hands. She stared at her own; she wished that she could say the same. Tohm, on the other hand, was struggling. His sheer strength was impressive but already he had suffered several small wounds which were taking a toll on him. She wished now that she had not let him down and felt sorrow for every bad thought she entertained that day. She prayed within herself, “Please Mother, do not let Tohm die!” She watched Zyr dispatch another man swiftly; would he be able to help in time?
Suddenly she felt a warm grip around one ankle. She was jerked out from under the waggon. Her head struck hard on the undercarriage. Dazed and with her eyes blurring from pain, she turned herself about to see the man hauling her up to her feet. He wrapped one arm tightly about her midsection trapping her arms. She was only just recovering from the blow to the head, when she felt a pinprick upon her neck. She looked down to see a knife at her throat. She felt the warmth of his body uncomfortably against hers, his breath rasping in her ear. “It seems we found somethin’ of interest after all. Don't think about calling out.” In an instant, she recognized the voice of the one who stopped their waggon earlier. Firah looked desperately to her friends but they were caught up in their own battles. She struggled but immediately stopped at the sharp point pressing upon her neck. The man began to move her toward the wooded hills and whispered frightening things in her ear. “Please … don’t do this …” she pleaded. The man laughed and prodded her on.
Within her heart, Firah found courage as inspiration flowed from her companions, who were fighting to save her. In one movement, Firah twisted her slim body which caused the blade to gouge into her skin, though as she turned she brought her head around to meet her captor’s head sharply. As the blow collapsed the soft tissue in his nose, his grip loosened and she reached up and tore at his eyes.
The man screamed and fell to the ground clutching his wounded face.
Firah sprung like a white-tipped fawn out of the thicket. As she ran, she thought about seeking shelter in the far trees.
A sharp pain impacted upon her right leg, dropping her to the ground. She howled out in her highest volume as she attempted to cope with the pain. At first she felt it was the man she fought off, but peering down at her leg she gaped in horror. An arrow shaft had driven clean through her right thigh and protruded out the other side. Though it had missed bone, the leg was immobile, as her muscles entered into traumatic shock. She tried to stand but with no leverage she only aggravated the injury. Cursing with pain, she cried out again. She was down and open to any attack, and horrified she saw the man she injured stumbling for her, with intense hatred in his reddened eyes. Slowly she dragged herself from the approaching brigand, blood beginning to flow down into view from the gash in her neck.
Tohm stared in horror as he saw Firah. He had turned to look, after her piercing cry. He saw her on the ground - partially obstructed by the waggon - languishing and terrified. Deep within his heart, a caged animal was released from its long imprisonment. He let out a deafening roar that shook through the grove. Energy filled his frame as his mind, body and spirit became one.
He swung heavily down upon the shoulder of an assailant’s sword arm, completely severing the limb.
He swung twice and two more fell under bone shattering blows.
The unprecedented feroc
ity had taken his foes unawares. His mind shut off the pain from his wounds, and crouching low, he sprang out from the bodies surrounding him. In a few short leaps he was instantly upon Firah’s stalker. The bandit sensed him and slashed out with his long dagger. Tohm raised the handle of the hammer and the blade notched itself into the haft. Tohm ripped the dagger from the grip of his opponent by twisting the haft roughly. He then hurled the weapons away, his massive frame pulsing with adrenaline. Firah’s attacker stuck out at Tohm, which Tohm simply took in full measure in the face. His head shifted slightly from the blow. Tohm looked back at the man and wiped the spit and blood from his mouth. Scowling, he leaned back. The man’s eyes flashed with dread as Tohm laid full into his opponents face, returning the blow a hundred fold. He felt teeth dislodge and bones shatter under his attack. The bandit flew through the air several feet and came to earth motionless. Tohm looked around hungrily for the next opponent only to feel Zyr’s arm on his shoulder.
“Enough, Tohm … enough.” At the touch of his ally, Tohm’s body collapsed under forced strain and exhaustion. The animal retreated back within, and Tohm looked around wearily. Firah sat whimpering upon the ground. The forms of unconscious and deceased men littered the road. The day was theirs.
“These wounds normally would take a while to mend,” Zyr spoke as he prepared a strange smelling paste in his hands. “Luckily for you both, this paraffin does wonders.” He applied portions of the mixture on both Tohm and Firah’s wounds. Firah felt a tingling as the medicine was applied by the hands of the healer. Surprisingly, it relieved most of the pain and discomfort almost immediately. She was impressed but grimaced in pain as she shifted weight on her leg. “Ah yes. Well, I’m afraid that wound isn’t going to be as simple.” Zyr capped the ointment and placed it within a pouch on his hip. He put a hand upon Firah’s arm. “I need to be honest. This will be very painful. Tohm, if you’re up to it, I will need your help.” Tohm grunted in approval and moved around inside the wagon to get a better position. “You will need to hold her down,” Zyr instructed. Tohm stared into Firah’s eyes which now betrayed some fear and apprehension.
“Firah, you know about this morning …” his voice faded to a whisper. “I am so sorry. You are no' a girl anymore. Have I been too blind to see it?” He shook his head and looked away.
“Oh, Tohm,” Firah’s vision grew blurry, “I guess … I need you now and then. Right now I just need you to hold my hand, okay?” She lifted the chin of the older man so that he looked into her green eyes.
“Aye, lass. I’ll do that.” Thom grasped her hand firmly with his own, and she settled herself against his sturdy frame. She smiled at him softly and then glanced to Zyr and nodded. Zyr squeezed her arm one last time and removed his hand. Firah began to breathe long deep breaths and tried to focus as she always did when a difficult task was at hand. Zyr began to collect the potency within himself and the whisper of a prayer was upon his lips. He would need to be steady, and quick to stem the blood flow. He wished he did not have to perform the mending weave but there was little choice here. Infection, even tissue decay, would be her fate if they delayed longer. He silently prayed that his enemies would be far from here and unable to detect the weaving. He breathed in deeply, balancing and focusing the energy within. Small cuts were one thing, but this would require much more effort.
“Ready,” Zyr called out. Tohm and Firah braced as Zyr in one motion broke the arrowhead clean off the shaft. Firah violently bit back the near-overpowering urge to scream. She wasn’t strong earlier, but she could be now. As well there was a quiet strength in Tohm’s warm calloused hand. His other arm had come around as well to hold her tight to himself. Zyr waited for Firah to catch her breath before he continued.
“Extracting.” Again Firah clenched Tohm’s hand, who welcomed all of her strength. The shaft was pulled cleanly and sharply out of Firah’s thigh. This time the quietest scream Firah could utter escaped her clenched teeth. Immediately Zyr’s hands went to the entry and exit wounds which began to flow red. Firah felt a strange tingling swell and surge up and down her leg. Within moments, Zyr removed his hands and breathed out long and heavily. The skin had sealed over the wounds, though the surface was still raw and sore. “That is all I dare risk for now, “the healer said, "Now you should rest. I’ll deal with the bodies and the tree.” Zyr stepped down from the waggon and stripped down to his loincloth, a sign of heavy labor ahead. He folded his robes neatly and precisely, and set them on the waggon bed. As he moved away from the two companions, Firah rested her head in Tohm’s lap. Tohm stroked her hair and began to hum a tune from the village.
Tohm was not sure what he felt at this moment. Disgust of the beast he had let loose upon those men, relief for Firah’s stable condition, or grief for bringing her into this mess. Either way, he was sure he did what was right. He closed his eyes and continued to hum the soothing melody.
Firah closed her eyes and let sleep overcome her. One stubborn thought carried her into the land of peace; she would become stronger and never be a liability to others again. Sweet darkness overtook her.
Slowly nature breathed as the wind blew across the land and all things living rejoiced under the gentle sun. The breath of nature caressed the Sapling. The young seed had grown under adversity and now was blooming for the first time, revealing the beauty and strength within.
The Blade upon the Banners
THE TOWERS OF KHYVLA rose high above the outer wall, stretching into the darkening blue sky. The royal standards and the colors of the most renowned cadre of the province were displayed upon the capital’s shining pinnacles. The city was operated and maintained by a local civil government which was appointed by the Kenharian king. The civil leaders interacted regularly with the representative and master of the cadre, through the “One Seat” or the position of power over all other organized groups. The position was created in a forgotten time as a way to appease the rise of powerful cadres. They had a voice in establishing policies and in turn honoured existing regulations.
Relations could land on rocky ground whenever the governing chancellor and cadre master disagreed on public policy. To add to the confusion, the One Seat could change at any time. Such shifts in power created difficulties for the ruling monarch to establish favourable relations with the cadre masters. In earlier times it was more simplistic, with cadres exchanging places only every few years. Of course, there were far fewer organizations then as well. However, times were shifting as new cadres sprung up everywhere replacing the “old traditional organizations.” This year alone had seen two new cadres rise to significant power and claiming the One Seat. Due to the influence the ruling cadre had upon the city, small changes in governmental policy were included to keep the One Seat appeased and stocking the local coffers. Needless to say, the local citizenry were often confused as to which rules were in force and what was illegal. The best they could manage was to keep listening for announcements of any change, and for sake of convenience, new cadres would include codes of conduct to be read along with the notice of change. It was said that the local criers had the most interesting occupation, as information was dynamic and constantly changing. Their role was quite unlike the endless grind of typical professions.
Outside the wall, a line of carts and waggons loaded full of all assortments of goods, spanned well into the distance. Somewhere in the middle of the endless trade procession, sat two silent figures. One of them, a man and the larger of the two, gazed upward at the drifting banners upon the pinnacles. He shook his head and shifted the reins in his hand. There was another change in the cadres. Or had it changed more than once since he was here last? It did not matter in the end, he supposed. He was still too far from the criers who would announce at the merchant gate the newest rules of conduct. Announcements came every hour without fail.
Stiffly, Tohm shifted his large frame and stretched his back. This would be some wait until they would gain access to the city. Tohm thought of the time and money investment involved in each resto
ck run to the city. He cursed inwardly at the thought of the customary tribute. Luckily, the amount required was typically the same, which was a relief to the traveller who counted on some semblance of regularity. This was preferable to travelling for miles and finding you were short of money and could not get into the city. Usually, the ruling cadre horded nearly the whole sum for their selfish purposes, with little returns to the common folk. He shook his head again. A girl’s voice brought him from his musings.
“How much longer do you think, Tohm?” Firah looked at him dully, evidently bored. She yawned and stretched herself like a cat, pushing her arms well above her head and linking her hands. Joints crackled as she breathed out slowly while lowering her arms. The noise rankled Tohm.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that around me,” Tohm said as he shuddered. She laughed as their eyes met. He felt happier when she smiled, especially now. Gratefully, she appeared to be feeling better and back to her normal self.
“This sounds odd coming from you, the vigorous, roaring ox who came to my rescue.” Her expression turned playful and her green eyes sparkled mischievously.
Tohm subtly weaved the threads of the discussion to her original point. “The reason we’re here,” he said pointing at their general location, “and not up there,” he motioned to somewhere well up the crowded line toward Khyvla, “is your tardiness.” They fixed their eyes upon each other and stared hard. Still, within those stares was a shared understanding of certain lines not to be crossed. The moment was broken by the waggon shifting slightly, while shuffling sounds came from the waggon bed.
