by Greg Ricker
"I suppose he would." Jarod smiled. "I will let him find you on his own, then."
She smiled, and started walking when he stepped aside, and Taron and Dalt followed.
“Do you still need our assistance, madam?” Asked Taron.
“Call me, Kaylel, please.” She said, without looking back.
They wished she had, her eyes were big, bright, and pale blue, like a perfect sky.
¨Yes.¨ She then replied. ¨I do. This man needs a new bandage.¨
The procedure began, and even the soldier was impressed with the workmanship of the trio.
“Are you two from Southland villages?” He asked. His voice was weak and thirsty, but his smile was holding strong.
“Gerhihn.” Answered Dalt.
“How did you know?” Asked Taron curiously, as he handed Kaylel a new bandage roll he had pulled from her navy blue bag.
“Two men your age would be wearing uniforms, if you lived here.” Replied the soldier.
Kaylel began walking without saying a word, and Taron and Dalt had to rush to keep up. She found a soldier waiting to have his burned right arm tended to. All three sat by his side, and Kaylel grabbed her bag from Taron, setting it down gently. When she turned and leaned over the soldier lying on his back, she had an open jar of salve in her hand.
“This will hurt, I’m afraid.” She warned, and motioned with her eyes for her two assistants to hold the man. She smeared the ointment on the soldier’s blistered arm quickly. Do it, and get it over with.
The soldier’s teeth were grinding, but the noise was drowned out by his half-held roar.
“Come now,” Kaylel began as she put away the jar, and pulled out a roll of gauze, “I have seen women give birth without so much as a frown.”
She poked fun as she wrapped the soldier’s arm.
“Forgive me, my lady.” He begged. “But a woman, I am not.”
Kaylel knew it to be a compliment, or simple flirting, but she let out a short laugh between cutting the bandage, and tying it off. Just like that, she was done. Walking again, they passed the High Lord Priest as he said a prayer for a dying soldier. One hand held the tall staff with a large oval loop at its top end, and the other hand rested on the man’s forehead. They had to step over the priest’s long, white robe that spread out in layered folds behind him where he knelt. Everything had been done for the soldier that could be done, but it had not been enough. The spear wound in his chest was too near his heart. With the slightest movement of his hand, he closed the soldier’s eyes.
Forever.
After leaving his sister to do her duty in the infirmary, Jarod continued to carry out his own duty. He was to find the remaining Lieutenant-Commanders that Danuel had not yet spoken to, and inform them of his plans. Rohn, Lin, Baril, and Blayne. He had spotted Rohn going into the church, and saw the twins, Baril, and Blayne, going up a flight of steps while he was talking to his sister.
At the top of those stairs, he heard voices. Men talking. He slowly started down the hallway before him; its walls held a door on both sides every ten paces, and dimly lit lamps just as often in between. He had never been on the second floor of the church before, so he did not know that he was standing outside of the High Priest's study when he knocked. It was simply the room that the voices were coming from.
Flan opened the door, his nose bandaged, and his eyes were great, black circles.
Jarod saluted him. "Lieutenant-Commander! I am on messenger's duty for the prince!"
"I would like to hear it!" Called another man from inside the room.
Jarod nervously peeked around, not over, Flan's shoulder, and spotted the High Lord General Malkyr in the tall chair. He quickly looked back at Flan.
Perhaps for help.
"Come in, Jarod." Said Victor, and the Lieutenant moved aside for him.
They were all in the room, every Lieutenant Commander, and every General.
Was something going on? Why were they looking at him, like that?
"Well?" Victor was waiting. He had one leg hanging over an arm of the tall-backed chair. The healing drink had made him a little unlike himself.
Jarod was sweating. "The prince wishes to hold conference with the Lieutenant-Commanders, lord General."
Victor laughed. "As you can see, soldier," -it was meant as an attack on his low rank- "they hold conference with me, by order of the King, himself. Tell Danuel, that you simply could not find us. Or, tell him that you did, and we just did not care!"
The room burst with laughter. Frightening Jarod, more still. He would run through itch weed naked, if Victor ordered him to do so. His eyes darted to every person in the room, without pause. Something had been undoubtedly going on, before he had arrived. Each one of them would normally have on their cold, hard faces. It was new to see them actually enjoying each other's company.
"You have delivered your message." Started Victor. "Now, as you were, soldier."
He motioned toward the door with a hand.
Jarod heard the lock click behind him after Flan closed the door, and he was thankful that no one followed him out. Standing with the door behind him, felt like having a bard with bow and arrow aimed at his back.
He quickly started down the hall. He would simply say that he could not find them.
Adding to his sister, Kaylel?
That would be too many failures.
He would have to lose himself also, it seemed.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, and ran it back into his hair, then headed down the steps to the infirmary.
Obeying orders to report to the tower immediately upon his return, General Nysin found himself climbing the three hundred and twelve steps to Sawl's private room, once again. He could not decide if he hated the amount, or where they led to, more. At least he knew that this meeting was to be a good one. He would have good news to deliver, indeed.
The door at the end of the hall upstairs was half open into the room when he reached it. He quickly straightened his chest plate, and spread his cloak out behind him. For once, he actually needed to. Then he peeked into the dimly lit room. He had no tOrch with him, this time. It had been missing at the foot of the steps. Orc servants, basically a collection of the young, and very old, always seemed to forget the little things within the tower.
"Come in, General."
Nysin sighed, and pushed the door the rest of the way open as he entered. He was not surprised that Sawl had already sensed his presence. He found the Orc lord flipping through the pages of yet another book, as expected.
"Orders fulfilled, my lord!" Nysin announced. He paused to salute. Fist against his pitch-black heart.
"Bowenn castle has fallen!" He further informed. Sawl's sinister growl was, for once, pleasing for him to hear.
"Talbarond?" Sawl went straight for the news that concerned him most.
"Slain, my lord." The General was oozing of pride for what he, and his army, had accomplished. "As you commanded."
Nysin bowed.
Sawl continued to flip pages, appearing uninterested in their conversation. Though, in fact, he was. Indeed, he was. Behind all his thinking, plotting, and scheming, he was also on a mad quest for control over himself.
And everyone else.
Sawl, was overjoyed.
The slayer of Yeenoghu had been vanquished. It had been done for a more selfish reason than revenge, though. The Orcs owed nothing to the Gnolls, but any living person who had once defeated a Dy'Shan Lord was a threat of great vastness to him. He could now count out Bowenn as a threat to his future plans. Mynnorah, and Ayarlyn, however, were not built within foolish walls. Besides, he had marked his existence in Lynnwood, and his name would not be forgotten. He closed the book before him.
It was time to make another move in the game.
"You serve me well, General."
Nysin bowed again.
"I have another duty for you." Said Sawl, and Nysin's chin nearly dropped. "I want to meet Skhoragg."
Nysin hoped that Sawl did no
t notice the look he had on his face. He erased it, he hoped, the moment he had made it. Skhoragg? He wanted to meet the lord of the Gnolls?
He was not to question.
He was only to obey.
Sawl's reasons were, more times than not, just his own to acknowledge.
"I will see that it is done, my lord." Nysin replied. The Orc lord's long stretch of silence afterward, made the General feel like he had been forgotten. Sawl had opened a new book, and found something worth making him wait. He wanted to leave, more than anything. He would spend a day or two relaxing, celebrating his victory, and enjoying the company of some lucky, young, female.
"...And General," Sawl caught him blank-faced, and day dreaming, "I want you to take enough Dragynn to bring Skhoragg, and a few of his men," -for he knew Skhoragg would not come alone- "here to the tower."
"As you wish, my lord." Nysin had trouble picturing Orcs and Gnolls riding together on the halfling dragons. It was an almost preposterous image.
"I will round up a strong few in the morning that..."
"You will be leaving for Ryell tonight." Interrupted Sawl. He did not lift his eyes from the book he was reading.
Nysin could not say his true feelings. His cocky pride had vanished.
"Yes, my lord." The General bowed once more. He was respectful, obedient, and intelligent, which were rare qualities among Orcs.
"Power and honor, Dy'Shan Lord!" He saluted.
Sawl was too deeply into his book to respond.
Nysin waited only a short moment before quietly leaving unnoticed. For as long as he had to, he would be respectful, and obedient. One day soon, Sawl was going to go mad, and death would follow. That is, if the Lords of Lynnwood did not kill him first.
He would play in Sawl's game.
Then, when the game was over, Lynnwood would be his.
VI
Shepherd, Or Wolf
Thick, black smoke shut out the morning sky, as well as the sun, which would have fully risen by then. Without looking up, one would have thought that rain clouds were rolling in. The great city of Bowenn was shadowed by a reminder of the horrible attack the night before.
As Taron and Dalt walked the street toward the mass of local men that was forming ahead, they got their first good look at Merchants’ Square. Only now, buildings had been damaged, and women and children were found peeking out curtained windows, locked inside their homes. They would not let their children onto the guarded streets. Every horse, ox and wagon had disappeared overnight. No one could blame the traveling merchants for running off both during, and after the attack. This was none of their affair. Innkeepers, bartenders, blacksmiths, and shop clerks, all stood in their front doors looking at the crowd that was collaborating. Some quickly locked their doors and joined in.
Two soldiers, both in chain-mail and holding their sword hilts, ran by the southlanders.
“What’s going on?” Asked Taron.
Dalt shrugged his shoulders, which went unseen, but was an answer with equal value to not answering at all.
“Maybe the Prince is going to be declared King now.” Was the conclusion Taron came to. That was probably it.
They followed the crowd to the center of Merchant’s Square, where there stood a massive stone statue of a great lion rearing on its hind legs. Its front claws reaching, and mouth gaping to expose deadly teeth. The base of the white statue was constructed in level sections just large enough to hold the lion’s paws. Between them, stood Danuel Talbarond, pacing in short spans. The stone road circled the statue, and the mass of men that collected did the same. A majority were plain citizens, for soldiers on their feet outside of the infirmary were hard to find. Taron and Dalt were pushed aside as two soldiers on horses bullied their way through the crowd. Every man able enough, had gathered up close to the statue already. At least six-hundred of them. To the people of Bowenn, that was a small number, but to the two from Gerhihn, that was astounding.
They found themselves lost in the jostle of men, and fast became separated.
It was easy to not even notice, right away.
Neither did.
Not until it was too late.
Danuel waited for, what appeared to be, all the audience he was going to get. Sad, though. He had seen more men in the street even when there was no call for them. Bowenn had been hit hard.
He had traded his tight breeches for roomy, white trousers that flapped and rippled in a wind that only he was high enough to feel. It was hard for him, at that height, not to look at his father’s smoldering castle.
Gossip spreads quickly among men in crowded circles. The reason for the gathering went from gossip of the Prince being coronated, to the taxes being raised to afford a new castle. Such talk may have been ill-mannered, but it was common, and expected. The mass soon stilled, their thundering voices faded to bouncing whispers.
Danuel, was ready.
“Fellow citizens!” He spoke loudly, and turned as he spoke to face them all. “I share your grief, and your losses this day.”
They all knew of the King’s death by now. He had his own grief. His own loss.
“This is a time when unity and spirit will be needed to recover quickly.¨ He continued. ¨A time when the two are stronger than steel.”
He paused for a moment, and there were more murmurs passed among the men.
“Stronger yet,” Danuel resumed, “is the law.”
At least he thought so. He could hear some of the men rudely disagreeing, however. “The law states that I shall be your King.”
He did not expect even the slightest hint of cheers or whistles, and did not get disappointed. Many held their tongues, out of respect for the law about bad mouthing nobles.
“If that is so,” just then, he saw the smoking remains of his father’s castle again, “then I must leave you.”
The crowd exploded with voices, some yelling at him, some talking amongst themselves, but all in confusion of what the prince was up to, and what was happening to Bowenn, itself.
He waved a hand to settle them.
“All I ask of you,¨ Danuel looked about at their various expressions, ¨is for your unity and spirit. I need men to join me on the journey to victory.”
Everyone was talking, now.
“Anyone who would like to see an end brought to this wasteful destruction may join me.” He paused to watch them all discuss the matter.
“Let it be known,” he continued, breaking in suddenly to regain control of their ears, “for these men, I can guarantee no favors, or rewards.
The talking amplified.
¨Your personal safety will lie mostly upon your own actions.” It was far from standard procedure, but Danuel knew there was not much choice. “Men with young children may decline, as well as farmers. There will be no questions asked. No discrepancies.¨
He assumed many were inventing their excuses at that very moment.
¨All who will join me,” he pointed down, “climb these steps. Be a soldier in the fight to preserve the Kings’ Peace Oath!”
Then he waited, both hands resting on the pommel of his brilliant sword. Without time to compose a proper speech, that was the best they were going to get.
At first, the crowd did nothing but talk amongst themselves. They also began to pass along their excuses why they could not go, as expected, many wisely adding that if not for their important commitments, they would join the Prince in a heartbeat. It was understandable, though, most men would not be in a hurry to leave their families and their careers, just to go hunting Orcs.
It was more than likely that Danuel would have to rely on brave, adventure seeking, young men.
The children Malkyr had earlier spoken of.
Deep in a mass of conversing men, Taron stood on his tiptoes, peeking over heads and shoulders. He was taller than most of the men, but not all. The fact should have made the job of looking for Dalt easier, but he had not yet spotted him. There were a hundred similar heads that had to be looked at twice before discerni
ng. Taron stayed where he was to prevent getting any further separated. It would be simple enough to find him when the men all dispersed, after the prince was through.
Suddenly, the audience seemed to all cease talking at once, and then gasps erupted from the townspeople of Merchant’s Square. Word passed quickly, like forked lightning, that someone was climbing the steps. Men that could not see, were hopping up and down.
Taron frowned. No chance he would see Dalt now.
One man made his way half up the flight of steps and stood confidently, even with uneasiness about the staring audience. He did not appear as uncomfortable as he felt. All eyes were on him. It was something that Dalt had never experienced before, but his whole week had been full of new experiences, so far.
He hoped that one man stepping forward would break the ice for others a little less intrepid.
He had lost Taron in the crowd, and stopped searching to listen to what the prince had to say. No doubt Taron would show himself any minute. Dalt had lost his home, and his grandfather, who was his only family he had left. He felt he had nothing to lose by joining, and everything to gain by avenging the fall of Gerhihn. He was strong enough, and able enough.
He could only wonder where Taron was.
Danuel was relieved to see someone come forth to his call, but there would have to be more to follow, and soon, or they would never build the nerve to do so. He was quick to observe the man a few steps below him, was not a soldier. A young, common villager was the first among hundreds to accept his invitation to war. He looked down out of the corners of his eyes at two soldiers on horseback. Too far away to make their faces out clearly, but they were not dismounting to climb the steps.
They were watching instead.
Malkyr scum!
Then another young man climbed a portion of the stone steps. His father watched below with a satisfied grin. He was either proud of his brave son, or proud of himself for talking him into it.
