by J. J. Moody
Ben knew in a moment he would either have to hide in the boat, or jump ashore and fight. He could try to swim away in the lake, but they were too close to shore now and he might easily be struck by an arrow.
He looked around. There was nothing for him to fight with. Suddenly he felt something on his head. A helmet. He turned, and an oarsman nodded at him. Another to his left lifted a small sword from his belt, and passed it to him. It felt heavy, but at least it was sure to be lighter than the long sword the man lifted in his other hand. Ben gripped it tightly. Finally Ivor thrust a small shield at him wordlessly, and helped set it on his left wrist. He was armed.
That was it then. He was going to fight.
But he had never been in a fight in his life. Not unless you counted a bit of pushing and shoving on the football pitch over a tough tackle. And now he was going into a battle with swords. He felt very ill, but suddenly stronger. He didn’t want to die, not here, not anywhere right now if he could help it. He wanted to get home to see his parents again, and Toby and Paddy. He didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on, but he was sure of that, and that was enough for him to fight.
The boat shuddered aground, and Ben and his comrades sheltered behind their shields from the latest barrage of arrows. The thunder crackled, and lightning illuminated the darkened sky. Their leader yelled and they all leapt from the boat, and trampled ashore into the fray.
Ben kept his head down, and his shield and sword up, as he trailed behind the other men as best he could and tried to make sense of the scene beside the lake.
To his left, further along the lake bank, Ben saw fighting near a cluster of tent-like buildings beside the shore. The fires there must have been the lights he had seen from the water. To his right not far away a thick forest rolled down a hillside and met the lake. In front of him, in a clearing of the forest, they clashed with the hooded men.
Their enemies fought using long bows, which they had now swung onto their backs or cast aside, and long, thin swords much like those Ben had seen used in the sport of fencing. They were light-footed and graceful, and were proving difficult for the heavier boatmen to pin down and overpower.
The boatmen ahead of Ben peeled off to the left to engage with a group of the attackers trying to break towards the camp, and suddenly Ben was standing alone. He looked around, not knowing what to do next.
Suddenly a loud shout came from towards the forest. It was their leader. He had been hurt, and his attackers had already dispatched two of the other boatmen, and now outnumbered their leader three to one.
He had to do something quickly.
He ran towards them, trying to decide whether he should shout something.
“Die!” he screamed as loud as he could, as he launched toward the nearest attacker.
The man reeled back. For a moment he simply looked Ben up and down. He was obviously bemused.
Ben decided to push his advantage, and screamed again, lifting his sword and shield.
This time the man countered, pushing Ben aside skilfully and slicing at his left arm.
Ben felt a sharp pain in the arm, but tried to hide it. He felt a trickle of blood on sleeve, and knew it would be difficult for him to hold up his shield with the injury. He fixed his gaze at his enemy, trying to keep his concentration.
The sky thundered above them.
Ben edged to one side, but the man mirrored his moves. Ben could not see his face beneath the hood, but he knew the attacker was watching for an opening.
The hooded man launched at Ben again with his long blade, and it was all Ben could do to parry it with his weakened shield arm, and stumble back. He rebalanced again and tried to focus quickly.
Ben’s mind raced. This is a sport, he thought. Like football, tennis, and the other sports he was pretty good at. That’s all this is. Just with some serious consequences for second place. Balance, coordination, speed, fitness. He had all of those things.
He sharpened his senses, taking a breath. The storm seemed to subside for a moment.
The man came at Ben again, but this time Ben adjusted. Just as he had done so many times before playing football with his friends, he dummied to his right, and then spun back to his left and around, out of the man’s attack. The attacker was left exposed as he lunged forward to Ben’s right side, and Ben brought his sword around and down onto the man’s back, slicing through the hooded cape and into the man’s flesh.
The man screamed and fell, dropping his sword.
This was very strange, Ben thought, to see another person at his feet like this, beaten, bloodied, maybe even fatally injured. He felt a pang of worry. What had he just done? What would his parents think of him?
The man stumbled to his feet, and ran towards the forest, shouting something Ben couldn’t understand.
Ben looked back towards their leader. He was still outnumbered two to one. His movements were tired and awkward, and soon the attackers would overcome him.
He took a breath, and ran back towards the fight, screaming again.
One of the hooded men glanced at the screaming boy in Hulstead College swimming shorts coming to attack him, and then looked towards the wounded attacker running towards the woods. He shouted something to his friend, and the two men darted off back to the forest.
Ben looked around. The other attackers had fallen, or were retreating back to the trees. He drew a deep breath of relief. He seemed to have just survived his first, and hopefully last battle. He examined his bloodied left arm carefully. It hurt, and would probably need some stitches, but he would survive.
“I’m Liam,” the leader of the boatmen said, removing his helmet as he approached. There was a scar across his forehead, reaching almost to his left eye.
Ben noticed he had sustained a serious wound to his left shoulder, and seemed to be limping slightly.
“Thank you greatly for your help, friend of King Elmer, and now a friend of the ploughmen and herdsmen of Peregrine too.” He patted Ben on the left arm softly where he had been injured, and smiled, catching his breath.
The other men slowly rallied around them, removing their helmets. They stared at Ben, and he became anxious.
He wondered whether to tell them everything that had happened to him. He was obviously way out of his depth. But it would probably be safer to find out where he was and who these people were first, before revealing too much. Besides, his swimming pool incident was probably not worth troubling them with yet, considering they had just been in a battle and were busy tending to their wounded and putting out fires.
“So young warrior, what do we call you?” Liam asked.
“I’m Ben. Ben Silverstone,” Ben answered.
Ivor appeared beside Liam. “Benbensilverstone is a hefty chew of a name lad!” He laughed. “With a name like that you belong in the court of The King gossiping, not here with us lowly clodhoppers!”
The men roared their approval, and then looked expectantly back to Ben for a reply.
“Call me Ben then.”
“No no. You’re no Ben,” one of the other men chimed in. “You don’t look nearly as wisecrinkled as ol’ Ben did last time I saw him just a few months back over at the Penny Orchard market. So unless one of those nasty mages has cast some spell of forgetting on you, you just can’t be Ben.”
“You’re right there Frummer. That’s surely no Ben,” another joined in.
Ben didn’t know quite what to say. It seemed the name Ben was taken, and so he would just have to choose another one. He decided just to play along rather than persist with the strange discussion. “Well what about Silverstone then? Has anyone taken that one?” He looked around at the group.
“No one I know by that name,” Liam answered. “Silverstone it is then.” He turned to gather up his things, and the men began to move in the direction of the camp along the shore.
Ben sighed in relief.
“Come on young Silverstone.” Ivor walked beside him. “We’ll find you some food and plenty of good warming vol to d
rink and soften those injuries! And fetch you some trousers and shoes to wear as well!”
“Excellent. Thank you.” Ben hoped that vol was the same as hot chocolate.
“So my strange friend, how did you come to be in the lake? And what people do you belong to?”
“Wait till the old man Alder speaks with him first, Ivor!” Liam shouted, “Before you drown him worse than Lake Kaidesh with your inquiries!”
“Very well,” Ivor said with a chuckle. “I’m sure Alder will like you, Silverstone.”
The camp had been relatively undamaged in the attack. As they approached, Ben saw a collection of rugged looking tents forming a haphazard circle around a large, partly covered shelter. Underneath it a large fire burned, and there stood a few stools built from chopped tree trunks. At the far side of the camp Ben spotted a row of fences, and thought he saw a few animals milling around, seemingly un-alarmed by the recent fighting.
As the fighters approached the camp, women, children and older men came and greeted them. Some seemed to be injured. They must have defended the settlement when it had been attacked while the warriors were away.
Everyone stared intently at the newcomer.
As they walked through toward the centre of the camp, Ivor told Ben more of their tribe. Ben tried to listen, but found all the attention rather offputting.
“Welcome to our present home then, Silverstone. We are peaceful farmers, loyal to King Elmer of Norchand up in the north, and look to his laws. But we abandoned his lands long ago, during the time of his great grandfather, in search of better pastures and to escape the nasty plague that swept across the realm then, and struck hardest at those in the cities.
“Since then we have been wandering, seeking a new home.
“’Course in recent times the pastures just about everywhere have worsened and that’s the likely reason for the attacking by these roaming packs of bandits.” He waved back toward the forest. “I’ve got no doubt they were forced towards the pastures just here for the same reason as we.
“More and more attacks we face these days – that’s why we’ve taken to arming ourselves with weaponry bartered from Beniford – and more cunning the attacks as well. The decoy over the far side of the lake this time, drawing us over there but all the while they waited like sneaking squirlers in the forest.
“It seems the lands themselves are hostile to their peoples, forcing us against one another. ‘Course some say it is a great spell by a powerful mage to show off his power and perhaps unbalance the odds in his favour. Then again perhaps it’s a kind of message from our lands, rejecting those damned… outsiders.”
Ben listened quietly. He didn’t know what to make of it all, but the mention of outsiders was of particular interest. He remembered the other children thought drowned in the Hulstead College swimming pool. Perhaps they had somehow ended up here as ‘outsiders’ as well. And if so, maybe they could help him find a way home.
He thought of his parents. Tim would have sounded the alarm already, and he imagined the hell breaking loose at the school as Mr Taylor and the others tried desperately to find him. Maybe they’d send rescue divers down after him, or try to drain the pool. His mother would be worried sick. He wanted desperately to let his family know he was safe. He would definitely leave out some of the details about the blood, swords and battle he had just survived though, or he might never be let out of their sight again.
By the time Ben reached the central sheltered area, fifty or more people had assembled. They stared at Ben and muttered quietly to each other. He tried to judge the mood, but suspected they were whispering distrust of the latest outsider. For the most part though, he was concerned he might be told to explain himself at a great assembly and judgement of the people, and would be shouted at. His chest began to ache.
At the rear of the great shelter, Ben noted a tent that had been mostly hidden by the large assembly area, and which was slightly smaller than the others around the camp. There was a small flag atop it, showing a yellow plough and sickle on a green background.
Ivor ushered Ben towards the little tent. “Let’s see what Alder makes of you then, young Silverstone! In you go!”
The crowd massed behind them, and began to take up seats in the shelter. The whole camp had come to see just what this Alder made of Ben, and that made Ben exceedingly nervous.
Ben walked cautiously towards the tent and looked for the way in. He felt at the fabric, noticing how smooth and oily it felt. There was no door though. What was he supposed to do?
There was a chuckle behind him. “Around the other side my friend!” Ivor grinned.
Ben tracked around, and finally found a break in the oily cloth wall. He carefully pulled it aside and immediately caught the aroma of stewing meat. He was starving, he realised, as he stepped inside.
For a moment, Ben crouched still. He let his eyes adjust and took in his surroundings.
The floor of the tent was covered with a similar fabric to the walls, but was coloured almost black so that it looked as if the vibrant rugs and cushions adorning it floated like oddly shaped planets in the night sky. In the centre of the space, on a lopsided little table, a metal lamp threw out some light. Alongside the table a bed of red-hot coals stood in a metal basket, and over it a rusted tin saucepan hung, from which the stewy smells wafted. Ben stared at the bubbling pan, his mouth watering.
“Are you hungry?” A voice came from the shadows beyond the stew, and Ben looked up to find it.
On the far side of the little tent, sitting on a cushion, sat an old man. He looked at Ben calmly from the shadow. He wore a loosely fitting garment similar to the shirt Ben had taken from the boat, over trousers of the same material. A leathery book was in his hand, and he put it to one side. His hair was white and short.
“You should know that my stew is the very best in the village. Even better than Yelena, and she has quite a following!” He chuckled. “Of course, some say her stew contains only the rats she finds around the camp. I myself once found a rat tail in one of her servings last Harvest Fair, and since that day I have always avoided it, though there are those who find it tasty, rat or not.
“Do you think they simply are unaware that Yelena’s stew contains rats, and would never eat it if they knew the awful truth, or that they are secretly well aware of the rats and enjoy them, but would always guiltily deny that is their preference, or perhaps even that they simply like the rats, and do not mind who knows that is their taste?”
Ben smiled. “Well if it was me, I would definitely not eat it knowing it contained rats. But if someone actually really likes rat stew, then I suppose that’s ok. At least it takes care of any rats about the camp!”
The man laughed loudly. He was larger than Ben had first realised, and the loose shirt did not conceal the roll of his big belly as he laughed. He reminded Ben of a happy Buddha statue.
“Come then my young friend, have some of my stew, which I assure you contains no rats whatsoever.”
He pulled a bowl from beside the coals, and spooned several large servings into it. He held out his hand, and Ben took the stew, and sat down on the floor near him.
Ben waited for a moment, unsure whether it was customary or polite to say something before eating in this camp, but when his host motioned to Ben’s bowl, he dived in.
Almost drowning, and sword fighting created an appetite, and the stew was warming and delicious after the cold. He would have to ask his mother to make some for the wintry days when he got back home.
When he had finished, Ben looked up and found the man studying him keenly. He had obviously already eaten. “So my hungry friend. What is your name?”
“Silverstone,” Ben answered quickly, eyeing the tin saucepan for the chance of seconds.
“Hmm. That is a well-chosen name. My name is Alder.” He smiled.
“Liam, who is our captain and defender, has told me of your great courage during the attack on our camp. He also says you were found swimming in the lake.”
&n
bsp; He studied Ben for a few moments more before going on. “I am considered the sage of our people. They look to me for guidance and knowledge in most things with which they are unfamiliar. Of late that is more regular I must say.”
He paused again, and looked directly at Ben, who shifted uncomfortably. “You, young Silverstone, are unfamiliar to us. And so today I must judge whether you are true friend or foe; whether you are to be welcomed and aided or...” His smile had disappeared.
Ben gulped. This was a trial and judgement. He wasn’t sure what to say. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s start with your origins. What people do you belong to?”
“Erm. Well I am from Hulstead, in London. So I suppose I belong to those peoples.”
“Hulstead is not a land I am familiar with, and I am familiar with all the lands from here to Chasisi at the foot of the Amyntas. Most lands in all the Western Realms even.” Alder’s face darkened further. “And I do not believe you are from beyond the Amyntas Mountains, are you?”
Ben considered how to respond. It didn’t sound like being from beyond the Amyntas Mountains was a very good thing, and if he wasn’t careful he was going to find himself in even more trouble than he was already in.
“Look,” he started, “I’ll be completely honest with you, but I need to know I can trust you to” - he looked Alder in the eyes - “to not hurt me.”
Alder’s eyes softened a little. “The laws of Norchand state that a man who fights alongside us in battle is to be given all the rights of a citizen. I see no crime to judge you guilty of under the laws of Norchand as yet Silverstone, so unless you are about to tell me you are a murderer seeking refuge from good King Elmer’s judgement, I see no reason you will be harmed in our camp.”
Ben wasn’t sure about this.
Alder continued. “Besides, you have shared my stew, and so I give you my word, no harm will come to you from anything you speak here now, if it be the truth.”
