by Peter Plasse
“I think they mean for us to remove our weapons,” he said.
“I agree,” said the commander. “Let’s be about it, then.” A few of his soldiers definitely balked at the idea, but whenever Dorin told them that they would be the last to eat, if they ate at all, they laid down their arms. This was clearly what the Wolves wanted, who then returned to the river, leaving the game for the Ravenwild troops. They dragged it, without delay, up to the fort. This process went on all afternoon with a total of seventy-eight animals donated to the cause.
As the sun was setting, with the two spring moons beginning to show on the distant horizon, Patriachus sat with Brutus and watched as the last deer was hauled up to the great fortress.
“Jacqueline would be pleased,” Brutus thought.
“She would indeed,” Patriachus thought back. “How sure are you that her sister is the one named in Prophecy?”
“I have no doubt.”
On her long ride back to Belcourt, Stephanie Doreen Strong picked up followers all the way. It had all started back in that town, what was the name of it? Where she had met that nincompoop of a mayor who had made her sick, the way he had fawned over her so. She couldn’t remember. But what she could remember was the townspeople all foolishly dropping to their knees everywhere she went, as soon as they spied her, where they would remain with their heads bowed until she ordered them up.
Several, perhaps twenty, had followed her when she left. She had tried to outpace them by urging her horse into a brisk canter, but upon slowing it back down to a walk, they had reappeared, and in greater numbers. These, in turn, were joined by more and more, until by the evening of her third day of travel, her followers numbered in the hundreds. She had to admit it was convenient to be able to ask for something to eat and have it appear almost immediately from the throng that now accompanied her, but at the same time it was not only annoying, it was unsettling to be hounded like this.
That night while she slept, more joined the multitude; so when she awoke,
close to a thousand had her completely surrounded.
Out of the blue, a mother rushed forward with a toddler cradled in her arms. “Please,” she begged, “my child is very sick. Help her. Please help her.”
She had no idea what to do. She wasn’t a doctor or a nurse. She was a freshman in high school, and it was more than a little scary to be placed in charge of something as important as a Gnome child’s very well being with absolutely no idea as to what to do.
It was time to act.
She remembered her father saying once, “Dire circumstances often require dire actions,” and these circumstances were certainly moving in the direction of dire.
She raised her arm in the universal sign of “Stop” to the woman who was pleading with her, raising her voice as well. “Please,” she said, “I’m not what you think I am. I’m a girl. That’s all, just a girl. I guess I do have some special talents, but these have nothing to do with healing. I repeat, I’m just a girl. I have no idea what to do to help you with your child. None. You have to believe me.
“Now, I’m headed for the city of Belcourt because that is where I’ve been told I might find my mother and father. I haven’t seen them for almost a year now. Go home. That’s what I want you all to do. I’m flattered that you think me worthy of all this attention, but I don’t deserve it. Please. Go home. Let me go on. I only want to find my parents and go home myself.”
But the Gnome mother would not be denied. Frantic, she not only persisted in her efforts, she argued louder, much louder, her only thought being that Stephanie do something to help her little-one. Angry shouts could be heard from the throng, all demanding that she do something to help this sick Gnome youngster, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end, not for fear of what they might do to her, because she now knew that she could not be harmed, but for fear of what they might do to each other if they got any more out of control.
Years from that day it would be said that the force of her scream caused several rows of the nearest Gnomes to tumble backwards and some of the nearest trees to be stripped clean of their leaves. That would be overstated, but there was enough wind behind her agitated yell to move the crowd back some. Whether or not it was the actual wind effect or the ear-splitting volume is anybody’s guess. But move back they did, giving her room to visit in private with the mother. She did manage to convince her that she had nothing to offer her regarding her child’s sickness, and that she surely would if she could. Whether the crowd knew this, or thought she had delivered medical care to the young Gnome, became irrelevant as she once more mounted her horse to finish her trip.
By the time she arrived at the southern reach of the Knife Edge, those that followed her had doubled in number yet again, the Gnome contingent having been joined by hundreds of Humans, Dwarves, and Elves from Ravenwild, all of whom had somehow gotten wind of the imminent arrival of the miracle girl.
Not knowing the horse well, she dismounted and tried to lead him up the trail. Halfway to the Great Wall, she wished she had left him back at the beginning of the narrow ascent. Stepping nervously this way and that and tossing his head wildly about, he was obviously struggling greatly with the narrow pathway which, at some points, measured less than eight feet wide and dropped straight off for thousands of feet on either side of them. She tried to calm him by talking to him softly, but it was not to be. He could not be calmed, and soon his bucking and rearing made him impossible to manage. He was threatening to throw them both over the edge, so she punched him hard in the forehead, and he dropped like a stone. Her followers gave a collective gasp as she burrowed underneath him, rolled him onto her shoulders, and carried him the rest of the way to the Great Wall.
Carefully setting him down directly in front of the monstrous gap, she looked up to see dozens of workers scurrying about on hundreds of feet of scaffolding, all working at breakneck speed to try and get it rebuilt before the Trolls returned. Recognizing something in the way he moved, she coned down her vision on one of them and found she could see his face as clearly as if he were right in front of her.
“Erik!” she yelled, watching his eyes light up and the smile overtake his face as he looked down at her. From where he was, she looked no bigger than a child, but there could be no doubt. It was she. Down the scaffolding he scrambled, back and forth, as he made his way down to her.
Coming into his arms was like standing at the gates of heaven itself, and she felt like she might melt.
Pushing her gently away, he said, “Look at you. The miracle girl has arrived.”
She blushed a deep crimson and stammered, “I am no miracle girl. I have seen some miracles on this crazy journey, that’s for sure, but I am no miracle girl.”
He gestured towards the flat in front of them in which the thousands of her followers all knelt with their heads bowed. They were chanting in her name. “Apparently, they do not agree with you,” he said softly.
“I know it,” she said, shaking her head. “They’ve been with me for days now, more and more every day. It’s crazy. What are we going to do with them?”
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do with them,” he said, breaking out in a smile, “We’re going to put them to work to repair this Wall.”
His manner turned serious. “The word is that the Trolls are all headed for Ghasten, where they’re expected to muster and form ranks for the final assault on our city. They plan to occupy it this time as their own. You, my friend of friends, may have brought the solution home with you.” He waved to the throng.
“Speak to them. Tell them it is your wish that they join us in our labors. We could surely use their help. I have a feeling they will listen.”
As one, they continued to chant in her name.
Leopold Malance Venomisis, for the first time in his reign as Emperor of the nation of Slova, was having serious doubts that his army would prevail in this war against the Humans, Elves, and Dwarves of Ravenwild. Every day, for weeks now, the reports he had been get
ting contained nothing but bad news from the four corners of Inam'Ra. First there had been the debacle of that fool of a general and his informant in their failed attempt to capture his former nurse’s brother. Then there had been the disaster of epic proportions with essentially his entire occupying force in Vultura. And the latest news was that some sort of huge watercraft, armed with strange weapons with enormous destructive power, had decimated the force he had in place at The Gate and was presently bearing down on his very castle. Without the occupying soldiers at The Gate that he had so carefully built up, he knew it was merely a question of time before the remaining Ravenwild army, that had proven so vastly underrated in the Vultura campaign, staged a land invasion of the homeland. And now the Gnomes had joined them. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
He had killed and dined on so many bearers of calamitous news he had lost count.
“At least,” he thought, “I was smart enough to order the withdrawal of all my remaining troops as soon as the Vultura situation fell apart. At least we can launch our final attack on Belcourt while the wall is still down.”
Standing in front of a formal assembly of his military leaders, he was giving the final orders to his four generals and several senior commanders. As usual, all were afraid to speak their minds.
“It is decided,” he snapped. “We depart at first light. Is that understood?”
There was not a sound as every officer in the room waited for Malance to answer his own question and be on with it.
Thornst Scrappen, Malance’s replacement for the now dead General Vladimir Dumfe, could hold his tongue no longer. Knowing he was risking his very life to even dare to ask questions in front of the Emperor, he raised his hand as a schoolchild might.
His Majesty noticed it out of the corner of his eye and turned slowly towards him.
“Yes, Thornst. What is it?” he sighed.
“Yes, Your Excellency. Well, let me see if I have this straight. We are going to leave a few thousand troops behind at the castle here in Ghasten to engage the water vessel in the hopes that they will think that they are attacking our main force, which will meanwhile proceed without delay to the Ravenwild capital city of Belcourt, where we will storm it, overrun it, and occupy it as our new home.”
“That is correct. You have been paying attention after all. Very good, Thornst.”
There were forced laughs from the officers gathered around the large oval table in the strategy room of the fortress in Ghasten. It was not often that the Emperor attempted to be funny, and all wanted him to know they appreciated his effort.
“Well, begging Your Excellency’s pardon … ” he began.
There were audible gasps all around. Who was this freshman general to speak this way to the Emperor? Did he have any idea of the consequences? Was he an idiot, or could he truly be that naïve?
None of the tension in the room was lost on him. Not for a second. He knew exactly what he was doing and, in a short while, so would they.
He let his continuance hang and twist in the breeze of their collective fright for a few moments before continuing, “ … but I must emphatically disagree with the entire plan as it is drawn up.”
Now every Troll present leaned forward. This was amazing, completely unprecedented. A freshman general speaking out against the very plan that the Emperor himself had devised to prosecute what all believed was the end game, one way or another, in their war against Ravenwild. Oh this was good. This was beyond good.
Nobody had the slightest idea what to do. The Trolls standing guard over the proceeding were the first to act, and the sound of swords being drawn by the four of them was drama in and of itself, but to everyone’s surprise, the Emperor raised his hand and said, “Stay those swords. Stand down.” They did, reassuming their positions with their arms folded against their massive chests.
Now that he had rolled the dice, and knowing full well that his next words would decide whether or not he would be alive to see the sun go down, Thornst Scrappen slowly scanned the room to take notice of the looks directed his way.
“I must say,” said Malance, holding his arms out to the side in dramatic fashion, “I am impressed. Such bravado. And from someone who has been one of the four for how long? A week? All right, Thornst. Speak your mind, and hope that I am as impressed when you finish as I am at the start.”
Thornst Scrappen did them all one better. He stood. He stood in front of the Emperor. Such an act was de facto treason, and everybody present knew it. This was beyond the outrageous to which they had all just been witness. This was insanity. He might as well have walked right up to him and spit in his face.
Once again the guards moved in to cut him down, and once again Malance Venomisis ordered them to stand down. More than preserving his very dignity as ruler of the Troll nation, he wanted one thing. He wanted to win the war against Ravenwild. Then he would deal with the Gnomes, and the border Wolves, and this astonishing display of outright arrogance was precisely the salve that the skin of his ailing confidence needed. And like so many medicinals, it had a distinct sting to it that felt somehow right.
This Troll, not dry behind the ears as a General, must have a plan, a much better plan, or he would never take the chances he was taking, and Malance was determined to hear it. Besides, he could always at any point have him executed and save face.
Thornst Scrappen yet again surveyed his audience, this time making sure he made direct eye contact with every officer in the room.
“Your Excellency.” He enunciated the words with the same deliberation as he had shown while scanning the room. “The following are the flaws in the plan. I ask that you allow me to detail them, uninterrupted, one by one. Because, after I have done so, I will then describe, in clear terms, the better way, in each instance, to proceed. When I have finished, do with me as you will. I know before I start that you will either feast on my flesh before the week is out or promote me to Supreme Commander.” The Supreme Commander, titular head of the four generals, squirmed noticeably in his chair at these words.
In a booming voice he declared, “The plan in place is doomed to fail. The one I will lay before you is the only one with a chance for success!”
He paused, long enough to take a short sip from the mug of ale in front of him.
“First of all, it is a mistake to leave a single Troll in the castle.” He looked straight at Malance Venomisis. “I am told you were advised to do this so as to somehow trick the crew of this floating vessel, which we know to have destructive power beyond anything we have ever seen, into thinking that our army is still in place in its entirety here in Ghasten, while we sneak our forces off like thieves in the night.
“Two points, Sire. One: Their spies will know we travel towards them the minute we leave and, therefore, they will know of our army’s advance on their capital city as soon as their riders convey the news, so there is no chance we can fool them with such an ill-conceived ruse. It is, in a word, brainless to think we might. Stupid, Your Majesty. Stupid. And I, for one, do not abide stupid. Two: If they were to somehow buy this rubbish that our entire army lay under the siege of their horrific weaponry, they have not come to fight our army. With what? The fifty scrawny Gnomes that we are told crew this strange floating vessel? They have obviously come to lay waste to the castle in the hopes that they might kill you. A long shot to be sure, but there is absolutely no doubt this is their plan. You will have long since left, leading your army, as you should be.
He paused long enough to take a long pull from the mug in front of him. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his uniform. This was no tentative sip to wet his dry lips. This was a punctuation mark to his introduction. Once again he slowly gazed about the room. This time, however, his eyes were on fire.
Everyone present knew if the remainder of his presentation was as well thought out as that which he had so convincingly delivered, a freshman General would be leading the invasion.
The very next day, there was.
Chapter 33
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br /> “You will have to show me how you did what you did some day,” said Maxilius Bravarus to the smell that had a voice. “How did you ever learn that, anyway?”
“From my Dad,” said Orie as he, Jacqueline, Cinnamon, Ryan, Gracie, Daria, and Silver all stared at Forrester, who slept comfortably before them. “He’s a doctor, you know, a healer... and he told us about it one night at the dinner table. I don’t know, I guess I kind of remembered.
“Anyway, we have to get everybody to Cirrhus’s farm. Forrester said the magic is failing, and if we don’t go now, we might never go. And if there’s any magic left that might help him heal, it’s there.” He spoke to the rest, “It’s a very special place. Wicked cool. You’re gonna love it.
“We’ll let him wake up, and then we’ll go.”
Around a campfire, kept ablaze by the efforts of Maxilius and Daria while Forrester slept, the children talked on and on nonstop for hours, each telling the amazing tales of their adventures on this strange world. Woven throughout the fabric of their tales were the unmistakable threads of courage, strength, loyalty, honor, and faith. All, to date, had survived against nearly impossible odds and now, save for Stephanie, all were back together.
The maps indicated that she had arrived in Belcourt, and that Mr. and Mrs. Strong were right behind her, so that was where they needed to go. But Orie was determined to give their friend every possible chance at surviving the wounds he had suffered and, not surprisingly, everyone else agreed.
The same as back home, they stayed up most of the night. Everyone had more than one chance to speak, even Silver and Cinnamon, who spoke through Jacqueline to everyone’s delight.
