by T. C. Edge
“And anything outside the city?” I ask, cutting him off again through what I consider necessity. “Look, we’ve been told that a threat is coming, OK. That’s why we’re here. The source, well, isn’t exactly trustworthy, so if you can confirm or deny it, then great.”
“Have you seen an army gathering in the west in particular?” says Zander, taking up the mantle with a similar urgency. He turns his eyes to the great plains beyond the woods and the mountains beyond them. “We believe that the loss of the High Tower will draw people in to destroy us. And you may not be exempt from that, Kervan, even all the way up here…”
He listens, slightly taken aback by the forceful intrusion. It seems his desire to hold the stage has fallen away, the dramatic flow of his voice dulled as his sharp eyes turn stark.
“I’ve seen more movement across the distant lands, that is for certain. And to the west? Yes.” He draws in a breath. “I have to say, I had hoped I was wrong, but perhaps my own suspicions are correct.”
“What suspicions?”
“That, as you say, new settlers are set to swarm these lands. I had always considered that your city was a shield for us here, that our lands would be kept mostly safe. But maybe you’re right. Maybe your war is nothing more than the bleating call of an injured deer, alerting all the wolves to its plight.”
“A fine comparison,” says Rhoth, finally tearing his eyes from the astonishing vista and re-joining the conversation. “It looks like you have the confirmation you were seeking,” he says to my brother and me. “I can see that it isn’t what you wanted to hear, Brie. But…maybe not quite for your twin.”
I look to Zander who screws up his nose and huffs.
“Pfft, so you’re a Mind-Manipulator all of a sudden, are you Rhoth?” he says indignantly. “You’re mad if you think I want another damn army marching our way.”
“I don’t need special tricks to read your mind, boy. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you had no war to fight.”
He’s hit the nail on the head there, I think to myself.
Zander continues to make a series of noises to refute Rhoth’s claim. He should really just admit it, though, and go from there. There’s no shame in it. Not really.
Kervan speaks again, his whimsy now lost and a growing shadow overtaking his once bright face.
“Movement has been in the west most of all,” he says, drawing our eyes back to him. “I’ve seen some camps set up towards the far mountains, but they’re usually visible only at night when their fires begin to shine. Even with my eyes, I cannot see far enough to give details of numbers…”
“Show me where,” says Zander, stepping next to the old Rooster.
Kervan lifts his left index finger in front of my brother’s face, aiming his gaze at a specific point on the blurred mountain range over a hundred miles away.
“There,” he says. “Just at the foot of the tallest peak, within the cluster of trees. There are shapes of temporary structures. My eyes have been fading over the years. Perhaps yours are better…”
My brother goes silent for a few moments as he searches. I try to do the same, zooming in as far as I can, but can only just make out the barest of details from this distance. Shapes, as Kervan said, and colour to give some life to the features so far from where we stand. But, the longer I stare, the more I grow sure that I see movement. Tiny dark dots, spreading through the trees and across the base of the hills, grouping to create a barely visible shimmer on the distant horizon.
I draw back, and turn again to Zander. His sharp eyes are more practiced than mine. The look on his face is one of concern.
He withdraws, nodding.
“There are people there,” he says. “Many thousands by the looks of it. Have you seen movement elsewhere, Kervan? To the south or the east?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I have often spotted travelling bands over the years in almost all directions, usually small and numbering a hundred at most. But thousands, you say?”
Zander nods.
“That is a worry indeed. I hadn’t been able to determine numbers, but just thought that, whoever they were, they were looking to settle at the base of the western mountains in the woods and the wide plains. Perhaps that is still their intention?”
“I’m afraid that’s unlikely, Kervan. The light is mostly lacking, but what there is shows glints of armour and weaponry. When did you first see them start to gather there?”
“Several days ago, they began to work through the mountain passes. At about he same time as your army entered the city.”
“Then it’s as we feared. They’re waiting, watching, and preparing to attack. There can be little doubt of that now…”
As the two men continue their discussion, I find myself looking at Rhoth. His eyes hang low, gazing with a squint down to the east, just beyond the northern side of the city.
“Something up?” I ask.
He lifts a craggy finger and points.
“Did anyone notice that before?” he asks.
“What?”
I move over to him, glancing through the sparse foliage that grows this high up, and see a flicker of orange far below, several miles north of Haven.
“What is that?” he asks. “It looks like…fire.”
With a sudden urgency, I plant my hands on the railing and focus on the orange glow. My eyes spread forward, passing down the slopes of the mountains, over the woods, across the plains and rivers and empty fields, before the orange glow begins to fashion itself into a clearer picture.
A picture that sets my fingers gripping tight at the wood.
Rhoth’s right. It is fire. And it’s currently consuming the church.
“Zander!” I shout.
My brother turns and hops quickly over to me. I grab his chin and fix his eyes on the direction of mine.
“Holy sh…” he whispers.
“What is it? What’s going on?” booms Rhoth’s voice.
“It’s the church – our church,” says Zander. “It’s on fire!”
“But how can that be?” asks the Fang.
My jaw tightens with the one culprit who springs to mind.
“Cromwell. His Stalkers…the ones who are meant to be escorting our people. It was them! It had to be them! He’s tricked us…”
As my words tumble, they’re suddenly cut off by a piercing but distant whistle. It sounds in the high mountain air, cutting a clear path to our ears, before being quicken taken up by another, and another, each one growing nearer and louder as Kervan’s eyes begin to widen.
“The alarm!” he says. “We have to get back down. Right now!”
25
We descend the tree in the order we climbed it, Kervan first to reach the bottom as he swings down with an athletic grace in defiance of his years. Zander and I follow in quick succession, and by the time Rhoth has nervously planted his feet to firm floor, Kervan has already rushed off back to the gate to get an update on what’s happening, Zander going with him.
I choose to stay and wait for Rhoth, coaxing him down with a healthy dose of supporting words and phrases. The kids who’d been teasing him, meanwhile, are now nowhere to be seen. In fact, the entire place appears to have cleared out, the alarm enough to have them running for cover up in the branches like monkeys warned of an incoming panther.
By the time we join the others at the gate, word has already spread of exactly what’s going on. Kervan turns to his fellow tribal leader with a fierceness in his eyes that would wither many a man.
“You led them to our door, Rhoth!” his voice clatters. “You foolish oaf!”
Rhoth frowns and steps closer to the gate. It’s shut tight, but beyond, the shuffle of movement can be heard. He leans in to the thick wood, and sends his eyes through a crack. Then he steps back, and turns his eyes to the man operating the mechanism that controls it.
“Let them in,” he shouts. “Open the gate.”
The guard doesn’t follow his order. He looks instead to Kervan, who
shakes his head.
“No, Rhoth,” he says. “They have come for you, not us. We have no quarrel here…”
“And you think they’ll care about that? Don’t be rash, Kervan. Let them in immediately.”
The men engage in a quick stand-off. It doesn’t seem like any resolution is forthcoming.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask. “Who’s out there?!”
In my mind, all I can think of is that the Stalkers have gathered to hunt us down, and that my grandfather has played us all for fools.
“It’s the Bear-Skins,” says Zander. “Most likely they’re the ones who burned the church and they’ve tracked us all up here.” He turns to Kervan, his voice steady and calm. “Kervan, I advise that you open the gate and let the Fangs in. You have some guards, but they won’t be enough to defend you…”
“Defend us?! Nonsense! We have no wish to war with the Bear-Skins. If you want to fight, do so outside our doors...”
As he speaks, Rhoth marches straight over to the guard operating the gate, shoves him aside, and begins turning the wheel. A set of cogs and pulleys engage, and the gate begins to creak open, scraping on the rough terrain.
“Rhoth!” shouts Kervan, rushing over and trying to wrestle the big man away.
It’s no use. He’s like a child trying to overcome his father, his full strength doing little to slow the rotation of Rhoth’s powerful arm.
In the end, it only needs a few circuits for the gate to part in the middle, widening enough for the Fangs to begin pouring through the gap. Above, I note the Rooster guards swinging from their sentry posts in the woods, rushing along high rope bridges and dropping down onto platforms along the perimeter wall. There are more than I expected, at least a dozen, and another dozen guards outfitted along the summit with their bows and arrows primed.
Within about a minute, all of Rhoth’s hunters have gained access to the village, and Kervan has given up his quest to halt the flow.
“Shut the gate! Now!” he calls as Rhoth steps away, and the man assigned that particular duty returns to his post. With a few more reverse rotations, the gate grinds shut and tightens, and several other guards step forward and begin working large planks into place for additional support, laying them down horizontally across the double doors.
Kervan takes a breath and looks around nervously. Then he issues an order for a ‘code red’. Moments later, word is being spread through the village, and all able men are coming forward, armed with spears and pikes and the occasional bow.
“You…stay here,” says Kervan, staring at Rhoth. “You and your men stay quiet.”
Within the silence that follows, I hear the rustle of movement a little way from the wall. It’s loud enough to suggest that Bjorn has gathered quite a contingent.
Along with several guards, armed with their bows and arrows, Kervan moves up the ramp to the left of the gate, heading for the platform that looks beyond the wall. Two men go with him, with another two heading up a ramp on the right and staying low and out of sight.
All goes quiet. Kervan steps to the top of the wall and, with a quiver of fear within his voice, begins to speak.
“Bjorn…what a…pleasant surprise,” he calls out. “What…what brings you to our humble little village?”
The march of men outside the gate halts. I dart, silent as a snake, towards the wall and look through a little gap in the thick wood. The mighty leader of the Bear-Skins stands there, dressed in his bear pelts and wearing the head of the same growling beast atop his head. He stands like the tallest, most colossal mountain in the centre of an intimidating range, at least two dozen men standing on his left, and the same on his right, all of them dressed in much the same manner as him and clasping at long spears and axes and an assortment of other firearms.
The gigantic tribesman arches his thick neck up and casts two black holes at his kindly counterpart.
“Kervan,” his voice booms, shattering the mountain air and sending the trees shivering as flocks of birds flap away from their branches. “Where is Rhoth?”
I look up at Kervan, who takes a second to answer. The delay is incriminating.
“I…Rhoth? I…um…”
“I know he came by this way, Kervan. His scent is everywhere. Open the gates, and we can talk like men.”
Another delay. The silence is excruciating.
“I’m happy enough talking here,” judders Kervan’s voice. “Rhoth…yes, he was here…but he left with his men.”
“Why was he here?” asks Bjorn. I see a sliver of a smile creep up one side of his lips, almost fully concealed by thick strands of black hair.
He’s playing with him. He knows he’s here. He knows…
“Nothing important,” says Kervan. He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. His mind appears to be drawing a blank, his ability to lie stifled by his nerves.
And all I can think is he’s digging a hole. Bjorn is setting him up.
“Nothing important? Well, I have very important business with Rhoth and his Fangs. Not so long ago, he disrespected me greatly. Him and this little girl-cub of his.” He sniffs the air, and suddenly his eyes look directly at the portion of wall I stand behind. I don’t move, frozen in place. He can’t see me, can he? “Do you know anything of this girl?”
Kervan’s eyes twitch, glancing down at my position. It’s a flash, nothing more than instinct. Bjorn’s lip curls a little higher.
“No…nothing,” says Kervan.
The noise that follows from Bjorn’s cavern of a mouth is enough to stop an avalanche in its tracks. The world shakes on its foundations as a bellow erupts from his throat, spewing like a devastating volcano.
“YOU’RE LYING TO ME!” he roars. “RHOTH IS WITH YOU NOW. THE GIRL IS WITH YOU NOW!”
The force of his voice is enough to make the tall wooden walls shudder. The wind seems to pick up suddenly, and I take a half pace back, my body blown away. That latent anger and rage, suppressed within all Brutes, exists within him, uncontained. He lets it run free, wild and dangerous and enough to topple the resolve of the bravest of men.
After the explosion of his words, the following silence is even deeper. Everything settles. No one speaks.
I turn to look at Rhoth, whose brows have sunk so low they’re threatening to bury his eyes. My brother stands beside him, unperturbed. For him, this is just another day.
Eventually, Bjorn speaks again. His voice has sunken, drawn back to a threatening growl.
“If you had told me the truth from the start, I might have spared you,” he says. “If you had told me that Rhoth was here, that the girl was here, then I’d have let you live. You didn’t, Kervan. You lied to me. You disrespected me. And now I have no choice but to destroy you all…”
“No, Bjorn…please no. I’m sorry, I should have said…I should have…”
Bjorn heaves up a gigantic arm, his splayed fingers suddenly crushing into a ball. It seems both a signal to shut Kervan up, which it does, and a symbol to show what he’s set to do to this village.
Then, without turning, he begins to step back, and all his men do so with him. None twist or turn away. They all stare, walking backwards into the forest.
“What the hell…” I whisper.
Soon, they’ve all disappeared into the trees, leaving the world in silence. I turn back to Rhoth and my brother.
“They left,” I say. “Why did they leave?”
“They didn’t leave,” says Zander. He looks up to the sky, now starting to fade to black as the daylight is lured away to sleep. “He’s just waiting for it to get dark…”
26
For a little while, it seems that everyone is locked in place and quite unable to move. There seems to be an air of disbelief that any of this is happening, before Kervan finally uproots from the top of the wall, wanders half vacantly down the ramp, and works his way right in front of Rhoth.
He lifts a spindly, trembling finger and presses it to the big Fang’s chest.
“You…
you brought this on us, Rhoth!” he says, his voice meandering between quivering fear and simmering rage. “We’re all going to die now…because of you!”
Rhoth’s face decides not to show much sympathy, even if he’s feeling it. Now isn’t the time for such things. He reaches to Kervan’s finger and gently removes it.
“I am sorry, Kervan,” he says. “I never expected this.”
The old Rooster shakes his head wildly.
“Sorry isn’t enough, Rhoth. You have to get rid of them. You have to!”
With the light quickly fading, Rhoth nods.
“We will,” he growls. “Don’t worry, old friend…we will. I suggest you take cover, I can take things from here.”
Kervan recoils.
“Take cover? This is my village, and these are my people. I will not cower with the women and children when there’s a beast at my door. I have some skill with the bow, Rhoth, as you are well aware.”
I see the smile climb on Rhoth’s face.
“It seems there’s some fire left in you yet. Your people are gifted archers. I suggest they go high and do what they’re best at. I will lead my Fangs beyond the wall and fight Bjorn head on. There’s no reason for your people to die and your village to burn.”
The two men suddenly seem to be singing from the same sheet. Kervan begins nodding quickly, and Zander adds his voice.
“We should go now, attack immediately,” he says. “Bjorn will be expecting us to hide behind these walls. We will use the element of surprise and catch him off-guard before it gets too dark.”
Kervan looks like he’s about to protest, perhaps thinking Zander too young to know what he’s talking about. Rhoth intercedes before he can.
“The boy, and the girl, are very gifted,” he tells the Rooster. “Bjorn has made a mistake coming here today.”
“You are more than Hawks?” asks Kervan, looking to my brother and me.
