by GJ Kelly
“I fear for him,” Elayeen sighed, and jiggled up and down, testing for loose items and then checking that she too would not be hampered by stones or grit in her boots. The scar in her right foot where she had stepped into that old Jurian trap the night Gawain found her was faded and well-healed, but still visible.
“Why?”
“His light is bright. There is a saying, the candle that burns brightest, burns shortest.”
“And doesn’t Gawain’s light burn brightest of all?”
“Yes, but I do not fear for him as I do for Arbo Fallowmead. G’wain is strong and well-trained, and at home anywhere in the world. If we prevail against the enemy here, we shall leave. What then of Arbo’s light? Can it shine so, as the helper in a village tavern?”
Meeya sat on the bench and handed Elayeen the towel. “Oh your poor leg! Do the bruises still hurt? I think we still have some of Healer Tilda’s liniment in one of the packs.”
“No, thank you, the bruises are fading and do not hurt, and the liniment was for your ribs. And speaking of which…”
“They are fine, Leeny, don’t fuss.”
“Bah.”
“Bah me not. I can draw string and wield a sword. It might make me say ‘ow’ a lot, but I can still do my duty. I would tell you if I thought otherwise.”
“I know,” Elayeen sighed, and sat on the bench, stretching her bare legs out before her, wiggling her toes in the pallid sunshine. “I am become a dirty, skinny scarecrow, with black and blue sticks for legs and muddy corn-stubble for hair. G’wain won’t recognise me when he finds me.”
“True. But a sack or two of those buttercakes with jam on top will fatten you up. It won’t do much for the rest of you, but at least your legs won’t be sticks any more.”
“I wonder if Valin would recognise you if I fattened your lip a little?”
“Teehee.”
oOo
27. Buttercake
By noon, nerves were becoming taught, or at least Elayeen’s were. Meeya was dozing, Valin was still up in the woods, and the only people up and about among the villagers were Arbo, Crellan, and two or three elderly folk who had made their way back to their homes earlier in the morning.
“All seems to be well enough, lady Ranger,” Crellan announced, moving to stand near Elayeen by one of the catapults. “Perhaps they won’t come today, and give us all a chance to rest.”
She considered it a moment before answering. “Yes, perhaps. They themselves might be resting, gathering their strength. Or their platforms may have failed, and require rebuilding. We cannot know, until they come.”
“And when they do, lady Ranger? None of us are warriors, and Arbo tells me now that Gonvil, curse the Dwarfspit dag-crutching thief, took with ‘em Fallowmead’s crossbow and stonebow. If we’re attacked now, there’s no time for Fergal or Urman to make replacements.”
“Are they still sleeping?”
“Aye, and no wonder. They worked ‘ard through the night, lady Ranger, on these machines.”
Elayeen nodded. “Hard and well. With luck, Serre Crellan, we won’t miss Fallowmead’s two bows, not with these engines at our disposal. When the village is awake, you should ask among the sound for volunteers to help, here and at the hospital. The rest may return to their homes, and prepare what defences they can with what weapons may be made of rake, hoe and shears. If the enemy breaches our line here, then they must all look to themselves for their defence.”
“Aye, I’ll tell ‘em.”
“Healer Eona should take her place with her daughter, but we’ll need Fergal and the others to help operate these machines. My friends and I will be busy with our own bows, when the time comes.”
“Aye, you’ll have your crews, and most’ll likely it’ll be them that helped Fergal make these things. They know the workings, and what’s needed. They’ll be scared, mind, us all will be scared, and none of us won’t mind sayin’ so, but they were proud o’ their work and I reckon they’ll want to stand ‘ere by it. I’ll be here with ‘em too. But us all will be scared, lady Ranger.”
“It is the waiting. At Far-gor, the waiting took its toll on all of us. Once the fighting commenced though, there was an eerie calm. I expect it may be the same here.”
“Were you scared, lady Ranger? At the war in the north?”
“Yes,” Elayeen announced without hesitation. “We all were.”
“Even the King of Raheen? Did you see him there?”
“Even he. Yes, I saw him there, standing beneath the flag of the Kindred, and rushing into battle with his great sword drawn.”
“Aye… is he as tall as they say, and did his eyes blaze with kingly fury on seeing the enemy?”
Elayeen stifled a sigh, and felt the ache rising. “Yes, he is tall, taller than any man I have seen here in Fallowmead. And yes, it is true, he does blaze with fury on seeing Morloch or his dark spawn. He carries the pain of the loss of Raheen deep within him, and ever shall. He will vex Morloch to the end of his days. As must we, his Rangers, and as should all free people. Friyenheth Ceartus Omniumde.”
“Lady?”
“They are words spoken at the end of the Rangers’ Oath to the Kindred. They mean, freedom and justice for all.”
“Aye, good words. Let’s ‘ope us all live long enough to teach ‘em to our children.”
Again Elayeen had to check herself, and could give only give a forced nod of her head by way of agreement. It would not do to seem wistful or melancholy, here at the line which stood between Fallowmead and the darkness to the east.
They shared a brief silence, the portly bewhiskered headman of the village, and the lady Ranger, Queen of Raheen, daughter of Thal-Hak of Elvendere. With the sun at its highest and beginning now to bring with it warmth as well as daylight, it was a little easier to see the coverings placed over the traps in the vee. The scattering of manure on the grass helped prevent them from appearing obvious to a casual observer, though, and Elayeen felt sure they would go unnoticed by a Meggen born and bred in the wilds of northern Goria.
“Ah!” Crellan beamed, “Here comes young Arbo with some lunch, at long last. I fear it’ll be nought more exciting than pasties again, though.”
“They are far more exciting than the dwarfmade miner’s cake we have endured these many weeks, Serre Crellan. Does Arbo never sleep?”
“Him? I’m sure he must, though when is a mystery. Must be when no-one’s looking, and mebbe for the briefest o’ moments when he blinks! He’s a good lad, but not much of a prospect ‘til now. Now, he’s come into his own has Arbo, doubt we could’ve done without ‘im, truth to tell.”
The food and drink were welcome, though Elayeen noted a worried air about the boy and saw it in his eyes.
“Is something wrong, Arbo?” she asked, clutching a pasty in one hand and a mug of warm wine in the other.
He smiled at mention of his name, as ever, but it was a fleeting joy replaced at once with shuffling concern.
“Aye,” he almost whispered.
“Come on then lad, out with it, all friends ‘ere y’know,” Crellan urged gently.
“Sheep’ll need watering,” he blurted, “I know ‘em will all get killed an’ all but they’re starting to fret now an’ it’s not right.”
“Aye,” Crellan nodded, sadly, “Boy’s right, lady Ranger.”
“I’ll do it,” Arbo insisted, “I know where the traps are and can take a bucket or two out! And if they enemy comes I can run back!”
Elayeen looked out into the vee, and the sacrificial sheep tethered there. Then she cast a gaze into the woods atop the slope, and Valin’s life-light glowing within the trees.
“Very well, Arbo, but go around the outside of the vee. Do not try to cross the lines of traps. You understand?”
“I do, lady Ranger!” Arbo grinned, set the tray of food down upon a bale of hay, and dashed away.
“Mad bugger,” Crellan grinned apologetically, “But he’s right, and his heart’s in the proper place for an Arrunman.”
Two hours or thereabouts after noon there was still no sign of the enemy, though Valin set all their hearts pounding when he rode down the slope and back into the village. But it was for rest and refreshments that he came, Meeya taking his place in the woods to keep watch.
The villagers once awake had abandoned the shearing sheds and returned to their homes with all manner of agricultural implements intended to serve as weapons should the enemy break through the line of defences they had constructed in the night. Some were even seen milling around the well, talking, and to a casual observer there seemed little out of the ordinary in the pastoral scenes.
But for Elayeen and Valin, there was great concern.
“Perhaps, miThalin, they abandoned their efforts with the platforms when darkness fell. If so, they may well come tomorrow, and we have a chance to rest and prepare.”
“There is nothing left to prepare, Valin. This is all we have. There is no more for us to do now but wait. My fear is that they will make a night attack.”
“Relying on pitfalls as we do, would not a night attack work in our favour?”
“If we had a stronger force gifted with the Sight, yes. But we are three, and in the dark many of the enemy might circumvent the vee, and that certainly would not work in our favour.”
“They may do so anyway, day or night. They may even circumvent Fallowmead entirely.”
“Why would they take so many precautions to keep the villagers penned if they did not intend harm here?”
Valin shrugged. “Perhaps to prevent word of their presence reaching armed forces while they were vulnerable to attack in the cove. We cannot know their motives, not knowing the reason for their presence anywhere near eastern shores.”
“If Fallowmead is not their target, and they pass around this place, we shall have to follow.”
“And attempt to harry them, as General Bek of Juria planned to do in the north? That plan would most certainly have failed.”
“Against an army of ten thousand with creatures of the Pangoricon, yes.”
“The odds are no more in our favour here than there, miThalin, with our three against their fifty and whatever creatures their dark wizard can bring forth.”
Sudden alarm had her stomach tingling nervously again. “You don’t think the Goth is creating a Kraal-beast, do you?”
Valin shrugged again. “Let us hope not.”
“We’d need more than hope against one of those,” Elayeen said softly, eyeing their four machines and the men snoozing near them.
“In truth,” Valin eyed the slopes thoughtfully, “I know next to nothing about the means by which Morloch’s servants bring forth such creatures against us. The wizard Allazar spoke of the evil of aquamire. It’s possible that the Goth-lord had some with him at the time of the shipwreck. It may be he used it all keeping the village penned.”
“G’wain told us something of its preparation. The creature we face is unlikely to have been able to manufacture the substance in the cove.”
“Unless…” Valin lowered his voice ominously.
“Unless?”
“Unless Serre Crellan’s estimates of enemy numbers when first they were washed ashore were accurate.”
Elayeen shuddered. “Surely even a Goth-lord would not consume half his own forces to create the substance! The remainder would rebel, would they not?”
Valin gave no immediate reply, instead casting his gaze towards Meeya’s light. Then he looked at Elayeen. “I do not know. There are few Gorian mercenaries in the force we face. Perhaps there were once more, or perhaps Serre Crellan’s estimates were exaggerated. There was much activity in the cove. Without the Sight, I doubt I could accurately gauge the strength of their force, moving as frequently as they did in and out of the wreck.”
“It is all speculation born of doubt induced by waiting. And in truth it really matters not whence came the Goth’s aquamire. What matters is whether he is able to create more creatures to send against us. We have no Razorwing fence.”
“And no wizard to bring down anything requiring white fire for its destruction, miThalin.”
She sighed. “The list of things we do not have is much longer than the list of things we do.”
“And we have no Major Tyrane to keep track of them for us.”
“Yes, the list of people we do not have is quite long, too.”
Valin dozed, Elayeen again walked the line, and confirmed with her lieutenants at the front that they knew what to expect, and what they must do. Their mood was curious, and she had to admit she missed Gawain’s expertise in dealing with men on the brink of battle. Fergal, for instance, seemed entirely preoccupied with the engines he had constructed, making adjustments here and there, and fretting about whether they would function better or worse than intended when the time came to use them.
Gwillam seemed fretful too, not for himself or the village but the barrels, casks, sacks and bottles he had helped prepare, while Chert Ardbinder had already walked the length of both arms of the vee twice to examine his fuse-rope and seemed distinctly annoyed that the attack hadn’t begun already.
Urman, the big jack of all trades, had adopted the role of teacher, and was showing key points of the various engines to the remaining crew members who had helped in their construction, and demonstrating what had to be loaded, when, and where. Arbo, of course, was everywhere, until finally his asking if anyone needed anything fetched or carried or any other work undertaken became tiresome, and Chert Ardbinder growled at him to bugger off.
Bugger off the youth did, though with a smile, clearly used to being abused by his peers and all those he shared life with here in the village. Elayeen occasionally watched the youth, unnoticed by Arbo himself. She realised at length that there must be many in all lands who carried a light within them as bright as Arbo and her other lieutenants. But also that few ever had the chance to let that light shine out, trapped as they were in poorer occupations or places, never being called to the fore, and never having the confidence to step forward themselves. Few there were, too, who could see such lights in others.
Smoke drifted on swirling breezes, the scent of cooking wafting this way and that. Elayeen shook her head slightly, at a loss to understand how the village could return to its routines in the face of imminent attack and possible destruction. In the cottages all around the square, chimneys smoked, and evening meals of hearty stews and pot-roasts were being prepared as if this tenth day of March were a day like any other.
She wondered what Gawain would do were he here, pacing back and forth, arms folded beneath a warm cloak. He would probably be teasing the wizard, or joking with the men, his easy manner obvious to all who might cast a glance his way, his relaxed pose a source of strength and comfort. Here, the only one who seemed to cast a glance her way was Arbo, and occasionally Crellan Jokdaw, and they only did so to see if she needed anything.
It was as though they were all pretending that this was not happening. The villagers, though almost of all them remained indoors since filling their buckets and jugs at the well, carried on as though tonight’s evening meal would be as any other. The men here at the front, perhaps soon to be launching death at a charging horde, were mumbling about ropes, springs, tensions and loads.
She sat on a bale, and unwrapped a buttercake she’d kept tucked in a pocket of her cloak in a piece of cloth and had been saving for a quiet moment. Valin was asleep, Meeya was on watch, all in Fallowmead were pretending everything was as it should be and here she was munching a tasty fresh-baked scone, while beyond the woods the horde was likely mustering.
oOo
28. No Chore
There were two hours still remaining before sunset and the smell of cooked food swirling on the breezes around them when all heads at the front line swung to watch Meeya thundering down the slope, taking the half-mile from the tree line at the gallop and briefly holding her bow above her head. They were coming.
&nbs
p; Arbo was beside Elayeen in an instant, chattering nervously. “Is there any last thing you need, lady Ranger? Only I ain’t got no station at the engines or nought else assigned…”
“Take Meemee’s horse to the shed with the others, Arbo, and guard them well. When battle commences they may be needed against the enemy, and if any villagers should lose their nerve I would not have them taken.”
“Aye, lady Ranger!”
Meeya dismounted almost while her steed was still on the move, and Arbo took the reins to lead the horse quickly away up the track to the sheds.
“They come, four scouts, the rest behind a short distance, perhaps a hundred yards.”
“Did you see anything else in their number?”
“No, neither in the air nor on foot. The lights of the Meggen are dirty, but are lights nevertheless. Only the Goth glows black and he was to the rear of them all.”
“Do we make ready?” Crellan called, his voice strained.
Elayeen regarded the crews at their posts, all faces now ashen, all pretence that this was just another day washed away, leaving behind eyes wide with fear, mouths dry, hands sweating.
“No, be seated all, behind the stacks and bales. The enemy have yet to reach the tree line and must believe all is well here in Fallowmead when they gaze down upon us.”
“Aye… aye lady Ranger. You ‘eard, lads, back to yer places as ye were, it’s not time yet awhile.”
Crellan promptly plopped onto a bale near the large catapults, and wiped his hands on his knees before pulling out a handkerchief and mopping his face. Chert Ardbinder sat near him, toying with a firestone and a short rod of steel. Before them, tied upright to a stake, the end of the fuse-rope which ran through a gap in the hay-bales before forking left and right out to the carts and wagons of the vee.
“They were not moving with any caution,” Meeya announced, rolling her shoulders and throwing open her cloak. “The scouts should make the tree line in ten minutes, the main force shortly thereafter.”
