by Jeff Gunzel
* * *
The afternoon patrol sent out by Lord Pike was doing its usual rounds. Five men in black leather armor with the orange sunset on each chest piece walked casually along the predetermined route. Of course, the pattern was changed daily. It was hard to remain cautious when threats were so rare these days.
The effectiveness of the patrols had scattered most of the undesirable creatures into hiding. Some just moved on to greener pastures. Towns that had less defense were simply more susceptible, therefore a better target. Not that Bryer had a large militia; they didn’t, but they were well-organized and consistent.
A short man with a shaved head and blond beard raised his hand to the others suddenly as he stopped his march. The other four were hardly paying attention, as the marches had become routine. The unwritten rule was that the appointed leader of the squad that day was the only one who really needed to stay sharp. The other four almost walked over him, not realizing he had stopped.
“What is it?” a tall man with a thick dark beard asked as his hand instinctively crept towards his sword. Even though the patrols had become complacent, they knew to take things very seriously at the first sign of trouble.
The short man said nothing as he rushed over to the lone horse they had with them, covered with sacks of gear. He grabbed the looking glass from one of the sacks and quickly marched back to his original spot. He extended the looking glass and stared off into the distance as he swept from left to right. Suddenly, his left leg began to tremble. He stopped his sweep, concentrating on one spot. His heel bounced up and down off the ground rapidly. Then, all in one movement, he collapsed the looking glass and ran back to the horse. “Go,” was all he said in an extremely tight voice as he launched himself onto the horse and began to turn it around.
“Go where? What are you talking about?” said the tall man as he grabbed at the reins of the horse to try to slow him down.
The short fellow slapped his hands away and urged the horse to run. It was a stubborn packhorse and didn’t really want to move, yet alone run, but the man dug his heels deep into the horse’s sides several times until it finally got the message.
“What is wrong with him? Where is he going?” asked one of the other men.
The remaining four patrolmen frantically looked around in all directions, each with weapons drawn. They couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t make any of them feel better. Their comrade clearly saw something that made him take off in a near panic. He had also taken the looking glass, so they couldn’t use it to see what the potential threat might be.
The winds were getting even stronger as the impending storm drew nearer.
The tall man jerked upright, telling everyone to be quiet. Even with the winds picking up, he could hear something. “You guys hear that?” he asked.
Everyone stopped and listened to the wind, weapons at the ready. A few moments passed before the other man said, “What is that chirping sound?”
