A Lord's Duty (The Chronicles of Galennor Book 1)

by J. S. Crews

  Another instant would pass before his conscious mind registered that they were under attack, assisted by the sight of others diving for cover in the same gully Hammid had shoved him into. In that instant, Jonas realized he had lost sight of Alastar and looked around frantically. Just a moment later, though, the slightly younger Squire’s voice came to him from just behind his back. Breathing an unconscious sigh of relief, it took another moment for him to process his friend exclaiming the obvious in the wake of the adrenaline rush: "Archers!"

  "Aye, archers," confirmed Hammid harshly, looking at Jonas and adding, "And one of ‘em near skewered this’n while he was daydreamin’!"

  "I wasn’t daydreaming. I—"

  The Sergeant cut him off. "Nah, you seen somethin’ an’ didn’t call it out right then is what, but I’d rather jus’ pretend y’was daydreamin’ ‘cause it’s less rockhead’d than the truth! Now keep yer fool heads down, while I see what we’re t’do!"

  He didn’t wait for a response, but rather crawled immediately toward where Sir Eadred had taken cover. They could see he was careful never to raise any part of his body above the grassy berm providing them shelter from the incoming arrows, so the boys simply followed his example, lying as flat as possible right where they were. Jonas still felt the echo of his fall of just seconds before, but the aches would come later; for the moment, both boys were consumed by a giddy excitement intermingled with fear. It was like when they had jumped from the falls back home, falling for what felt like an eternity with boyish screams the whole way down.

  Strangely, Jonas was starting to feel a bit lightheaded, but then he realized it was because he was not breathing properly. Suddenly, his mind was awash with lessons taught him over the years by his father and Sir Flannery Ogden, Glendon’s master-at-arms and his first tutor in swordplay and military matters. Remembering what he had been taught, he forced himself to breathe deeply in and out, and the lightheadedness abated almost immediately.

  He also kept his eyes constantly moving, trying to pick out any details possible while remaining safely behind cover. He quickly realized there was a pattern to the incoming missile fire. The rate of fire was not particularly quick, and—judging directionally from the angles of the shafts protruding from nearby trees—it was coming from just a handful of different positions. Shots would come slowly, only picking up whenever someone attempted to raise their head above the berm. There’s just a few of them and they’re trying to keep us pinned down while others escape, he told himself.

  Obviously, the more experienced men had come to a similar conclusion, because suddenly Sergeant Hammid was back. Rather than stop, he simply slowed a bit as he crawled past saying, "They’s only two archers, an’ two o’ us’re gonna flank ‘em, me from this side an’ that bloke from t’other! You two stay down!" and he was gone again, this time out of sight around a blind corner into thick woods. They never saw the other man involved in the flanking maneuver, since he had gone to the far end and also disappeared into the undergrowth.

  The next quarter hour passed with mounting tension. They were all on edge, and the fidgety anxiousness seemed ready to reach a crescendo as they waited. Word was soon whispered down the line to continue moving occasionally to ensure the bowmen’s attention remained focused on keeping the party immobilized. Keeping them concentrating on that would aid Hammid and the other hunter to approach undetected.

  Just when it seemed time was stretching into the unbearable, something shifted in the tenor of the forest. It was almost as though the world surrounding them had collectively drawn in a sharp breath and held it. Then the stillness was broken by a muffled cry in the distance, followed just a few seconds later by the unmistakable clatter of metal on metal.

  It had seemed to Jonas that the sounds came from two different areas ahead. This was confirmed a moment later when Sergeant Hammid came into view, waving a captured archer’s bow above his head, and the other kingdom soldier popped up from behind a deadfall on the opposite side of the woodland panorama and waved his arms as a signal. "Move!" ordered Sir Eadred, wasting no time, and an instant later all of them had regained their feet and charged over the berm.

  The small group gathered back together in a loose formation that allowed everyone to hear what the Knight was saying. "Those two were simply keeping us back while their compatriots escaped, likely hoping to break off covering fire and rejoin them after giving them a headstart. That means they are close, because we put a premature end to their diversion. Come with me now and let’s catch the bastards!"

  Sir Eadred raised his sword high with those final words, eliciting excited smiles from most of the men. He then ran off into the dense forest with most quickly following. Jonas and Al found themselves caught up in the moment right along with the others, but the look on the face of Sergeant Hammid stopped Jonas in the middle of his second step. He reached out to quickly grab Alastar’s arm in time to halt him as well.

  The Sergeant was walking purposefully to follow the others, but obviously holding back, his brow furrowed in consternation. "What’s wrong?" asked Jonas.

  The old soldier shook his head. "Don’t like it," he said. "Shouldn’t be jus’ rushin’ in like that." He stopped and hesitated after drawing close to the boys, looking as though he wasn’t sure what to do. “We’re about t’lose the light too,” he added, looking even more worried.

  Jonas hadn’t noticed before, but he was right. In all the excitement, he hadn’t been paying attention, but the sun had already dipped below the horizon. There was still plenty of light for the moment, but that would change quickly. Normally, they would be well into the process of setting up camp for the night by this point, but this situation was anything but normal.

  Hammid hesitated another instant before making the only choice he could; he would follow orders, despite his own misgivings. "Welp, nuthin’ fer it," he said, sighing in resignation. "Like I said ‘afore, you two stay close by me!" And then he was off as well into the forest with the Squires hot on his heels.

  Jumping to bypass deadfalls and ducking beneath low-hanging branches, Jonas found himself quickly agreeing with the Sergeant. If the goal was surveying their surroundings for signs of those they sought, moving so quickly was a foolhardy choice as the surrounding woods quickly dissolved into naught but a confused kaleidoscope of greens and browns. Moving so urgently stripped away any hope of discerning small details or movements, and the failing light only made matters worse.

  Those blindly trailing after Sir Eadred had obliterated any tracks, which mattered little since they were moving too quickly to pay much attention anyway. One thing that was impossible to miss was which way their people had gone. One need only listen to the appalling level of noise as they thrashed along, effectively wiping out any hope of listening for the quarry they were all hunting. Suddenly, though, Jonas detected a change in the sounds coming from up ahead. He could see nothing but the veritable green curtain of thick undergrowth, broken only in patches created by those preceding him. This meager barrier was all that separated the small meadow they were crossing from whatever lay beyond.

  The racket ahead had changed abruptly in nature, becoming something more severe. A cry of defiance and the unmistakable sounds of a battle being waged came to him, and so the boy—trusting his comrades to follow without looking to be sure—pushed his pumping leg muscles into a sudden burst of speed and bodily threw himself through the thick greenery.

  He emerged into a clearing, only slightly worse for wear from the stinging thorns. He felt no pain at the time, his heart thumping in his ears and his concentration bent on not sliding over the precipitous incline he had been unaware existed on the far side of the curtain of vegetation. Teetering on the edge, he righted his balance and somehow managed the presence of mind to reach out and grab the front of Alastar’s tunic as his slightly younger friend and Sergeant Hammid appeared. It occurred to him the latter would be giving him a considerable dressing down over his reckless antics, but that was a problem for later. Presently,
his thoughts were on the scene playing out below.

  Perhaps ten paces down the hillside, a battle was taking place. Two bodies clad in kingdom tunics lay sprawled on the forest floor; both likely dead from the awkward way they were laid-out. One also had a throwing axe protruding from his sternum. A third quickly joined them, this one a stranger cut down by a vicious overhand stroke of Sir Eadred’s longsword. By now, the sun had almost completely fled from the sky. Those below were mostly just silhouettes, illuminated by the now-rising silver moon.

  The initial moment of shock passing, Jonas and Al quickly followed Sergeant Hammid downward toward the affray. Eadred and three or four kingdom men were arrayed against seven or eight bandits. An accurate count was impossible with bodies twisting and moving around each other so quickly in the meager light, but the uneven odds were obvious. Reinforcing their comrades was a priority. In fact, it was plain that the Knight wheeling about with his longer blade was the only thing keeping them from being overwhelmed.

  Jonas leveled his spear, allowing the steep hillside to aid his charge as he half-ran and half-stumbled toward the line of battle. Strangely, everything seemed to slow down in his perception, so that what his conscious mind knew was a furious charge seemed to take an inordinately long time. The noise completely disappeared for him, drowned out by the pounding of his own blood in his ears as he actually made eye contact with the man toward whom his spearhead was pointed.

  He opened his mouth to emit a primal war scream, hearing none of it himself, and was suddenly overcome with terror as he realized he was falling as much as running. With little control, he fought to right himself; Al was even worse off, the younger boy having literally fallen to slide down toward the fighting on his backside with a look of absolute panic. Only the Sergeant seemed to be fully in control, but Jonas had no time to feel envy with an enemy quickly looming before him.

  He struggled to bring his spearhead level. In that instant, Jonas had just enough time to witness Alastar slide into the legs of one of the bandits, who went down in a heap atop the Squire from Woodmont, before being consumed with worrying about his own opponent. Somehow, he managed to bring his spear roughly on target at the moment of collision, but the point must have been slightly above center because, instead of punching through the man’s shield and skewering him, it slid up the shield’s surface and past the man’s shoulder.

  Then came another moment of abject terror, realizing his main weapon had been ineffective and his shortsword was still at his hip. Chillingly, he realized he was now within the other man’s striking zone and there would be no time to reach for his other weapon. He was so close to the bandit that he could smell his sour breath, and he thought for sure he would be killed at any moment.

  Of course, all of this happened at once. It had only seemed that time had slowed. In truth, his spear sliding off the man’s shield and them coming into contact had happened in the same instant, followed immediately by the realization he was still stumbling through the momentum of coming down the hillside. He bowled into the surprised bandit, taking them both off their feet.

  Landing atop the brigand, his goddess must have been with him, because both of the man’s arms were pinned beneath his shield. Jonas’s own sternum kept that held fast between them, his adolescent bodyweight—a meager eleven stone or so the last he’d checked—the only thing keeping the bandit from being able to use the wicked-looking blade he held.

  The next moments were frantic, full of jumbled sounds and images. They seemed to go on forever in Jonas’s mind as he lay face-to-face with a snarling, cursing opponent trying both to wriggle free as well as bite and spit at him. For all the terror in the eyes of a boy getting his first taste of battle, however, the fracas ended as quickly as it had begun. One moment he was struggling to keep the larger man pinned, knowing that letting him get his blade arm free would mean being gutted, and the next his opponent stiffened and stopped flailing. Sergeant Hammid was there on his knees, pulling his bloodied dagger from the side of the man’s neck and patting Jonas almost absentmindedly on the back.

  Gasping to catch his breath, the boy suddenly remembered watching his best friend disappear beneath the man he had slid into and losing track of him. Glancing around frantically, he located Al still sitting flat on his rump on the forest floor a few paces away. The slightly younger boy had a dazed expression on his face. Nearby lay the body of the man he had taken off his feet.

  When their eyes met, both smiled spontaneously, happy to find the other unhurt. Jonas motioned with his chin toward the body sprawled next to Alastar and asked, "You?" wondering if somehow his companion had overcome his opponent. In response, the younger boy shook his head, indicating it had been another that did the deed. Fixing his eyes on the body that lay next to Jonas, Al turned the same question on his best friend, receiving the same answer. For all their excitement and training, neither had so much as swung his sword in anger during their first battle. It took a moment for that thought to sink in, but then it joined with the giddiness of having survived to cause both of them to dissolve in a fit of laughter.

  Jonas caught his breath a few moments later and began wiping away the tears of mirth when he realized tense words were being traded nearby. He came up on one knee and turned just in time to see Sergeant Hammid grab Sir Eadred by his swordarm as he and several others were passing, obviously intent on charging off again in pursuit.

  The Knight was plainly unaccustomed to being handled in such a manner and was less than pleased, turning on the non-commissioned officer with a baleful glare that sent a chill down Jonas’s spine. His eyes were empty and cold, like those of a viper, and his voice was as calm as the grave when he spoke, yet he was clearly only wearing a mask of control to conceal something much more malevolent and dangerous beneath. "Never presume to touch me."

  Hammid released him, but spoke quickly, "Beg pardon, Sir, but we need t’regroup ‘afore we go off lookin’ fer any more trouble. We’ve men still on the ground an—"

  "Then get them up and follow, Sergeant," he was interrupted.

  "Aye, as m’lord commands," Hammid replied, obviously trying to placate the highborn commander, "but they’s somethin’ else strange ‘ere. This bunch didn’t fight like bandits runnin’ from the law; they’re not runnin’ off in ev’ry direction, ev’ry man fer hisself. These’re behavin’ more like soldiers or a good company o’ sellswords at least. Them an’ the archers from ‘afore. They’ve been fightin’ a textbook delayin’ action."

  The conversation continued, but by then Jonas’s attention had drifted elsewhere. Over their voices, he had discerned a rustling sound coming from a thick patch of undergrowth nearby, and he wasn’t alone. Another of the soldiers, who had happened to be standing even closer than Jonas himself, started to slowly stalk toward what looked like a slight movement in the hedgerow.

  Jonas watched, his attention split between the soldier creeping along and Hammid’s attempt to reason with the prickly Knight. Then several things happened at once. The soldier investigating whatever was moving in the brush stepped up a small incline, his sword angled downward, and it wasn’t until then that Jonas realized beyond the hedge must lie another downhill slope. Even as the ranking men were still embroiled in their conversation, others seemed also to realize something was amiss. More had gone quiet and were watching.

  Then, without warning, the investigating soldier seemed to falter as if he had nearly lost his footing. He was turning on his heel that same instant, a look of sheer, visceral panic flashing across his face. Obviously gathering himself to break into a terrified, instinctual scamper back toward the perceived safety of the group, he was yelling something unintelligible. He would never take the first step of that intended flight, however, because all sight of him was quickly lost beneath a swarming mass of dingy fur and yellowed fangs.

  The wolves were upon them so quickly that the warning the soldier was screaming as he went down hadn’t even had time to register. The only thing that saved their small party from be
ing immediately decimated was that so many had already turned in that direction to watch that first unfortunate man-at-arms investigate. That tiny bit of advanced warning allowed most to react quickly, bringing weapons to bear before being overrun.

  Even so, Jonas hesitated and his spear still hung from loose fingers as the beasts rushed forward. He was lucky in that most of the wolves swarmed around him like water breaking over a rock to reach those behind, but one set of fangs was suddenly snapping toward the exposed flesh of his arm. Owing completely to instinct, he turned his body to avoid that lightning-quick attack and the wolf trying to bite him moved on. Between his now-awkward stance and the rapid brushing and bumping of his lower half, though, it proved too much for him to remain upright when one of the last wolves in line reared up and leapt directly toward his chest.

  The beast’s maw snapped shut over the shaft of the spear he’d instinctively held out in front of himself with such force that Jonas was amazed it didn’t shatter. The creature shook its head back-and-forth, worrying at the spear as though it were a hare it was shaking to break its neck, thankfully preoccupied from letting loose and going for Jonas’s hands instead. Or his throat. They wrestled like that for what seemed a lifetime, before finally he felt the weight lifted off him as the wolf seemed suddenly to be thrown sideways with a sharp yelp.

  An arrow was now protruding from the animal’s side, a sure death sentence but not an immediate kill. It simply freed him momentarily. In fact, the beast seemed even more fierce now in its pain and confusion, intent on lashing out at the one assumed to be the author of its agony. After a few snarling bites toward the arrow shaft that rewarded only more suffering and uncertainty, it slinked back toward the boy, ears pinned down and teeth bared, its low growl highlighted now by a piteous whine.