Knight's Struggle

by P. J. Cherubino

  “Have you ever seen a New Ancient building before, Cosmin? Do they have those in the Vasille Protectorate… Cosmin?”

  When he didn’t answer, she turned to find him rooted to the spot, face slack, eyes wide and glowing white. She approached slowly.

  “Don’t touch him,” Raluca said. She waved her hand in front of his face.

  “I feel him,” Cosmin whispered.

  Raluca waited for whatever this was to pass. It took a few minutes.

  The Reacher snapped out of his trance and stumbled back a few steps. “It was him,” he said. “The other mage—the one with mental powers.”

  “Is this normal?” Raluca asked, always the practical one.

  “I’ve never heard of this,” Cosmin said. “I want to say this one is powerful, but I’m not so sure. His power has great reach, but it is weak. This is an aberration.”

  “Do you think you can find him?” Raluca asked.

  “Most definitely,” Cosmin replied. “He’s not here in the keep, but he is nearby.”

  Raluca looked around at the mountain peaks and the thick forest beyond the gates. “No way he’s camping. He must be in the Ward.”

  “I will find him tonight,” Cosmin said.

  “Take a few soldiers with you,” Raluca said.

  “No more than two or three, I think,” Cosmin said. “We don’t want to alarm the populace. Or risk chasing him away.”

  “Good thinking,” Raluca said. “Just find him and keep an eye out. He can’t go far in these conditions. But this is good.”

  “How so?” Cosmin asked.

  “While you’re looking for new friends in town, I’ll be sending a welcome basket to our new neighbors in Argan.”

  Ward 52, The Stump Inn

  Pleth opened the door to his room and peeked out into the smoky hallway. The rooms opened out into a balcony that ran above the barroom below. Gormer was right. This was the right place precisely because it was the wrong place. This was the spot for unsavory things.

  Except for the cheese. That was plenty savory. He and Gormer had been dealing the untaxed, undocumented luxury food for days now. It was an open secret in the Ward. Though it probably meant Woody would try to kill Gormer the next time they met, it was entirely worth it.

  The illegal commerce brought in many guards and workers at the Keep who were unhappy with the current change in management. They’d learned a great deal and had made contact with some highly-placed soldiers who stayed at the keep, even though things were falling apart.

  They’d been making overtures to Pleth and Gormer that they might be interested in sharing privileged information. But the night before, nobody came to the inn to drink. The absence of hardcore drinkers and degenerate gamblers was scarier than their general presence.

  Something big had happened.

  The next morning, they found out that Raluca herself and a strange-looking Mover had taken charge of the Keep. Gormer knew right away who the strange man was. It had to be the Reacher from the bandit camp.

  One of their contacts sent word that he’d come to meet them tonight to talk about the developments. This has to be it, they both thought. This was the moment when they’d make solid contact and take the risk of revealing their true purpose.

  Pleth was just about to turn the key in the probably-useless lock when something massive hit him. One impossibly-strong arm wrapped around his chest, the other clamped down over his mouth. He was pushed back into the room. He could only assume his assailant kicked the door closed, because it slammed shut, leaving him in darkness.

  “Shhh,” a beer-soaked voice rasped. “Don’t piss yourself.” Pleth was trembling.

  Muted voices came through the floorboards. One set of voices sounded sharp. They went back and forth for a while.

  “They’re looking for you idiots,” the voice said. “I’m going to let you go. If you yell or try to run, I’ll punch you in the throat, and I don’t know how to do that gently.” Pleth tried to shrug his shoulders. How was he supposed to answer? “Oh.” The hand dropped slowly from his mouth.

  “OK,” Pleth said, surprisingly calm.

  The strong arms released him and pushed him away. In the dim light coming through the grimy window, Mortsen stood in shadow.

  “Thanks for the hug,” Pleth said with a grin.

  Mortsen stifled a laugh. “That weaselly little pipsqueak Gormer is rubbing off on you.”

  Pleth couldn’t hide his surprise. They hadn’t used their real names.

  “Yeah, dipshit,” Mortsen whispered. “I know who you are. I know that’s Gormer, too. You know how?”

  Pleth shook his head and raised his palms to the ceiling. “Don’t be a showman. Just fucking tell me.”

  Mortsen stepped closer and stared down into Pleth’s eyes. “Because you’re selling the same cheese Woody was moving a few weeks ago. Fucking idiots left the damn seal on the cloth.”

  Several things dawned on Pleth at once. Mortsen was on his side. Also, he was involved in the black market. Certain people in and around the keeps worked with bandits to supplement their income, get things that were illegal or both.

  “What do you want?” Pleth asked, folding his arms.

  “Balls,” Mortsen said. “They must be fresh grown because sometimes you seem like a pussy and sometimes you get tough.”

  “I’m waiting,” Pleth replied.

  “I hate those puffed up toy soldiers. I hate the way they look down on people like me and mine. But most of all, I hate that Protector Lungu pigfucker. His son killed a nineteen-year-old girl—hung her from a fucking lamp post. For what? Because she was gonna steal some fucking turnips?”

  “Hate is a good start,” Pleth said. “We can use that.”

  “Lungu just fired all the commissioners. I hate those puckered assholes, too, but at least they got principles. That, I can respect. But Lungu? He’s got to go.”

  “You’re not the only one who feels that way,” Pleth said.

  “Oh, fuck you, Pleth.” The former Assessor jumped back as Mortsen spoke his name. “Yeah, I know who you are. I asked around. Don’t worry, I didn’t give you away. Everyone you worked with here is gone—reassigned, fired, or dead.

  One of my bandit contacts told me you are alright now. Say you went after a Reacher with your bare hands. I know better than you how people feel. But I reckon that’s what you came here to find out, right? Who is against Lungu and who is for?”

  “That’s right,” Pleth said.

  “We’ll meet in the backroom tonight at midnight,” Mortsen said.

  “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Mortsen hissed. “Shift change will let certain people slip through the alleys and get here unseen.”

  They stood still for a few minutes and listened. “I think they’re gone,” Pleth said.

  “Stay in the room,” Mortsen replied. “I’ll come back for you if it’s clear.”

  Mortsen left, and Pleth sat there in the darkness for a while. He didn’t want to light the lantern and show a light in the window.

  A light tapping came at the door. Pleth froze. “It’s me,” Gormer said, rattling the knob.

  Pleth hopped up, and as soon as he unlocked the door, Gormer pushed into the room.

  “What are you doing in the damn dark?” Gormer asked. Gormer sat down in a rickety wooden chair. “Raluca’s taken over the keep. That means Lieutenant goat fucker got fired. Furthermore—” he wagged his head pretentiously “—things are going positively goose shit.”

  “I just talked to Mortsen,” Pleth said.

  “I know,” Gormer replied. “I ducked into the kitchen as soon as I saw Raluca’s goons come into the bar.”

  “Did they see you?” Pleth asked.

  “Don’t know. Maybe. They don’t know who I am, but it’s best they don’t see us much.”

  “It will look suspicious if we avoid them,” Pleth replied.

  “We’ll just have to be careful, then,” Gormer said
. “Maybe we can get information from them.”

  “I don’t think they were here to drink,” Pleth replied.

  “No. They were here to intimidate and put everyone on notice. They asked Drina to see her books. I think they went to every damn business in this Ward.”

  “I hope they pissed everyone off,” Pleth said. “It will go better for us the more upset they are with our enemy.”

  Without warning, Gormer’s face turned deathly pale, and he dropped to one knee. His breath came in hitching gasps. “He’s here,” Gormer said. “I can feel him.”

  “Who?” Pleth asked, not knowing what to do.

  “The Reacher,” Gormer managed to say.

  “Does he know where we are?” Pleth asked in panic.

  “Not sure,” Gormer said. He took a few minutes to regain control, then half rose trembling to sit on the edge of the straw mattress. “I think I blocked him. But it was like falling through ice.”

  “That doesn’t sound very nice,” Pleth said.

  Gormer flipped him off.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Argan Village Near Dusk

  Astrid had just gotten done with the evening meal. She took reports from the day watch commanders while the night watch commanders listened. It was a straight report. Nothing changed.

  There was enemy activity near the perimeter and none of the outer patrols reported activity on the Toll Road. She dismissed them to their duties and sat down for a moment with her tea before her meeting with Elder Popova.

  Even though the reports were bland, Astrid knew she couldn’t take anything for granted. She learned early on to never think lightly of any report. Often, it wasn’t what was said, but what was left out. Constant, careful consideration always paid off.

  Lack of movement on the road wasn’t surprising as it had snowed the past few days. With the temperatures consistently below freezing and a near-constant cloud cover, that meant the ice and snow were piling up.

  That was great news for their observation blinds. The hidey holes were harder to spot and offered greater protection and warmth. But movement was difficult.

  The stitchers and crafters were busy in the longhouse making and repairing winter equipment. They had about thirty people working full-time keeping the Dregs clothed. As a team, they had come up with a design for snowshoes to make movement over unbroken snow easier. With the help of the blacksmith, they had a production system going.

  Astrid watched the stitchers work together like an assembly line as she sipped her tea. Things were going well— much better than expected. All she had done was provide some stability and a way to stand up, and the villagers and former bandits did the rest. It took only strong, clear suggestions for that to happen.

  “Hello, Astrid,” Popova asked, giving Astrid a little start.

  “Oh,” Astrid said. “I was lost in thought.”

  “Of what?” the old woman said, sitting down across the table.

  Astrid gave a little sigh. “Of this,” she said, sweeping her hand across the longhouse. The stitchers and crafters weren’t the only ones who got to work after the evening meal. A group of volunteers made up of children and those not physically able to fight were busy sharpening swords, maintaining crossbows, and identifying armor to be repaired.

  Popova smiled and followed the trace of Astrid’s hand. “It is a lot,” she said. “And we have you to thank for this. You did it all.”

  Astrid gave a tight smile that crinkled her nose and the corners of her eyes. She literally bit her lip, making Popova laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” the old woman asked.

  “I feel like I’m being dishonest,” Astrid replied. “You did all this. All I did was give you some hints. You were so ready for this. It could have been anyone who came along willing to fight, and the results would have been the same.”

  Popova kept smiling. She was amused, but also sounded a bit disappointed. “Astrid, you have a low opinion of yourself. Yes. We work hard. That’s what villagers do. We are dedicated to our land. But until you showed up, we didn’t know how to fight for it.”

  Astrid took a deep breath and grew serious. “I see now.” She paused. “That’s why I wanted to meet with you. Very soon, we’ll need to attack the keep and take it. When that happens, things will be very different.”

  “How so?” Popova asked.

  “Once that happens, we will be in full rebellion against the Protector. It means we’ll be taking land and holding it. So far, we’ve been extremely defiant. When we take that keep, we will truly be at war.”

  “Haven’t we already been at war?” Popova asked.

  “Maybe,” Astrid said. “But not like this. I think—”

  The eastern set of doors burst open, and Woody stormed into the longhouse. “Where’s Astrid!” he bellowed.

  Astrid shot up from the table. “Here,” she shouted back.

  Woody ran over to her table. “I have word from that no-good, backbiting, pig fucking, shit flea. He took my cheese!”

  Astrid shook her head rapidly, trying to process things. “That’s your news? You’re raising the alarm… over cheese…”

  “Yes,” Woody replied. “I mean no. He took fifty pounds of my best cheese before he went to Ward 52.”

  “This was after the attack,” Astrid replied. “I haven't heard from you in three weeks since then. Besides, you stole that cheese anyway.”

  “That’s not the point!” Woody shouted. “That dripping boar cock had the nerve to send me a message to bring to you.”

  Astrid narrowed her eyes. She was getting angry. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I thought you worked for me and served the Dregs. I thought we agreed that you were part of this thing and that you’d sworn to fight alongside us. I’m so sorry you are offended.”

  Woody grumbled and thrust the parchment into Astrid’s hand. It was still sealed with wax, so she knew Woody hadn’t opened it.

  As she read Gormer’s first report from Ward 52, her blood grew cold.

  “What is it?” Popova asked.

  “Lungu,” Astrid said. “He fired all the Commissioners. He gave control of all the keeps to his First Lieutenants. He fired Balan at Keep 52 and replaced him with Raluca.”

  “That’s the bitch who attacked the hideaway camp with that Reacher freak,” Woody said.

  “I’m aware of this,” Astrid replied. “This changes things a lot.”

  She was about to explain why when the alarm bell rang out. She heard the sounds of horns through the thick walls of the longhouse.

  “The horns…” Woody gasped.

  “They’re inside the first perimeter,” Astrid said, ice flowing in her veins.

  Bells and horns meant a major attack. At the first sound of the bells, every able fighter in the longhouse jumped up and ran for the doors.

  “Woody, with me!” Astrid shouted.

  They ran across the square to Popova’s house, where Astrid kept her things. She jumped up into her loft where her armor was located and jumped back down with it. She then shucked off her clothes.

  “I’m flattered, Astrid,” Woody said, licking his lips. “But do you think we have time?”

  Astrid stopped dead in her tracks. She crossed the room in one stride and slapped Woody in the back of the head. “No, you fucking idiot! I need help getting into my armor!”

  Woody ignored the pain and stood there with a stupid grin on his face.

  “Dipshit,” Astrid said. “My armor’s right here!” She stepped into the one-piece suit, then turned her left side to Woody. “Lace it up in the side. Be quick about it .”

  She’d found that to be the only flaw the suit had. She could lace it up herself, but it would take much longer.

  “Make it tight,” she demanded. The armor fit best when the laces that ran up the left side and up to the left shoulder looked like a single thread.

  She flexed her fingers to adjust the gloves that were built into the sleeves, then adjusted the chest plate until
it felt snug. Astrid wrapped the new rope weapon around her waist and threw the dart end over her left shoulder.

  She burst out into the cold night with Woody beside her and ran to the rally point. “Where’s my squad leader!” she yelled.

  “Here!” a woman shouted, running up behind.

  “I see eleven here. Should be twelve,” Astrid said.

  “Thomas was injured in training last week,” the commander said.

  Astrid thought quickly. “You,” she said, pointing to a man with a crossbow. “Leave the crossbow and ammo behind. You’re on foot duty.” She turned her attention to the squad as a whole. “You are backup. Follow my lead. Follow my orders. If we face a Mover, you do not engage.”

  She hated to say what she had to, but did it anyway. “You remember what happened to David.” Inside, she winced at the words. “You see a Mover and you run, or you take cover and you leave them to me.”

  People just nodded their heads. “Bullshit!” Astrid bellowed “You tell me you understand!”

  They responded in one voice, “We understand!”

  “Follow me!” Astrid ordered. She ran off to the sounds of commotion with Woody to her left and the rapid-reaction squad behind her.

  She found a watch commander standing on the path near a bunker on the inner perimeter. A line of fifteen crossbow fighters arranged themselves behind the cover of trees and the bunker itself.

  “Report,” Astrid barked.

  The commander took a breath. There was fear on her face, but she was holding it together. “A scout just told me there’s a line of enemy troops approaching on the main path. They killed three of ours with their advance thrust. We’ve had one skirmish and a line that we’re currently holding.”

  Astrid thought about the situation. “Woody. Stay here. You’re in charge of the inner perimeter.”

  “You leave me behind?” Woody complained. “I belong where the action is.”

  Astrid took a breath. She felt like reaming him a new one. “Woody, I need you to be my backup. If shit goes bad, you’ll know what to do.” She turned to her commander. “No offense, but Woody has experience that you don’t. If shit goes sour up ahead, we’ll need you to come save our asses.”