The crow did a circle of the room, cawing as he went and flew out the window just as two guards entered. There was an Acolyte close behind them.
“Lord High Priest,” said the guards as they bowed. “What is your bidding?
The Acolyte skipped the pleasantries. “There’s no time Lord High Priest. We’ve got trouble.”
“Trouble?”
‘There’s talk of a bobbing.”
“A bobbing? Who’s talking about the Rite of Bobbing?”
The guards looked from the Acolyte to the High Priest and back as they spoke.
“Everyone. Most everyone. It’s time to get going.”
The Lord High Priest clenched his fists. “Abdicate?” He looked around the room that had been his sanctuary for the past five years. “Blast.”
“We need to go before the Pool of Reflections is filled and blessed, Lord High Priest.”
Lord High Priests were elected for life. The process of choosing a new Lord High Priest had been in place for almost five hundred years- prior to that, Lord High Priests put themselves into the position. Usually with the backing of whatever army they put together. During a long period of peace, an especially pious Lord High Priest declared that their election should be left to the hands of gods as opposed to the swords of mortals and The Rite of Bobbing was established.
When time came to elect a new Lord High Priest, the Pool of Reflections - a pool thirty feet long, wide, and deep - was emptied and refilled with fresh water, then blessed by a priest. All prospective acolytes were taken to the pool, tied to a large weight with identically tied knots. The stone was then lifted over the center of the pool and dropped in. The first acolyte to bob to the surface was believed to have had their hands guided by the gods, and therefore the new rightful Lord High Priest. All those that bobbed up afterwards were offered the chance to become the new Lord High Priest’s personal acolytes and guards. The ones that didn’t surface had obviously been found not worthy of either position by the gods and allowed to drown, opening positions for others to fill. The rules were simple, and obeyed by all. The only other rule was that there could never be a Rite of Bobbing while there was a Lord High Priest still in power.
It was a simple and time-tested method of election, and had, on only one occasion required a Holy Do-Over when an entire crop of acolytes apparently found disfavor from the gods.
“How soon until the holy pool is empty?”
“Within the hour, Lord High Priest. We should leave now. They’ve even started the ovens for the celebration.” Following the selection of the new Lord High Priest and establishment of his personal acolytes and guards, an empire-wide celebration was held. At the pool, there was drinking and merry making, and thanks to having to empty the holy pool that was stocked with trout and bass, plenty of fish to fry.
The guards looked at the Lord High Priest anxiously. The three standing before the Lord High Priest were the only other survivors from his Rite of Bobbing.
“Our bags are already packed,” said the Acolyte. “All of ours.” He gestured at the two guards.
“Fine, fine. I’m glad to have you with me.” He smiled a genuine smile. “Grab anything else you think we’ll need and meet me down at my royal coach in half an hour. “I’ll settle up here.”
With a quick bow, the three left the Lord High Priest alone. With a howl of rage, the Lord High Priest kicked his chair over. “Blast!” He looked around the room. Over the course of five years, he had accumulated quite a number of important and religious items. He moved to his closet and pulled out a large cloth sack. Quickly he moved around the room selecting important and religious items that held the greatest meaning for him. They were all made of gold.
Dropping the bag to the ground, he took a second bag and shoved clothes in it until it would barely close. Tying it shut, he dragged it to the first bag. “Conscripts!”
Dutifully (he was still Lord High Priest, after all) two conscripts entered his room. “Yes, Lord High Priest?” Asked one.
“Pick up my bags and follow me,” he commanded. Without looking back, he stormed out of his holy chambers, stopping only to pick up one last statuette of a Wooly Shambler. A gold one.
“Where are we going, Lord High Priest?” Asked the conscript carrying the clothes bag- the other was straining too much with the weight of his bag to speak.
“To my royal coach. If you want to come, you are welcome. Otherwise...”
“Sire?”
“You can stay behind.”
The Conscript let out a relieved sigh. “I think I’ll go along with you, if that suits you, Lord High Priest.”
“That it does. I have a certain Gnome to kill and I want to make sure it gets done this time.”
“As you wish, Lord High Priest”.
The other Conscript managed only a grunt of approval.
The trio made their way to the lowest levels of the castle, having to stop twice to allow the Conscripts to swap bags. Finally, at the door to the holy stables, the Lord High Priest turned to the two sweating Conscripts. “We’re leaving here today and nothing is going to stop us. If anyone gets in our way, we cut them down. Understand?”
“Yes, Lord High Priest,” the two said. “We’re with you all the way.”
With a curt nod the Lord High Priest lifted the latch on the door and pushed it open. He stepped into the room. “Let’s get going before...,” he began. His acolyte and two guards were sitting on the floor, shackled. Around them stood a dozen guards and the General of the Army.
“I demand you release my servants and allow us passage. I am on an official mission of extreme importance.”
“Don’t be a Grimbledung,” said the General. He looked at his men, “Let’s get this over with; I want to be cleaned up and back in time at least for the fish fry.”
With hardly a word, the soldiers pounced on the Lord High Priest and the two hapless acolytes. Thanks to their training and efficiency, they all made it back in time to see the new Lord High Priest bob to the surface.
He wasn’t any better than the last one.
Chapter Ten
The Quick (Wounded) and the (Slow) Dead
The Golem stared expectedly at the Gargoyle, waiting for an answer.
“I think so,” said Hefty. “You look like you could use some work though.”
The Golem nodded as it looked down to examine itself. “Yeah.”
“You should take a break,” suggested Reuben.
“Yeah,” agreed the Golem. It sat down roughly but still did not let go of the rope.
RatShambler moved beside the Golem, “Bert here has been keeping the wounded safe.” He nodded toward the resting Golem, “And doing a fine job of it if I don’t mind saying so.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, Bert.” RatShambler nudged the Golem. “Take a break for a little bit. You’ve earned it.”
The Golem dropped the end of the rope over his lap, finally letting go of it. “Yeah.”
“Do we even have any doctors here?” Asked Reuben.
RatShambler shook his head, “Not a one. I’ve been passing out bandages, but that’s about it. They’re mostly helping each other.” He paused as he looked back, “The ones that are able.” He looked at Reuben, “We really need to get these folks some help. What’s closest to us here? I wasn’t paying attention how far I ran.”
Reuben shrugged, “Frank’s Keep is not three leagues north of here.”
At the sound of the name of the keep, the Sergeant at Arms startled awake. “Where’s Captain Frank?” He slurred through blood-encrusted lips.
“We’ll find him,” assured Reuben.
“I haven’t seen him, if that helps,” lied RatShambler.
“That’s a good sign,” Ri agreed unknowingly. “Let’s get these soldiers down so we can move out and see what we can see.” He turned and put his forelegs on Hefty’s back.. “Sergeant, let go of the rope and I’ll get you down”. as he nuzzled his head under the soldier’s arm. “You’re next,” he s
aid to Edward.
Groggily he unwound the rope from his hand and slouched over onto the stone lion. “I think blue armor. Blue armor is the way to go,” he said weakly with a chuckle.
“Our favorite soldier in red is changing his colors?” Asked Reuben, looking at Edward.
When Edward was settled on the ground, the three Gargoyles spread out to search for and retrieve other survivors, enlisting their fellow Gargoyles as they went.
RatShambler looked back at the men. There were only about fifty of them alive. The sad fact was that even if they fell injured in battle, the Halflings did not grant reprieve and just finished them off. It was only those that could move to the safety of the base of the cliff on their own, or were dragged by a friend, that survived. “We need to do something.”
Tiny stepped forward, “I say we put them on horseback and take them all back to Frank’s Keep. There’s a doc there, right?”
The Sergeant at Arms stood shakily. “There was. Everyone’s scattered. There’s no telling where Doc Liston is. Old Bobby pretty light of foot.” He paused and smiled, “And knife, of course.” He looked at Tiny through hazy eyes, “An empty infirmary won’t help them.”
“Then Prost,” offered RatShambler. “It’s the next closest then.”
The Sergeant at Arms shook his head, “We’re a long way from Prost. A long way . These men can’t survive the trip there.” He pointed at the grouping of horses two hundred yards away. “Those beasts are useless.”
“Well we have got to get these soldiers some medical attention,” snapped RatShambler. “Or all we’ve done is help pile them up while they wait to die!”
The Sergeant at Arms crouched down, “I agree with the Shambler. I’m of a mind to have a seat myself. As Sergeant at Arms of Frank’s Keep, I duly grant myself a day off.” He sat back roughly on his behind. The jar caused the wound in his side to begin to leak anew. “Maybe tomorrow too,” he added as he looked down. “Just in case.”
“It’s a good thing you can give days off,” offered RatShambler, trying to raise his spirits.
“Days off, town passes, promotions. All the important stuff.”
RatShambler perked up, “Say, recruiting isn’t one of the jobs of the Sergeant at Arms, is it?”
Ollie looked up at RatShambler, “Want to enlist? Didn’t think I should try a recruiting pitch right after a battle, surrounded by casualties, but I’ll take ya.” He smiled weakly. “Your well-spoken for a Shambler” he slurred.
RatShambler shook his head, “That’s not what I meant.” He moved beside the Sergeant at Arms. “Back in town we have this constable…”
“Akita? Scary fellow.”
Tiny moved forward and pressed a cloth against the man’s side. The Master at Arms flinched as he did so but didn’t stop him.
RatShambler shrugged, “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
Ollie just looked back at the Shambler.
“And he has this wand that he uses to send people away. When my friend got killed,” RatShambler paused for a moment, “a couple of different times, he would send him to Prost Garrison for the doc there to fix him up.”
“Doc Brown”
“That’s his name?”
Ollie shrugged, “In Common it is. In his native tongue, it’s Marone. I call him ‘Brown’ just to push his buttons. You know this one time I was up there picking up a young troop, he was ranting about needing a goat to look down at the future. Or up the back at the past.”
Tiny shook his head, “He’s losing it.”
“Something like that anyway.”
“Fine, fine,” RatShambler interrupted the increasingly delirious soldier. “What I was getting at is the Constable has this wand that he uses to send people to Prost Garrison.”
Ollie groggily reached into his belt and pulled out a wand as he now interrupted RatShambler, “Got one imbued like that myself.” He pointed toward the wounded men with it. “Hadn’t occurred to me,” he mumbled.
RatShambler gestured towards the wand. “Someone get that wand and start sending all the wounded to Prost Garrison!”
Joachim stepped forward, “I can do that. I’ve used a teleportation wand before.” He reached for the wand. “If you’ll loan me your wand for a moment, Sergeant, I’ll get these men some care,” he said softly. He held out his hand, not wanting to startle the obviously groggy Sergeant At Arms.
The Sergeant at Arms nodded knowingly as he held the wand out for the other soldier. “Have at it.” When the wand left his hand, he passed out.
“Him first, I should think.” Joachim pointed the wand at the now unconscious sergeant.
“Wait!” RatShambler moved in between the two. “Wait, you can’t send just him.”
“Listen Shambler, you just said to send everyone there,” protested Tiny as he cradled the now unconscious Master at Arms. “What’s the issue?” He snapped.
“Well, we can’t just send a bunch of injured soldiers to Prost Garrison out of the blue without first sending someone who can be in charge on that end.”
Joachim opened his mouth then closed it.
“Send me over,” suggested Tiny.
Reuben nodded, “Send the two of us.” He stepped close beside the still kneeling Tiny. “With our size, we will get things going on the other end.” He looked at the large human. “It’ll only take us a moment to make sure they’re amenable to the deal.”
Joachim nodded as he leveled the wand at the two of them.
Ziggy, Zaggy!
Ziggy, Zaggy!
Prost! Prost! Prost!
He intoned.
In a flash, the two were gone.
“Right, now let’s get the most injured first,” suggested Joachim. He looked around at the numerous wounded men. A sigh escaped him. “Or I can just start here and work my way down.” With that he aimed his wand at the men and prepared to send them to Prost Garrison as quickly as he could. “What should I give them? A count to a hundred maybe?”
“That’s probably as much as we can spare,” said RatShambler.
And so, after a count to a hundred, Joachim began to send soldiers as quickly as he could to Prost Garrison.
After half an hour, thanks to the Gargoyles and soldiers dragging all the wounded to the base of the cliff, the only remaining ones were uninjured soldiers, Gargoyles, and Golems. As well as Drimblerod and RatShambler.
RatShambler looked at the smoking wand in Joachim’s hand. “I think that thing’s done for.”
Joachim nodded, “Well, that got all the wounded there. What should we do about the dead?” He looked around.
“Leave the Halflings to the scavengers, but not our men,” said Hefty.
“Agreed,” said Joachim. “Let’s get everyone on horseback and head to Prost. By the time we get there, they should be done with the injured and we can see what they can do about these folk.” He gestured at the three hundred or so dead. While Joachim had been transporting the wounded to Prost, the remaining soldiers had busied themselves with retrieving the horses from the impromptu corral. And moving the dead into piles. He turned to address the men, “Let’s get the dead on horses…” he realized there were more dead soldiers than horses. A great deal more, in fact. He pointed at the several trees in the area. “Let’s get some tavoises lashed together. We’re not leaving anyone behind. Everyone goes as best we can,” he continued, “and we’ll get them to Prost Garrison as quickly as possible.” He looked around. It was an almost impossible task. There’s too many of them. Curse the god that created Halflings, there’s too many. “Strip the dead!” He commanded.
Several men closest to him gaped. “Sir?”
“The weight of their armor will mean less can fit on a horse or a travois. Naked and alive is better than clothed and left for the buzzards!”
The men nodded in agreement.
Dutifully the men began the task of lashing frames together, tying them to horses and loading them with four or five corpses each. Two -and sometimes three smaller fig
hter thanks to having no armor- were strapped to the horses that weren’t strapped to a travois. As they went, soldiers were even added to those horses.
“While you’re doing that, I think we’re going to make for Julesville,” said RatShambler.
“You’re not taking him to Prost?” Joachim pointed at Drimblerod. He still had a dazed look in his eyes but the bleeding had, for the most part, stopped.
“We’ve got a doctor in Julesville and we really need to let someone know about Grimbledung.”
“Grimbledung?”
“He’s the other Gnome’s partner. They were holding the Halflings off at Franks’ Keep while the soldiers got in position out here.”
“What happened to him?”
“He fell.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your friend’s death.” Joachim offered. “I wish we could have gotten to him.”
“Oh, he’s not dead. Hopefully he’s not dead.” RatShambler shook his fur. “He fell off the wall and the Halflings carried him off. If we’ve any chance of rescuing him before they get him to Halfling City, we need to get a raiding party together.”
Joachim nodded. “I understand wanting to go after your friend. I wish there were some way we could help.”
“Think that wand can wrangle out a Gazzelitis spell?”
The man looked down at the smoldering wand. There was smoke coming out of its hilt and a crack had developed in its shaft. “Not a full charge. Sending those Gargoyles over really finished it off. I could maybe give you a good half hour, three quarters, tops.”
RatShambler nodded, “That’d get us almost there.”
Joachim raised an eyebrow at the animal.
“Remember, I can still run as fast as a Shambler.” He nodded towards the Golem, “Especially since he was kind enough to pull that arrow out of me. Plus I’m not pulling a wagon this time.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Joachim pointed at Drimblerod, “He’s kind of woozy. We’re going to have to lash him down.”
RatShambler nodded. “Then let’s get this going. We’ve got a friend to find.” He crouched down as two men commandeered Bert’s rope and lashed Drimblerod to his back.
Here's Looking For You, Grim (Tales From a Second-Hand Wand Shop Book 3) Page 6
