Reciprocity : Volume 1 of The Fledgegate Cycle

by Zachary Smith

  "I'll try, but no promises. I may be needed in the forge. I'll come if I can, but don't wait for me."

  The girls said their goodbyes as Alyra headed home, and Rues headed back to the forge.

  Rues could hear her father cursing well before she ever made it back. The plow repairs were obviously going poorly. Her father was not an angry man, but frustration took its toll on everyone from time to time. Rues' brothers were standing ready, prepared for whatever orders were sure to be barked in the next few moments. Right on cue, her father bellowed,

  "More heat! I need more heat! Stoke the fire and heat the anvil. This blasted steel is junk, and I'm going to need flux. Lots of flux. Let me know when we're at welding temperature."

  Rues wordlessly handed her father one of the waterskins. He accepted it with gratitude, downing a quarter of the skin without pause. In the forge, you hydrated or died. When the blacksmith was in a mood like this, it was better not to speak until spoken to. The wrong thing said at a time like this would be like pouring water on a hot anvil. He might crack.

  "We're going to be at this for a few more hours. The flux should make the weld take. Tell your mother that I said to eat without us. Farmer Warsh needs this fixed by morning, and I agreed, and I'll be damned if we're late," said the smith.

  "I'm sorry the plow is giving you problems, Papa. Would it be ok if I had dinner with Alyra and her grandfather? I was invited, I promise!"

  "So long as your mother says your chores are finished, you have my permission. It's going to be a tough evening in here anyway, and there is no need to subject you to my mood and the endless string of profanity that’ll flow," he said.

  With a smile, Rues rushed to the house to check in with her mother.

  ✽✽✽

  Alyra dropped the hint of mushrooms to try and get Rues' attention. Predictable to a fault. Dangle a carrot in front of her, and she’d walk for miles.

  Both girls knew it was a setup, but each would get what they wanted.

  Rues would be fed, and Alyra would benefit from her company. Glem wasn’t usually the talkative sort while at home. Sure, he would spin yarns at the tavern for hours, but not with Alyra. Whether he was embarrassed about the things he had done, ashamed of his physical condition, or just felt that she was uninterested or uninteresting, she didn’t know. Alyra's father used to tell her that her grandpa had been an important man at the capital, but she didn't ever really believe him. Sure, he was in the army, but that just meant he had to follow orders.

  Alyra headed home and hung the laundry out to dry on a line strung from the house to the oak tree on the south side. With dinner prepped and the kettle now heating, Alyra left to bring the old man home. She wanted him presentable when Rues arrived. Presentable would be a stretch. Alyra would settle for a washed face and a clean tunic.

  Simple enough, you’d have thought, but seemingly it was never going to happen.

  As Alyra walked over to the tavern, she noticed a dust cloud a few miles out. Wagons were coming in from the south. She hoped they would be bringing more mushrooms.

  Chapter 2

  The company-sized element, about forty-strong, had separated from the main force of the Hasdingium army two days earlier, their assigned mission being to act as a scouting vanguard and to secure resources for the main army. And so they moved their large group from one small Hasdingian village to the next, taking a small percentage of the food and livestock from each of the communities, ensuring their own army stayed well fed and nourished.

  The villagers complied out of fear and duty, even though it would leave their stores lean for the winter. While careful not to overtax these villages, Captain Tyrup took only what he believed each small town could survive without.

  He was not a tyrant, nor was his King, and these were his countrymen after all.

  Captain Tyrup moved his company north out of Hasdingium but felt his compassion die at the Laterian Kingdom’s border. No longer his people, the lives of the Laterians meant nothing at all to Tyrup. His scouts had located a small village just two miles north of the border.

  Initial estimates were that the population numbered just fifty, just large enough to make the raid worthwhile. This town would contribute both their lives and resources to the cause, and it would serve as an excellent opportunity to blood his inexperienced troops.

  The scout's report of the settlement described it as being completely unsecured, without either fence or guard to slow their advancement, and none of the villagers appeared to be armed.

  It surely wouldn't take a tactical genius to sack this town.

  Charge in, kill everything that moved, then rejoin the army with the goods.

  Herding the cattle back would likely be the most challenging task of this entire operation.

  The arcane abilities that some of the soldiers had manifested and in which they were trained were terrifying to Tyrup. He would not have believed them if he hadn’t seen their training with his own eyes. These soldiers were being touted as the weapon that would bring a quick end to this campaign, and he believed every word was true as he had two in his company.

  One could hurl objects, like a stone or spear, without physically picking them up. While this did not make him any deadlier than his archers, the soldier's ability to weaponize any small object around him allowed an impressive fire rate without transporting large quantities of arrows. The soldier's power was also growing at an exponential rate.

  Just one week ago, the soldier could only heft an object the size of a walnut.

  Now, he could fire rocks the size of a child's fist at the speed of an arrow.

  A novelty as a single individual, but a force of devastation if they could find more soldiers with that same ability. And if his powers continued to grow, he would become a siege engine that could ride a horse to the conflict. The ramifications were staggering.

  The second of these new soldier mages possessed abilities far more terrifying to Tyrup, powers which were more in line with his current mission. Through force of will alone, he could somehow project fire onto anyone or anything around him.

  Admittedly his range was limited, something the Captain tested first. But even with limited range, anyone within a few hundred yards was likely to burst into flames at his command.

  And the closer to his target, the more devastating the inferno.

  Tyrup saw this village as an opportunity to test these new weapons in his arsenal. The village up ahead would be their proving ground. Better to check them here and thoroughly understand their capabilities. More significant battles were on the horizon, and a smart officer never relied on an unproven weapon, no matter how powerful it may be.

  The Captain studied the sand table in front of him. This was a sandy area of ground where the scouts had fashioned a replica of the town using stones and twigs. It was a tool his father had taught him for planning an attack. Rarely, if ever, would he get to see an objective before the mission. He had to rely on his scouts’ description, and this visual aid had proven enormously useful. As the Tyrup looked at the town's layout, he realized how easy it would be to push the town into an ambush with the archers. It would serve as a perfect test of both of his new magic users’ combat abilities and a lesson for the rest of his soldiers as well.

  "Sergeant, come with me," ordered the Captain, leading him over to the sand table. "The plan is simple: you are to assemble your archers and the human slingshot, and maneuver them to the northern edge of the town," he said, pointing with a stick and indicating the spot on the sand table. "While you are setting an ambush. I will move in the rest of our forces from the south, forcing the villagers to flee north toward you. Stay hidden until the last moment.

  “We don’t want the villagers to scatter, and we don’t have the time or manpower to hunt them down. Take no prisoners and let no one escape. Everyone dies. We can’t afford for the word to get out that our army is on the move."

  "Understood. How will I know when it is time to take our position?" asked the Sergeant.<
br />
  "Easy," smiled the Captain. "Just move when you hear the first screams."

  As the sun neared the western horizon, Glem decided that it was time to go home. Not that the decision was genuinely his, since Alyra had come to collect him. Draining the last of his mead, he set down the empty mug and started across the village toward home.

  His uncooperative legs, numb with drink, took him on a less than straight path there.

  Alyra patiently walked beside him, judiciously steadying him when needed.

  "You overdo it a bit today?" mocked Alyra. She wasn't mad, perhaps a touch exasperated.

  "I can stand, and I can walk. I may even decide to dance. This hardly constitutes an overdoing," said Glem.

  "Well, get inside and make yourself somewhat presentable," chastised Alyra as she brought her grandfather indoors. "Rues is coming to dinner if her father allows it."

  "As you wish, Your Majesty," joked Glem.

  A short time later, a soft knock at the door announced Rues' arrival.

  While nothing fancy, the meal was filling and flavorful, grilled mushrooms and beef stew, with a large chunk of bread baked just the day before. After dinner, the girls lounged at the table, engrossed in conversation. Glem smiled, as this was one of the rare times in which he saw his granddaughter genuinely happy. Not wanting to interfere, he retreated to the far side of the room. Sitting next to the fire, he cracked open one of their few precious books and read.

  ✽✽✽

  The Captain ordered his men forward. Ten soldiers on horseback, the force was overkill for this small town. He wasn’t taking any chances in this engagement. This would be the first strike in the upcoming war, and likely the point of no return. Overconfidence radiated among his inexperienced men, an emotion that could earn them a quick death. A professional soldier, he understood that no amount of training truly prepared a soldier for their first battle. As much as he hated to admit it, losing one of the more arrogant troops would be a quick cure.

  The cavalry masked its approach by riding in a single file behind two wagons, which would be used to haul the town’s provisions. They would also make the attack force appear to be merchants traveling up from the south. Not an overly common occurrence in this area, though more likely to excite the village than cause alarm.

  As they neared the outskirts of the village, the Captain felt a general unease growing among the green men. He was pleased, though, and he noticed a single standout.

  One soldier remained cocky. The Captain had found his example.

  Villagers began to gather along the road, prepared to greet their guests. The prospect of new trade was exciting, as trade from the south had been sparse the last few years. Talk erupted amongst the villagers, many voicing their desire for items they required and hoping they could afford it. Steel, in particular, had been extraordinarily challenging to procure. Others spoke of cloth, medicines, and the pink sea salt gathered from the base of the Southern Kingdom. As the talk continued, a lone rider hurried forward from the caravan toward the villagers.

  "It’s time," said Tyrup to the hooded figure beside him.

  The man nodded and spurred his horse toward the town.

  Fifty yards from the gathered villagers, the man stopped his steed, dismounted, and sat with his legs crossed on the ground. As he settled his breathing, he raised his hands in the air, palms skyward, the villagers standing around and watching him with confusion.

  A few made tentative steps toward him, curious about his odd action, and wondering what he might be about to do next. They looked down at the ground, then back at their visitor.

  The man’s brow was creased and sweating, straining with effort; he began to push his hands into the air as though he was making a slow toss. Flames exploded into existence, out around the man, and flaring up in a circle. He pushed them sweepingly toward the village, catching some of the thatched roofs on fire, and the clothing of some of the villagers began to smoke.

  The sound of crackling and spitting filled the ears of the bystanders, whose mouths were agape, and now they cowered, shielding faces, rubbing at smoke-laden, stinging eyes. Fear filled each of their demeanors, showing itself in wide eyes and panicked movements.

  A wall of flame quickly rose ten feet in the air, bisecting the town.

  The glow from the blaze illuminated the night sky, and now, the villagers could feel the heat radiating all around them, making it difficult to breathe as they began to panic.

  And just like any other panicked creature, the villagers started to run. Those to the north of the flames gathered their children and fled toward the creek. Those to the south ran toward the wagons, where the soldiers began spreading out in an arc behind the seated man.

  Shock and a little fear showed heavily on the Tyrup’s face too. When had he developed such power? These were not the tiny flames conjured during exercises. He surveyed the field with the villagers running toward his men to get away from the fire, seeing how his own men's faces also echoed the villagers’ terror as they stared at the inferno. His plan was working but perhaps too well. The destructive display of the lone seated figure was spooking his own men.

  Tyrup took a deep breath to regain his composure and drew his sword.

  He was a trained soldier, not a child to fear the result of his own plan, and this was not the time for hesitation either. He could not look unsure about anything in front of his men.

  Captain Tyrup thrust his sword into the air. He addressed his men.

  “Do not fear the flames!” he screamed, pointing his sword at the villagers running toward them. “This is the duty we have been sent to perform. Kill every man, woman, and child! Do not fear these pathetic villagers. Let none of them escape. Now. CHARGE!” he bellowed as he spurred his horse toward the fleeing villagers.

  The villagers realized, too late, that they would have been safer with the fire.

  As the slaughter began, Tyrup looked to his left and noticed the forge for the first time. The forge fire lit the interior, and he could see shadows moving around. The blacksmith, sure to have watched the execution of his village, hadn’t abandoned his forge.

  “Too easy," exclaimed the cocky soldier as he plunged his sword down into a fleeing woman.

  "I agree, soldier!" exclaimed the Captain. "Killing women and children doesn't impress me. Go, prove your worth to our King, Hazk, and to me, by dealing with the blacksmith!"

  The soldier's eyes opened in surprise, quickly narrowing to a squint and a tight smile.

  It was indeed his moment to shine.

  He wasted no time, hauling his horse around, and heading off toward the smithy.

  Tyrup considered advising the soldier to switch his long sword for a mace or short sword, but he immediately dismissed the idea. He would serve as an abject example for the Captain’s men. It would teach them not to underestimate their enemies.

  The soldier dismounted at the smithy door, then kicked the door in and charged without stopping to peer through the spaces between the wooden planks. No plan. No idea of what awaited him. Arrogance, ignorance, and bravado drove him into the forge. The Captain watched the short yet brutal contest unfold.

  The soldier charged into the smithy and found the blacksmith and his sons waiting for him. Immediately realizing his mistake, he tried to backpedal.

  Outnumbered three to one, a retreat was his only option. He turned to run back out the door, just as a sixteen-year-old boy, covered in soot, swung a hammer toward his face.

  The soldier managed to dodge the blow but stepped right into the grasp of the blacksmith. Face to face, wrapped in a bearhug, the soldier struggled to free himself. His sword pinned to his side, he reached for the small blade in his belt, but too late. The youngest son, blond and soot-covered like his brother, only fourteen years old, swung his own hammer, striking the soldier between the shoulder blades and destroying his spine.

  The blacksmith released the soldier's broken body, letting it crumple onto the ground.

  He reached for his m
ost massive hammer, the one he had been using to fix the plow when the battle had started. He paused over the dying man and looked both of his sons in the eyes. He knew they would fight bravely to the end—but that they would not survive.

  The blacksmith looked back, raised his hammer over his head, and with a primal yell, struck a blow harder than any he'd delivered on the anvil that day. The soldier's head exploded from the force of the impact, spreading blood and brain matter over the forge floor.

  The Captain smiled and raised his sword toward the blacksmith in salute.

  ✽✽✽

  Glem woke with a start. He looked around the cottage; nothing appeared out of place or amiss. The girls were still at the table, smiling and quietly gossiping about their peers in the village. Something had startled him awake though, but he couldn’t fathom what it was; nothing had been dropped or broken, nor had the girls been overly loud.

  Rues noticed that Glem was listening in, and she stood from the table.

  "Thank you so much for having me tonight," said Rues, "the mushrooms were amazing! What were they again?"

  "Hopefully, the non-poisonous variety!" joked Glem, still uneasy.

  "Hopefully, indeed!" laughed Rues. "Well, I need to get back home. I have to make sure Papa stops long enough to eat. Thanks again for having me; it was fun!"

  Alyra smiled in understanding, having a problem adult of her own to babysit. The girls hugged and walked toward the door, while Glem settled back into his chair.

  As Alyra reached for the door catch, Glem again heard the sound that had awakened him. Screams. A woman's screams. Something was happening in the village.

  "Stop! Get back in here and close the door! Now, child, close the door!" Glem hissed, jumping out of his seat.

  Alyra quickly pulled the door shut, pushing Rues behind her into the room. They, too, had heard the sounds of fighting and the screams of dying villagers. Glem made his way to the window and pulled back the curtain; he peered out and looked around.