Chapter 1-The Army
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8 years later
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I awoke earlier than usual, and did my regimen of sword exercises faithfully for two or so hours.
Why do you even do these still? I knew, of course. My father. He had taught me, as had the monk Augustine, taught me something that might unfortunately be necessary, and I honored the memory. God forbid the day I had to use my skills and speed.
The idea of fighting still grated on me a little, thinking of what that stab in air meant if it would ever be used. Of course, it would be necessary if I used it. Most likely, in fact, it would be some battle to the death against Tarlaan to the north, or any one of the other violent princes of the Holy Roman Empire.
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But that day, I didn’t think so much on war as I do now. The fine day merely called for me to slide my short bow into my quiver, sling the quiver over my shoulder, and call my younger brother, Gervaise. “Get your things ready, and help me with one last thing in the forge.”
“The Foxes’ plow?”
“Yes. Mrs. Foxe’ll be here to pick it up.”
Gervaise nodded and rolled out of his cot, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
“You…” I shook my head, then paused for a moment’s thought. Why was she coming? Had something happened to her husband? Why wasn’t Guy, her strong son and my best friend, picking up the plow?
I walked to my forge and slid on my apron and gloves. Our one horse nickered at me, and I scowled back at the nag. To be honest, I should’ve been more careful. That thing was so old, a scowl might well kill it.
A few pumps of the bellow started up the good faithful fire, and the warmth on my hands felt good, as even a fresh spring day had a chill and fog to start it off. In just a few minutes, I was hammering in the last rivet, while Gervaise probably had fallen asleep again.
When I finished, I turned around to look for him. He sat on a bench, staring at a drawing he’d made.
“How long have you been there?”
“Only ten minutes.”
“Only? Well, it’s a good thing the rivet went in easier than I thought.”
“Why do you even have to finish it? You’re just delaying our hunt.”
“I promised Ms. Foxe I’d have it done this morning. So it has to be done this morning. Besides, she choose me even though there are two other smiths closer,” I said a little harshly. “What are you looking at?”
“You think it’d float?”
“Of course a plow wouldn’t float, Gerv.”
“Not the plow! Important things,” He said without paying a bit of attention. He was staring at one of his ship diagrams, the one thing he actually paid enough attention with to understand.
“Help me get this hunk of metal outside, now. Ms. Foxe’s going to be here any minute.”
Gervaise nodded, stared one last time at that sheet of paper, and helped me lug the giant plow outside.
As we came through the door, a rickety wagon bumped up to our house from the edge of the woods.
“Ms. Foxe?” I asked.
“I can’t pay for my plow,” she said quietly, offering no explanation. “I need to sell it. What do you want?
“Is there something I can do? Do you want me to cut some wood, or mend some fences, hunt?” Judging by the absence of anyone else, her husband must have taken pretty ill.
“No…” she stiffened up straight. “We’ll get along by ourselves. What can you give me for the plow?”
I glanced from the plow to the cart and to her. “4 silver?”
“That’s so generous…” She started to say.
I ran back into the forge, grabbed the money, and returned.
“Thank you so much… God’s blessings.”
“Gervaise, help me with the plow.”
He nodded and grabbed one end, pulling back to the forge.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To take it…back to the forge?” he asked with a confused look on his face.
“Follow me.” I walked backwards, lugging it behind Ms. Foxe’s cart. “Lift.”
“What are you doing?!” she asked.
“Giving you the plow you paid for,” I said.
“You paid me already…”
“Just don’t tell anyone.” I said, rolling the monstrosity into the back of her wagon. “Do you need me to get my wagon for you? I don’t think this’ll make the trip…”
“No,” she said definitely. “Edmund Skye, you do not and you will not. You’ve given a month’s wages to me for an oversized plow you repaired for free, and then you gave me the plow. If you try one more act of charity…” She didn’t finish the sentence, her anger morphing into… pain? Husband must have been much worse than I thought.
“I’ve not yet given you enough. Guy has been such a friend to me, and his father to my…” I couldn’t say the words, ‘late father.’ Couldn’t think of the last moments, the face of death that had always haunted me. God had spared me the sight of seeing him die, but in this town, I’d been told enough times.
“No. You’ve given enough.” And with that, the sorrowful woman drove away.
“How are we supposed to get more iron, Ed? We’re nearly out.”
I paused for a moment. “We’ll find a way, Gervaise. Generosity is always the right course.”
He just shrugged and turned back. “Sure, ‘Skye,’ whatever you say.”
*
At last it was time for the hunt. I hoped for some variation to our normal meal: mealy mush, onions, and occasionally a rabbit. We hunted in a portion of the forest, near the frontier of Ainrar and Tarlaan, which abounded with deer and boar. Just one of those could feed my family of seven for a week of full, actual, meals.
After walking for ten or so miles, I motioned for Gervaise to get down and ready his bow. Up ahead a fine doe drank from a stream. I crawled silently to a bush, wondering how to get closer.
It stood five hundred heads away, barely visible, out of bow range for sure. I must admit I wasn’t the best of archers, and neither was Gervaise. I ripped a piece of my tunic off and instantly regretted it, remembering my sister’s dislike of such things-and fluttered it over my head. A fatal curiosity turned the doe around, as I had figured. It slowly started to walk towards us, unsure. Then, suddenly, it bounded away, because of some slight movement near it.
I cursed for a moment, then crawled forward again. “I hope we have better chance with the next deer. That’s a lost cause.”
I listened hard for another kill. “Why is it so quiet? No birds or anything, just the splash and roar of the stream.”
“The stream’s a good place for finding deer,” said Gervaise, who pointed to another one, which knelt on the opposite side of the stream, drinking. I started to crawl closer, so that it would be in full view before waving the handkerchief again. However, this one, too, ran away.
It certainly was odd that two had both been startled, and whatever it was could be just as edible: a boar or bear is good eating.
When we got to the stream, I looked up and down its banks in the vain hope that the two deer hadn’t gone far. But they were out of sight, and the only thing audible was a low, almost booming rumble, and heavy tread, coming from down the stream to our left. Perhaps the sounds of a waterfall?
We made our way through the undergrowth, sliding the bushes to the side as we moved through, step by step. At the same time, the noise got louder until, as we turned a corner of the stream, I could see why.
After a pause at the stream, we climbed over a small stretch of water where one could go across without getting too wet, then up the muddy, slippery, rocky bank and I looked over the top. I motioned for my brother to stay back, so he wouldn’t alert them to our presence by his clumsiness. He sat, trying to look over my shoulder.
Forty heads from myself, there spanned a large bridge, itself nearly twenty heads wide. This bridge was yellow with new wood, an oddly misplaced piece of mankind in this quiet, bushy forest. The real surprise, though, was what crossed a moment later.
Soldiers, hundreds of them, marching in rank and file stamped from one side of the bridge to the other, then down into the forest as far as the eye could see. Down towards my homeland.
I counted for a minute or two, and at least two hundred went by. The sound of yells and lash told me the danger: they were in a hurry.
“What’s happening?” Gervaise begged.
“Stay down. Something is very wrong,” I said, “this means war.” I pressed myself into the rocky ground which was around the stream, and watched again, as more interesting things came into view.
An uncovered wagon, filed with enormous crossbows rumbled by, shaking the bridge. Other wagons overflowed with weapons, food, and tools. This was clearly a well-planned raid.
“Alright,” I said, “you can come up, if you’re slow, careful, and aren’t clumsy.” He slid up in a moment, throwing aside rocks, stones, and caution all at once.
Judging by the direction of the road, it headed straight for Ainrar, and more important, my village and my siblings. I turned around, to get Gervaise and run for the village, when, to my surprise, he had disappeared.
I looked over my other shoulder, back towards the bridge, and there he lay. He climbed on the bank of the river, ten heads closer to the bridge, looking at the soldiers as they crossed.
“Get over here, you goat!” I said, muffling the sound as much as possible, just beginning to appreciating the gravity of the situation.
He must not have heard me, or, more likely, just ignored me. So, I scrambled over to him. “What are you doing?” I asked, furious. “This is an invading army! We have to leave! It will only take them about a week to get to the village, and every minute might count. There may be scouts, or others here!”
“I guess you’re right… even though I was well hidden from view.” snapped Gervaise, reluctant to stop looking at the boats that supported the pathway, these being used instead of posts. “I think they’re flat-bottoms made out of common pine wood. Or maybe…”
“Let’s go,” I said.
“No,” said another voice from in the direction of the road, “We are going to apprehend and imprison ye, not only under the rationale that ye know of this army, but also, for the vindication of the Duke and his reverence.”
I twisted around towards the familiar sound. Odd.
There was a distinctly military air to him, despite the fancy language and the fact I couldn't see his face. Even with his head stuffed in a common pikeman’s helmet, he appeared to be an officer. He was holding a crossbow, which was unusually bulky, despite the fact it appeared to be smaller than any I’d seen before. Strange boxes stuck out helter-skelter -at first glance- on the top and sides. The appendage on top appeared to be like some sort of quiver.
Three other men walked up beside him, all dressed in light chain mail and leather, with the strange bows, appearing to be some sort of light infantry, scouts. The masked captain stalked towards me, but I hadn’t seen any motion of him drawing back the bow, so we still had a chance.
“What are you doing?” I asked, distracting the man for an escape.
“Doesn’t matter,” said the first one in the helmet carelessly.
I dove behind a bush, grabbing Gervaise. Rolling backwards from there, I had hoped that it wasn’t far to the bank of the stream. Of course, I had not remembered the fact that it was a decidedly steep, and painfully high, bank.
“After them!” cried the man, firing the crossbow. The others did the same, shredding the bush I was just in.
As I rolled over the edge of the bank, I suddenly remembered why I hate heights.
I fell hard, breaking open skin on my forearms from the rocks at the bottm. Gervaise fell on his right arm, and it fell limp at his side. “COME ON!” I said hoarsely, running to the edge of the water. We ran into the stream, diving into its cold waters, my brother after me.
The men arrived at the bank, and shot at random into the deep torrent. Their firing reminded me of my bow, and I hoped that my bowstring wasn’t ruined by that little dip.
After a second or two, I pulled him up onto the side of the stream, diving into a little bit of underbrush. “Those bows are firing, and they aren’t having to pull back the bowstring,” Gervaise said, weak from his fall but oddly observant.
“Right,” I said, paying no attention, as I dragged him up the slope, pushing aside bush branches. A bolt nicked my ear, thankfully not drawing much blood.
I rolled on the top, and started running, when I realized the meaning of Gervaise’s statement. The men were firing, at a rate of one shot every two seconds each, without having to reload, or work to load the arrow. How was that even possible?
I had to stop them.
“Gervaise, go on. I’ll find you later!” I turned back.
“Edmund!” I didn’t turn around. “That is death!”
“Gervaise,” I said quietly. “If I die but you escape, take care of our family. Father left me to it, and now I may leave you to it. Please go.”
Behind me, his footsteps faded. “Good,” I thought to myself, hoping that I would be able to follow him eventually. But I might not.
I slid my bow from the quiver and dried it as best as I could, slipping out an arrow as well.
One of the pursuers stopped, and started to pull back his bowstring for the first time, which appeared to be attached to his bow like normal. At least they couldn’t fire an endless stream of shots.
Aim, fire, look away. The sound of his thump was welcome, as was the silence. I’d scored a solid hit.
“Three left,” I said to myself. Swinging around the tree, I looked for another target. A glint of steel next to a tree sent me behind mine, just in time, for three arrows, separated only by a second, punched into the bark.
I pressed myself hard against its roughness, contemplating for a second if I should climb. It would have been a good tree, but the thought of the fall stopped any such option.
Another arrow nocked, I looked out into the woods. A glint of steel again; the tip of the bolt meant for my neck. I fired, just a little below it, hitting the man in the stomach. He cried out, and limped behind a tree.
“Reinforcements!” cried the man in the helmet, obviously an officer. He carried two crossbows, both lighter than the weapons carried by the three other men, with round quivers. He started shooting, lacing the tree and others behind it with exploding shots.
I stared at the tip of this deadly bolt in panic. They were truly diabolical: a baked clay tip hiding a bodkin head of iron. The arrow had shattered against the tree, leaving scars from the ricocheting clay shards.
A thought went through my mind asking why the helmeted captain acted so recklessly, because he stood with most of his body showing from behind a tall stump, where a tree had broken off years before. I noticed, suddenly, that there was a large hole in the trunk of the tree. The tree must have been a very old tree, because it had grown to nearly a stride in diameter, before dying, rotting, and falling.
I fired a shot into the trunk of the rotting tree, which corresponded with a light moan of pain. The third man had gotten inside the stump, and had drawn what appeared to be a good line on me, because even when he was in pain, his reactionary trigger pull sent the bolt into the sheaf of arrows housed in my quiver. Rather, it went through the tops of the arrows, which showed over my shoulder, and then slammed into a tree behind me.
The last man, the one in the helmet, retreated, calling for “Supplemental light infantry!” He disappeared into the ravine before I could nock another shaft.
*
“So what do we do now?” said Gervaise, when I caught up to him at a good run.
“We go home and stay absolutely, totally, silent about what we just saw. If we told them now, all the villagers would fight. We’ll wait for a few days, and then tell them.”
“They’ll be real happy then, won’t they?” he said.
“They’re always really happy.” Gervaise didn’t laugh. I continued, on a much more sober note, “I don’t want our village destroyed, because He will do that.” It was a sobering thought, the death and slaughter of those in the villages, “I don’t want any of you getting hurt. A raid is better than that.”
“Who is this Duke the man talked about? And why don’t I know who he is, if he raids Ainrar?”
“The Duke of Tarlaan. He occasionally makes raids into Ainrar. Usually they’re not this large, or determined. About five or so years ago, the raids stopped, so everyone thought he had died or been taken over. It appears he spent the time very wisely.”
“Maybe it’s not a raid.”
“He only raids, Gervaise. Why would he enslave us? He wouldn't get as much out of the poor border Tels. He doesn’t want to conquer, just raid,” I said, partly to reassure myself.
“Awfully big raiding party. Awfully big. Troy should be interested in those crossbows, though. It’ll be interesting how you explain where you came by them. And, it’ll be interesting to see how you hide it from the village. And…”
“I know. It’ll be interesting. All interesting, how I maneuver with the hotbed of lazy, active, irascible, and kind, people we like to call our village.” I smiled, thinking of the backwater confusions of the town. But the next moment all became quite serious again. “Down!” I cried, an arrow whistling past us and smashing into a tree hard by.
Again, a strange arrow: fully twice the size it should have been, heavy and thick enough to spear a man… or more. The tree it hit was a young, hand thick, oak, but the arrow had slammed all the way through the oak, and stuck out the other side, splintering and fracturing up and down the trunk.
The good thing was, the shot brought down the tree on whoever fired at us. I don’t know how he missed. We started to run, when I realized that we were surrounded by the light infantry spoken of by the man in the helm.
We got behind a tree with a large bush growing at the bottom of it, and then into the bush.
“Come out slowly, with your hands in the air. Put your weapons down, and you will not be harmed,” he said. The man in the helm again, thankfully without the fancy-monk-Latin type language. He said it in a very monotone and emotionless way.
Three of the infantry walked towards our tree. They couldn't see exactly where we were, which was an advantage. “Gervaise,” I whispered, “I’m going to make a diversion. Run hard. At least one of us must make it out to tell the village.” He nodded and stood to run. I grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around, and got close to his face. “You can’t tell them yet though. The one thing we can’t do is let this get to a war… you know what happened to our family the last time we fought the Duke.” Another nod, but this time, fear was spelled all across his face.
I turned. They were getting impatient. All three men were pointing their bows into the bush. Two of the troopers would be in position soon to shut down the rear, and shoot us out of the position. This was it.
“Prepare to fire,” said the man in the helm, putting a hood over his helmeted head.
I leapt out of the bush, firing a shot into the one on the left. Spinning awkwardly, I slammed my weight into the second, while my legs, flying in air, tripped the third. Drawing my knife in a frighteningly easy manner, I stabbed.
Whipping back the other way, I blocked the third man, a swordsman. My spin had such force that even my dagger, on connecting with the blade, was enough to knock it to the side. The sword, uncommonly sharp, stuck into the tree. The man looked at me as I slammed my elbow into his head, which hit the tree, effectively knocking him out.
I spun with him, to hide behind the tree, and four shots hit around us. Taking his knife, I rolled to another tree. When I had gotten to it, I stood behind it, and taking the knife by its tip, threw it into one of the archers.
There were two others, besides the man in the hood, and the two who were behind us.
I looked, and Gervaise was running away, doing exactly what I would have wanted. An arrow was on my bow, just in time as one of the men was tracing Gervaise with his crossbow.
He stood hidden from Gervaise, but I had a clean shot. The man hit the ground a moment later, his bolt ricocheting off of a root and flying somewhere out into the forest.
Nocking another arrow, I waited. The other trooper in the rear, as I expected, looked my direction. I turned away, trusting some instinct, and shot one of the archers in front, who was engaged in using his strange crossbow to riddle my first bush.
I waited, every moment expecting to be shot in the side by the other rearward archer. But it never happened. Gervaise had managed to nail him with a solid shot. “Good hit!” I yelled, and instantly regretted it.
The remaining archer spun, eyes locked towards my position. I took an arrow, and put it in my bow. Drawing back, I looked for one moment into the archer’s face, as he was searching to find my form in the dense woods. However, I was nearly invisible; my only garb, because I was poor, was a brown tunic and pants. Firing, my arrow hit him unawares. I prepared to shoot again.
Bow drawn, arrow nocked, I looked over to where the mysterious man with helm and hood had been. However, the forest was eerily empty, except for the faint tread of feet from the marching column.
“Help me pick up these crossbows,” I said, with a sigh, picking up the new crossbows that the men were using, as well as their belts of arrows. Perhaps they’d be worth something later. “And let’s go, Gervaise, before anyone else shows up.”
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