Chapter Sixteen

From a completed epic fantasy novel told across two time periods.

The Old Man

Blankets thrown off the bed in a fluid motion. A sword slicing through neck and vertebrae. Screams. More slicing. More blood. More dying. It was over in less than forty heartbeats. Three bodies laid on the floor. Blood covered the old man’s sword. Now there were only the sounds of his breathing.

The attackers in the bedroom had failed, but he suspected they had not come alone. He slowed his breathing until it was no longer audible. He did not hear a sound. That could mean any number of things, but one was certain- something had happened to Harold. There was no way the man could have slept through the carnage that just occurred.

The old man stepped silently into the main room of the house. There were two windows on the far side of the room, but curtains had been drawn over them, making it too dark to see more than a hand’s length in front of him. He had stayed in this residence for three nights now, and therefore had a mental map of the layout. Moving to where he knew Harold’s room was, he pushed the door open. A single window provided enough light for the old man to see. No one was inside. Blankets lay on the floor. Harold’s boots were there, but so were wet footprints. They led into the room, formed a puddle by the bed, and then led back out.

He considered the windows in the main room, but caution bred from experience told him not to step into their view. The old man had never feared sword fights, but he had different feelings as to projectiles. It was going to be a long, cold night. He sighed and returned to his room to get dressed.

Properly protected from the deathly cold, he ventured outside. In the moonlight, he saw two men standing behind a crumpled form lying in the snow. Both of the standing men were armed. One with a two-handed sword, and the other with a spear, the tip of which looked dark with liquid.

The man with the two-handed sword spoke. “I was told you were a great swordsman. I was also told you were quite old. I weighed these two seemingly contradictory pieces of information in my mind, and chose to have more than one plan. Now that I see you, I am surprised that it appears as though both of the statements I was given were accurate.”

The old man said nothing.

The man who had spoken, an Imperial Defender, the old man inferred, pointed with his weapon to the form on the ground. “Harold here views himself as this village’s representative and protector. The other villagers act as though he is both of those. I think you would agree with me that his current situation suggests the latter of those titles is not fitting.”

Again, the old man remained silent. He did nothing other than blink.

“You killed three men, all of whom had once made their living as assassins. Harold assured us that you were asleep. This suggests the description of your martial prowess was not exaggerated. I am curious to see it myself. I will, but not tonight. Tonight, I will be taking Harold with me. He will get another chance to witness your skill as well, when we return.”

The man had been speaking with a voice louder than necessary given the distance between him and the old man. It now became clear why, as villagers appeared outside their houses. Their eyes were all on the scene in front of them.

“When we return, we will come in force. Crimes against Imperial Defenders must go answered, and the vengeance will be tenfold. You have made bad choices, old man. Your selfishness has doomed these people to a lifetime of hardship.” He then turned in a full circle, spreading his arms out as he spoke. “Do not attempt to flee. If you do, you will be pursued and killed. There will be no more freedom in your future. You may thank this old man for your sentence.”

He then grabbed Harold by the collar of his shirt. The man was alive, but unconscious. His face had been badly battered, and blood stained his shirt where the fabric was cut. The Imperial Defender looked at the old man. “One step my way and he dies.”

The old man considered that. Across the street, in the doorway of a small house which he knew doubled as a workshop, a woman watched him. And in her eyes, the message was clear: “Do not let Harold die.”

The old man looked back at the Imperial Defenders, nodded, and sheathed his sword. The man with the spear dragged Harold by his arms and set him down harshly on a sled which was attached to a short, stocky horse with thick brown fur. Then he pulled two blankets out of a pack and tossed them onto the unconscious man. All the while, the other Imperial Defender had been walking parallel to Harold, eyes on the old man. When they were more than fifty yards away, the two men swung up onto the saddles of two more of the sturdy horses, and rode out of sight, the sled pulled along in their wake.

The old man stood motionless as Makani approached him. On all sides, villagers murmured and squirmed, pulling their coats or blankets tighter to themselves to fight the gelid wind that defined the nights this far north. Makani looked older than she had before. Beautiful though. More so now that she seemed so vulnerable. The implication of that thought did not sit well with the old man. Nor did the thought that he was being swayed into changing his plans out of feelings and circumstances he had no control over.

Now what choice do I have? None, if I want to be able to sleep at night. This is an untenable position. I have time, do I not? The doctors all said she had years. Yet I will feel guilt. I know the truth of this, and it is that I will not be able to rest no matter what I choose. He wondered then, not for the first time, whether the world would have been better without him. He concluded in the affirmative. But that is not one of my options. So, time for yet another battle. To deliver more death. The only thing I have ever been good at. So be it. If I bring suffering whether I act or not, I shall act. It is what I do.

“What will you do?” Makani asked.

“Will my boots be complete by the end of this day?”

Her entire body appeared to droop as she looked down. “They will.”

“Good,” he said. “I will need them. We have work to do to be prepared for their return.”

Makani looked up, tears in her eyes. “You will help us?”

He wanted to reach out and embrace her. Instead, the old man simply shrugged. “I will fight. It is what I do.”

The intimacy of the exchange had narrowed his world so that he did not notice the approach of another villager. The young man who had first spotted his arrival. The muscular youth halted a good distance from the two older individuals.

“I do not blame you,” he said. “You only did what the rest of us have been afraid of doing.”

The old man and Makani looked at the youth. Neither spoke.

“My name is Jaroslav,” the young man said unprompted. “I have a strong sword. It was my father’s. I would use it as you use yours. To defend the village.”

The old man did his best to maintain a body posture that would not reveal his sadness. “In the morning then,” was all he said.

The old man then went back to the room he had been given free of rent. He was sure the complexity and tragedy of the situation he was in would have prevented him from sleeping. But the certainty of having made a decision won out, and he slept through the rest of the night.

The sun was only beginning its ascent, ochre light casting its warmth onto the snow, when the old man had looked out the window to see Jaroslav swinging his father’s sword, a look of grim determination on his face. The old man had sighed and gone to the door, slowly opening it before revealing himself so as to give the youth time to strike the pose he knew he would want to give as his first impression.

Jaroslav did not disappoint. He managed to sheath the sword onto his back and have his arms crossed when the old man finally appeared in the doorway. “I am ready for my training,” he said, putting more bass into his voice than had been there before.

The old man kept a neutral expression on his face. “First we need to gather everyone in the village. There are many decisions to be made and I am not the one to make them.”

“They’ll listen to you and take orders. Everyone is scared. They’re looking for a leader.”

“They’re going to be disappointed. I’m a fighter and I can train others to fight. I know how to build defensible positions and traps. But I am not a leader.”

Jaroslav looked puzzled. Obviously the idea of someone not desiring power and control had never entered his head. The old man could understand that. The lad lived in a world where the strong did as they wanted. The most powerful man Jaroslav could imagine was likely the self-proclaimed emperor of North Saltion, and he would have been the richest man as well. Who would not desire that? It was not the first time in the old man’s life that someone had given him a confused look due to his denial of command. On this hill, I stand strong. And here I will have my way, as they have no alternatives.

An hour later, the entire village was gathered in the tavern. It was the largest building, and it had the added benefit of being filled with a certain substance that gave those who did not want to speak something to do.

The old man had sat waiting as all of the adults, and children as well, filed in. Each person who entered looked at him. A few gave him angry looks, but the majority of the expressions that faced him were like the one that Makani had given him that night. Looks of pleading desperation.

When the tavern was full, drinks began to be poured. Men and women drank in near silence, the only voices those of the children who were not old enough to sense the feel of the room. Villagers would steal glances at the old man, but no one approached him. He was curious to see if anyone would take Harold’s place. That no one attempted to spoke volumes. He was also searching the crowd for another reason. And in that endeavor, he made no progress. After an uncomfortable and lengthy period, the old man gave in and stood up.

“Those Imperial Defenders were well-informed. That is a concern. And until it is addressed, and then resolved, we have no other business.”

Now there was chatter. I cannot solve every problem myself. Harold, it is a wonder that you did not look even older.

Not wishing to speak again, the old man sat back down and waited for someone else to take the floor. Eventually, a clanging sound from the bar slowly drew the crowd’s attention. The talking petered out until the only sound came from a hammer hitting a skillet. All eyes were now on Makani.

“Who left the town after Gray arrived?”

No response. Then, a hand was raised. A woman ten paces from the old man. “I went to gather wood.”

Another hand in the back of the room. “As did I.”

More hands. More people who had acquired firewood, fish, or meat.

Then a voice arose in the middle of the crowd. A white bearded villager who looked to have seen a decade more than the old man. He had removed his hood to reveal a hairless pate. He had been seated, but was now standing. “Lots of suspects, it appears,” he said. “If we attempt to find out who tipped off the Imperial Defenders, we will tear this community apart. I see only one course of action. From this day forward, no one can be outside the village for long enough to deliver another message and no one leaves alone. At least until we are rid of the Imperial Defenders.”

The old man had anticipated pushback to that plan, but none came. Perhaps that mystery will still reveal itself, depending on how our preparations go. If the guilty party believes we can win this fight, they may never let the truth of what they have done come to light.

The old man was pleased with the start of this gathering though. Two potential leaders here. With that beginning to take form, the old man could assume his role. He would initiate the defense of the village.