The Old Man
Gray and Makani walked side by side to Trounen’s house. They found the old man sitting in front of a fire, whittling a stick while whistling softly to himself. If he had been upset at the usurpation of his new role as village leader, he showed no signs of it.
“Do you believe they will demand Gray leave?” Makani asked before even giving a greeting.
Trounen did not look up from his work. “Only fools would demand that. So, to answer your question, I do not know.”
“And what will the Imperial Defenders do if Gray leaves?”
“Same as if we lose the battle; they will tighten their grip on the village. Our home will become a work camp and our liberty will be replaced with slavery.”
“Then Gray is our only hope. We need to make the others see that.”
“You cannot make anyone else see what you see, even if it is the truth. Perhaps especially when it is the truth. If you attempt to persuade them, they will dig their heels in deeper. Their decision is out of our hands. My hope is that they put it to a vote, for the most adamant will be the loudest, but their viciousness and fervor does not count more than the vote of a more rational person.”
“If I had been more aware of the time of day, this could have been avoided,” Gray said before realizing the intention behind the words he voiced. I wish for them to say that is not true. Though will it change my mind? Alas, Trounen is correct in regards to the stubborn nature of humanity.
The elderly man continued whittling. “Believe what you will.”
That was the response Gray knew he deserved. Trounen had a way of seeing the truth of things, which made the villager’s dismissal of him all the more tragic.
Makani was not as callous. “Anyone could have spoken up. They all know the risks of being outside after dusk. You are not solely responsible for the lives of everyone in this village. Do not place that upon your shoulders. You’re carrying enough of a load as it is.”
It was a reasonable request that he knew he could not meet.
Too many years of believing otherwise. Damn Trounen and his clarity of vision.
A sound from outside. A cry. An alarm.
They have come.
Back out in the bitter cold of the night, Gray saw villagers filing out from the light of the tavern. Down the main pathway of the village, a man ran, yelling out a warning. At least twenty Imperial Defenders had been sighted.
Gray trudged through the snow to reach the tavern where he found Jaroslav and Wervich, the former appearing hesitant to look him in the eyes. “Get everyone to their posts. I will go out and meet them.”
Wervich began barking orders. Gray looked at Jaroslav. The young man returned the gaze, looked down, then back to Gray. Finally, he turned and joined his voice to Wervich’s.
There was no time to ponder that reaction, although Gray believed he understood what it signified. Instead, he unslung his sword and walked toward the entrance of the town. But he was not alone on that path. Ahead of him, he saw four villagers carrying torches who were rushing in the same direction he was headed. One stopped, looked back, then turned and ran even quicker to catch up to the others. Gray continued on, his pace unchanging.
Once past the village limits, he witnessed the four villagers halt ten feet before two representatives of the Imperial Defenders. Behind them, the other thugs had fanned out to form a semi-circle. The proof of Olisha’s betrayal was clear in their equipment. Each man carried a shield to defend himself from the barrage of arrows they knew would be greeting them.
Away from the gathering, but close enough to hear their exchange through elevated voices, Gray heard a familiar voice. The man who spoke for the village was the husband of the woman who had just died that night.
“We have come to make a bargain. We do not want further bloodshed this night. We will ask the foreigner to leave the village and never return and there will be no need to fight.”
It was difficult to make out the faces of the Imperial Defenders, but Gray believed that through the torch light he saw the man who made the threats against the village and captured Harold. “The old man is a nuisance that will be dealt with. The greater issue is your defiance and disrespect. The emperor charged us with keeping order, and that is what we shall do.”
The husband spoke again, his voice quavering. “We will have them all put down their arms if you promise not to harm anyone.”
“That you believe yourself to be in a position to negotiate with us shows how far your loyalty to the emperor has fallen. Do you not see that nothing is preventing us from killing all of you and simply replacing you with more loyal subjects who will follow the orders they are given?”
The four villagers looked at each other but exchanged no words. A few moments later, the husband spoke again, and this time Gray could hear the fear in his voice and the tears he knew were running down his face. “Where is Harold?”
“With Olisha. Six feet under the ground,” the man said as he lifted his fist in the air.
One of the villagers made to yell something, but the words never fully escaped her throat as the soldiers closed upon them, cutting them down where they stood. One villager attempted to run and was effortlessly knocked down with a shield before being stabbed. The man took his time removing his blade and was caught by an arrow through his neck. He staggered backwards before falling onto the snow-covered ground. Then more arrows flew past Gray and into the press of Imperial Defenders. All but one more of the men were able to draw their shields in time. The lone man who was unlucky or unskilled enough to react in time looked down to see an arrow shaft pressed deep into his right shoulder.
Gray used the chaos to his advantage and plunged forward into the closest group of Imperial Defenders. The first man was still hiding behind his shield when Gray took him from the side with a single slice from his two-handed sword. He then spun and deflected a blow from an axe, fluidly turning the soldier’s momentum against him and cutting through his forearm. Gray finished him off with a stab through his neck, the dead man falling back onto two of his comrades.
From all directions, a total of five soldiers swarmed Gray. The old man arced his blade upwards to cut through a man on his right, then jumped sideways to clear himself some space. He went on the offensive and battered shields back from two men at once, intentionally appearing to focus his attention on them. A soldier on his left took the bait and lifted his weapon for a strike. Gray disengaged from the two men he was beating back and parried the attacker. The man was not fast enough to lift his shield as Gray’s blade cut across his chest, blood covering the two-handed sword.
He turned just in time to intercept a downward swing from behind him. A heavy stomp down on the man’s boot closed the gap between them before an elbow took him in the throat. The man stumbled and Gray quickly decapitated him. Warm blood steamed in the frigid air while the acrid stench of soiled undergarments hit the old man’s nostrils as he took in a lungful of air.
The three remaining men spread out, attempting a different tactic. They held their shields high as they slowly backed away. But in the chaos, Gray had turned them around and their backs were to the village. The old man jumped backwards as arrows cut through the night and into the backs of two of the soldiers. Gray rushed the third man and crashed a savage blow against his shield, instantly shattering bones. The limp arm dropped as Gray impaled the man on his blade.
Withdrawing his weapon, he saw that only one solider still stood upright. He easily parried a weak blow from a sword and cut through the man’s wrist. The Imperial Defender let out a terrible yelp before Gray cut across his midsection, disemboweling him. He checked the last man and saw that he had died from the arrow wound. Around him now were the corpses of twelve people who had been alive but moments before. Glass vials were set into notches on their belts.
They will be herbalism-enhanced.
The battle fury subsided enough that Gray could now hear cries coming from the village. More than that, what drew his attention were flames and smoke rising into the air from buildings at the far end.
There were more than the ones out front. They anticipated our defense and came from other sides. I hope the villagers are disciplined enough to have gone to their assigned positions.
Without cleaning the blood from his weapon, the old man ran back to the village. At the entrance he was greeted by the corpse of an Imperial Defender who had been shot through with a dozen arrows. But the killing lanes Gray had set up had not been enough to prevent other soldiers from getting into the village. And once that happened, Gray knew the tide would turn in the emperor’s favor.
“Stay where you are!” he yelled to the villagers on the roofs and top floors of the taller houses. The longer they could stay out of the reach of the Imperial Defenders, the better his chances of saving them.
More screams pierced the night air on the other side of the village. As Gray made his way closer to the flames, he could see the bodies of villagers who fell off roofs, their corpses studded with arrows. The Imperial Defenders had taken Olisha’s intelligence and applied it wisely. The question now was, how many are there in truth?
Less than a hundred paces from the edge of the village, Gray began to weave his way between houses. The roofs in this section of the town were empty, but thankfully he only saw two bodies lying on the ground. The others must have snuck back inside when they saw they were under unexpected fire. The plan had been to flee to the houses and barricade the doors. Now it was up to Gray and the others who had trained at hand-to-hand combat.
He had done what he could to prevent this from occurring, though he had always expected it. The Imperial Defenders were thugs, but it was also obvious that someone had gone to great lengths to organize them. If they were able to communicate and coordinate an attack this far away from civilization, someone had taken his time to train them enough to be effective. And that person would not want to see his investment lost or thrown away on undisciplined street toughs. The soldiers, if you could call them that, had military experience. Most likely deserters. Or, perhaps something else. Perhaps such as my past life.
Further evidence of the Imperial Defenders’ efficacy could be seen in the fires. They had been set so as to funnel the villagers into the main street where they could be easily picked off. The final stage of Gray’s plan, which was in truth more of an emergency contingency than a plan, had been for those who were untrained to fall back to the tavern. There Jaroslav and two of the other best swordsmen were stationed. They had with them a horn to blow if they needed help. Gray had not heard it as of yet.
A woman appeared in the main street, holding what Gray assumed to be an infant against her chest, swaddled in blankets against the chill. He waved for her to come to him, but she was panicking and stood frozen in place, her eyes unable to meet his through her frantic cries. “Here!” he yelled as loudly as he dared. It did not matter. An arrow burst through her chest, impaling the bundle she was carrying, pinning it to her. The woman looked down and went mute. Gray raced out and pulled her back into the shadows. More arrows narrowly missed him, firing deep through the snow and into the ground. One look at the woman told Gray she would not make it. He did not care to check to see what she had been carrying. He had seen enough battles to know always to expect the worst.
There is no hiding from the truth that that woman and her babe would still be alive if not for me. And how many more will die this night?
Movement above him caught his attention, a figure that plunged into a shadow. A moment later, the figure reappeared and fired off two successive shots before disappearing again in the black of night. Wervich. The man can hold his own.
The shots had been aimed in the direction of the solider who had killed the woman. Gray took advantage of the covering fire to climb up on the roof of the house in front of him and position himself behind the chimney. The light from the fire showed him possible locations of more imperial archers. The chimneys of each house were the most obvious locations, but he still did not know how many men he was up against. For now, he would have to trust in Wervich to take care of as many as he could as he made his way from house to house. He need only follow the screams.
Back down in the snow, Gray placed himself against the rear of the next house. He dashed around and found the door wide open. Within, two Imperial Defenders were advancing with their swords out while an elderly couple cowered in the corner. Gray surprised the enemy from behind, though they did not live long enough to know it. One swing of his blade and two skulls fell to the ground. He signaled for the elderly couple to follow him.
Now in the light of the fire, he could see they were no older than he. “To the tavern,” he said. “Do not go onto the street.”
The next two houses were occupied only by corpses, a total of five villagers and one Imperial Defender. The soldier had been felled by an arrow shot at close range. Gray hoped it was not an isolated case of reason among the panic.
Outside again, the heat from the fire had completely killed the chill of the northern night. Gray cleared the last house at the end of the village, slaying three more Imperial Defenders and saving half a dozen villagers. But the fire was spreading rapidly. And I have still not found the main force. What do they have planned?
He continued to work his way back through the village, killing each Imperial Defender he came upon. Now at the midpoint of the rows of houses, he again caught a glimpse of movement on the rooftops. This time the figure appeared directly above him.
“No more archers on the roofs,” Wervich said. “But they’re all wise to you. They’re headed to the other end of the town en masse, and moving quickly. They’re using tonics.”
The sound of a horn blowing caught their attention as both men turned toward the tavern. “I’ll cover you from above,” Wervich said.
He ran along the outside of the wall of houses, beginning now to feel the fatigue of trudging through snow nearly up to his knees. He worked to keep his thoughts at bay and to focus his energy on his breathing. There would be time to consider the death toll and the ripples it would cause later. For now, he would willfully slip into the nirvana of battle.
The tavern was the only building with two entrances. The front was supposed to have been barricaded immediately, and Gray trusted Jaroslav with that responsibility. It meant the villagers would be attempting to hold off a large number of Imperial Defenders at the exit where Harold used to dump refuse. The area was to remain nondescript so as not to signal that it was the final point of security for the villagers. But if the Imperial Defenders were tracking footprints, it would be obvious.
Gray halted at the smithy, the next building from the tavern. He slowed his breathing until he could hear the outside world again. The clang of metal against metal reached his ears, fainter than he would have thought. And further away, another sound, the voice of one man giving orders. Behind him, Gray also heard the footfalls of Wervich. The man was positioning himself behind the chimney of the forge. Taking solace in that, Gray moved toward the tavern.
Two villagers were fighting off three Imperial Defenders. From what he could see, the enemy had not made its way into the tavern as of yet. But the horn had been blown. He hoped that meant the remaining villagers were inside.
Gray rushed in from behind and took out one of the men with a single blow. The other two jumped away and held their shields out in front of them before slowly backing away toward the street. Gray cautiously followed until they turned and ran. He then saw why the tavern had not yet been infiltrated. Across the main street of the village, a group of thirteen Imperial Defenders was joined by the newly late arrivals. And in the middle of the men, Makani. Knees in the snow, blood streaming from a head wound, the woman did not look up. Instead, Gray’s eyes found the Imperial Defender who had spoken to the villagers before. He was the same man who had taken Harold two months back.
“The girl said this woman was important to you,” he yelled to Gray from across the path. “She’s seen better days, but then again, so have you.”
Gray said nothing. He had dealt with enough thugs in his life to know what the next words would be.
“Lay down your weapon, or she dies. Lay it down and leave.”
Gray heard a shuffle from above and behind him. From the corner of his mouth he whispered, “When you can, take the shot.”
“Yes, sir,” came the reply.
He kept his hands on his sword and he responded. “How do I know I can trust you?” he yelled to the man holding Makani’s wet, bloodstained hair.
In the glow from the torch the man was holding, Gray saw a vicious grin. “You have no choice. This is what happens when you walk into another man’s domain and don’t follow the rules. Who do you think you are?”
“Just an old man,” Gray said.
“That’s the sad truth of it, isn’t it? Go back home, old man. I don’t know what brought you here, but this isn’t the place for you.”
“You’re afraid,” Gray said.
“What? Speak up, old man.”
“You’re afraid.”
The man attempted a laugh. “Put your weapon down.”
“What is your name?” Gray asked.
“Clav.”
“Hold your torch up so I can see your face, Clav. I want to see if you’re afraid.”
Gray could see the man’s reluctance to accede to the request war against his desire to appear tough in front of the other men. Slowly, he lifted the torch. His face shifted back into a forced grin. Then, surprise.
Gray crossed the path and sheathed his blade in a blur as Clav fell backwards, dead from an arrow through his skull before he hit the ground. Before the other soldiers could react, Gray had Makani in his arms. More arrows from Wervich killed another Imperial Defender, but the others reached for their shields in time.
Not five paces from the tavern, Gray stumbled face first into the snow, a burning sensation in his left shoulder. He rolled over, keeping his body in front of Makani as the two villagers who had been guarding the entrance to the tavern ran over to him. “Get her inside,” he growled. More arrows hit the ground, narrowly missing their target. Gray used his right hand to lift himself up against the building, then ran inside.
“Pull it out,” he said, turning so that his back was to the room full of villagers. “Now.”
One of the guards walked up behind him. “Are you sure?”
“Now.”
The pain arced through his entire body, and Gray’s hunched over, his hand on his knees. Steadying himself, he closed his eyes. A series of deep breaths and the world came back alive as he opened them. Without turning to say a word to anyone, the old man opened the tavern door to go out and deliver death.
The loss of their commander had put the Imperial Defenders in disarray. On the other side of the street, the men were yelling, accusing each other of incompetence and cowardice. Gray darted through the shadows of the tavern’s alcove and behind the smithy. “Are you still up there?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes, sir” came the reply from the next building over. “They know I’m up here, but they ain’t sure where exactly.”
“Good. Give me covering fire in ten seconds.”
“Seconds?”
“Twenty heartbeats then.”
“Yes, sir.”
The twang of the bow string rang out as Gray launched himself into the street. Across from him, the Imperial Defenders were cowering behind their shields, the fourteen remaining men huddled together in a misshapen mass. Energized by the adrenaline coursing through his body, Gray swung a vicious arc against two of the shields. Both men stumbled backwards. With an arcing upswing which began on his left, he cut a swatch of red. The two men were opened across their midsections, intestines pouring out to steam in the chill of the night. Arrows flew in as Gray continued cutting through the screaming press of terrified men. Most stayed behind their shields until their defenses were penetrated. A few lifted weapons to offer a challenge, but none withstood more than two strikes from Gray’s bloodied two-handed sword. The weapon struck in all different directions as the old man shifted his body from side to side, moving methodically and with an eerie sense of where the next target would be most vulnerable.
As the last man died, Gray knelt down in the snow, his blade falling half-buried in a pool of ice-cold blood. He opened his eyes to see Wervich standing next to him. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” the man said. “It was more than ten to one, and they gave up out of fear. Who are you?”
The pain from the puncture wound was returning in increased intensity. Gray bit down hard on his lip against the pain. “I’m a man who knows nothing but how to kill,” he said.