The Army of the North

[Steadfast7]

Well...this is my book-in-progress...I still have tons of things to work out but this is the general storyline so far! I am so mean to my poor characters Plus my title, The Army of the North, is not as good as it could be, although it will make sense when I write the ending.

~Prologue~​

The smoke spiraled upward through the foggy night air. Everywhere there was fire, swords, metal clanging the sound of death. Men fought desperately for their homes and lives, a lost cause when one saw the hordes of armor-clad enemies storming the hill. It was just a matter of time now, a man observed from the darkness of the shadows. It was impossible to see his face; the heavy cloak he wore hid his dark features. Was he an enemy? A friend? He himself did not know; his only loyalty was to anyone who could pay him. He simply watched the men fight hopelessly, their dreams dying under the flash of ringing blades.

Caleb Sloane took a deep breath. He wondered if he should cry, or pray, or just give up hope. In his mind’s eye he saw his family; his sisters huddled around the embers of the fire, his father lying on the bed, grasping for breath. He straightened up. He had to fight. He knew he would not make it out of the massacre alive, but at least he die knowing he did all he could to save his family.
He leaned against the wall, taking in this last living moment of what could be called peace and thinking of things he had done and would never do. Just yesterday he and his family went to the village picnic, the sun shining, the children playing tag, and the trees rustling in the gentle spring wind. Now the trees were blackened stumps, and who knew what would happen to the children who had once played without a care?
Caleb fingered the sword at his side, his father’s sword. He drew it and held it up, seeing his reflection in the shining blade. He could see his father’s face, the look of pain and torment when he walked in from the fields, the anguish on his chiseled face as he watched his crops, his livelihood, burn to the ground.
With a fearsome, sobbing cry, Caleb rounded the corner of the last intact building near the battlefield and charged into the fray. The armored men were everywhere, slashing, burning, shouting. Caleb drove his sword into the nearest armored man he saw, not even grimacing when the man fell with an agonized yell. It was like Caleb was not even Caleb; he somehow saw outside of himself, himself fighting and hacking through the mob of men. A burning pain shot through his shoulder, but Caleb hardly felt the blood that ran down his arm. With a yell that seemed not his own, he parried, warded off blows meant to kill him. He did not care anymore that he died; a part of him had died already with the hundreds of other husbands, fathers, and sons on the bloody battlefield. Suddenly everything was dark, a black, inky murkiness that swirled up and engulfed Caleb like a rushing wind. The shouts of men and crackling of fire rose up around him, and then suddenly it all faded away into nothingness.

The watching man rose from the shadows. Soon, it would be over. The few survivors would be marched to a slow death in prison camps. It was now the man would make his move; his bloody job that followed was what he lived for. For that was what he was; faithful to no one, a heartless mercenary. He was too strong to die and too hated to live, breathing every breath for money and blood.

Chapter One​

The captain of the “Army from the North,” as they were called fearfully, walked through the battlefield grimly. It had been a costly battle indeed; these peasants were hard fighters. His brow furrowed as he saw a cloaked figure walking through the debris. Ahkum. The mercenary who followed the army around, sometimes fighting and sometimes torturing the ones that lived through the fighting. The cloaked man approached the captain.
“I am here to do my service,” the man whispered in his strange guttural voice.
“Get to it,” the captain replied. “Then I will send my soldiers with you. Find the hiding young women and bring them to me. Do what you want with the rest.”
Without a word, the man walked away, disappearing through the lingering smoke that engulfed the sorry land. The captain watched him, distrust etched in his features.

Ahkum stepped through the battlefield as one might walk through a sunny field. His cloak fluttered about him in the cold light of the moon. Somehow his shadowy form seemed to belong there, among the blood and violence and gasps of dying men.
The army had already gathered up the fighting peasants who surrendered. It was Ahkum’s duty to find the ones alive but on the ground. It was most pleasurable to take the ones near death and make them walk for miles until they died from exhaustion and lack of food and water. It also put fear into the hearts of the other hapless peasants of other small towns. He drew his sword and bent over a groaning man.
“Get up,” Ahkum said coldly to the man, who had a gash in his head. “Get up!”
The man struggled to his feet and joined the other prisoners. Ahkum continued on, his face twisted up in a cruel smile. His smile widened when he came upon another man, the blood covering the peasant a stark contrast to the pale, cold face.
Ahkum grabbed the man and hauled him to his feet. The wound in his shoulder would claim his life soon. Blood gushed from a cut in his head, and he uttered a small moan. The man was in the throes of death, no doubt. Ahkum grinned happily. He would prolong the life of this one for bit more. Let the peasant think he will have a chance to live and suffer. He dragged the blood-soaked man to the medical tent.
“Sew this one up just enough to stop the bleeding. Then report him back to me.”

Caleb floated through a great expanse of warm, comforting darkness. All around him was death and doom, so he just stayed in the murky blackness. Something was pulling him, wracking his body with pain so fierce he wanted to cry out, but he could not find the strength even to whimper. The pain was everywhere now; somewhere in the distance he could see light and he turned his head away. The light grew until it flooded around him; he tried to go back into the darkness but he could not.
“I canna see why tha’ mercenary of ours does this to them poor folk,” a voice somewhere whispered. “Tha’ captain is not to be a’ trusted, and the mercenary ain’t no better.”
Suddenly the pain hit Caleb full-force; he had no choice but to sob, his face wracked with agony. He opened his eyes, the darkness sliding away forever. Where was he? He had no recollection of what he was doing, or had been doing. He did not know what happened to him or where he came from. The only thing he knew was that his name was Caleb; he took small comfort in that fact and clung to it. I am Caleb. I know that, and the pain.
“Why, boy, you’re a’ just about awake, now, ain’t ya?”
Caleb focused his eyes on where the voice was coming from; a grizzled old man stood over him, holding a needle and thread. Caleb could hardly move his arms and legs and feet; he managed to feel his shoulder where the pain was coming from the worst. All he could feel was his own sticky, warm blood.
“Yup, boy, you jus’ about got yore arm sliced right offa ya!” the man remarked. “I’m jus’ the doctor for this here Army from the North, and I sewed ya up a mite.”
Caleb could not think; his thoughts swirled about his muddled head. He could just gasp out of his parched lips, “Where…where am I?”
The doctor put a bottle of water to Caleb’s lips, cool and satisfying. “You’re a prisoner a’ war. If you had any sense t’all in that brain o’ yours, you’d a’ died while ya had the chance.”
Caleb tried to sort out his thoughts. “What will…will they do with me?”
“Most likely, they’ll either jus’ go right out an’ cut off that head o’ yours, or they’ll make ya work and walk for days an’ weeks’ an’ months till ya drop dead.”
“Wh…who?”
The doctor regarded Caleb like he was an imbecile. “Why, the Army of the North! They ain’t got no name, ya know. I knew I couldn’t ‘ave beaten ‘em, so I just up an’ joined ‘em! I’m a right good doctor!” The old man looked pleased with himself.
Caleb searched for answers in his mind. Where did he come from? Why was he fighting in this war, and how did he get his arm nearly cut off? Gingerly touching his head, he grimaced in pain. A large gash ran down the side of his face, cold to the touch. He struggled to stand, to do anything, but he just succeeded his falling on the doctor.
“Well, now, you’re a fighter, ain’t ya now, boy?” the doctor grinned. “If I were ya, I’d be restin’ up. Ya ‘ave to be back with the rest of them prisoners in a ‘alf hour. That mercenary fellow, he’s just not a’ tall inclined ta be nice ta anyone. Good thing I a’ joined up with the Army while I could!”
Suddenly the darkness outside the doctor’s tent seemed to grow deeper, and the murmuring of the soldiers around the camp ceased. Caleb strained to get up, to listen to what was happening outside.

The mercenary’s lips twisted up in a cruel grimace as he called the Army’s soldiers to him. Now it was time to recover the peasant stragglers hiding, the women and children and the ones too weak or cowardly to fight.
“Brave soldiers, I call you together again to locate the remainder of the rebels! If anyone resists, show no mercy! Kill all who struggle, and bring the rest to me to the tent of the prisoners! But take caution and do not kill the young women. Bring them to the captain instead,” the mercenary Ahkum shouted. The soldiers responded by grimly putting on their helmets and marching off to the burned village.

***​

 

[Steadfast7]

The young woman ran as fast as she could in her heavy skirts up the steps. “They are coming! They are coming! Hide!” Panting, she threw the door to her house shut and bolted it, her mind searching for a plan, anything to help save her small siblings, as well as the other refugees in the house. Turning, she saw Rachael Sloane approach her.
“I know of a place.” Rachael said simply. Her husband had died not two hours before, a casualty of the hopeless war, once he stumbled in the door after he had tried to protect his fields. Her eldest son, Caleb, had taken up the family’s sword and gone out to fight. Her second oldest son, Wilhelm, had disappeared soon after. Rachael was now alone in caring for her four small children. Now the Army was coming, and whatever hope she had for Caleb or Wilhelm’s return had died with the slow coming of the morning.
The young woman could just stare at Rachael. “Why did you not tell us of this before?”
Rachael sighed resignedly, all hope gone from her eyes. “I held out hope Caleb, Wilhelm, and the rest of the men would return. I thought that perhaps we would not have to run. But now we must.”
“And you know where we can at least hide the children?” The young woman dared not let some hope grow in her.
“In the old well. My husband dug it when we were first married, and it ran dry. It was very deep, and very dark. Perhaps soldiers may not check for people in an empty well.”
The young woman wasted no time. She raised her voice. “We will gather up the children, and some belongings.” She turned to Rachael. “Take us to the well.”
Immediately there was scurrying as goods were thrown in bags and children gathered up. All the women with their children then followed Rachael out of the house, and rushed with her to the old stone well that lay in a field beyond it.
The young women threw a rope down the side of the well. The marching of soldiers and smell of fear was approaching ever closer. She reached for the nearest child, her sister.
“Nattie, slide down the rope. Quickly now, and don’t be afraid!” The child gave a single solemn nod, grasped the rope, and slid down into the black expanse of the well. The other children followed, and then some mothers started down the rope. The pounding of thousands of feet drew nearer. The young woman looked up suddenly and saw, at the top of the rise, the Army from the North. They were too close, and soon would reach them. She made her decision quickly.
“No more down the rope! The must try to save the ones already in the well!” Turning, she tossed some dark-colored blankets down the well. “Cover yourselves up with these!” She threw some old boards over the opening of the well and glanced at the other women standing by her. “Run!”
The army was now marching down the street, their pounding feet the sound of doom. The young woman ran back into her house, desperately searching for somewhere, anywhere to hide. She heard the sound of wood splintering and she knew the door had been broken down. Fear rose in her, a great grasping fear that suddenly seized her. Surely this was the end. She threw herself under her bed.
“Surrender, by the order of the Army from the North! Surrender or die!” A soldier yelled as he entered the room. He then began to take the room apart, breaking the bookshelf and tearing apart books. The little porcelain doll that had been the young woman’s for seventeen years went crashing to the floor. And then the soldier tipped over the bed.
“Well, what ‘ave we ‘ere?” the burly soldier grinned. The young woman quaked in fear, waiting for the swish of the sword that would end her life.
“Get up, swine! Ya heard me, get up or die!” The soldier seemed to delight in the phrase “or die.” The young woman struggled to her feet as the soldier bound her hands behind her. He pushed her roughly through the house, which was being destroyed by other armor-clad soldiers. “Now you’d better behave me, or die!” he reminded her again as he shoved her into the morning air, filled with shouts and burning fire.
The young woman glanced over at the undisturbed well. “Kill me then if you so desire,” she said bravely, trying to sounder bolder than she felt. “Death is better than life among you dogs.”
The soldier seemed to think this was amusing. “Alas, I would, but the mercenary said we were not allowed to kill the young women,” he said rather sadly. “So come with me or die!”

The mercenary’s wicked grin widened. He could see the rising smoke, could practically taste the fear of the ones left in the village. He turned and entered the tent where the doctor was treating the wounded. Ah! There was that nearly mortally-wounded rebel. Ahkum strode over to where the half-dead man was lying, his tattered clothes soaked in blood.
“Get up.” Ahkum grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him to his feet. The man groaned and struggled to remain standing. “You are coming with me outside, rebel. There we shall see your worth.”
Caleb concentrated on remaining standing. The man wrenched his face around so Caleb was looking at him in the eyes. One eye was so brown it was almost black, an endless pool of despair and darkness, and the other was gray, without hope and cold as ice. Who is this man? Caleb had no time to ponder this question as he was shoved coldly out the door and through the battlefield. He tried not to look at the ground, stained with the blood of his friends and neighbors.
The cloaked, multicolored-eyed man stared at Caleb, death in his gaze. “And now, you will gather the swords and armor off the bodies. Bring all of them to me.” Ahkum released his hold on Caleb, and he swayed, trying to remain standing. Caleb looked at Ahkum, at the sword in the mercenary’s pale hand. He wanted to resist, to do something to stop this man, but at the same time he realized he did not want to die. He wanted to live. Suddenly he felt a bit stronger, as if suddenly someone was holding him up, helping him along. He managed to stare the mercenary in the eye.
Ahkum’s gaze did not weaken. “Get to work.” He turned on his heel and strode away. The Army was coming back.
***
The young woman was marched along with the rest of the prisoners toward the battlefield. She did not want to think about the battlefield. There her father and brothers had most likely died. Despair flooded through her; she was alone in the world. There would be no one coming to save them. After all, who could save them from the Army of the North? She closed her eyes, and did the only thing she could. She began to pray.

The captain emerged from his tent. Good. They were returning with the young women. Surely there would be a good, pretty woman for his son. He was silent as the women were lined up in front of him. Walking down the row of quaking women, he observed them quietly. The captain sighed. None of them were very pretty. But wait…there was an appealing one. She was dressed in finer clothes than the rest. He came to a stop in front of her.
“What is your name, young woman?” he asked her sternly. She was silent as she stared back at him defiantly.
The soldier who had hold of her bound hands addressed the captain. “Well, I found ‘er under a bed, sir. Hasn’t said nothing ‘cept that she wanted me to kill ‘er. Plus, she was in a big ol’ fancy house.”
The captain, not hesitating, slapped the woman across the face. He waited for the red mark to rise. “Now, what is your name, young woman?”
The young woman just kept staring at him. The captain kicked her in the leg with his hard boot, and she sank to her knees. “What is your name?” he asked again, his eyes hard. She kept her eyes locked on his, and then uttered her name.
“Edda.”
The captain smiled briefly, a cold smile that did not reach his eyes. “Very well then, Edda. You come with me. My son needs another…female servant.”
When she did not move, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. He slapped her across the face again. “You will learn soon that obeying your elders is best here, missy.” He dragged her along to a tent. “Until we reach my son, you will stay with my company. You so much as think of running away, and I will make sure you think no longer.” He fingered the sword at his side, his point made. He nodded at a little tent set up next to his larger tent. “You will sleep there. Understood?”
Edda nodded briefly. She wanted to hit this man over the head and run, but then she would have no hope of escaping later. She glanced longingly over her shoulder, wishing she could stay and suffer with her fellow women from the village. She closed her eyes, wishing she be anywhere but here…just yesterday-or was it two days ago; time had run out of control-there was the village picnic, and the sun was shining and the birds chirping. Now the same sun was coming up, but everything else was so different. Her thoughts were ended as she was forced backwards by another blow from the captain.
“You had better begin listening to me,” he said icily, then shoved her inside his tent and walked away.
Edda rubbed her face where several nasty bruises had become to form. She could only hope and pray the children were safe inside that old well…

Caleb pried a sword out of the cold hand of another fallen soldier. He shuddered and shut his eyes as pain wracked his body. He could not take much more of this. He was now coated in sticky blood, both his own and from the countless other bodies he had robbed of swords and shields. His shoulder felt like it was being stabbed, over and over until it nearly drove him crazy. He almost envied the fallen soldier in front of him; at least the poor man did not have to suffer through this living death. Suddenly a shadow blocked out the early morning sun and he looked up to that vile mercenary standing in front of him.
“Ah, you are a strong one. It shall be even more pleasurable to see you slowly die, then,” Ahkum sneered. “Follow me.”
Caleb stumbled after the mercenary, trying to think of anything but the pain. The pain filled his mind and tortured his spirit until he almost wanted to die. But somehow he kept going; he could not explain or know the force that was somehow driving him on. He lifted his head. Ahead of him were two groups of prisoners, each huddled together. The cloaked mercenary pushed him into the closest of the groups, and Caleb fell to the ground, not even caring who was there.
“Caleb?” a voice cried out.
Caleb lifted his head to see a curly-headed boy in front of him. “Wilhelm!” he managed to cry out. The boy came sobbing to his side.
“Oh, Caleb! I for sure thought you were dead! You left and Mama was crying and I wanted to fight too! So I followed you.”
Caleb could have cried with despair. “You followed me? Wilhelm….” He lowered his head, too worn to say anything more to this brother of his.
“Don’t worry, Caleb. I’ll take care of you, for sure. I’ll make sure you’re fine.” Wilhelm said in a trembling voice, taking hold of Caleb’s cold bloodstained hand.
Wilhelm’s brother managed a small smile through his pain, and gasped as he was sinking into the blessed unconsciousness, “Why are we in two groups?”
Wilhelm shrunk down and looked like he was going to cry at this question. “They are going to kill the other group.”

The mercenary left the bloodied rebel in one of the groups. He smiled at his own genius. First, I kill the weak ones. Then, I prolong the suffering of the stronger ones, and then put them to death as well. He cackled as he watched the terrified faces of the prisoners. None of the women were to be killed, just the old or fat or stupid men, or the ones Ahkum felt like killing. He began to gather his archers together for the task.

Edda was in the captain’s tent, staring at the wall and feeling utterly useless, when she began to hear the screams. Screams of dying men. She curled up into a ball on the ground, covered her ears, and cried until she could cry no more.

 

[Steadfast7]

***
Wilhelm sat by the still form of his brother, still clutching Caleb’s hand like he could somehow draw strength from it. He stared down at Caleb, praying his brother would live. He almost looked already dead. Just a day ago Caleb had been a nineteen-year-old man brimming with life and vitality. Wilhelm pushed aside some of his brother’s sandy brown hair from his forehead, wishing Caleb would just wake up, his deep brown eyes overflowing with happiness and strength and all the things that made him Caleb. Caleb moaned softly, just a shell of his old self. It was in this moment that twelve-year-old Wilhelm realized he had to do something. He could not sit here and watch his brother die at the hands of these barbarians; for all Wilhelm knew, Caleb could be the only one of his family left. As he fully realized this, he stood up, and with a determined look on his face, marched over to the mercenary almost without thinking.
The mercenary turned his cold gaze on Wilhelm. He felt small and pitiful and ugly under that piercing gaze. Wilhelm swallowed and quickly charged forward.
“Caleb is dying. He needs food, and water, and medicine real bad, sir! Please…he’s…he’s my brother!” Wilhelm was near tears, and then he realized that this was the same man he had seen brutally kill twenty innocent people an hour before. As he watched the heartless mercenary’s cold gaze, he realized he would get no help from this man. He turned to go, half expecting the mercenary to draw his sword and cut off his head.
“Wait.”
Wilhelm stopped and turned around, meeting the stare of Ahkum.
“You have heart, boy. It figures that you are this Caleb’s brother. I do not sense in you two the same sniveling, cowardly spirit the others have.” The mercenary grinned callously. “Take your brother to the medical tent. I will see that he is cared for. Of course, you have will have to work twice as hard to make up for his absence.” Ahkum stopped here, waiting for a reaction from the boy. Wilhelm just stared back at the mercenary unfeelingly. “I see that still works well from you. Start immediately. The soldiers need wood for their fires. Go into the forest and cut down all you can carry, and then bring it back here. Gather enough firewood so that the pile of it is at least as tall as I. And if you fail to come back,” Ahkum sneered, “your brother dies. I know you understand that, boy. Get to work.”
Ahkum’s gaze was too powerful then for small Wilhelm, so he stared at his feet and nodded solemnly. “Thank…uh, thank you, sir.” With that, he ran off towards the still form of his brother.
The mercenary suddenly wondered if this was a good idea as he watched the boy sprint off. Why waste money on medicine on a man he would kill soon anyway? To give them hope, and then snuff it out. That is the best way of suffering.

Wilhelm managed to drag his brother to the large tent that had a crude wooden sign hanging outside of it that read, “Medical.” After the grizzled old doctor inside had Caleb situated on a mat and gave him medicine to break his fever, Wilhelm knew he must begin working. He gently kissed Caleb’s cold, damp brow, praying that his brother’s uneven, ragged breathing would soon become normal once again. “I’ll be back soon, Cay, to check on you.”
He ran out and grabbed the nearest axe he could find. Wilhelm often had accompanied his father and Caleb out to fetch firewood. His father had let him swing the axe a few times, so Wilhelm was convinced he could do the task at hand. As he turned to run in the woods at the edge of town, he suddenly tripped over somebody and went sprawling.
“Oh, I am so sorry…” a woman’s voice was immediately said behind him. The woman gave a small gasp. “Oh, you’re just a boy!”
Wilhelm was gaping. This was Edda, the town mayor’s privileged daughter. He, a mere commoner who lived a meager but cozy life in a brick hut, had just tripped over Edda! But then he realized that the mayor was dead and his grand house probably burned to the ground, and so Edda was just like him now.
“I…I’m…sorry, Lady Edda,” Wilhelm said sorrowfully. “I didn’t see you.”
Edda gasped. “How did you know my name?” Then she gave a little sad laugh as she looked at him. “Oh! You’re Rachael Sloane’s son! I saw you once, by the livery. Rachael was the one…” She stopped and looked at her feet.
Wilhelm stared at her. “Mama was the one what?”
Edda looked over her shoulder, and then whispered to him, “She showed us the well we hid the children in.”
“Oh! So Mama and my brothers and sister could still be…alive!”
Edda thought carefully. “Well, I think I let your three brothers and your sister down the rope.” She paused sadly. “I am not sure about your mother, dear.”
Wilhelm looked at the ground again. “Caleb will get well, and someday we’ll be a family again.” He suddenly looked up and began to run, as if that thought reminded him of something. “Sorry, miss, but I have to cut firewood!”
Edda watched the boy go. Children like him should be playing in trees, not cutting them down. But then again the whole world has practically reversed. She glanced at the midmorning sun, and then sat down and began to think of a brilliant escape plan. She was not surprised when nothing came to her.

Caleb jolted awake. Wilhelm. Where was Wilhelm? He remembered screams, screams of pain and suffering and death. “Wilhelm!”
There was the old doctor. “That brother o’ yours dragged ya’ in here, more dead n’ alive, I say. You’re a sure lucky fella, yessiree!”
Caleb could hardly move his shoulder or arm, they felt so stiff. Bandages were wrapped around his shoulder, and he realized he was in clean clothes, brown pants and a shirt. “The screams…” he moaned, then lay back down, his head aching.
“Yup, that there mercenary jus’ killed a whole buncha people,” the doctor remarked sadly. “But you don’ worry none ‘bout that. You gotta be outta here tomorrow morning, or so that mercenary tol’ me.”
Caleb shivered, momentarily thinking about what would have happened if he did not pass whatever sort of test the mercenary gave him. He knew one thing; he did not want to die. He would find his family and bring them back together again, somehow. Thinking about the Sloane family all together at the table, passing bread and chatting about the new kittens in the barn, made the ache in his heart subside. He slowly drifted off into a deep, restful slumber.

“Caleb! Caleb!” The shouts of a boy brought Caleb out of sleep. He sat up, surprised to see it was dark outside. Instantly Wilhelm was in his face, grinning.
“Why…why am here, Will?” Caleb asked, then he spotted his brother’s hands. They were bleeding and cracked and splintered. Caleb looked at his small brother.
“Why, Caleb, I jus’ had to do some work, that’s all,” said Wilhelm more cheerfully than he felt. “And now you’re getting better!”
Caleb managed a grin for this brother of his. “Thanks, Will,” he said gratefully, and then watched the boy light up. Caleb suddenly leaned forward and put his arm around his brother.
“Wilhelm, I promise you that I will not let anything happen to you. When we get out of here together, we’ll find the rest of the family.” He knew the last part of his declaration sounded hollow. They had no idea if any of their family were alive.
“Wilhelm, have you seen any of the family in any of the prisoner groups?” Caleb asked, hoping none of them had been in the group that was massacred.
Wilhelm shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen any of them. But Lady Edda said she put our brothers and sister down an old well.”
Lady Edda is here? He shook his head in despair. Caleb held his little brother tighter with his good arm, and together they sat there, lost in thought.

The morning came too early for the weary and heartsick prisoners. They had all lost either many members of or their entire family. They awoke to the sound of soldiers marching everywhere, gathering up tents and belongings.
The grim face of the mercenary was once again before them. “We move out today! We go as quickly as possible. Any who fall behind shall be killed.”
At once the prisoners, bloodied and solemn, stood up and waited. Waiting seemed to be their destiny. Waiting to move, waiting to nurse their wounds, waiting to die.
It was into this atmosphere that Caleb and Wilhelm were shoved out of the medical tent. Caleb’s shoulder was still stiff and bloody, but at least he could stand without feeling weak. The slice on his face was healing up as well; a large cut ran down his face from his forehead to his cheek. Wilhelm walked beside him, looking protective of his brother.
The soldiers lined up in neat rows, and the captain came out to address them. Caleb finally saw Lady Edda, hands tied behind her back as she waited by the captain’s belongings. He remembered the last time he had seen her, at the picnic. She looked lovely then; her hair flying in the wind and her pale blue dress complementing her perfectly. He, of course, dared not speak to her. Her father was powerful, and wanted his daughter to marry someone powerful. It was said he would make certain any man who paid too much attention to Edda would conveniently lose his job. Caleb’s thoughts were interrupted by the booming voice of the captain.
“We will split into two brigades; one goes by way of the mountains and one by way of the plains. Half the prisoners will go with one brigade and half with the other. We will destroy all villages as we go back to the North, so step lively! Make men fear the name of the Army of the North!”
Caleb’s mind had frozen when he heard the prisoners were to be separated. He felt Wilhelm grasp his hand harder and look up at him.
“Don’t worry, Will. We won’t get separated,” Caleb tried to assure both himself and Wilhelm. The small boy trembled as the mercenary began to separate the prisoners. A mother and son were separated, both screaming. Caleb shuddered.
The mercenary strode up to the pair. “You, boy, will join the Army going by way of the plains. Your brother will go by way of the mountains. Go or die.” The mercenary was gone.
Soldiers stepped up and grabbed Wilhelm away from Caleb before the latter had time to react. “Caleb! Don’t let them take me! I have to stay with you!” cried Wilhelm, thrashing desperately as the soldiers dragged him away.
“Wilhelm!” Caleb yelled, starting to run after his brother. He was stopped by the wicked gleam of a blade. “Remember my promise! I’ll find you!” Caleb felt warm tears running down his cheeks, getting in his cut and making it burn.
Wilhelm managed to turn and cast one last look as his brother. He shouted as loud as he could, “I love you, Caleb!” and then he was gone in the midst of the swarming soldiers.
Caleb felt like giving up and dying, just sinking to the ground and never getting up. Then he remembered; he had to find Wilhelm and make them a family again. A family. He was being prodded by a sharp sword; he got up and was shoved in a line with other prisoners. They began to walk at a quick pace. But Caleb could not get his small brother’s face out of his mind; the memory lingered there, and the hand his brother once held seemed to burn. Caleb resolved to ignore it all and simply walked on with the rest of the hopeless prisoners.

 

[Steadfast7]

***
Edda walked at the front of the group that was going by way of the mountains. She was disappointed; she felt it would be easier to escape on the plains, where everything looked the same and tall grass was everywhere. She walked along, her whole mind set on forming a plan to escape. She lost track of time; soon the sun was high in the sky and the Army stopped for a brief rest. Here she managed to leave the captain’s company. She did not care what he would do to her. All she wanted to see was who survived from her village. Edda approached the huddled, exhausted prisoners, surveying the group. The baker’s wife. The blacksmith. That old man who sits on his porch all day. Try as she might, Edda could not spot the small boy that had tripped over her the day before. Perhaps he went with the other group to the plains. She breathed a quick prayer for him.
“Caleb!” the blacksmith, whose right leg was bleeding, suddenly said. “How are you doing, son?”
Caleb sat on the outside of the prisoners, face stony. Every time the mercenary walked by, he had to fight not to get up and strangle the man who did this to him, to his family. But then he remembered he had to live for Wilhelm, and for his family. He hardly heard the blacksmith’s call.
“Caleb?” a voice in front of him suddenly said. “Are you Caleb Sloane?”
Caleb looked at who it was who asked for his name. In front of him was a young woman, hair matted but eyes quizzical. He would have known who it was from a mile away.
“Lady Edda,” Caleb said quickly, the slice in his face aching as he talked. “Yes. I mean, yes, I am Caleb Sloane.”
The Lady looked at him, her eyes lighting on his shoulder. “Oh, now I see why that boy said you needed to get better.”
Caleb rubbed his shoulder gingerly. “Wilhelm said he met you yesterday.”
Edda nodded. “Yes. He tripped over me.” She offered him a small smile.
He just sat and looked at her, trying to take his mind off Wilhelm. She had light auburn hair, tangled and wavy and flitting in the breeze. Her deep blue eyes sat under perfectly arched brows, and some freckles dotted her otherwise clear complexion. The green dress she wore was caked with dirt, and there were a few bruises on her face.
“So…Wilhelm, was it, must have gone with the other group,” Edda said, feeling his eyes on her.
Those eyes grew stormy. “They took him,” Caleb replied simply, looking at his feet.
Silence. “I’m…sorr-”
Suddenly the boom of angry marching feet was heard behind him. The captain appeared, anger on his hard face.
“So, Edda, you think you can just run away, can you?” the captain boomed.
Edda got to her feet. Caleb only then noticed her hands were still tied.
“I just went to see the prisoners. I…I thought it would do no harm…”
She was silenced by a vicious slap across her face; she fell to the ground with a small cry, and then was picked up by two soldiers and carried away.
Caleb rose to his feet, angry and a retort on his lips. “She was only-”
The captain drew his sword. “You, scum, dare challenge me? Fine! Take up a sword and die like the muck you are!”
Caleb was tempted to take the sword offered to him, but then he saw Wilhelm’s face in his mind and backed down.
The captain smirked and turned to go, but not before making sure Caleb was delivered a hard kick in the back.
Caleb retreated again to the safe corridors of his mind, where everything was protected and no pain could reach him. He heard the call of the captain ordering them to go; he got to his feet and trudged on, hardly noting where he was or where he was going.

Edda gazed at the darkening sky, her bound arms aching and tired. She was utterly lost in thought about a multitude of things. The questions burned at her mind like sparks from a fire flown up in a wind, relentlessly troubling her. The utmost problem of hers was the decision to escape. She knew she must try. Edda had realized that security around the nomadic Army’s camp lessened at night, and she knew she could take advantage of that.
She breathed a sigh as the sun sank below the horizon; another day was gone. Would she even be alive this time tomorrow? She shook her head and continued her thoughts. The captain had at least given her a small tent to sleep in, away from the other prisoners where she would attract the least attention by leaving. But then again, she reasoned, the captain had ears like a hawk’s. If she could just sneak out, past the captain’s quarters, past the drowsy sentinels, and into the dark, fearsome woods. If only she had-
“Didn’t you hear me, girl? I told you to stop.”
Edda stopped in her tracks, knowing the gruff voice to be that of the captain’s. She braced herself for the blow she knew would follow.
“We are stopping for the night. Perhaps you are too dim-witted to realize that. I will instill some sense in you!”
Sure enough, the bows came like a heavy, pounding rain, hitting her head and back and legs until she collapsed on the ground, defenseless. Edda stared up at the captain as he gave her one last vicious kick then stormed away. Why? What did she do to deserve this? She managed to sit up and assess her wounds. There were several bloody gashes on her face now, and her lip was torn and gushing blood along with her nose. Her legs were scraped where she had hit the hard ground. Edda tore a strip from her dress and tried to get the bleeding on her lip to stop.

Caleb collapsed on the rocky ground. He had just walked for six hours with no food or water. His shoulder burned again; as he lifted up his bandage he saw his shoulder was covered in a yellow-green substance mingled with more blood. He eased his head on the ground. He knew he should try to go to the medical tent; perhaps the soldier assigned would take pity on him and let him through. He ignored his body that was crying out for rest and got up. He simply walked past the guard. Caleb marveled at this. Then again, what could a blood-stained, weary-to-the-bone man possibly do?
He wandered until he found the medical tent. As was expected, there was the grizzled doctor, puttering around. The old man looked up to see Caleb enter.
“There ye are, boy! I’m amazed ya is still alive, now! Lemme see tha’ bandage of yours. It needs changin’, for sure and for certain!”
Caleb smiled thinly and let the doctor examine his arm. He gritted his teeth when the doctor pulled the bandage off; for all the things the old man claimed to be, he was certainly not gentle. Caleb was trying so much to ignore the pain he did not see the young woman enter.
Edda walked in the medical tent wearily. Her lip was bleeding profusely, and several purple bruises had formed on her forehead and cheeks. She clutched a red-stained rag to her mouth.
The doctor gave Caleb a smack on the back and turned to the young woman. After taking a look at her lip, he proclaimed joyfully, “Now that needs stitched up, missy!”
At the doctor’s proclamation, Caleb realized someone else had come in the tent. There was Lady Edda, torn and bruised and bloodied. She had been severely beaten by someone, that much was obvious. Caleb looked down at the ground, not able to look. He knew if he saw her wounds again, he would want to hurt the man who did this to her and that was not possible.
Edda sat down by the man she had seen earlier, Caleb, she remembered. She tried not to look as the doctor put his needle to her lip. She closed her eyes to keep from crying out, and soon it was over, the bleeding stopped. Edda stole a glance at the man beside her. His shoulder was exposed, and it was an awful yellowish color from the gaping wound that occupied it.
“What happened?” she asked to Caleb, more to take her mind off her own pain than anything.
The man did not look at her. “A spear. Some sort of spear…I was fighting.”
Edda stared at the tent ceiling. “Your mother was worried sick about you, Caleb.”
A small light lit up Caleb’s dark eyes, the only emotion Edda had seen in him thus far. It quickly vanished.
Edda tried to think of something comforting to say to this man who lost so much; his brother, his family, his way of life. “I am so sorry.”
Now Caleb looked at her, sadness etched in his face as he suddenly thought out loud. “I was making a bench. Mother was in the kitchen…Father came rushing in, followed by the smell of fire and the shouting of men. He said the field was burning…” Here he paused and licked his lips, “…then he collapsed. Someone shot him. His sword…his sword fell to the ground. I picked it up…went out to fight for my family.” Caleb closed his eyes. “I woke up on the battlefield.”
Edda was speechless; all she could do was feel for this man. “I am sure-”
He interrupted her, his voice rising. “The mercenary…he made me rob the bodies of their weapons. I had no choice.” He hung his head. “There was the baker…he always sold my mother bread cheaper when Father hurt his leg. He was lying there…someone had shot him through the heart. All the while the mercenary was there, watching, forever watching. I took their swords…” He trembled here, madness rising in his eyes. “Father always said that a man who died with a sword in his hand died honorably. Well, then I robbed them of their last triumph; having a sword in their hand. Now heartless soldiers have these faithful men’s swords, to use them to kill and destroy and pillage. Who will even bury the ones left on that battlefield?”
Caleb turned and looked at Edda, eyes filled with an unspoken, wordless grief. He struggled to his feet and was gone.

Screams. Screams of pain. All around him, filling the air with the sound of death. Caleb was running, trying to find a way out of this terrible place, but he could find no solace anywhere. He desperately ran up a long, winding staircase that went up and up until he could not run anymore. There was a slab of stone, and already Caleb knew what it was. He tried to turn, to find his way down the staircase, but the doorway had disappeared. The wind whistled through the cracks in the old stone wall as he made his way over to the cold stone slab. There was the name of Wilhelm Sloane engraved on the top, and Caleb could just stare at it speechlessly. How could he let this happen? He let out a heartrending moan. He was supposed to protect Wilhelm, not send him to his grave. To his grave…a voice dark as death itself sounded behind Caleb, and he turned around. There was the man Caleb had been dreading, been trying to escape from.
“Oh, yes. There is not escape for you now. You shall join your brother soon enough. Or you can join with me…join with me…join…”

Caleb awoke from his dream with a start as the sharp boot kicked him again.
“Wake up, rebel scum! We march out now!”
Caleb stood shakily and got back in the line of prisoners. The sun had not yet touched the horizon. He had eaten nothing since the previous day, a hard piece of bread thrown at him by a leering soldier.
The mercenary walked by the prisoners, appearing deep in thought. Caleb stared at the pale man. He was tall, and he wore his tattered cloak about him like it was his source of strength. His hands, Caleb saw as the mercenary passed close by him, were gnarled and bony, like an old man’s. But Ahkum carried himself with a strength that made men tremble if he swept his gaze over them. The mercenary turned his gaze on Caleb right then, pausing in front of him as if deciding something. Caleb forced himself to return the stare.
Ahkum stepped back a bit and suddenly began his speech. “We march fast today. The town of Snaerly is a week’s journey from here, so we must pick up our pace.” He turned to the line of prisoners. “Anyone who falls behind will be killed.” Leaving that lingering in the air, he mounted a great black horse and rode to the front of the line.

 

[Steadfast7]

Edda walked with the captain’s servants. At least today, she thought, the captain had untied her hands. Perhaps he reasoned a mere, tattered girl could not go anywhere. She knew she had to escape soon, at least before the town of Snaerly. She had been to the town once before, and found it an enjoyable place, much like her own village. Perhaps that is why Ahkum will attack it. They want to rid the world of peaceful places and leave only destruction to be found. I must warn them. She squared her shoulders in determination. Then I must get the children and women out of the well.
This problem had been troubling her all night. The women and children were literally prisoners of their refuge. She prayed that someone had escaped capture and returned to let them out, but she dared not hope so. At least they had enough provisions to last them for a while. But it was very cramped in the old well.
By now she and the captain’s servants were walking along with the line of prisoners. They looked haggard and weary. At least the captain gave her enough food to keep her stomach filled, and water as well. The prisoners lived off nothing. Perhaps the captain did not wish to present his son with a skinny waif. She shuddered at the thought of this captain’s son she had never met. Her resolve strengthened. She had to escape, and escape soon.

Caleb trudged along the rocky ground. The Army was slowly ascending into the mountains. Caleb had often looked at the mountains from his village home; he never dreamed someday he would climb them. All he wanted out of life was to be a carpenter. He loved to build, to shape things out of raw wood that would normally be useless. Of course, at the present that all seemed a dream. He wished to just live one more day, now.
He carefully touched his shoulder. Still it burned at the lightest pressure. The cut on his face was starting to heal; he knew it would leave a scar. Caleb lifted his head. As far as he could see were soldiers, marching onwards. There was the captain’s entourage. Caleb had not yet figured out the need for a captain at all; the mercenary seemed to be in charge of things. And there, ahead of him, was Lady Edda. His stomach churned when he had realized what he had told her last night in the medical tent. No one should have to know that, especially not a Lady. No, it was his burden to bear.
Slowly the line of prisoners began to catch up to the captain and his entourage. Edda realized she was marching beside the prisoners now. Why do I think of them as the prisoners? I am just as much captive here as they are. She sighed, and then realized she was being watched. She turned to see Caleb looking at her. Edda smiled wanly at him, knowing there would be nothing that could cheer him up. There was certainly nothing that could cheer her up, except a warm night with her family by the fireside. She sighed.
Beside her, Caleb was thinking the same thought. What he wouldn’t give to see his family together again…to take his mind off his failures, he turned his face to Lady Edda.
“What happened?” he asked, nodding at her lip and immediately feeling stupid. It was obvious what had happened to her.
Edda turned red. “The captain,” she said simply, quietly. “I’ll be fine. It is your shoulder you should worry about. I’ve seen less claim a man’s life.”
Caleb painfully shrugged. “Wilhelm…” he sighed as he remembered, “Will chopped firewood so I could go to the infirmary.”
She looked at him, sorrow rising in her heart for this man. “I am sorry. About your brother.” She smiled a bit at her words. “Words just seem so…”
“Hollow.” Caleb finished, remembering his promise to Wilhelm.
The line stopped moving abruptly and Caleb nearly ran into the soldier in front of him. An overweight, sweating soldier moved down the line, throwing out old bread and passing down a pail of dirty water. Caleb grabbed the water and downed half of it, his thirst hardly quenched. The bread was stale but he ate it anyway. Who knew when he would get food again? He noticed that the Lady was gone, and he suppressed a glare when the captain moved by, followed by the mercenary.

Ahkum moved through the lines of hapless prisoners. He smiled inwardly. Here the peasants were, actually starting to think they could survive. Well, now the suffering would begin anew. The mercenary nodded at the captain to begin speaking.
“Listen up, scum! We are camping for the night. You will set up tents, cook, and serve our every whim!” Here the soldiers guffawed and the captain grinned, proud of his declaration.
“You begin now.” The captain turned around and disappeared through the soldiers.
Ahkum sighed, exasperated. That captain was so imbecilic. He raised his voice.
“If you do not follow orders, rebels, you will become acquainted with the Whip!” He cackled delightedly for emphasis. He then held up a ten-foot-long whip that was covered in spikes. It had a small ball at the end of its line with metal spikes all over it as well.
Caleb wished then he had a sword so he could put an end to the miserable life of the mercenary. At the prodding of a decisively repulsive soldier, Caleb moved forward and began to assemble a tent. Everywhere there were soldiers, gloating and harassing the prisoners. He gritted his teeth, ignored the pain that shot through his shoulder, and began his menial task.

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Chapter Two​

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Caleb moaned as he woke on up on the solid ground. The Army was now climbing higher in the wooded mountains. The past week he had spent trying to stay alive; searching for food to supplement the diet of bread and water; putting together tents until his hands bled from the wood; trying to keep his shoulder clean. But through it all he could not complain; at least he was still alive. He tried to take comfort in that fact as he lay there.
Right now the camp was sleeping; he heard the swish of skirts and lifted his head. There went Lady Edda, on her way to the mountain stream they had been following for a week to fetch water for the captain. Silently he got to his feet and followed her, not knowing why. Perhaps, he thought, it would be nice to talk to someone besides those dimwitted soldiers. The mercenary had not allowed him to go back to the medical tent for his shoulder. Whenever he had to lift anything heavy, the shoulder would break open again and bleed anew, but he ignored the pain. He seemed to be ignoring much pain these days, he noted.
There was the Lady, on her knees in front of the stream. Her hair was blowing in the chill breeze of early fall. He approached silently, not wanting to startle her and attract attention.
She looked up when she heard him. “Good morning, Caleb,” she smiled wearily, brushing her hair behind her ears. The mercenary had the women working harder than the men, laboring over cooking pots when they were not walking with the Army. Her hands were cracked and dry from the work.
Caleb eased himself down beside her. “Morning.” He looked off into the distance. “I think we are nearing the town. What was the name?”
She studied him grimly. “Snaerly. I heard the captain talking about it not ten minutes ago.” She sighed. “They are going to attack the town. Tonight.”
Caleb let out a deep breath. “If only there were some way we could warn them…” He shook his head forlornly.
Edda inwardly debated whether or not to tell Caleb about the escape she was planning. She decided against it; she was not exactly certain if she could trust him that large of a secret. She turned the conversation away from talk of the coming destruction of the town.
“How is your shoulder?”
He looked at Edda like she was dull, going from talking about the impending annihilation of Snaerly and its inhabitants to mentioning his shoulder. “Well, it hasn’t turned black and shriveled up yet.”
Edda grinned. “Hopefully not.” She turned to look in the direction of camp. “I had better be getting back.”
Caleb stood up with her, taking her water bucket with his good arm. She looked up at him, surprised. “You shouldn’t have to carry that,” Edda protested, trying to reclaim her bucket.
Caleb just smiled. “My mother raised me well. She taught me that when I was around, no woman should have to carry anything.” He lifted the bucket up out of her reach.
Edda just shrugged, pleased at this display of chivalry. The soldiers she had been around for the past week were anything but polite. She turned and walked back to the camp; no doubt the captain would be wondering why she was gone so long.
Caleb walked silently next to her, swinging the bucket and already lost in thought. If only there were some way he could escape…if only his shoulder was not injured! If only this had not happened in the first place…he glanced at Edda, who was walking beside him. He wondered how any woman could be so beautiful when she was so caked with dirt and blood and grime from the trail. They reached the camp and he wordlessly handed over her bucket.
Their eyes met for a brief instant; her eyes were as blue as the summer sky and her hair the color of light fresh fall leaves. Caleb gave her one last smile and walked away. It was almost time to start taking down the tents.
Edda grimly returned to the captain’s tent. Thankfully, the captain was still asleep. He must be resting up for his massacre tonight. I must escape today, when the sun goes down. I wonder when the Army will strike. But they will be readying for the attack, and surely the sentinels around the camp will be slightly off guard…She continued to sort out the plan in her mind as she sorted the captain’s dirty shirts.

 

[Steadfast7]

I'm having fun with this. Don't worry, though, I will change the name of the town "Snaerly." I just couldn't think of a better name on short notice

The captain sat before the fire as the sun set that evening, silently going over his plan. The Army of the North would attack in the middle of the night, unlike the village. Of course, they would still announce their arrival by burning down the farmer’s crops. Then they would attack and take prisoners. He furrowed his brow as he thought. They did not need very many prisoners to bring back to the North; perhaps they should just kill the ones they already possessed.
He shared his plan with the mercenary, who heartily agreed. Then again, of course the mercenary would agree. He visibly brightened at the mention of the word “kill.”
The plan, then, was set. The Army would attack Snaerly, kill and destroy, then take prisoners. To instill a healthy sense of fear into the new captives, they would slay the current prisoners. The captain was pleased with himself.

There was a silent hush around the camp of the army; the soldiers were readying themselves for battle. Edda hurriedly prepared bread for the captain. She reviewed the plan of escape in her mind as she kneaded. Nothing could go wrong or it would mean her life.
Not too far away, Caleb repaired a soldier’s shield. He despised himself for doing the task; by strengthening the soldier’s armor, he was literally assuring the death of another peasant who would not be able to fell the warrior.
The Army mulled around. Now there would be waiting, but soon there would be blood and death. Anticipation rose. They were to attack in the darkest part of the night, about five hours away. The Army settled down to catch an hour of sleep before the annihilation they longed for began.
Edda quietly went to her tent. Now her plan was to be set in motion. She wrinkled up her bedroll enough so it could look like someone was sleeping there. Silently she crept back out of the tent. After seeing there was no one around the captain’s tent, she stole around backside of the structure and tiptoed to the river. Here she had to be on watch for the sentinels; she knew there was one of the far side of the riverbank and to the left, behind the small bush there. There was one posted further downstream, but Edda did not worry about him as much since he was farther away.

Caleb slept a restless, waking sleep. He dreamed it was many years ago, during the times of plenty. He was small boy, and his grandpapa was still alive, sitting before the fire and telling his many wonderful stories. The whole family was gathered around the old, bent figure as he wove his newest tale.
Suddenly the wizened man perked up a bit; he was remembering something. Caleb’s grandfather always boasted about his journeys and travels when he was younger; now he began to tell his family about one such expedition.
“It was many moons ago, young one,” Grandpapa smiled down at Caleb from his perch on the chair. “I was a great deal younger, and stupider. I was going to see the world, to go beyond the farthest reaches of where man has ever gone.” He grinned toothlessly. “Yes, I did that, indeed, child. I went to deserts, great vast barren plains filled with grainy sand. I saw deep green wet forests and wide plains under a wider sky. I saw grand stony mountains rising into the high white clouds.
Yes, I traveled all over, child. And I got nothing out of it. I returned here ten years later, none the wiser and without a belonging to my name.” Here Grandpapa paused. “Except for one thing, I carried nothing with me.”
Caleb saw the younger version of himself jump to his feet with excitement. “What one thing, Grandpapa? What?”
His grandpapa furrowed his brow. “Caleb, it was not riches nor food nor even a small trinket.” He pulled a piece of old, wrinkled parchment out from his pocket.
Young Caleb’s eyes widened in excitement.
Grandpapa’s eyes matched Caleb’s. “It was this piece of paper I carried with me, young one.” He unfolded it and began to read, in a time-worn gravelly voice:

Where golden buds of lilies gleam,
Resplendent on the silver stream,
And leaves of azure turkis throw
Soft splendour on the waves below.
Bright as the sun at early morn
Fair pools that happy clime adorn,
Where shine the loveliest flowers on stems
Of crystal and all valued gems.
Blue lotuses through all the land
The glories of their blooms expand,
And the resplendent earth is strown
With peerless pearl and precious stone.
There stately trees can scarce uphold
The burthen of their fruits of gold,
And ever flaunt their gay attire
Of flower and leaf like flames of fire.
All there sweet lives untroubled spend
In bliss and joy that know not end,
While pearl-decked maidens laugh, or sing
To music of the silvery string.
Still on your forward journey keep,
And rest you by the Northern deep.

Caleb sat back, somewhat disappointed. “But Grandpapa, why did you carry that paper with you? It is just a bunch of words!”
Grandpapa scratched his head. “Well, child, I don’t really understand what the paper means, but I kept it anyway. One day, I found myself in a faraway land that was hot and full of these terrible snakes and insects. I was walking down a busy village marketplace street, and suddenly this old man went and grasped my hand. He would not let go, and as I did not speak the country’s language, I had no idea what he was saying. Suddenly he began to close his eyes and chant something urgently at me—in my own language, as well! I was dumbfounded. He chanted the poem over and over, until I grabbed a piece of parchment I had found on my previous travels and wrote down what he was saying.”
Caleb thought about this. “But Grandpapa, how did the old man know your tongue?”
His grandpapa stared at the wall. “I have no idea, Caleb. But after I wrote the verse down, the old man seemed to calm down a bit. Then he pulled my head down to his, and whispered something in my ear. I still remember exactly what he said.
‘Young man! Listen to me, and heed my words. Pass them down to your children, and your children’s children. They will become of great profit to you or them.’
Grandpapa gazed intently at Caleb. “Then the old man was gone. I could not find him again, since no one around me spoke my dialect. But I have heeded his words, Caleb. I am old, and no profit has come to me by them.”
Later that night, Caleb saw himself being tucked into bed.
“Mama, is what Grandpapa said earlier true? Did he actually go on travels?”
His mother smiled gently. “I don’t know, small one. I believe him, but your father does not.”
Caleb yawned. “Mama, can you sing to me before I go to sleep?” He put his small hand in hers.
Caleb’s mother laughed. “Oh, Caleb, you are getting to old for such things! But one last time I will sing for you, child.” She began the lullaby she had been singing to him since he was born:

“Take heart, small one,
Your fears are gone,
So rest your head,
Trust what I said…”

Caleb forced himself awake. Right now he would almost rather have nightmares than being put through the agony of dreaming about those he loved, those he feared he would never lay eyes on again. He felt so worthless knowing the Army would soon attack another town like his, and he could do nothing to stop them. His mouth felt dry and his shoulder ached. He got up and silently walked down to the river to drink.

 

[Steadfast7]

Edda took a quiet deep breath, and then began to cross the river on some small stepping stones. The water was shallow and the river was wide. Once she got across the river, all she had to do was sneak past the fierce sentinel. That would be hardest part.
In her concentration, she did not hear the quiet padding of steps behind her.
Edda jumped from the last stone to the riverbank, hoping she did not make a noise when she landed. She softly walked up the riverbank to the trees beyond it. Creeping so silently it was nearly impossible for anyone to hear her, she went into the trees, hoping she was walking far enough around the sentry.
She wove her way through the grove of small trees until finally she came out on the other side. She had done it. The sentinel had not noticed her. She could barely withhold a smile of joy as she continued softly walking through the woods.
Suddenly a shadow loomed before her, and she froze. The shadow darted forward and grabbed her before she could react. In the dim light of the moon, she saw the leering face of the mercenary.
“Ah, yes, you are brave indeed. We shall see how brave you are after forty lashes with the Whip!” Ahkum cackled with delight as he watched Edda’s fair face break down in fear.
He bound her hands together quickly, and then continued, his harsh voice the very sound of death. “Perhaps after seeing you mangled by the Whip the hapless captain will not want you for his son. Maybe I shall just take you for myself.” He laughed outright as he pulled Edda roughly to him.
Quickly, so quickly all Edda saw was a flash of darkness illuminated for a brief instant by the pale light of the moon, a new shadow dove and knocked the mercenary away. The mercenary yelled with surprise as he was tackled by the strong shadow and forced to the ground. The shadow seemed to be overpowering Ahkum, who let out a great fierce roar as he tried to fight this unseen man back. But Ahkum had been taken off guard, and the shadowy figure fought as if he had some unseen great strength. Edda stood there, mind numb and legs frozen.
Alerted by the mercenary’s yell, the sentinel came running to his aid. The mercenary managed to kick the shadow away from him for a brief second, and the sentinel threw himself on top of the fighting warrior. The mercenary struggled to his feet and drew his sword, knocking his combatant over the head with the flat of his blade . The man who had come to Edda’s aid laid still, a red pool of blood spreading around his shoulder.
At that moment the moonlight caught the shadowy man’s face, and Edda gasped, her numb mind registering who the man was.
Caleb Sloane!
The mercenary glared down at Caleb’s still form. “He must be longing for death. After all, now I am going to give your punishment, girl, to him. Forty lashes.” The mercenary rubbed his face where a bruise was forming and scowled.
Edda cried out, sobbing that her stupidity would most likely mean Caleb’s death. “No! Can’t you see, he is hurt already!”
The mercenary glowered. “All the better. Perhaps he will die sooner than later, then.” Ahkum grabbed Caleb and threw the limp man over his cloaked back. He called over his shoulder as he went though the grove of trees. “And you shall watch as he dies.”
Edda wanted to fight back, to do something, anything to help Caleb, but all she could do was let herself be led back to camp by the gloating sentinel.

The mercenary grinned as he yelled. This was exactly the type of thing he loved. Pain and suffering.
“Men! Awake! We shall get a foretaste of what is to come later on in the night when we attack Snaerly. This man will be the first to go under the sting of the Whip!”
Waking up eagerly, soldiers clambered out of bedrolls to get close to the action. They watched as the limp victim was forced to stand. Ahkum tied two ropes tightly to Caleb’s wrists, and then tied the ends of the ropes to a tree, forcing Caleb in an upright position. With an evil laugh, Ahkum ripped Caleb’s already bloody shirt off. The mercenary then slapped Caleb’s face, forcing him awake.
All the while Edda was held by two soldiers not ten feet away from Caleb.
Seeing that Caleb was awake, the mercenary slapped him again for good measure. “Now, you will feel pain, boy. True burning pain that will have you praying to me to let you die. Only I shall not be so good as to grant you your wish. You will cry out as the Whip slices through your shoulders, and you will know I have triumphed before you die.”
Caleb stared the mercenary in the eye, the look on his pale face defying Ahkum’s words. He stared, unflinching, at the mercenary, as if daring him to crack the whip. “I will not cry out. Do what you want with me, but I will not give you the satisfaction hearing me plead to you to let me die.”
The mercenary just took hold of the Whip. “We shall see, boy.”
Caleb gathered up his courage and laughed in Ahkum’s face. He laughed hard, knowing it would be a long time until he could laugh again.
And Edda then could watch no longer.

Caleb hung there, supported by the tree, as the Whip tore apart his back. Pain coursed through his body, almost making him cry out. He would not flinch...he could not.
He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as the pain began to show on his face.
Ahkum cackled behind him as the Whip cracked the sound of death. “Scream. Cry out. You will not last unless you do.”
"I…will not...give you...the satisfaction..." Caleb growled through clenched teeth. He bit his lip so hard that he drew blood, struggling against his bonds. His whole body felt like it was on fire.
Ahkum strode over to Caleb and bent until only the bound, bleeding man could hear him. “Oh, you shall scream. By the time I am done you will. But,” he paused, savoring his next words, “I am certain if you do not scream, the girl will.” He looked in Edda’s direction, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"If you touch her..." Caleb gasped for breath. "If you touch her..." he trailed off, still glaring with what strength he had left at his captor. Breathing was becoming a struggle, and he could not see anything now because of the blood dripping in front of his eyes.
“You can do nothing against me, scum! The one thing you can do is cry out.” Ahkum crept back over to the Whip. The soldiers were becoming impatient to hear the screams of this man.
"I will not!" Caleb managed to gasp. "I will...not." He slumped against the ropes, limp and in too much pain to say more. He blinked the blood from his eyes, his breath coming in short, jerky gasps now.
With a roar, Ahkum began the whipping again. “Scream! Or the girl shall for you!”
Caleb could only let out a little whimper and gasp, “Do…not…touch her…” he paused, coughing up blood. He seemed to gather what strength was left in him for an instant. He looked up, the defiant glare back in his eyes. "I will not scream."
The lashes rained down on him, burning and slashing and tearing.
Suddenly, with all the power left in him, Caleb yelled, a roar that chilled the soldiers watching to the bone. “Someday…someday…you will beg and plead for mercy at the hands of another…but they will grant you none…” He tried to catch his breath, to breathe the life-giving air. The darkness was beginning to creep up around him. Warm, comforting darkness.
Ahkum just chuckled and withdrew the blood-caked Whip. This man was now losing his sense; the mercenary had killed enough men to know that this one was at the brink of death. With a nod, he ordered one of the soldiers to cut Caleb loose. Caleb fell in a heap to the ground, a pool of blood streaming from his ragged body.
The shadows began to overtake him. He remembered his mother at that moment, of the lullaby she used to sing to him. And then he sank into the vast peaceful darkness.

Edda sank to her knees, sobbing and thrashing when the soldiers tried to force her up again. She saw Caleb fall, cut loose from the tree. She watched as he lay there in a pool of his own blood, and she cried and cried until the mercenary slapped her across the face.
“Get up, scum. You will all die anyway, in the end. Does it matter if he dies now, or later with the rest of you?”
Edda was livid. “You! You have killed all who are dear to me!” In a fit of blind rage, she threw herself at him, trying to inflict some of her pain on him. A smoldering fire burned in her eyes, and Ahkum laughed.
“Do not worry, girl. You will be dead when the sun rises.” Here the mercenary stopped to think, and then his lips twisted up in a diabolical grimace. “Yes, I think I will execute you and the boy personally.”
Edda spat at him while the two soldiers held her back. “I will consider it an honor.”
Ahkum just laughed and turned around, pointing to a couple of soldiers. “You and you! Take that man and put him a tent. Put the girl with him as well, to make sure he does not die before I can kill him. I would not want to miss that pleasure.” He strode away, gloating.
The soldiers picked up Caleb, carried him to a nearby tent, and dropped him callously on the ground. His cracked lips parted in a slight unconscious moan, and blood still streamed out of his open, raw back.
Edda rushed in after the soldiers, clutching a pail of water and some cloths the grizzled doctor had wordlessly handed to her. As soon as the soldiers left she turned Caleb over gently and began to clean the dirt out of his back. He cried out, finally, in pain.
“Oh, Caleb. I am so sorry,” she wept quietly as she looked at him, torn and bloody on the ground. “On top of all you already had to bear, now you have this.”
She cleaned the many cuts, slices, and lesions until she felt certain she did all she could. She bound them with the cool cloths, and then sat back and looked Caleb. His dark hair was matted with blood and dirt, and his face, pale enough already, was hidden under a layer of grime. She took the last cloth and began to clean his face, then his hair. She could have fainted with relief when she noticed he was suddenly staring at her.
“Caleb…” she trailed off, not knowing what to say or how to thank him. “I…I…”
Caleb grimaced bitterly with pain. “I am sorry, Lady Edda.”
It was Edda’s turn to stare at him. “Sorry?”
“I was not…able to hold the mercenary long enough…for you to escape.”
Edda did not know what to say. “No! No, Caleb, I am sorry. If I had not tried to run away, this would not have happened to you.” She paused grimly. “But the mercenary says he will kill us anyway, personally.”
Caleb shook his head. “They will not…kill me, or you, especially, without a fight. A long, hard fi-” He was cut off by a spasm of pain that wracked his body as he shifted his weight on the ground.
Edda shushed him. “Hush, now. There. You just be quiet and let me think.”
“I have already…done that, Lady Edda.”
She looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Just…just what I said. I have…a plan.”
Edda shook her head. “You are in no shape to do anything.”
“But we will be dead…tomorrow anyway. We have to…to try something.”
She nodded her head in slow acknowledgement. “Okay…what do have in mind? I will not allow it, though, if you have to do anything hard in your condition.” She gazed at him firmly.
Caleb tried to smile at her through his pain, and then began to shakily tell her about his plan.

 

[Narmegil]

Great story and emotion, I love it! Keep it up!

 

[Steadfast7]

Thanks Narm I am also going to change Ahkum's name; I need something fiercer.

Fifteen minutes later Edda poked her head out of the tent, and took a deep breath as she stared at the soldier standing not ten feet away from her.
“Um, excuse me, soldier?” Edda hoped he did not notice her shaking hands.
He turned to her, obviously tired. “What?”
Edda stared at him pleadingly. “I need some cloths very much, sir.” She made her lip quiver. “Please. He is suffering so. We are to die soon anyway.”
The soldier shrugged, and then rounded the corner to get some cloths from the doctor’s tent. Edda sighed with relief.
“It is working, Caleb!” she whispered as she went back into the small tent. Soon she heard the soldier’s approaching footsteps.
“Here you are.” The soldier stuck his head in the tent and saw only Caleb, lying on the ground, moaning. “Where is…”
His question was cut off as a water bucket was brought down on his head. Edda stepped back as he fell. She quickly gagged him with the cloth she had used to clean Caleb’s face.
Edda looked at Caleb, her face pale. “Do it,” he reassured her, and she nodded. She quickly took off the soldier’s armor and just as quickly fastened it on herself. Edda stuffed her hair into the helmet, and slid that on too. She turned to Caleb.
“Now, get up, scum! We move you to a separate tent!” She almost laughed as she heard herself make her voice low and gravelly.
Caleb managed to stumble to his feet. She grabbed him or else he would have fallen.
“Now, come on!” She took a deep breath and stepped out the tent, still supporting Caleb, which was hard given the weight of the armor.
Immediately another soldier approached them. “Hey, whatcha doin’? I thought the mercenary said to leave them prisoners in that tent!”
Edda nodded and made her voice low and gruff. “Uh, yeah, well, that mercenary told me to bring this prisoner to him. Said somethin’ about wantin’ him to hear a proposal, uh, yeah.”
The soldier shrugged and kept walking.
She tried to go as quietly as she could. “Which way, Caleb?” Edda whispered in a barely audible voice.
He tried to focus his eyes, which were blurred from the pain. “Left.”
Sure enough, there were the tethered horses, which were saddled in anticipation of the fight that would happen in less than an hour. She managed to silently drag Caleb over to one and untie it. Caleb, gritting his teeth, climbed into the saddle. Edda untied the horse next to the first one, and mounted it too. The horse whinnied as it realized it was being taken away from its herd. Edda soothed it, and then Caleb signaled her to move out. They rode as quickly and quietly as they could around the outskirt of the group of horses, crouching low in the saddle. In the dark, no one noticed two horses breaking away from their herd and slowly, silently, moving into the trees.

The mercenary burst out of his tent. Now it was time.
“Army of the North!” His piercing roar filled the camp and men rallied around him. “Make the North proud in your heartless destruction! Now we FIGHT!”
With a deafening roar, the soldiers turned and marched towards the small town that would soon be ruins. Their marching feet kicked up dust and torches flickered, sending the sound and smell and feel of death and ruin.
The people of Snaerly had no chance.

Edda trembled as she heard the marching of feet and the bloodthirsty shouting behind them. She wanted to kick her horse into a gallop, to get as far away from the Army as possible, but she glanced over at Caleb and saw he was sagging in the saddle, red blood oozing from his still uncovered back and shoulders.
“Caleb. How far can you make it?” she asked him worriedly, noting the sounds of the Army ever increasing. She silently prayed they were not in the path the Army was taking to Snaerly. Her worry mounted as she noticed they were on some sort of path.
Caleb tried to catch his breath. “I…can go…further…” He could barely grasp the reins, and he was slumping, dangerously close to falling off the horse.
Edda made up her mind as she looked back and saw the illumination of flickering torches nearing them. Bringing her horse up alongside Caleb’s, she grasped the reins of both horses and led them to a nearby thicker grove of trees. There she helped Caleb off his horse and laid him flat on the ground behind a tree.
The pounding of the Army was approaching.
Edda slapped the rumps of the horses. “Get!” They galloped off into the darkness.
She pressed herself up against a tree, desperately trying to look invisible. The heavy, glinting armor she wore did not help her situation. She took off her helmet; it was weighing her head down.
Caleb moaned over by his tree. “Wha…what is happening? Where…are the horses?”
“Hush. Don’t make a sound, now, and try not to move, either. The Army is coming.”
Caleb silently nodded, his lips bleeding from where he had been biting them to keep from crying out.
And then all around were light and the hammering of many armored feet running across the ground. Drawn swords reflected off the torchlight and glittered cruelly. Edda felt a tear of panic run down the side of her face. The Army was passing by them by ten feet. She pressed herself closer against the large tree, praying desperately they would not be noticed. Edda tried to still her breath; her heart was pounding in her ears. Every single beating step of the soldiers pounded in her head and she closed her eyes.
Then, just as suddenly as they had come, but after what seemed a lifetime to Edda, the soldiers diminished, leaving behind them the smell of fear and smoke.
Edda sagged against the tree, remembering Caleb. He was collapsed on the ground still, his breathing coming in hard, labored gasps. She hurried over to him, dread filling her and making it hard for her to breathe as well. There was nothing she could do to ease his pain. They had no water, no food, nothing. So wrapped up in her thoughts was she that Edda did not hear the approaching footsteps behind her.
The captain silently approached, praising himself for staying behind in the camp a bit to drink one last bottle of ale.
“Here you are. It was clever, girl, I shall give you that; I did not even realize you and the boy were gone.”
Edda whirled and blanched. The captain was standing before her, a triumphant smirk on his burly face.
The captain smiled, enjoying this. He drew his sword slowly, letting Edda hear the ring of the blade and see it reflected in the moonlight. His grin grew as he saw her tremble and stand in front of bleeding Caleb protectively.
“Just leave us alone!” Edda sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she stared at his approaching blade. “Please!”
The captain shoved her aside as strode to Caleb, lowering his weapon to the pale man’s still head. Only Caleb’s labored breathing could be heard, and the distant roar of the Army.
“Remember as you die there is no hope. The North shall defeat--”
All of the sudden a burst of sound and light sprung out of the forest, a deafening roar that froze the captain. Too late the captain felt a blade sink into his stomach, and he looked shocked as he felt his own sticky blood. The captain dropped his blade harmlessly, and it lay on the cold grass, as still as its fallen holder.
Edda shut her eyes. How long would she be tormented before finally her life would end? Her voice was cold and shaking as she said, “Just kill us, whoever you are. There is no sense in prolonging our suffering.”
When there was no response, she opened her eyes slowly. In front of her stood a man holding a blood-drenched sword, and looking every bit as terrified as she was. The unknown man wiped his blade then on the grass, and took a deep breath.
“Who…who are you?” He had a quiet, deep voice, and he looked at her imploringly.
Edda stared at him, taken aback. “I do not know who I may trust. Tell me your name, first.”
The man nodded. “I come from Snaerly.” Here he hung his head. “I ran. I knew there was no hope, no hope for anyone surviving.” He sighed. “Why fight for a lost cause?” As he shook his head, the moonlight allowed Edda to get a better look at this unexpected man. He looked a bit older than her, and he had a shock of light brown curly hair and a strong frame. She allowed herself to relax.
Just then a small, lithe character darted out of the woods, causing Edda to scream. The man dashed over and clapped his hand over her mouth. “Quiet. The Army may still hear us.”
Edda nodded silently, and the man released his hold on her. She turned to see this new intruder. To her surprise, he walked right up to her and bowed.
“Greetings to ya! I’m Dooley Peachson, and I’m traveling with Padraic here.” He paused to appraise Edda. “Gee, Paddy, why do you always seem to find the pretty ones? Only thing I’ve ever found is a button. Then it turned out to be the baker’s lost button, and he whacked me over the head with his hard rye bread.” He sighed with over exaggerated sadness.
The first man, Padraic, just coughed, still breathing hard from the deed he had not yet let himself believe he had done. But the captain did still lay there, all life gone from his open eyes.
Edda stared at the two, incredulous and not quite sure what to think of the pair. Meanwhile, Dooley had stumbled across the ragged Caleb. “Gee, what happened to him?”
Padraic strode over and knelt beside the unconscious man. “What did happen to him, Lady?” He turned a questioning eye on Edda.
“The…the Army.” It was all she had to say.
“Looks like a Whip.”
Caleb moaned softly in his tormenting endless dreams. Dooley whistled. “Well, he’s gonna die.”
Padraic silenced Dooley with a cold stare. “Get the donkey. Hurry. Bring me the water, and the blanket.”
Dooley disappeared into the darkness of the trees.
“You…you have a donkey?” The question came from Edda, who was thoroughly confused.
Padraic looked up quickly. “Yes, Dooley managed to grab it as we left the town.” He bent over Caleb again. “You should have laid him on his back. There is dirt in his wounds now.”
Edda put her hands on her hips. “I could not exactly afford to loose time when the Army was on our heels.”
“Why was the Army on your heels in the first place?”
“I will not tell you. I do not know if I can trust you.”
Padraic looked at his sword, still lying on the grass. “I would not waste time talking if I wished to kill you. Besides, it is you who is wearing the armor bearing the mark of the Army of the North.”
Edda blanched, and sheepishly realized she did have the armor on. “I…I had to wear it…to escape.”
When Padraic waited for more information, none came.

 

[Steadfast7]

Dooley came up, leading a donkey that was more ugly than useful as it fought against him. “Paddy, I just brought the whole donkey. I didn’t want him to run off.”
Edda observed the donkey, which looked like it would be content to lie down and die there, and judging from the beast’s age, that time would be soon in coming.
Padraic wasted no time. Springing to his feet, he pulled a sack of water out of the pack the donkey wore. Kneeling beside Caleb again, he poured the water over the deep, red wounds that covered his back like fierce red streaks of lightning. Caleb just lay there, oblivious to the world.
Edda bit her lip. In her childhood, she hated to see even the smallest bird be in pain. She sat down beside Caleb’s still form, shuddering as he softly moaned. She grasped his cold hand and silently prayed.
Suddenly she looked up. “How…how do you know what you are doing?”
Padraic had taken a leaf off a nearby tree, and ground it between his fingers, pressing it into Caleb’s multiple wounds. “My father was the town healer,” he replied simply, not looking up. “The leaf from that tree will help fight the infection. If it sets in any worse, he will die.”
Dooley shook his head. “Too bad. Um, I thought I might mention something while I was at it.”
Padraic lifted his head expectantly.
“Well, I figured out that when the Army comes back from destroying our town, we will most likely be in its path.”
Edda gasped. She had forgotten this. “How are we to move Caleb?”
Padraic responded by easily rolling over and then picking up Caleb. Caleb moaned with pain; in order to carry him, Padraic had to come in contact with the man’s open ragged back.
Dooley grabbed the donkey and pulled it along, and together they walked like this, and unlikely group of strangers brought together by the common bond of suffering.

​

Chapter Three​

Wilhelm Sloane stumbled along, silently thinking about how glad he was it was early fall. The sun would rise soon. The summer sun would have surely burnt him to a crisp by now. He had his mother’s fair coloring, whereas his brother Caleb had inherited his father’s darker hair and eyes. He sadly wondered how Caleb was faring. Caleb’s shoulder would surely be a hindrance to him if he was forced to do the amount of work Wilhelm was doing.
He dumped the pail of water he was carrying into a pot that hung over a burning fire. Wilhelm had, strangely, always liked to cook, and that trait had been discovered; the Army put it to good use. He thought it interesting that the soldiers loved the food but cared little about the boy who cooked it. He, himself, would never be heartless. Wilhelm had vowed this to himself the day after he had been cruelly beaten for stumbling over the officer who was leading the Army though the plains. He still sported a large bruise on his forehead from the incident.
Wilhelm added pieces of deer that had been brought in by one of the soldiers. Wilhelm himself was responsible for gathering the rest of the food that went into his pot. He cooked for the officer and a few choice soldiers alone; he supposed the rest of the Army had to be satisfied with old bread and meat.
Here he began to wonder anew about the Army. Who were the soldiers who mercilessly could destroy an entire village in an hour? Why were they destroying villages in the first place? And where was the Army trudging to? He had always been a curious boy; his mother said he inherited it from his grandpapa, who had traveled the world at one point. At least, that was what the aged man claimed.
The officer suddenly made an appearance, kicking Wilhelm in the shins for the fun of it. The boy had to steady himself or he would have fallen into his pot. The officer glared at him.
“Hurry up, boy! We must pull out soon. The North is a two day’s journey away and he will not be pleased if we arrive off schedule. I fear you will take the brunt of it if we are late.”
Wilhelm turned back to his pot, his face burning and legs stinging. He fingered the purple bruise on his arm from his beating the other day and retreated back to his thoughts. Caleb will come for me. He will, and we will be a family again. He promised…

​

~~~​

​

Caleb was floating again, feeling like a wispy cloud floating high, ready to dissolve any moment. He could not see nor hear; nothingness surrounded him, and he liked that. It was better than where he had come from before. All of a sudden a sharp pain stabbed through him; blurry figures swam before his eyes. Sound and time and taste and smell cam rushing to him like a fierce wind let out of a closed room. People were around him, now, he could faintly see.
“Paddy! Paddy, I think he’s waking up!” A voice hovered somewhere around Caleb’s head.
A deep, low voice responded, muttering something. “Oh, no. He should not be waking up, yet…he will feel his pain and I have nothing to ease it…”
And then a voice, a sweet voice that reminded Caleb of a cool stream on a summer day responded. “He’s awake!!!”
“Hush! We do not now how far away we are from the Army!”
At the mention of that name, the Army, everything rushed back to Caleb quicker than his senses had rushed to him earlier. The Army had attacked his village…he had fought…he escaped with Edda…Edda!
“Where…where is Edda? Is she…safe?” Caleb whispered through parched lips, straining to make out the figures before him in the still blurry darkness.
“Yes! I am right here, Caleb. You just rest,” the sweet voice replied.
Edda watched as Caleb sank back into a restful sleep. “Will he mend fully now, Padraic?”
“If the infection does not return, he will be fine soon. I can only answer about his body, though. He has endured much that no one should have to endure.” Padraic stood slowly and stretched, and Edda noted he was almost twice the size of Dooley.
Dooley grinned. “Great, then we can be on our way soon, Paddy!” He picked at something stuck between his teeth. “But, where is our way?”
Padraic O’Craige had wondered that question for many a day. He knew he wanted to go back to Snaerly, to see how his family and friends had fared. But at the same time he did not want to ever return; he also knew, if any of them had survived, they would call him a coward and spit on the ground he walked on. But at least he was alive. He turned to Edda.
“Where will you be headed to, Lady?” He still did not know her name. They had been in this forest clearing for a day now, and she had barely said one word to him. But he had no idea what she had been through, either. Judging by the looks of the man she was with, they had not been treated like guests at the hands of the Army of the North.
“I do not know,” she replied softly, aware her voice displayed some of her mistrust. She did not want to tell him; she was not sure if she could trust him, yet. He still could be a spy for the Army.
Padraic sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but Dooley beat him to it.
“C’mon, lady, so you really think we’re gonna kill you now that we’ve sat an’ helped that guy for a day?” Dooley spat out whatever had been stuck between his teeth.
Edda shook her head. “I am sorry. But…but how am I to know you are not from the North?”
Padraic spoke up, a trace of anger lighting his dark features. “Do not question me, lady. I have no idea if my family is alive or dead and you accuse me of being one of the men who would kill my family without thinking?”
“Then why did you leave your family in the town? Why are you out here with supplies to last for a long journey?”
“Some of my family is not in the town.”
Edda thought about this. “Then where are they?”
“I sent them out not three days ago. We knew the Army was coming. My father stayed behind in the town to fight.” Padraic studied his hands. “I left as well. I knew there was no way we could win. My father would not come with me.”
Pain filled his eyes as he spoke. “The last thing my father spat at me in parting was a reminder of my cowardliness. But I could not kill anyone, even if they are evil. I could not.” His voice turned bitter. “And you accuse me of being one of the evil men I could not kill.” Padraic turned and disappeared into the trees.
Edda was left staring sorrowfully at Dooley, who was still trying to pry something out of his teeth.
“Yep, I just about fainted when I saw Paddy kill that ol’ Army soldier. He hasn’t hurt a flea since he accidentally killed that spider when were just boys.” Dooley chuckled and looked into the woods where Padraic had gone.
“You knew each other since you were boys?”
“Paddy’s my cousin. My mother and Paddy’s father, who were brother and sister, you know, came over here looking for a better life, or something. They settled in that town,” Dooley nodded to where smoke was visible rising about the distant trees, “and both got married. Paddy and I are almost exactly the same age!”
Edda just studied Dooley. His mother must have married a very short man indeed.
Dooley grinned and pointed to where Caleb lay on the ground. “So is he your brother or what?”
“No. We just live in the same village. Or, well, we used to live in the same village. I am not sure if our village still exists.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I wonder the same thing about my town. So what’s your name?”
Edda sighed, inwardly beginning to like this small forward man. “Edda. Edda Simmons.”
Dooley grinned. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Goodness. You’ve been treating us like we’ve got some sort of sickness that causes large round bumps on our noses. So what exactly happened to that man? He’s got an awful gash in his shoulder and I nearly lost my dinner when I looked at his back. Although Paddy’s such an awful cook anyway, I wouldn’t mind losing it.”
Edda held back a smile. “He is Caleb Sloane, in case you are wondering.”

 

[Steadfast7]

I'm sorry; it is getting a tad bit boring. I need to pick up the pace.

Dooley suddenly regarded Edda seriously. “And, Edda, I wouldn’t accuse Paddy of being part of the Army. It nearly up and killed him to leave Snaerly to follow his mother and sisters.” He shook his head. “He was always too kind-hearted for a man, you know.”
“Then why did you leave Snaerly with him?”
“I go where Paddy goes. That’s the way it’s been since were boys.”
“Don’t you have family there as well?” Edda observed the darkening sky. Night would soon be upon them.
“Nope. They left with Paddy’s mother and sisters. Paddy an’ I were gonna stay and fight, but then Paddy decided to leave. Said something about not wanting to kill anyone. So there we were, traveling along, when we saw you. I thought you were a soldier fightin’ with a fellow soldier, but Paddy saw your long hair and the other man’s sword lowered to the sick man’s throat and decided to help. Good thing he did, too, you probably…”
Edda sighed slowly, beginning to ignore Dooley. Her mind was already turning to a problem. Where was she going to go? Caleb would not be able to travel for a while yet, and she did not know what lay behind for her in the village. Perhaps she should just stay with Padraic and Dooley.
When she heard someone chopping something some time later, she knew Padraic had returned. For someone so strong, he moved with a surprising quietness. Edda turned to watch him.
He noticed her gaze on him. “This is a root that is very edible. It actually tastes rather good.” Silently he held out a piece of the odd round brownish thing for her to eat. “It tastes better cooked, but I dare not light a fire. Smoke could alert the Army.”
Edda nodded and bit into the root. “Do you have any idea where the Army is camping?”
Padraic looked at her. “I climbed a tree earlier. I saw smoke rising from the trees. It almost seemed as if the Army is going to cross the mountains.”
“They are. Part of the Army was going by way of the plains, the other by way of the mountains.”
Padraic tossed his root, thinking. “Where is the Army going?”
“The North.”
“But where is the North?”
Dooley joined the conversation suddenly. “Paddy, in case you’re wondering, this is Edda.” He grinned proudly. “I got her to tell me her name.”
Edda suddenly realized she had not yet seen Padraic smile, whereas Dooley’s eyes were almost always lit up in a grin.
Padraic just regarded her briefly. “So you think we are not of the Army?”
Edda carefully avoided his stare. “I believe you, for now. But I am still not certain if I trust you.”
A shrug was all she received as Padraic turned and went to check on Caleb.

I will write more some other time...

 

[Narmegil]

Ok, great I like it! I like the mistrust going on here, but of course like any good reader I am hoping she will trust him