Chapter 18
“If he marches all night, then he’ll be here before dawn. Otherwise we should expect him around sunset tomorrow, sir,” the young scout reported to Lenamare in his private study. It was about two candles after sunset, and the scout had just arrived on a worn out horse. He had just ridden straight from the enemy camp. He hadn’t spared his horse; he knew that every moment of advance warning would be needed.
It was a good thing he had, the wizard thought. Lenamare really hadn’t expected Exador for a minimum of four to five days. There was no way Zilquar could get his troops here by tomorrow. The best he could hope would be for Zilquar to help lift a siege. Well, that should be no problem, Lenamare knew his defenses were strong enough, and supplies large enough to survive a siege for a few days. The problem of course, was how Exador managed to get so close so fast. “Tomorrow evening then,” Lenamare said, no sane general would march all night and then go into battle at dawn. He waved the scout an absent-minded dismissal.
As the scout left his office, Lenamare turned to Jehenna. “How the hell did he move so fast?” He demanded as soon as the door closed.
“I have no idea. He would have had to either use magic or our previous scouts were badly mistaken.”
“I think mistaken is an understatement, they would have to have been blind, to misjudge an army’s march by three days.”
“Perhaps blinded by magic?”
Lenamare frowned at that. Exador could have done that, but to so carelessly waste one’s energies on cloaking and illusion spells, when one was about to go into battle, just didn’t make sense. “Possible, I just have a hard time seeing Exador cloak and hide his army for several weeks. That’s too insane.”
“Well then, what if he didn’t. What if he is now?” Jehenna asked speculatively.
“You mean put an illusionary army three days ahead of himself? Then arrive later? No, that’s almost worse. We’d eventually see through the illusion if it just sat out there. True, one could speculate that we would arm up, and then when we’d relax because no attack came from the nearby army, he could hit us with the real thing. However, I trust Exador to know that it wouldn’t take me too long to investigate the army and discover the illusion and deduce his plans.
“No, we must assume he’ll attack tomorrow. Exador is no fool. He has something planned. If only we knew what.”
“Well, whatever it is, we’ll just have to be ready. We won’t get much sleep tonight.” Jehenna said.
“No, let lesser individuals do things tonight. Tonight all people truly essential to the defense should get a good night’s sleep. We probably won’t get many in the next several weeks.”
Jehenna nodded. “Very well, I’ll instruct the students and masters to finish all the wards, except for the final primings, tonight. Then tomorrow afternoon, we’ll perform the final rites to prime them, and when Exador’s army shows up, we set them.”
“Good, will you be interested in... meditating... with me this evening, before battle,” Lenamare asked, giving her a knowing little smile as she stood.
“Of course. We will need to generate all the... psychophysical energy we can... for the battle.” She smiled back as she opened the door to leave.
As the door closed, Lenamare spun in his chair to look out the window at the horizon, where his enemy slept. Exador thought to take me unaware... no, old adversary... Lenamare is never unaware. Lenamare knew his defenses could and would hold. Thanks to his ingenious planning and strategy, his defenses would be completely ready for the army. True, it was regrettable that they hadn’t been able to gather in as much food and storage as they’d hoped; but, in war, peasants died, and dead peasants didn’t need food anyway.
Chapter 19
The sound of voices woke him. Tom looked to the sky, it was shortly after dawn. Startled, he sat up; somehow he’d slept the rest of the afternoon and all night. He hadn’t been that tired, at least not physically. Maybe the peace of the forest had lulled him.
That peace was broken now. Voices, a ways off, were arguing. Tom focused his attention on the voices. “Please, lord, I have no more... my wife and I have given you all we’ve got,” whined a scratchy old voice.
“But, peasant, it’s not enough, Baron Orscezy demands four coppers for every man, woman and child in his domain. That’s twelve coppers for your family. Yet you only give me nine. Can you not see the justice in paying your fair share of taxes? After all, the Baron graciously protects you and your family from harm,” a smooth and arrogant voice replied. “Surely, now that I have shown you reason, you will give me the other three coppers.”
“But lord, I have no more. I cannot give that which I do not have!” The voice was becoming defiant.
“Liar! All you peasant scum are the same. Greedily you grab at each little piece of money. Little do you think of the comfort and purse of your betters. What right have you to hoard coppers? This is not your land... it is the Baron’s. All that comes from it is rightfully his, and so should you pay him what you indisputably owe him. Pay, now. Else I will take payment in your hide.”
“Please, we have no more, he’s telling the truth,” a woman’s voice begged.
“Keep out of this, woman, your man knows what he owes.”
Was this for real? Tom wondered. He thought this sort of thing only happened in corny medieval melodramas and fantasies. He decided he had probably better investigate though. Slowly he got up. As quietly as possible, which was slightly difficult in this form, he walked towards the voices.
“Please, no,” begged the woman.
Crack. Snapped something that sounded like what Tom imagined a whip on a man’s back would sound like. A grunt of pain came through the undergrowth.
Crack. This time it was followed by a moan. “Please, we don’t have any money!” cried the woman.
Crack. The arrogant voice laughed. “I might just believe you old woman. But if you don’t, then your man must pay ten lashes for every coin he doesn’t have.”
By this time, Tom was close enough to peer through the trees and bushes. In a small clearing stood a small stone cottage with a thatched roof. Outside the open door to the cottage, near a small well, stood a stout, but older woman. Between her legs was a child about four. Nearby in some hay, lay a man, he was probably in his late fifties, but looked to be in his late sixties, as did the woman. Over the man stood another man. This man wore a red and black uniform. Actually, it was a red hauberk, trimmed in black, which covered a set of leather armor. In his hand was a massive bull whip, with which he was striking the downed man. At his side was belted a fine sword, behind him, near the edge of the clearing was his horse.
Crack. “Aaahhhh!” cried the old man and arched his back in pain. His eyes shut as he blacked out.
“Granpy...” screamed the young child, who suddenly dashed from the woman’s skirts towards the old man. She tried to catch him but failed. The soldier, whose attention had been fixed on the old man, and was raising the whip again, was startled. Turning quickly, he brought the whip down on the child.
The child screamed in pain. The whip lanced across his face and down his chest, through his thin shirt. The child’s frail skin could not withstand the might of the whip. It split wherever the whip hit. A large gash appeared, down the child’s face, and down his entire torso. The child fell to the ground.
Horrified and angered, Tom stepped from the forest, onto the path opening into the clearing. “Little bastard got what he deserved, trying to interfere,” the soldier said as he turned back to whip the man some more.