“Here, I trust you’ll find it suitable enough to defend your homeland. Go for the throat where the skin is thin and the arteries are thick.”
“Yes sir,” the old man said, mustering a weak salute.
“Good, go and take your place among the garrison. You are now a guardian of Ebulon.”
“This is absurd…” Jenner complained, but Malik cut him off.
“Guardians! I want you to go into the city and bring back every able bodied man between the ages of fifteen and seventy. Have them assembled here in an hour. Go!”
Stern was the first to respond having seen Malik in action. The rest of the men followed with varying degrees of haste.
“Well done, you’ve left the gate unguarded,” Jenner snapped.
“Not at all, you’re here,” Malik replied.
Jenner turned white.
“I’m not a fighting man.”
“Really? Are we going to have to do this again?”
Jenner opened his mouth to answer, then thought better and shut it again.
“Good, now think hard and tell me where I can find some weapons.”
“There are no weapons.”
Malik leaned forward and looked hard into Jenner’s eyes. “I’m going to chain you to the portcullis,” he said in a slow and even tone. “You can either stand there and defend your city with a broken bottle like old Ives, or you can tell me where some weapons might be found.”
Jenner swallowed hard.
“There is one place…”
“I thought so.”
“…but it is sacred.”
Malik rolled his eyes.
“Just take me there.”
Malik and Jenner waited for Stern to return so as to not leave the front gate unmanned. The young soldier soon approached with two unhappy looking courtiers in fine clothing lagging along behind him.
“Good work,” Malik said, “these two look capable of slowing down an Orc or two before they are sacrificed to a miserable and pathetic death.”
The two men blanched, but Malik was pleased to note the flicker of a smile around the edges of Stern’s lips.
“There must have been some mistake,” one of the men said, “we are from the merchant’s quarter and are exempt from defense of the city. Heroes have been called to save us.”
“I’m the hero, and I die last,” Malik retorted.
The merchant was about to respond, but Malik held up his hand and turned to Stern. “When the other guardians return, have them bring back more like this. The wealthy, fat ones always fight better than the dregs from the poor quarter with no protein in their bloodstream. You stay here and instruct these maggots in basic swordplay. I’m going to go and get them some weapons. If any of them try to leave,” at this he turned his gaze back on the merchants, “cut them down as an example.”
The courtier who was still trying to talk snapped his jaw shut.
Malik started walking and Jenner was smart enough to follow his lead.
“Don’t be afraid to smack them around a bit,” Malik called out over his shoulder. “There won’t be any consequences because we’re probably all going to die anyway.”
Jenner soon took the lead and began guiding Malik through the winding streets of Ebulon. They were just out of sight of the gate when Malik stopped and turned his head in response to a distant sound.
“Is there a blacksmith nearby?”
“Yes,” Jenner replied, “just up this hill.”
“Take me there.”
In a few moments, they were standing at the entrance to a small forge. The blacksmith was shaping some metal on an anvil. He gave Malik a blank look but gave pause at the recognition of Regent Jenner.
“What are you working on?” Malik asked.
“It’s a heat shield for a fire place,” the blacksmith responded.
“Well, stop working on that right now and forge some blades.”
The blacksmith stared at Malik in disbelief.
“I’m told the city is about to be overrun by an enemy force and you’re wasting time on heat shields? How fast can you make a sword?”
“A good sword takes a week.”
“Ok,” Malik said, his face twisting up in a sneer, “how long to make a crude bar with a sharp point and some sort of grip that ensures the wielder’s hands don’t slip off?”
The blacksmith nodded, comprehension dawning.
“I could have a dozen or so in an hour.”
“Do it, and when you’re done, bring them to the gate along with all the able bodied men you can gather up.”
Malik gestured to Jenner again and the two of them resumed their errand.
A few minutes later, they passed a builder. A few men stood about a courtyard filled with wooden beams that had been cut for construction. Malik abruptly stopped again.
“You, is this your business?”
“Yes,” said a middle aged man.
“I need you to take these beams down to the gate. When you get there, have Guardsman Stern open the gate for you and carry the beams outside. There, I want you to bury the beams so they’re standing upright with about four or five feet of their length lodged in the ground.”
“Why?” the man said.
“Because if you don’t, I’ll gut you right now and leave you to die in the street like a dog.”
The man recoiled, but seemed to soften at a look he caught on the face of Regent Jenner. Instead of further protest, he simply nodded. Malik decided it was good enough and turned on his heel.
“Having you around is proving to be more useful than I ever anticipated,” Malik quipped. Jenner said nothing.
A few minutes later they arrived at the entryway to a small museum. A sign over the door was etched with the words, “The Heroes of Ebulon.”
Malik snorted and pushed his way inside.
A small man looked up from a piece of parchment on a dusty desk
“Welcome,” he said smiling, “are you here to marvel at the weapons and armor of Ebulon’s heroes of old?”
“No,” Malik snapped and stepped past the groveling man. He pushed through a curtain and entered a long hallway filled with glass cases. Inside the cases, various styles of armor and weaponry were displayed.
“No weapons cache…” Malik muttered beneath his breath.
Jenner said nothing.
“As you can see,” began the old man from the entryway who had followed them into the display hall, “we have carefully preserved the weapons and armor from…”
His words were cut off by the sound of breaking glass.
The sound was so shocking, the old man could do nothing but stand and stare.
Malik reached his hand past the glass he had just broken to grasp the handle of a sword that had fallen from its display at the force of Malik’s blow.
“It’s a little old fashioned,” Malik said, giving the weapon an experimental swing, “but it will suffice for killing Orc.”
The old man began to sputter in protest, so Malik decided it was best to give him something to do.
“You,” he said, pointing at the fellow with the newly acquired blade, “can you procure me a cart and a horse to pull it?”
At first, the old man didn’t appear to know how to react. After a few uncomfortable moments, however, he found his voice.
“Y-yes.”
“Good, go get it and have it ready outside.”
The old man stood rooted firmly in place, still trying to work up the gumption to protest. Malik robbed him of the chance.
“Go!” he cried, and the old man was off at a surprising clip for one of his age. “Get me some oil as well,” Malik cried after the man, who turned and half saluted in response.
Malik shook his head.
“The denizens of Ebulon are not making their salvation easy,” he said to himself.
Jenner opened his mouth to reply, but whatever words he intended to speak were lost as Malik attacked another display case and filled the room with the sound of breaking glass.