Fifthwind (21 page)

"Who
came up with that?"

"I
don't ask questions, I just know it's not good."

Ben
stepped back. "So, if I'm going to die today, how exactly does my
smiling make it any worse?"

"I'm
just jealous," Mason grinned and jabbed Ben on the shoulder with a
thick but friendly fist. He rubbed his chin and eyed Ben
suspiciously. "So, how long have you two been keeping this a
secret? Does her father know?"

Ben
straightened and turned squarely to Mason with his hands cupped
behind his back and with all emotion wiped from his face. He cleared
his throat and in his most authoritative voice he said, "Your
report, Sergeant."

"Yes
sir!" Mason said, stiffening to attention and allowing his own
smile to fade, though it was still visible as a small upward turn at
the corner of his mouth.

The
two men were standing alone, ankle-deep in snow at the juncture of
the three main roads of Kishell Springs, where the town center rested
in the shadow of the three biggest inns. Holton House, Harry's
Hideout, and The Gray Goat, made up three sides of the roughly
triangular mall set between them.

Residents
of the town were filing into these inns at a steady pace, bringing
with them their most valuable belongings, their hopes and their
fears. The inns were ancient stone constructions that were
substantial and formidable; having once been part of a massive
stronghold, even though they had not seen conflict in centuries. With
just the three structures housing the whole of the local population,
it would be a relatively small compound to defend.

Beyond
the inns, sprawled endless shops, homes and open-air trading stalls.
The town was riddled with a maze of pathways, alleys and go-betweens.
Hope of clear observation from any single point was obscured by the
randomly situated and ramshackled constructions.

Ben
looked up at the second and third floors of Holton House. From there,
observers would be able to see for a short distance above the streets
and herald any unusual movement with at least a little advance
warning. He turned from building to building appraising placements
and distances.

Mason
said, "I've already sent some men out to collect bows and anyone
who can use one. Those second floor windows will work well as archer
platforms."

Ben
nodded. He took no offense in Mason's preemptive actions; he should
have known that Mason would have already thoroughly assessed the
grounds. If there were any advantages to be had, then the old veteran
would have identified them. He moved on without insult. "We'll also
need watch fires lit throughout the area. Use whatever wood you can
find, even if you have to tear down a few stalls to get it. I want
this place lit up bright and I want it to last through the night."

"We'll
turn night into day, Sir."

"How
many are coming?"

"I
can't prove that they're massing to the west and south, but I also
can't prove they're not. If they organize a full assault, we could be
hit from three directions with as many as two-hundred."

Ben
could clearly hear the seriousness in Mason's voice and knew it was
an honest, though grim, assessment. He sighed, "Should be easy
enough."

Mason
said, "Yes sir, I agree."

Ben
knew there was never any point in dwelling on things he could not
change. They were ill-equipped, undermanned, and facing an enemy of
unknown strength and numbers. Soldiers like Mason found themselves in
such conditions all too often, and had hardened their nerves to never
spend a moment's thought on too many ‘
what ifs
'. Even when a
well intentioned plan was in place, it would inevitably deteriorate
in the opening moments of combat. All that really mattered was a
determination to survive.

Ben
turned and looked out over the small town, and remembered his
original assessment of Kishell Springs. "It looks like a place for
old women and retired swords."

"But
they say it's got a nasty temper," Mason answered right on cue.

Ben
allowed himself a short chuckle. It wasn't often that he and Mason
could enjoy a moment where they could see clearly eye-to-eye. It was
in the tense, often hopeless, moments before combat that he
understood Mason perfectly. The old soldier was cut from a fabric
woven from the wool of war. He was a simple man with uncomplicated
needs. Orders from a competent commander were always enough to light
his way, but before Ben could give those orders to his Sergeant, he
needed to speak with Mason, the man. His friend.

Ben
kicked at the snow and looked to the sky. He always enjoyed the snow,
maybe because the coastal cities to the west rarely saw any, or maybe
because it reminded him that spring was just around the corner. Even
in the face of potential slaughter, he could not help but feel far
removed from his worries.

"Mason."

"Yes
sir?"

"Today,
right now, it's just Ben... the way it used to be. Tonight, when
things get bad, you can call me ‘Sir' all you like."

Mason
tried again, "What's on your mind, Ben?"

"We're
going to make it through this one, you know." Ben said it without a
hint of doubt.

"Of
course," Mason agreed optimistically.

"But
not the next...and there
will
be a next. You know that too,
don't you."

Mason
kept his eyes level on the eastern horizon. He rocked slowly back and
forth in his stance, weighing the thought. He was a proud man who
would never forecast defeat. He was a man who only understood odds
and what precautions to take to improve one's chances. He was a
survivor of Kruegen's Throat and was therefore a man living on stolen
time. He no longer held any expectation of leniency from the harsh
hand of fate.

Ben
looked away and said, "I wish Tad was here."

"You'll
make a fine Captain, Sir," Mason said halfway under his breath. "I
can't think of anyone living I'd rather serve under in a time like
this."

That
was about the best compliment Ben could hope to receive, given
Mason's reverence of Captain Taddus Haddaway. He turned to his
Sergeant and extended his hand. "Thank you, Sergeant."

Mason
took the proffered hand, and then lowered his head. "If the Captain
were here, he'd probably be laughing about what a fine mess we're
in." He lifted his eyes with a stern glare. "Then, he'd reprimand
us for standing around when there's work to be done."

Ben
barked out the awaited commands without any further hesitation, "We
put observers and archers in every window. Arm every capable man and
rotate them on short patrols until the first wave strikes. Then, we
hold the inns from the inside, only moving outside to deal with
direct attacks, damage control and fires. We're going to lock
ourselves in and ride out the night."

Ben
looked down at the ground and stomped one foot. "Send a man to meet
with Jimmy. See if there are any tunnels connecting these buildings.
If there are, we can use them to shuttle men and resources where we
need them most throughout the night. If not, then identify any
sub-levels we can use to hide the women and children in the event of
a breach."

"Should
work," Mason said. "These buildings are almost entirely stone on
the outside, excepting the roofs, there should be little chance of
fires."

"Any
other ideas?"

"I'll
take three men and go clear the rest of town. There are surely some
stubborn types still trying to hide in their homes. There's still
enough time to get everyone pulled back."

Ben
crossed his arms defiantly. "No, I need you here along with every
other capable man. Send three, but not your best, and tell them not
to forget to bring back Babbitt. I'm not going to sit back and let
that fool get himself killed."

"And
if we make it to morning?"

"If
the enemy pulls back at sunrise, have a force ready to move out at
first light and follow their movements. I want to know where they go
and how many more there are."

"I'll
see to it," Mason said. The old soldier looked back and forth
between the three inns. "Tonight, once the first wave of those
things hit us, you can't be everywhere at once."

Ben
began to walk away. "That's why I'm counting on you. You've stood
these grounds before Mason, and you know what to do. I'll lead the
defense of the Masked Pig, but I need someone I can trust to take
care of those people over at Harry's." He indicated the other of
the two large inns.

"I'll
take care of it, Sir." Mason answered, and then started off in the
direction of his modest fortress. "And I know just the man for the
Gray Goat. It's a smaller building, but probably the most sturdy of
these three. She should hold up fine with the right man to look after
her."

"I'll
take your word on that. Get everything in place and good luck. If
there's an opportunity, come see me at sundown."

Ben
made his way back to the Masked Pig and realized along the way that
there was really little planning that could be done. They had
reasonably defensible structures and an allotment of armed talent.
There would be no reinforcements; what he had at his disposal was all
there ever would be. Sheer will and a determination to survive would
have to make up for the rest.

Ben
entered the Masked Pig and walked into a crowded common room. A mass
of men, women and children, mostly too old or too young to play a
role in the defensive efforts, lined the walls on makeshift sleeping
pallets. Almost instantly he was assaulted with questions.

"Is
it true that they can breathe fire?" called one voice from the back
of the room.

Quickly
followed by, "I heard they can't be killed!" This statement was
echoed with a chorus of ‘
what will we do?
' and '
death is
upon us
'. The room then erupted into panicky murmurs of fear and
anxiety.

Ben
moved through the crowd to the stairs and climbed to the first
landing where he gripped the railing, and looked out over the people
below. He took a deep breath and spoke loudly.

"Listen!"

As
the crowd started to grow silent, Ben was suddenly overcome with the
realization that he didn't know what to say. These people had not
participated in the events he had experienced, nor had they the
knowledge he had gained over the last several weeks. Months of
mysterious deaths and a family murdered by horrible monsters had
uprooted them from their normal lives and had thrust them into a
terrifying new world. Ben wondered if there was anything he might say
to ease their minds, but refused to lie. The danger was real and he
decided it was only right that they understood that, but before he
could speak, another voice broke the silence.

"The
world is changing."

The
crowd collectively drew in a breath and looked toward the voice.
Vincent was standing on a table near the kitchen entrance. He clasped
his hands in a show of patience, and looked over the people in a calm
and understanding manner. This man had been ridiculed for his rants
in the past months, but stood before them today as a man of wisdom.

"I
understand that you are afraid," he said. "I too, am afraid of
what we now face, but it's important to not fear all of the changes
that you see. The world is indeed changing and it will become a
wonderful place full of delightful things."

A
mob of angry voices lashed out at him with a flood of objections. The
shrill voice of an elderly woman rang out from the rear of the room,
"By the gods, this man is mad! Does he not understand that the Murg
are among us!"

Ben
cringed at the irony of that statement. It was Vincent who had been
the sole believer for all these months. To accuse such a man of not
understanding the weight of the situation, was the epitome of denial.
For once, Ben felt sorry for the old scholar and the ridicule he had
been faced with.

Vincent
raised a hand to the crowd and tolerantly waited for them to settle.
"Yes, my friends, the Murg are real, and they are here. It is
inevitable that with the good we must face the bad." Vincent held
aloft a large book. "I have studied these things more than any
other man and I can tell you that we are not doomed."

Ben
saw his opportunity to offer his support to Vincent and quickly
added, "And I can assure you that they do not breathe fire, and
they can indeed be killed."

Vincent
pointed at Ben and announced, "We have among us a former member of
the Royal Kreggorian Guard. You will be protected."

At
this, the people fell silent. There were little more than whispers to
be heard as Vincent's words spread through the crowd. The East had
been so long removed from the graces of the west; almost all had lost
hope of being repatriated under the glory of His Majesty, King
Erlich.

A
single clear voice rang out, "Then, kingdom soldiers are on their
way to help us? The King will see to our safety?"

Ben
glared across the room at Vincent. His past was his own, and not a
tool of appeasement. He answered, "If necessary, I will send for
aid, but for now, we are on our own."

The
small crowd once again erupted into waves of objection and argument.
These people had lost most of their faith in the kingdom since the
end of the war, many feeling abandoned or betrayed. The probability
that kingdom soldiers would arrive too late to help them only fueled
their anger.

"Stop
it!" Ben barked. "This is foolishness. We are under threat, and I
am in command. You will follow my orders or you will be left outside
to face the Murg horde!" His words were harsh and of course he did
not mean them, but he garnered an instant hush that passed rapidly
over the angry mob.

Ben
could see that no amount of explanation would set their minds at
ease. It was just too much for them to understand in such a short
time. Nightfall would come in a few short hours, and they would find
themselves under siege by the Murg. That was a fact, whether anyone
wanted to believe it or not.