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The Lost Stars ChronicleChapter 11: Raiders In The Night
Anardan had brought his share of the trading goods from the Crusaders back to his outpost. He also shared with Elacil the news he had picked up from the scouts he’d met at Drullen Bell Keep.
“Interesting,” Elacil mused, “The Ninjas must be up to something more than meets the eye.”
“Indeed,” said Anardan, “They are a strange faction. Very secretive.”
Many rumors were circulating in an undercurrent among the thirty-odd Forestmen as they put the finishing touches to the repairs of their outpost. Some were outright stupid, but others seemed very close to what Anardan had heard from the scouts. Every so often a scout would ride up to spend the night out of the cold with them after returning from some errand in a far land, and their news was not reassuring. As the days passed, the tension grew steadily as each rumor mixed into a rapid crescendo of fact and fiction. Then it happened.
One night, Anardan and Elacil were huddled around the fire in the outpost’s main chamber with about a score of others, some telling stories, sipping hot drinks, or huddling under woolen blankets and talking among themselves. The wind howled over the wooden roof, sending stinging particles of snow whizzing through the air. There was about six inches of snow, with even more piled in drifts against the tree trunks. Anardan was sipping a mug of hot broth while reading a book, one of the few things he had purchased for himself from the Crusaders, when he heard something out in the storm. He put down his book and stood up.
“Do you hear that?”
Elacil jerked out of a light doze, sending his mug of tea spilling onto the floor.
“Whuzzat? It’s just the wind.”
He mopped up the spill with a piece of cloth and settled back down. Anardan went out into the darkened hallway, and the sudden assault of the freezing air sent a shiver down his spine. A single wall-torch sputtered forlornly in it’s rusty bracket, sending eerie shadows dancing on the stone wall, when he heard it again, somewhat clearer. He walked down chilly the passage to the heavy oak door, and stood before it awhile. The iron bolt nearly froze to his hand as he pulled it back, and the door swung open. A peppering of icy snowflakes burned his face in the chill wind as he stared out into the moonlit forest, the darkened contours of the skeletally bare trees hardly visible against the dark blue sky.
There was nothing. He stood in the doorway for several minutes, snow blowing into the hallway. At that moment, a gust of freezing wind blew past him. The torch went out, sending the scene into darkness. Then he heard it again, even closer. He turned away from the doorway and sprinted into a side chamber, where he found his cloak and put it on.
As he walked back to the open door, his hand closed around his sword hilt. He drew it, and the steel shown in the faint moonlight. The snow made a faint crackling sound as he broke through the icy crust, and he winced at the sound. He wanted to be as silent as he could. He padded into the barren trees, peering from side to side, and he slowly circled the outpost. He heard the sound again, so close that he froze in his tracks. Suddenly, he saw a huddled shape crouched under an elm. It moved. Gripping his raised sword tightly in his freezing hands, he slowly advanced. The moon broke out from behind a black cloud, and he saw it. It was a Forestman, dressed in a torn cloak of dark green, still clutching the hilt of a shattered sword. A dark stain marred his cloak around the broken off shaft of an arrow protruding from his thigh. He moved slightly.
“W-w-who are you?”
He tumbled to his feet, raising the hilt of the broken sword.
“Murderer! You have killed my comrades but you will not kill me, you scum!”
He swung the sword with an insane strength, although with his wound he could hardly stand. Anardan leapt out of the way just in time, and the shattered sword flew out of his hands as the man collapsed, gasping in pain.
“I’m a friend, I’m a Forestman!” Anardan cried, and he sheathed his sword, “My friend, you must come inside! You will die out here!”
He offered his hand to the man, but he refused it.
“I’m sorry, friend. I will come.”
With a great effort, he raised himself to his feet and began stumbling after Anardan. He cried out every other step. Two Forestmen were waiting at the door, arrows notched.
“My lord, what is it?” they asked.
Anardan helped the injured Forestman over the threshold. “Shut the door!”
They obeyed. Anardan supported the man into the main room, where all was suddenly silent. The man gasped for several moments, regaining his breath. Then he spoke.
“They killed them…killed them all. All! Dead! Dead! Filthy murdering scum! Killed them all dead!”
The unspoken question reverberated around the room as the man began to clench his hands into fists, breathing heavily.
“Filthy SCUM!”
He raised his cloak far enough to let a shield, emblazoned with the figure of a blue and black Falcon, slide to the floor. Then he passed out from the pain.
It was chaos. The next morning, twenty Forestmen soldiers under the command of Anardan marched into Drullen Bell Keep to report the raid, and within the hour messengers were sent to all of the Forestmen outposts in the region. The news spread like wildfire, and in the next two days scores of Forestmen began marching in. There were varied reports of more raids, and several survivors from the first staggered in early the third day. The Forestmen were in a frenzy, shouting and waving their weapons, burning Falcon standards on the parade ground.
Inside the Keep, half a score of selected Forestmen leaders, including Bjarn and Anardan, met for a council, seated around a heavy oaken table while the chants and cries from outside filtered vaguely in through the halls. A middle-aged Forestman, a bandage wrapped around his leg and his arm in a sling, stood up.
“We were massacred. They came at us in the dead of night, and they killed everyone! They killed our women! They killed our old and sick! They burned our houses and stables! They laughed while they slew! The Falcon scum have gone too far this time. They are vile, filthy, and cowardly! We want revenge.”
Bjarn, who was not seated at the table but laying near it on a cot, raised himself up and spoke, his eyes full of grief and anger.
“The Falcons have truly lost all sense of their original honor, they are now nothing better than thieves.”
“Then we must fight!” snarled the man with the broken arm, “Let their black blood run in the streets of Falconis City!”
Bjarn shook his head. “Our blood would equal and surpass theirs if we were foolish enough to attack. Our soldiers who survived BloodVaine cannot take on another enemy, we would not survive. The only thing we can do is take this to the Classic Emperor.”
The man slammed his good fist into the woodwork, “By Chodan, those scum killed and looted my entire family, I will not let them go unpunished!”
Bjarn’s eyes burned, “You will obey your leader, and fight when I say so, hold back when I say so. Chodan, has this what the Forestmen have come to, fighting among ourselves?”
“Punishment need not come in the form of violence.” noted Gonderin, his elfin features drawn taunt in concentration, “The Black Falcons, like the rest of us, have suffered because of BloodVaine. They invaded the Royals because their own food supply is dangerously low. They also need wood to keep their giant stone fortresses heated. They will perish without these things. We, the Forestmen, are unable to defend our borders. However, the Classics can used their large political power to squash the Black Falcons. They only need to incur sanctions and seal off Black Falcon borders, and the Black Falcons will wither like grass beneath a stone.”
Anardan nodded. “I have heard rumors the Classic Emperor intends to order the Ninja Army to patrol Dametreos and keep the peace because they are the only faction who did not suffer under BloodVaine.”
“We must go to the Classic Emperor so that his can hear our case. He alone has the power to stop this.” said Bjarn firmly.
“Then I will go, my lord.” replied Gonderin, rising to his feet and bowing, “I will leave on the morrow.”
“Very good.” nodded Bjarn, “This council in adjourned, then.”
As they all got up to leave, the man with the sling still glowered. He glowered down the chilly hallway, all the way down the stairs, and into the courtyard.
“They killed my people and that doddering old Elk Man wants me to sit here while my town is looted by those filthy, women-stealing abominations!”
The man who had staggered into Anardan's camp limped up, a grim look on his face.
“They have my wife back there, and my family, if they are not already slaughtered by those filthy scum. I will not stay here while my loved ones perish. I am going back at first light with all who will follow me, by myself if need be.”
The next morning, two hundred heavily armed Forestmen marched off. Nothing any of their leaders could say would stop them. They were filled with a rage so great that no words could halt their wrath. After hesitating for several moments, Anardan and his company march on the double after them.
Gonderin watched them go. They were all Forestmen of the lowest rank, the swamp-trotters and woodsmen, the simple farmers and farmer's sons. They carried anything they had at hand, clubs, crude spears, even the rare pitchfork. They were a motley rabble, blind with hate.
“On there heads be it.” stated Bjarn simply when Gonderin had informed him of the happenings, “I do hope Anardan went with them to quell the mad rush and not to join them. He had the markings of a leader, he shouldn’t dash it to pieces to fulfill the lust of revenge.”
“They are only two hundred.” consoled Gonderin, “If they squash the raiders, however unlikely, they will be satisfied and the rest of the Forestmen free from more raids. If not, two hundred disobedient Forestmen will have been disposed.”
Gonderin’s harsh logic hardly consoled Bjarn. “I still prefer no bloodshed, but you are right. Are you leaving for Classic LEGOland?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Bjarn hesitated, then said, “In addition to what was discussed last night, also inform the Classic Emperor that the actions of two hundred rogue Forestmen are not actions indorsed by the Forestmen state.”
“Very well, my Lord. May your health be further on the mend when I return.”
“Chodan’s speed, Gonderin.”
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