Paul Thompson - The Middle of Nowhere

“Move along.” She gave him a shove.

Ezu, trailing the rest, paused to examine a group of villagers clustered in front of a pair of joined huts. Smiling and speaking in a soothing voice, he fingered the women’s bone hair clasps and the men’s tools.

“There is little metal here,” he observed to one of the inhabitants. “Perhaps a trade-a hair clasp for-”

Amergin came back and took him in tow.

Marren’s hut was a single room, with a pounded clay floor and central hearth. Because Marren was blind, what few pieces of furniture he and Laila had were fastened securely in place. Raika promptly claimed the bed, a simple wooden frame filled with moss and straw.

“Ah!” She reclined and for the first time in days took her eyes off Robien.

Howland entered. “Listen, all. We’re to meet with the village elder and his people tonight. Before then, I have tasks for you.”

“Fire away, captain.” Raika cupped her hands behind her head and closed her eyes.

He ignored her. “To my eye, this village appears indefensible. If Rakell is half the soldier I imagine he is, he thinks so too. That may give us an advantage. An enemy is most vulnerable when he believes he has the upper hand.”

“What shall we do?” asked Hume.

“For now, we’ve got to whip these villagers into fighting shape. Malek says there are twenty-five or so capable of fighting, but they must be properly led. Otherwise, they’ll just be sheep driven before wolves.”

Carver made baa-baaing noises. Howland ignored him.

“Each of us who is able will take six or eight farmers in hand and teach them how to move and fight together,” he said.

“Are we not all able?” asked Khorr.

“Ezu is not a warrior. Neither is Carver. As for Robien-I’d be glad to have you with us, but as a prisoner, you’re under no obligation to fight for your captors,” said the knight.

The Kagonesti ranger, kneeling with his hands still tied, looked thoughtful. “I don’t know what fate is planned for me,” he said, “but I would rather fight free than stay bound. Captivity is death for a freeborn elf like me. I will not try to escape.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Howland ordered Robien cut free.

Raika protested. “What’s to stop him from fleeing in the night and betraying the lot of us to the Quen Bortherhood?”

“The choice is his.” Howland’s tone was clear. The matter was not open for debate.

“What about Amergin? Has he no say?”

The barefoot forester was leaning against the doorway, watching but not speaking, as usual. When Raika invoked him he said, “If Robien gives up his contract to return me to Robann, I have no objection to his fighting with us.”

“A contract is a contract,” the bounty hunter replied tersely.

Raika pointed triumphantly at the stubborn elf.

“You’re making this difficult,” said Hume.

“Honor has a way of making life difficult. It also gives life meaning.” Robien shrugged his pinioned shoulders. “On the other hand, the Brotherhood did not specify when I was to bring my quarry in. Given the circumstances, I believe it could be a long time before I return Amergin to them.”

Howland said, “Cut him loose.”

Hume hacked through the rawhide lacing. Robien stood, rubbing his raw, chafed wrists. “Thank you,” he said to Howland.

Howland was somber. “Don’t thank me. You may have agreed to your own death.”

They discussed arming the farmers with makeshift weapons. At last Carver spoke up.

“I can make whippiks for the villagers and teach them how to use them. Anyone can use a whippik, even human children.”

“True,” Hume said thoughtfully. “Many of the village children are no bigger than kender.”

Carver made a face. “Size isn’t everything, you know.”

Khorr raised a meaty hand shyly. “What’s a whippik?”

Carver strode to the hearth. “A whippik,” he explained, “is a throwing stick with loop of gut or twine on one end. By sitting a stone or dart in the loop, a whippik can propel the missile almost as far as a bow. They’re simple to make. All we need is a piece of straight wood as long as the thrower’s arm. And projectiles, of course.”

“All right,” said Howland. “Carver, you’re in charge of the village children old enough to use a whippik.”

Grinning fiercely, the kender swaggered back to his spot between Ezu and Khorr and squatted on the floor.

“What other weapons can we make?” asked the Knight.

“Spears,” said Hume.

“Lash a stone to a handle and you have a mace,” said Raika.

“Slings,” said Robien, glancing at Amergin.

“Our friend is deadly with one,” Howland agreed, “but can you teach simple-minded farmers to sling?”

“In a year of practice, yes.”

Howland nodded. “You have twelve days.”

“They’d be better off throwing rocks with their bare hands,” protested Amergin.

Howland sighed. “Try to train them anyway.”

“While you’re working the villagers, Hume and I, with Malek and his brother, are going to look for Rakell’s stronghold and scout it out. If we can, we’ll free some of the captives he’s holding, while thinning his ranks as much as we can.”

“What about defenses for the village?” asked Raika. “Once you attack Rakell, he’ll know we’re around. He may strike back before we’re ready to stand up to him.”

Ezu stood. Smiling as always, he said, “Hello? This one has ideas along those lines.”

Everyone looked at the stranger skeptically. Not intimidated, Ezu continued.

“I’ve been to many places, in many lands. I’ve seen all sorts of fortifications, from high stone walls to the permanent rings of fire around the citadel of Kamkorah …” Temporarily lost in his memories, his voice trailed off.

Howland cleared his throat, and Ezu snapped back to the present. “I may be able to recall some feature we can use to shield these poor people from their tormentors.”

Tired from the long, hot journey, Howland was in no mood to listen to the foreigner’s odd, elliptical speech. “Fine. Study the matter and try to come up with a physical defense for Nowhere.” To Hume he muttered, “At least it will keep the fellow busy and out of our way.”

Howland dismissed his troops until sunset, when they would gather in full conclave with the villagers. “You’re free till then,” he said. “Keep to the village, but stay out of sight! Rakell may have sentinels watching everything that happens here.”

The defenders of Nowhere drifted out until only Howland, Hume, and Raika were left. The old Knight wanted to draw up a sketch-map of the vicinity. He and Hume discussed the lay of the land and ways to defend it. Raika seemed asleep.

“You’d better keep an eye on our world traveler,” she said, her voice flat with fatigue. “I don’t trust him.”

“Seems like a harmless fool to me,” Hume replied.

“Those people were going to hang him for a spy.”

“Which he freely told us,” Howland pointed out.

Raika opened one eye. “The best way to disguise a lie is by telling the truth.”

Howland nodded grudgingly. “Since you don’t have Robien to watch any longer, maybe you want the job?”

She never heard his jest. Raika, her back to both men, was already snoring loudly.

The grand meeting of the inhabitants of Nowhere and their new defenders took place after dark. To avoid being seen by Rakell’s scouts, the conclave was held in a barley field west of the settlement. Aside from a few boys left behind to keep watch, everyone trekked silently into the night to meet the warriors come to help them. Hope was in the air. The foreigners and their strange ways seemed full of portent for success.