Paul Thompson - The Middle of Nowhere

“You were awake?” said Robien.

She waved at the tumult around them. “Who could sleep through this?”

Now that the morning comedy was done, Howland assembled his troops. In short, simple terms, he explained their situation as he saw it and what he proposed to do about it.

“The enemy outnumbers us, is better armed, and has more experience. They can move where they will and fight when they want to,” he began.

“Maybe we should just surrender,” Raika muttered.

“I don’t advise it. If not massacred, we and all the villagers would likely end up slaves, working in Rakell’s iron mine.”

Raika said sourly, “I withdraw the suggestion!”

Howland continued. “We can fight until we do enough damage to Rakell’s force that he decides to quit, but I don’t think that’s in his character.”

“Why?” asked Khorr. “Surely a good commander knows when to leave a losing battle?”

“This is a wild band, an army of deserters and cutthroats. A man like Rakell rules by delivering success to his men. If he fails, his men will desert him in droves or might even murder him and elect a new, more ruthless leader.” Howland looked at the bandit camp in plain sight south of the village. “On the other hand, as in Khorr’s tale of Zadza, an outmatched opponent can sometimes win by striking off the head of the dragon, and in this case, we must try to kill Rakell and as many of his lieutenants as possible. Without leadership, the bandits may fly apart like dandelion blossoms in a spring breeze.”

Baldly stated, Howland’s plan sounded simple-but impossible.

“You say that awfully easily, old man!” Raika protested. “Do you expect us to cut our way through four score bandits and ask Rakell to stand still while we lop off his head?”

“A direct assault won’t work. We wouldn’t reach Rakell’s tent, much less the man himself.” Khorr asked, “How can it be done?”

“Three of us will go,” Howland said. “We’ll ask for a parley and present ourselves to the enemy. When the time is right, we’ll draw daggers and slay Rakell where he stands.”

“Is that honorable?” said Khorr.

“No,” replied Howland quietly, “but it is necessary.”

“The three’ll be slaughtered!” Raika burst out.

Howland was silent.

“Count me out!” she said. “I’m not volunteering for a suicide mission! I prefer to take my chances here.”

“I wasn’t going to ask for volunteers,” Howland said evenly. “I have three in mind already.” All eyes were on him. “Myself, Amergin, and Ezu.”

Amergin showed no surprise, no expression at all. The other misfit mercenaries were thunderstruck. Carver looked visibly relieved, fanning himself happily. Honorable or not, Khorr was clearly downcast that he had not been asked to go. Suicide missions were dangerous, yes, but the stuff of great poetry.

Raika, surprisingly, did not rant or rave. Instead, she asked, “Amergin I understand, but Ezu? He’s not a warrior-he’s not even one of us! No one knows where he is half the time!”

Indeed no one had seen the traveler since yesterday. They assumed he’d hidden during the fighting.

“Surely I would be a better choice, Sir Howland,” Robien said quietly.

“No. You would be a better choice to command in my absence.” The words ‘when I’m dead’ floated unspoken in the air.

“Why Ezu?” said Khorr, puzzled. “What good can he possibly do?”

The old Knight said. “Since we go pretending we want only to talk, Ezu’s very appearance will serve to convince Rakell we’re up to no mischief. After all, who would attempt anything grave with so foolish-looking a companion?”

Robien folded his arms and said to his fellow Kagonesti, “What do you say, Amergin?”

“I am in debt to Sir Howland,” the forester replied. “I said I would follow him till this fight was over. If he means to walk into the enemy commander’s tent with a dagger in his hat, I will go too.”

Raika clucked her tongue in disgust. She mumbled something about “throwing your life away.”

“How and when will you propose this parley?” asked the minotaur.

“Late in the day. Twilight will help us, and the timing is important. It’s best to approach the enemy after fighting off one of their attacks. That will make it seem more as if we’re anxious to talk.” Howland smiled ruefully. “If we fight hard, they’ll be more willing to listen, too.”

Horns resounded in the enemy camp. Dust billowed into the cloud-flecked sky.

“Find Ezu and bring him to me,” Howland ordered the kender, who sprinted off.

The mercenaries dispersed to their waiting troops. Khorr’s trench fighters cheered loudly when the towering bull-man returned. In contrast, Raika’s spearmen cringed as she approached, shouting orders in her harsh, grating voice.

“Fire burns, no matter what the color,” Robien said, observing the different ways his comrades led their contingents. Howland did not hear him. He was watching the enemy.

A body of horsemen rode out from the bandits southern camp, maybe fifty strong. They came within a two hundred yards of Nowhere and halted, dismounting. The bandits, now on foot, arrayed themselves in a long, single line. Each man had a good-sized basket on the ground in front of him. Howland guessed what they held.

“Send word all around the village!” Howland called, voice rising. “Expect arrows-lots of arrows!”

Robien ran to pass along the Knight’s warning.

The archers stepped through their bows, stringing the powerful staves with the ease of long practice, as Robien returned.

Howland walked around the rim of the thick stone wall surrounding the well, scarcely looking where he put his feet. One misstep and he’d plunge sixty feet to the water.

“The attack will come from the north or east,” he said. “The bowmen are only there to cover the main thrust-”

Telltale streams of dust rose in the north. “There!” said Howland. “Warn Raika! Have her bring her spearmen to the north side!”

Carver came jogging up, alone. “Can’t find him!” he gasped between breaths.

“Ezu?”

“Yes! I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find him!”

“Never mind. Get your whippikers in position on the north side of the village. That’s where the brigands will hit us.”

Carver started to leave.

“And watch out for archers!”

He shrugged, smiled in his careless way, and went to round up his young charges.

“Sir Howland,” Robien said. “What happens if the bandits choose to attack us on two sides at once? We don’t have enough people to battle on two fronts.”

“I know,” was all the former Knight would say.

“What do we do?”

“Fight harder.”

Howland jumped down. It wasn’t far, but the landing staggered him. Robien stepped forward to brace his commander, but Howland pushed him away.

“It’s nothing,” he said brusquely. “Old bones. Fatigue.” He pointed to the distant bowmen. “Stay here and watch them. If they start our way, or if other troops join them, fetch Khorr and his men from the trench.”

“Yes, Sir Howland.”

The bandits coming down from the north camp also got off their horses well out of sling and whippik range. There were between thirty and forty of them, armed with swords and shields. Their lances they left with their animals. Even more could have joined the attack, but every tenth man held the reins of the horses his comrades left behind. Seeing this gave Amergin an idea.

“Sir Howland,” he said. “Horses …?”

He saw at once what the forester meant. “How many will you need?”

The Kagonesti wrinkled his nose. “Four.”

“Take six, young, strong ones.”