Paul Thompson - The Middle of Nowhere

Supporting Nils between them, Howland and Malek followed the blind man out. There tiny embers glimmered in the night, though they knew they were really raging bonfires. Overhead, a few fuzzy points of light were growing visible in the sky again.

“Hurry!”

Marren led them haltingly through the maze of tents. The camp had grown quiet in the hour since darkness claimed their sight. Now and then they heard shouts or groans and heard horses snort as they grazed among the unconscious forms of their masters. In the unnatural dark, Marren found his way to the northern side of the camp. When the tall, untrammeled grass of the plain brushed against their knees, they knew the party was nearing freedom.

“Here you are. Can you see better yet?” Marren asked.

Howland could make out murky shapes but could not judge size or distance. Malek saw the stars and little else. Nils, for some reason, saw the best of any of them.

“I can make out the ground a few feet in front of me,” he said. “I can guide us back to the village.

“Good luck,” said Marren. “If you don’t encounter riders from the other camps, you’ll make it.”

“What about Laila?” Malek demanded.

“I’ll restore her to you. I swear it, on my forgotten honor as a Knight.” The old blind man smiled thinly, enjoying the irony of his words. He turned to Howland.

“Sergeant?”

Howland responded reflexively. “Yes, sir?”

“I seem to have lost my sword. Will you lend me yours?”

Howland weighed the purloined blade in his hand. His own sword had been taken away. This was the only weapon he and the brothers had between them. Nevertheless, he found Marren’s outstretched hand and pressed the pommel into it.

“Thank you,” Marren said. “I’ll try to do some damage with it.”

“Put half its length in Rakell if you want to do some real good!” said Malek bitterly.

They heard rather than saw Marren slip away. Hobbled by Nils’ injuries, the three men made slow progress across the field. Every time a loud noise erupted behind them, they stopped and looked around, but as far as they could tell, they weren’t being pursued.

By the time they reached the spot where Howland, Ezu, and Amergin had met their escort at the beginning of the night’s adventures, the vision of all three men was nearly fully restored. They circled wide and came upon the trench, with its fearful hedge of stakes and earthen rampart.

“Who goes there?” called a voice tentatively from the darkened defenses.

“Fangoth!” Howland replied.

“Is that you, Sir Howland?”

At his clipped affirmation, a plank wobbled over the rampart and fell across the trench. Malek and Nils tottered across. Howland came last.

Khorr, backed by wide-eyed farmers clutching cut-down lances, greeted Howland heartily. They were likewise delighted to see Nils and Malek again. The happy reunion palled, however, when Khorr looked behind them and asked, “Where’s Amergin and Ezu?”

“We got separated,” Howland answered grimly. “Keep a sharp lookout for them.”

On Nowhere common, nervous villagers crowded around to hear Howland’s account of the mission.

“Rakell lives,” he said heavily. Groans followed. “He never had any intention of parleying with us. He only agreed to the meeting so he could capture and decide our fates first.”

Raika asked about Amergin and Ezu. Howland told them everything, from Ezu’s powerful “sneeze” to their rescue by Marren uth Aegar.

“Ezu a true wizard? I don’t believe it!” Robien said.

The other hired fighters were not so skeptical. Raika, remembering her special gifts and the uncanny way Ezu came and went, found it easy to believe the strange foreigner had hidden powers.

As for Marren, older folk like Caeta recalled when he first came to Nowhere. Weak and wounded, his clothing and horse had marked him as a man once of substance in spite of his diminished circumstances. Nilea, a village woman, had nursed him to health. She subsequently became his mate and the mother of Laila. Marren survived but never prospered. The wasting sickness took hold of him, and he spent twenty years dying a hair’s breadth every day.

“So Marren was a Knight,” Nils mused. “If Laila becomes your wife, will that make you noble, too?”

Malek saw no humor in the question and glared fiercely at his older brother.

“One more thing you should all know,” Howland said in a low, shamed voice. “Just as Marren and Rakell were old comrades in arms, so too were Rakell and I.”

No one responded until Malek said, “You spoke of your service to the Dark Order. You were forced to do what you did. It was not of your choosing.”

“No, I was a sergeant in the army of Lord Burnond Everride. I was never a Knight, much less a general. I lied about that. I’ve misled you all this time. You should have an honest commander, not someone like me, and I recommend you choose Robien.”

“Nonsense!” said the bounty hunter. “No one here could have commanded as well. No one has more experience of war than you. You are our commander, Knight or not.”

Caeta agreed. “We don’t care what you were before you came to us. Since the battle began, you’ve proven again and again you deserve our trust. If you are not a Knight, so be it, but we have made you our general. No one else.”

Howland looked away, ashamed to let anyone see the color in his face. If ever there was a time for a blindness spell, this was it.

Just before dawn, Amergin returned. He rose up from the uncut grass and ran to the barricades on the northeast side of the village. Easily vaulting the tangle of fences and vines, he stole up on the two farmers on guard there. Both were sleeping.

He tapped one on the shoulder. The scruffy, yellow-bearded man awoke with a yell and grabbed the spear leaning against his shoulder. His shout aroused his comrade, who dropped his spear, tried to pick it up, and promptly tripped over the shaft of the other man’s weapon.

Amergin clamped a slim brown hand over the yelping farmer’s mouth. Eyes wide, he saw he was facing the Kagonesti forester, not a bandit sneak attack.

“Know me?”

The farmer nodded, slowly.

“Don’t shout. Yes?”

Again a nod.

Amergin took his hand away.

“Happy day!” exclaimed the not-so watchful watchman. “We feared you were taken by the enemy!”

The fallen guard got up and likewise expressed delight upon seeing Amergin. “Howland returned with Malek and Nils,” he said. “Did you know Sir Howland was not a real Knight? They say he used to be Rakell’s bootblack, or something-”

“No, stupid, he used to groom Marren’s horse!” He added for Amergin’s benefit, “Our Marren was a real Knight-”

The elf left them arguing. Beyond the line of huts, Amergin came upon Raika’s spearmen, deployed to intercept anyone who emerged. They’d heard the guards’ cries and taken up positions without waiting to rouse their captain from her bedroll. Some deeds were more dangerous than others.

The forester quickly found himself surrounded by a bristling ring of spears. The farmers knew Amergin, of course, but they were so shaken by their ordeal that the elf had to calm them before they lowered their weapons.

Robien arrived. Howland was still resting after his busy night, so the bounty hunter was in charge.

In Elvish, he said to Amergin, “Glad to see my bounty is still safe.”

Amergin did not deign to respond to this sally. In the common tongue he said, “So Howland is safe.” With rare emotion, he added, “What of Ezu?”

“There’s been no sign of him,” Robien answered. Nor had Marren or his daughter Laila turned up.

When the sun was well up, a shout of dismay went up from Carver’s lookouts, posted on the hut roofs. Their cries awoke Howland, who left the shadow of the old well and asked what it was the young sentinels saw.