Paul Thompson - The Middle of Nowhere

“The bandits! They’ve staked someone out!”

Howland, Robien, and Malek clambered onto the nearest hut to get a look. Sure enough, the bandits had erected two poles on the plain, out of whippik range. Between the poles was the dark outline of a man, tied to them and hanging limply.

“Is it Ezu?” called Carver from his perch.

Robien shaded his eyes. “I don’t think so. Whoever it is has white hair-”

“Marren!”

Malek asked, “What about Laila? Where is she?”

Howland had no comforting reply. The general of Nowhere slid down the thatch and dropped to the ground. Robien and Malek followed., “I wonder what did happen to Ezu?” the old soldier mused. “I don’t think normal bonds can hold our friend the traveler.”

Malek broke away, running to a stand of captured arms. He sorted through a pile of swords, trying to find one straight and sharp. Each blade that failed to measure up he tossed aside violently. The others followed him, exchanging looks.

“Going somewhere?” asked Howland mildly. The angry youth ignored him.

“You escaped once by the fortunate intervention of a wandering wizard. You won’t be so lucky a second time.”

“Talk about luck!” Malek said, eyes blazing. “You went to kill Rakell and failed. Then you got lucky and escaped. I will not fail, and I do not care about your brand of luck!”

He found the best of the hard-used blades and shoved it through the rough sash tied around his waist. Howland and Robien did nothing to stop Malek as he stormed to the south barricade and started climbing over it.

“You won’t get to Rakell, you know,” Howland said.

“I don’t care about Rakell or my life! I must save the woman I love!”

“If you’re killed, what good will your sacrifice do?”

Malek faltered. Howland pressed on. “If you’ll stay here and put that fury to good use, defending your neighbors, I’ll make you a pledge,” he said.

Malek halted atop an old rail fence. “What do you mean? Speak plainly!”

“Just this: If you remain here and fight like a soldier instead of a love-struck berserker, I pledge that I myself will kill Rakell and do my best to free Laila. She hasn’t been punished like her father. I’ll wager she is safe for the time being. The coming battle will decide everything, and I pledge to you that I will trade Rakell’s life for my own. Is that plain enough?”

Malek snorted contemptuously, but Howland waved aside the young farmer’s disdain.

“On my honor-” he almost said “as a Knight”-“On my honor as a soldier. Good enough?”

Malek jumped down. He went to Howland and put out his hand. Before he could grasp it, Malek drew the nicked edge of the blade over his own palm, drawing blood. Never taking his eyes off Malek, Howland drew his dagger and scored a cut on his hand too. Old soldier and young farmer pressed their bleeding palms together, wordlessly sealing their pact.

“Good enough,” said Malek.

All night long every living soul in Nowhere labored. When Howland’s plan to cut off the dragon’s head failed, there seemed no hope of staving off a final, destructive attack. However, the general of Nowhere had one last stratagem. Everyone’s help was required to make it work. Almost a quarter of their strength had been killed or wounded, but the remaining defenders strove mightily through the night. The night took on a chill, the first hint of autumn, and the clarity of the cool air brought out every one of the myriad stars salting the heavens.

Looking up from his labors, Howland felt for the first time that there were no gods looking down on them. Live or die, their fate was in their own hands. Such notions used to worry him. Now, faced with imminent destruction, he found the spiritual solitude strangely comforting. If there were no good gods to come to their aid, there were also no evil ones to persecute them.

Dawn arrived in a light mist. Unlike the ponderous fogs they’d experienced before, this mist clung low to the ground, running in thin streams before the south wind. Day broke dark, with heavy clouds rising in the east and south. The bellies of the clouds were gray as slate, heavy with rain.

Villagers were still hauling baskets of earth to an earthen redoubt backed up against the rampart behind the trench. A simple triangle with sides eight feet high, the redoubt was constructed all in one night, using all the dirt formerly packed into the farmers’ huts. Howland wanted to dismantle the roofs and use the rafters to make a palisade atop the mound, but the villagers ran out of dirt-and time.

A very tired Raika was overseeing the dumping of earth when she heard a low rumbling, combined with a high-pitched squeaking. Standing on the highest part of the dirt pile, she looked for the source of the sound. It originated from the bandits’ eastern camp. A large, indistinct object was rolling through the barley stubs, propelled by more than a dozen grunting warriors.

“Sir Howland!” she cried. “They’re coming from the east!”

Howland, Malek, and Robien climbed the loose earthen mound and spied what Raika had seen.

“A siege engine?” asked the elf.

“I can’t tell. It isn’t tall enough to be a fighting tower,” Howland said.

Even as they tried to evaluate this new threat, the bandits ceased their shoving and stopped. Distant shouted commands reached the defenders, the words indistinct.

“Hey! Hey!” Carver was standing on one of the huts. “They’re forming up to the south!”

A quick glance confirmed the kender’s alarming report. Lines of horsemen had filed out of the south camp and taken up places along the low rise, facing the village. Their ranks had been thinned, but they still represented a daunting force for the depleted defenders.

Amergin, out of the village on reconnaissance, came running back, chased by three lancers. He vaulted neatly over the chest-high barricade on the north side of Nowhere, leaving his pursuers frantically trying to rein in. Carver’s boys pelted them with whippik darts, but the riders fended off the missiles with their shields before galloping away.

Out of breath, Amergin presented himself to his commander.

“They’re coming,” he panted. “All that remain.”

“From the east and south, too.” Howland looked down from the mound at the hard-pressed Kagonesti. “Thank you for your efforts.”

Amergin dismissed his gratitude with a slight toss of his head.

“They mean to come at us from all sides this time,” Raika muttered.

“It was bound to happen,” Robien said. “Could we-?”

He never got the chance to finish. There was a loud crash from the east, followed by a soft whistling. The next thing the people of Nowhere knew, a sixty-pound boulder landed just inside the ring of houses. Screaming children and old folks scattered as the rock, chiseled round to fly true, bounced on the hard soil and sailed on. It ricocheted twice more, finally burying itself in the soft slope of the new redoubt.

“So, they’ve brought out the catapult,” said Howland.

“Can they knock down our defenses?” asked Raika.

“They can smash up the huts, but their stones won’t have much effect on a pile of earth.” Howland pointed to the hysterical villagers cowering by their homes. “Get them inside,” he said. “There’ll be more stones, ten or more an hour if the catapult crew is good.”

Malek, who’d stayed at Howland’s side most of the night, wondered where the bandits were getting their projectiles. “You don’t find stones like that lying about, not in this country.”

Howland agreed, looking a bit relieved. “They must have brought a store of boulders with them. That’ll limit their fire.” He gave orders to recover any loose catapult stones and haul them to the top of the earthen mound.