Creation of the Basin, Part Two
Three Nights Later
Twenty-Six ill-armed men strode to the makeshift hospital (four wagons drawn together in a square), their faces set hard, determined. When they arrived at the guards (one of Fury's men), McDougil shoved him in the chest hard enough to knock him down, disarmed him, and then dragged him into the center of the wagons before the surprised man could even react. One of the nurses in attendance let out a surprised squeal and started running out of the makeshift hospital. "Grab her." McDougil said almost nonchalantly, and one of his men obeyed with glee, pulling the young woman roughly back into the center of the makeshift compound by her hair, and then shoving her roughly to the ground. "What is the meaning of this?" The Chief Surgeon asked sharply as he stepped out of one of the wagons, hands and smock covered with the blood of the numerous wounded among them. "The meaning, Deacon Briggs," McDougil said with a sneer, "Is that we've grown quite tired of being led 'round by the nose like mindless children by the likes of that mercenary Cavalryman and Father Castillar. The people have spoken....they have elected a council to lead them and make their wishes known. They are tired and wish to remain here for two additional days to rest." The Deacon/Surgeon opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it when he suddenly realized he had not the slightest notion of what he might say. Two more abortive tries later, he closed his mouth and kept it that way. All the better, McDougil thought sourly. He was beginning to look like a land-trapped fish, gasping his last breath. From inside one of the wagons came the frantic three blast call of a battle horn. Apparently, one of Captain Fury's cavalrymen was inside, and discerned what was happening. Tried to use the distress call to summon help. Good. That was very good indeed. "Lieutenant Fisk, secure that wagon....assign men to secure all the wagons. I want all of Captain Fury's men out here on the ground where I can see them." The young, nervous-looking Lieutenant gave a sloppy salute and began giving orders to the men. Sloppy salute or no, within moments, all sixteen of the wounded cavalrymen who were still at the hospital under the care of the clerics were tossed roughly onto the ground at the center of the wagons. McDougil scanned all around, wondering from which direction he would come. He did not have to wait long to find out. Less than a minute later, there was a loud commotion northward. Seconds after that, Captain Fury and three of his men stepped between the hitches of one of the wagons and made their way into the center. "McDougil...." He said in a low, even tone. "Come to parlay on behalf of Father Castillar, have you?" "Parlay? I was under the assumption we were not at war.....you will release my men, and then we will talk...as men." "Pah!" McDougil spat at the cavalryman's feet. "When you came you cast me aside as though I were refuse meant for the hog's trough...and now....now that I have you at a disadvantage you wish to talk as men?!" "McDougil...think about what you are saying for a moment....I have only three men with me, that is true...but even not counting the ones you hold here, my men outnumber yours, and are better trained to fight....if I chose to, I could order them to attack and be done with you....that I have not should convince you of my sincerity....my desire to see that no one gets hurt." Just then there was another small commotion and Father Castillar came through behind the Captain. "Damn you, McDougil! Damn you and yours! As if we do not have enough problems, what with the Nilroggi out there J'honsa knows how close, and yet you must threaten us all with your petty squabbling!" "'tis not petty, nor is it squabbling!" McDougil shouted. "You men of power and rank drive us like cattle to the slaughter without once stopping to think of our women and children! They are weary from the endless days of marching, and for what?! We are still so far from the Harradis, and we know not if they will have us!" "If we are pushing hard, you fool, it is to drive us all away from the slaughter of which you speak! Do you not see that!? Are you so blind?" "It is you who are blinded, Father. Blinded by the blanket of safety you feel because you have a ragged handful of Imperial Deserters at your side offering their “protection.” I ask you, just how much did they protect fair Ravanna?!" At the word “deserters” Duncan had heard quite enough. Weakened and injured or no, he drew his blade and took two menacing steps forward. "You foolhardy bastard, how dare you speak of my men in that manner! We bled and died on the fields south of Kehesh for you! You have no idea what you're saying, and you are so blinded by your hatred and anger at me that you risk all our lives! If it is me you want so badly, then draw, damn you....Draw and fight!" McDougil shook his head. "I think not, Capitan. I know that you, even weakened, could best me in a contest of arms....that is precisely why such desperate action as this was needed! We had to get your attention in the only way we knew how!" Arliss threw up his hands in disgust. "All right...all right, McDougil....you have our attention. In fact, I think it's safe to say that you now have our complete and undivided attention, so tell us....what is it that you want, exactly?" Something very strange happened then. When suddenly face to face with exactly what he wanted, he was unsure how to proceed. Suddenly, he felt very much like a boor and a bully. Suddenly, he knew that feeling was right on target. "I...well I...er, that is...we....are tired." "Yes! As the HighFather is my witness McDougil, I'll tell you that we're all tired. You did not need to mistreat our injured just to tell us that!" "Yes but....our women and children....especially our women who are nursing children....they've not had proper rations in days, and it's taking its toll....they need full rations and at least two days rest or they cannot continue. We'll start losing people!" "Don't you see, McDougil? Do you not realize that if we remain still for two solid days the Nilroggi could very well be upon us and we'll lose all present? That is what we are trying to avoid! We were forced to go on half rations to conserve what food stocks we have until we can make the Loch and...." "Yes yes, and spend time fishing it on the way 'round....I know that...but we're not yet there, and our need is immediate. It simply cannot wait!" In the silence that followed, he added. "The People have spoken Arliss....I know it pains you that they did not speak through you, but rather, chose to speak through me." Arliss glared at him. "So you then....you are elected speaker for the People?" "Yes. The Council of Seven, with me at its head." "And you would supplant the Church as their shepherd?" "If the shepherd leads them into the jaws of the wolf, or arranges it such that the weak are left to the wolf's mercy, then yes....yes I would." Arliss nodded and scratched his stubbly chin. "Well then...it seems we have no choice. Even though it will deplete our food stocks, I will release sufficient amounts to give your women and children one day's full rations, but it's right back on half after that and until we get to the Loch, understood?" "And two days rest here?" "One day's rest. If we make it two, we'll run out of food entire even at half rations before we make the shores of the Loch." "One." "Yes, one. Now what else?" "I....nothing. That's....that's all. Our business is finished." Duncan's eyes narrowed. "Your business with the Priest may be finished, McDougil, but I assure you that it's not finished with me. You will release my men, and you will release them now, or your deal with Father Castillar will be voided when I gut you where you stand." McDougil did not back down, or even flinch. Arliss had to admit that the man was brave....or stupid...or something. "The prisoners will remain in my custody until we break camp to move out again, Captain. They are my insurance against our agreement not being met." Duncan was about to say something further, but Arliss grabbed his arm and gave him a meaningful glance, and then gazed at some point beyond the wagons. The cavalryman nodded and began moving off with him, away from the hospital wagons. Just before they were out of sight, he looked over his shoulder. "This is not finished McDougil....you have to realize that." And from the shadows not far off, Jacob Mourngrym watched, a satisfied smile on his face.~~Ж§Ж~~
The attack came just before noon meal the next day, and as with most Nilroggi attacks, it came utterly without warning or fanfare.
One moment the camp was bustling with activity, and the next, the sounds of terrified screams filled the air as twenty of the foul creatures burst into the camp, running on two of their legs and two of their arms as they were wont to do when in the open, leaving their remaining two arms free to wield those awful hollow blades.
What manner of ochre grew or was placed inside them none were sure, but whatever it touched, it began to dissolve, leaving behind some of the most horrific wounds imaginable. It ate through solid steel, through helms and armor....through wood and leather....and of course, through flesh. It was very, very good at eating through flesh.
And so they came...low to the ground and scuttling like lighting through the perimeter of the camp, some bearing torches and igniting anything that would burn, others (the ones at the head of the attack wedge) wielding those awful swords.
Four men and two women died within the first seconds of the attack, and then, the entire camp was in a mad panic.
Duncan was some fifty yards off from their point of entry into the camp, and the moment he saw them, blew three blasts from his horn.
From everywhere, his men began to rally. They had to form up...battle squares and handing off shields as fast as they got ruined was about the only effective way of fighting them....if you could stay protected from the acid, or whatever it was that came out of those blasted swords they used, you could generally cut them down....they were strong, yes...stronger than a man by nearly thrice, but not particularly adept at swordplay, where physical strength mattered less than skill and speed.
"Battle squares!" He shouted. "Form up fast!"
And his men were, but not nearly fast enough. The Nilroggi were driving the panicked masses of refugees before them and causing a great deal of damage. If they didn't hurry, a great many would die today.
"Come on, damn your lazy hides" He yelled hoarsely at his troops. "Our vacation has come to an end...to battle! Forward...forward!"
Never mind that the battle squares were not yet completely formed, nor the spare shields close at hand. The time was now...risk or no.
Duncan led his men forward, drawing his blade as he moved.
~~Ж§Ж~~
"Sir! We've got to get you away from here!" Perrin shouted as he began pulling, tugging Arliss away from the sounds of the fighting.
"I will not leave my people!" Arliss shouted miserably, tears falling openly down his cheeks. "I will not!"
"You must, Father...you must!"
"Take him and go, boy." McDougil said sternly, striding forward with his contingent. "We'll drive forward and keep them busy....get him out of here."
McDougil's eyes met the Priest's and held his gaze for a long moment. "I am sorry." He said sadly.
Arliss nodded, and then allowed himself to be pulled away by a very frightened young man.
"Men...to battle!" McDougil shouted lustily as he led his ill-armed men forward. With no shields.
~~Ж§Ж~~
"God's Teeth, Captain, will you take a look at that?" One of Duncan's Lieutenants said in awe.
"I'm...." He replied as he hacked off the forearm of a Nilrog who got a bit too close. "A bit...." Stabbed the armless-one in the chest, and smoothly reached behind him to grab another shield, since the one he was holding was quickly dissolving to nothing. "Busy at the moment, Lieutenant." Another Nilrog beheaded with a grunt...and quite neatly at that. "Would you mind telling me what else needs my attention just this second?"
"Oh....nothing save for that damned fool McDougil charging six of them...shieldless."
"Whaaat?" He blocked another blow and chanced a glance.
Sure enough.
The fool had no idea what kind of hell he was about to commit his men to.
"Lieutenant....you take charge here." He pointed at another square. "And you men...with me, now!" and he began running full tilt toward the looming clash between six Nilroggi and twenty-six unarmored, unshielded men who didn't know any better.
~~Ж§Ж~~
They learned that first, hard lesson very quickly though.
Thinking they could block those clunky Nilroggi swords with their spears, they charged forward eagerly enough, only to find a fine mist of something sticky and greenish-brown washing over the men in front.
The greenish-brown stuff quickly took on a darker, deeper, reddish hue that look an eerie amount like blood.
And then the screaming started.
His own, eager men, suddenly screaming in pain and terror, dropping their weapons entirely and grabbing at their faces, trying to wipe the stuff away. All it accomplished though, was to spread it onto their hands, which also began to bleed.
McDougil watched in horror...unable to...well, unable to do much of anything.
They were a hideous race. Blocky and rock-like in their construction and yet amazingly agile. Their mandibles gave them a decidedly insectoid appearance, although that brownish, rocky coloring and texture made them look anything but.
And as he watched, he discovered that those mandibles made formidable weapons in their own right....one of his screaming men was picked up by all four of the creature's arms and held high...effortlessly. And then gutted with one swift click of the creature's jaws.
That's when McDougil realized they were one man closer to reaching him.
"Men...f....fall back! Fall back now, damn you!" He shouted.
But it was too late for two of his other men, and the shape of the creature's battle wedge made it clear that there was only one way to run...back toward the wagons, and then no further....they would be herded there and slaughtered.
Suddenly his words to Arliss the day before came ringing back in his ears. "Like cattle to the slaughter..." it was turning out.
~~Ж§Ж~~
They reached the wagons and spun 'round.
Having reached the end of their short flight from the creatures, all that remained was to wait for the end. At least they would die facing it, though...that was....
"Die you rotting bastards!" Came a fierce voice from nowhere.
No...somewhere. Just off to the left, and suddenly there was a Nilroggi arm lying on the ground, and then a head! Someone was....
McDougil looked up and winced...physically affected by the sight of who it was.
A small knot of Imperial Regulars, with Duncan Fury at their head, coming to his rescue.
"God's Teeth." He cursed.
Duncan spied him and nodded. "Equip your men with some of our shields and you'll not be as vulnerable to the spray!" He shouted. "Watch me...like this" Duck...block...strike...duck...switch shields...repeat.
McDougil watched and learned quickly. This was one sport with a very small margin for error and quite punishing to those who didn't catch on quick. He thought he had it and hefted up a shield, motioning for his men to form up like Duncan's. Together, the two men fought on, slowly beating them back.
~~Ж§Ж~~
When the last one fell, an eerie silence ruled the camp-turned-battleground. And in that silence, the oddest sound, suddenly.
Clapping.
Applause.
Jacob Mourngrym stepped out from between two wagons, positively beaming. "A splendid performance, gentlemen! Absolutely splendid!"
Duncan and McDougil looked at each other, and then at the man coming toward him.
"Well don't you see? Your infighting was sure to get us all killed, but that's all fixed now....look at you! Standing shoulder to shoulder like blood brothers....in fact, you are blood brothers now...bathed in the blood of the enemy! And better still, your mindless games will no longer put us at risk."
It took a long moment for his words and the meaning behind them to sink in.
"You....you did this? But h...wh...." The words simply would not come.
"My dear boys....I did this to save us....you may not have realized it, but the tension between you was nearing critical mass....I simply created an opportunity to diffuse it so we could get on with the business of surviving."
Duncan threw his blade to the ground and stepped toward Jacob Mourngrym. "I lost at least four men today....McDougil lost at least half a dozen....J'honsa knows how many women and children were killed....and I....you....what sort of monster are you?"
"Not a monster, Captain Fury....a survivor." Mourngrym said with cold, calculating glint in his eye. "A survivor....and if you but open your eyes, you will see the necessity of what was done here today. It is not so different really, than Castillar's willingness to allow a few of his flock to fall by the way for lack of food to reach his precious Loch, is it?....I think not." He said with a sneer. "I think not."
Before anyone could say anything further, Mourngrym turned to go. "I trust we'll be heading out soon....I'd very like to reach the Loch before much longer....I hear the fishing is excellent this time of year, and that bodes very well for us indeed." He called out over his shoulder as he vanished from sight around the corner of one of the wagons.
Duncan shook his head, not sure whether to be saddened at the loss of life, angered, or flat-out amazed.
He looked at McDougil and gripped his forearm. "Brother...I have not forgotten your mistreatment of my men, and I can't say I like you....but I do respect you."
"And I you." McDougil said earnestly. "I owe you my life."
Silence for a moment, and the two turned to walk off together to see to the men.
"That man is easily the most dangerous person here....you realize that, don't you?" Duncan asked.
No answer was needed, and silence ruled the day as the tattered band tried to recover from yet another blow....
~~Ж§Ж~~
Once inside his main travel wagon, Jacob Mourngrym allowed himself the satisfaction of a genuine smile.
His features didn’t look nearly so reptilian, calculating, and cold when he allowed genuine emotion to show through (which was quite rare in public…he did have an image to protect, after all, and there was immense value in the fact that everyone regarded him as a heartless bastard…yes…that played very much to his advantage).
Nonetheless, in the privacy of his own chambers, the smile was genuine, and it really had been a good day. Oh, the others might not realize it just yet, but they would. They would come to understand that what was done today was done with the future in mind, and was it not the mark of a superior man to always think into the future?
That, more than any other reason, was why it would be him. Quite simply because he was a superior man. A man with the cunning, intelligence, and resources to implement his vision of the future over the ruins of the Empire.
Take Arliss Castillar, for example. A good man with a good heart. But neither that heart, nor his faith made him a superior man. That much was clear by the way he was leading the ragged band of refugees.
They were so focused on their day-to-day survival that they could not see into the future. Could not plan ahead for the day when they stopped running, and that was the difference.
That was what set him apart from the rest. And with that difference came great responsibility to all the lesser men he found himself traveling with. He would build a new future for them with the power of his vision, and his ambition and drive to make it happen, and in return for being the architect of their future, there was nothing they wouldn’t do for him.
His smile grew. A good day indeed, and one step closer.
~~Ж§Ж~~
At the Shores of Loch Laern - First Night
"I know what you are." Jacob Mourngrym told them simply, and the eight in Monk's robes shifted uncomfortably on the cushions their host had set out for them. "We are simple Monks, M’Lord." One of them said in a hushed tone. "Oh, and your act is most convincing, I must say....more than enough to fool the common folk here, and perhaps even enough to get you past Arliss Castillar's sometimes-keen eye....that bit of talking in hushed and humble tones is a nice touch, but I fear you'll have to do far better than that with me." An uncomfortable silence followed, and Mourngrym reveled in it. "If the Priest finds out, he will banish us." The leader among them said quietly. "Or worse." "Mmm...agreed. And there's nothing like a good old fashioned public stoning or flogging to distract the minds of the peasantry from their current misery....I'd say that if our good Shepherd found out the truth about you eight, you'd be in an uncommonly wretched predicament, yes?" They nodded stiffly, as though fashioned of wood, not sure if the conversation unfolding before them was moving in a direction that would doom or save them, and Jacob Mourngrym gave no sign either way. For his part, Jacob let the tension draw out for nearly two full minutes before he said, "Of course....at present I am the only one who knows the truth of the matter, and I am not much inclined to reveal that truth to those who lead us." As a single body, The Eight slumped forward in relief, and Jacob allowed himself to smile. As with most of his business dealings, this one was proving far, far too easy. "I have, in my possession, a certain tome that, despite my vast resources, I have been unable to pay to have deciphered....if we can reach some agreement and I get your assistance in the matter, perhaps I shall become thoroughly convinced of your status as Monks?" When no reply was immediately forthcoming, he said, "Gentlemen?" "Where is this tome?" "Ahhh....so I have sparked an interest in you then! What Wizard can resist the lure of a good book? But no....I think it unwise to just hand it over to you, so I have had Scribes copy down some of the text from the first few pages of the work....that should give you ample material that you can tell me, at least in general terms what it contains....what it might be used for." He snapped his fingers, and one of his Attendants brought forth a bundle of scrolls, and spread them at the feet of the Wizards. They took them up carefully, unfurled them and read, passing them around and murmuring quietly amongst themselves. A few moments later, the leader among them gasped in surprise. "It cannot be...." He whispered. There were few reactions that could have evoked a more delighted gleam in Jacob's eyes. The leader of the Order looked up, eyes burning with questions. "I...I will need time to look these scrolls over more closely to be certain, if I may take them with me?" Jacob nodded. "And your early impression is...." "The...these words.... phrases lost for a thousand years and more....they could be from the lost Tome of Talesian...where did you come by it?" Talesian....that made a fair amount of sense, as he had acquired the work from a merchant of the Harradis, and those people were well-known for their love of witchery. Talesian was a name, almost mythical to witches, warlocks, and seers. Among the first, and perhaps greatest Warlock that ever was. If their words were truth, then the tome he had carefully hidden away in the third of his private wagons, with its cracked and withered human-skin cover and strange runes and sigils that glowed in moonlight was almost certainly not a listing of the Warlock's favored recipes, or a detailed accounting of the women he had bedded in his day....no, more likely that it was, quite simply, a prize beyond compare....a source of wisdom, almost certainly, and perhaps a weapon of untold and unimaginable power. But Jacob said nothing of this, nor let any part of it show in his face. "That is no concern of yours." He said simply. "You may take those scrolls with you and retire. Report back to me when you have deciphered them completely and are more certain of your findings. And until then, gentlemen, rest assured that your secret is quite safe with me." Visibly relieved and excited, The Eight rose from the floor of the Pavilion Tent where they had been seated before Mourngrym, and made haste back to their own quarters, where they would no doubt be up long into the night, carefully pouring over the tidbit Jacob had given them. He smiled and steepled his fingers together. Ahhh yes. The here and now was truly his time. The old Empire washed away in a sea of blood. The people scattered and frightened, and in need of new leadership. Leadership he was uniquely positioned to provide. Suddenly he saw in current developments, a means to expand the scope of his plan for their future. He could be the father of an entirely new kingdom. Better still, he could be its undisputed Master….again, because he was a superior man, and it simply would be him. He owed it to those of lesser station….those who would ultimately serve him, and ohhhh the prospects for fortune and power. For the second time in as many days, he smiled a genuine smile of delight.~~Ж§Ж~~
"So how are you and yours?" Duncan asked the much larger man as he sat down and handed him a plate of fish and onion grass.
McDougil took it gratefully, and shoved an almost too-large chunk of steaming, grease-dripping fish into his mouth. Juices dribbled down his chin, but he did not care, scooping the fish up with gusto and abandon.
"Delicious." He said as he swallowed the first bit. "Absolutely delicious, and I don't even care for fish all that much."
He slapped Duncan good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Thank you, my Brother....and as for me and mine...what can I say but that Arliss was right? The fishing here is exquisite, and all have eaten their fill and then some this night!"
The cavalryman nodded. "Good to hear, and though I know you wish we could remain here, you must know that we strike camp again at dawn."
McDougil nodded. "Aye, but that matters little. Given our rate of progress, it'll still take us days to round the Loch, and all that time, we can spend fishing and fattening ourselves up for the last leg of it....Ahh, and thank you for the horses, by the way! A fine plan indeed to send fishermen riding forward so they could spend more time increasing our catch! We may grow tired of the menu, but I daresay that if our luck holds where the catch is concerned, we'll have fish enough to last us all the way to the Harradis!"
"We just may, and it'd be a heartening thing for all." Duncan agreed. "As to the horses...we had scant need of them anyway....I kept my Roan to use for scouting, but things have been strangely quiet since we destroyed that picket."
"And thank the Earth Mother, and all the Holy Saints for it!" McDougil said in agreement.
He really wasn't that bad a fellow, Duncan realized. True, his was a markedly different perspective, but the more time he spend with McDougil, the more he realized that his earlier actions had been born of a good intent, even if their execution had been...less than admirable.
Still, as he got to know the man better, he found it impossible to hold a grudge. He was strong and able, and with Duncan's assistance and training, was becoming quite a good swordsman.
In fact, their camaraderie had grown to the point where Duncan had reassigned some of his men to McDougil's command, giving him an official field Promotion to Captain, while Arliss had decreed that he himself, would wear the title of "Marshal of the Forces of Ravanna." Such as they were.
All things considered then, he truly did not feel as though he could hold much of a grudge against Jacob Mourngrym, either. It was truer than true that he didn't care for his methods, and the fact of the matter was that simply being around the man made him feel unclean.
But another fact was plain enough to see. They were better off for what had happened. Strange world. Strange world indeed.
Idly, Duncan packed his pipe and lit it, drawing the acrid smoke deep into his lungs, and then blowing out smoke rings, wondering at what sort of times these were, when a man as dangerous and self-serving as Jacob Mourngrym committed an atrocious, heinous act that nearly amounted to conspiring with the enemy, and yet, somehow managed to make things...better?
A deep mystery indeed.
~~Ж§Ж~~
by David Sobotka: Armando the Wanderer in Stained Glass in Sutheron
~~Ж§Ж~~
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