The Light Behind The WorldChapter 17 Lore
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The town hall had seen better times. Constructed several decades earlier, it was a two-story structure with a large steeple housing a large bronze bell. The outside was weathered and patched but, partially because it doubled as a place of worship, the inside was kept clean. The furnishings were mis-matched, old and worn, but well-kept and in good repair.
The main room in the town hall was crowded and smoky. Even the air was crowded with smoke and sound. The townspeople were nervous and the nervousness translated into often inane chatter. As nerves strained further, the talks often led to arguments. No one, however, had the temerity to take those arguments further; all of them understood they would likely be forced to fight soon enough. Sir Givens stood in the center of the room, looking around at the men, women and children who’d been his neighbors for so long. He wondered, as he often had before a battle, how many of them he’d lose in the coming fight – for he knew it was going to be a desperate fight and he knew it was highly unlikely all would survive. He shook his head, wanting to quiet the crowd but knowing the talk and arguments were a way to get rid of the excess energy they all had. He sighed; there was a part of him that wished he could join them but now wasn’t the time for nerves. If nothing else, he needed to be a symbol of steadiness so everyone else could be nervous.
He turned his attention downward. He was standing before a thick, wooden table and he bent down, letting his hands grasp the edge, letting the edge of the table hold his weight. Now was the time to conserve his energy; it would be needed later.
Drawn into the wood of the table were long, deep, even scratches along with soft lines drawn with chalk and charcoal. They comprised a rough, quickly drawn – but fairly accurate – map of the town.
Around him stood the three knights, each looking down at the map, their faces intent. Gillen Hawksley stood on Tergin Givens’ right with Uud Beffing and Syl Troel to his left. The ten Viscount Guards stood around the room somewhat away from the table with three of them standing importantly around the princess and her ladies who were seated just behind Tergin. Teran, who’d returned only moments earlier, was on the far end of the table, though her face still looked troubled and her eyes haunted. Standing beside her was Jace Rivens, the town millwright, with his two sons on the other side of him. Most of the rest of the town stood in groups around the room, though the princess and her ladies were given a wide berth.
Suddenly, the room went silent, all of the attention on the four newcomers. All eyes were on the tall, wide man in full armor of strange, deep blue. He held a similarly colored great helm in his arms as he blinked at the people staring. The townspeople had not gotten used to the first armored men and women in their midst and had certainly never seen armor the color of the twilight sky.
Ardt, a man almost as wide and only a head shorter stood to the right of the armored figure, his head covered in a mail coif and his torso covered by a mail hauberk. To his right stood his wife, similarly clad though the facial opening of her mail coif was wider than her husband’s. On Yren’s left, her eyes wandering around the quiet room, Bena was biting her lip.
“Ardt,” Tergin nodded towards the older smith. “Yren.” He carefully looked the younger man up and down, his eyes growing wide. He nodded marginally to the young man. “I have to admit, your armor is impressive, son.”
Yren advanced to the table awkwardly, each step slightly exaggerated and discontent was written large upon his face. As he approached, Teran cleared a place for her adopted younger brother. His steps pounded on the hard wood floor, causing the boards to creak under the weight of him and his armor. “Thank you, Sir. I wish I had more experience with it; it’s taking some time to get used to. Have we any word from the Red Guard?”
“No,” Sir Givens said tightly. “I don’t expect we will, either. They’ve given us to first light. It’s a common tactic; we know their skill and that we’re likely outnumbered. They want to make us nervous.” He looked pointedly around the room. “As you can see, it’s working.” He shook his head, turning it back to the young man. “I would wager they’ll attack shortly before dawn, no matter the deadline. They’ll likely come from the east, to keep the rising sun in our eyes. At least, that’s how I’d do it.”
“Our problem is there is no reasonably defensible position in town,” Tergin continued, his attention moving to the map. “My domen is probably the best fortified, but its open nature and nearness to the forest is a drawback. The rest of the town is made largely of wood. There’re a few cellars but nothing without significant drawbacks.”
“So, what do you suggest?” Gillen asked tightly. Yren noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the weariness of her features and wondered how she was even standing.
“We’re going to have to defend the Town Hall,” Tergin sighed. “It’s roughly in the center of the town, so we can watch all of the approaching sightlines.”
“If the Mage casts his fire, it won’t matter,” Uud said softly, an objection he’d made often.
“They won’t dare,” Gillen explained – again. “They can’t take the chance they’d harm the Princess.”
“Which is all the more reason for me to just go to them, Gillen,” Princess Ataya spoke up from her seat away from the table – again. “There need be no bloodshed for these poor folk. I’m willing to...”
“Your highness, I don’t care what you’re willing to do,” Gillen interrupted. “My duty is to your safety; I’ll not allow you to compromise it.”
“He doesn’t want me harmed,” Ataya said yet again. She’d made the argument before; several times. Each time her protector had dismissed it – but she felt like she still needed to try. “If he won’t harm me, then I should just go to him.”
“With all due respect, your highness,” Sir Givens jumped in. “Honor Hawksley is right. We can’t take him at his word; we don’t know for certain what he plans to do. Besides, even if you deliver yourself to him, there’s no guarantee he’ll let everyone else live. As a matter of fact, I’d say the odds of them allowing anyone to live are slim to none. He’ll leave no witnesses. Our best option is to make a stand here and hold out for re-inforcements. Ranger Ellsworth has set out for Cava ... or maybe Knottline; he wasn’t clear. Cava is closer – but you say the Red Guard followed you up here so he may head for Knottline. If he heads for Cava, it’s at least three days there and three days to bring the militia back. If Knottline, it will be even longer – maybe as long as a week there and another back.”
“If he makes it through,” Ataya remarked.
“He’s a highly distinguished ranger,” Goodman Rooft spoke up, the man’s voice soft and wistful. The older man raised goats and chickens but had struck up a friendship of sorts with the tall ranger. “If anyone can get through, he will.”
“Don’t worry, your Highness,” Dakin Oovert assured the Princess from just behind her and to her right. “I’ll protect you. I swear by my blade, none shall bring you harm.”
Ataya looked away, rolling her eyes. Dakin was landed and a distant cousin to the Viscount t’Allur, so was considered a minor Lord. He had taken it upon himself to declare himself as the Princess’ personal guard. The princess had not yet told him what she thought of the idea.
Yren couldn’t help but snort. He’d fought the minor Lord; if the Princess counted on his sword, she’d better pray the Red Guard were extremely slow. And stupid. Lord Oovert wasn’t even the best of the trainees.
Turning his snort into movement so as not to offend anyone, he moved closer to Sir Givens and spoke softly. “The smithy has a dug-out cellar hidden beneath its anvil. It’s fairly well hidden – we might be able to use it. One or all of the knights could hide down there with the Princess and her retinue as well as Elva and my sisters. It’s not overly large – but it should hold perhaps ten people. The cellar itself is defensible but, of course, the forge area is open air on the side and most of the back.”
“Wooden ceiling?” Sir Givens asked shrewdly.
“Partially,” Yren admitted. “The part I was thinking about is towards the back. A hard, stone ceiling with bricks above it – it looks like it was a shallow cave at one time. Like I said, you can hold about ten people back there – more if you include the part with the wooden ceiling. The entrance to the cave part is narrow – no more than one or two could fit at a single time; it would limit their ability to attack. It also makes the mage fire irrelevant – there’s no way to use it and not harm all who are in there.”
“They might try to dig them out,” Sir Givens said thoughtfully.
“It’s hard stone under the brick,” Yren objected. “Besides, it’d bring the ceiling down and would risk harming the princess.”
Tergin Givens looked down at his map, tracing a path from the Town Hall to where the blacksmith shop was labelled. “And the smithy is no more than sixty yards south?”
“About that,” Yren agreed.
“It’s worth a thought,” Sir Givens mused. He was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “We could set up a few in the smithy proper while keeping the cellar hidden. The main force will stay in the town hall and defend it as a diversion.” His eyes searched over the map. “We can put Tergin, Bremer and Rooft on these three buildings to harass the enemy with arrows once they begin their assault on the town hall.”
“They’d be better in the bell tower,” Gillen remarked thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed as she also studied the map. “No use separating our forces more than we need to. It also gives them an escape route should it come to that; they can fall back below.” She turned toward the smithy. “We can station Syl and Uud with the princess and ladies; if that cave is as small as Yren says, they’ll be able to hold off any attack.”
“You should be there, too,” Tergin stated. “Your responsibility is to the person of the princess.”
“I know my responsibilities, old man,” Gillen snapped. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Her voice was softer when she continued. “The princess’ safety would be better served in making the enemy think the princess is in the town hall. If the Red Guard attack and don’t see at least one of us fighting here, they’re likely to go looking.”
Sir Givens stared long and hard at his former student before nodding once. “That just leaves who we have guarding the entrance to the smithy.”
“I volunteer!” Oovert announced quickly, stepping forward. Yren almost choked trying to keep himself from laughing. The man had his chest thrust out, and his head nobly lifted. He looked ridiculous.
Gillen turned an inquisitive eye towards her former mentor. Tergin merely raised his eyebrows and shook his head marginally.
The First of the Third looked around the room, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “I think Ardt and his son would be a better fit,” she said slowly. “They have an intimate knowledge of the smithy and would be better suited to defending it.”
“But ... but they’re commoners,” Oovert sneered, his face wrinkling in disgust. “Surely someone of noble blood would be better suited to protect the princess.”
“Besides,” he continued quickly. “I’m afraid I must insist. As the princess’ personal guard I have, after all, pledged my life to keeping her safe.”
“And you will, Dakin,” Tergin growled cutting off the scathing rebuke he expected from Gillen. “By defending the town hall, you ensure the Red Guard won’t grow bored and wander around looking for the princess.”
“But... “ Oovert started but was immediately interrupted by Gillen Hawksley.
“Enough!” she declared sharply. “I am the First of the Third. The Princess’ safety is ultimately my responsibility. I will decide how best to protect her. Guardsman Oovert, you’ll assist in protecting the Town Hall.”
Oovert’s face was stormy as he stalked back behind the Princess’ chair.
Yren saw Tergin swallow his smile in a snort. He then covered the snort with orders. “Let’s get to reinforcing the windows.”
He looked up at the older smith. “Ardt, do you have any spare metal we can use to secure the windows and doors?”
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