Published: 10 Jun 2019

Night Raid

“Cloos is at least a day and some away, and the weather is turning,” Alan said quietly to Patrick as they rode together at the head of the companions. “Does your map show any inns or farms nearby?”

“No, but that does,” Patrick replied, pointing toward a sign that his keener eyesight had picked out.

As they neared, Alan held his hand up to signal the others to slow. “Hmmm, looks promising. Any feelings about the place?”

“Nothing in particular; let’s wait until we get closer,” Patrick replied.

Patrick and Alan had halted by the sign next to a track that led west, toward the river. A thread of smoke could be seen from a copse of trees about a mile away. “We’re going to ride toward this farm, and perhaps stay the night,” Patrick said. “Kenneth, James, please be especially alert. Thom, they’ll be occupied with magic, so we’ll depend on your eyesight in the mundane world.”

Alan took the lead as the companions rode single-file down the lane. The farmstead sat on a bluff overlooking the river. It resembled a small village: fortified with a wooden palisade and a stout gate. “I’m glad we’re not arriving any later in the day,” Alan said. “I’d not like to come up to this gate at night!”

“We’re being watched,” Kenneth said quietly from his place in the center of the line.

Alan halted about 100 yards from the gate, and dismounted. “Still okay?” he asked Patrick.

“Still okay,” Patrick answered. “No hostility, no evil, some curiosity.”

Alan walked toward the gate, his hands open and clearly visible. “Halloo the farm!” he called.

A head popped up atop the palisade. “Halloo, yourself,” came a tenor voice, “Who are you?”

“Alan of Arcadia and his sworn companions, seeking shelter.”

The gate opened, and a tween stepped out. The gate shut behind him. “Please ask your companions to dismount and walk with their horses to the gate for Father to see,” he instructed.

Alan called the instructions to Patrick. There was a pause after the companions were arrayed in front of the gate; the gate opened and a man stood in the opening. “Be welcome, if you will swear Travelers’ oath and allow me to secure your weapons? They’ll be safe,” he added.

Alan looked at Patrick for guidance. Somewhat reluctantly, the elf nodded his head. The companions swore the oath, after which the man and tween collected all their weapons save a dagger each. “Can’t be too sure,” the man said. “But you look like good folk.”

“Be assured, Master Farmer,” Alan said, “that my companions and I follow the Light.”

Alan and the farmer dickered over the price of bed and board while one of the farm boys led the others to the stable.

“Close watch, tonight,” Alan said, when they reached their room. “The door opens outward, so we can’t secure it. The window is above a shed roof … we could escape that way if we have to. They seem to be nice people, but we have to be careful.” A watch schedule was established, and all but Kenneth, who had the first watch, prepared for sleep.

The third hour after compline Patrick, who had the watch, heard a disturbance. Before he could wake the others, the loud clanging of a bell did it for him. Within moments, the companions were awake and dressed. From the window, they heard loud voices.

The thumps of running footsteps heralded the arrival of the tween who had greeted them at the gate. The relief on his face when he saw the companions in their room was palpable. “I told Father it wasn’t you … that you were good. We’re under attack. Brigands have ridden in the gate. It was opened for them from inside. The house is still secure, but if they start a fire, we’ll have to leave it and fight them outside. Will you help us?”

“Of course, Patrick said. “Alan, tactics?”

The human tween thought quickly. “I’ll take Thom and Kenneth to retrieve weapons. Will you and James mount a counterattack or at least a distraction from the roof?” He gestured toward the window. He knew Patrick and James wouldn’t need weapons to perform magic.

Patrick looked at James, who nodded. “Yes.”

While Alan and the boys followed their host, Patrick and James doused the light and climbed out the window onto the roof of the shed. The building shadowed them. They could make out men on horseback milling about in the large courtyard. It seemed that the brigands, having gotten in the gate, were unsure how to penetrate the strong walls and shuttered windows of the main house.

“Get a ram … the railing from the fence,” one called, and others rushed to comply.

“Fireball?” Patrick suggested.

“Might blind the defenders,” James said, ducking as a randomly aimed arrow whistled past. “Something else … Hammer of Light?”

“Limited area of effect, but silent and deadly. A good choice,” Patrick relied. “On three?”

“On ten,” James whispered back, “I’m not as adept as you … you take the fellow with the crossbow … there, okay?”

At Patrick’s count of ten, both tweens released Spell Magic.

The brigand with the crossbow was thrown from his horse head-over-heels, backwards and under the hooves of another’s horse. James and Patrick heard a thud and a scream as the horse’s hooves ended the man’s life. James’s spell struck another bowman, throwing him into the corral and splintering the railing, which struck a second man, knocking him to the ground.

“Again?” Patrick asked.

James whispered, “I’m good for at least one more. I’ll go for those in the corner … never mind…” The farmers’ family had gotten organized, and arrows from windows in the upper story found their mark, piercing the three men James had intended to strike.

“Retreat!” yelled one of the brigands, either smarter or more cowardly than the others, “Retreat!”

“Fireball, now!” Patrick said. The brigands whirled to leave. The last three had not reached the gate when fireballs from Patrick and James exploded close behind them.

The gate had been secured; the grappling hook and rope by which a brigand had gained access, retrieved. The bodies of five dead brigands had been stripped and thrown over the precipice into the river. It was nearly daylight, and breakfast was being prepared when the farmer addressed the companions. “Your spells and your arrows saved the lives of my family. We had grown complacent behind our walls, and were not as prepared as we thought for the new reality of the world. You have our gratitude. What can we offer as reward?”

Patrick gestured to Alan, indicating that he should answer. “We ask no reward, Master Farmer. A kindness is always repaid.”

“Will you at least stay another night … you didn’t get much rest last night, I’m sure.”

“Of course they will,” the Masterfarmer’s wife answered for them. “Breakfast is ready.”

William, the tween who had met them at the gate, and then come to their room in the night, sat by Alan at the table. “You’re a soldier, aren’t you?” William asked. Before Alan could reply, William added, “I want to be a soldier too. What’s the army like?”

Alan set aside the spoon with which he was about to eat apricot-sweetened oatmeal. “Not a soldier, not really. I’ve had weapon training, mostly from my father and a little at a school. I know a lot of soldiers, too, and did some sparring with them. As to what the army’s like? It depends on a lot of things, mostly on what you expect from it, and how hard you’re willing to work.”

William was clearly puzzled. “What I expect? I thought soldiers just had to do what they’re told?”

“There is that,” Alan said after a mouthful of the pottage. “But even then, soldiering is not so different from living here, I’d not think. You have to get up at a certain time; you have chores that you’re expected to do; you eat together with your family; you have time for play; and you have to be in bed at a certain time. Right?”

“Yeah,” William said. “It’s pretty dull … I wanted to join the army for excitement. Do you mean it’s not going to be exciting?”

“That’s what I meant about what you expected,” Alan said. “Being in the army isn’t one long, glorious adventure. You would meet new people, and go to different places. You’d learn more about weapons than you’d be likely to, here. And you’d learn a trade, as well.”

“A trade?” William asked.

“Sure,” Alan answered. “The army supports itself, and when an army marches into battle, the soldiers have to have all the skills the army needs on a campaign. Soldiers are smiths, farriers, teamsters, cooks—”

“Healers, too?” interrupted another of the boys. Chaz, Alan remembered.

“The army’s healers usually are clerics who travel with the army,” James answered, allowing Alan to have another bite of his breakfast. “In the old days, they were warrior-clerics, who were soldiers and healers. Today, they’re mostly just healers.”

The farm boys’ questions continued through breakfast. Afterwards, even though no one had had a full night’s sleep, they were all too excited to nap. Bowing to William’s pleas, Alan offered to spar with the older boys, and agreed that Thom and Kenneth might spar with the younger ones. By vespers, they were all filthy with sweat and dirt from the courtyard, and were happy to retire to the bath.

Having made friends with the farmer’s sons, the companions got only a little more rest on the second night than they did on the first. Nevertheless, Patrick insisted that they continue their travels. We got off easily, here, Patrick thought. But what lies ahead?

We hope that you are enjoying this tale of World. David appreciates all comments to his stories. David dot Mcleod at CastleRoland dot Net.