Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
At some point, nearly every soldier from Calephas's army managed to
mass in the main thoroughfare to try and march the Resistance to
death. The three dozen that had already been cut down were mostly
confined to the alleys and barricades and so were not visible to the
great mass of citizenry that still tried to make Fjellvidden their
home. And of the Resistance only twenty men remained to take up the
fight. Gerhard and seven others were still mounted, but that left
Jarl, Ture, Eivind, and nine of the men from the tundras with their
half a dozen dogs on foot and two arctic birds flying through the
air. Joined to them were a few of the soldiers who had turned against
the Baron, and half a dozen other men of the city.
Against such odds, the disciplined forces of the Baron were certain
to win the day.
But they didn't.
Screams and sounds of battle from within the castle echoed over the
city. The castle gates opened and through them streamed defenders,
their faces caricatures of fear. They did not rush to support the
formation, but instead fled through the southeastern gates and kept
running straight across the meadows and into the forests south of Fjellvidden.
On the northern bank of the river, a giant dragon appeared and from
his throat bursts of flame consumed the Lutins who kept the bridge
and killed any who tried to cross it.
And atop the battlements the frightful figure of Gmork disappeared,
only to be joined not a minute later by one of his pups howling in
freakish misery.
The army tried to march down on the Resistance, but their confidence
was shaken, and their resolve stood on the edge of a knife. Jarl knew
that look; he had seen it in the people of his fishing village every
time the soldiers had come to collect the taxes and young men and
women; the former to make soldiers of the Baron and corrupt with a
life of bullying and abuse; those that would not serve in Arabarb
were shipped through the pass and given to Nasoj's armies where fear
of the wizard and his minions would drive them to obedience. The
women were taken for the beds of those that did serve, and also to
inspire them to feel helpless. If they could not protect their women
or their children, then they were not truly men.
But now that look of fear was in the eyes of the Baron's army. Jarl
felt a fiery indignation consume him and he skipped back from the
line of soldiers and cupped his hands around his mouth to bellow. The
words echoed through the air and made him feel as if he were striding
atop the sky. "People of Fjellvidden! Arise and strike! The hour is
now to take back our city and our castle! The great wyrms have come
to aid us! Arise and take back your city! Jarl Thoronson, grandson of
Thane Angulf Amundson commands you to take back your city!"
At first nothing happened. The fire in Jarl's heart for one moment
was embittered with disgust at the people who had once sworn
allegiance to his grandfather. But those words had caught the
soldiers by surprise, and several of them hesitated in their march,
helmets turning warily to the houses lining the streets, their
shuttered windows seeming to glare down at them like disapproving gods.
And then a few seconds later, doors opened and browbeaten men emerged
carrying pans, knives, brooms, oars, hand axes, and whatever else
they could find. Only a handful at first, and then a dozen more, and
then two dozen more emerged to challenge the army. The formation
tightened fearfully, as Gerhard's stallion reared and he thrust his
sword forward for another charge.
The thunder of hooves rushing toward them broke their spirit. The
soldiers screamed and ran down the main road, and through the alley
ways, seeking some avenue of escape as the people of Fjellvidden
attacked with all nine years of captive ferocity. A dozen men went
down beneath the horse's hooves, and another were captured and beaten
to a bloody pulp by the people. Jarl could only watch and marvel as
Calephas's army was routed and sent into full retreat.
He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and saw the swarthy tanner
Ture on his right, and the wiry hunter Eivind on his left. Ture's
thick lips blubbered out the words as his eyes alighted upon him in
shock and delight. "Are you really Jarl Thoronson, the Thane's grandson?"
Jarl smiled and nodded, clasping both him and Eivind in a firm
embrace. "Aye! Aye, that I am! But I'm just a fisherman in
Seydisfjord now. I have brothers and sisters there." He wasn't quite
sure why he felt he had to say it, but he did.
Eivind laughed and patted him on the back. "Well, it sure is good to
know you survived. Come, let's make sure none of these soldiers get
out of here alive, then we can toast our victory in your grandfather's castle!"
Jarl laughed too, and the three of them together rushed back into
what remained of the fray. The soldiers fled before them as Gerhard's
horses and the people of Fjellvidden drove them out.
----------
Gmork's youngest pup shifted back on his haunches and lifted his eyes
from his father's corpse to the small dragon stretched out along the
battlement wall like a lizard sunning himself on a rock. Though he
knew this young dragon was his dear friend Lindsey, a man for whose
life he would have gladly given his own, there was still an
instinctual distrust and fear of dragons that he'd inherited from his
father. He didn't understand why but he knew that it was real and he
had to resist the urge to snap at his friend.
The dragon was saying something, but his heart was so heavy he hadn't
heard the words. "What did you say?" he eventually asked, as a faint
acrid odor began to tickle his nostrils.
The dragon's tongue licked the air in apparent alarm and he hissed,
"Gmork's still alive? But... he has no head."
"I know his spirit lingers," the pup replied with a long sigh. "My
eldest brother is... well... he is my father now I think. I... don't
know how, Lindsey. I just... I just know that he is. But..." he
nodded toward the body with his snout and licked his nose to try and
get rid of the irritating smoky scent. "But I still know this was my
father too."
"Please, Jerome. Don't go back to him. Maybe..." the dragon scratched
his claws at the stone and he lifted his head a little higher off the
ground until his neck curled into an 'S' shape like a bird's. "Maybe
our friends at Metamor can help. Jessica can do remarkable things
now. She might be able to make you a man again."
Gmork's youngest closed his eyes and trembled. Being a man again
meant that he would be turning his back on his father. It meant that
he would be rejecting him; betraying him. Even though his father was
a monster who wanted him to commit terrible evils and to destroy
lives that were inconvenient to him, that simple notion made him feel
like the blackest of sinners. It made him feel like Yahshua's betrayer.
"Maybe," was all he could force himself to say to such a repugnant
suggestion. But the thought of becoming a true monster like his
father wanted was even worse.
"Your friends will be there. Charles may be able to help too."
His jowls quivered at the thought of his fellow Sondecki, and he knew
that he would like to see him again. The rat at least would
understand. He always had been understanding of others. "I would like
that," he managed to say as his hands stroked down his father's
fur-coated arms. "I would."
Lindsey turned his head to stare down across the bailey and his tail
lashed back and forth in agitation. The dragon swung his neck around
and his brilliant eyes gleamed in the midday light. "Jerome, there's
a terrible fire down in the armory. Could you help us put it out? I
know you can do that. Please? It will help convince the others that
you aren't a monster."
Gmork's youngest lifted his snout and peered over the edge of the
crenelation at the armory, noting the smoke trailing from its
windows. So that was the source of the acrid stench. It reminded him
of that horrible powder the Resistance smashed in his face. He felt a
growl of delight at the thought of those men burning with their own weapon.
But when he looked at the dragon, though his features were strange,
Gmork's youngest could not mistake the sincerity of his plea. The
growl descended into a sigh and he felt his snout withdrawing back
into a more human face. "I will help. But... if anything happens..."
He stroked his father's body chest fur one last time and then rose to
a mostly human pose. "Let's go, Lindsey."
The dragon nodded his long head and then curled back around on
himself in order to head back down into the castle. Gmork's youngest
followed him with only one backward glance at the precious corpse.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
!DSPAM:4de6039344282130720353!
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