Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
It took about two hours for Jarl, Ture, and the rest to gather up the
wounded and bring them within the castle walls. They were aided by
glad men and women of the city, and loaned several wagons. Vysterag
the shipwright was one of the first to come to their help, but he
seemed more interested in collecting the dead soldiers and hacking
their limbs off. The dead Resistance members and their dogs were
treated with respect and carried in covered carts back to the castle
along with the wounded. Women came to tend them, and men quickly took
up the fallen arms to man the gates while others started repairing
the ruined barricades.
And everywhere they went through the city they were welcomed as the
heroes they were. Jarl didn't even mind that most of them did not
recognize him. That could come later.
What he most enjoyed seeing was the headless body of the baron being
dragged through the streets by donkey who couldn't quite tell why
this lumpy weight had been attached to his harness, and certainly not
why people were throwing stones right behind him. Jarl laughed as the
stones bounced off Calephas's pasty flesh, bones twisted and mangled
as he bounced along the stone roads.
When they returned with the last wagon of injured, they that the
western bailey wall was now a makeshift hospice with lean-tos set up
to give the wounded some shelter. The mage Harald was moving from one
to the next, while several of the women cleaned wounds and bandaged
cuts and bruises. They even had bowls of hot, savory broth to share.
On the eastern side the dead were being arranged side by side beneath
shrouds; even the tundra hounds were accorded such an honor. Jarl had
to admit that it was mildly amusing to see three Keeper dogs helping
lay real dogs in funeral repose.
Jarl brought the wagons to a stop while Ture and Eivind aided the
last two men whose legs had been broken toward the lean-tos. The
young man approached Harald who just rising to his feet, a look of
weary exhaustion draped over his entire body like a cape. "Harald,"
Jarl said confidently. "Where are Gerhard and Elizabaeg?"
The mage rubbed his hands over his vest and gestured with a tilt of
his head at the main castle. "Just inside, you'll hear them. Looking
over poor Luvig last I saw."
"Will he be all right?"
The mage's eyes grew distant and he ran his hand through his beard,
stroking down its entire length several times before answering. "He
should live."
One of the men who'd accompanied Elizabaeg into the castle and then
Jarl on his rounds through the city had told him what had happened to
the alchemist. Jarl had seen men burned by fire before and while it
always scarred the flesh, he'd rarely heard of any man consumed by it
unless they had been trapped. The dark and distant tones of the
southern mage were not reassuring. "What does that mean?"
Harald looked down at the injured man at his feet who had fallen
asleep. "Everyone out here will recover and be able to live as they
did before; fighting, making families, and passing on their legacies.
Luvig probably will never do any of that."
Jarl swallowed. "What happened?"
"He lost one of his eyes and one of his ears, but the others should
still work once they heal. His face will be a ruin even after it
heals. And his arms... I had to remove both of his arms at the
elbows. The flesh there... was cooked through."
Jarl felt sick at the thought of it, but found the ire to declare,
"If this is to be my house, then Luvig will always live here in honor."
"Your house?" Harald turned to look at him in surprise, noting his
earnest expression. Suddenly his lips twitched in a half smile as
understanding dawned. "Oh, Gerhard said something about you being the
old thane's grandson. I'm glad you're alive, Jarl. Go on now. I have
many more to tend."
Jarl stepped past the mage as he made his way toward the main castle
gates. He glanced back once and noted that there were more bodies to
be buried than there were to be healed and sighed. Some of those had
been his friends. At least none of them had been his brothers.
Once inside the castle's main door, the passage forked in three
directions, but he only heard voices from the passage directly ahead
of him. He walked down the narrow hall lit by lanterns until he came
to a wide room with several tables. Nobody was sitting at the tables,
but several people were sitting on them, gathered in a sort of
circle. He recognized Elizabaeg, Brigsne, and Gerhard, as well as the
soldier who had been a spy for the Resistance. There were a few other
faces he did not know.
"Jarl," Gerhard waved his hand, a broad grin dominating his face in a
way that seemed utterly alien to the dour man. "Come! There is much
still to discuss. Did you gather all the wounded and dead?"
He nodded as he walked into the midst of the circle and crossed his
arms over his chest. "Harald and many of the women of Fjellvidden are
tending the wounded. The dead are being arranged. Where did the
Keeper dogs come from?"
"The kennels," the soldier spy said with a grunt. He sat next to
Gerhard who had a firm, glad hand on his shoulder. "Gmork kept them
there as his pets, but... Gmork is dead now and so they are free."
Jarl noted the way Gerhard and this soldier kept close and appeared
to smile at each other. And then he looked at the shape of their eyes
and cheeks and barked a laugh. "Your his father!"
Gerhard nodded and patted the soldier on the back. "Father to a son
he'd thought he lost. Gwythyr here never told me he was joining the
Resistance. I spent two years thinking you'd betrayed your family!"
Gwythyr shook his head and laughed, "Father, I told you. If I'd said
anything then we'd all have been forfeiting our lives."
Jarl shook his head and blinked, even as several of the others
laughed again. "I'm confused."
"Then let me explain it," Gerhard said. He quickly described how
Gwythyr his son had left their home two years ago declaring that he
was joining Calephas's army. The news had come as a great shock to
Gerhard who had tried to raise his boy to loath the usurper and
pederast. But it had been a ruse as Gwythyr sought to become an
informant to the Resistance. He'd hated having to do it, but had he
told his father the real reason, if one of them were captured then
both of them would die.
"But," Gerhard finished as he looked at his son one more time, "we
don't have to worry about that anymore."
"But what we do have to worry about," the man sitting next to
Elizabaeg with graying beard and stern regard, "is what to do about
the rest of the soldiers still holding all the villages in Arabarb.
Far too many escaped Fjellvidden today. They will regroup quickly.
The commanders of the garrisons will vie to see how can command what
is left of the armies. We have only Fjellbvidden, and we did it with
men from all over Arabarb, a third of which are now dead. We cannot
hold this city, nor can we keep everyone here."
"That's true," Brigsne admitted with a grunt. "I heard some of the
tundra men complain that they wished to take the fight up north to
free their lands."
"And I don't want to leave the south for long," Gerhard agreed. "But
if Fjellvidden is captured again, then everything we did was for nothing."
"Not quite," the man next to Elizabaeg said in his growling voice.
"Calephas is dead. He will never come back. And the mage has been
defeated and his pups have fled. Let us hope they do not return. And
the Lutins are fleeing or dead. Arabarb is for men and for our dragon
friends." This last he said with a crooked grin.
"Which means that this is a fight for men, and that is something we can win."
"But we do have to protect Fjellvidden," Jarl said. "We need to
repair all the defenses and find weapons for the men of the city. And
when news spreads of what we did here, other cities will destroy the
soldiers too."
"Agreed," Gerhard said with a quick nod to the youngest man present.
"I have already given instructions that the barricades be rebuilt.
They should be up in a few days. I was hoping to have Ture organize
the men of Fjellvidden. It's been ten years since they have fought
and they'll need some discipline to become effective defenders. Only
then can we move on the other villages and provinces."
Jarl grimaced and narrowed his eyes, "Why do you feel you have the
right to give these people commands? You are not from this place, and
you are here only because you changed your mind about helping."
Brigsne grunted and tensed and Elizabaeg lowered her eyes, sighing
deeply. Gerhard regarded him evenly. "Jarl Thoronson, you are young
and you have not led men into battle. I have. You of all should know
that alone inspires our people."
"They came to fight when I called them, when I said who I was!"
"Aye, they did," Gerhard nodded, his lips curling into a sullen
glare. "They remember your grandfather. But that does not mean you
are equipped to guard this city. It does not mean you can."
Jarl ground his teeth and balled his hands into fists. "It is the
honor of my family! It was my family that was slain. It was my
grandfather and father whose heads decorated pikes on the castle walls!"
"I am well aware of that!" Gerhard shot back, standing up and drawing
his arms over his chest. "But that does not mean we should trust
Fjellvidden to you."
The man sitting next to Elizabaeg held up one hand with a regard that
seemed born of patience. "Jarl Thoronson. I knew your father and
served under your grandfather Thane Angulf Amundson. He was a
towering man with a wicked temper, the strength to break trees, and a
laugh that made the wine flow more freely and tenderized the meat at
feasts. My wife has told me how you have lived hidden these seven
years as the adopted son of a fisherman in Seydisfjord. What of them?"
Jarl stared at the weathered man with graying beard; he still had
patches of red hair in the midst of the age, and from the way he
carried himself and regarded everyone in the room, he knew this was a
man of patience, of valor, and of a strength beyond his years. And
sitting next to Elizabaeg as he did, he knew this had to be her lost
husband, Alfwig, the man so many in the Resistance had looked to for
leadership. A man he had long hated from afar, but now that he was in
his presence knew he could never hate again. There was something
about him, something that reminded Jarl of his father Thoron
Angulfson. His heart ached at the mere memory of him.
And with them he thought of his adopted family. His new father who
had always been and always wished to be a simple fisherman plying the
coasts for his trade no matter the weather. He thought on his adopted
mother's pleasant smile, strong arms that swept her children close
whenever the soldiers came knocking, and the way she used to whistle
to herself while she tended clothes or cooking. Then there were his
brothers and sisters, more than he ever imagined any family could
have, who had welcomed him without complaint, enduring his bouts of
weeping and anger with equanimity and generosity. They taught him a
trade that he did not relish but that he was grateful for
nevertheless. And they had given him a family when all of his own was
taken from him.
"I could never abandon them," he admitted, his voice softer and his
eyes lowered. But he lifted them with new fire in his lungs. "But I
am not just going to be a fisherman either. I know what needs to be
done for this city and for Arabarb! Once we secure Fjellvidden, we
next need to drive the soldiers off the coasts. That's where the
wealth is. If they have none of that then we can trap them in the
forests and kill them like deer and bear."
Alfwig nodded. "And the Pass? What of the fort in the Pass?
Calephas's soldiers still control it."
Jarl took a deep breath and nodded. "Aye, they do. But they have no
supplies unless we send it to them. They can hunt, true, but not
enough. We only need starve them and they'll surrender in a few
months. Or flee."
"But what of your family?" Alfwig asked again, his voice almost
gentle as well as stern.
"No matter what, I will be there when we free the southern coasts.
They don't know who I really am. It should be me that tells them."
Gerhard narrowed his eyes. "Why not just go back there when all the
land is free and be their son again? You could make that land your
guard and be close to them always."
Jarl swallowed and turned back to the red-haired man whose hard face
did not seem to have any charity in it anymore. "Because that is not
my ancestral home. This is! Although if you are so intent on becoming
thane yourself, Gerhard, then between us it can only be settled with
blood. I will challenge you for this guard if you so desire it! First
blood from the chest. If I win, Fjellvidden is mine and you may lead
our forces to the southern lands and mountains where you come from.
If I lose, I ask only that you allow me to lead the men to retake
Seydisfjord and the other coastal villages that I might be thane of
that guard."
He drew his long knife and held it before his chest, the tip coming
to his lips. "What say you, Gerhard? Will you?"
Gerhard regarded him for several long seconds while the other men in
the room held their breath. Elizabaeg, the only woman present,
frowned at them both and looked ready to jump to her feet and scold
them both for being foolish children. But she said nothing, lettering
her eyes fix upon the other man to see what he would do.
After studying him intently, noting the knife and the fire in his
eyes, Gerhard uncurled his arms from his chest and drew his sword. It
was longer and thicker than his knife, and it would take all of
Jarl's skill to avoid being skewered by that blade. His opponent
lifted the blade for a moment, staring past the shaft toward the
young man with hard blue eyes. Then he lowered the blade and set it
down on the stones beneath them.
"I will not," Gerhard said at last, his voice soft and reserved. "But
not because I believe you are ready to be thane, young Jarl
Thoronson. But because I do not wish to be thane of this or any other
guard in Arabarb."
His response surprised Jarl; while it removed a rival, Gerhard still
made it clear that he would not support him. He scanned the others in
the room. "Well, if you won't challenge my right as the heir to Thane
Angulf Amundson, will anyone else?"
"Jarl," Alfwig said gently, "lower your blade. No one here wishes to
challenge you. No one here denies you first claim to the guard of
Fjellvidden." He extended one hand and smiled in a way that made his
weathered and solid face seem as gentle as an Autumn rain. "You are
still young, and you did not have the chance to learn what your
grandfather and father wanted very much to teach you. I will support
you, out of love and loyalty to your grandfather and father who were
good and great men. But only if you can demonstrate that you have the
patience and wisdom to listen to those older and more experienced
than yourself. Can you do that?"
Jarl took a deep breath and slowly lowered the knife until the tip
pointed at the floor. His knuckles were white around the pommel. "I
know I don't have the experience I should," he said, carefully
considering his words. Alfwig was he whom the others trusted. If he
had this man's support, he would win them all. "It's been nine years
since I lived in Fjellvidden; Ture and others will know far more
about what needs to be done here, and who can do it. And you Gwythyr,
you will know too. I don't know all of my weaknesses. I can be
short-tempered. And I have wanted this guard to restore my family's
name and honor.
"I don't remember who you are, Alfwig. I don't remember you or your
service to my grandfather. But I know that everyone in the Resistance
who was important or based here in Fjellvidden looked to you with
confidence and hope. I resented that and I am sorry. Please help me
do what is right. I don't ever want to see invaders steal our home again."
"Nor do I or any other man here," Alfwig agreed with a slight nod to
his head. "But one thing more; if you had to choose between your
family's honor and your new family's lives, which would you choose?"
Jarl ground his teeth together again and forced himself to take two
deep breaths before answering him. "My family's lives. I was too
young to save my first family. I do not want to lose a second. I'd
have no honor at all if I let them die."
Alfwig's lips pursed between the scraggly beard and he inclined his
head respectfully. "Then, young Jarl Thoronson, I believe one day
that you will be Thane Jarl Thoronson. But now is not the time to
squabble over such things. We are going to work together to protect
Fjellvidden and to reclaim our homeland. When our fight against the
foreign soldiers is done, then we can speak of thanes and of guards.
And," he lifted one hand to still Jarl's tongue, "I believe you will
do far more to reclaim your family's honor freeing all of our country
than you will ever do being thane over Fjellvidden."
Jarl forced his temper to sit still and he considered the older man's
words. They did sound like the sort of advice his father and
grandfather would have given him. He pondered the idea of leading a
charge of horsemen into Seydisfjord, bearing gleaming armor and
swinging both axe and sword. Once the soldiers were routed he would
dismount and embrace his adopted mother and father, and each of his
brothers and sisters. How well he could see the looks of joy on their faces.
"Very well," he said and sheathed his knife. "Very well, Alfwig. Let
us talk no more of thanes and guards. I only ask two things. That I
be part of our counsels as we fight to reclaim our home. And that I
be allowed to lead our men into Seydisfjord."
"The first is already done," Alfwig noted with a sweep of one hand.
"The second we cannot promise; Eli alone knows the future. But if it
is is possible it will happen. Now come, let us talk as friends and
fellow warriors of Arabarb. There is much that must be done and
little time to do it."
Jarl felt the tension ebb in his chest and arms as he sat down on one
of the tables and listened to the other men discuss all the dangers
that they still faced in Arabarb. The image of coming to the rescue
of his new family filled his heart with joy. And he knew it would
make his father and grandfather smile.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
!DSPAM:4deb86ca110085347918222!
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