Avarice Secret Unquiet Ch 38

Fight or Flight

The two muscular brothers sat close together by the pervading warmth of the smithy's furnace. It was an enduring blaze that never went out, no matter the weather. Tonight though the smith was absent. It was just Sven and Aran who sat near the forge on some rudimentary three-legged stools constructed from rough-hewn wood. The brothers had been conversing, finding a few snatched treasures of quiet time before the hectic rush of combat. Aran was carefully choosing his words this evening, he could all but feel Sven's pain. He knew the big man had poured all his love into his only son. Eirik was his brother's singular hope for a better future. Aran was unsure just how the boy's loss would affect his elder sibling, but despite that, it felt good even on the cusp of unknown violence to just talk and be family again.

"Imagine what we might have been doing if all this shit had never happened," Aran said whimsically. Hoping to lift his brother's spirits.

"I'd be pulling a good pension and be comfortable," Sven replied his tone flat.

Aran watched the dark expression wash over his elder brother's face for just a moment, and he realized that perhaps his words had been foolish, as he knew Sven was thinking of family and home. He had expected silence from this point but was surprised when Sven suddenly added with an inflection of mirth. "I damn well don't know what you would be doing though."

Aran chuckled lightly, his mouth curled in a lop-sided grin. "Time, probably."

"Too right you savage, since the war I think you have broken every law written."

"It was you that trained me," Aran lightly punched his brother affectionately on his meaty shoulder.

The tension didn't leave Sven though. Abruptly the soldier leaned forward, his significant weight dangerously creaking the small furnishing beneath him. He announced in a hush as to not be overheard by any chance passerby. "You know, these farmers don't stand a chance defending this place, yet I don't think they are truly aware of what's coming for them."

Aran nodded, he shared his brother's sentiment his expression grim. Though he didn't want what his brother said to be true. Yet an inalienable truth it was. The two sides would engage and the toll would be unspeakably high. He had decided regardless that he would stay and fight for this patch of earth fiercely. A place where he didn't have to bear the stigma of what had been done to him down south. If Aran had learned anything, freedom, and equality were worth fighting and dying for. His lively green eyes engaged the storm-gray gaze of his elder sibling. He could see the distressed concern that lay there. These were not Sven's people, and yet as always, Sven cared even though he grieved.

To further embellish his point, Sven gestured broadly at the stout wooden palisade walls that had been raised up about the township. "Would they have kept us out?"

Aran considered his brother's question for a few moments before answering. "Perhaps, for a little while, but not likely." Even he didn't like his honest answer.

Sven's reply came suddenly, not so hushed as before, but hot and passionate. "And our weapons and force though skilled were rudimentary compared to Lothar's. Their leaders may have betrayed me but I cannot do the same. It will be a slaughter! I cannot allow this to happen!" The large warrior rose abruptly, and Aran watched the old soldier walk with a purposeful stride toward Stephan's home. He shook his shaggy golden head and decided to seek out Maya and her charms. His brother had put a thought into his mind that even he was uncomfortable with.

*****

Darkness was fast descending over the green valley. The setting red orb cast its glorious cadmium reflection on the glassy surface of the river as the stars winked into life one by one. The household was readying for the hours of rest. Stephan could hear the comforting sounds of the house staff clearing away the leavings of dinner, and lighting lamps and candles. It had been a fine meal, but it was to Stephan the company and the camaraderie that made it so special.

To have his family, well most of them...

His pale eyes flitted toward the window and his daughter's lovely monument that stood there bathed in deep shadow. He felt the trace of tears mist his eyes as he tore his vision away. He didn't wish this fine moment to be mired in sadness.

He was not alone this evening in the library. Renard sat in the other matching wing chair, he too was looking beyond the window. His father did not have to guess where his son's eyes and thoughts lay. At the far off twinkling fires in the enemy encampment no doubt. However, tonight he would not speak of it. He would enjoy the wine as the brandy had been all drunk a long time ago, and his dear son's company.

He forced a smile to cover his burgeoning sadness and hoped that his son hadn't noticed as he took a deep taste from his wineglass. It was a good vintage. A red, the grapes thrived here in the hot summer conditions. Harvested plump and full of sugar and made the best fine-bodied vintages. Sure, they had white wines too, but the reds were his personal favorite.

As he was about to sit he was interrupted by one of the house staff, the young man looked hesitant.

"Sven to see you, Sir..."

Stephan paused momentarily, but as a man used to impromptu audiences, he answered with his usual relaxed candor. "Thank you Jordan, please see him in."

Renard looked at his Father surprised, but he did not break the silence. Sensing that this was rather a surprise even to the old man who mostly seemed to know everything that was happening in his compound.

Sven's huge frame filled the doorway, menacing. One could not be in the presence of this scarred soldier and not feel all the horror and pain of war. His presence this night was a weighty reminder of violence that Stephan did not need. Yet he did not falter, offering his unexpected guest a seat and some wine.

Sven sat, the chair though well made creaked in protest beneath him. Renard tried to stifle the unease he was clearly projecting as he shifted in his seat, and once more attempted to concentrate on his wine.

"My sincerest condolences," Stephan said quietly, and with great feeling. He knew what it was to bury a child.

The man had only just interred his son, the grief must be raw. The less he said the better.

Sven nodded and drank half of his glass, his troubling gaze did not leave the old man.

Stephan had much difficulty meeting Sven's cold eyes, but he did so as he was the leader, and anything that must be said however troubling he would handle as he always had. He was well aware that not so long ago this man had been his enemy. He had openly betrayed Sven, leading to much suffering he assumed. It was a credit to the grizzled and scarred warrior who sat before him that he was even here to make this address. Stephan was sure that it had not been easy to escape Lothar's compound.

"How much do you know of Lothar's battlefield abilities.' Sven broke right into the meat of what he wished to say. Well aware of Renard's bourbon eyes on him.

"Well," the usually articulate Stephan stumbled with his reply caught off guard. He had thought Sven's unexpected appearance here in his library was in regard to the funeral of little Eirik held earlier that day. "Not a great deal I confess...." He stuttered.

"I am well aware he will easily outgun us," Renard replied to save his befuddled father.

"Yes he will," Sven replied with an icy seriousness. "Those walls you have built they won't keep him out. Perhaps they will buy you a little time but..."

"We have many more men than he does." Stephan countered rather weakly.

Sven gazed critically at the elderly man before he continued speaking. He wondered whose idea it had been to pull the double-cross? The father... or the son's? Committing many of his companions to death, and he and his fellow survivors to Lothar's hell. Regardless, even through his raw grief, he had to talk them out of the offensive they were preparing to throw their lives away on. There were so many innocents in this village. To stand and fight would condemn them all. So he let the two men have the facts as he knew them. Brutal that they were. "Your single-shot rifles and shotguns will be no match for Lothar's military-grade weapons, they fire several hundred rounds per minute you realize. Those alone could kill most of your fighting men in the opening skirmish."

Stephan was no military man. Until the war, he had never even held a gun, let alone fired one. He had never considered this new and frightening reality. He did not know how to reply. His mouth felt dry as he reached for his glass. His fingertips felt unusually cold.

But Sven was relentless in his dire assessment of the possibilities. "If you think that sounds bad, he has grenades, and unlike we had, Lothar has a good supply. Not just a few for show. I imagine he has flamethrower backpacks, and artillery or cannon..."

"But the scouts have reported seeing nothing as you describe, and I'm sure the attack destroye..." Renard interjected. Trying to railroad Sven's gloom and doom argument before it paralyzed them all.

Sven cut him off sharply. "Look I have been in that fortress. They have all the modern conveniences you can imagine. Warehouses stocked with every conceivable supply and weapon. Just because your scouts can't see cannon doesn't mean he does not have weapons with the capability. I bet he has mortars, and if they concentrate their fire on that wall it will not hold." Sven saw the effect his words were having on the old man and his son. Stephan's face became a pale shade of ashen white. Little did he know Sven was breathing life into every quiet fear that the elderly leader already possessed.

Renard didn't know what to make of the exchange. He knew that what Sven was telling them was indeed a strong possibility. But why was he here? Simply to undermine their morale, or was it something more. They had betrayed him after all. The warrior owed them no allegiance.

"Look, that river is subsiding fast, you may only have forty-eight hours at best. Sometimes the best strategy isn't to stand and fight. Sometimes one has to flee." Sven could hardly believe he was saying this, he was always one to stand his ground.

"But how...how can we flee? Where would we go? This is our life... our home, everything we have ever worked for..." Renard stuttered. He could hardly believe he had finally come home to face...this...

But Sven's stark words were relentless. "He will slaughter you where you stand, and those that survive will live as slaves. That isn't the life you wish for your people, is it?"

Stephan withered under the fierce man's scrutiny and words.

"There's a sizable city now in the south. My brother has been there, and so have the musician and his friends. Ask them, they could guide you safely to it."

"But it's almost summer...we would die of thirst surely. A vast convoy of people...women, children, the elderly...we would move too slow."

"The most experienced fighters will stay, to try and even the odds, to buy you all time to escape."

"I...I do not know." Stephan felt an acute indecisiveness slam him. Sven's bleak but honest summary had flustered the old man's mantle of leadership completely. Worse still was the raging turmoil he now felt inside. It had been unleashed and he would be unable to re-cage it. Stephan would have to change his entire rhetoric before his people, from one of positive defiance to that of running with their tails between their legs. Yet it was a comfort that Sven had spoken the words out loud that Stephan had held long within. He had foolishly allowed himself to think that perhaps there was a glimmer of hope for a victory. He felt like a doddering old fool.

Sven stood, he was tall in the room, imposing. "At least think on it, it's the best chance your people have." He placed his empty wineglass down with a deliberateness on the writing desk.

There he had said it, he had made his peace. The rest was up to them.

*****

Early the following morning an urgent council was called. The river had again dropped by six inches from the proceeding day. It would not be long until the Wolf Lord made his first move.

Many individuals were invited into the large feasting hall. Every head of each household was present, as was everyone with an important wartime position. There was standing room only, and many more were crowded outside in the hope of overhearing the news or being among the first to be told the news after the meeting's conclusion.

As the first of the sun's rays began to slope through the long rectangular windows Stephan stood, his hair and beard snow white in the throng of concerned faces that crowded about him. He cleared his throat and began. "My friends, it is with a heavy heart that I have called this meeting. As you are all well aware the river is swiftly subsiding. We may have as little as forty-eight hours left before we will engage with the enemy."

There was a loud hubbub of noise as their leader made his opening remarks. Many were plainly excited about this war, yet they were untested at best. Never having tasted blood on the battlefield. Sven watched them, the clean-faced boys playing at soldier. All eager for this conflict, and he remembered half a lifetime ago he too was one such boy standing proud in his uniform shouldering his fancy rife. Now he was older and wiser, he knew the horrors of war intimately. Today if it was at all possible he would mitigate them as best he could.

Stephan continued to address his people. "I know you have all worked so very hard on this war effort. We have done the impossible, so this latest news may not be so well received..."

Voices in the crowd were again raised uncertainly. Stephan tapped his gnarled cane on the floor tiles for order and as the cacophony of frightened whispers died down he continued. "I do not intend to do the speaking today. I would instead like this man to explain the situation to you all..." He gestured to Sven who made his way forward to stand by Stephan's side dwarfing him.

Aran smirked at his brother's entrance and felt an inner happiness that warmed him. Even after little Eirik's untimely passing his brother had almost instantly found renewed purpose as a leader of men. Of that he was glad.

Sven spoke candidly, firstly introducing himself and speaking of his professional military career and wartime experiences. Well aware that Stephan's people did not trust him. He then went on to describe the enemy, informing the citizens of what was possibly coming for them. Countering their questions and sometimes rabid arguments with undeniable logic. Letting them know with certainty that they would essentially be outgunned and outmaneuvered, and if they stood their ground as they had planned it would be a slaughter.

There were some that initially attempted to argue, full of bravado and bluster. Many though were openly afraid, and they remained silent. There were even fewer that stood with arms crossed over their chests and nodded knowingly at the old soldier's points. However, by the conclusion of that troubled meeting, there was not one soul present who did not realize the terrible situation that was possibly only a few hours distant. Their plans of many long months were now in complete disarray and must be hastily remade.

Stephan again addressed the meeting, doing his best to be reassuring. He had now regained his former calm composure and returned to take the reigns of leadership. His people needed his guidance as they had never needed it before. Many were talking again, and the elderly leader tapped his cane for silence. Slowly they quieted. "I would now like to introduce your guide south Mr Jhary Brannon."

Jhary stepped through the crowd and took his place on the podium. Fortunately, he was used to many eyes on him, he relished it even. If only it had been under better circumstances. "Thank you all," he said. "As Stephan has told you I am to be your guide south. I have frequently traveled the desert and know where most things are." Jhary could already tell that he wasn't what they were expecting, undaunted he continued even over the din. "There truly is a very large settlement that has been rebuilt in the south. Some of you may know of it, it used to be called Murray Bridge before the war."

Jhary clearly heard the dreaded words 'ground zero' spoken. But he continued. "It is now a sizable and thriving city where I am sure all of you could make a new life. It has farms and craftsmen and much that will be familiar." He felt some guilt at that moment as he really didn't know what would happen when a column of refugees from the desert tried to gain entry. He also omitted that there was legal slavery there. He didn't mean to deceive, but these people if they wished to live didn't have much alternative. So he added his next statement to further ease his sense of guilt. "There are also many smaller settlements along the way where some of you may wish to begin anew." He felt like he was trying to sell outdated encyclopedias with the reception his speech was getting from the crowd.

After Jhary was finished Stephan again took the floor. "Thank you, Mr Brannon. We will leave after sunset is that clear." The elderly leader gazed at the distraught faces in the crowd, they had gone in a moment from dreaming of a decisive victory to staring at defeat. Fleeing like wounded animals. "One more point I would like to make before we organize our departure. It will be most important that we all travel as lightly as possible and only bring the essentials. The elderly, infirm, and small children shall ride in the carts. We must ensure we bring as much water and food as we can carry. There is some to be found along the way according to our guide, but it pays to be cautious."

There was movement in the crowd, someone was coming through the press of listeners. The front row parted and Bryn Frazer strode out from the gathering. "May I have a word to these kind folk?" Stephan nodded and the black-bearded Bryn began to speak in his deep baritone. "Fear not good people, I have fought this treacherous enemy before. Ye be doin the right thing by yer leavin. That bein said myself and my band of warriors will pledge ourselves to stay till the last to buy ye all time." As he said this Bryn's men let out a loud whoop of delight. The crowd looked about them to see many in the gathering saluting their leader. Bryn made a bow to the crowd and again let Stephan conclude the meeting.

"Thank you Bryn and your brave men, you have our heartfelt thank you. Now please everyone hurry, we need to be gone from here by sunset."

*****

Maya sat on the floor surrounded by her plethora of colorful sewing supplies that Raissa and Lucy had kindly retrieved from David's home. She was grateful, as she still had not finished that promised wedding dress. Although she was a carefree spirit rarely noticing or adhering to timelines. She prided herself on the fact that when she had promised something she delivered.

There were many well-made furnishings in this home, however, Maya was used to their absence in her life. Growing up her father had crafted some rudimentary wooden furniture for the hut they had lived in. She could still remember her childhood home in every minute detail. From the hard-packed earth floor that her mother would sweep with a broom made of brush each day. To the small square table with the two chairs that her parents occupied. All the small children would sit cross-legged on the floors even in her friend's homes. That was simply how things were done. So here today she still had floor sitting as a habit.

She then recalled the most significant structure in the small building. The stone hearth and the fireplace, the center of every home. Her mind drifted then to that morning, the morning her life was forever changed. She could still remember that after the fire, the stone hearths and chimneys marked each of her village's homes like blackened gravestones.