❖ Chapter 31 ❖

“TIS COMING ALONG nicely,” remarked Lord Sethjermil, as he and Frankirwin surveyed the work being done on their part of the diversion: the fictitious war camp just on the other side of the Greater Grymetian River.

There was only one large land crossing that connected Rosverdar and Palzintine, the Prosapia Bridge. This bridge, located where three minor rivers met, was built atop the precipice of the towering waterfall known as the Two Sisters of Heaven. The three minor rivers merged into a wide area of thrashing rapids, which then spilled over into three massive plunging sheets of water into the Greater Grymetian. The first river, the smaller, but still substantial, Lesser Grymetian River, was a tumultuous tributary full of treacherous rapids that continued all the way to the falls. Next, was the slower-moving river sometimes called the river of royal sorrow because it flowed by the capital city of Palzin, the Cyning Lacrima River. The smallest, yet deepest, of the three rivers, was the icy-cold Apertine River. At the edge of the falls were two massive rock islands that caused the falling water to divide into three separate waterfalls. These two rock islands were known as the Two Sisters. Seen from below and in the mist created by the plunging water, the two sisters took on an almost heavenly quality as they stood their silent watch over the falls.

The Prosapia Bridge was actually three distinct stone, arch bridges, one span connecting Rosverdar to its nearest sister and the other span connecting Palzintine to the sister nearest to that kingdom. The third and longest span crossed the gap between the Two Sisters uniting these massive rock siblings in a bridge system. The narrow walkway of the Prosapia accommodated only one horse at a time, so the crossing of the bridge took the better part of the morning. The slow, heavily laden wagons of the Harbadells kept rumbling slowly along the narrow bridges, but kept getting stuck on the slippery, mist-covered rocks of the Two Sisters.

On the other side of the river, the decoy encampment was erected at the edge of a thick patch of forest and looked out at a large meadow that opened southward, offering a clear path for the enemy to see and reach this encampment. A thin, phony wooden fence surrounding the camp gave the appearance of a semi-permanent site. The idea was to keep the enemy’s efforts focused on this site as a real threat. Inside the wooden walls were pitched a scattering of real and counterfeit tents. These mock sleeping tents were actually nothing more than large woolen tarps painted in a multitude of colors and supported by thick branches making them appear authentic. Set in the rear of the wooden fence were large, easily opened wooden gates. There were also people working on the path behind the encampment that led into the forest, preparing an escape route.

Looking around, it felt strange to be back in Palzintine. Not as a loyal subject retuning home, but as an invader out for mischief. His home was not the welcoming place of his youth, but a hostile land, filled with enemies and evil magic. It did not feel the same. He hoped that by the end of all this, he would once again feel at home in this land.

“Yes, My Lord, it is,” replied Frankirwin. “The Harbadells army is taking shape as well.”

Frankirwin and Lord Sethjermil watched as several groups of Harbadell men and women labored over the construction of dozens and dozens of nearly life-size straw warriors. The ones that were fully assembled did actually look remarkably like real soldiers, thought Frankirwin. Even down to their silver mail and silver helmets.

“Where did they get such fine armor to outfit their straw men?” asked Lord Sethjermil, voicing the question on Frankirwin’s mind.

“Come, let us find out, My Lord,” replied Frankirwin, and the two of them went over to the nearest group of Harbadells.

The Harbadells sat close to each other in a circle and worked as an orderly team. Each person did their part in the construction, and they passed around pieces of work wordlessly. A young woman was stitching a crude tunic, while an older woman stitched together some trousers. Two men stuffed the clothes full of thick straw. A third older man was painting faces on round gourds to be used as heads. It seemed that everyone knew exactly what they were doing and exactly what the others needed and when. No one stopped when Frankirwin and his lord came up and stood there.

“Might I inquire as to where you found so much armor for your…soldiers?” asked Frankirwin, growing impatient by being ignored.

An older woman looked up and smiled.

“The armor is simple straw woven in a tight weave to appear as mail and helm,” she said.

“But it resembles the finest…”started Lord Sethjermil.

“Silver?” finished the woman. She then pointed to a nearby group of women who were weaving what looked like straw baskets and straw mats. “First, those women made the armor and helmets out of raw straw. Then, the fresh straw armor is soaked in river water and then partially dried to keep it from burning. And finally, those men over yonder…” She pointed over to the other side of her group to another collection of Harbadell men who were working around several large metal pots, which were simmering upon a giant cooking fire. “They quickly dip the moist straw armor into liquid mercury, and thus a suit of silver mail and a shining helm is made ready to fool most anyone’s eyes.”

“Indeed it does,” complimented Lord Sethjermil, shaking his head in approval.

“My Lord, the demonstration of our defenses is ready,” called someone from up on the long archers’ platform on the fence.

The platform was a three-foot wide catwalk that ran the entire length of the fence about four feet from the top edge of the fence and was held securely with support beams. Lying flat and out of sight on the top of the catwalk was a bank of about five straw soldiers in full mercury armor. Two men crouched next to the straw soldiers. One of them held a long trip lever in his hand. The five actual archers were standing up straight, facing the enemy with bows nocked and at the ready. Frankirwin looked up to see that the archer calling to them was Valerdwin.

“Archers, ready! Loose!” Shouted Valerdwin.

The five archers fired a quick volley into the air.

“Archers, swap!” Valerdwin then shouted and the five living archers stooped low upon the catwalk.

The squatting man then pulled hard on the large lever and the five straw soldiers flipped upwards into a standing pose on the fence. Each of the arms on the straw soldiers was positioned differently, giving them even more of a life-like appearance.

“Excellent,” said Lord Sethjermil. “Our straw friends will keep the enemy fooled for a time while we all slip out of the camp.”

Frankirwin watched as Valerdwin jumped down and walked over to join them.

“Credit goes to the Rosverdarian carpenter and blacksmith that provided the contraption to raise the straw militia,” said Valerdwin.

“And to the Harbadells for their fine armored soldiers,” added Frankirwin.

“Humph,” snorted Valerdwin at the mention of the Harbadells.

Lord Sethjermil glanced over at Frankirwin with a confused look.

“He be not much of an admirer of our farmer friends,” explained Frankirwin.

“Remember, Archer, they are our allies in this venture. This is their land too. And we all need each other,” said Lord Sethjermil.

“Yes, My Lord,” said Valerdwin reluctantly, like a child made to do an unpleasant chore.

❖ ❖ ❖

“The men are ready,” said Urdrilar, as he sat upon an antsy horse along side five other men.

“About time,” said Valerdwin, as he swung into into his saddle and made ready for the patrol.

Lord Sethjermil had ordered him to take a small unit of men out to ensure there were no spying eyes lurking about while the decoy camp was being fabricated. The men he chose were some of his best horseback archers. This way, as a mounted unit, they could cover a much wider area much more swiftly than any foot patrol. Besides, it would be a nice change to get away from all the drudgery of putting together the deception for a while, thought Valerdwin. He looked around the meadow. There were a few scattered clumps of forest here and there, ideal places for spies to hide and watch the progress.

“This way,” said Valerdwin, and he urged his horse into a fast trot with his men in tow.

The rest of the morning they spent working their way down the meadow searching each patch of trees and every thicket they encountered. Though the day started out chilly, the bright sun was now warming things up nicely, and they would have to stop soon for a noon meal. Now they reached the opposite end of the meadow where the forest began again. A wide path beckoned to him. They should probably work their way along it for a time to make sure it was free of enemies.

“I have been through here once about three years ago,” said Urdrilar. “Hunting in the woods. We never went into this meadow. If I am not mistaken, there is a small farm less than one turn of the glass’ march from here.”

“All right, we shall check it out,” said Valerdwin. “And eat there when we are sure it is secure.”

As they made their way along the wide path, Valerdwin would stop them and send two men down any side trails they happened upon. That made the going slower, but he was in no rush to get back to the camp. There were more Harbadells at the decoy camp than he had ever seen come to his small village to trade their fruits for wares. He had not thought there was that many of them in all of Palzintine. He wondered if other villages who dealt with these people had the same opinion of them as his village had. He had to admit to himself that he probably disliked the Harbadells more than anyone in his village or any other village for that matter. It was not just a matter of petty prejudice for him. It was personal. Could some of the people in his own village have actually tolerated or even liked them? He had never considered that thought, being consumed by his own frustration with the star fruit farmers.

On deeper into the forest he and his unit rode, when the soft crack of a tree branch breaking on the forest floor caught his attention. Instantly, Valerdwin drew an arrow from his hip quiver and nocked it in one fluid motion. He swung his bow to the left and trained it towards the sound of the crack, pulling back hard, ready to loose it. There, several yards from him standing in a patch of tall ferns was a fawn. The fawn regarded him for a moment, a twitching tail before it the leapt quickly away and disappeared into the forest. Valerdwin slowly released tension on his bowstring and replaced his arrow in his quiver.

“You let dinner go,” complain one of his men.

“I do not eat children,” replied Valerdwin.

Soon after his encounter with the fawn, he and his men came to a small open meadow with some buildings at its center. They all dismounted and kept their horses out of sight. There was no movement at any of the buildings. But then, Urdrilar pointed over to the edge of the forest to the right. Valerdwin saw movement. There were two riders dismounting. He focused harder, and he saw that the riders were taking wicker baskets and walking to a thicket.

“They are…picking berries?” said one of his men.

“Do they live here?” asked Urdrilar.

“No. The house is close enough to simply walk over there,” said Valerdwin. There was something familiar about one of them. Both figures had heavy hoods pulled over their heads. One of them pulled down the hood. It was her again!

“Harbadells!” spat Valerdwin. “What are they doing here!”

He and his men stood and got ready to move in for a closer inspection of the farm buildings.

“Wait. Everyone back down,” whispered Urdrilar urgently. This time he was pointing to the left.

Valerdwin saw three dark figures on horseback creeping out of the protective cover of the forest and toward the unaware Harbadells. The newcomers then drew swords, and under their cloaks, Valerdwin caught glimpses of chain armor.

“They be women. We have to save them,” said one of his men.

Valerdwin did not answer, but just watched the progress of the newcomers as they crept closer and closer to their Harbadell prey. He suddenly felt as if everyone was looking at him, and when he turned around, he saw that all his men were glaring at him.

“All right, all right, mount up,” relented Valerdwin.

He led his men quietly towards the impending confrontation between the newcomers and the Harbadells. He wanted not to alert this unknown enemy until he and his patrol were closer. He began to quicken the pace when he saw the strangers break into a gallop. The Harbadells had dropped their baskets and were scrambling towards their own mounts. Valerdwin realized that he was not going to make it there in time. He kicked his mount into a full gallop and drew one of his arrows and nocked it. He was still not close enough. Valerdwin watched as the strangers cut off the Harbadells from reaching their mounts. The three of them surrounded the two helpless women. One man jumped down and grabbed one of the women. There was a struggle. It was…it was…her! No!

“Get away from them, dog!” hollered Valerdwin as loud as he could.

That got the three strangers’ attention, and the man pushed down the woman and drew his sword. One of the other men drew his own bow and trained his arrow right at Valerdwin. But suddenly the enemy bowman dropped his bow. Valerdwin realized that she had thrown a rock and hit the bowman, causing him to lose his grip upon his bow. The man with the sword grabbed the woman and held his blade to her throat. He grinned triumphantly. Valerdwin was unsure what to do next. If she could only get loose for a moment, he could…then, she did just that, as if she had read his very thoughts. The woman kicked the swordsman hard in the shins, and he released his grip on her momentarily. That was all the opening Valerdwin needed, and he let loose his arrow. It sailed across the distance in a blink of an eye and landed square in the chest of the swordsman. He looked down at his chest in surprise and collapsed. The other two enemy riders turned their mounts in an effort to escape.

“Do not let them get away,” Valerdwin called back to his men. But as he was turning to chase the escaping strangers, he saw her glaring at him as if he had done something terribly wrong.

“Stop it! Do not kill them!” she screamed at him.

Was she crazy? He ignored her and went after the escaping enemy. He saw arrows from his men soar over his head and rain down upon the enemy. Another man fell, face first, with two arrows lodged deep in his back. The last stranger fell off his horse and ran into one of the barn buildings. But as he and his men reached the building, they found that the two Harbadell women had rushed over and were standing before Valerdwin and his men barring their way.

“No more killing, you brutes,” she scolded them.

“Us?” said Valerdwin, incredulously. “They were about to rob you of your virtues. And we just saved—”

“Killing is not justified for…any reason,” was her reply.

Valerdwin and his men stopped before the stubborn women. He looked at his men to see if they felt the same way as he did. And they did.

“We must kill him. He will put everyone in jeopardy. Even your people,” said Valerdwin. Surely, she could not argue with that and let him and his men do their job.

“It matters not. There are other ways,” she insisted.

Valerdwin covered his face with his hands, “Harbadells! Why me?”

“We could burn him out,” suggested Urdrilar.

“Perfect. Tar arrows, ready,” said Valerdwin. With arrows, they could bypass these fanatical women and bring this to an end. “Surround the building.”

His men quickly stationed themselves all around the building to be sure they could spot the fugitive enemy when he attempted to escape the burning building. All his men were in position.

“Light!” hollered Valerdwin, as he and his men lit the tar-soaked rags that were wrapped around these special arrows with their flint and strikers. “Loose!”

The flaming arrows jumped into the air and fell upon the thatched roof of the building. Without delay, the dry thatch of the roof began to burn. The fire spread quickly and there was an unusually large amount of smoke. In a short time, the enemy stranger stumbled out of the burning barn building. But just as quickly, the women surrounded the choking man like a protective shield against Valerdwin and his men’s arrows.

“Blasted!” cussed Valerdwin as he jumped down from his mount and walked over to the women. “Why are you protecting this agent of our enemy?”

Valerdwin noticed for the first time that the other woman was older, but she took her lead from the one whom he had knocked over back in the staging area in Rosverdar.

“You may take him prisoner, Archer,” said the younger Harbadell woman. “But you may not kill him.”

He looked from the determined, yet pretty, face of the woman, to the man cowering on the ground. The man still coughed from the smoke of the burning building. The archer captain saw that the man was wondering if these were his last breaths.

“It be Valerdwin,” he said.

“What?” She replied.

“My name,” he explained.

“Well, then Valerdwin. What say you? Will you spare your enemy?” said the woman. Her eyes seemed to be searching his in an effort to judge him.

“I shall do better,” said Valerdwin. “I shall let him go.”

Everyone looked at Valerdwin in surprise, including the enemy soldier. The woman stared at him and he could see that she did not fully believe him.

“You would free your enemy?” She asked, suspicious of his motives.

“Our enemy. And yes, I will. I swear it by the Heavenly Father’s Sacredist Heart,” replied Valerdwin and he placed his hand on his heart, as was the custom in Palzintine for one to give their word. “But there is a condition.”

“A condition, archer?” said the woman suspiciously.

“You know he cannot go back with us. And nothing is ready yet. So I will let him go when the time is right, on my honor,” said Valerdwin. “But until then, he will stay here. And it will be you and your Harbadells who will feed and take care of him and my guards.”

What was he doing? Lord Sethjermil might have him flogged for this. Not killing an enemy spy. All this for a pretty face. And a Harbadell one at that.

“Done,” was all she said.

“Urdrilar, tie him up in one of the buildings and post three men here,” said Valerdwin.

“But, Captain, what if others arrive looking for him?” asked Urdrilar.

“No one will come for me,” assured the prisoner. “And if they did it would take them at least a weeks’ time.”

“Why should we believe him?” asked one of his men.

“It makes sense,” said Valerdwin. “He and his friends are considered an autonomous patrol which is probably not expected to report for weeks, even months.”

“Not my friends,” spat the prisoner, which made everyone glance over at the man, puzzled by his dismissal of his comrades-at-arms.

“No matter, you are our prisoner for now,” replied Valerdwin. “Secure him in the farm house.”

The prisoner was led away by Urdrilar and the other men as Valerdwin remained with the Harbadell women.

“Thank thee…Valerdwin,” said the woman. The older woman just nodded to him.

“You know my name. What be yours?” asked Valerdwin.

“Why would you wish to know the name of a filthy farm girl?” was her reply, but there was no malice in her voice.

“I can make an exception,” said Valerdwin.

“Maybe the Infinite Spirit might someday thaw your hardened heart, Captain,” said the woman, as she and the older Harbadell woman turned to leave.

Valerdwin watched them walk back towards their horses. Even under her heavy cloak, he was aware of the sway of her slender body.

“Keshvillana,” the younger woman called out without turning around.

Keshvillana. Sort of a pretty sounding name…for a Harbadell, thought Valerdwin.