The Chronicles: Notomol Ch. 02

I offered to help Motekin, several times, but it only seemed to irritate our limping companion.

The brothers were both competent woodsmen. They could scout ahead, or watch our back-trail. They didn't ask unnecessary questions, and they didn't complain.

Two days after Dusova, we came across two bodies. They appeared to be Hvadi. The first was lying face-down, with a gaping wound in his back.

- "Spear-thrust?" guessed Cinna.

The second had been struck by a sword, from above. His face had been cleft in half.

Given that there were Izumyrians about - and this close to the edge of the woods, at that - we pulled a little deeper into the cover of the trees.

We covered a lot less ground, inside the forest. It was darker, too. I was beginning to think of picking a good campsite for the night when we were challenged.

- "Stand!" cried a voice. "Friend, or foe?"

I reacted instinctively, spinning to the side, and putting a thick tree between the source of the voice and me. My bow was off my shoulder, and I had an arrow nocked a moment later. The brothers had done the same.

Motekin limped into cover. I couldn't see Notomol.

- "Identify yourselves!"

Whoever it was that was yelling at us was doing so in Hvadi. Did Izumyrians speak Hvadi? I didn't think so. Still, how stupid was it to yell 'Friend or foe'? Who in their right mind was going to answer 'Foe'?

Shouting at us merely put us on our guard. If we were enemies, we could simply retreat. Or, if we had superior numbers, our prey had just told us exactly where they were.

Notomol called out. "We're Hvadi. Guardsmen, with a wounded companion."

There was a pause. Then the same voice shouted "Step out where we can see you!"

Half an hour later, we had Motekin comfortably settled, next to three other wounded Hvadi warriors. One of them looked like he wasn't going to live through the night.

There were eleven of them - fugitives from a great battle against the Izumyrians. They were happy to see us - for the added security our bows provided, and for the opportunity to tell their tale.

Meino was a dark-bearded sergeant in the Duke's levy, with a slightly inflated sense of his own importance. Doreg was a younger man, with long brown hair, and a nasty cut that stretched from his bottom lip to the edge of his chin.

- "They was farther along than we thought, the Iz'myrians." said Meino. "Our scouts reported enemy troops in the Gut -"

- "A narrow pass between the forest and the hills." said Doreg. "The most direct route to Hvad town."

- "Right." said Meino. He didn't seem to appreciate the interruption. "So our precious scouts neglected to mention that the enemy they'd seen were infantry. That's 'cause the Iz'myrian cavalry was already through the pass - they were behind us."

"When they did attack, we were done. Trapped between two forces. They had the numbers, too. Only half the men from Mahuc ever turned up, and those fuckers from Stonje never showed at all."

"When the heavy cavalry hit us in the flank and the rear ... well, we didn't stand a chance ..."

- "Bad?"

- "I've been in fights, before now." said Meino. "This was a slaughter. Lambs to the shearin'."

- "The Duke is probably dead." said Doreg. "Along with most of his druzhina. They didn't run."

- "Nowhere to run." said Meino.

- "Any attempt to form up - any group of three or four - drew an immediate charge. They knew their business."

- "Professional soldiers." said Notomol.

- "Exactly." said Doreg.

- "Never had a prayer." said Meino. "Not a bloody hope. We tried, mind you. Nobody can say we didn't try. But after a while, there wasn't nothin' for it but to find a way out. Lots of our folk didn't make it."

- "What will you do now?"

Meino snorted. "Lie low, for one. Those horsemen'll be all over the damn place. When they've moved on, and things have quieted down ... then I'm off for home - the long way 'round. Eh, Doreg?"

- "Come with us." said Notomol.

Doreg's head snapped up. He looked at Notomol - perhaps he was wondering if my our leader was mad.

- "Come where?" said Meino. "What are you on about?"

- "We're going to fight the Izumyrians." said Notomol.

- "What for?" said Meino. "To let those horsemen have another crack at us? Not likely." He hawked and spat in the fire.

- "What are you going to do?" asked Doreg.

- "Whatever can be done."

- "But there's no army left."

- "That's fine." said Notomol. "Even if there was one, we wouldn't join it. I don't know how you feel about it, but I don't want to put myself under someone else's orders ever again."

"The Hospodar chose me. I had no say in the matter. Then our Captain did his best to get many of us killed. I don't want to give him - or someone like him - a chance to do it to us again."

"We're going to fight the Izumyrians, but it'll be at a place and time of our own choosing."

***

Two of the men disappeared during the night. They probably thought they would attract less attention on their own.

After last night's conversation, Meino steered clear of us. Doreg, though, sat with us as we broke our fast.

- "What happened with the Guardsmen?" he asked. "How was your friend wounded?"

Notomol told him about the Izumyrians crossing, and the fight at the ferry. Measured against the Battle of the Gut, it seemed almost insignificant.

But then he related what had happened at Dusova. Doreg was stunned.

- "All of them? Every last one?"

- "Except for Cinna and Cirola, here."

Doreg looked them in the eye, and touched his chest.

- "I'm sorry." he said.

- "Thank you." said Cinna.

- "You see why I have to go home, Notomol?" said Doreg. "I have to find out if my own kin are taken care of."

- "Understood. I'm doing the same thing. But once my mother and sister are safe, there may be some things we can do."

- "What will you do? Five men ...?"

- "We won't fight in the open - that's for certain. Even if we had 500 ... it's what the Izumyrians want us to do, where they can bring their numbers and their cavalry to bear. We have to stop meeting them on their terms."

Doreg nodded. I suspected that Notomol wasn't just speaking to him, but to the brothers, to Motekin and to me.

"We can take the fight to them. Harry them, ambush ... catch them when they're alone, or in small groups. If we can kill enough Izumyrians, perhaps we can teach them that they don't belong here ... and that they won't be safe as long as they remain."

- "You still think we can win?"

- "It doesn't matter if we win. We simply can't allow them to get away with what they did at Dusova. And we have to prevent it from happening elsewhere."

- "Five men ..." repeated Doreg.

- "Someone has to start." said Notomol. "Others may join us."

- "I hope they do." he said. "Who knows? If my folk are safe, we may meet again." Then he turned to Motekin. "I know you're from Hvad town. There are three of us headed that way. We're going to leave tomorrow. You're welcome to join us, if you want."

Motekin shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm going where Notomol goes."

- "Fair enough."

- "Although -" Motekin reached for his oilskin. "There is something you could do for me - for us - when you're back in town."

- "What's that?"

Motekin held out a piece of parchment.

- "Hand this to someone who can read. Ask them to pass it to someone who can write. If they can make a copy, or copies ..."

- "What is it?"

- "The story of what happened to Dusova."

Doreg took it from his hand.

- "I will." he said. "Another way to fight, isn't it?" Doreg stood up. "I wish you luck. And I hope to hear of your doings."

- "Are you sure, Motekin?" asked Notomol. "No one would think any the less of you if you went home."

- "There's nothing for me to go back to." he said. "I want to go with you. I know I'm not the greatest fighter, but I can be of use."

Notomol turned to me. "There's no need for you to stay with us, Kolasovets. Cinna and Cirola have no home, now - but you do. Your family may need you."

I swallowed. I was fighting back tears.

- "Don't make me leave." I said. "I know what we're meant to do. I know what I'm meant to do."

Five men.

***

Journal Entry #8, Late Summer, 937

We have a purpose. We have a leader. As my uncle would have put it, Notomol "knows what he's about".

We pause frequently, as we travel. Notomol seems to be studying the lay of the land, recording places to camp in future, based on the locations of streams and such things. But he is also memorizing promising sites for an ambush. The two foresters, Cynna and Cyrola, frequently confer with him on such subjects.

The brothers have not said much, since Dusova. It may be that they were already men of few words before the destruction of their home, and the massacre of their family.

Kolasovets, on the other hand, begins to grate on my nerves. He has attached himself to me, despite my cool reception and unsubtle hints. For some reason, he considers us to be the best of friends. He prattles on about the most innocuous details, be they wild flowers or oddly-shaped hillocks.

He seems to be labouring under some sort of delusion that this mighty war is some kind of grand entertainment staged entirely for his benefit.

I remain both curious and optimistic, though, to see where Notomol will lead us.

***

It must have been odd for Notomol. He didn't want to put himself under anyone else's authority. He didn't want anyone to hold that kind of power over us. Yet we all looked to him to be our leader. We let him - no, we expected him to make decisions for us.

Where to stop for the night. Which direction to set out in the morning. We had confidence that he knew the answers - that Notomol had a plan. Even if he didn't, we trusted that he was capable of dealing with every possible eventuality.

Notomol tried letting one of us take the lead.

- "You know the lay of the land better'n any of us." said Cinna.

- "We're barely in Stonje."

- "Still. You have the gift. You know when and where to fight - and when not to. We trust your instincts."

He should have known better, really. Who else could lead? Motekin? Me? Cirola never spoke. Cinna was the only other possibility, and he was the first to turn to Notomol for direction.

We were crossing open land, heading directly northeast - towards Stonje. It would have been safer to stay on the edge of the forest, but the tree line veered away to the southwest, which would have taken us many leagues out of our way.

We all heard it at the same time: the drumming of hooves. A single rider. There was no cover that we could all reach. If we scattered and ran, Motekin, at least, would be left out in the open.

- "Bows!" Notomol pulled off his bow, and drew an arrow. The brothers and I copied him.

When that rider came over the slight rise, he saw us waiting for him. It wasn't a pony - this was an Izumyrian horse. He yanked on the reins, trying to stop his mount. All that did was to expose the beast's neck and chest to our arrows, as we all loosed at once.

Two of us hit. The horse stumbled, and then fell, pitching the rider over its head.

The horse was critically injured. Cinna rushed forward, to put the animal out of its misery with his long knife.

The rider's neck was broken.

He had a small handful of coins in his purse. More interestingly, though, he carried an oilskin pouch, akin to the one Motekin used. I passed it to our clerk.

- "It's a message." he said.

- "Can you read it?" I asked.

- "It's in Izumyrian." said Motekin, sounding annoyed.

Cinna and Cirola began to gralloch[2] the horse. We weren't in the habit of eating horse meat, but it would have been foolish to ignore a gift like this.

Motekin was still struggling, as he tried to read the Izumyrian letter.

- "Any luck?" asked Notomol.

- "Their writing is none so different. The alphabet is the same, at least. But I don't recognize many words. This message is addressed to a commander, or to a General, named Seaglitz. I have no idea what else it says."

- "Keep it."

The brothers cut 50 or 60 pounds of meat from the fallen horse. We had to leave the rest behind.

We also left the rider's body, exactly where it had fallen.

***

The primary colours of Stonje are grey and green. Bare rock and trees. There is quite a bit of rain, so that low-lying areas are very wet: ponds and bogs are easy to find. It's poor land for farming, but quite good for hunters and trappers.

That, Notomol explained to us, was how he planned to approach fighting the Izumyrians: like a hunter.

First, we would learn the enemy's habits, so that we could track them. Stealth and silence would be our allies, so that they would never know when we were near.

Second, we would need patience. You can't chase a deer through the forest - better to wait until it comes to the pond for water.

Finally, we would work as a team. Sometimes, you can drive the prey to the location you want, even if it's somewhere the animal normally wouldn't go.

Before any of that, though, he had to make certain that his family were safe.

- "I'm sorry that we can't do the same for your families." he said, to Motekin and me.

- "It makes more sense to be here." I said.

- "No great loss." said Motekin.

***

Journal Entry #10, Early Autumn, 937

We encountered another Izumyrian rider, alone - just like the first. Once again, we shot at the horse. This time, however, we also struck the rider, killing him.

I am not at all certain how I feel about the taste of horse meat.

We learned that Izumyrians were already in Stonje. The Ban and his men had been late to the Battle of the Gut, and then had turned around and marched home. Izumyrian cavalry arrived within the week, and they 'escorted' the Ban to Hvad town, to meet with the leader (or leaders) of the conquering army.

The Izumyrians occupied the Ban's steading with a considerable force. Some say over 100 - others put their numbers closer to 200.

I say 'we', but of course it was Notomol alone who gathered this information. Any one of the rest of us would be recognized as an outsider the moment we opened our mouth. I didn't know that the people of Stonje were so clannish, or so insular, but apparently they are.

We lingered for almost two days near the Ban's steading. This was where Notomol gleaned most of our information, but it also led to a chance encounter and a curious debate.

We had just decided to leave the environs of the Ban's steading, and make for Notomol's home, when we ran into three Izumyrian soldiers with a Hvadi pony, leading a small cart.

They were more surprised, though, and slower to react. Notomol felled one with a well-placed arrow, while the brothers succeeded in wounding a second in the shoulder. The third soldier turned to flee, but tripped and fell. Cyrola was on him a moment later with his long knife, and slit the fellow's throat.

We now had a pony, a cart ( which turned out to be loaded with provisions), and a problem. The second soldier was only wounded. Cynna was prepared to solve that problem with a knife, but Notomol stopped him.

- "We're not murderers." he said.

- "They murdered everyone I know." said Cynna.

- "I know." said Notomol. "But we're not like them."

We took the pony, and as much of the food as we could carry - plus the wounded (and by now terrified Izumyrian). Notomol led us into the woods.

That is when our debate began.

The brothers were plainly in favour of executing our prisoner. I sided with them. What is the purpose of war if you don't slay your enemies? Kolasovets took no position - no doubt waiting for Notomol to tell him what to think.

Notomol insisted that there were things we must not do, torture, rape, and murder among them. These acts would make us no better than the Izumyrians.

But he also had a more practical argument: if we garnered a reputation for killing prisoners, then no Izumyrian would ever surrender to us in future. They would fight to the death, knowing that this was their eventual fate in any case.

Some of our enemies, he suggested, might be just like us: unwilling conscripts, forced to fight for their masters.

Such is the force of Notomol's personality, that he almost immediately convinced the brothers to change their minds. That done, he asked me to speak to the prisoner, using the few Izumyrian words at my disposal.

- "You live. But tell others: we come for you."

At least, that was what I think I said.

Notomol then severed the man's big toe on his left foot - bound the wound - and released him.

We would be long gone before this fellow hobbled back to the Ban's steading. He would also have a difficult time fighting against us in future. Perhaps Notomol was not so soft after all.

***

I asked Notomol why he had cut off the Izumyrian's toe.

- "My grandfather - according to my father - had too much to drink one day. While cutting wood, he managed to chop off his own toe. After that, he was never able to walk properly. He lost much of his skill with a bow."

"Try it. Lift your big toe - pretend it isn't there."

As I did so, Notomol gave me a slight nudge. I staggered back, completely off-balance. Now I understood: that Izumyrian soldier would never be able to fight again.

We avoided the villages and settlements. Notomol knew that five armed men would attract too much attention. There might be questions which we could not honestly answer. Even if he alone did all of the talking, the rest of us were too easily identifiable as strangers.

Once we got closer to his home, though, he could lead us by seldom-used pathways, away from prying eyes.

I don't know what I'd expected Notomol's house to look like - but the little stone cottage on the edge of the woods was ... quite modest.

I also didn't expect to be challenged.

- "Who are you? And what do you want?"

The voice was female, and it came from off to our left. The brothers were reaching for weapons, but Notomol waved them back.

- "Evane?" he called out.

- "Notomol!" called out a second female.

Then she came out of the trees, bow in one hand, arrow in the other.

This young woman was tall, and well-formed, with a full head of auburn hair. She came forward, and Notomol went to meet her.

They embraced each other. We stayed back, to give them a moment, but Notomol turned, and called out to us.

- "This is my sister. Senderra." he said. He then introduced us, one by one.

Senderra had at least one thing in common with her brother (beyond her colouring): for a brief moment, I had her full attention. She looked me in the eye, learned my name, and took my measure. She did the same for all four of us.

"And where is Evane?" asked Notomol.

Senderra's friend emerged from the trees. She also carried a bow. Evane was shorter, more thickly built, and considerably plainer than Notomol's sister. But he embraced her like an old friend - which was good enough for me.

- "Where's Mother?" Notomol asked his sister.

Senderra shook her head. "I'm sorry. She ... she had a fall, while Evane and I were out hunting. When we came back ... she wasn't breathing. I don't know what happened ..."

It was awkward for all of us, to share Notomol's pain as he learned that his mother was dead. Cinna reacted more quickly.

- "We can get a fire going." he said. "Get started on a meal."

- "Thank you." said Senderra. "Evane - could you show them ...?"