The Chronicles: Notomol Ch. 05

Two days later, Inita and I were out together. We were hunting, but Notomol also wanted to know if there were still any people living near the site of some of our very first fights.

Every house we found was a burned-out shell. There were still corpses lying where they'd fallen a month ago.

I'd seen dead bodies. I'd been at Dusova. Inita had seen - or heard - her husband's family cut down. But what we saw that day was, in a way, even worse.

The bodies were shrunken. It reminded me somewhat of the husks of insects trapped in a spider's web. In some cases, the flesh seemed to be melting from the bones. The smell of putrefaction was absolutely revolting. They were unrecognizable.

After a while, we no longer tried to approach them.

Then I saw movement near a burnt-out cowshed. I signalled to Inita, and we approached very carefully.

A man stepped out of the byre. I waved my arm at Inita - fortunately, she didn't shoot. I recognized the man - and he knew me.

- "Kolasovets?"

- "Bakhva?" It was him - Vidrik's stocky friend. "What are you doing here? Where's Vidrik?"

- "Dead." he said. "They're all dead. We're all that's left."

***

There were three other men in the cowshed, one of whom was badly injured. It was Miks, the archer. We improvised a litter, and carried him back to our camp.

Bakhva told me his story, but he repeated it (in greater detail) for Notomol and the rest of our band.

After their success at Dienik's steading, Vidrik had remained in the area, hoping to recruit more fighters. Some fifteen new men joined him, but he turned away the non-combatants who came looking for protection.

- "He wanted to ambush the next bunch of mercenaries who came looking for us. We heard of a small force - maybe two score - and set out to attack them."

- "A trap?" said Notomol.

- "Yes." said Bakhva. "They were ready for us. Once the fight had started, they came from everywhere. They had archers. And mounted men, on those huge horses. It was madness. I lost touch with Vidrik and Adser. Then I came across Miks. He was in bad shape."

- "Bakhva pulled him out of the fight." said one of the other men.

- "It was... every man for himself." said Bakhva. "I got Miks into the trees. By that time, the horsemen were everywhere. There was nothing more I could do." He was embarrassed to have to relate this. Bakhva was a proud warrior, who now had to tell a large gathering that he had run from a battle.

"We watched, from hiding, the next morning. The mercenaries rounded up the prisoners, and dragged in the dead. Then... they hanged them all. The dead and the living alike. They... they laughed as they did it. Thirty-two men. I counted them."

It was only later that we learned the mercenaries had a name for this: they called it 'Arnger's Orchard'.

We did what we could for Miks, but his wound was already gangrenous. He died a week later.

***

Notomol was an uneducated man. Like me, he couldn't read a word. But we were both foresters, and he was a gifted hunter - better than me by far. He knew a dozen ways to stalk his prey. Now, though, he was beginning to feel like a hunted animal.

The mercenaries would come for us - that much was certain. They would be the hunters, trying to catch us at a disadvantage, to bring their superior numbers to bear. If possible, they would seek to trap us in the open, where they could use their tremendous advantage in cavalry. Notomol was trying think like an Izumyrian.

We expected a trap. It would be something like what they'd done to Vidrik and his band. The mercenaries would offer us an opportunity to strike at them - Notomol was practically sure of that.

He called another meeting of the captains and key fighters, to explain in detail what he anticipated, and what he wanted from us. It wasn't complicated, but he didn't want to leave matters to chance.

Three days later, a mercenary patrol probed into our range, only a league southwest of the Deadman's bog. It wasn't exactly where Notomol had expected them to appear - but it was close enough.

Notomol had posted a group of us as scouts, in case the enemy closed their trap from the east. My first task was to watch for their approach. The moment we heard the clash of steel, though, half a dozen other scouts converged on my position, and I quickly led them towards the sounds of the fighting.

The mercenary patrol was a sacrificial lamb. It consisted of only twelve men. Cinna and Cirola killed the only officer with their first arrows, whereupon Orsho and Dubek led a charge, with 30 of our fighters behind them.

Most of the mercenaries went down. Only three or four escaped - which was all part of Notomol's plan.

Those 12 men were only meant to tempt us into revealing our location. It may be that Captain Arnger didn't expect them all to be killed - but he certainly seemed willing to spend their lives to discover where we were.

As Notomol had predicted, the mercenaries had a large force trailing the patrol. They came rushing forward, only to meet harassing fire from a dozen archers. Their casualties were light, but at least two officers fell, and the enemy advance was slowed down.

In that time, Orsho and Dubek were able to withdraw and re-group, with a supporting force under Doreg.

Notomol had outlined two plans: which one we used would depend on how many mercenaries appeared, and from which direction they came. Ideally, we would be able to lure them into the Deadman's bog again. If that proved too difficult, we would give them a bloody nose, then retreat and try to defeat them in more detail another day.

It started off well.

Our archers inflicted quite a few wounds, and the mercenaries aggressively drove towards the site of the initial ambush. They reached it - and were immediately attacked in the flank by Orsho, Dubek and Doreg.

Then the plan turned to shit.

Arnger had changed his strategy. Instead of simply sending in an advance guard, and then following with the bulk of his forces, he had organized a pincer movement, hoping to encircle and trap us all.

Inita and I saw them coming from the east. There were dozens of soldiers. Scores, even. To make matters worse, there were at least twenty archers among them. If I tried to delay them, to slow them down, I would be entering an archery duel against superior numbers.

There was nothing we could do but pull back. I sent Inita, at a run, to warn Senderra and Evane, who were on my right. The scouts on my left were in greater danger, but they would have to trust to their own luck. My first concern was to warn Notomol that his plan - our plan - was compromised.

I ran through the trees as if demons were at my heels. In a very real sense, that was true. I saw Cinna and Cirola first, and shouted out a warning.

Our fighters (as opposed to our archers) had been engaged, hand to hand, against the mercenaries. Fortunately for us, Notomol had never envisaged an all-or-nothing fight. Our warriors had struck the enemy on their flank - but then we withdrew, in good order. That was the good news.

The bad news was simple. We were between two bodies of mercenaries, each of which numbered over a hundred men. Arnger had changed his tactics, and he had overwhelming numbers.

We had no choice but to retreat at once. Some of our fighters, and some of the scouts were in awkward positions, trapped between the converging forces.

I didn't panic. I wanted to, though: I had no idea where Senderra was, or Notomol either. I had a moment to worry about Inita, and Nelime... and Motekin and the guslars. Then I realized that I had to save myself, first.

Of all people, I found Olari, one of Nelime's men, an archer - and my former partner. We fled together. There were enemies behind us - close enough that we fired several arrows at them to slow their pursuit.

I was hoping to reach the Deadman's bog, because I knew several ways out of it. That turned out to be impossible: there were mercenaries everywhere, driving us to the north.

Olari and I ran, and we managed to out-distance our pursuers, at least for a moment.

- "This way." he said.

I had to trust Olari's judgment. I hadn't hunted this area at all, and he had.

We ran straight into Orsho and three of his fighters. The great warrior was no fool: he knew enough to defer to the scouts who knew the land.

- "Which way?"

- "Follow Olari." I said. "I'll cover our backs."

As the others ran ahead down the trail, I had a horrible thought: what if Notomol was killed, or captured? What would I do then? What would any of us do?

There was no immediate pursuit on the path we took. I could hear shouts and screams elsewhere, though, and the occasional clash of steel on steel.

It was a disaster. Notomol had gambled, and lost. It was a poor cast of the dice, and we would have to pay the price. How many of us could escape?

Olari knew where he was going. I didn't hear any trouble up ahead, and the sounds to either side faded and disappeared. We reached an area that I knew a little better. We'd climbed a bit, until we were atop the high ground that included the cliffs at the very end of the Deadman's bog.

There was no threat to us from the east. The chances that the mercenaries knew about the Deadman's bog, and that they'd sent another body of troops around it, were less than minimal. We could flee to the east, then, and probably escape unscathed.

No one was immediately behind us - for the moment. To the west, we were bound to run into a deep ravine, a sort of gully between the high ground on either side.              I explained our predicament to Orsho.

- "We can escape to the east. We can't go directly west, because of the ravine. But if we continue on this path, we can work our way around it, and later turn west. We may be able to meet up with some of the others."

- "I'm not sure that we can help anyone." said Olari.

- "We have to try." I said.

Orsho agreed with me. "You lead. Olari will watch our backs."

This wasn't an area that I'd hunted in. In fact, I'd only come this way once before, and I probably knew it better thanks to old Yadha's descriptions than to my own experience. Snakehand had told me that it was probably a river, at one time. 'Only water could wear away the stone like that.' he'd said. 'An' that means that the Deadman's bog was pro'lly a lake. Afore my time, of course.'

The ravine was broad - twenty feet, at its narrowest, and up to fifty or even sixty at its widest spots. It was deep, too. There were trees which had grown out of the floor of the gully, some so tall that they still rose another ten or twenty feet above us.

We heard shouts, from across the gap. Then there was a distinct clang, of steel on steel. The noises grew louder - they were coming closer, on the opposite side.

- "Down!" hissed Orsho.

We took cover. I lay on my belly under a wide fern. From here I could see across the ravine. The sounds were definitely coming towards us.

Then I saw figures running along the path on the other side of the gorge. My breath caught in my throat.

It was Evane, with Nelime on her heels. A moment later, big Dusca came pounding along behind them, still clutching her oversized spear.

Someone screamed, further back - and then we heard a number of shouts.

Another figure came running along the path. I would have recognized that auburn hair anywhere: it was Senderra. She frequently stopped, looking behind her.

Orsho had seen Nelime.

- "Move!" he commanded. I couldn't have agreed more. There was nothing we could do to help them from here. We had to get past the end of the ravine. I leapt to my feet, and began running down the path.

It wasn't easy going, though. The trail wound and dipped, and wound again. At first, I didn't call out to Senderra because I didn't want to distract her, or to slow her down. But then I lost sight of her entirely as she pulled ahead.

Then I saw three of our fighters, men of Stonje, pelting down the path behind her. Again, the shouts and noises on the opposite side became louder.

The ravine narrowed here. It was still twenty-five or thirty feet across, but there was a little spit of bare rock on the other side, with nothing bigger than a scraggly bush upon it. Even in the confusion of that moment, I marvelled at the tenacity and sheer determination of that little shrub, clinging to its stony promontory - and surviving.

More shouts. Another shriek.

One man came running along the path alone. He stumbled and fell. He rose slowly, and then came forward again, until he was level with the rocky promontory.

It was Motekin. There was no mistaking that pale face. His hair was dishevelled, and streaked with sweat. He was breathing heavily, as if he'd run a long way.

I hesitated. Should I call out to him? Tell him to keep running?

At that very moment, another figure appeared on the path behind Motekin. Until the day I die, I will never forget the sight of him, the way he appeared at that moment: he was covered in blood and gore. There was blood - surely not his own - splattered across his broad forehead and through his hair. His broadsword was streaked with blood, as well. His chest was heaving, like giant bellows.

Dubek.

Two men came running up the path behind him. Mercenaries.

Dubek turned, and snarled. His two pursuers actually stopped. Both men took a step back. There were more men coming up behind them, but the first pair froze.

- "Go!" shouted Dubek. He was speaking to Motekin, but the clerk from Hvad town had run as far as he could.

I went as close to the edge of the ravine as I dared. There wasn't much I could do, as of yet, but if a shot presented itself, I would try to help my friends.

And then Dubek did something I could never have imagined. He glanced to his right, taking in the ravine and the tall trees growing out of it.

It may be that he had run too far already. Or perhaps he simply refused to die on that forest path. Whatever the reason, Dubek surprised everyone who was there to see it.

He cursed, and threw his sword at the mercenaries. Then Dubek turned, and began to run. He sprinted up to Motekin, turned sharply, ran onto the bare spit of rock...

... and leapt into the ravine.

Dubek spread his arms wide just before he smashed into the top of a tall poplar. It was as if Dubek embraced the tree. The poplar swayed, dangerously, under the impact, but somehow the warrior maintained his hold on the top branches.

Orsho saw it. Motekin saw it. So did the two mercenaries on the path, and perhaps a few more behind them. I saw it - even if I couldn't quite believe what I'd seen.

Motekin stood there, stunned. Dubek slipped, began to fall, and somehow snatched at another branch, and held on. Then he began to slip again.

Three things happened at once. A mercenary officer further down the path shouted at his men; the two closest to Motekin were stung into action, and began moving forward.

I risked a long shot, and loosed an arrow at them. I missed badly. It was a dismal attempt. But the mercenaries were startled, and stopped again.

I looked at the poplar, but I could no longer see Dubek.

Motekin seemed to come out of the fog he was in, like someone who awakes from a dream. He shook his head, and then looked behind him.

Again - I was there - and I still can't quite believe what I witnessed.

Motekin took one stumbling step forward. Then he gathered himself, and ran onto the bare rock spit. He launched himself into the ravine, as if he was trying to jump all the way across. If I hadn't just seen Dubek make the very same attempt, it would have been the most amazing thing I'd ever witnessed.

But Motekin had aimed himself at a different tree. It was an alder - a tree whose branches stuck out more horizontally than the poplar's. It was also a little farther away than Dubek's landing spot.

Motekin began to fall even while he was still moving forward. There was a solid thunk sound as he slammed into a thick branch. Motekin never got a good hold on it, and began to fall again almost immediately. I lost sight of him as he slipped away.

I can't quite recall what was going through my mind at that moment. I had just watched two men that I knew - two friends that I esteemed - make incredible leaps across a deep gorge, with the enemy on their heels.

The mercenaries seemed equally stunned. More of them arrived. A group of them actually came out onto the bare spit of rock, to look down into the ravine.

Then an officer came forward. He must have been of some rank, because the other mercenaries made way for him. He stepped out onto the promontory.

I decided to waste an arrow. Whatever happened, I wasn't going to be able to recover this one. I drew back, and let loose.

The mercenary officer saw me. He raised his arm, to point at me - and he shouted something. I have no idea what he was saying. It didn't matter, though, because that was one of the best shots I'd ever made: my arrow struck him in the teeth, and lodged in the back of his throat.

*****