Hope and Darkness

Chapter 11

William and his men were panting from sprinting the last few metres. Jacob was already swinging his massive axe in an arc, before crashing it down on the side of one of the surprised soldiers. The man stared at the massive weapon buried in his shoulder blankly until he registered the pain. The last sound he made was a frightening scream. William swept his sword around the backs of the black soldiers. He was surprised that a lot of them were barely 20. He barely gave that thought a second to register before he stabbed and hacked at more of them, screaming an unclear word. The message was clear to the surrounding men- their leader was in a beserking rage. William joined Jacob as they began smashing through bodies as quick as they could, and each time someone tried to jab at their side’s one of the other soldiers from the Church of Hope moved in, bringing their shields in the way of thrusts and slashes. Jacob seemed unstoppable, both to his allies and his enemies. He wielded his axe as if it was a butter knife. A very, very sharp and bloody butter knife. “These blackies seem tender, sir,” he yelled to William. William lashed out at a spearman who’d come to close. “Well, who cares? I thought you liked a punch up.” After a few minutes of this very one sided contest, a spearman started running away. After a few more moments an archer followed him. Then two swordsmen. Soon a large chunk of men were running away, some dumping weapons to make them quicker. Taking a brief rest, William stood his ground and let a soldier behind him go past. He looked around and his heart sank when he noticed a large group of soldiers marching toward him. He quickly pushed some of his men into a thin line. Fifteen men. The rest were running toward the palisade, unaware of the threat. He looked at the palisade and saw a group of around 20 men sprinting toward him. They would be too late to arrive to help. He put his sword in his scabbard and took a long dagger from his chest scabbard. Some of the routed back soldiers joined the men, building their force to 50 men. Jacob, his work done, ran back with Stuart and Jack. The enemies gave a cry, and then charged them. Suddenly the right flank of the large group disintegrated, and the men fell in disorder. Dimly, William became aware that his archers had fired. Some of the routed enemies who had joined the group ran away again, but a core of maybe 40 men continued marching toward him. A squad of a dozen men branched off and started running toward the archers. William smiled. In any other battle, a dozen troops against maybe a dozen archers would have been no contest; but he’d trained those men for hours on end so they were proficient in melee weapons as well. The rest of them continued on. William took his place at the centre of the line, and instinctively the line bunched closer together. Technically, they outnumbered the black soldiers. “Their commander can’t be very smart,” Stuart said grimly. Stuart’s personality was more contested, and he wasn’t going to be very happy about a slaughter, no matter who was getting killed. Jacob patted his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. They deserve it.” Stuart somehow made a grin seem like a grimace as he replied, "How does that make any sense at all?" The rest of the men broke into a charge, and now William could see insignias on the shoulders of most of the men. “They’re crack troops,” he told his soldiers. Just before the two groups collided, William yelled, “Brace!” Instinctively, all of the men took a step forward, so they weren’t pushed back by the impact. The attack, which had mainly focused around the centre, now slowly shifted to the flanks in an attempt to outflank them. Slowly but surely the line was pushed back, but William made sure they were always one step ahead of any enemy on the flank. Without warning the centre of the enemy line parted, revealing an axe wielding giant. William’s eyes narrowed. It was going to be a hard fight. Not for a second entered the thought that he could send one of his own men to battle this man. Stuart, tiny compared to the enemy axeman, stepped forward. William yelled, “Stuart! He’s mine!” Stuart didn’t even care. He lunged forward with his spear, but with a splitting crash the giant brought a huge sword stroke down onto the weapon. It split in two, and some of the men standing behind Stuart drew back. Unfazed, Stuart drew his war sword. Yelling a war cry, he struck at the giant. Soon there was a thing that could only be described as a dance as the two men began a series of cuts, swipes, parries, or in Stuart’s case, dodges. None of the two combatants could penetrate the other’s guard. Suddenly, against the unspoken rules of the contest, a soldier next to the giant brought his mace down onto Stuart’s sword, which cracked. Stuart looked down in surprise at his shortened weapon, and then calmly elbowed the man who had decided to destroy his favourite weapon. He stood there with a half sword and a long dagger that was in its sheath on his shoulder. The giant smiled. Before Stuart could react he brought his axe up for a might sweep down that would have decapitated Stuart. Would have, except for an arrow that sprouted itself in his neck. Behind the soldiers Lucy stood, poised on a rock, and soon began to rain down hell on those who were still in shock. Below her, Toby swung his sword in the air. “Get them!” A massive crowd of villagers, detached from fighting the now fleeing marauders, streamed downed, surrounded, and killed all of the remaining soldiers. The lucky ones who were wounded were disarmed and carried off to the field hospital. Matthew supervised pooling all of the weapons into one big stockpile, and Charlie set out with a group of scouts to make sure the fleeing enemy didn’t change their minds. Jeremy hobbled over to William. “Will! You little brown haired monster! Years haven’t changed you!” William looked up and grinned. “Jeremy, you grey hag! I wish they’d changed you!” The teasing had no malicious intent, and anyone could see that they were extremely happy to see each other. As they walked off, Toby turned to Lucy and Justin. “You both did excellent today. I hope you two never turn against me. I’m sorry you didn’t get to try your new sword skills, though, Lucy.” Lucy shrugged. No matter how much training she received, Lucy had been born to be an archer and would always be one. Justin flushed with pleasure at his recognition. “Do we go after them, sir?” Toby stared off into the cloud of dust, the only reminder that an enemy battalion still lurked. “No, Justin, I hope no.”

“Heave to!” Tommy yelled. His first mate Wilson was at the front of the ship. They were preparing to run from a ship that had just appeared from the harbour mouth that they were going to. On any other day, that would have been normal. Today, well, you couldn’t really call having a city on fire being normal at all. “Crossbows at starboard! Aim for her tiller!” The Silver Eagle was slowly gaining speed, her crew of 15 rowers working overtime to try to propel the sailing ship away faster- but obviously the other ship was faster. “Relief crew, prepare your ranged weapons and support out boarding crew!” Already the 10 men from the boarding crew were fully kitted out in battle armour and their personal selection of weapons: spears, swords, maces, weapons from all over the known world. 2 crossbowmen, specially trained and equipped, began loading special bolts. A young boy, from the ship’s medical crew, ran between them and lighted the oil soaked rags. The two men carefully brought the weapons to their shoulders, making sure that not a spark touched the wooden deck. Wilson was judging angles, wind and the waves before he judged it right to fire. “Release!” he yelled. The two bolts released as one. One fell harmlessly into the ocean slightly beyond the other sea, but the other one landed square onto a sail. Unsurprisingly, it caught fire. A cheer went up from the crew of the Silver Eagle, but Tommy feared the worst. “All crew back to your posts! Wilson, make sure those fire bolts are loaded again! They’ll probably send a ship after us.” As if to emphasise the statement, a sleek long black hull skipped through the water at a pace that Tommy could only dream about. “Crossbows! Rapid fire! Do not stop!” Seeing the new threat, Wilson ran to the oars and started yelling at them to hurry up. Tommy watched anxiously as the men started trying to heave the ship further into the ocean. The ship was now in range of the heavy crossbows, but their aim was off because of the tension. Tommy counted the crew on deck and breathed a sigh of relief. The crew was small, and it looked as though the Silver Eagles’ crew would be able to beat off an attack. Wilson took his own crossbow, a master piece he’d stolen from a pirate who’d probably stolen it as well, and loaded a fire crossbow. The boy moved to light it, but Wilson shook his head. “Wait for them to get closer. Finally, when the ship was well in range, the boy lit it and Wilson fired. Unfortunately, an arrow storm was released from the burning ship, and one somehow hit Wilson in the leg and his aim was jerked off. He screamed in pain and the doctor dragged him away, one of his assistants slowly removing the arrow. Instead, the fire bolt hit the water beside the ship. Without missing a beat, the other two crossbowmen fired their own fire bolts. Both sailors were superstitious and they knew, or rather thought, that because Wilson had bad luck, they would to, so they hardly put any effort into trying to hit the ship. Both bolts missed, one going too high and one going too low. “Heave!” Tommy yelled. “Heave!” The rowers, already tired, tried to give it their all and managed to get themselves faster, if only a tiny bit, but the other ship was almost on top of them. “Brace!” Tommy yelled. The rowers ducked behind the side shields and some the soldiers formed a wall. When nothing happened, Tommy looked at where the ship had been. He studied around them. The ship was nowhere to be seen, only a small, thin black mist. Even Tommy, educated in the city, away from his small hometown near a large forest and dominated by the White Mountains, was superstitious. “Head to port, and replace the rowers,” he ordered. Shuddering, he whispered a prayer and began moving the tiller to port. Home, he thought. They’ll know what happened when I get home.