Two Weeks Later
"Get that wagon unstuck McDougil...what, do you want the Nilroggi nipping at your arse before sunset?" Duncan barked from horseback, and McDougil glowered. Until the damned cavalryman came along, he had been responsible for the safety and well-being of the refugees....now he was...a grunt.
At best.
He threw his shoulder against the frame of the wagon and gave a mighty heave. Slowly….stubbornly, it yielded from the pit of muck it had gotten stuck in. He cursed under his breath and threw himself at it all the harder....finding a practical use for his simmering anger. With a loud sucking noise followed by an almost prim-sounding "pop!" the wheel came free, and rolled forward onto more-or-less dry ground.
"Try not to do that again." He told the driver, punctuating his words with a withering glare.
The driver would not meet the larger man's eyes, and meekly climbed back onto the wagon.
"Duncan, a progress report, if you please." Arliss called out as he shambled wearily forward. Four straight days of rain had really set them back, and his aging bones were aching from too much exposure to the wet, miserable weather.
"Well, now that the rains have let up, I expect we'll be back to a faster clip."
"From half a league a day or less to a full league then, eh?"
Duncan laughed. "I fear it's not top speed, but not bad considering what we've got."
Arliss shook his head. "Duncan....your optimism is infectious, but I daresay you know full well that a pack of old crones with a hundred pounds of rocks upon their backs could likely outpace us."
"It has been so these last days, yes." The cavalryman said with a good-natured laugh. "But I think we'll be making better time now."
"How's the wound?"
Duncan put his hand almost protectively to his chest at the mention of it.
"Your Clerics did their healing work well, Father Castillar....I thank you for that."
"But?"
"This cursed rain makes it throb...reminds me of how close I came to death's door."
The Priest nodded. "That you did. In fact, you ought not be out here on your horse giving orders even now."
"True enough...and how long has it been since you last slept?"
"Gods' truth, I honestly don't remember....too long I'd hazard."
"And you'd be right then....you must let the younger men carry more of the load, Father."
"Indeed....and what sort of example would that make? Me, sitting around on my arse all the day long like that damnable lout of a man calling himself Lord Jacob Mourngrym? No thank you....we lead by example, or not at all."
"Your words ring true, my friend....and, you answered your own question as to why I am out here now when I ought to be in one of the sick wagons.....times are...."
"Desperate?"
"And yet, somehow even that word seems understated."
"It does indeed, Captain....it does indeed." A moment of comfortable silence passed between them.
"So, how goes things between you and our former Guardian, McDougil?"
Duncan shook his head sadly. "I fear he resents me and mine, sir....we displaced him."
"Yes, and you also very nearly tripled our number of available fighting men."
"I think not." Duncan replied. "Many of my men will never fight again....such wounds...." He fought off a shiver.
"Come now man....you can't honestly tell me that if the Nilroggi descended here and now, you believe in your heart that even one of your men would remain in bed."
"They would not, ‘tis true....but as to fighting like they used to....I think many of your women-folk would fare better than they."
"Well...let us hope it doesn't come to that."
"Aye....two more days and we'll reach the shore of Loch Laern....and thence, to the lands of the Harradis, if they'll have us."
"They had better...after all, something tells me that the Nilroggi won't stop just because the Harradis have a few border pickets out."
"Something tells me you're right." Duncan said with a knowing, meaningful look.
"You're an uncommonly brave man, Captain Fury."
The cavalryman looked uncomfortable with such praise. "Nay, Father....'tis the least we could do....many of my men would have died in their saddles had you not taken us in."
"Still....with your horses, you could have reached the Harradis by now...ridden on ahead of us the moment you were well enough."
"And what would that make me then? I cannot abandon my friends....I will not."
"Well, I think it's safe to say that everyone in our ragged band is glad for your presence....even McDougil, though he'd probably swallow burning pitch, rather than admit it."
That remark drew a chuckle from Duncan. "Aye....I imagine he would."
He paused a moment as a small knot of men in brown robes walked past, talking in quiet, guarded tones and occasionally casting glances over at Arliss and Duncan.
"The new arrivals...." He said softly.
"What of them?"
Two nights past, another smallish band of refugees caught up with them in the storm, and, seeking safety in numbers, Arliss' band embraced them and their rather abundant supplies.
"I'm not sure....the eight monks with them are...very odd. They keep too much to themselves for my liking."
"Well....monks tend to be that way my friend, though I confess that I've not had the pleasure of meeting them personally yet, I am rather curious though...I'd like to know what order they're from, and if they have any news of the churches and temples eastward."
"You still hold out hope that the temples were spared? Even after all I've told you? All the things I've seen with my own eyes?"
"We must have hope, Duncan. If not that, then what in the name of the HighFather is left for us to cling to?"
"I admire and respect your faith, Father....but it has helped us not at all against the Nilroggi.” He patted his sword meaningfully. “I'll cling to this...even if it's not helped us as much as I'd like...at least we've taken a few with us."
More silence, and then Arliss sighed heavily and bowed his head. "I am....so tired."
"I know, my friend....I know. Go rest a while. You've led by example enough for one day....even the gods rested, you know?"
"Tis true...but then the gods never had to worry over being gutted in their sleep by marauding Nilroggi.....still, you're right....as tired as I am, even my faith grows thin."
"Sleep then, friend....and I shall post a guard to make sure you're not disturbed." Arliss nodded.
"You're a good man, Duncan Fury. If we live through this, I shall see you knighted. You have my oath on it."
"The oath of a Priest." Duncan said, impressed and smiling sheepishly. "Then how can I refuse?"
"You cannot...and even if you did it would do no good....now if you please, kindly find that guard and let an old man rest a bit?" Arliss said with a slight, tired chuckle.
"Of course, and Arliss?" The old man stopped and half turned around.
"Dream of better times....dream them for all of us, so that we will never forget that life was not always....like this."
"Aye.....I will."
~~Ж§Ж~~
The vote was held in secret, only three days after the Gypsy Caravan joined them. Well away from the likes of Arliss and Duncan, and even from Jacob Mourngrym, who had been sympathetic to their plight. On the run and desperate, many of the refugees had begun to feel....utterly helpless. In time, as the leagues bore down on them and began fraying their nerves, that feeling led to frustration….desperation.
They admired and respected Arliss for his tireless leadership, and respected Duncan Fury's courage and willingness to stand by them, risking his own life and the lives of his men to provide them at least some security, when all knew they could have easily ridden on and left them to their own devices.
But there was something about the arrival of the free-spirited gypsy folk that ignited a spark in the hearts and minds of the commoners who had banded together on their terrifying, exhausting journey. The Gypsy Lord, a young, charismatic man named Armando had started talking about taking a measure of control over their lives and their destinies...about not being led blindly by the same group of men who had gotten them into this predicament to begin with. And there was a measure of truth to that.
To be sure, neither Arliss Castillar nor Duncan Fury had been directly responsible for causing their current troubles, but they represented the archetype. The sort of leadership common in the Empire that was now crumbling apart under the relentless onslaught of the Nilroggi Horde.
The sort of leadership then, that had brought ruin to everything good and stable they had ever known. So while there was certainly no resentment toward the men who led them now, it was widely held that “their kind” were to blame for the current chaos and bloodshed swirling around them. With all that pent up desperation lurking not far beneath the surface, it was no wonder that the idea of self-determination held a certain appeal to it. So, the common folk met one night in secret to elect a council.
Seven souls drawn from their own ranks....seven men and women who would be their voice, and that voice would give them power….even if it was but the tiniest shred. When you've got nothing, even a shred can seem like a glorious bounty, and so attendance at the meeting that night was high, and seven were chosen from among their ranks.
Not surprisingly, Armando the Wanderer was among the first chosen, but there were others as well. Farmers. Shepherds. Craftsmen. Even their former protector, T. McDougil (though he would never reveal to them just what the "T" stood for).
More surprising still when the charismatic Armando approached him with a plan to see that he was made Headman of the Council. "I would be honored to have the job, of course." Armando told him quietly. "But you see, I fear that my words would not have as much weight....given that I am but a Gypsy, and oft regarded by your people as an inferior class of man for it....but you....you once bore the entire burden of defending us from our enemies....your voice would have great weight indeed."
McDougil had been honored...flattered by that. He listened with rapt attention as Armando told him how Lord Jacob, of the House of Mourngrym had recently bought a number of their fine Gypsy steeds, and that now, Armando and his Gypsies were quite flush with cash....the lure of gold was a strong one, and he could easily be persuaded to use some of his newfound wealth to sway the hearts and minds of the others on the council in exchange for....future considerations."
And McDougil readily agreed. Here was his chance! His opportunity to get back what was once his! A place of respect among the group. A place taken from him with the arrival of that damned cavalryman and Arliss' all-too-ready friendship with him. Once again his stony features softened slightly, but this time the ghost of a smile on his face was anything but pleasant.
"Oh yes...." He whispered softly to himself as he strolled some distance from the assembly. "You pompous arses of men cast me aside like garbage at the first chance you got....but the people have spoken, and I am their voice now. I have all the power you tried to take from me, and more...." He closed his eyes and listened to the night sounds for a moment. "...and more...."
~~Ж§Ж~~
Late in the night, Armando came to the tent of Lord Jacob Mourngrym and told him all that had transpired. "...and, you are sure about the pickets?" "Quite." Armando assured him.
"Then, if all goes well, a great many of our problems will soon be solved....if I know McDougil, and I assure you my lad that I do....I know his type all too well, his puffed up ego and over-inflated sense of self-worth will soon lead to confrontation, which will cause delays, and the Nilroggi picket will use the opportunity to attack."
Armando looked suddenly pained at having been reminded of the true purpose behind all the machinations of late. "Yes....but I do hope you're right about the outcome of it all....a great many lives could be lost."
"Young man," Mourngrym chided in a syrupy, condescending tone. "You don't get to be as rich as I am by being wrong....you will see. Watch and learn."
Armando shook his head and wandered back to his tent...to his own kind. And he left Mourngrym's presence feeling...vaguely corrupted. He did not sleep very well that night, or the night after.
~~Ж§Ж~~
