The Guardians: Book One of the Restoration Series (31 page)

Trestus was sitting on the first pew, with his head resting in his hands. Flare hadn’t even noticed him. Without moving, Trestus said, “Go away Flare. I want to be alone with Callin.” His voice was past being choked up, and seemed tired and dry.

Hating himself for what he had to do,
Flare
spoke. “Trestus, we need you. Callin gave his life for us, and if you hide in here then it was wasted.”

Trestus bounded to his feet, and shouted, “Hiding! I’m not hiding. I’m trying to think of a way to let my mother know that her youngest son is dead. How do I tell her that? How do I tell her that I failed Callin?” Trestus’ voice cracked, and he fell to his knees sobbing.

Flare approached and placed his hand on Trestus’ shoulder.
“Trestus.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He paused and chose his words carefully. “We need you.
As inexperienced as we are, we are the leaders, and we need you if we are to hold the fort.
You didn’t fail Callin; he made the ultimate sacrifice for us.” He paused, blinking back tears. “He died a hero, and now you must make a smaller sacrifice. You must give up this period of mourning, and honor Callin by helping us lead.”

Trestus raised his eyes; tears were still streaming down his face. “How can I go on living without him?”

“Because,” Flare said, more roughly than he intended, “You have no choice.”

There was no attack that day. Apparently, the downpour and the mud kept the attackers away.

The mood of the soldiers rose initially with the rain, but as the day slowly drug on, the soldiers got restless, minor scuffles broke out. Flare was forced to inflict harsh and quick punishment, in the hopes of preventing further fights.

Trestus emerged from the temple, and spoke briefly with the other guardians. He then left to get some much-needed sleep.

The rain didn’t let up until late in the evening, when it slowed to a drizzle. A couple of hours before midnight Flare and Atock were standing on the eastern wall observing the sky.

“It looks like the rain might stop.” Flare said. “What do you think?”

Atock studied the sky, before he answered, “Judging by the clouds, you're probably right.” After several moments, he spoke again, “You think they'll attack in the morning?”

Flare looked over the wall at the ground far below. “Possibly, but the ground will still be a mess.
Maybe later in the day.
Even then, we should have a distinct advantage.” He said.

Atock considered, “Do you think we have a chance of coming out alive?”

Flare knew he should have said 'yes' immediately, but Atock was one of the few that he felt he could speak honestly with. “Is there a chance?” Flare repeated. “There is a chance.
If Heather escaped through the enemies' line alive, and if she can find General Andatell quickly, and if he can reach here with his troops in time.
Yes, Atock, there is a chance, but I'm not holding out hope.” He didn't look at Atock, but he could feel the other man's eyes on him, and another pang of guilt hit him. He had failed Callin, and perhaps he had just failed Atock, perhaps it would have been better just to lie.

They stood there for several moments before Flare spoke again. “Atock, would you see to assigning guards? I want to get some sleep.”

“Sure. Good night.”

Flare returned to his newly claimed quarters, intending to go straight to bed. The long day of keeping the troops in line had wore him out as much as the fighting had done the day before.

He entered through the rear door, and headed straight for the stairs. Halfway up the stairs, Flare froze. The door to the bedroom was closed, but there was light coming from underneath the door.

Standing as still as stone, he listened for any sound. After several seconds, Flare noticed shuffling sounds coming from his bedroom.

Drawing his sword quietly, he finished climbing the stairs. It seemed that every board squeaked as he stepped on them. He approached slowly, listening for any disturbance. He reached the door, and rested his ear against it, but the sounds had stopped.

Flare waited for several more seconds, but the sounds were not repeated. Taking a deep breath, he kicked the door open. He dove into the room, rolled over, and came quickly to one knee.

“Nice roll.
Very cute.”
Murleen said from where she lay on the bed.

Flare shoulders slumped, and he placed the point of the sword on the floor and leaned on the hilt. “You scared me half to death. I didn’t know you were in here.” It was a measure of his extreme tiredness that he hadn't even thought of Murleen being in the room.

“Well, who did you expect?” Murleen asked, indignantly. “When I saw that long hard sword, I was hoping that perhaps you wanted to do more than sleep this time.” She said, pouting.

Flare smiled, and began taking off his clothes.

Flare’s fears were not realized, as it continued to rain throughout the next day.

Trestus rejoined the guardians, apparently having forced the emotion away, at least for now. He joined in with the planning and seemed totally engrossed in the conversation. He did not, however, take part in any of the humorous banter.

Flare and the other guardians had their hands full keeping the inexperienced soldiers in line. The soldiers were beginning to lose control, because of the fear of the coming battle, and the immediate problem of being cooped up in the fort. The soldiers took out their frustration on each other, with minor fights and squabbles breaking out. In defense of the soldiers, the fights were minor, with no weapons being drawn.

Flare and Murleen, having spent their second night together, spent the day working side by side.
He was enjoying her presence. Her closeness was the only bright spot in an otherwise dreary day.

No goblins or mercenaries were seen that day, but nobody believed they had left.

The rain stopped falling about dusk, and the guardians made plans for the return of the siege on the morrow. Trestus was to lead the defense on the western wall, with the rest of the guardians fighting on the eastern wall. Flare trusted Trestus, but he wanted him as far from the main battle as possible. A soldier had to be completely alert in order to survive. With the death of Callin, he didn’t know how much he could Trestus.

Flare had dinner prepared early in the evening, and the guardians ate shortly after dark. He had ulterior motives, and shortly after they were done eating, Flare and Murleen retired. They left the mess hall separately, trying to be discreet about their relationship, but he wasn't sure they were fooling anybody. He wasn't sure exactly what to think about their relationship either. It had started quickly, mainly because of the hopelessness of their situation. Neither of them expected to survive the siege, and their affair was an easy way to share warmth and pleasure prior to death. He enjoyed her immensely, but was not sure what would happen if they survived.

Derek and Atock stood on the western wall looking out into the night. Derek smoked a small pipe, with the smoke moving lazily out over the valley below. He was smoking the bloom of
a flower that gave the smoker a feeling of dizziness and make
them light headed. Well, normally it would, but Derek was used to the effects.

Atock leaned against the top of the wall and regarded the fires of the goblins with some concern. “It's the first time they have had fires in two days.” He said, “I guess they'll have full bellies tonight.” That did not bode well for the defenders; the goblins would be at full strength tomorrow.

Derek nodded. He had been trying not to think about either the goblins or tomorrow, but it seemed there was no avoiding it. He was holding the pipe in his right hand, and he pointed toward the two sword hilts sticking above Atock's shoulders. “You really prefer two swords to one?”

Atock smiled and nodded, he reached over his shoulders and drew both of the swords in one quick motion. The swords were shorter than a long sword, and they were slightly curved with a sharp edge only on one side. “In my homeland, it is called the art of the snake.” Seeing the look of puzzlement on Derek's face, Atock smiled. “Those that are truly a master of the art can use both swords at the same time and each sword
is
moved independently of the other. It can remind you of a snake's movement, the head and the tail moving at the same time. It is difficult to counter both swords at once, and even more so here where no one has heard of it.”

Derek nodded, “I can see your point, but I'll stick to my longsword.” He smiled and rubbed his hand over the hilt of his sword. “This weapon has been in my family for generations.” He drew the sword, “One of my ancestors named it Surdim el Aldanon. It means the sword of Aldanon in the old tongue of the Steel kingdom, but now we just call it Surdim. It was given to me by my father when I graduated from the guardians.” The smile slid, “I hope that I can make him proud.”

Atock puzzled over that. The translation made sense. The sword of Aldanon belonged to Derek Aldanon; Aldanon was his family name, but the Steel kingdom? Confused, Atock asked “What is this Steel kingdom that you mentioned? I have never heard of it.”

Derek smiled, “House Steel governs the southern regions of Telur, but they used to be a separate kingdom. Oh, it was many generations ago, before Telur conquered them and converted them to the common speech. My family remembers even though we are only a merchant house.”

Derek fingered his sword hilt, “My grandfather told me that this sword was dwarven crafted.”

Atock's eyes rose, dwarven swords were rare and some of them were worth their weight in gold. The dwarves had quit selling
them
generations ago, when they had quit trading with humans, and the swords were more sought after than ever. He studied the weapon again, noticing for the first time the runes on the blade near the hilt. He wondered what it was made of; the dwarves had made the strongest weapons, even stronger than steel and the dwarves had guarded their secrets religiously.

Atock looked at his swords, “These swords were first used by my grandfather's grandfather, but they have no name.” He sounded regretful.

Derek sheathed his sword, “Well, perhaps it's time to change that. What would you like to call them?”

After a moment, Atock looked up, “I do not know. It's not something done lightly.”

Derek chuckled, “You're right. Think on it, perhaps something will occur to you.”

Flare had the soldiers up and in the mess hall two hours before sunrise; he wanted them to be on the walls when the sun rose.

The morning dawned a beautiful bright and sunny day. Momentarily, the sunshine cheered the soldiers, but the impending attack quickly brought them back down.

Flare arranged the defense of the western wall the same way he had done on the first day of the siege. He took charge of the soldiers in the center of the wall, Philip took the south side of the wall, and Atock took the northern part, then they waited.

He had put fifty soldiers, under the command of Trestus, on the eastern wall. The wall was woefully undermanned, but the western wall took precedence. That left approximately three hundred and fifty soldiers to guard the five hundred-yard long wall.

The townspeople and tradesmen were the backup. They were not soldiers or fighters, but if the fort fell, then they were dead also, and they knew it. Nothing motivated people like fearing for their lives.

The goblins didn’t attack at first light; instead they waited until noon, perhaps for the sun to dry up some of the water. There was no sneakiness to their attack; instead they just marched slowly toward the walls. Scattered throughout the more common white goblins, were the more fearful black goblins. The black goblins held whips in their hands which they used from time to time to keep the white goblins moving.

The goblins used the same tactics they had used the first time they had attacked the walls. They carried ropes and ladders, and attacked ferociously, not hesitating to throw their lives away.

Archers and townspeople stood in the courtyard and launched arrows over the wall. There was no reason for them to see the attackers, since the goblin army covered the valley floor. Any arrow launched was assured to hit an attacker.

Flare waited until the goblins reached the wall, and screamed, “For Callin!” Dropping the head of his pike, he thrust the nearest ladder away from the wall, but for every one that was pushed away; another three took its place. The mud did help with the ladders, as some of the ladders would sink in the mud and topple on there own, but not enough. The goblins surged forward like ants rushing over a stick.

SWISH! The metal hook attached to one of the goblins’ ropes narrowly missed Flare’s head. Reversing the motion of his pike, he sliced the rope in two, dropping a goblin onto his brethren down below.

Flare heard a scream, and whipped around. Five feet to his left, a Telurian soldier was lying in a pool of his own blood, with his bowels spilled on the wall. A white goblin was standing over the soldier with a bloody scimitar in his hand. The goblin had reached the wall unnoticed, and had taken advantage of that fact, killing the soldier.