A Wizard's War - 4. Remains

Simon woke suddenly from a dreamless sleep and as he moved to sit up, he immediately regretted it. He experienced stiffness in his neck, an ache in all his muscles, and his ass was throbbing from abuse. He had been prodded awake rudely and he looked now to see that he had been lying on Amos Hawthorn’s leg. The burly man was regarding Simon with dark eyes and a disgusted expression.

“You were starting to drool,” Amos grunted flatly.

“Also,” Mirva chimed in, “something has changed up above.”

Simon stretched the muscles in his stiff neck and looked upward to see early morning light just poking through the covering of brush that served as the roof to their pit. He squinted and listened, but he heard nothing. The night before there had been a constant commotion in the camp, all the goblins with their thick guttural language, the clang of steel as it was sharpened, or the chopping of wood in the distance. In the early morning, all those sounds had vanished and there was an eerie stillness.

“We think they’ve broke camp,” Amos rasped his throat suddenly dry, and he began to cough.

“Only problem,” Mirva spoke sweetly, “they forgot about their prey in their trap.”

“Or they plan to return,” Simon worried.

“All the more reason to get out now,” Amos nodded, “perhaps if I boost you up on my shoulders…”

“It could work,” Simon assessed as he looked up the side of the pit again to the brush overhead.

“Only one way to find out,” Mirva made a shooing motion with her hands to ‘get on with it’.

Amos stood up and then crouched low to the floor. Simon took up his position and stepped one foot onto the man’s broad shoulders, then using his hands on the wall displaced some of his weight while adding the other foot. Amos stood slowly, grunting a little in discomfort as Simon walked his hands up the dirt wall of the pit toward the opening above. As Amos stood erect, Simon could just feel the tips of his fingers encounter a twig hanging down from the brush.

“So close,” Simon sighed as he tried to stretch on tip toe to reach. Amos grumbled in discomfort at Simon’s shifting weight, but soon followed along and started inching up onto the balls of his feet while bracing against the walls. Simon felt triumph as his hand wrapped around a solid log or branch in the brush above. Despite the burning pain firing through his arms Simon pulled and moved his feet from Amos to the dirt wall and began walking his way up closer. Soon both hands had a firm grip on the branches above and he pushed his way through the brush and out of the pit.

The naked morning light showed a desolate sight; the forest undergrowth had been beaten down and flattened where the goblin camp had been, and the remnants of campfires smoked with faint traces of hot embers. Whatever animals or life had lived in this part of forest had been cleared out, or fled from the goblins, leaving an eerie and unsettling silence behind. Simon was just glad there were no goblins near the pit waiting to greet him with a spear or a fist.

“It looks cleared out,” Simon whispered nervously, not really wanting to break the uneasy silence.

Simon got his leg up and cleared himself entirely of the edge of the pit. He then set to work uncovering the hole to expose the other two captives still waiting at the bottom. Looking around he saw an abandoned rope nearby still tethered to a tree, the previous owner had cut the object free rather than untangle the knot they had made. Simon set to work completing the task they were too lazy to do and soon understood why. He cursed as he tried to follow the loops of the knot and free rope.

“You still there?” Mirva called timidly.

“Yes,” Simon replied, “found a rope I’m trying to untangle. Hope it’s long enough.”

“Keep your eyes out,” Amos also spoke, “There could still be goblins about.”

Simon looked around and behind him again, he had never considered that, but the coast was still clear. He went back to work untangling the knot and hissed in triumph when it finally came free of the tree. The rope was old and seemed difficult to grip, so he knotted one end around a sturdy stick from the pit’s covering to grab onto more easily. He then looped the other end of rope around his waist so he could firmly plant his feet before tossing the end down.

“Mirva first,” Simon called down, “maybe she can also help add her weight to anchor us while you climb up, Amos.”

“You act like I’m a giant,” Amos grumbled, but he motioned for Mirva to go ahead.

“I doubt I’ll be much use as an anchor anyway,” Mirva smirked as she grabbed the stick and walked her way up the wall, “I’m skin and bones at this point.”

Amos made his way up last, and Simon grunted with a little effort, but Amos helped a lot by walking his way up the side. As Amos stood before him, Simon reached out and gripped the man’s arm in a steadying manner and he could feel the firm muscles there. After Simon’s hand had lingered a bit too long, Amos grunted.

“You know, you’re still naked,” Amos growled with disgust as he pulled his arm free.

“Yes,” Simon felt his face flush, “It is much draftier outside the pit too.”

“Nothing we haven’t all seen,” Mirva chided, “Besides, based on his appearance, I think the poor lad has been through quite the ordeal.”

“Yea,” Amos nodded, “Sorry.”

Together they went about looking for any discarded garments, but all they found were torn pieces of canvas. In the end Simon used his handy new rope to tie the canvas into a makeshift wrap around his midsection and crotch, like a loincloth. Once secured, he felt like a total fool, but it was better than nothing.

“Which way home?” Amos asked as he peered out into the forest beyond the encampment and tried to make head or tails of their current destination.

“I feel equally disoriented,” Simon mused, “nothing seems familiar now.”

“I’m a long way from my home,” Mirva added glumly, “But I would settle for a direction where goblins are not.”

“Agreed,” Amos nodded.

Before any of them could speak again there was a loud horn blast to their left and they all turned in fear. They could not perceive any movement in the forest, but it was clear the horn-blower was not far.

“Should we see who it is?” Simon wondered.

“It could easily be the goblins,” Mirva whispered.

“The horn is familiar,” Amos added as the horn suddenly sounded again even closer than before.

“Yes,” Simon smiled, “like the guard tower in Westwood.”

“We move toward the sound, but cautiously,” Amos suggested, “See who it is.”

“This old bird is just along for the ride,” Mirva shrugged, “I’m not crazy enough to walk off on my own.”

The group followed Amos, moving low and quietly through the forest. It did not take long to reach the horn-blower’s party moving through the forest. There were soldiers in black armor that Simon did not recognize, but they moved in semi-formation with other men wearing the brown garb of the Westwood city guard. Amos suddenly stood up as he saw them.

“Gregor, over here,” Amos called out. One of the city guards turned in disbelief at the sudden mention of his name.

“By the gods! Amos, is it really you?”

“It is, my friend!”

Amos gladly met the guard and they clapped each other on the shoulder in a familiar greeting. Mirva and the nearly naked Simon stood awkwardly behind Amos as all the soldiers were now eyeing the survivors suspiciously.

“Your father has been worried sick,” Gregor continued speaking to Amos, oblivious of the others, “After the goblin attack, we have been tracking them back through the forest. But finding you alive is quite the surprise!”

“How did you survive?” One of the stern black soldiers inquired. His armor was adorned with additional spikes on his shoulders, perhaps indicating some higher rank.

“I’m not sure why they spared us exactly,” Amos replied.

“Do you know the men in black,” Mirva whispered nervously to Simon. Simon jumped a bit, not realizing she had drifted so close to him.

“No,” he whispered back.

“What have you to say back there?” the black soldier pointed to Simon, “You know why you were spared?”

“No, sir,” Simon felt nervous as he looked at the stricken expression on Mirva’s face. Even though he told the soldier he did not know why he was spared he immediately recalled the words the goblins had directed at him on multiple occasions: jeleko-ohn. They had used the words with reverence at times and mocking at others. It may well be the reason he was still alive.

“Gregor,” the black soldier glared at the city guards, “I will send you with two of my men to take these survivors back to town. Take them directly to Mayor Hawthorn and Abbot Qualls for further questioning.”

“Amos is the mayor’s son,” Gregor explained as if that cleared up any further questions.

“In our sacred order, we maintain strict military discipline,” the black soldier glowered, “I’m not accustomed to having my orders questioned.”

Gregor seemed to pale under the soldier’s gaze, and he glanced nervously toward his own commanding officer.

“Take them to the mayor and the abbot as ordered,” the Westwood commander spoke confidently, but his sidelong glance at the soldiers in black armor broadcast his nervousness. It was quite clear these two military groups had only recently been forced into a tenuous alliance.

The lead soldier in black armor motioned to two of his contingent and they took up positions on either side of Simon and Mirva. Simon felt like a captive all over again, but at least they were moving in the direction of home. As the larger military force moved on toward the clearing recently abandoned by the goblins, Amos, Simon, and Mirva followed Gregor through the forest and back toward Westwood.

“The goblins attacked without warning and swept through the majority of the city, buring and destroying wantonly as they went,” Gregor was recounting to Amos as they trudged through the forest.

“Were many hurt?” Amos looked concerned.

“Many on the outskirts of the city were murdered outright or left to burn in their homes if they did not make it out.”

“What of the Lorall farmstead?” Simon suddenly perked up, “Are my parents safe?”

“I don’t know,” Gregor frowned, “there was not a full accounting of the dead and injured when we were ordered to leave.”

Simon felt his stomach in knots as worry cramped around him like a vice. He fought the urge to vomit and he sent a prayer to the gods that his family would be safe. If his mother were having a bad day with her illness, would she be able to flee a burning house? He dared not contemplate the issue further until he knew one way or the other.

“Fortunately, your father arrived with reinforcements and our new military allies. Apparently, this fancy clergyman and his religious order have been pursuing these goblins for weeks. They were more than happy to take them down.”

“Abbot Qualls is a divine man, and he communes regularly with the god Belothemid,” one of the soldiers in black suddenly grumbled from behind Mirva, “You would be wise to pay him the proper respect his station deserves.”

“Like I said, fancy clergyman,” Gregor smirked as he continued talking to Amos.

“Belothemid…” Simon pondered from his many studies at the library, “the god of miraculous healing.”

Most modern societies worshipped the gods of fortune, which bless mankind with life and survival. Esther the Sun who gives fire and hope, Neptune the Sea who gives life and prosperity, Raigar the Earth who gives food and steadfastness, and Vale the Eternal Empress who gives time and purpose. But Belothemid was a member of a much more ancient and obscure pantheon that Simon knew little about. He only vaguely recalled the name and the brief description: god of miraculous healing.

So lost in his thought Simon almost missed the fact they had stepped out of the forest, and he could see the smoking and crippled town that he called home. Westwood was in shambles on the distant hill and the fires continued to blaze out of control in the dry fields due to lack of water from the drought. Simon felt tears sting his eyes and his mouth go dry as he froze in his tracks. He followed the destruction outside of town and saw the blackened skeleton of his family’s farmhouse. Tears fell freely now, and he lost all perspective.

Simon began to run toward the house in the distance, plunging down the steep hill they were on he was sent into a chaotic summersaulting spiral down to the bottom of the valley. When he managed to find his feet again, he was terrified to find that he could no longer see his home from his new vantage point, so he began to run again up the next slope. He only faintly heard the shouting from behind and his body went numb in its single-minded pursuit. He had to see, he had to know if his family had survived.

It was a long run, much too far for such a flat-out sprint, but some adrenaline-induced state of panic pushed Simon harder and urged him to move faster. He reached the charred ruin of his family home completely out of breath, his sides aching, and he retched uselessly. After dry heaving and coughing up the acrid contents of his stomach he stumbled toward the wreck in a fevered haze. His eyes wanted to cry at the sight, but it was as if no moisture remained in his body, and he just stared vacantly with the sticky orbs in his head. There was evidence immediately of at least one charred corpse in the remnants of the blaze. He recognized the remnants of the skull too late as his foot crunched down on part of an arm.

Simon’s vision blurred and he recoiled away from the corpse and stumbled back away from the house. He wretched again and felt his head all light and fuzzy. The ground seemed to rise and smack him in the face as he lost his balance and then lost consciousness.

__________

For Simon, the next several days were the worst days of his life. He could barely function, barely eat, barely sleep. He vaguely remembered the others catching up to him and the black soldiers roughly hauling him up off the ground. Simon was taken to the Hawthorn manor and summarily declared a ward of Bronn Hawthorn, since their families had already entered into a contractual arrangement. In a nearly catatonic state, Simon was given a room and waited on hand and foot by an older butler named Cuthbert. Occasionally the mousey woman he had met before would bring food and he soon learned her name was Suzanne.

The town of Westwood had lost so many citizens that they were given a mass burial over the next several days and individual markers were made by the families to honor their loved ones. Amos had taken the liberty of procuring the services of a stone carver and he helped Simon pay his respects to his lost parents. As Simon stood staring at the names on the stone, his eyes full again with tears, he just wanted to run away and never look back. There was nothing for him here. Instead, Simon had gone back to the manor and closed himself in his quarters.

It was Simon’s fifth night in the Hawthorn manor, when Bronn had crept into Simon’s room in the dead of night. Simon had been lying, staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep, so he heard the latch open and close, but he made no response. Bronn had come over and stroked Simon’s face in a clammy, possessive way, like some greedy scoundrel might rub a genie’s lamp.

“I’ve taken you in and given you a home,” Bronn whispered, “time to give me what I’m due.”

Simon watched as Bronn got naked and began to grind up against him like an animal in heat. Bronn’s throbbing, massive erection was hot and pressing against Simon as the man groped and prodded at Simon’s limp form. Simon did not fight as Bronn roughly pulled down his trousers and rolled him on his stomach. Only a soft whimper escaped Simon’s lips as Bronn penetrated him and used him. It did not take long, and Bronn filled Simon with his seed and then left the room.

Simon lay in the dark for a long moment still on his stomach and half naked. Then his fists clenched into tight balls around the bed sheets, and he howled in utter anguish and rage as the recent events filled his vision. He could see the red eyes of the goblins and he recalled how much he wanted to kill them. Then in his mind he saw Bronn Hawthorn with those same greedy red eyes, just another lowly goblin preying upon others. Simon cried once more for the loss of his mother and father, Henry and Anna Lorall, then his heart hardened with a cold resolve.