A blond man wearing Greenhaven Militia livery stepped forward, kneeling in front of Liam.
“My lord! Thank you! Had you not interceded on our behalf we would have perished.” He said, with a voice that approached shouting.
“I won’t lie or sugarcoat this, but it was dumb luck that brought us here. What is your name? And what has happened to Avignon? You should have been protected by Viscount Blackwood’s men.” Said Liam, already guessing what had occurred and fearing the answers to his questions.
These people will be forced to move to another city. I doubt Rhendal can portal them all home… Crap. I’m triaging entire cities, deciding who lives and dies, who abandons their homes! Triage is for wounds or people not cities... Medical school was supposed to teach me how to handle these questions! Thought Liam.
“My name- uh it tis Pascal my lord. We came for the harvest, with your permission of course! But we were not expecting green giants or flaming wolves my lord. The giants have attacked us each day, carrying off a man or woman for each of them…” Pascal shivered, mouth twisting into a pained gash.
“Where are Blackwood’s men?” Snapped Arlet, acting hostile to keep the man from falling into a pit of self pity.
“We left our shields and armor in Greenhaven, so when Heir Blackwood arrived… He’s uhm… at the church m’lord.” Muttered the sheepish man.
Deep wrinkles crossed his face, marking him as a man too old for the militia. Pascal broke down in tears, unable to cope with the loss of friends, home, and family. Everything he had ever tried to protect was nearby, burnt to ashes. Forever beyond his reach despite being near at hand.
“Our corporal took five men and left to seek your aid two days ago, how did you arrive so swiftly my liege?” Asked another militiaman.
Liam ignored the question. Heir Blackwood is in Avignon… The son, and announced heir of the Blackwood Viscounty had arrived and abandoned this town. For the first time in his life, Liam felt the desire to kill. Calm down… Think this through. Without lightning I would have run away too… After helping people get away…
His scowl silenced the militia, intense eyes slapping the words out of their mouths. Most held broad headed spears with hunting guards, a feature that would keep a wild animal from charging you. Useful in the woods, useless against armored foes. Those few without spears held shortbows, fragile gear meant to kill pigeons and be portable rather than shoot far or penetrate deeply.
Militia are never well equipped, but this is disgraceful. Hunting spears and slingshots against monsters… No wonder they were about to die.
But that wasn’t the end of their woes. Not a single shield or crossbow could be seen amongst them. These men had come home to earn some extra food before winter and had traveled light, expecting to encounter nothing more dangerous than a full belly.
“Soldier, I understand you have no officers here. But we need a proper report! Are there any other enemies nearby? Is what I see the entire strength of the town?” Snapped Arlet.
A bit harsh, but… Arlet is trying to keep him moving, help him stay functional while there are still enemies around. Better for this soldier to learn his lesson now.
“Yes sir!” Said Pascal, saluting out of reflex, an awkward motion since he was still kneeling.
Arlet’s jaw clenched shut, hiding a merciful smile from the elderly soldier. Liam saved them both by offering his hand to Pascal, helping him stand. The nap had done him a world of good, though he still ached.
“I count fifteen men here, are you all the fighting men in Avignon?” Asked Liam.
“Not just the fighting men, but all the men M’lord. The others are missing or dead. The giants killed a score of outriders from Blackwood Castle. Enough arrows brought them down, but we wasted most of our arrows shooting at cats that become shadows. They do not fear us, nor fire, nor spears-” Pascal’s pace began to increase as he spoke, hastening until the worlds spilled from his mouth in a gibbering cascade.
Liam rested one hand on Pascal’s shoulder, squeezing it to quiet him. Without intervention everyone here would die before they reached Mont St Michel, turning to Rhendal he opened his mouth. Only to have the sage shake his head.
“I lack the mana for this many souls Lord Liam. Do not forget that I was retired until you knocked on my door. At this moment, my mana is nearly gone. I will have to wait until sunset to take us home.” Said Rhendal, answering the question before it was asked.
Liam ground his teeth. Why had he been brought to this world? Just to suffer? See people die in front of him, helpless to aid them as they starve to death? The worthless baron should have been the one failing his people not Liam! Green had forty years of his life to prepare for a time of strife such as this. He should have built a fortress, or a bunker…
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As soon as the thought entered his mind, one of Green’s memories surfaced. There was a bunker. The church, it had been built with the Barony’s funding and designed like a fortress. There were no windows on the first floor and the second floor was effectively a walkway with arrow slits in it, the third floor is where the real windows began and the church’s atrium was a double doored affair, complete with murder holes and a raised portcullis.
“Heed me, for my orders are simple. You will all abandon your homes and occupy the church, it was made to guide the faithful in times of peace or… To protect the weak in times of war. We must use that to our advantage. Once you occupy the church you will act as one family, you will harvest one field at a time until you’ve filled every wagon you can find. Then you will go to Mont St Michel.”
“We cannot abandon our homes!”
“My family has lived in Avignon for twelve generations!”
“The harvest will rot!”
“We’ll starve-”
“I would rather die than leave-”
“You WILL DIE!” Thundered Liam, cutting off the people.
Magic suffused his words and made them boom with a force that punched through their ribs into their hearts. Terror spread through the few men left, draining the color from their faces.
Nutz… That was too much. Calm down Liam. This is why none of your professors ever yelled, it makes others fear you. Which makes them resist. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a moment to rein in his emotions before speaking again.
“No more aid is coming. Before the day ends I will leave Avignon. What has happened here, these giants and shadowcats, is happening everywhere. You must find the strength within yourselves to bring in the harvest and flee. Today it was a handful of orcs, tomorrow something else will appear, and the day after even more monsters. How long until a wyvern shows up? Or a dragon? Greenhaven stands unmanned, I have no men to spare. I came here in hopes of finding the manpower to save others. Instead, I find a dozen dead recruits and a few old men.” Liam said.
Pinched lips and clenched jaws greeted Liam’s words, angry faces struggled against his words, their minds and hearts set against the Lightning Lord who had chastised them only seconds prior. They were eager to reject his words but unable to deny the truths in them. A few opened their mouths to argue but shut them slowly, wrestling with their own hearts.
A few looked to Nyota for support, and found no salve for the town’s wounded pride. She had saved a dozen lives, but there were scores of additional wounds. One man came to stand alongside Pascal, three evenly spaced slashes crossing his face. The wound reminded Liam of claw marks and wondered if the orcs had tried to claw his eyes out.
A third man joined them, raising his right arm towards Nyota. Blood dripped down his forearm, running away from the exposed bone poking through his wrist. Without magical healing the wound would become infected, gangrene or sepsis would set in and the man would die.
“They got my bow arm, please m’lady, I can’t fight without it. I beg of you, heal me.” He asked.
Nyota chewed on her lip, wringing her blood stained hands in front of her. There were dark bags under her eyes, and Liam could see her tail hanging limply, as if she lacked the strength to raise it.
“I’ve used all my magic already, I… I need time to recover.” She said faintly, bowing her head in apology.
Before anyone could move Liam stepped forward, concerned for her safety among the hopeless militia. Loyal or not, wounded men might do something foolish.
A hand clawed at the hem of her dress, pulling it towards where a man lay on the ground. Arlet was already in motion, sword drawn he pushed through the militia.
At Nyota’s feet was a man who had been cut in half. How he survived this long was beyond comprehension, perhaps he had awakened as he sensed people gathering around him. His torso lay a foot away from his legs, held together by strands of torn viscera. Arlet paused, looking for permission to end the man, but Nyota was faster.
She knelt at his side, pulling the dying man’s head onto her lap. It was clear that there was no hope for the man, he would die soon and no amount of healing —magical or otherwise— could alter his fate. Nyota stroked his hair, singing softly to the man as he passed from this world. His soul bourn by the wings of melody.
No one in the town could find the fortitude to move. At least ten of the miltia had the decency to lower their eyes as they listened to the melodic eulogy. Where Liam’s words had failed to soften their hearts, reality had rent their very souls. Presently all arguments faded, brushed aside by the truth. Without their lightning lord and his healing slave they would become food for worms.
“We’ll go.” Said Pascal, voice barely audible.
Liam accepted his answer with a nod. He was not a religious man, but his grandparents had taken him to church every Sunday while he lived with them. Nonetheless he had fit in at church, it wasn’t hard, helping others was a fundamental part of why he settled on becoming a doctor. A thought intruded into his mind, much like one of Green’s memories, except more alien.
These people need you more than Earth ever could.
Nyota’s voice grew quiet as she sang the long poem, fading in volume until her voice was barely above a whisper. Soon she sang the last line. Silence. Nyota ran her hand over the man’s face, closing his vacant eyes.
Wordlessly, Liam placed one hand on her head., running his feline nails through her flowing hair. They stayed like that until the man’s body grew cold. Then he and Arlet helped her stand, the trio departing for the cathedral of Avignon. Heir Blackwood needed to answer for his abandonment.
A trail of militia followed behind them, and following the example their lord set, they walked arm in arm with their wounded comrades.
“See this through to the end M’lord. Swear to us that you will protect our families to the end and I will give my life for you.” Said Pascal.
Without a hint of hesitation Liam answered.
“I swear to do everything in my power.”