Chapter 10: Raided

Tybalt followed the men of Corvus on his motorcycle. While it still did not feel as though it belonged to him, he felt himself become more comfortable and familiar with the machine. He understood how it turned, the small particularities of its noises, the feel of its grips upon his clenched hands. At one point, reliving the youthful abandon of his first machine, he kicked the front of his motorcycle into the air and drove solely on the back tire.

When they approached the spring, Erik had been waiting for them. He had a coin in his hand that he repeatedly flicked into the air. He caught it, spun it around his fingers, and then flicked back into the air.

“It’s about time you guys showed up,” he yelled at them in a jovial tone. He approached them as each man dismounted. He hugged each man in turn, but, when approached Tybalt, he merely thrusted his hand forward in order to shake it.

“You should have seen, Ty,” Arne said to Erik. “Beautiful wheelie.”

“You don’t say.” Erik grinned at Tybalt as he shook his hand. The grip grew more firm with manly respect.

Once again, Tybalt decided to err toward silence. He needed these men on his side until he was inside the city walls. After that, perhaps, he could let his guard down, be a little more true to himself.

“Have you come up with a plan?” Njall asked Erik. The large man wandered over to the pool of water near them. He crouched into it and washed his hands. The others did likewise, scooping water over their grimy hands and cleaning themselves of the activity of the day.

The spring that they had arrived at had been a natural water feature, where, from the rolling hills of the forest, water tumbled from a small water fall and rolled down a short river. The water collected in this pool, where the occasional traveller would refill their water supplies.

This source of water, both natural as well as beautiful, had been rigorously maintained and guarded by the militia of Carrion Hill. The military men had a training camp adjacent to the spring, which often had soldiers perform their first guard duty at this location. Mostly, they would stand, listen to the birds, and kick out the occasional person who decided to bath in main pool.

“Yeah, I have something,” Erik said. He had already filled his canteen from the river as he waited. He drank from it and went back to refill it down stream. The other members of Corvus did the same. Tybalt, having inherited all of Odvar’s possessions, had his canteen as well as that glass bottle he had polished off. Not only that, but he still had three plastic water bottles stolen from the homestead. At this rate, he would become the motorcycle gang’s water boy. Tybalt had his fill of the spring water and replenished each of the bottles, placing them into his bag.

“Well, what is it?” Njall splashed water on his face. Grease flowed from his and into his beard. He splashed more water, rubbing his cheeks with the palm of his hand.

“Get your water and we’ll discuss in a bit.” Erik subtly gestured to the militia men who stood guard by the gates. One of the newer recruits had trained his ear on their conversation.

The men got back onto their motorbikes and drove to the entrance of the natural spring. As they were about to drive out, a large former school bus blew pass them. It contained several members of the Carrion Hill militia. They unloaded into the training grounds.

Once the bus moved into the grounds, the bikes drove further east. They drove until Erik threw his fist into the air to signal their stop. The engines puttered to a stall. Erik turned of the main road and up the sides of a small escarpment and into the trees that lined the sides of this vantage point.

“Gentlemen, here’s the plan. You know we need ware. And we’re going to need more than what our bikes carry. If that old fart Jurand won’t help us, well, then, what choice do we have. This hideout gives us a nice view of the on-coming road.”

Erik pointed through the trees and deeper down the main road. In the distance, they could see a group of four people walking down the road with large bags on their back.

“Now, I’m not in favour of highway banditry, so we’ll let the small fries go through. These guys, for instance, aren’t worth our time. But if we get someone with a pack animal or a wagon or small vehicle. We take it.”

“You want us to rob innocent people?” Arne asked.

Unconsciously, Erik scowled at the youngest member. The facial reprimand disarmed the young man, but the question remained in the air.

“We’re not rob innocent people,” Erik resumed with a casual air, “We are ensuring our entry into Carrion Hill in order to rig an election. You and I know that is the greater good, the greater option.”

“And if some eggs need to crack,” Njall added. He finished his sentence by crashing his fist in the palm of his hand. “Crack.”

Arne did not like the answer. He simply picked the inside of his ear clean with his fingernail. He looked at the gunk he removed from his ear and flicked into the distance.

“Do you have an intel on what’s coming?” asked Sten.

“None,” Erik responded. “We’re just playing a waiting game.”

“What if it’s days?” Tybalt said. The question spilled from his mouth faster than he could get a hold of it. Normally, in meetings like this, he had been one of the core planners. The reflex kicked in, forgetting that in this new crew, he was the junior most member.

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Erik rubbed one of his eyes with the knuckles of his fist.

“Is our entry time sensitive?” Tybalt said, trying to salvage the situation. The question had been an important one.

“No,” Njall said. “We have no rush to enter the city, except for the election of course, but with the current gridlock.” The giant shrugged his shoulders. “Could be weeks, months.”

Erik nodded his head. “There’s no rush,” he said. “It’s only preparation meeting opportunity.”

The group of four that had been a speck in the distant had walked alongside the escarpment totally ignorant of the group of bikers before them.

“We could slowly accumulate stuff,” Sten offered.

“That’ll just raise suspicions,” Erik said. “With the militia camp so close, we have one shot at big cargo. Two, if we kill everyone and hide the bodies from the first raid.”

Arne shook his head.

“I didn’t sign up to be a raider. If I wanted violence, I would have gone West. You promised a different life.”

Erik looked at the young man again. He cleared his throat and spat to the side. It was not a direct insult, but neither was it an unprovoked action.

“I made that promise in full truth and full confidence that I would be able to make it so. The fact of the matter is, we’re in a tight situation. Once this chapter closes, you’ll be able to head back home and make your peace with the others.”

Arne didn’t say anything in response.

“So we wait?” Njall asked.

“We wait.” Erik looked over the horizon. He squinted his eyes, but saw nothing but a lone traveler.

* * *

As the afternoon gave way to evening, so did the warmth give way to chill.

“Can we at least make a small fire, so I can make something for us to eat?” asked Sten.

Erik said nothing. Over the last five hours, he had been unusually quiet. Arne had whispered to Tybalt a few things about his usual character and some of his motivations for re-entered Carrion Hill. Apparently, his father had once held a spot on the city council, but had been exiled. His father never got to see the city grow into its present state. The fact was made more bitter by the fact that the source of its growth had been due to his father’s initiatives.

Njall, at this point, had tired of waiting and simply stretched his large body on the grassy meadow and had napped for the last hour and a half.

“There!” Erik broke his silence. He had seen a small caravan lifted near the end of the sun. As the caravan approached the site of their ambush, Tybalt could see the level of risk involved. The caravan had two fully-loaded oxen. It seemed as though there was a man in the front without any weapon, but he had two men beside him. A fourth member of their group walked in the back, acting as rearguard.

“Alright, Tybalt, you’re going to be the decoy. I need you to get to the road and distract them. Get them to stop. When I think it’s ready, we’ll attack.” Erik threw a blanket at Tybalt.

Tybalt wrapped himself in the blanket and stumbled down the side of the escarpment. He pretended to hobble toward the caravan. He collapsed on the ground with a convincing thud. After the few days he had, he did not need to practice being crippled. The memory still stung fresh in his mind. If there had been any reason to be grateful for Corvus, it was would be for the nociceptive cast.

“Help!” Tybalt called in a frail voice. “Please!”

The caravan neared him. While the distraction aimed to disarm these men, his call to them made all of the men tense. Even the unarmed man leading the group reached for a hidden weapon in the inside breast pocket of his jacket.

“Can you help me up?” Tybalt asked. “I injured myself and I cannot get up.”

One of the guards, slung his rifle onto his shoulder and approached him with a helping hand.

“Wait!” called the man at the front of the caravan. “Leave him. It’s probably a trap.”

“It’s not a trap,” Tybalt claimed. “I cannot walk. Please, it’s been so long since I had shelter and a good meal. I was told that there was some place called The Clasp Hands that would take me in.”

“It’s true,” one of the guards said to the head of the caravan. “It’s a charity building the Misery Quarter.”

“You want to drag this man into the Misery Quarter? If we’re not going to get ambushed here, then we’ll certainly be ambushed there.”

“Militia patrol the quarter. They wouldn’t be able to mount an attack against us once we reach the outskirts of the city,” the guard responded.

“And what about before the outskirts of the city?” the man at the head of the caravan asked.

“Anything is possible,” the other guard said.

“What’s the hold up?” shouted the guard at the end.

“Stay your ground,” the caravan head shouted back to him. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Well, then, can we start moving? At this rate, we won’t be able to reach the gates before they close for the night,” the rearguard shouted back.

“Look,” the head of the caravan said to Tybalt, “I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but in times like these I cannot spare much of anything, least of all my time. I can give you a bottle of water, if that would satisfy you.”

“Oh, yes!” Tybalt said with fake enthusiasm.

The caravan head went to the side of one of his oxen and opened one of the large satchels that hung from the beast. As he did so, a fusillade erupted from above the escarpment. The men of Corvus fired as quickly as they could.

The guard nearest Tybalt jumped for the protection of the escarpment. He pressed his body against the wall of dirt, looking for a clear opportunity to fire at one of the attackers. In the chaos, Tybalt pulled out his own 10mm and shot the unaware guard. The man slumped against the dirt dead.

The others continued their fighting. The head of the caravan had taken cover behind one of his oxen, returning fire with a pistol. The rest of his men had died in the initial fire exchange. Then, the ox he hid behind collapsed upon its legs. One of the Corvus men had shot the beast in the head, killing it instantly. The beast tipped over and trapped the caravan head beneath its overburdened bulk. He screamed in pain as the dead creature had clearly broken his legs.

Erik scrambled down the escarpment and made sure the guards were dead. He fired an extra shot into each man. Njall walked the long way around the escarpment, checking to see if anyone else came down the road. Sten went to attend to Tybalt, while Arne went to check on the screaming caravan head.

Arne had his pistol firmly in his hand, he rounded the dead animal and saw the trapped man. He leveled his gun.

“Wait! Wait!” the man cried. He struggled beneath the dead ox. “There’s something I can give you! It’s here, just wait. Just wait!”

Arne lowered his gun in curiosity. He came closer to the man.

“Ah, here it is!” The man pulled a revolver from the inside of his jacket and shot Arne between the eyes. The young biker fell to his knees and dropped dead against the gravel of the road.

Erik did not hesitate in his revenge. He shot the caravan leader in the wrist. The revolver fell from his hand in a painful burst of blood. Erik then stepped upon the other hand with the heel of his boot.

“It would have been better for your sake if you simply died.” Erik aimed his gun at the caravan leader’s head. “Pow!” he said, pretending pull the trigger. “That would have been a waste of ammunition, don’t you think? There isn’t much you can do right now.”

Erik ground the man’s hand in the gravel with his heel. The caravan leader shouted in agony.

“How shall we end things? Shall I cut you into small pieces?” Erik pulled a large blade from beneath his leather jacket.

“Erik!” Njall called to him in a booming voice. “Do not be cruel. Kill the man and be done with it!”

Erik shook his head in a negative. “I do not wish to end things quickly.”

Njall unholstered his own gun and shot the caravan leader twice in the chest.

“It’s not always your wish, konungur.”