One of the universals of war is that not everyone returns unscathed. Some injuries are obvious. Broken bodies, missing limbs or eyes, and serious scars are all fairly common. More insidious and less visible is the damage that doesn’t leave a mark but in many instances causes greater problems. Returning and being trapped in a fight or flight response, living with reoccurring nightmares, having all the joy and zest sucked out of life by the experience, all this is far too common. My culture has gone through a whole series of names for this syndrome. Shell shock. Battle fatigue. Post traumatic stress disorder. If those suffering aren’t given adequate help and a supportive atmosphere to recover, people are often ground down to nothing. Some people don’t live very long after returning, either from risky life choices or because they take their own lives.
A worse kind of social scourge, though, is the amoral bastard who has internalized the lessons of war so thoroughly that he or she is unable to live in a different, peaceful way. After pillaging and looting their way through the enemy territory, they decide that might certainly makes right. If they travel too far down this path, they end up believing what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine if you are too weak to defend it.
I found out through my studies that this country had been at war on and off for a long time. Many poor young men and women had lost their lives to the ambitions of the powerful. After all, they were disposable. The peasants would keep having more children. They would keep supplying the necessary tool for warfare. All it took was patience and an overwhelming desire to seize one more village, one more county from the Pargossian Empire. After all, nobody was making more land and the nobility had sons and daughters as well. Those sons and daughters needed somewhere they could rule, someplace to advance the family fortune. And the only way to get it was to to take it from somebody else.
We were deep into the winter. The third major snowstorm of the season had just passed, leaving our land covered in a shimmering blanket of knee-deep snow. A cold wind howled across the plateau, laden with moisture and promising more snow to come. Thanks to all of our hard work earlier in the season, the list of necessary chores was fairly limited. The livestock needed to be fed and tended, we had to keep the well clear to stay hydrated, and we needed to ensure that there was enough firewood close to the house to keep us all warm, but other than those things our time was spent idly, mostly indoors.
We had crafted a variety of board games to occupy our time. I had taught the others to play Chess and a knockoff version of Monopoly, using little wooden chits in the place of currency. Hell, I had even ripped off Settlers of Cataan, angering Werner when I purchased some crude paper to complete the cards with a series of hand-drawn boards. Dice were available in this world for a price and I bought a lot of them. I even thought about introducing a role playing game campaign but I wasn’t certain that in the current environment it would provide much escapism.
Others of our number turned to craft to pass the time. Wood carving, sewing, knitting and the like were all favorite pastimes of some of our people. Werner spent his time in his workshop, trying to simplify commonplace technology from his world to make those inventions functional here, given the limited material science in this one.
I spent a significant amount of time alone working on my magic. I am pleased to say that Climmep was right. Working on magic was like building a different set of muscles. On several occasions, and after a lot of hard work, I was able to project a small amount of light from my body when I was awake. It didn’t have much use, but I could feel my control getting better and my efforts getting stronger. I believed, given what had happened back at the redoubt, I had a lot of potential. I also understood that it would take an egregious amount of work to reach that potential.
After the deep snowfall, our morning chores already completed, we were sitting around in the house pursuing our individual interests. I was reading by the fire and almost jumped out of my skin when I heard a booming knock at the door.
Jumping quickly to my feet and spilling my precious book down onto the floor, I ran over to our weapons rack and grabbed a sword. Then, after hushing everyone else and making certain that our other fighters had weapons within easy reach, I stomped towards the door, throwing it open.
I sighed in relief when I recognized Goulug standing there, his breath steaming in the cold from the exertion of pushing his muscular body through the deep snow.
“What are you doing out in this weather?” I asked. “Get in here and warm up.” Turning to Jahhaf, I asked him to get Goulug something warm to drink, and then I led the orc to a seat by the fire.
After nodding to me in thanks, Goulug began to speak.
“I came to warn you because I am sure you would do the same for me.”
Goulug and I had quite a bit of contact with each other during the run up to winter. There were always chores where several extra sets of hands were helpful. We had all gone over to help him with his harvest and he and his family had pitched in several times on our own projects. I considered him a friend.
“Warn us about what?” I asked.
“There is a well-organized bandit group rampaging through the area,” he exclaimed. “They’re well disciplined and seem to be ex-military. Nobody had seen the goblins in town for several weeks, so a few of our experienced woodsmen headed out to their village. The goblins were slaughtered, and the bandits are camped in their village. They think there are twenty five or thirty of them. Several of the outlying farmers and herdsmen have been attacked as well. The bandits roll in and pillage what they want, and if there is any resistance, those who resist are put to the sword. The mayor has sent a request for help from the barony, but we haven’t heard anything yet. Feeding twenty five to thirty people takes a lot of food, and I think it is only a matter of time before they make it out this way.”
“Wait here and warm up a little,” I said. “I need to explain what’s going on to the others. They all look like they are on edge.”
Pulling the rest of my group into the kitchen, I quickly repeated Goulug’s news. That news generated a whole panoply of responses. Of course, there was a lot of evident fear. Jahhaf, Mariam, Werner, Helvia and Mero all looked stricken by the news to one extent or another. The others, though, bore a wide variety of expressions on their faces. Patrick and Bowen both looked resigned and angry. Lapina was gobsmacked, her gaze swiftly shifting from face to face as if she were unsure how she should react. Xeng stood stock still with a blank expression on his face, clenching and unclenching his fists. And Aleyda looked excited, spoiling for a fight, as if Christmas had just come early.
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“We need to improve our defenses,” I said. “I am going to invite Goulug and his family to stay with us and to bring his livestock. We have enough room and there is safety in numbers. We will all be armed, we will set watches at night, and we will travel outside in groups of no less than four. That might generate some confusion with Goulug’s family, slaves carrying weapons and all, but I think under the circumstances they will let it pass. Hopefully, nothing will come of our preparations and the barony will send troops soon to drive these assholes into the ground, but we need to be prepared. Start coming up plans for fortifications and perhaps trapping a few areas might be in order. Werner, do you think you can come up with something?”
Receiving a nod from Werner, I turned and headed back to see Goulug.
“Your news is dire, my friend,” I said. “I do consider you a friend, likely the only real one that I have out of everyone that I have met here. I think that together we have a better chance to weather this storm than we do separately. We have extra room in the corrals, house and barn. I would like you to consider moving your family, your valuables, and your livestock here for a few days until the barony can respond and drive out these vermin.”
I could tell that he was opening his mouth to protest, but then he stopped. He sat silently for several moments, his eyes boring into the flames dancing in the fireplace. Finally, turning back to me, he started to speak.
“I was about to tell you that your offer was ridiculous,” he said. “Then I started picturing the faces of my wife and my children, and everything that we have worked for over these many years. Do you really think that we can defend ourselves here? And yes, you are my friend.”
“Several of the slaves are experienced fighters,” I replied. “They will be armed, but I hope that fact won’t leave our little group because it could cause trouble for me. I doubt they send their entire force out every time they need more supplies. We likely couldn’t hold against twenty five or thirty people, but against five or ten? I think that we can do with careful planning. Property can be replaced. Our lives cannot.” Gesturing towards the sword that I had left leaning against my chair, I continued. “This weapon is not for show, it is not a display of wealth. I know how to use it, and some of my people are better at using it than I am, or will likely ever be.”
“I will need to convince my family,” he replied. “I think your plan is a good one, though. Together, we are stronger than we are apart.”
“Good,” I said. “Lets get my wagons hitched up and my people ready, and let’s go get your family.”
Standing back up, I went back to the kitchen, which was boiling with hushed conversation. The room quieted immediately when I entered.
“It sounds like we have a plan. Patrick, Xeng, Aleyda, Bowen, Lapina and Mariam, I will need your help to go get Goulug’s family. We will need to forge a path so that the wagons can get through. It’s going to be a lot of of punishing work, but we need to do what we can to survive and make certain that the people we care about survive as well. Mariam, I am sorry to drag you out in the cold but you are our best drover.”
“I understand,” she said. “I may be old but I am not a shirker.”
It took us several hours to travel that half mile. My original plan was to grab some shovels and brute force our way over to Goulug’s farmstead, but Xeng had a better idea. The snow, while deep, was fairly light and powdery. Grabbing our extra ox and the harness we had for our plow, he roped the harness to a heavy log slightly wider than one of our wagons. He used to ox and the heavy log to forge the trail, compacting the snow with its weight. We had to stop often for that poor ox to rest, but foot by foot we made our way towards Goulug’s family.
One thing I will say about wagons in this world is that they did not deal well with the snow. Before next winter, I think we would be building a sleigh. The narrow wheels cut deeply into the compacted snow, and we spent an inordinate amount of energy pushing and digging the wagons out when they got stuck time after time. The snow was not uniformly deep because it had drifted higher some places because of the wind, and I thought I would be clearing drifts in my sleep that night. It was a hell of a workout, but we all banded together and eventually reached our destination.
We all sat, resting and warming by the fire in Goulug’s small house. I could hear raised voices from the bedroom, where he had retreated to discuss things with his family, but within a short time his family was putting on their cold weather gear, packing valuables in the wagons, and preparing his livestock for travel. It took a couple of hours to get everything ready, and my stomach was aching from hunger due to the exertion and having missed lunch, but then it was time to make the return trip.
Goulug’s children herded their livestock. It took just as long for the trip back. We had a trail to follow, but the wagons were now laden and the heavier weight caused them to get stuck more often. Finally, we trooped into our yard, thoroughly exhausted. There was still work to do. The livestock needed to be seen to and put away and the wagons unloaded. I was pleasantly surprised when then rest of my people walked out as a group into the cold and snow to lend a hand.
Finally, everything was done and we retired to the house getting our new roommates squared away in the guest rooms. Jahhaf had been cooking all day, and that night we feasted before setting a watch schedule and dragging our tired and aching bodies to bed.
During the night, the snow that the wet air had promised arrived once more, dumping several more inches, this time wet and heavy. The wind howled as the back half of the storm hit, and soon the fruits of our labor from the previous day had almost been erased.
The next week was uneventful. Goulug’s family were good guests. They fit right in with our motley crew. Sure, most people couldn’t talk to each other very well, but it didn’t seem to matter. Daylight was short, but there was plenty of time to do necessary chores and after explaining the rules for several of the games we played, Goulug’s children began competing with gusto. Ugor helped Jahhaf in the kitchen and we got to try several new dishes. They were both excellent cooks. The storm passed and skies became clear and sunny. On several days, the temperature rose above freezing and the snow started to melt.
After about a week, Goulug’s family were getting a little antsy. One of the great truisms of life is that anything can become routine if it is experienced enough. I could tell that they yearned to return to their house and their land and though they would demand to do so in the next day or two. Certainly, the barony must have responded by now, right?
Wrong. The next day, Bowen, who had been keeping watch, ran into the house. “We have company coming, and not the good kind,” he announced. We quickly all dressed and armed ourselves.
“You know what to do,” I announced. “We have planned and drilled for this. Get into your positions.”
Bowen, Goulug, Xeng and I stepped out into the yard.
We arrived outside just in time to meet the seven armed strangers who cockily strode up to the house. They were battle scarred, hard looking men.