The bells kept ringing.

After a mad scramble back through the deserted castle, Varsus and Multon had just reached the inner bailey, where they could see all of Earl Ragenald’s forces muster to depart the Varsus Province.

Varsus grimaced at the sight of the not insignificant forces. Forces the Earl had brought with him to occupy his home illegally.

He had to admit that the tight order and efficiency of the assembled Clermont troops impressed him.

Varsus and Multon had lingered only a moment before dashing after the Earl and his men, yet these troops were already prepared to march.

Just when he could actually use help from Clermont, they were headed south, instead of north, to meet the attack.

Ragenald had likely planned to quit this game even before the alarm bells were rung, thought Varsus. He then turned away from the Clermont troops and began moving in the opposite direction. He needed to think about what he had, instead of what help he would not receive.

“Come, Multon!” he shouted, even as he ran. “We must get to the horses and gather as many as we can on the ride. We’ll muster at the tree-line before the fishing villages!”

Multon seemed to have no trouble keeping up, despite his age.

“The lads will already be on their way, my lord, have no doubt!” he shouted as he ran.

Pirate attacks, though much lessened in recent years, were still to be feared. As such, Varsus and his advisors had protocols upon protocols devised to instruct their responses to any attack.

Varsus could see for himself that Multon’s words were correct. After returning to the stables whence they had just earlier left their horses, the two men rode out of the castle grounds at top speed.

Now they were in the town of Varston, proper. Unlike the deserted castle grounds, here men were everywhere, shouting as they ran. They ran to retrieve their weapons and horses, or else they were already riding at top speed to the rally point.

Many of the men spotted Baron Varsus and fell in behind him, though he did not acknowledge or call out to them.

Soon they were twenty men, then fifty. By the time the riders burst out through the wooden gate of the town, they were seventy strong.

Full night had fallen, and although only one moon shone, it brightly lit their way once they left the town’s torches behind.

Varsus could see riders ahead of him in the harsh blue and white moonlit landscape. Perhaps ten men riding hard.

The bells were still ringing.

Someone must still be there to ring them, thought Varsus, leaning close over his mount, attempting to will even the slightest increase of speed out of the animal.

The road north to the fishing villages was merely packed earth, and not stone. However, it was wide and well kept, as it was the primary thoroughfare to transport fishing hauls back to Varston, and eventually out to the other provinces.

Varsus knew they need not worry about any holes or obstructions, and so he pushed on, urging his horse faster and faster.

Pirate attacks had indeed been less, but they still happened frequently enough that he feared for what might have already happened.

When the foul villains attacked, they used swift, oar-power galleys that were good at maneuvering in shallow waters. Thus, they could be on shore almost before you knew it.

In normal times, the watchtowers and stationed forces would fire cannon as soon as they were spotted, thinning out the number of attackers that actually managed to land on the shores.

Then the waiting force could descend on the pirates and dispatch them before they could move further inland to reach the villages.

Varsus knew this was not a normal time. They had left a token force to guard the villages, and the men he had now were exhausted from a long ride, only having just returned home.

He was certain many of the pirates had made it to shore with no resistance, and he knew their ultimate goal.

People. Men, women and children. His subjects that he was sworn to protect.

If he did not reach them in time, many would be carried off in those dark ships, never to be seen again.

Varsus wished there was something else of value for the pirates to take, but his province was not a wealthy one, and he knew their most valuable commodities were the fish and the people.

He did not think the sea-going pirates had much use for more fish.

Up ahead, the road cut through a brief expanse of trees. This marked the place where the defenders knew they must wait and rally. Varsus counted twenty men now waiting.

He pulled up hard when he reached them.

“Organize by your commanders and count off!” he shouted.

After they had done so, Varsus knew he had close to two hundred men assembled.

“Baron!” came a shout from the trees. Varsus squinted to see who was addressing him.

It was a man he knew. A castle guardsman named Geoff.

“I’ve got the runners here!” Geoff shouted. With him were two young boys. Both looked to be around ten seasons in age.

One had short dark hair and eyes, and his smooth skin was pale, nearly white under the moonlight. The other boy had a mop of brown hair nearly covering his eyes. He was not as pale, but the fear was evident on both the boy’s faces.

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These two would be from the two fishing villages, Lobberwick and Oarstead. Their only job in the event of an attack was to do exactly what the position of runner entailed. Run away.

It was not an easy thing to ask a young boy to do, but it was imperative they leave everything, everything, behind and meet the defenders at this very place to give whatever information they could.

The bells stopped ringing. Everyone there knew what that meant.

Everyone stopped and listened as the long tone of the last bell faded away. They all hoped to hear the bells start up again, but they did not.

“Speak, lads,” Varsus commanded, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. These boys knew as well or better than anyone what the stakes were here.

“Two ships landed at Lobberwick!” cried the dark-haired boy.

“Three landed at Oarstead!” the other boy shouted, almost on top of his counterpart.

Varsus’ stomach sank, and he tried to keep the feeling of despair from showing on his face.

Five ships landed? There was no telling how many had been taken by now. All he could do now was act to prevent further abductions.

“Attend!” he shouted. At those words, it seemed like the entire night went quiet. Even the insects stopped chirping. The only sounds were the shifting and shuffling of horses, and the squelching of the leather of their saddles.

When he was sure he had the attention of all, Varsus spoke again.

“This is what we must do.”

***

Everyone’s instinct was to rush through the trees and descend on the pirates head on, slaughtering them all with as much brutality as possible.

However, Varsus issued commands counter to that instinct. Mostly.

A small force would burst from the woods to attack the pirates directly.

This would hopefully draw the pirates into a cohesive unit as they tried to defend or retreat. The rest of the men would circle around the first village of Oarstead and come at those pirates remaining on land from the side.

Varsus did not want them to have a chance to retreat to their ships and sail away, especially if they had his subjects on board.

So they moved through the trees, using paths cut for just this occasion, to hide the men until it was too late for the enemy to retreat.

They had left a few men to handle the horses and proceeded on foot through the trees.

The two runners reported none of the pirates were seen carrying their miniature hand cannon weapons. Those loud, imprecise weapons could be highly dangerous, punching through even the heaviest armor.

Some pirates had bows, but so did many of his men. When the pirates were mostly together, his men would unleash arrows from two sides, striking them down.

When they reached the edge of the trees on the far side, they could see the water.

Varsus felt his heart sink again.

He saw burning buildings and rising smoke from the village. When he looked further out, he saw two galleys sailing away, out into the sea. They had already claimed what they had come for.

He wanted to shout in fury, but he saw there was one ship still moored in the shallows, and many pirates still visible, some dragging struggling people along with them.

These would not get away.

They were so close, but the pirates could not see them from their cover, which was the reason they had left these trees standing in the first place.

Varsus thrust his hand into the air and closed his fist.

Immediately, a low bird call was given, and the call was repeated, traveling backward through the line.

Varsus knew the signal had been heard when a group of fifty men erupted from the tree cover, screaming and shouting, waving their swords in the air.

Just as they had hoped, the remaining pirates threw their captives to the side and began forming up to repel the attack. Varsus counted close to thirty men.

Just before his men reached the villains, Varsus shouted out.

“NOW!”

The archers with him released a volley of arrows, and even more arrows came from the other side, where the rest of the archers had circled around.

At least half of the pirates dropped dead immediately, lethal arrows stuck through heads, necks and chests.

The other half cried out, shouting curses in a language that no one understood.

None of the pirates had been able to get a shot off.

Now Varsus and the rest of the force emerged from the trees and swept down on the pirates.

Men began running through the village in groups, searching for any remaining pirates, while those who reached the main group began putting them down by sword or arrow.

“HOLD!” shouted Varsus.

The men stopped, but all turned to look at him in frustration. They wanted to finish off these pirates and move on to Lobberwick.

“We’ll keep one alive this time,” he said. He heard groans of dissatisfaction, but he ignored them. He understood.

All the pirates that still lived had at least one arrow in them.

Varsus found one who had taken an arrow through his upper arm. The pirate was dark-skinned, swarthy, and had several green tattoos on his face. He was lying on his back, groaning in pain.

When Varsus got close, the pirate got to his knees and bared his teeth, despite feeling what must have been terrible pain.

Varsus drew back his fist and unleashed a terrible blow to the side of the pirate’s head, causing blood to explode from the man’s mouth, and dropping the pirate back down to the ground. This time face first.

Some of the still-living pirates began shouting, some attempted to crawl away.

Varsus raised his hand again, permission granted.

The sounds of pirates being ran-through filled the night, along with the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the seawater rushing against the shore.

Master Multon stepped forward, looking down at the unconscious pirate.

“My lord, we have tried this before. We don’t speak their language, and I doubt they would tell us anything even if we did.”

Multon waited for a response, but none came. When he turned to address Varsus, he raised his eyebrows in shock.

Baron Varsus had dropped his sword, then turned and walked away.

“My lord, where are you going?! We must still move on Lobberwick!”

Varsus did not respond, turn or slow. He walked, straight-backed and stiff, into the trees, where he disappeared from sight.

“Baron!” shouted Multon. “GARRICK!”

But Varsus was gone.

“Master Multon, what do we do?” asked one of the men.

Multon looked around. Crying people, burning buildings, and he could just make out the faint shape of a ship disappearing out to sea.

“We move on to Lobberwick. Now!” he snapped.

But as the men ran on to Lobberwick, Multon looked back to where he had last seen Varsus.

He had a feeling something worse than pirates had just happened.

***

At the edge of the Endless Forest, something much worse than pirates waited.

It stood so still it might have been carved from marble. It had just summoned its pawn, and now it had naught to do but wait.

Glancing downward with its red eyes, it observed the dead mortal at its feet.

Soon, it would awake, and it would be much more useful.

But until then, it thought of its own predicament. For the moment, it was trapped in this world, and it had taken a large gamble that it would pay off.

It had found evidence of the hated Elves here. If they were to move against it in concert, they could be… most annoying.

The master would either place him above all others for this, or he would be destroyed, utterly removed from existence, the pain of such destruction lasting for an eternity.

The dead mortal twitched on the ground, then sat up. It could see the one called Barnaby was mortal no longer.

“Rise, Barnaby,” it said. Barnaby did so.

Now Barnaby was completely drained of color, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Master,” said Barnaby, turning to face IT. “I am now like you.”

It laughed in response.

“No. You are more than mortal, but much less than I.”

Barnaby looked confused. The emotion did not wear quite right on Barnaby’s new face.

“I don’t understand. I feel different,” said Barnaby, and his voice was raspy and harsh, coming from what remained of his damaged vocal cords.

“You can feel my presence?” it asked.

Barnaby stopped and concentrated.

“Yes. Yes, Master! I can feel your power!” Barnaby cried, seeming in awe.

“Now go beyond me. Reach out beyond me. What do you feel?”

Barnaby did so, and immediately regretted it.

He was suddenly adrift in endless blackness. All alone.

No. Not alone. There was something there. Something so vast and powerful, Barnaby could barely comprehend it. He felt his mind start to break, to fracture under the knowledge that something so vast could exist, but then he was snatched back to earthly reality.

It laughed, watching Barnaby crumple to the ground and shake.

“You serve me,” it said, “and I serve him.”

The cruel laughter of the creature echoed into the night for a long time.