Simon was ten the summer of the great invasion. He was lean, and baby faced and could have past of a couple of years younger. His mother, who was once a real beauty, was starting to show her age and appeared tired all the time. Perhaps even sickly, but the boy didn't quite see or understand it. His father had left a few years earlier with the lord's levy and never returned.
It was fall when Hakon, the woodsman, who was the king's man, arrived in the small, poor village. Hakon had been a warrior once but was now too old and slow for such work. He and his crew were cutting trees to the north of the village. The wood, along with most of the crop, would be shipped to the capital to pay the king's tax for the lord of the village. The crops had left three weeks earlier with the studious assessor. Hakon and his men arrived three days before the crops left.
Along with his four men, Hakon was working dutifully when the attackers descended. Hakon, who would give the children stout sticks to practice sword-craft and a pointer or two on how to use the weapon as he worked, was well-liked. That day, as was typical, a gaggle of boys, including Simon and a few girls, had assembled and were engaged in mock warfare when one of the men spotted the approaching force.
Simon noted the change as Hakon as the gruff old warrior began bellowing orders to his few men in a voice that seemed to come to life with what Simon could only call excitement. For it certainly wasn't fear in Hakon's gruff voice he issued orders and men began quickly, no furiously, unhitching the only two horses in the village. A pair of large old draft animals still fit for use, to send a rider to the nearest proper town for aid. The most aged man in Hakon's crew fled towards the woods with the children to hide. Hiding in any nearby woods or swamp when the enemy showed was common for villagers throughout the land of Thornwin, which was as much of the world as Simon knew of at the time. However, he hadn't known enough to hide.
Hakon's effort was all for naught, though. Simon saw a group of riders break away to chase them down before he turned to run towards the trees. Simon, who was just shy of his tenth name day and nearly the smallest among the children, heard and felt the thunder of the hooves behind him long before the enemy reached.
Time had moved so slowly during that chase. His limbs moved as though through the water. He had been sure the horsemen would be upon him for an eternity before he felt the brush of the animal or it's rider as they charged toward his escort. The sound as the spear ripped clean through the man's spine, and then his chest in a horrific series of violent pops and rips made Simon double over and vomit right there. The rider left his spear in the wound as he pulled a sword from his waist and reigned in his horse to cut off the fleeing children.
As the children, who had been slightly ahead of Simon even before he stopped to vomit nearly on the dead man, were being rounded up, Simon grabbed the knife in the man's waistline and ran for all he was worth. He ran towards the village. Towards what every child thinks is safety. Towards his mother, and unbeknownst to him, carnage.
Much like the escort, a rider was upon him long before he reached his destination. Luckily children are worth more in slave markets than scraggly old men, and the rider aimed to grab the boy by his collar and haul him onto the saddle. Simon attempting to get away drove the blade he had gotten off the dead woodsman into the man's exposed leg. The warrior responded by a bellowing roar of shock and pain that morphed into an even bigger cry of rage.
Simon had often marveled at his luck in avoiding that man's rage. Halfway through that rage-filled scream, the massive warrior lost his grip on the boy. Simon remembered the sensation of falling, his head hitting something hard, then mind-numbing pain, and finally darkness.
Simon lingered in and out of consciousness, unaware of being tied to the other children, and any other villagers young or pretty enough to be sold or kept as slaves. At first, in the times he was near conscious, all he saw was floating, flickering balls of light. Simon vomited at least once, but he thought it had been more. He could hear faint screams echoing in the distance, and felt crashing pain. As the pain faded, he realized that the light and been fires and the flickers were men walking between him and those fires. His fear and anger returned with his wits as the sun came up the following day.
Simon frantically pulled on the ropes that bound him. Though his wrists were raw, chafed, and bleeding, he pulled on the ropes and against the heavy wooden wagon they were attached to. Simon remembered with some small amount of pride hanging upside down with his feet planted against the wagon and pulling till a small stream of crimson flowed down the delicate contours of his arm.
After he had no more strength to pull, Simon sat brooding, picking at the knots. He feared his mother was dead as he hadn't seen her among the other villagers tied to the wagon. His young mind cursed the others tied with him for not even trying to escape. To be fair to the prisoners, they were guarded by stout fellows that looked more than capable of recapturing or slaughtering each and every person tied to that wagon even without the support of the mass of men milling around.
The despair was nearly as overpowering as the joy when a friendly army was sighted in the distance. The prisoners couldn't see the approaching men from where they were placed, but the frantic commands said everything that needed to be said. A more significant force was approaching. Running was the only option. Leave anything not necessary or already packed. The would-be slaves were left by one army and picked up by another.
Like that, the horrible men mounted up and fled westward toward the river that could be seen far in the distance on a clear day. Simon and the others were cut from the wagon, and he ran for his home and his mother. His mother looked awful and was blood-covered. She had suffered in the night, and Simon felt a pang of guilt upon seeing her state. He should have been there to protect her. His mother hardly even acknowledged him. She was whisked away by other ladies of the village and onto a cart carrying the sick and wounded.
Many were dead, and they got piled in the village center and set ablaze. Herod, the carpenter, and his sons, the two of the flame-haired bullies that often made Simon's life difficult, were there. Hakon and his men were there. Simon knew all of the people that shared that mound they were neighbors, friends, nemesis, and fellow villagers. He had seen them on good days and bad, danced and feasted with them during harvest celebrations.
The group of warriors that pillaged the village wasn't an army. It was, in fact, a small group, considering the numbers of the host force. This group had been pillaging food across the countryside to support the army. Even the rescuing army was only a single lord on his way to meet other lords and the king. Simon didn't understand that the enemy numbers that he had thought of as a massive horde had really only been forty or so men. To his young mind, the rescuing army's ranks had seemed more extensive than it was due to the number of refugees that the lord had collected on his way thus far. Simon remembered how excited he had been when he heard that this army was marching to meet the king.
Of course, there was a tremendous strategic value in getting the villagers to safety, even if Simon hadn't understood it yet. The lords of the realm would need these commoners to reap the crops in the fall and work the land in the spring. Truth be told, they were much like livestock. The livestock would also be brought into walled cities for protection from the enemy. Simon did not doubt that the traders in any town could tell you, without even a moment to think about it, precisely the number of everyday slaves it would take to buy anything they could procure. Simon knew now those things he hadn't known then. Among that knowledge was the undeniable fact that if you can deny the enemy slaves, wealth, and food, you can wait behind walls till they just leave. Not that he ever advocated waiting behind walls.
Worse still was the price of just paying them to leave. Simon advocated breaking the army to prevent any further demands and because payment gives the enemy leader more wealth to purchase warriors and weapons. A lord too ready to pay for peace may find himself paying for the army that destroys him.
The commander of the lord's men only tried once to stop Simon from harassing the troops. He found out quickly that commanding Simon to leave the men alone caused Simon to make him the subject to the boy's relentless barrage of questions. The commander figured it was far better to spread Simon's kind excitement around.
One the first day of the journey, Simon would run back to his mom and tell her all the amazing things he had heard. How the lord had fifty household warriors with him and twice that number in levy raised from his farmlands. Now they were headed to the city of Farrin for a gathering of the army. She wouldn't respond to his talking. He just didn't understand the cruelty of this world yet. He didn't understand that in war, women are often hurt in ways that men are not. He didn't understand the blood on her dress. He certainly didn't understand why she rode in the injured cart. He didn't understand that a small army of angry marauders can sometimes break a woman. He also didn't know that some of the screams he heard that night, while fate had been kind enough to allow him to sleep through the carnage, had been his mothers. The night's horrors still sat with the other members of his village. None of them had the courage to try and explain the situation to this young boy who had been swept up in the biggest adventure of his life. His mother had been dealt her death in that grim night and would no longer be of this world soon. All of these were things Simon did not understand.
So, with sorrow, he would sulk away. The sadness didn't last long before he was again with the soldiers asking questions and bragging about stabbing a man. After introducing himself to a group of men who had been levied from the lord's farmland, he recounted how this massive giant of a man had tried to pick him up, and he heroically stabbed the villain. Simon also told them, “It was a bad wound. Bastard”, bastard seemed the most common word among the men and Simon took to placing it wherever he could, “probably bled to death. So I'm probably a killer. Just so you know. I should probably have a sword.” Simon told all this to the men while smiling triumphantly. Then men erupted in laughter.
The success of the story led to Simon deciding to walk up the column of men and tell everyone his story, and especially that he should have a sword. Most men laughed and more than a few hard. Lord Wolfred even chuckled himself upon overhearing Simon tell Commander Elthric. Some men called him a liar, and one also tried to cuff him.
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His mother still wasn't talking to him on his journeys to the part of the column where the villagers plodded along. She looked faint and ghostly. Aniees, an older lady from his village who had been ever hard-nosed and spiteful, told him to run off and play his mother just wasn't feeling well. She said it in an uncharacteristically kindly manner, and he did.
The army stopped by a river to collect water and rest. Simon had been close enough to the lord, to hear as commander Elthric grumbled to the lord that the villagers were causing the food to run low. They should have been at the fortified town of Farrin tomorrow evening, but now the evening after at the earliest.
Simon was still standing there eavesdropping when a scouting party returned with three prisoners. Among the prisoners was a large man with a bandaged thigh who, although tied at the wrists, upon seeing Simon made a reckless lunge at the boy. The scout holding his rope quickly wrapped his slack end around the pommel of his saddle to stop the man and was embarrassed. Some of the men around him, lord and commander among them began to laugh. The rider, Worton, was his name, had thought everyone was laughing at him until the boy the enemy was intent on reaching said,” Take that bandage off. He still might bleed to death.” with bright shining pride.
This started another and bigger round of laughter. Warton knew at that point there was a piece of the situation he didn't understand, and his embarrassment receded. However, his curiosity peaked, and he set about questioning people about the situation as soon as he was revealed of his prisoners. The man found just as much humor in the story as everyone else once he was clued in.
It was Simon's moment of triumph. Fate, however, can be as cruel as it can be kind, and as it was giving him glory before the men, he idolized with one hand while taking his mother from this world with the other. His mother died during the time someone was sent to fetch him and when he arrived to be by her side during her passing.
Commander Elthric being diligent in his duties and assuring nothing was afoot when a peasant with a bowed head, obviously terrified to be offending the lord by interrupting whatever was happening, ushered Simon away. Elthric followed slightly behind them, or so Simon assumed because the boy wasn't aware of his presence until he saw his mother's lifeless corpse.
Simon's thought lingered on Elthric for a brief moment, who had been as compassionate in life as he had been fierce in battle. The man had been Simon's first tutor in war and in life. That day, however, Elthric held back tears. He was a man of war and, as such, saw and understood what a child does not. Elthric saw the blood-stained dress, among other signs and deduced what had happened, and his heart wept for the boy. The woman had been terribly misused. Sometimes this caused damage inside that was only curable by magic. It wasn't common, but it was known to happen on rare occasions. Such horrors were part of war, and Elthric had learned to separate himself from it long ago, but he had already taken to the boy. That opening in his defenses allowed him to feel pain followed by the cold metal anger a warrior reserves for the enemy he despises.
Simon was left there to say his goodbyes. At the same time, a makeshift pyre was erected to burn his mother and another wounded man who succumbed to injuries. Simon was in shock. All the rest of that day, Simon bothered no one, talked to no one, and looked at no one.
He just wondered mostly. Trailing behind the column, way out to the side of, or just meandering around. The joy of that day and the following crash was a great fall for his tiny heart. Simon, for the first time in his life, felt lost. When the caravan stopped that evening, Simon had nowhere to go, so he wandered around the perimeter of the camp aimlessly.
Warton, who had been posted to guard duty, had heard the boy's story as it had spread like wildfire through the camp. First, the humor in finding out that his cocky story which had seemed so obviously a lie was true, was astonishing. Then that his mother had been savaged by the enemy and died had been tragic.
Simon represented them all. He was their collective bravery and pain. He could be any of their sons, or brothers, or younger selves. These things had served to strengthen the men's resolve to meet the enemy. Even the levy, known by all to be simple farmers and, as such, never used in battle without the lack of other options walked with more determination.
So, Worton watched Simon make his dozen or more rounds past his line of sight fifty yards or so away from where the sentry was posted. He noticed when Simon came around with his head up instead of staring at the ground. Simon remembered coming out of the daze hungry and exhausted. He remembered the quartermaster giving him a great lump of bread and cheese to go with it, and how quickly they both disappeared into his mouth. Then he found a soft lump of grass beneath a giant tree and fell asleep.
The next morning found Simon in a cheerful mood. The weather, however, was on the opposite schedule and turned foul quickly. As the rain came forth heavy and cold, the wagons and men slowed. The sky had been deep gray and dropping buckets of rain for hours, and the column had been reduced to a barely perceptible pace. It had been suggested that they wait out the storm, but the lord declined that option. Waiting anything out was not an option. The food was near gone, and the lord's scouts, though good foragers, couldn't provide for this many people.
Simon had acquired a horse blanket among his travels in the column. He wore it like a cloak that he clasped with his left hand just under his chin and marched up the ranks of men stomping and having a grand time. The men grumbled and snarled at him, seeing none of his happiness on this bleak day. Having enough of the boy, one man threw an old dirty scabbard at Simon; this didn't get the desired effect. The boy picked it up like a treasure and began to slay the invisible warriors around him.
The same man who threw the scabbard, suffering through the nasty cold rain, had had enough of the child's merciless joy—not even thinking about the potential pain until the man next to him elbowed him in the ribs. “Why are you so happy, boy? Your mum's corpse isn't even cold.”
Simon's face contorted in thought. Then, to everyone's surprise, he answered the man's question,” I was sad yesterday. Then I realized that my mum is dead. Dad's been gone for a long time; I have no one to tell me what to do”.
To illustrate, he went on in his mock mother voice, “ Simon deary don't jump in the puddles.” he stomped in a puddle to emphasize the point. “ Simon, this is not fit weather for man nor beast. Simon, you'll catch your death out there...”
There was a moment's pause, the last phrase caught in Simon's throat, and the boy started to build the faint reserve of tears in the corner of his eyes. Simon pushed them away and continued the imaginary slaughter. Simon soon began to sing as he stomped through the mud slaying his victims, the song “Lone Fire In The Mountain Pass” was familiar throughout the land. Simon's mother had sung it often, and he thought of her as he bellowed the words, not in a sad way though there was a sadness to it.
Soon one after another, the men began to sing. The pace quickened as the men found new energy in the comradely songs can bring. When the road became muddy, the men laughed at the lack of food, as it would have bogged down the carts, I subject that gotten nothing but cold anger just hours earlier. So they trudged on through the rain that lazily tapered off as the sun broke away from the clouds.
Farrin came into view much closer than Simon had expected. Somehow he had expected to see it long-off in the distance before they reached the gates, instead there it was not two miles from where the forest that had been on the left of the column broke. It was impressive to Simon, who had never seen much beyond the fields and hovels of his village.
He had no idea where or with whom he would go, and started to feel fear as he approached the city. Simon had been sure that someone would see him squared away, but the closer to the town they got, the more fear crept in. Simon began to wonder if he could take care of himself, and unbeknownst to him, tears started rolling down his cheeks. Simon tried to force the thoughts from his mind. Lord Wolfred would see him squared away, or surely commander Elthric would.
Simon was somewhere near an internal panic when the gates opened far ahead of him to allow the column entry. Elthric walked up beside Simon, “We're going to set up camp to the north of town.”
Elthric's certainty and tone snapped Simon back from the gates of fear as much as his words. In retrospect, Simon gathered that Elthric understood war enough to see a boy that was headed to a dark place in his mind and used the same tone he'd used to pull back young men who upon seeing the enemy for the first time get lost in fear. “There are far too many peasants on their way to be housed in the town.”
Elthric continued, “ The Lord sent the scouts ahead who saw to arrangements and food will be brought to us. I am going to introduce you to the quartermaster. The man's name is Goleen, and he is foul-tempered, as all quartermasters are in my experience. Still, his assistant fell to fever two weeks ago, and this is going to be a nightmare to keep track of. You will be of what help you can, and the lord will see you soon. He is a fair man, and you've done him a service.”
Simon contorted his face, quizzically “ Service?”
Elthric chuckled, “ Boy, the levy are farmers and peasants just like you. There are many villages, much like the one you came from, that tend the land for one lord or another. The men of those places are called upon by their lords in times of need. None of them have armor, and few have weapons beyond farm implements, and they are scared. Then you come along Simon. This little boy who fought and wounded exactly the monstrous sort of brute they are scared of. Simon, who like them had suffered loss due to these invaders. You inspired scared men to bravery Simon. That is no small thing. Then today, you inspired the whole blasted column with your singing. I have no idea what he'll say to you, but he has said that he wants to see you tomorrow morning if the king hasn't arrived yet.”
Goleen and Simon got along fabulously. It was such a frenzy of activity Simon couldn't follow any of it. Still, Goleen scribbled away on the side of his cart with a piece of charcoal as one group of men unloaded from a cart that left the town, and another loaded it onto Goleen's cart. The whole process went remarkably fast. Goleen argued with the man over some salted fish he said was going to turn soon, and he wouldn't pay full price for, and a few other things here and there. After some dispute, the men agreed to a deal on the lot. Goleen made his mark on a parchment with a quill the man he had been arguing with gave him out of seemingly nowhere, and the business was concluded.
What came next, though, was a real frenzy. Sun was setting on a hard days march, and the entire group of people, soldiers, and peasants were famished. They had eaten sparsely for more than a week, Simon had learned, and it had been more than a day since they had had anything at all. Goleen and the men that had loaded his wagon were working quickly to break apart bread and portion the salted fish from the barrel that was near turning. Goleen asked Simon to start lining people up, and that is when Simon first saw how quickly hungry people could go savage.
Everything had seemed fine till a big warrior pushed his way through ten or twelve of the men of the levy. The men of the levy protested, a fight ensued and got bigger. Men who just hours ago sang and laughed about the food shortage, now brutally assaulted one another. Elthric put an end to the majority of it quickly by blowing on a massive horn he always had attached to his waist by a leather cord. The veterans responded by quickly gathering with Elthric, most if not all of the veterans were not involved in the melee, and together they broke up the fights and restored order.
Simon felt guilty for the madness and wondered if it was his fault. After all, it was he who had been told to line the people up. He slumped back to Goleen and dutifully apologized for failing in his task. With kindness, Goleen replied, “ Boy, I don't know if you are amazing, or a kind of daft I haven't seen yet. You had as much chance of controlling those men as I do the weather. I was feeling I had wronged you in sending you in the first place, and if the thought even crossed my mind that things would have gone as they did, I wouldn't have."
Simon tried to sleep beneath a beautiful curtain of stars on a chilly cloudless night with a thick blanket Goleen had given him, but tears came instead. He cried alone, his back to a warm fire as silently as he could. Simon couldn't even imagine what would happen next. Mainly Simon remembered feeling small. Simon was too little to kill the wounded prisoner, the only face he could put the anger of his mother's death to. Simon was too small to care for himself. He was too small to be alone in this world. Yet he was.