Preparation
53rd Day of Harvest
767 Karloman’s Peace
A sombre quite reigned in the cutting room of Vedast’s house. Only the soft rattling of arms and armour and the murmuring of nervous men before battle disturbed the silence. Ekkehard added to the sounds, carefully clasping a studded and banded leather guard to his forearm.
Thanks to Audomar’s insistence over the seasons, Vedast’s house had amassed quite a collection of real weaponry and battle gear. It wasn’t as formidable as the heavy iron suits and chainmail of their enemies, but it was far more than they had when facing Haraldr and his mercenaries. Ekkehard knew it wouldn’t sway the fight in their favour, but maybe they would put up a decent fight, at least for a little while.
He took a deep breath, trying to push away thoughts of impending defeat. The mixed scents of blood, animal fat, and flesh lingering in the air did nothing to ease his tension.
Turning from the arming table, Ekkehard surveyed Vedast’s men. Their presence bolstered him. Twenty or so were busy arming themselves in the room, and twice that number had already come and gone, gathering in the street. So many were ready to fight for him and his family, some out of loyalty to Vedast, but still, it humbled him.
He thought about giving a speech to thank the men for their service, but that wasn’t him. He had never been that kind of leader. He would leave that to Audomar, should he ever turn up.
Vedast emerged from the depths of the house, carrying a large wooden crate. He placed it on the arming table beside Ekkehard and began assembling the repeater crossbow inside. “Remind me to thank Hanib before we kill him,” Vedast said, glancing at Ekkehard with a smirk. “I finally get to use this thing for real.”
The crossbow was large and ungainly, with wooden cartridges jutting out like fins from its top. A lever for drawing its string stuck out awkwardly from one side, giving it an asymmetrical appearance. Vedast tested the sight a few times, smiling with satisfaction at his contraption.
He didn’t bother with armour, content to fight in nothing but his blood-stained butcher’s apron. The only protection he sought came from the heavy swig of wine he took from a large amphora. Gulping it down loudly, Vedast grinned at Ekkehard and offered him a taste.
“I’m good,” Ekkehard said, but Vedast grunted and shook the bottle. Ekkehard shrugged, accepting it. He took a slight sip before quaffing it. The bitter, peppery elixir had a harsh texture that made him splutter. “I think that might be off,” Ekkehard said through a series of coughs as he handed the amphora back. Vedast laughed.
“Probably is,” the butcher replied. “It was my grandfather's. Must be nearly a hundred years old. Dunno why he kept it. Guess he thought it a conversation piece. Don’t see how, though. It was cheap then and it’s still cheap now. Tastes like shit too.” Vedast held the container in both hands, examining it. “Still, be a shame to let it go to waste.”
A guilty chill seeped into Ekkehard’s bones as he looked upon his friend’s pensive face. This was all his fault. Vedast had saved Ekkehard’s family, and in return, Ekkehard had doomed his. Vedast was going to die for no reason other than the kindness he had shown the Reubkes. Ekkehard may not have had any speeches for the butcher’s men, but Vedast deserved some final words.
“Vedast,” Ekkehard tried to say, his voice trembling under the mixed weight of gratitude and guilt.
“Don’t,” Vedast replied, his tone firm and even. Ekkehard went to continue, but Vedast placed a hand on his shoulder, rocking him with surprising might. “A man is responsible for the consequences of his own decisions. I made mine with open eyes. I knew your family’s story. I chose to take you in regardless. I benefited from it. I profited from it. I blame only myself for what happens next.”
Ekkehard felt sick. There was a time when he had nothing but wariness for this man who had turned out to be a paragon of compassion. He would not insult Vedast’s stoic pride by voicing his thoughts any further, but his gratitude was endless. Thank you, he expressed silently within his mind.
“Do you know where Dreux is?” Ekkehard asked, suddenly remembering the man had his own brother to worry about.
Vedast paused, his back going stiff and straight. “You know,” he said, “I think he’s with a woman right now.”
“Really?” Ekkehard said, raising his eyebrows. “Wow, I guess anything is possible after all. Maybe we will survive this day.” Vedast spat as he laughed. It was infectious enough that even Ekkehard chuckled.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
When the laughter stopped, the two men were fully armed and armoured, Ekkehard carrying a shortsword and a square shield, and Vedast with his crossbow and apron. They nodded to each other, a silent farewell. Ekkehard turned to join those gathering in the street, but as he made his way to the cutting room door, new men entered through it, barring his way. He was thankful to see his older brother, Audomar, among them.
Audomar marched over to Vedast and Ekkehard. “What is going on?” he demanded.
His stature was imposing, and his presence undeniable. He had taken heavy armour, fallen from the mercenaries of Haraldr many seasons ago, and it made him broad and strong. A chainmail shirt was bound to him by a riveted leather cuirass of dark crimson. The L-shaped dagger-head of his hrapan-style war spear was sturdy in his grip, a thick riveted circular wooden shield in his other arm. His hair and beard were cut in military style; black, youthful, and strong. He looked every bit the indomitable officer he had been in the war. Somehow a year of degradation had been washed from his brother, and the stalwart commander of men was returned. Ekkehard was ready to follow that man against any odds.
“Hanib is here,” Ekkehard answered, his voice little more than a whisper, fearing that the words might frighten away this nostalgic visage of Audomar, allowing the more pitiful version to return. “He found us.”
The visage was not frightened away; instead, it was bolstered. Audomar didn’t say anything. His face just became somehow more. More stern. More authoritative. Stronger. More Audomar. There was a rage behind his eyes. A rage that had subdued and tormented the man for a very long time in its purposelessness. Now, it burned with intent. Ekkehard could hear the wood of Audomar’s spear groan beneath the weight of his furious grip.
If Ekkehard was honest, he still wanted to run. Audomar, though, he could see would never run. He was ready for the fight. He wanted it. Relished it’s coming.
“What’s happening, father?” Pyra asked, appearing behind Audomar, her mother in tow. “Why is everyone outside and why do they all have weapons?”
“Pyra,” Vedast said to her in a stern tone that demanded obedience. The single word silenced her. She looked at her father, awaiting instruction. “You and your mother need to go upstairs and pack your things. Everything you might need on the road. Go now.”
“On the road?” Pyra asked.
“Now,” Vedast commanded, and Pyra did not wait for an answer, rushing out of the cutting room and into the back of the house. Svanhildr followed her more steadily, taking a moment to stop and place a hand on her husband’s shoulder, sharing a sorrowful look. Then, she too disappeared into the house.
“Is everyone here?” Audomar asked once the women were gone.
“Me and Florentin are,” Ekkehard answered. “Porfinn is fetching Gerwald, and Emich searches for Auri and Gisla. We must wait for them before we go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Audomar said, his voice steady and resolute. Ekkehard’s heart stung a little at the words. No matter what happened, Audomar was seeing this through, and it would be the death of him.
“I don’t think this is a fight we can win,” Ekkehard said to his brother.
“No, but it is one he can lose,” Audomar spat back.
“Looks like it’s time, boss,” one of Vedast’s gangers reported as he returned from the street. “We got columns of guards coming from the north and south. They have cut the road off. At least 200 either side.”
“Understood,” Vedast replied. “Now get back out there, lad; there is a fight coming.” The ganger slammed one fist into his chest in salute and headed back for the street. “The rest of you with him!” Vedast bellowed at the remaining men in the cutting room. All jumped at the sound and hurried out of the butcher’s shop.
“Well then,” Vedast said when he was alone with the Reubkes, “best get to it. I’m going to position myself in one of the upper windows. I think command is yours, Audomar. You look ready for it.” Vedast headed for the receiving room, stopping just before he crossed its threshold. He looked back at the brothers and said, “All the best.” With a final stoic nod, he left to take up his post.
Ekkehard was left alone with Audomar, the first time they had been alone together in seasons. He regretted that now. Audomar’s eyes darted to meet his. He wondered if his brother would share a farewell with him, as he had tried to do with Vedast. Yet, there was only one word on Audomar’s mind, and Ekkehard watched as his brother’s face turned red and his nostrils flared as the word roared out of him.
“Hanib!” he bellowed, spittle launching from his mouth. “Hanib!” he screamed a second time, spinning on the spot and marching from the cutting room to the shop front. Ekkehard followed, having to move quickly to match his brother’s pace. “Hanib!” the name thundered and echoed once more as he passed from the storefront and out into the street.
Ekkehard paused in the dimly lit shop for a moment just before the threshold of the shop door. He could still hear Audomar shouting the name as he waited alone. He closed his eyes, feeling his rapid heart calm to a slow pace and his breathing become rhythmic. The battle to come was one he would lose, and so he brought upon himself to focus on his reasons to survive it.
He thought of Auriana, lost and helpless in the city, and of the child growing in her womb. They were his beacon. He thought of that night in Vedast’s garden, of the promises he had made to her, the new life he owed her. He thought too of Cheldric, the burnt, charred remains of his child. The memory, once excised, now burning freshly behind his eyes. The acrid and bitter scent of smoke and burnt flesh offended his sense memory. It was a reminder of the man he was going to face, the callousness of his foe. It was also a reminder of what that man owed him, of the debt that was due. He thought of the home that was taken from him, once a sanctum of comfort and welcome, poisoned into a nightmare, horribly cursed to haunt him. He saw the faces of a dozen family members and friends killed by the greed of the man waiting for him. He thought of the new life he had forged for his family in Vedast’s service and his determination to ensure that life was not stolen away as easily as his last.
He took in one last deep inhalation and stepped out onto the road that ran past Vedast’s house.