Defending Bone

Hum. Suspicions confirmed. And no, I will not explain.

I suppose some may have caught on to the fact that I’ve been using Idaho town names in my story. I think it’s about high time that Idaho gets some recognition. Besides, I think Idahoans will snicker when they see such towns popping up in the story. Speaking of a story, let’s get hopping to the defense of Bone.
*********
The town of Bone looked abandoned, the empty farm land to the east and south already harvested, making the surrounding land look bare. Martin stood on the southern wall, overlooking the town. Everyone had been evacuated from their homes and moved into the fort. He didn’t need to use his powers to know that everyone was annoyed by the accommodations. They had been packed into the fort and there was barely enough room for everyone. Martin wouldn’t have thought it possible, but either the fort was deceptively large or the town’s population smaller than he thought. Either way, no one was happy.

Coronal Hillard and the other Ghosts were standing not far off, arguing with the town’s mayor. The older man looked to be in his late fifties, his skin tanned and wrinkled from years spent working under the sun. The only indication of his authority was the blue ribbon he wore around his neck with the bronze medal hanging from it. Without it, Mayor Peck would have looked like all the other farmers that inhabited Bone.

“I’m telling you,” Peck was saying, “that the women are worried about their belongings! Couldn’t they at least…”

“No!” Hillard snapped, his face flushing with anger. “For the hundredth time, no! It’s not safe to be out there right now! And besides, we couldn’t fit everything in here.”

“But if it is a harass team,” Peck argued, “then they’re going to go after our things. Those things might not be important to you, Ghost Coronal, but they have meaning to us!”

“They won’t attack your homes,” Dixon tried to assure the man, using a soft tone in contrast with Hillard’s harsh one. “Once they realize that we’re here in the fort, they’ll ignore your homes and try to attack us here.”

“Great,” Peck snorted, throwing his hands up in the air. “Then we’re sitting ducks here! Might as well open the door and let them slaughter us!”

“We only need to defend the fort for two days,” Clary pointed out. “Then reinforcements will be here. We can make it two days.”

“But what if they don’t get here in two days?” Peck asked, folding his arms. “What then?”

“We’ll work with that if that happens,” Hillard said. “But I doubt we’ll have that problem. General Chief has always been true to his word. He won’t fail us.”

“A man only needs to fail once to be remembered as an oath breaker,” the mayor quoted quietly.

“Not Chief,” Hillard insisted. “Now, are we done arguing? Can we get to how to defend this fort?”

“By all means,” Peck sneered. “Where will they be coming from?” The Ghosts balked, exchanging worried glances. They’ve fought against harass teams before and it was nearly impossible to tell from which direction they were coming from.

But then again, they didn’t have Martin with them.

“They’ll be coming from the west,” Martin said distractedly, the distant wrongness he was feeling coming from there and moving closer. “They’ll be using the rocky terrain to cover their approach.”

He glanced to the side, seeing the surprise on the faces of the Ghosts and the mayor. “And how,” Hillard asked slowly, narrowing his eyes, “would you know that?”

“Martin has a sixth sense about these things,” Art said, the only one who was unconcerned about Martin’s statement. “I don’t think people can sneak up on him. He just knows there’s someone around.” There was a small look of uncertainty in Art’s eyes as he looked at him for reassurance. “Right?”

Martin shrugged. “I’ll make a bet with you. They’ll come from the west.”

Hillard finally nodded, accepting Martin’s answer. “We’ll focus our defense on that side. We’ll have others make sure that the Venterans don’t circle around us and attack from a different side. We’ll take shifts watching.”

Martin half listened as the mayor and coronal argued about who would do what shift. His attention was distracted by that wrongness he felt. He hadn’t said anything yet, but the unit that was approaching was large. Probably larger than what they could handle.

What am I going to do? he wondered, glancing briefly to the west, knowing the harass unit would be there by mid morning. He hesitantly sent out a thought; the last he heard from the Spirit was the day of Luke’s funeral.

Aeterna?

“Yes?”

Martin nearly sighed in relief. They were there. “We’re always here,” the Spirit snorted, knowing his thoughts. “Now what is it?”

This town is going to get attacked by a large force, he silently told the Spirit. Any ideas how I’m supposed to help protect them until help arrives?

For a full minute there wasn’t an answer. Martin worried that the Spirit had left when it finally answered softly. “We don’t know. We’re a force, Martin Santer, a magic bound to you. We can do some things by ourselves, but the control has to come from you. We rely on you for help.”

“Great,” Martin softly said, his stomach dropping. It was as Fred said. He was the one who had to control this power. “Then I won’t get any help from you?”

“You have our power. The rest has to come from you.”

Martin didn’t try to reply, his spirit sinking. In his recent experiences with the Spirit of Aeterna, he had come to the conclusion that it was the one that controlled his life, that he was merely an outlet for the power.

Fred was right. I’m the one who has to control the power.

Sighing, he focused on the defenders on the wall. Old men and young boys, all nervous as they held their weapons. One boy, no older than fourteen, was fumbling with his spear. Martin walked over to the boy.

“Here,” he said, placing the boy’s hands on a better position on the spear. “Hold it like this. That’s better for throwing.”

“Throwing?” the boy asked, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “I thought we were going to fight the Venterans.”

“We are,” Martin said. “From a safe distance.”

“That’s no fun.”

Martin snorted. “Battle is never fun.”

The boy frowned. “You’ve been through a lot of battles?”

“I’ve been through some,” he admitted with a sigh. “Seen the aftermath of too many others. There is no such thing as a good battle except for one that has never been fought.”

The boy squirmed uncomfortably, trying to keep his hands on the spear where Martin put them. “Is…” he said, croaking. He took a deep breath. “Were you scared your first time…?”

Martin nodded. “Terrified. Never gotten over it.” Shortly after the war had started, Suit had him visit some of the armies, to expose him to the realities of war. While he never flinched when it came to finding himself in danger, the fighting of two armies on the battlefield put his nerves on edge. Martin briefly wondered if that had something to do with his blocked powers. What was going to happen now, with his powers unblocked and these people in danger?

The boy gulped nervously, paling a bit. Martin sighed. Now he made the boy extra nervous. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Quentin Peck, Ghost sir.”

“Peck?” Martin asked, glancing back to where Hillard was still arguing with the mayor. “Related to him?”

“I’m his nephew,” Quentin said, trying to smile. “Not that it means much. He’s harder on his relatives than the rest of the town. Says that we should be the ones to set the example.”

“Could be worse,” Martin said, weakly smiling. “Could be a lot worse.”
***********
Hillard had his Ghosts go around the outer wall, reviving the defenders’ spirits and give some last minute advice to those holding their weapons wrong. The coronal, however, focused his attention on the west, trying to discern the rocky terrain in the soft light of the false dawn. Personally, he wouldn’t have approached Bone from this direction; the north had better cover with the trees there and the approach to the town would be downhill. This… While the large boulders made for good cover, marching on rocks wasn’t the best on foot soldiers or horses. His instincts itched at him, telling him that the harass soldiers would be coming from the north.

But Martin said that they would be coming from the west and Chief had ordered him to listen to anything Martin said.

Why? Hillard thought, glancing to the southern wall where Martin was slowly making his way through the ranks. How could he possibly know where the Venterans are coming from?

Art had said it was a sixth sense. The general hinted that Martin knew things, and that was why he ordered the coronal to listen to the former spy. Hillard snorted softly. He never trusted magic or such things. Logic dictated his life. A sixth sense. Indeed.

Wanting some answers, Hillard joined Martin as the spy came to the western wall, talking with the soldiers there. Martin didn’t even jump as he turned around and found the coronal standing behind him.

“Yes?” he asked, holding his hands behind his back.

“How’d you know they’re coming from the west?” Hillard asked bluntly, not caring if the townsmen heard.

Martin shrugged. “I just do.”

“Does your ‘just do’ know when they’ll attack?” the coronal wanted to know.

“They’ll get here around mid morning.”

Hillard frowned. He hadn’t been expecting such a quick answer or how Martin said it in a matter-of-fact tone. Carefully searching the spy’s common face, he saw something that he wasn’t expecting. The truth.

“You really do know where they’re coming from,” he whispered, not sure why he suddenly believed Martin or what truth he saw.

The Alex sighed, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. “Yes, I know where they are…” He glance briefly at the soldiers then pulled Hillard away to a safe distance so they couldn’t be overheard. “And I also know that their numbers are large. A lot larger than we are be able to fight.”

Hillard frowned. That truth was still there. Martin knew what he was saying and, for some reason, he found himself trusting what the spy was saying. “How do you know this?” he asked quietly. “The real reason?”

Martin grimaced. “It’s the same reason I’m not allowed to spy.”

“That wasn’t a helpful answer.”

“It’s not supposed to be,” Martin snorted. “I can’t say. Not yet. Just… trust me.”

Hillard wasn’t the type to trust someone he had only known for a few days, but he found himself trusting this spy. What was probably most disturbing was that he also didn’t care about why he was trusting.

“You’re a dangerous man, Martin Stevens,” he said softly. “And I’m not talking about with weapons. You know that, right?”

The spy nodded reluctantly. “You have no idea how dangerous I am.”
**********
The attack came at midmorning, the arrows rising out from the rocky terrain west. But thanks to Marty’s warning, they were ready for the attack. Art Suit fought with the defenders, holding a shield over his head as the arrows hit them. He grunted as the felt the arrows slam into his shield. A few men were unable to hold their shields up, falling as the arrows shook them. Art wanted to help the fallen, but he had to fight. There were only six experienced fighters in the whole fort and they were needed to fight.

Art lifted his shield up enough to look at the opposing force, quietly cursing that they had come from the west. The rocky terrain made it nearly impossible to make an accurate count. Perhaps that was why they had come from this direction, instead of the better suited north.

“Archers!” Art yelled at his men, a group of ten. “Return fire!”

The men, although not as coordinated as the military, shot their arrows at the attackers with the same accuracy as a military man. Art felt a surge of pride. While they weren’t fighting men, they were Aeternans and had a fighting spirit.

“Fire!” he yelled, as they were hit with another volley from outside. Art peeked again at the enemy and paled.

They were lighting fire arrows.

“Drop your shields!” he ordered, tossing his away. “Duck in cover!” The men were confused but followed his order, following his example.

Thud!

The arrows landed on the walk. “Quick!” Art yelled, grabbing the water bucket nearby. “Put the fires out!” A brief glance up revealed the other defenders also working quickly to put the fire out. The wood in this fort was old and easy to catch fire. He saw Hillard bellowing similar orders, standing over the stables. His father’s former apprentice was standing not far from the coronal, busy trying to work with his men to put the fires out. Suddenly the spy paled, his gaze fixed on the stable.

“Hillard!” Martin cried out. “Watch out!”

Art finally noticed it. A stray arrow had it the stable and it took only a few moments for the entire thing to be engulfed in flames. Hillard cursed loudly and barked orders for his men to clear out. He was running for safety when the walk beneath him gave out and he dropped into the stable.

“NO!” Art screamed. He wasn’t the only one, his fellow Ghosts also screamed. Art started forward to try to rescue their coronal when someone beat him to it.

Martin was the closest. The spy ran down the nearest steps and ran for the stable, pushing terrified townspeople out of his way. Art watched horrified as Martin ran into the burning stable.

Art jumped to his feet and hurried down. The other Ghosts made their way to the stable. This time the people made way for them, though they were crowded around the stable. Art almost didn’t notice that the enemy had stopped firing.

Smoke was bellowing out of the stable, the flames licking up the sides. No one tired to follow after the spy or coronal. The building looked about ready to collapse. The two people inside were on their own.

“Come on, Marty,” Art whispered. “I know you can do this… Get Hillard out of there.”

The crowd went silent as they watched the stable burn up, each moment their spirits sinking. What if both of them were trapped?

“There!” Art yelled, pointing into the stable. “They’re coming out!”

Art could barely make out Martin as the spy dragged something behind him. The Ghosts were there to help him drag the coronal out from the flames. The spy coughed as he finally got out. He was covered in ash, his new uniform probably ruined and his face dirty. But Art wasn’t paying attention to the spy. No, it was the coronal that everyone was staring at.

Hillard was unconscious, which was probably a mercy, considering how he looked. He too was covered in ash, but he was also covered in blood. His right leg was broken, the bone jetting out from his torn uniform.

“Oh heithery,” Irvin breathed, turning away holding his mouth.

“That’s how I found him,” Martin coughed, accepting a water jug from Clary. “He was out.”

“This needs treatment,” Dixon said, kneeling down next to their fallen coronal, looking green as he carefully examined the wound. “At least bind it or something. Where’s a healer?”

“We don’t have one,” Mayor Peck said, pale beneath his tan. “At least none who can treat…” He shivered. “That.”

“Get him here anyway!” Art snapped, pointing at Hillard. “We should bind it! Get going!” The mayor jumped at being snapped at, but quickly disappeared into the crowd to find the healer.

Martin took a long drink from the jug, glancing briefly at the still burning stable. “How’s the rest of the fort?” he asked.

“We put out any fires,” Irvin said, his back still turned from them. He looked around the rest of the fort. “Why did they stop firing?”

Art was wondering that himself. Knowing that he could do nothing for his commander, he decided to check on the situation to the west. He started up the stairs again when the wood creaked behind him. Turning his head, he saw Martin following after him.

“I can check this,” Art said softly, concerned about young Marty. Although Art knew that Martin was the Alex now, he couldn’t forget that sorry looking orphan years before and how he struggled to find acceptance.

“I know,” Martin sighed, climbing up past him. “But I want to check this out too.” Art frowned as he followed. Why did the Alex look worried?

When they reached the top, Art was a bit confused why the defenders had such long faces until he too looked out to the west. He froze, shocked by the sight that was laid out before them. It wasn’t just a unit out there. It was nearly an army. They stood on the rocks. Art suddenly understood why they came from the west; to disguise their true numbers. But now they didn’t bother hiding it.

“Heithery, what are they doing here?” he breathed, feeling the blood drain from his face. No one answered his question.

Martin turned to one of the defenders. “Have they said anything yet?” he asked the quivering elder.

“No,” the man whimpered. “They showed up after the stable went up in flames.”

At that moment, a lone rider approached the fort, stopping just short of spear range.

“Greetings, citizens of Bone,” the man said, his voice magically amplified so everyone in the fort could hear him. “As you might have guessed, fighting us would be useless. We will accept your unconditional surrender by sunrise tomorrow. We will wait until that time and will not attack. If you do not surrender at sunrise, we will level your fort and town. Good day.” The man turned his horse around and slowly rode back, as if mocking them.

“Annoy git!” Art swore, grabbing the bow and arrow out of stunned townsman’s quaking hands. He pulled the bow as far as he could, sighting down the arrow to the retreating messenger, then to the man’s hat….

Twang!

The arrow flew straight and hit the man’s hat off his head. Even from the distance, they heard the man yelp and kick his horse into a canter. He turned back to them.

“We will accept your surrender at sunrise!”

Art picked up another arrow.

“No,” Martin said sternly, taking the bow from him. “Don’t waste arrows on messengers. Besides,” he glanced at the defenders, “we have other problems to deal with. Let’s go down to the others and talk about what our plan of attack is.”

Art blinked. Since when did Martin learn that commanding tone? But the spy was right. They had other problems to deal with. Martin handed the townsman back his bow and they walked back down to where the Ghosts were still surrounding Hillard. Mayor Peck was also with them, watching grimly as their town’s healer tried to bind the Ghost coronal’s leg.

“Did you hear that?” Art asked, jerking his head west.

“We did,” Dixon said, nodding. “These people are spooked. Do you think they’ll carry out their threat?”

“They’re a lot bigger than we first thought,” Art said, flinching. The mayor grew red in the face, rounding on Dixon. “I don’t think we can hold them off.”

“See?” he yelled, pointing to the west. “They’re going to kill us all! You’ve doomed us to death!”

“No,” Dixon tried to say, but the mayor punched the large Ghost in the nose. Dixon stumbled back, swearing as he held his nose.

“We should surrender,” Peck snapped, stomping toward the gate. “Being a prisoner is better than death!” Art went to stop the angry mayor when Martin stepped into the man’s path.

“Step aside, Ghost,” Peck said, already bringing his fist back.

It was over in a blink of an eye. Martin dodged the fist, stepped behind the mayor, and held the man in a head lock. The older man was no match for the stronger young man.

“Now listen,” Martin snapped, holding the mayor down. “Your people don’t want to surrender. If they’re going to die, they want to go out fighting!”

Peck snorted, struggling to free himself. “How would you know what these people want?”

Martin’s expression darkened. “You’d be surprised by what I know. They’ve given us until sunrise tomorrow. We can make a plan by that time to last the last twelve hours for the reinforcements to come.” He finally let go of the mayor, shoving him away from the gate.

“Fine,” Peck grumbled, rubbing his neck. “What can we do?”

Art coughed, shifting a bit uneasily. “I hate to be the carrier of bad news, but… Marty, you saw their numbers! How can we possibly fight that number?”

“The only way,” Irvin pointed out. “Outmaneuver them.”

“And how do we do that?” Peck asked, glaring at the Ghosts. “We’re trapped here like mice in a closed box. They’ll notice if anyone tries to leave this fort.”

Art was about to argue when he noticed that Martin was looking toward the crowd. He walked away from the argument and pulled a young boy, fourteen years at most, out of the crowd.

“Quentin,” the Alex said, pulling the kid to their circle. “I believe you know a way out.”

Art exchanged confused glances with his fellow Ghosts. How would Martin know such things? The boy looked nervously at each of them, flinching as he met the mayor’s eyes.

“No, Quentin,” Peck snapped. “That’s forbidden for a reason.”

“But, Uncle!”

“No buts!” the mayor snapped. “It’s forbidden!”

“What’s forbidden?” Clary asked, keenly interested about the information.

“It’s a tunnel,” Quentin started to say when Peck pinched the boy’s ear.

“No,” he snapped, trying to drag his nephew away by the ear. “You will not…” Martin yanked the mayor away, stepping between him and his nephew.

“He’ll talk,” Martin growled, glaring at the mayor. “Don’t interfere.” Art stared as Peck quailed under Martin’s stern gaze. He had heard that Martin had a gaze that even made his father shiver, but this was the first he had ever seen it. He took a step back, suddenly understanding why.

“Go on,” Martin said, switching his attention and smiling encouragingly at the boy. Quentin gulped.

“There’s an old tunnel that leads out of this fort,” he said, pointing to the building. “It hasn’t been used in years because of the danger of cave-ins, but I’ve been in it. It’s old and full of bugs, but it can be used.”

Dixon turned to the mayor, glaring as he held his nose. “Why didn’t you mention this tunnel before?”

“Because it’s condemned!” Peck growled. “It’s a hazard! People have been known to die in that cave!”

“They won’t die today,” Martin said, a bit grim in the mouth. “Where does the tunnel lead?”

“A cavern up north of Bone,” Quentin answered. “It’s really large. I bet everyone can fit in it.”

“That’s what we’ll do,” Dixon said before the mayor could protest. “We’ll move everyone up there and collapse the tunnel behind us. When the enemy arrives at dawn, they’ll find this fort empty and spend the rest of the time trying to find us. By that time, Chief should arrive with reinforcements.”

“And if they find us before then?” Peck asked, scowling. “They find us in the cave before your general shows up? What will we do?”

“We’ll think of something,” Dixon sighed, already turning away, pulling Irvin with him. “Right now, we need to plan the evacuation.”
***********
Hum. I need to work on that battle a bit… I would have revised it, but I had a downright horrible week last week, which then bled into this week. I wasn’t much in the mood to write or revise. And believe me, I would have written crappy things if I wrote in the mood I was in. Thankfully the last week’s post and this one don’t need any immediate revisions. The recovery I was hoping from March isn’t coming. Grumble.

But no one wants to read about my “lonely soul/ We strive towards a larger goal/ Our little lives don’t count at all!” (the first person who gets that reference gets a prize). Hopefully this next week I’ll get my motivation back and start revising again, especially what’s coming next. I was a bit rushed and revising needs done. A hint. It involves a volcano.

Until next week, enjoy the journey!