The Battle of Ebulon (5 page)

“Excuse me?”

“Why are you being
attacked?” Malik persisted.

“They're Orcs,” Stern said
noting that Jenner was too beside himself to answer.

“That's not a reason,”
Malik replied, “what'd you do, build this city on their sacred
mating ground or something?”

“Orcs are
evil.”

“So are
people.”

“I can assure you that we
did nothing to provoke this attack,” Jenner snapped. “Orcs are
unthinking beasts that exist only to destroy.”

“Uh-huh,” Malik
said.

“Do you know anything of
Orcs?” Stern persisted.

“I know that there are two
sides to any conflict. A fool who steps between a mother bear and
her cub will believe he is the victim of an 'unprovoked attack'
right up to the instant of his imminent death—but he remains
incorrect, and a fool to the end.”

Regent Jenner rose from
the table, his face turning red.

“I will not sit here and
listen to you insult...”

Before he had a chance to
finish his words, Malik struck the proud noble with a lightning
fast backhand that sent the thin figure spinning into the tavern's
wall. Seeing the aggressive act, Stern moved to draw his sword, but
was halted by the tip of Malik's blade which he suddenly found
pressed against his Adam's apple.

“That sensation you're
feeling,” Malik said in a low tone. His eyes were on Stern but the
words were directed at Jenner. “It's unpleasant isn't it? Coppery
taste in your mouth. Pressure at the back of your eyes. Now imagine
feeling that exact same discomfort for an entire month at varying
degrees of intensity as you walked to an unknown destination in the
middle of nowhere to fight a battle you have nothing to do
with.”

“Our call was for heroes,”
Jenner snapped, “for a hero it wouldn't have caused any
pain.”

“Well that's something
you'll have to take up with King Yeti.”

“Yadi.”

“Whatever. I didn't ask to
be here, nevertheless here I am. That being the case, you'll do
exactly as you're told without giving me any grief. I intend to
survive this nonsense, and that requires instant obedience and no
lies. Got it? Speaking of survival, what reward am I
promised?”

“Reward?”

“Yeah, what does this
'hero' get for saving your sorry butt?”

“There is no reward, only
the noble satisfaction which comes from doing the right
thing.”

Malik snorted. “Typical,
you claim you're in dire straights, but there are already some of
you planning for the rebuild now aren't you? The heroes can die
while you wait it out, is that it?”

Malik lowered his weapon
and sheathed it.

“Like it or not, the call
found me. Do you contest my right to be here?”

Stern lowered his head.
Despite his misgivings about the lean swordsman, Stern had already
seen enough to know he was no match for the man. He shook his head
slowly in the negative. Regent Jenner maintained a defiant stare,
but, like Stern, did not speak to the contrary.

“Good, now take me outside
and show me the men I'm supposed to lead.” Malik smiled and looked
pointedly at Jenner, “Remember, I've had a long couple months, so
be nice.”

***

“Here you are,” Jenner
said proudly as Stern took his place beside two rows of armored
men.

“Twenty,” Malik
sneered.

“Yes, this is the garrison
for this wing of the city. I can assure you they're expertly
trained.”

“Twenty isn't
enough.”

“But, that's all there
is.”

“What about him?” Malik
said, pointing at an old man sitting by a small cart outside the
tavern. The cart was filled with glass bottles he was obviously
trying to sell.

“You can't be serious,”
Jenner replied. But Malik was already heading over to address the
man.

“You, what's your
name?”

“Ives sir,” the man
replied.

“Your town is about to
come under attack you realize?”

“Yes sir.”

“So why are you wasting
time selling bottles?”

The old man
shrugged.

“This is ridiculous,”
Jenner snapped, but Malik silenced him with a glare.

“Are you willing to
fight?”

“Yes,” the old man
said.

“What's he going to use?”
Jenner asked.

“Isn't there an
armory?”

“Yes, but it's
empty.”

“There are no weapons
anywhere?” Malik asked.

“No.”

Malik's eyes narrowed. He
lifted a bottle from the man's cart and smashed it against the wall
producing a jagged tip. He then handed the makeshift weapon to the
old man.

“Here, I trust you'll find
it suitable enough to defend your homeland. Go for the throat where
the skin is thin and the arteries are thick.”

“Yes sir,” the old man
said, mustering a weak salute.

“Good, go and take your
place among the garrison. You are now a guardian of
Ebulon.”

“This is absurd...” Jenner
complained, but Malik cut him off.

“Guardians! I want you to
go into the city and bring back every able bodied man between the
ages of fifteen and seventy. Have them assembled here in an hour.
Go!”

Stern was the first to
respond having seen Malik in action. The rest of the men followed
with varying degrees of haste.

“Well done, you've left
the gate unguarded,” Jenner snapped.

“Not at all, you're here,”
Malik replied.

Jenner turned
white.

“I'm not a fighting
man.”

“Really? Are we going to
have to do this again?”

Jenner opened his mouth to
answer, then thought better and shut it again.

“Good, now think hard and
tell me where I can find some weapons.”
“There are no weapons.”

Malik leaned forward and
looked hard into Jenner's eyes. “I'm going to chain you to the
portcullis,” he said in a slow and even tone. “You can either stand
there and defend your city with a broken bottle like old Ives, or
you can tell me where some weapons might be found.”

Jenner swallowed
hard.

“There is one
place...”

“I thought so.”

“...but it is
sacred.”

Malik rolled his
eyes.

“Just take me
there.”

***

Malik and Jenner waited
for Stern to return so as to not leave the front gate unmanned. The
young soldier soon approached with two unhappy looking courtiers in
fine clothing lagging along behind him.

“Good work,” Malik said,
“these two look capable of slowing down an Orc or two before they
are sacrificed to a miserable and pathetic death.”

The two men blanched, but
Malik was pleased to note the flicker of a smile around the edges
of Stern's lips.

“There must have been some
mistake,” one of the men said, “we are from the merchant's quarter
and are exempt from defense of the city. Heroes have been called to
save us.”

“I'm the hero, and I die
last,” Malik retorted.

The merchant was about to
respond, but Malik held up his hand and turned to Stern. “When the
other guardians return, have them bring back more like this. The
wealthy, fat ones always fight better than the dregs from the poor
quarter with no protein in their bloodstream. You stay here and
instruct these maggots in basic swordplay. I'm going to go and get
them some weapons. If any of them try to leave,” at this he turned
his gaze back on the merchants, “cut them down as an
example.”

The courtier who was still
trying to talk snapped his jaw shut.

Malik started walking and
Jenner was smart enough to follow his lead.

“Don't be afraid to smack
them around a bit,” Malik called out over his shoulder. “There
won't be any consequences because we're probably all going to die
anyway.”

***

Jenner soon took the lead
and began guiding Malik through the winding streets of Ebulon. They
were just out of sight of the gate when Malik stopped and turned
his head in response to a distant sound.

“Is there a blacksmith
nearby?”

“Yes,” Jenner replied,
“just up this hill.”

“Take me
there.”

In a few moments, they
were standing at the entrance to a small forge. The blacksmith was
shaping some metal on an anvil. He gave Malik a blank look but gave
pause at the recognition of Regent Jenner.

“What are you working on?”
Malik asked.

“It's a heat shield for a
fire place,” the blacksmith responded.

“Well, stop working on
that right now and forge some blades.”

The blacksmith stared at
Malik in disbelief.

“I'm told the city is
about to be overrun by an enemy force and you're wasting time on
heat shields? How fast can you make a sword?”

“A good sword takes a
week.”

“Ok,” Malik said, his face
twisting up in a sneer, “how long to make a crude bar with a sharp
point and some sort of grip that ensures the wielder's hands don't
slip off?”

The blacksmith nodded,
comprehension dawning.

“I could have a dozen or
so in an hour.”

“Do it, and when you're
done, bring them to the gate along with all the able bodied men you
can gather up.”

Malik gestured to Jenner
again and the two of them resumed their errand.

A few minutes later, they
passed a builder. A few men stood about a courtyard filled with
wooden beams that had been cut for construction. Malik abruptly
stopped again.

“You, is this your
business?”

“Yes,” said a middle aged
man.

“I need you to take these
beams down to the gate. When you get there, have Guardsman Stern
open the gate for you and carry the beams outside. There, I want
you to bury the beams so they're standing upright with about four
or five feet of their length lodged in the ground.”

“Why?” the man
said.

“Because if you don't,
I'll gut you right now and leave you to die in the street like a
dog.”

The man recoiled, but
seemed to soften at a look he caught on the face of Regent Jenner.
Instead of further protest, he simply nodded. Malik decided it was
good enough and turned on his heel.

“Having you around is
proving to be more useful than I ever anticipated,” Malik quipped.
Jenner said nothing.

A few minutes later they
arrived at the entryway to a small museum. A sign over the door was
etched with the words, “The Heroes of Ebulon.”

Malik snorted and pushed
his way inside.

A small man looked up from
a piece of parchment on a dusty desk

“Welcome,” he said
smiling, “are you here to marvel at the weapons and armor of
Ebulon's heroes of old?”

“No,” Malik snapped and
stepped past the groveling man. He pushed through a curtain and
entered a long hallway filled with glass cases. Inside the cases,
various styles of armor and weaponry were displayed.

“No weapons cache...”
Malik muttered beneath his breath.

Jenner said
nothing.

“As you can see,” began
the old man from the entryway who had followed them into the
display hall, “we have carefully preserved the weapons and armor
from...”

His words were cut off by
the sound of breaking glass.

The sound was so shocking,
the old man could do nothing but stand and stare.

Malik reached his hand
past the glass he had just broken to grasp the handle of a sword
that had fallen from its display at the force of Malik's
blow.

“It's a little old
fashioned,” Malik said, giving the weapon an experimental swing,
“but it will suffice for killing Orc.”

The old man began to
sputter in protest, so Malik decided it was best to give him
something to do.

“You,” he said, pointing
at the fellow with the newly acquired blade, “can you procure me a
cart and a horse to pull it?”

At first, the old man
didn't appear to know how to react. After a few uncomfortable
moments, however, he found his voice.

“Y-yes.”

“Good, go get it and have
it ready outside.”

The old man stood rooted
firmly in place, still trying to work up the gumption to protest.
Malik robbed him of the chance.

“Go!” he cried, and the
old man was off at a surprising clip for one of his age. “Get me
some oil as well,” Malik cried after the man, who turned and half
saluted in response.

Malik shook his
head.

“The denizens of Ebulon
are not making their salvation easy,” he said to
himself.