Chapter 6
Waking from disjointed dreams, Gerold heard his younger self saying, “I would oblige you, but my time just flew out the window.”
“How dare you speak to me like that. You forget your place.” The long-ago voice echoed in his mind. How like Stephen’s mother to speak to him that way.
Gerold, gritted his teeth. He’d forgotten how much an unwanted child he was to Stephen’s family who had taken him in. Just the memory caused physical pain. He’d thought he’d gotten over it, but last night’s kiss seemed to trigger events from a childhood long forgotten.
“Oh, very well. Just forget it. I’ll have someone else take care of it.” Her words of dismissal still rang in his ears.
“Gerold, did you hear Stephen?” Marcus asked.
Gerold turned puzzled eyes to Marcus. “What?”
“Stephen asked if you would take the lead today?”
Gerold shook his head, he had heard nothing. He had gotten little sleep when he had returned, but his hearing should not have been affected. “Sorry, I am just focused on today. I feel—”
“You feel lazy.” Stephen interrupted. “You spent too much time collecting wood, or was it something else?”
Normally, Gerold would joke with Stephen, but after last night and the memories of this morning, he wasn’t sure Stephen was joking. Looking back, Gerold wondered about a lot of the things that made up his relationship with Stephen. But, with the coming battle, now was not the time to deal with it.
“Just getting ready for what is to come, for the air feels of battle.” Then, Gerold said to Marcus and Stephen, “We’d best get ready.”
Taking a stance, the sun wormed its way into day, driving away the night. In the hush, when all stood still, Gerold and his comrades prepared for what full light would show them.
Gerold grinned at the excitement of the novice warriors. So many were new to the battlefield, having joined just before this latest engagement. These men were still crowing about routing the enemy during their last skirmish.
Lost to them were the cries of the wounded, the dying. The feeling of invincibility was the armor they were wearing today. Gerold should have felt pity for them, for he knew many of them would not see the sunset. Instead, they would fall to the shouts, the screams and the grunts of pain, as metal hit metal and wood. The squish of pierced flesh.
Gerold struggled to make sense of the conversation with his pre-dawn visitor. The quiet of her voice, its musical quality. Gerold had seen and heard the cries of death too often.
Perhaps that’s my problem, Gerold thought. He’d spent so many years hating; honing his body and his skills for the single purpose of killing those who had slaughtered his family and left him to the cruel mercies of his friends—if you could call Stephen’s family friends.
Full sunrise brought an empty field into view. Gerold heard the sighs of relief and words of frustration. For Gerold, the sight pulled his stomach to his backbone, tightened his muscles as he prepared for the onslaught he knew was coming.
“Prepare for battle,” Gerold shouted from the front.
“There is no one here,” he heard many shouting back.
Gerold knew the men needed to gain control and prepare before they were assailed by the enemy. As it was, the men were growing careless. Gerold knew whoever the leader was, they were playing a game. A game with deadly consequences.
Shouts from behind were followed by the front feeling the push of the attack on the rear. The men at the rear, the novices, struggled to quell the onslaught.
“To the rear!” Gerold heard Marcus shout.
Responding to the call, Gerold caught movement to the front. He shouted, “They are in the front!” as the enemy rushed to pound them from both front and back.
Raising his shield, Gerold prepared to meet the charge head-on. Weapon in hand, he parried a thrust, and as his opponent’s weapons rose, Gerold circled him with the strength born of his long-standing hate. He thrust at the neck; then, at the last minute, struck the unprotected area between arm and chest.
He felt the man fall as he pulled his sword free, barely turning in time to block another attack.
Back and forth, Gerold hacked and parried until his arm slowed, muscles fatigued. Still, the battle raged on. Gritting his teeth, Gerold glanced to see how many still stood, fearing what he would see.
Despite the numbers against them, there were many still up and fighting. Gerold felt a moment of pride in the abilities of his comrades. Despite the number against them, they were giving a good account of themselves.
Fighting his way toward Marcus and Stephen, Gerold was relieved to see both still stood. Moving toward Marcus, Gerold felt a blow to his shoulders, but exhaustion slowed his response. Anger at dying this way forced his arm up, but he knew he was too slow to stop the coming death strike.
A blade blocked the next blow, but Gerold missed who saved his life as his world turned dark.