EA#38:
Read From the Beginning or the start of Trial Two or Three or Four or Five or Six
The Mountain in the Clouds, Part Forty-One
“
I told King Dramand all I could about Etl Drilksbat’s trap.
I told him what I was being guided to say.
He listened intently.
And he formulated new plans for our strike upon Dral Graf.
Thank the gods I finally got through to him.
The army packed up camp before dawn the next day and we began our determined march across the Barrows. It was not hurried, nor too slow. We wanted to get to our destination at just the right time to do what we intended to do.
I walked with my friends from Titanton, while Garamund kept pace at the fore with Dramand.
My giant, Gumpelthwomp, tried his best to tip toe alongside the army so as not leave us all in the dust. But he also became our eyes and ears from his tall vantage, scouring the landscape ahead with but a few long strides, then heading back to inform us of anything he might observe. For the moment, all was quiet on that front.
Although my companions were easygoing as ever, and we were all thrilled to see each other, I could sense a growing concern among them. Especially Gill, who’s face grew more and more strained and whose demeanor grew more and more somber.
I couldn’t blame them. Nor could I escape the same feelings within myself. After all, none of us had ever marched to war before.
But there was a sort of magic in the air. There was something special about being counted among this mighty army of the Gilded Dragon. The name itself was powerful. It truly seemed that these soldiers were the elite force of the land, and they marched with an air of undeniable dignity.
And how the sun shone brilliantly off their golden armor. Their shields blazoned with fire, their helmets twinkled, and their blades were imbued with stars. The even pace of the boots mounted a steady echo of triumph under their feet. And the smell of metal and flesh fueled the senses with the surety that there was one purpose to this massive gathering of men. There was no doubt that they were ready for battle.
But was I? Was Gill, or Riley, or even Apalandro? Sure, his scimitar looked well-seasoned, and I still did not know the extent of his skills with it. But were we warring people? Did we have any idea of what we were walking into?
Would we even make it out alive?
Thoughts like this made me fearful for my friends. I had made the conscious choice to continue this path of my ascension trials, even to this moment of impending danger. And while I still did not understand it all, nor did I have any inkling of where it would take me next and how I would succeed… I knew that I kept finding my way along, even when I was in doubt. I kept being inspired and led to solutions that paved my way forward and kept me alive.
But what of these people from Titanton? What were they risking by coming here? DId they need to be a part of my trial, putting their own lives on the line, their own bodies in harm’s way?
Why? Why did they have to be here? As good as it was to see them, I began to wish they had stayed far away. Despite my information to King Dramand and his reformed plans for winning this fight, my knowledge of our enemy’s army and assets made me very fearful indeed about our chances at victory. And while I knew somehow that we had to succeed… in fact it felt as though my completion of my trial of war hinged upon it… I knew we had to win… yet I still had doubts…
I have to stop this, I told myself. I can’t let my thoughts be overcome with fear. I must focus on success, and success alone. We can do this. I’m with one of the greatest armies of man. And I have my friends, and Gumpel, and my own guidance to get me through. I just hope it’s enough to get my friends through, too.
We marched all day, and camped again at nightfall. The air among the troops was more solemn this second night. There was a sense of preparation and mental readiness going on. Though there was some effort at lightheartedness, too. We couldn’t all sit there with long faces, so a number of clowns across camp put on their own little shows, getting men laughing and putting people at ease some. Apparently, Apalandro was one of them.
The foreigner with the funny accent put on a show mocking a married couple. He said it was a traditional comedy his people enjoyed. He acted out each part, the man and the woman, mostly with body language and vivid facial expressions. It was pantomime, with very little sound accept for the occasional effect or a key word to move the story along. His performance was great fun, hilarious even. I had no idea he was such a talented actor. Perhaps he channels that same energy in his performance with his blade. I suppose tomorrow we will find out.
We slept that night, ill at ease, fitful. But we slept.
Upon the morrow we set off again, full of resolve. We marched right through the dim morning hours until the sun was lighting on the horizon. Surprisingly we reached our destination ahead of schedule, which was fine by me. It gave me some time to rest my body from the tiresome walk of the last day or so. We had pushed hard, harder than I’d ever pushed my body before.
It was time for a rest.
But not until we set down our roots a little. It was not camp as we had done, but some preparation for the stand we would be taking. So I helped as I could, but before long the majority of things I could assist with were done. All I could do then was to sit down and watch the specialized completion of all our little projects.
We had planned barricades and walls, to frame our field of battle. Catapults and ballistas were constructed with surprising alacrity. Specialized ammunition and explosives were readied for both the machines and archers. Plans were gone over in each squad of the army by captains and other leaders. The two kings conferred at the fore, and my friends and I did what we could. Jax, Hayn and Bion were especially helpful in certain building projects, and Apalandro displayed a bit of his finesse with his weapon to some of the Gilded Dragons.
Once all of the projects came to completion, the army found some time to rest and prepare their energy for the battle ahead. Scout teams had been active the whole time, watching for any sign of Etl Drilksbat and his army.
But it was my giant friend, Gumpel, who spotted the first sign of contact.
And what surprising contact it was.
“Over here, wounded man approaching,” the giant bellowed.
A strange curiosity overcame me then, and though I could not see clearly, I moved forward to the head of the army and stood beside King Dramand and King Garamund. We watched as the man Gumpel spotted came into sight across the barrows. A slow, crippled walk brought him within range enough that I could finally make him out.
It was the blacksmith! Evenhand, or as Zel had called him, Abe.
At last Evenhand was a javelin’s throw from the kings before Dramand ordered him to halt.
“Who goes there?” King Dramand demanded.
“My lord, I am but an unfortunate survivor,” Evenhand puttered. “My village was attacked by an army from Dral Graf. My wife, my kids…”
“Stop that,” I shouted. The blacksmith looked at me then and his face turned from innocence to utter annoyance.
“This man,” I continued, “is not some innocent victim of war. I have met him before. He is a thief and a criminal. Do not trust him.”
“Is this true?” asked Dramand.
“Lord, I cannot deny what he has said,” Evenhand replied with surprising honesty. “I have been known by some as an outlaw. But that was a time in my life I have left behind. I returned to my family to live the straight and narrow. To continue my craft as a blacksmith in peace. This is the truth. But now my chances of that life have been destroyed forever. I am so grateful to have found you here. You are the Gilded Dragons, right? Our people heard that you are marching to save this land. Please, you must help me, help our land. You must defeat Dral Graf!”
The man broke down, falling to his knees and sobbing into his hands. He was clearly wounded and bloodied, his clothes burnt and torn. Either it was an extremely convincing act, or he was actually telling the truth. The part of me that had found even a hint of respect for him when I had first met him convinced me he might be a changed man. Or that at least I did not know the whole story about him.
“What harm could he do, he is clearly distraught and hurt,” King Garamund suggested. “Let us help him. We cannot throw him back to the barrows like this. He will surely die.”
“Very well, but bind his hands,” King Dramand ordered. “We cannot be too careful. We are in the land of a deceiver.”
“Show some kindness, would you?” Garamund added. “He’s hurt.”
“We will have someone dress his wounds,” Dramand finished. “But keep a close eye on him. If he makes any sort of move of any kind, do not hesitate to take whatever action is deemed necessary to protect the integrity of this army. Kill him if you have to.”
With that Dramand strode off, leaving Garamund and I standing there. We watched as a couple men took hold of Evenhand and escorted him into the camp. The blacksmith exchanged a look with me that I could not clearly discern. Was it a knowing look, or something else? And what did he know?
King Garamund and I were silent. We looked at one another with some concern. But neither of us knew if this were a good sign or bad omen.
Gods, why are all of these characters reappearing here?
Does the blacksmith mean well?
Why do I still not trust him?
“
Thanks so much for reading.
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Blessings to you,
Matthew