The Union 239 Smolders of Resistance

Cald's horse neighed deeply. The mare had been sick for days, he knew. Her stool had been wet and her appetite was just not there. Cald had asked the two Tulosans sent as specialists for the Goldentooth legion for advise but it turned out their horses were also suffering from the same illness. In fact, most of the horses were groggy these past days.

Despite the sickness of the horses, he and the others were sent here in the village of Fedri. The local chief had requested help from King Harold against bandits. The King should have sent his own men, Cald thought. But indeed, nothing would scare bandits like Castonians. And so just this morning he and twenty other riders left Fort Equistine, the farthest Castonian fort defended by three Centuries.

"There are fine brothels in Mythrille, clean with good services" Gerty said beside him though he did not asked.

"I suggest you stop going into brothels. Even harlots hate us here. I've heard someone from the ninth Century got his member cut by one of the girls he bedded"

Gerty grimaced. "To damn with that. Well if a normal enemy soldier cannot get past a Castonian's armor, then a harlot could"

"That's why you need to be careful" Cald raised his finger "better find a girl, a country one, and make a lover out of her. Country girls are clean, sweet and most are loyal"

"Country girls. That's after the campaign, after the retirement when I'm old. We soldiers can't have lovers except the sword eh?"

Cald's mare neight loud, a cry in pain "Easy girl, easy. We'll be there soon enough" He eyed Gerty "Nothing except the sword. Tell you what, I know this guy from the Rooster..."

"Bah, Rooster" Gerty rolled his eyes "Those grim bastards think too highly of themselves. More loyal, stronger and wiser if the singers are to be believed. We are strong too. We are disciplined too. And we are loyal as much as them. We Goldentooths just had the wrong General"

"Hush now and stop throwing secret insults at the General'

"But it's true!" Gerty spread his arms "General Brent don't really strike me as capable. I'd rather serve under General Bourgis. Why do you think His Majesty saw it that we remain here while Rooster, Steelsword, Dawn and Roar are rummaging in Inkit? It's not fair. We should have been there, serving under the banner of the monarchs. But no, we are on guard duty. Why do you think that is Cald?"

Cald had heard rumors from the others. Talks in the fort had been rather busy lately with the boring atmosphere choking everyone. They say that King Timothy don't really like General Brent. But then again, nobody really likes General Brent. The fat General was a little strict despite his abilities. Cald had heard that General Bourgis was also strict but the attitude was matched by the General's competence. But General Brent was strict and yet, for the lack of better word, stupid. He was the embodiment of the incompetent side of the nobility.

General Vane, the leader of the Goldentooth legion before Brent, died during the battle of Serino Bridge nearly three months ago. A stray arrow hit his eye. General Vane died a day after though his age was his real killer. Medicine don't work well with age. General Brent was as replacement for General Vane.

"I suggest you two stop talking filth about our general. You two are dangling on the edge of treason." said a person from behind. Cald didn't bother looking behind. The person's identity mattered not, only the truth behind his words. Being discontented with the leadership of the Goldentooth Legion was treason no matter how you look at it.

Cald just shut his mouth until they reached village near midday. The village was small and the grass was long around it. The thatched houses had conical roofs. Incenses were burning around the shrine to Ashkara, rising their aromatic smokes to the heavens. The village was walled with a shabby fence running the whole of its borders. The the east by a small stream there was a plantation of fledgling carrots. The smell of cow manure was strong although Cald didn't saw any cows. The villagers who met them outside the fences were few with only an white-bearded aged man dressed in greens straps of textiles made into body coverings and five others also dressed in similar attires. One of them was holding a flagon and several cups. They looked more Wismarine than Cantonese. But then again, the east of Canton leaned more in the Wismarine culture.

"You are the village chief?" Cald asked. He wasn't of rank but he was the most senior among the riders so the responsibility of talking was his.

"You are late" The chief frowned deeply. His old scabby forehead wrinkled.

"This is the last Cantonese village, have some consideration for us. We have had been riding since morning"

"I see" The chief said. He waved his hand to the villager holding the flagon "Refreshments. We offer you our hospitality"

Cald sighed gestured for the others to cool themselves. The summer had been reckless and the heat was unbearable in some days.

At the corner of his eyes Cald saw movements. Something was flitting in the tall grass. It was subtle. It was probably nothing, just the wind or some animal. But his instincts were shouting.

"Stop!" He shouted before the others could drink. Three Castonians were already indulging in the water though.

His heart beat fast. Most of his brothers were holding cups filled with water already. He could be wrong. He could be a fool. But hoped that he was.

"Draw swords!"

It was an unexpected and unreasonable command but the Castonians were trained to obey without murmurs. The twenty riders immediately presented their swords and went into formation. Cald was on his horse beside Gerty.

"What is it? Why?" Gerty asked with a low voice.

Cald looked at the village chief. The old man's eyes were opened wide. But he was silent along with the other villagers.

"Something is wrong. We need to go back. This village. Something is wrong with this village"

As if confirmation to his thoughts three of them suddenly fell from their horses. Cald remembered the three to be the ones who drank the water. Poison was his first thought. Betrayal was his second although as he corrected it to rebellion when he saw the fire on the chief's eyes.

"Die demons!" The chief pointed at them "Die!"

Several men leapt from the tall grass. In their hands were various and crude weapons- lumber axes, hammers, sharpened sticks, knives. Cald cut down the first person who came for him, a boy no more than fifteen of age holding a sharpened stick. Pity and conscience came after the kill. But Cald knew that there was no time for such things. The villagers numbered to hundreds. They were untrained and their weapons were not impressive but they were not a mob. He could see that these people would fight to their last breaths.

"Retreat!" Cald raised his sword to the direction of Fort Fedri and trotted his horse back. The others followed him.

A few more of them died by the villagers' hands during the retreat but the villagers did not have the capability to give chase. Cald counted and they lost seven including those who drank poisoned water.

"We should go back and report this incident. I hope the General have the guts to punish the villagers" Cald said.

The remaining riders nodded for that was the only thing they could do. Cald could only imagine the state of the corpses of the seven who died. The desecration would probably be severe based on the anger of the villagers.

Some of their horses died halfway back to the fort and so their pace was slow. Most of them walked. It was the next day at dawn when they reached Fort Fedri.

What Cald saw was a nightmare. The fort was burnt. It was recent, he could tell as dying embers still burned red. The smoke was still dark.

The first thought that entered Cald's mind was his comrades. What happened to them? Was it just a normal fire or an attack? He ran towards the fort along with the thirteen survivors from yesterday.

He saw it as little dots from the distance. The little dots lined from the outside of the wooden palisades of the fort. They got nearer and the image became more clear. Cald's tears soon slithered down his cheeks.

They were heads, the heads of his comrades mounted on pikes. He saw Camo, his tentmate, who was loud yet kind. He saw Centurion Ryle, strict but fond of dogs. The three Centuries that guarded the fort were all dead and beheaded. Their bodies were just left to rot on one side. Castonians. They were all loyal Castonians just doing their duty to the Union. And now all three hundred had suffered such barbarism.

Cald fell on his knees in front of one of the heads. He had seen the cruelty of war before. He had seen violence. But there was no excuse for this act.

"The whole region has gone mad" Gerty said the obvious thing from behind.

Chapter end