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A Message In The Night

The Northern Wars

By Kelson HayesPublished 2 years ago 8 min read
2

Robin rolled himself a spliff in the warmth of his tent. It was a cool autumn night and he awaited his son expectantly. It had been a week now and his son would be home soon. The spliff had started to trail and so he fixed it by wetting the tip of his finger and running it along the paper around the lit cherry. The spittle sizzled as he continued to puff on the zoot and it corrected itself after a few more drags. The pungent aroma of cannabis filled the tent and he hot-boxed the small quarters of his provisional residence. He heard the sound of hurried feet outside and rushed out to meet his son; instead he found Edwin, much to his confusion.

“Edwin, it is good to see you my friend, but what are you doing so far from home at this hour? Where is Niko and what tidings do you bring- surely you haven’t travelled so far without reason?” Robin inquired of his friend.

“Robin, it’s urgent; they’ve taken Niko, he’s been arrested by the Imperial Legion and they’re holding him in Dunkirk as we speak. You haven’t any time, my friend, I’m so sorry to be the bearer of such ill tidings, but you must go now!” Edwin beseeched of his friend pleadingly.

“Edwin, I trusted you to keep him safe-” Robin’s shock quickly turned to anger even as Edwin interjected.

“My friend, he was arrested at the border in Avon town; the King of Legion has declared war upon Ahglor. My intentions are to go to the capitol and deliver the news, but you must go after Niko. Ahglor must know of this news, but you have to save your son.”

“Thank you my friend, I’ll gather my gear and depart immediately- you’ve been a great help and I’m sorry for my accusations. Go with the speed of a hornet and stir the nest.” Robin said as apologetically as one could in such a situation.

“Think nothing of it my friend, may we see each other soon, but as we both know, there’s no more time for talk- seek out my neighbour Mathias when you get there; in the meantime, good bye!” and so Edwin departed as quickly as he had arrived, and Robin rushed to gather what he would need on his quest before taking to the road in pursuit of his son’s kidnappers.

Robin raced along the southern trail into Avon town until the sun rose over the tops of the pine trees, marking the start of a new day. He turned away from the path and trekked deep into the thick woods a ways before taking rest; he would resume his travels later in light of the midday sun when the patrols were easier to spot and less likely to stumble upon him. It wouldn’t be long after that before dusk as the days continued to grow shorter with winter fast approaching. Robin had no idea how long it had been since the Imperial Legion had arrested his son, though he knew his son would be liberated from his imprisonment soon enough. He would travel night and day directly into France, avoiding Calais entirely, and cross the border into Dunkirk.

That was the full extent of Robin’s plan thus far in his journey; he had no idea what he was going to do when he arrived in the capitol, or even how he was going to get to there in the first place. The roads would probably be heavily patrolled, knowing the ways of that northern kingdom. In the meantime, Robin carefully made his way through the woods, fully rested and still no further in his plans than he was before he took his early morning nap. Occasionally the glint of sunlight would reflect off the shiny polished armour of a patrol and Robin ducked into the cover of the brush or deftly climbed trees to avoid attracting the attention of the King’s soldiers.

He made his way along the border to the wood’s edge outside Avon and waited until the dusk before spanning the plains that stretched out infinitely upon the horizon. To pass the time away without being spotted Robin dug himself a hole in the ground in a thicket of growth around a pine tree and covered himself in pine needles. The hole was deep and wide enough for Robin to hide in if he curled up into a ball and the pine needles covered him without a trace. The hours passed by and Robin smoked a couple of bowls in the safety of his hole. It did end up arising suspicion in a nearby patrol that stumbled upon his location, though they found nothing suspicious and saw nothing around to indicate any presence of life and they departed.

After that the Legionaries scoured the vicinity for several hours and Robin heard them speak in their groups of a doubled watch upon the Avon Border Checkpoint. The sunset came soon enough and Robin crept out from his hiding place to prepare for the next leg of his adventure. Tiny pinpricks of torchlight illuminated the night patrols that roamed the vast rolling plains of Legion in the south and Robin observed them from the safety of the treeline for a little while. He plotted out their routes and made mental notes so as to avoid alerting them to his presence. It didn’t help that he smoked a bowl so blatantly in the hostile territory, though he needed the calming effects of the cannabis for the task at hand.

Robin darted without a sound into the darkness of the surrounding night and bounded across the flatlands effortlessly dodging the patrols as he skirted around Avon town. A shout went up out of nowhere and Robin knew he was spotted. Though he was no more than a dark blur across the southern plains, arrows came pouring down all around him and he raced to outrun the well-placed shots of the imperial archers. His heart was racing and adrenaline coursed through his veins; horsemen raced towards the Ahglorian tribesman as he further distanced himself from Avon, nearly free of the border patrol.

The horsemen were not so quick to give up the chase however, and they continued to pursue the illegal immigrant to their lands until finally he’d disappeared upon the horizon. They found themselves far from their post and there were too few amongst them to properly search for the fugitive in the dark. Robin continued to run even as the torchlights of the horsemen patrols dwindled back into the distance. Avon town was a small prick of light on the horizon behind him and to his far left he could see Calais as well. He made his way for the town of France; that would probably take him until the morning at his current pace, provided he encountered no more trouble along the way.

“We lost him sir.” one of the patrols said as he dismounted his horse.

“Damn it! You can relay the message to the couriers in Calais yourself; let it be a lesson for your squad’s incompetence.” the captain rebuked the scout even as he approached his subordinates.

The horseman swore under his breath, cursing the watch captain as he departed to see the orders through. It had been a long shift and where the patrol had been looking forward to a restful night in the tavern, he now sat adjusting himself in the saddle of the beautiful Legion stallion that bore him south. He gripped the reins in bitter clenched fists as he rode on, tiredly in his inner annoyance. His fellows sympathetically watched him ride off into the distance, though soon enough they found themselves in the captain’s line of fire for their inabilities. Even as the captain disparaged them, each of the soldiers present wished in his heart that it had been them sent in place of the scout so as to avoid their leader’s wrath.

“You have got to be the most inadequate, pathetic band of amateurish fools I’ve ever had the displeasure of addressing! How does one simply allow the enemy to pass through our ranks without effort as you have all done? You’re a waste of the taxpayers money and each of you is less than a parasitic sack of dung wrapped in flesh! If the King were to hear of this he would likely have the lot of you jailed for your treason!” the captain droned on, embedding the message individually into each of the soldiers present.

None of the Legion present truly cared that the tribal had broken through their defences; there was little that the primitive could do to their country alone. They hated the intruder, but only for the problems it caused them as the guardians of the border. The captain told each of the men individually how worthless they were, picking out each individual Legionnaire’s flaws and weaknesses within the gathered ranks. Pierre stood in silence and accepted the rebuke with downcast eyes. The officer finished his rant and stormed off back to his room in the tavern after dismissing the men to their assigned duties.

They had been ordered to assist the next shift, not only to punish them, but also “learn from proper soldiers” how to perform their duties. The men grumbled and swore in agitation as the next rotation came along, expecting to relieve the soldiers of their post. After informing the leader of the morning shift of the events just passed, the captain of the morning shift offered the men leave to return to their rooms and rest. Much to his surprise the night watch unanimously rejected the opportunity, proudly following the orders of their commanding officer, albeit reluctantly. The tired soldiers fell into the ranks of the morning watch and proceeded to go about their duties, hoping the shift would pass by without incident.

Fantasy
2

About the Creator

Kelson Hayes

Kelson Hayes is a British-American author and philosopher, born on 19 October 1994 in Bedford, England. His books include Can You Hear The Awful Singing, The Art of Not Thinking, and The Aerbon Series.

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