The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.53

Chapter Fifty-Three

On the road again.

Bob and Earl waved them off, and as a reward, they earned themselves a couple of slices of Joy’s freshly baked pie.

Honestly, after a couple of bites, they almost volunteered to accompany them to the South before sanity and self-preservation reminded them they were on gate duty for a reason. Namely, they were best suited to yelling for help and then standing with a very heavy gate between them and danger.

As for the trio themselves, Joy seemed anxious but excited to see what her first adventure would be like. Malia explained that the whole incident at the tower was her first adventure, but Joy retorted that it didn’t count because she wasn’t an ‘adventurer’ then.

Malia was tense but seemed more relaxed than in the city itself, and Wesley remembered her being the same way in the Unnamed City. At the time, Wes had put that down to concern about him, but there might be something else at work.

Some people and he was almost certain at this point that Malia was among them, just felt better out on their own.

Being surrounded by people was just not a comfortable feeling for them. 

Wesley himself was trying to hide how terrified he was. The memories of the Invasion were still very fresh, especially as he led them through the pass in the quicksands.

The sand on the far side still showed scorch marks and small puddles of cooled and hardened glass where the giant fireball had landed. Looters had cleared away the bodies, at least. 

The memories were so vivid that Wesley could feel the heat, smell the burning fur and flesh, and even hear some of the screams as they passed that area.

Now, here he was, doing it all again.

The Invasion had, in all likelihood, scarred him for life. In mind, if not in body, and it was supposed to be significantly LESS horrifying than a Sundering. Honestly, every instinct in his body was telling him to run for it, portal away, and never look back again. 

With a carefully steady breath and deliberate steps, Wesley kept himself walking South and ignored those instincts. Fear was an important thing to have, but sometimes, it could make you do things you could not reverse. Running now would be one of those things. 

It was just like in a dungeon. The only way out was through.

“Are you okay?” Malia asked gently. She had come up to walk next to him while he was miles away, fighting off bad memories. 

“Just a lot of bad memories,” Wesley nodded back the way they had come. “Dark shit I hoped never to think about again.”

“It doesn’t work, but I understand,” Malia nodded. 

“What doesn’t?” Wesley asked. 

“Not thinking about it, not talking about it,” Malia swallowed. “You have to let it out, or it just sits there. I know.”

“It’s tough,” Wesley nodded. “How do I even start?”

“Tell me how you are feeling right now?” Malia offered.

“I want to run away,” Wesley admitted guiltily. “Run far and fast, and never look back.”

“So you know you are still sane then,” Malia smiled. “I feel the same way if it helps.”

“It kind of does,” Wesley said. “I could feel the heat of it back there, the fireball.”

“What fireball?” Malia asked gently.

So, Wesley talked, and Malia listened.

When he cried, Joy gave him some pie.

It wasn’t all of it, and it hurt like hell to say some of it out loud, but it was a start, and the fear eased back just a little as they walked on.

They picked up the pace, eventually running over the scrub-filled landscape until they came across the garrison. Wesley could easily recognize the banner of Earnshaw flying over the makeshift camp, even from a distance. 

The garrison itself was not exactly impressive. It had waist-high walls of piled stone in a loose ring around the central tents, while a single, rather rickety-looking watchtower had been erected from the stubby scrubland trees in the area. 

In all, Wesley gave it five minutes until even a half-decent attacker overran it. 

At least it seemed well-manned, with almost sixty people in guard uniforms busily attempting to build the meager walls higher. Half the tents were outside the damn wall for a start. Even a cursory raid would leave them missing a substantial number of supplies.

Which had already happened; Wesley sighed as he saw the damaged and burnt tents off to one side. 

“Who even picked this spot?” Malia asked. “Look, it has a rise on all sides. If anyone wants to, they can nail this place to the wall in no time.”

“At least they have a tower,” Wesley noted, “But personally, I think it might fall over if they so much as cough up there.”

“How much did we piss off Ernshaw?” Malia wondered aloud. “Do you think he sent us to this place on purpose?”

“I don’t see it, myself,” Wesley shook his head. “More likely, they just haven’t been reporting the truth back to the city.”

“If the other garrisons are like this, that place is finished,” Malia said with a shake of her head.

“Well, we are here,” Wesley huffed. “Might as well see if we can make this place at least defensible.”

///////////////////

The officer in charge—Rupert, of all names—was far from being cooperative. In fact, he seemed anything but.

“This position is superior!” Rupert declared again. “We have positioned perfectly to be an equal distance from the boundary AND the cliffs.”

“I understand that,” Malia hissed. “But you are in a valley. Any enemy automatically gets the advantage of the high ground!”

“A trifling matter!” Rupert puffed up his chest. “I have thirty archers here. Who can stand against that? They will be dead before they even make it to our walls.”

“So what happened to the tents?” Wesley asked.

“That was an anomaly,” Rupert insisted, “It was raining, and the bows were less than usually effective.”  

“Rain?” Malia narrowed her eyes. “Rain is all it takes to render this ‘perfect position’ of yours vulnerable.”

“I assure you, it rarely rains in this zone,” Rupert sniffed.

“Unless they have a water mage,” Wesley said to Malia. “In which case, they all die.”

“Now, hold on—” Rupert started.

“Why bother with rain?” Malia replied to Wesley. “Just a small flood to fill the valley. Drown the lot of them.”

“Ooh, an earth mage!” Wesley clicked his fingers. “Bury them all in a landslide.”

“Wait a minute—” 

“How about a rockslide?” Malia offered. “Crunch! Nothing left but a red smear.”

“We could come back later?” Wesley said thoughtfully. “His own troops will hang him for incompetence; then we can come in and sort it out properly.”

“Pfft, as if they will bother with a hanging. Knife in the back is my bet,” Malia held out a gold coin.

“I’ll take that,” Wesley grinned back. “I reckon they will want to see him kick on the end of the rope!”

“ENOUGH!” Rupert was pale and sweating. “I believe you have both made your point.” He paced the tent a couple of times. “I acknowledge I should have considered the terrain more in the placement of the camp, but I can scarcely ask people to move now. You must see that.”

“Why not let us handle that?” Wesley offered. “The brash adventurers coming and throwing their weight around, that kind of thing.”

“New orders from the city,” Malia offered. “The situation has changed, and the camp must be moved.”

They knew he had agreed the moment they saw the relieved look cross his face.

“Alright!” Wesley yelled into his cupped hands. “Everyone pack your shit! We are moving this camp up on the eastern rise.”

There was a general round of grumbling.

“You don’t like it?” Malia smeared as she walked up and down in front of the men. “Feel free to go tell Mayor Earnshaw that.”

“No takers?” Wesley waited for a theatrical few seconds. “Great! Nice to see some self-preservation instincts in the group.”

He got a few laughs then. 

“We are proud to die for our city!” Someone shouted very half-heartedly.

“Much better to make someone else die for theirs!” Wes called back to general laughter. “Right! We got a lot of work ahead of us, so let’s get to it!”

Everyone hurried off to pack up the camp, while Wesley went with Malia and Rupert to go and check out the chosen hill. Malia had chosen it almost immediately, years of experience as an adventurer coming in handy.

“See, we have the high ground on anyone attacking here.” Malia pointed out.

“But there are hills here too!” Rupert protested, but Wes could see the fight had gone out of the man. 

“They are too far away for bow fire, and most spell casters as well.” Malia countered. “Short of digging into the cliffs, this is the best spot.”

“There is no way we can rebuild the walls in time,” Rupert pointed out.

“Wes can help us there,” Malia nodded to him, “And we will be having a much smaller camp.”

“How small?” Rupert asked.

“About the size of your inner wall,” Malia nodded down to where the old camp was rapidly being dismantled. 

Wesley had an idea of what Malia had in mind, and it wasn’t a bad idea. The officer had made a simple mistake when planning out his old camp. He planned sleeping space for his entire contingent, seventy people at that time. That was an excellent idea but was utterly impractical. 

At any time, at least half of the people would be up and about—more likely to be two-thirds. That meant that with their current numbers, they only needed sleeping spots for about twenty people—twenty-five on the outside. That alone cut the footprint of the garrison down by a third. Add in the fact that the safe room could act as an aide station, cooking area, and even a planning and repair place, and you were down to half size. 

While Malia explained all of this to the officer, Wesley scouted the area around their planned area, seeing several promising areas for pit traps. They could cover the traps with the spare tents, then scatter the cover with brush and dirt—an instant pit trap.

While Malia got everyone organized, Wesley got to work with a dozen of the quicker soldiers. He would dig out a pit trap, displacing the earth into a pressed earthen wall around the new campsite, and they would run back and forth, adding as many rocks as possible to the outer edge. 

Once that was done, they would line the inside as well. It was almost as good as a fully stone wall but had the advantage of being much faster to build. Within five hours, they had a quick and crude wall up to mid-chest that ran around the entire campsite. 

At that point, Malia called him over and pointed out where she wanted the safe room. Wesley placed it carefully up against the back wall and returned to working on the traps. It took almost three more hours to lay fifteen pit traps, each covered and hidden, but it was effective. Even knowing where they were, Wesley had trouble seeing them in the fading light. 

As for the camp itself, Wesley saw a large tent covering the entrance to the safe room and another set up to one side, shielded by the safe room's wall. 

“Still going?” Malia wandered over, eyes scanning the hills. 

“I'm just about done with this lot,” Wesley replied, wiping his brow. “The camp looks good.”

“Still, I’m worried,” Malia admitted. “Eight hours….”

“Yeah, I thought the bandits would have been back by now too.” Wesley rolled one shoulder, working the stiffness out of it. Even a magical shovel was still a shovel, after all. After hours of use, it was going to hurt. “Want to go look for them?”

“No,” Malia shook her head. “We could walk into a trap.”

“Fair enough,” Wesley nodded. “Any chance that Joy….”

“Yes,” Malia laughed. “She made more pie. Come on, we should eat while we can.”

////////////////////

The mood in the camp was a lot better than when the group first arrived. The men and women were not exactly hopeful, but they would be fighting behind walls, in cover, and they had food and even a plan.

It wasn’t a lot, out in the middle of nowhere and waiting to be attacked at any moment, but it was more than they had. Even the officer felt it, nodding to them as they sat down to eat a couple of hurried slices of pie before they headed off again. 

Malia was drawing up plans with the officer, while Wesley took the opportunity to see if any were injured or sick amongst the soldiers. There were way more than there should have been. Honestly, half of them were wounded before even being sent out here. 

He didn’t hesitate to use all of his healing charges. It was better to start a fight fully healed. Wesley had the bitter experience of going into a battle injured. Knowing how it felt, Wes did everything he could to help others avoid the same fate. The discovery that they had a healer around helped raise the general mood even further.

“Excuse me?” A polite voice called.

Wesley turned and saw a fresh-faced young man with an ink stain on his cheek that contrasted with his mop of blond hair. Wes waved him forward, and the young man, barely eighteen if Wesley had to guess, bowed and introduced himself. 

Justin was, according to what he told Wesley, the runner assigned to Malia. 

“Nice to meet you, Justin,” Wesley nodded. “What can I do for you?” 

“Knight Malia asks that you report to the walls, as there has been movement sighted,” Justin said smartly, even including a salute.

“On my way,” Wesley nodded to him as the young man immediately ran out of the tent that Wesley had commandeered as his healing area for now. 

Wesley checked his rifle was loaded and ready to fire and followed him out, thumbing the safety off on the rifle. 

He found Malia and joined her in scanning the hills nearby.

“Where?” Wesley asked.

Malia pointed south, and Wesley ran his eyes over the area. A man was slowly crawling his way toward their position, and at first, Wesley was almost amused at how bad he was at it. If there had still been light in the sky, anyone would have spotted him.

Then, Hawk Eye activated, and Wesley hissed.

“What?” Malia asked.

“He’s not attacking. He’s fleeing. Or trying to. The severed leg and the spear through his lung are slowing him down a little.” Wesley told her. “He’s dressed like the bandits were supposed to be.”

“You’re sure?” Malia asked. 

“As much as I can be from here,” Wesley admitted. “We need to speak to that man.”

“Could be a trap,” Malia warned him.

“Yup,” Wesley nodded. “And if they are willing to cut their legs off to spring a trap, we still need to know that,”

“Just be careful,” Malia said, looking him in the eye. “Okay?”

“As much as I can be,” Wesley promised.

Wesley activated Were-wisp and rolled over the wall. He might be going out there, but he sure didn’t intend to give anyone something to shoot at. 

With that in mind, Wesley kept low as he kicked off, shooting forward like a phantom across the ground, making his best impression of a shadow. 

Every inch he crossed as he moved down the rise felt like a mile, and he kept scanning the area around him, looking for the telltale flash of a spell. In this light, he doubted he would even see an arrow coming. 

Making it as far as the slight dip was a pleasant surprise, and by the time he crossed the open ground, Wesley had a great idea of what it must have felt like to be an ant under a magnifying glass. His whole body screamed at being so exposed, but in seconds, he was starting up the other side, nothing but a gentle breeze disturbing the evening air. 

Now for the worst bit.

Wesley dropped Wisp form as he arrived next to the injured man, who protested feebly and tried to push him away.

“Quiet!” Wesley hissed, holding the man down. “I’m a healer.”

“H-help me,” The man clutched at his arm.

“I will,” Wesley promised, using a charge of Lesser Regenerate on the man as he tied a quick tourniquet around the severed leg. “What happened?”

“They were everywhere!” The man hissed and coughed up a wad of blood filled with bubbles. That wasn’t good. “Everywhere.” Wesley turned to try and get more information from the bandit, a spear passing where his head had been a moment before, slamming into the throat of the injured man.

Wesley rolled away, shifting back into wisp form. Spears rained down around him, forcing him to kick off and shoot back. 

Figures appeared from behind trees and over the hill, seeming to almost sprout from the ground. Spears flew, and Wesley dodged and dove, gaining distance as he went. 

Emerging from a roll, he had an idea and threw an Improved Flare into the sky.

The figures crouched back, hissing at the sudden light. For just an instant, Wesley stopped and got a clear look at the attackers.

Covered head to foot in the zone's dust and dirt, they seemed to almost disappear against the hillside. They were thin creatures, humanoid in an uncanny valley kind of way. They had long legs, long arms, skeletal frames, and long faces split with a vertical jaw. Any idea they were some form of undead vanished as he saw their large eyes contract, having adjusted to the light scarily fast.

That was enough for him, and Wesley kicked off, speeding toward the defenses they had built, worrying that it would not be enough.