The Mad Puppeteer

The Host is coming. The Host is coming. The Host is coming.

Back through the ravine, clouds like tattered curtains drawn across the night sky, veiling the moons and stars.

Back through the tunnel, fleeting respite from the soup-heavy humidity and the skull-splitting screech of the cicadas.

The Host is coming. The Host is coming. The Host is coming.

Back through the great-grandmother forest, Kipp leading the Wolverines through the trees as fast as the horses were able.

Back toward the village, the lonely, forgotten settlement against which bets had been placed, war lines drawn, conspiracies founded.

Weariness. Weariness in Xavier’s very bones, the wick burned nearly to its end, the wax gone, the light sputtering.

The Host is coming. The Host is coming. The Host is coming.

Death is coming.

“Fiendish Host, you say?” Steward Alstier stood before the cavernous fireplace, her back to the Wolverines, her voice resonant in the emptiness of Cheydenvale’s great hall.

“Yes,” Xavier replied.

“Private army,” Gustave added, wincing and clutching at the spot where the arrow had struck him several hours before. “Based out of the desert. Ruthless, unscrupulous, unafraid of violence. We have”—and he glanced at Xavier—“history with them. Although that’s not why they’re here.”

“And why are they here, Lord Gustave?” Alstier spoke into the sooty blackness of the fireplace, still not facing the four men.

Above the mantel, the crossed halberds and the dusty old shield kept their silent vigil. Above the shield, through the narrow windows set high in the walls, Xavier caught glimpses of angry sky. All morning, as the Wolverines had been rushing back toward the village, foreboding gray clouds had been gathering, like vultures called to feast, towering above the kingdom in grim anticipation. Now, though it was near midday, the sky was almost as dark as it had been at midnight.

Camel glanced up from the table where he had spread the assorted charts and maps found in the hut at the end of the ravine. He looked like hell—dark shadow pits under his eyes, gore caked into that shaggy black hair of his, a crazed sort of worry on his face. “The group that was camped here in your valley was a scouting party. A vanguard sent to spy out the land. They didn’t want anyone finding out who they were or what they were doing, so they killed the people who got too close, mutilated their bodies to make it look like they were attacked by a monster—all a ruse to plant fear and keep the rest of the villagers away.”

“Now, we took care of the ones who were camped here,” Xavier said. “The ones responsible for the deaths of your people. But…” How to even put what was next into words?

“But the rest of the Host is coming,” Gustave said. “The entire army is coming. And they are coming for massacre.”

“We don’t know who hired them,” Xavier said, “and we don’t know why. But they have been hired to put this village to the sword. They are to spill the blood of every child, woman, and man in Cheydenvale.”

Alstier gave a strangled gasp. “When?”

A deep breath. “They will be here within the day.”

There was silence in the hall.

Xavier tried to calculate how long they had all been awake. Thirty hours? Thirty-five? His body was sending pain signals from so many different points that he could no longer differentiate them. He looked at Grim, who had uncharacteristically said nothing since they had returned. The baby-faced archer stood by the door with crossed arms, shifting from foot to foot, occasionally shaking his head in agitation.

“Good Steward?” Gustave limped across the hall to stand behind the old woman. “We need to begin preparing your people for travel. With your blessing, we will organize the evacuation and protect your caravan during the journey. But we must impress upon you that—”

“We’ll not be leaving.” Alstier’s voice was soft but firm. And at last, she turned to face them. There were tears running down her face.

Xavier had never before seen Gustave lost for words.

“When you entered the valley, you remember crossing the Singing Ford? When these thunderheads break”—Alstier gestured at the high, narrow windows and the menacing skies beyond—“the river will overflow its banks, the ford will flood, and crossing will be impossible. You, perhaps, on your horses, could make it out before then. We, on foot, could not. The valley is sealed. There will be no escape for us.”

Grim’s eyes widened and he took half a step toward the door.

“We can’t go west,” Camel said, unable to keep the note of hysteria from his voice, “toward the other end of the valley. The Host will be coming from that way!”

Alstier nodded. “The valley is sealed. We are shut in.”

“Fate may yet be kind to us,” Xavier said. “Let us lead your villagers toward the ford. We must at least try!”

But Alstier was shaking her head. “You’ve seen my people,” she said sadly. “The journey alone would kill some. You would ask the rest of them to die in the forest? Prey to be hunted by this Fiendish Host? No. If it is to be our end, we will meet it here, on our own terms, in our own homes.” She dabbed at her face with a corner of her sleeve and smiled in a resigned sort of way. “You have done much for us, Wolverines; you came when no one else would. But I suspect that not even you can stave off what is to come. I’m afraid it is time for you to go.”

͠

“Why. Are. We. Still. Here?” Grim asked, jabbing a finger at the low counter with every word.

The Wolverines stood in a little kitchen off the hall, the only place they could find to converse in private. Timeworn pots and pans hung from the walls, and wooden plates were stacked neatly on shelves.

Gustave was shaking his head. It was a sign of the magnitude of the situation that he was not smoking. “You would abandon these people to the sword?”

“The sword will take them, Gustave, whether we abandon them or not!” Grim’s baby-smooth face was shining with sweat. “The old bat has already lay down in her grave—waiting around to watch the dirt get shoveled on won’t change anything!”

“Everyone in the valley dies when the Host attacks, us included,” Camel said, anxiously gnawing at his lip. His unkempt hair was like a raven’s nest. “There’s just no answer to their strength in numbers.”

Gustave continued to shake his head. “Why would someone want to kill this village? It has no strategic value.”

“Would send a hell of a message though,” Xavier replied. “We know not everyone is happy about Dennmere’s coronation. Maybe someone wants to make him look weak. Maybe someone just wants to unsettle the kingdom.”

Grim threw his hands up. “It doesn’t matter! We need to leave before the ford floods!”

Gustave placed both hands on the counter in the center of the small room and looked across at Xavier. “Xav, what do you think? What would a good man do?”

Xavier was quiet for a long time, tracing butcher’s lines across the thick wooden countertop. He again experienced a feeling of premonition, a feeling of destiny, a feeling that somehow every step on every road he had ever walked had led him here, to this moment.

Xavier rubbed his fingers over the frayed black band hanging at his waist. Cold eyes behind a visor of steel. Bloodstains on the snow. Three graves in the meadow by the wheat field. “Everyone who stays here dies,” he said at last, echoing Camel. “There’s a fine line between a good man who throws his life away needlessly, and a fool.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Xavier saw Grim nod and smirk. Camel sighed and looked down. Gustave just stared, mouth hanging slightly open.

“Listen to me,” Xavier said. “Whatever plot is in motion here hinges on anonymity. It will all come crashing down if even a single person escapes with the knowledge of who attacked Cheydenvale. If King Dennmere knows where to point his sword, he will march out of the capitol with his army. The Host knows they’re no match for the king in open war—that’s why they can’t let anyone survive. They can’t afford to have any witnesses.”

Xavier looked at each of his companions in turn. “Now, if we stay here, we can die heroes’ deaths with all the others and it will all be for nothing. Or…we can be the ones who make sure the king knows where to direct his fury. We can be the witnesses. We can be the ones who bring an end to the Fiendish Host, albeit indirectly.”

Gustave remained as he was, hands on the counter, looking at Xavier. With a muttered curse, he finally took out his pipe and busied himself with lighting it. “I don’t believe it. A fine time to discover my best friend is a coward. A fine fucking time indeed.”

“Listen to me—”

“No, you listen!” Gustave was having trouble lighting his pipe and finally hurled it down in exasperation where it broke in two, scattering leaf over the kitchen floor. His voice was rising in volume. “You would let the people that invaded your land and murdered your subjects do the same to this village? This entire village?”

Gustave was yelling now, pacing back and forth through the small space. “Where is the Xavier I used to know, hmm? The one who practiced for hours in the combat ring at university to prepare for moments like this? Where is the philosopher, who sat with me many afternoons by the lake and discussed what it means to be a leader? Where is the lord, who would have gladly given his life for any one of his subjects simply because it was the right thing to do?”

Xavier forced himself to meet Gustave’s eyes. “These are not my subjects, Gustave, and I am not their lord. I’m not anyone’s lord anymore. You know that.”

“Oh, don’t give me that horse shit!” Spit flew from Gustave’s mouth as he stamped his foot on the flagstones. “I’ve put up with your miserable self-pity long enough! Pull yourself together, man! Lordship isn’t a title—it’s a state of being. It’s a caliber of person. It’s a way of life! So I ask you again, what happened to the Xavier I used to know? Where the hell did my friend go?”

Xavier almost left then. Almost rode off with Grim and Camel, and abandoned Gustave to do as he saw fit. He could have left. Could have started the Wolverines all over again, found new companions, new warriors. It would have been hard, but not impossible.

He was aware of people standing just out of sight beyond the kitchen doorway, no doubt drawn by the shouting. He looked up to see the mousy table maid peering around the doorframe, who upon realizing she had been discovered, gave a terrified gasp and disappeared. He was aware of his companions looking at him, each with their own expressions, waiting for his next words. Gustave was so angry that his beard was quivering.

Cold eyes behind a visor of steel. Bloodstains on the snow. Three graves in the meadow by the wheat field.

Tempe hugging him as she said farewell. Sadness and disappointment in Walden’s eyes. Humility. Anger. Shame.

Xavier looked at Gustave and saw the same disappointment, felt the same shame all over again. He wondered, briefly, what Tempe would say if she were here—fiery, loyal, upright Tempe. But Xavier knew exactly what she would say, and in that moment of knowing, he deflated. He sat down on the kitchen floor, leaned his head back against the cabinets, closed his eyes.

“You’re right,” Xavier said. “You’re right.” And it was like coming out of a long sleep filled with solemn dreams. “The truth is…I’ve always been a coward. Always been selfish, always been cruel. Oh, I’ve hid it well—donned the costume of a leader, played the part of a lord. Thought that if enough people saw me as a hero, I could turn the fiction into a reality. But it’s always been a fiction, and nothing more. It’s always been a performance. All my life has been”—Xavier shrugged and opened his eyes—“little more than a beautiful jest.”

Xavier felt hollow—a vessel emptied of its deepest truth. He breathed out a long, trembling sigh. “Let us not forsake this lonely village. Let us do the right thing, and if that means giving our lives, then so be it.”

Gustave stepped around the counter, offered Xavier his hand, pulled him to his feet. Looked long at him, then nodded.

“Right,” Gustave said, “listen up. You all remember that wide, cleared area we rode through right before reaching town? There’s little doubt the Host will attack there; they can sweep through the clearing and take full advantage of their strength in numbers.”

Xavier nodded along with the other two. He felt strangely hopeful, for he now had the power to fill his emptiness with something new, if only for a short time.

“Now,” Gustave continued, “beside that clearing there was a little gully filled with trees. What if the four of us fired quick volleys at the flank opposite the gulley as the Host advances across the clearing? The natural tendency of the soldiers will be to move away from the flank that’s being hit. If we keep pounding that same spot, we may just be able to throw the army into enough confusion to influence its direction of travel.”

“Hobard’s Gambit,” Camel whispered.

“Exactly.” Gustave ran a hand through his beard. “If we can get the soldiers to take cover in that gully, we then force them to fight uphill, through the trees, as we rain arrows down on them.”

“We take away their strength in numbers.” With each word, Camel was becoming more and more alive.

“We reduce their strength in numbers,” Gustave said. “They will eventually reach our position. It’ll take a cartload of luck to kill enough of them to give us a fighting chance before that happens.” The big man stooped to collect his broken pipe from the floor. “It’s a long shot. But it’s all I’ve got.”

Camel was nodding enthusiastically, his long, dark hair bobbing up and down. Grim was pushing a potato around on the counter and avoiding eye contact. And as for Xavier, he felt as though a great and weighty veil had been pushed aside, and everything had been made a little clearer.

“Alright,” Xavier said, closing his fist and raising it to eye level in the soldier’s salute, “I’m in.”

Camel immediately matched the motion. Gustave rose from the floor and smiled at Xavier before following suit. Everyone turned to Grim.

“Well, the wine was rather good. Oat rolls weren’t bad either.” Grim at last met their eyes. “Be a shame never to get the opportunity to eat one again. And then there’s…” He glanced at the doorway where the table maid had been a few minutes before. Slowly, he lifted his closed fist.

͠

An air of dour resolve accompanied Xavier, Gustave, Grim, and Camel out of Cheydenvale’s hall and through the ramshackle buildings of the little town. It must have been late afternoon, but the amassed storm clouds above them kept any hint of light from the sky and made it impossible to tell the time.

As the men left the final cluster of houses, they saw a group of maybe two dozen figures waiting under the eaves of the forest. Drawing near, Xavier could see that all of them had hunting bows clutched in their hands or slung over their shoulders.

“It’s true, then.” Kipp stepped from their midst. Gone was the cheerful grin of the day before. “You’re stayin’.”

Xavier nodded and exchanged a glance with Gustave.

“We intend to stand beside you,” Kipp said, “in defense of our home.”

Xavier looked at them, at their patched shirts and threadbare trousers. Though none of them appeared to have surpassed the age of forty, most had deep lines creased into their brows.

“Do you know how to use those bows?” Grim asked.

Some of them bristled but Kipp, for her part, only nodded. “We are the hunters of Cheydenvale,” she said. “Each of us can take a squirrel between the eyes at forty paces.”

“Good,” Grim replied. “You’re all with me then. Come. I’ll show you what we’re planning.”

The hunters turned to go with him, and it was plain that most of them had precious little hope.

“Hunters of Cheydenvale!” Xavier called out. “Wait!”

A few of them turned their heads, and Xavier took a deep breath.

“Darkness draws near—a darkness that intends to take all we have and cast us like dregs from an empty cup. Intends to knock us down and sweep us aside like a conquered game piece. And so I ask you, what do we intend to do?”

A monstrous clap of thunder rang out, and it seemed to shake the very ground they stood upon.

“The good steward told me that Cheydenvale was once called the jewel of the west.” Xavier took a step forward. “Told me that emperors and kings walked beneath these trees.”

All the hunters were listening now, moss-green cloaks flapping in the mounting wind. There was something deep down in their eyes, a gleam of corundum-hard pride as old as the trees tossing restlessly around them.

“Now, I have been among you only a short while, but I have come to learn what you already know to be true—that Cheydenvale has always been a jewel and always will be! So I ask again, what do we intend to do?”

Something welled up within Xavier, something he hadn’t felt since before Fallen Sky.

“We intend to show them who we are!” Xavier bellowed. “What we are!” He pointed into the trees at the unseen foe that was out there somewhere. “We will show these dogs at our gate that we are not a game piece to be knocked down! We are Cheydenvale, Jewel of the West, and they cannot have us! Let our arrows fly true, and let our blades bite deep, and let our enemies’ final thoughts be of their own folly!”

A cheer went up from the hunters, and some even lifted their bows on high. Xavier thought their shoulders looked a little broader, their backs a little straighter. Satisfied, he nodded to Grim, who was staring back at Xavier with mouth agape. Grim collected himself, and then collected the hunters, and then led them off.

As Camel, Gustave, and Xavier were left alone among the ancient trees, the first plump drops of rain began to fall.

“And here I thought you weren’t a leader,” Gustave said as he elbowed Xavier gently in the ribs.

“Where’d you learn all those fancy words?” Camel asked from Xavier’s other side, grinning from ear to ear.

“Are you kidding me?” Gustave replied. “He lives for that poetic shit.”

For a moment, the three of them were kids again, playing in the forest, wooden swords hanging from their belts, where nothing could possibly be of greater import than catching clawfish in the river.

A raindrop hit Camel in the forehead and rolled down his nose. “Storm’s a-brewin’,” he said, face tilted skyward.

Xavier looked up at the coal-black masses of cloud, waiting to unleash their fury on the world below.

“You once told us,” Gustave said, “that if we trusted our gear and trusted each other, nothing in the Two Kingdoms would be able to knock us down.” He clapped Xavier on the back. “Come, let us prove you to be an honest man.”

Cover image by Jez Timms on Unsplash

Chronicles of the Wolverines
The Mighty Wolverines
Scars of Drehana
Lost to the Night
Fallen Sky
Escape from Bleeding Basin
A Beautiful Jest part 1
A Beautiful Jest part 2
A Beautiful Jest part 3
A Beautiful Jest part 4