2025 W : Wall

 

     

In the challenge, "W" is for the wall, the setting for the short story, "Between Swords and Sickness," in the collection First Change: Tales From the Eyrie.

To set the stage, the fever called the demon fire ravaged the city leaving only a handful of oldsters and teens to care for the sick and man the wall. Defending the sick and the dying, one man stood alone against an invading army. He had no hope but for dragon fire and talons. But Geelneach is only a man.

From "Between Swords and Sickness - The Undefended Wall" from First Change: Legends From The Eyrie.

Geelneach stood on the rampart above the city gate. The decision, whether to fight or surrender, was his to make. An option, one he had not dared consider, refused to be quashed. He sent Silat and the others to man the barricade at the Great Hall. Jaoth and Silat had argued, but Geelneach prevailed. “You are my lieutenants. It is your duty to obey. Now go.” He laid a gentle hand on both the youth’s shoulders. “No matter what happens this day, you have done your city and kin proud.”

He waited until their shadows disappeared into the mist which still blanketed the city. Despite the fog, the black pillar of the funeral smoke stood out. Each day he had prayed the column would still be seen and word sent to the dragshi of Alcari’s troubles. Or the local men recalled from their hunt. But time had run out, no reinforcements had come. Only one more thing remained to be done—to challenge the leader of the invaders.

Ignoring the danger, Geelneach stood up, silhouetted by the rising sun. Battle energy surged through him and he pulled his sword. His voice pitched to be heard by those standing at the foot of the wall he issued a simple challenge. “Drust, I challenge you, fight me one-on-one.”

“And if I refuse?” came an answer from the throng below.

“Then you are a coward,” Geelneach taunted. He let his disgust show on his features.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in well-worn armor pushed his way through the group of soldiers standing in front of a tent decorated with a captain’s banner. “Bold words for the lone defender of a city,” Drust laughed. “Did your troop desert you? If you can call that handful of gray-haired oldsters and unbearded youths a troop.”

The mercenary waved, his gesture encompassing those around him. “My ‘men,’ are all veterans of a dozen campaigns.”

~till next time, Helen 

 

To read "Between Swords and Sickness," get First Change: Legends From The Eyrie at Amazon and These Sites

 If you're following other blogs in the challenge, here's the master list of the other participants.