JP Koenig
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Chapter 7 - The Aftermath (Part 1)
🕑 Added 2025-03-17 18:55:21 +0000 UTC“Will the world end? Can it end? Many learned men have debated this over the generations. While I have long had rationalist leanings, I also believe in empirical data. We have witnessed lines being drawn on the map by the three Pantheons of the West. With no pantheons left in the East to pose a challenge, they need not conspire together. The world may end, it may not. Yet the empirical evidence is clear.
A war is coming that may yet doom us all.”
-Augustine of Hippo
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Taliesin cradled his injured hand to his chest, using a strip of cloth liberated from a dead gnoll’s cloak as a sling. He made his way through the wrecked village back to the Landsman’s house, Katla in tow. He’d landed not far from it, in fact, which was how Katla had spotted his need. All around, people began to come out from hiding spots. The cries and wails of grief from the survivors intermixed with tending to the injured. The smell of blood and wet dog mixed with the acrid smell of burned wood and flesh. At least the rain had stopped.
They found Gunther in the courtyard, which had at some point in the battle become a haven for fleeing villagers and a stronghold for Landsman Varo’s men. Gunther was directing a few of the armsmen as they brought the injured and dying to him. The rest of them stood around, lost and directionless. It was then that Taliesin spotted Lady Solveig kneeling on the ground with the uncovered head of an armored man in her lap.
Taliesin walked over to her. She was bedraggled, wearing a dress but no cloak, damp from the sudden rain and filthy with soot. She stroked the man’s head and looked beside herself. Varo was dead.
“He was my friend. I’ve known him for thirty years now,” she whispered as Taliesin came up. “His life’s work is destroyed, his village is in ruins.”
“Lady Solveig, my deepest condolences on the loss of Landsman Varo. I know you have lost a dear friend, but now is not the time to grieve. We’ve much to do if we wish to get out of this alive,” said Taliesin, although not without a gentle empathy to his voice. “The gates are destroyed and the walls sundered, and no building is undamaged enough to withstand the weather. Varo would want his people to survive to carry on his legacy, and much work is needed to make that happen..”
Solveig looked up at him as if seeing him for the first time. Then she looked to Katla as if seeking confirmation.
“The Archmage is correct, milady,” said Katla. “We have to organize a counterattack and drive off these gnolls before they can regroup. Their attack cannot go unanswered.”
“I did not push for a counterattack,” argued Taliesin, frustrated that the warpriest was putting words in his mouth. “We must aid the people in fleeing to safety. This village is unsafe from a renewed assault and will fare poorly against the cold.”
“I… don’t know… what - I mean, I’ve never… my father is the Jarl, not me!”
“Milady, you need to pull yourself together,” said Katla forcefully. “We need your direction.”
Solveig seemed on the verge of shutting down, so Taliesin waved Katla back. “I know how to handle this.”
He spotted one of the maid thralls huddled in a corner, looking equally lost. He motioned to her to come forth. This familiar command, likely reinforced by many long years of service, jerked the maid from her reverie. She hustled over.
“The Lady Solveig is in shock. Can you assist her? She needs warm travel clothes. Get yourself warm clothing as well.”
“Of course, Stormlord,” she said, before rushing over to Solveig. Taliesin paused at the strange title she’d said, but had no time to consider it further.
“We’ll let her rest,” said Taliesin to Katla.
“But who -”
“I will organize the villagers,” said Taliesin. “We’ve no choice. Lady Solveig is in shock.”
Katla glowered at him for a long moment, but deflated. “Of course, milord Archmage. Shall I organize the defenses?”
“Get the soldiers ready to rally around the village. Find hunters or local farmers to send out to scout. We need eyes out there. You are correct; the gnolls will regroup. But we must be ready for them, and ideally, long gone.”
Katla gave a nod, clearly displeased with the commands, but also obedient in a way that only a rigid adherent of a hierarchy could be. Taliesin could see that she trusted in power structures, and whatever problem she had with magic users was, he fit into a position of authority.
Taliesin jumped up on an overturned crate, and spoke loudly to the crowd. “I am Archmage Taliesin. We have won a great victory, but not without loss. This includes Landsman Varo, who fell while valiantly defending the lives of everyone here. While we may have driven off the raiders, we are still in grave danger. Many of your fellows have fallen, and many more are injured. Lady Solveig and Healer Gunther are tending to the injured, so it falls to us to prepare for an evacuation. This village is damaged beyond repair, so we must gather what we can and flee.”
“Why would we leave? This is our home!” called someone from the crowd. Another called out, “We can rebuild!”
“You are welcome to stay if you’d like. But know this - the gnolls will return, with more numbers than before. All who wish for safety will not find it here. I will be leaving with them to find a more secure town.”
There were murmurs through the crowd, and the mood shifted. After all, their chief defender had died, even with an archmage assisting in the battle. Now that archmage was leaving. Taliesin held up his hands to quiet the murmurs.
“Go and rescue anyone you can from the buildings. Bring the injured here. Gather as many wagons as you can. We’ll need clothes, blankets, food and supplies. Seek every weapon you can find, for this may turn into a desperate fight before this trip is through.”
Taliesin turned to Katla. “Take charge of the guards. Have them kill any surviving gnolls, and loot their corpses of anything valuable. Be clear that this is not their personal loot, for the survival of their families may depend on pooling this resource for everyone.”
Katla looked at him searchingly for a moment, then nodded. She turned to the loitering armsmen and shouted, “You heard the Stormlord. Get to work. You, you and you, you’re with me. The rest of you form into your squads…”
Taliesin turned away and walked to Gunther. “Tell me where you need me.”
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It took hours before the injuries were stabilized. Taliesin’s healing spell, poor as it was, helped bolster Gunther’s more powerful but limited Forging. They moved to a system where Taliesin helped stabilize everyone who was found, while Gunther used his far superior <Heal> to directly restore the most severely wounded.
“Taliesin, I need you to help direct efforts towards shelter more than healing,” said Gunther. “I have more mundane medical training and the thralls can assist me now. Odin knows it’ll take me a few hours of rest before I can <Heal> again. I dare not Boost for at least a few days after today’s trials.”
“Very well, I’ll leave you to it,” said Taliesin with no small amount of relief. He stood, taking a long breath to steady himself. He was a poor healer, although not because his spell didn’t work. In fact, his own injuries had healed enough from his Ring of Healing that he’d been able to turn his sling over to an injured villager.
What bothered Taliesin was that he did not have the temperament to be amidst such blood and misery. It was a thankless, never ending task and one that filled him with dread at the mere thought of it becoming a regular duty. Yet he could come up with enchanted items that could assist in his place, given the time and opportunity to develop them. With a shake of his head, Taliesin added it to his list and moved on.
The village looked even more shattered now that the false dawn of the attack had brightened into true daylight. Several buildings had completely collapsed, with piles of debris obviously shifted aside by rescuers as they searched for survivors. Many others looked dangerously unsound, with boards haphazardly thrown across broken doors to signal the risk within. One collapsed building had been designated as the gnoll pyre, with the dead raiders tossed in amongst random wreckage to be burned later. Loved ones were being laid out in another part of the village with considerably more care, while a team was digging a mass grave with admirable speed.
Yet despite the losses, all hope was not gone. Katla had two dozen men-at-arms and armor patrolling the village in pairs, keeping things orderly. The roughshod, broken mob of refugees had been turned into the start of a caravan. The most damaged wagons had been cannibalized to repair the rest, and a proper wagon train was being loaded. At the front was Lady Solveig’s carriage, which had emerged unscathed from the courtyard, moved aside to make room for more injured.
Some of the wagons were styled with high walls and narrow frame, ideal for cross-country travel but not for carrying large loads. Others were squat and flat with only a single pair of wheels, meant for carrying grains or hay and pulled by only a single ox around a farmer’s field. Nonetheless, all were being loaded up and tied down as best as possible. There were even a number of wheelbarrows being loaded, ready to be pushed by hand.
“Who is acting as the caravan master?” Taliesin asked one of the armsmen on patrol.
“Viggo is, Stormlord,” mumbled one of the armsmen, as he pointed to a middle-aged man in modest clothes, albeit sooty and in disarray much like everyone here. The man was directing porters and thralls as they came up with cargo, and appeared quite busy.
Taliesin nodded and started to walk, but the guard cleared his throat. He turned back to the man. “Was there something else?”
“Umm… me an’ some of the others were wonderin’... that is… we heard you was a new archmage here and had no varingjar - no sworn men? err, milord?”
“That’s correct,” he answered, unsure of what the warrior was driving at.
“With Landsman Varo gone, well, we’re wonderin’ if you’d be needin’ some sworn men of your own and all.”
“Ah,” said Taliesin. His hand automatically went to just below his chin to stroke a long, gray beard that he no longer had. Instead, he scratched at the short stubble on his chin. “I take it that the Landsman was providing for you and your families?”
The guard nodded in relief that Taliesin understood. “Yes, milord.”
In his own homeland, it was a common practice for nobles to keep retainers such as this. Well trained warriors were sworn to a noble household, which provided shelter, food and a small stipend of goods and a few pennies for the warriors’ family. Otherwise the noble would have to rely solely on conscripts to fill out their soldiery in times of need. Taliesin was sure that there were cultural nuances that he’d need to learn. He’d already seen many instances of it. These people reminded him more of the Danish tribesmen he’d met from the Danelaw duchies north of Londinium, but he’d not learned much of their way of life.
The real question for Taliesin was whether he intended to set up a proper noble household. Varo’s death was tragic, and the end of the man’s family line so far as Taliesin knew, but it afforded him an opportunity to poach talent should he so desire. It was a surprise to him that he was waffling on this now, on the cusp of such a decision.
Had he not just decided, a scant few hours earlier, that he could not proceed in life as a worker bee again? Had he not just resolved to build a bastion against the Twilight of the Gods? Was he planning to live there alone and do everything himself? Hardly not. It was time to start putting his thoughts and plans into practice. If he was truly going to act, he had no time to lose.
