Chapter 5 A Fiery Intervention #3
See? They can take care of their own. Morfran turned to leave.
Soldiers on horseback instantly intercepted the villagers, swiping their blades at several of the thick-necked men who’d pummeled Morfran just hours earlier, cutting some of them down like they were felling wheat stalks.
Morfran looked on, irritated. Now my men decide to be competent?
The torch-wielding man—one of his past generals, though he wasn’t sure which one—dodged a heavy stone hurled his way, now ten feet from the oil-doused tree.
Morfran could visualize it: the tree going up like tinder, fueled by the oil, and the flames crawling up the ladder into the treetop platforms, igniting first the stout hut shaped like a witch’s hat and then spreading.
“Stop him!” Brim was screaming, but Morfran’s ex-soldiers had finally snagged on to some semblance of order and had created a wide circle of horses and soldiers that blocked the forest dwellers from breaking through, though try they did.
Morfran turned towards Benjamin, saying, “Time to go.”
She just stared at him with those yellow, watchful eyes. Time to act.
“I am,” he seethed. “I’m getting you to safety!”
She blinked. Or you’re just trying to save your own butt.
“I hate how I think you can talk.” Morfran groaned, casting one last look over his shoulder. The general was five feet from the tree, arm raised to feed the torch to the oil. Morfran cursed and gripped his sword with both hands.
“Fire,” he seethed. “What is your lot’s obsession with fire?”
The sword sailed beautifully, tip over hilt, as Morfran chucked it; it skewered the soldier through the gut.
Everyone watched—and even the geese, who’d been assaulting his ankles previously, ceased their mad hackling to gawk open-mouthed—as they waited to see if the general would either fall backwards with his torch, dead, or if he’d fall forward into the tree and set the forest aflame.
It was neither. The general just stood there, obviously shocked to have a sword imbedded in a kidney, and unsure whether to just die on the spot now or die after wreaking havoc on innocent lives. He then started teetering forward.
Morfran crashed into the general’s midsection, sending them both flying away from the tree and against the ground.
The action sent pain through Morfran’s face, down into his rib cage.
The general sputtered, coughing blood that spattered onto Morfran’s face, at which Morfran released an irritated growl in disgust and tore the man’s helmet from his head.
It was General Yerfra. The aged man was dying, his gray eyes trying to focus on Morfran’s. Out of all his generals, Yerfra was the oldest and most simplistic. “M-my Lord?”
Morfran didn’t know how he could tell it was him; his face felt like melted rubber and was likely broken in at least four places. “Your strategy sucked.”
“It w-was Killian’s.” His voice sounded like he was sucking up broth in the back of his throat.
Why was he taking orders from Killian? Unless…“He’s been promoted to Chief General?”
“Ravana…liked his fire.”
Stupid, preening little upstart…Morfran should’ve hanged him when he had the chance.
“Never s-seen her…so angry…as when you left.” Yerfra’s eyes were shifting upwards now. Morfran knew he had mere seconds before the man was gone.
“How are you tracking me?” he asked.
The man’s throat gurgled. Disgusting. “She’s…”
He said nothing else. Morfran shook the man. Surely there was another word or two lodged in his throat, though he was dead-dead now. When it was apparent there wasn’t, Morfran looked about at the commotion.
Brim and his men were tearing soldiers off horses, reinvigorated by the near-miss of the flames and the promise that if they didn’t kick more soldiers to their grave, some fervent young soldier might just pick up the torch and blow up the tree.
Ravana’s soldiers were fighting back, and though they would have had the upper hand—rakes and shovels could not compete against armor and swords—from the trees Morfran could see more figures coming in the night.
This new group held all assortment of farm and woodcutting equipment, like they were coming to demolish an indecently overgrown alfalfa field.
It was the other forest dwellers from the nearby encampments Brim spoke of.
And there appeared to be dozens upon dozens of them, moving in on the soldiers like vengeful forest spirits.
Morfran stared in wonder as they poured through.
There really were this many who’d joined together to end his reign?
It was at this point that Morfran knew who had won, or at the very least knew he’d be left somewhat alone. He rolled onto his back, dizzy and thirsty and close to vomiting, as he listened to the clashing of metal on metal and the forest folk letting out cries of victory.
He turned his head to stare at the pen. Benjamin had stuck her head out from the fence, tongue pushed out like a pink snail curling out of her mouth. Her eyes were fastened on him.
“Happy now, you bloody goat?”
Benjamin let out a pleased bleat.