The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (story books for 5 year olds .TXT) 📕

Her hand slid up Sharpquill’s back, stroking, trying to soothe him, and failing.

“You need someone. It doesn’t have to be me,” snarled the king.

He’d found diplomatic words now. “Your Majesty, we don’t have the time to spare for a tournament. We’re too close to the edge. It would mean people missing days of meals. And if they’re too weak to hunt or gather we won’t be able to catch back up.”

“Bullshit. Just say, ‘We’re having a tourney today.’ Line them up. We’ll be done in a few hours.”

Master Sharpquill leaned into Cinnamon. He drew calm from her. “That’s fine for those few who’ve been practicing their skills. For everyone who put down their tourney weapon to do the work that’s been keeping us alive. . .” His voice grew harsher on the last phrase. “They would be excluded from any chance of winning. What would that do to morale? And to the legitimacy of the winner?”

That made the king think a moment. “Okay. There’s three weeks left in the reign. That’s time to prepare. We can have tourney and coronation the same day.”

“For each contender, we’d lose three weeks of their work. Plus the work of the artisans repairing armor and consorts and friends cheering them on. We can’t spare that.”

Frustration was clear on Estoc’s face. “How many contenders do you think there’ll be?”

Lady Cinnamon’s grip on his arm kept the Autocrat in his seat. He said, “Your Majesty,” in a tone which made it a euphemism for ‘you idiot.’ “This is not a contest for a ceremonial position in a hobby group. This is the most powerful office in a life-or-death situation. Who wins that tourney will decide who lives or dies here. Everyone will show up. Some will be there just to keep someone else from winning. And everyone will be there to watch.”

Estoc laughed. “Most powerful? Then why am I asking you to escape from it?”

“Because you can fire me. Please do. You know exactly how relieved I’d be.”

Lady Cinnamon said, “Gentlemen. Please. This is being too heated. Let’s take a moment for some slow deep breaths.”

Neither man did the breathing exercise. They did stay silent and wait for their adrenaline levels to recede.

King Estoc said quietly, “I’m not supposed to do this forever.”

“It’s not forever. We’re in a tight spot because we’ve used up the closest food sources. There’s more out there for us to find. When we have enough for a surplus to give people two days off a week we’ll schedule the tourney. And we can have the coronation the same day. Is that acceptable, Your Majesty?”

“I guess.” Estoc waved his hands then dropped them to the table. Even more softly he said, “I’m not supposed to do this alone.” He started to cry.

Autocrat Sharpquill felt ashamed. The man had watched his wife killed before his eyes a month ago.

Cinnamon went around the table and hugged Estoc. Sharpquill followed and put a hand on his monarch’s shoulder. It heaved with sobs.

***

“The birds are quiet,” said Newman.

“So?” replied Bodkin.

“There's probably a predator about. Keep your eyes open.”

The six hunters drifted into a horseshoe formation as the flankers kept looking behind themselves. The woods were dense enough that something fifty yards away might only be seen for a moment.

They didn’t need to look that hard. When they came upon a clearing the predators were on the far side of it.

“Holy shit! Orcs!” cried Deadeye.

“Calm down,” said Bodkin. “We don't know anything about them. Ugly doesn’t mean they're evil.”

Newman studied the strangers. They were humanoid but not human. Their heights were all in the normal human range but the shoulders were wider than a gorilla’s. Thick arm muscles flexed as they leveled wood spears at the hunters. Some carried two or three spears. The tips were bare wood scraped to points. As the strangers hooted and grunted at each other their lips drew back to reveal shark-like triangular teeth and pointed tusks.

Newman heard the other hunters muttering. The green skin and lack of hair or clothes bothered them more than evidence the strangers were pure carnivores.

“We know they’re all male,” he said.

“So probably a hunting party,” said Bodkin.

“Yeah. That's who’s been leaving those piles of deer bones around.”

The humanoids were discussing the hunting party, with lots of yells and pointing. Shocked to see a new species in the woods, or just naturally loud talkers? wondered Newman.

“We should report this,” said Leadsmith, edging back into the woods.

Deadeye snapped, “We can’t lead them back to the camp.”

“Let’s see if they want to talk,” said Bodkin. “If we can trade with them we'll be better off.”

“Trade what?” said Deadeye.

“Tools,” said Newman. “They don’t even have stone spearheads. They'd probably swap a ton of food for metal points.”

The discussion on the far side ended with all of the strangers turning to face the hunters. The tallest of them yelled something. Five spears flew across the clearing.

“Shit! Down!” Newman drew an arrow from his quiver before going flat on the ground. The rest dropped too except for Deadeye. He hopped left and right, dodging the spears.

A couple flew close by him. The others stuck in the ground behind the hunters.

Newman rose to a kneeling stance with an arrow already nocked. He sent it into the chest of the tall one then dropped as more spears flew. As soon as they hit he put a second arrow a few inches from the first.

The tallest stranger tugged at one of the arrows sticking in his chest, snarled, then waved his companions into the woods ahead of him. Their complexion quickly blended with the leaves.

“Anyone hurt?” asked Bodkin.

“Got my arm,” gasped Leadsmith.

Newman stood sentry while the rest performed first aid. He kept watch behind the whole way back to camp.

***