Set The Trap

The rhythmic clang of Oliver's whetstone against tempered steel reverberated through the dimly lit armory on the second story of the courthouse. Each rasp of the grinding surface against the knights' blades created a hypnotic cadence amidst the flickering torchlight.Oliver sat by a small, barred window, its gaps just wide enough to allow him to peek out at the front yard and the western neighborhood beyond. There were few windows on the second floor of the courthouse, and those that existed were barely large enough for a person to squeeze through – not even the harpies would dare attempt such a daring charge.As he worked, meticulously honing the edge of each blade, Oliver would occasionally glance out the window, taking in the sights of the neighborhood to alleviate the tedium of his task. The boy found himself drawn to the small glimpses of the world beyond the courthouse walls, a fleeting escape from the constant reminders of the conflict that surrounded them.With painstaking care, the young squire methodically worked his way along the armory racks, His shoes leaving faint prints on the creaking wooden floor as he tended to each weapon in turn. Sharpening swords and knives, scouring away the faintest tarnish from well-used armor - these menial tasks were as much a part of his squirehood as serving at the war councils.A furrow creased Oliver's brow as his slim hands glided along the edge of a particularly notched longsword. Each nick represented a harrowing deflection in the heat of battle, a hair's-breadth escape from oblivion. He found himself idly wondering whose life had been saved by this very blade, whose heroic stand had borne its battle scars."You'll wear a groove through that steel if you've a mind, boy." The gruff voice made Oliver start, the whetstone clattering to the hard-packed earth at his feet. He spun to find Ser Gareth regarding him with an arched eyebrow and arms crossed over his barreled chest."A good eye, to be so attentive with your work," the large knight continued in a tone more avuncular this time. "But also know when to pull back before crossing into pure toil for toil's sake, hmm?"With an adroit sweep of his arm, Gareth retrieved a dented mail haubergeon from its wall-mounted brace and tossed it to Oliver. The young squire scrambled to catch the weighty bundle before it struck the floor."Best get that sorted while we've a respite from the skies," Gareth instructed with an economical gesture towards the mail. "Every rivet and link matters when the feathers start flying anew." His words turned Oliver's blood to ice once more as grim reminders of the harsh winter realities reasserted themselves.As the older man turned to attend to some other duty, Oliver gathered up the battered haubergeon along with his tumbled whetstone and polishing rags. With a resolute set to his young shoulders, he carried his burdens to the corner grindstone and began the meticulous process of straightening and untangling each steel ringed link with dextrous, economical twists and tugs.The rhythmic crunching and rasp of labored grindstone filled the still air in counterpoint to the sporadic stamp of a warhorse's hoof or the distant call of knights assembling. Though menial, these armory duties anchored Oliver, allowing him to temporarily push the existential dread of their deteriorating circumstances from his mind.But only temporarily. Far too soon, his diligent squirehood would be put to the fiery test once more alongside the warriors who had already shed so much blood and bone for the village's perseverance.Oliver glanced once more through the narrow window gap, but this time, the view that greeted him was entirely different. In the distance, he spotted Marcus and Victor working together, carrying something slung across their backs – an exotic creature wrapped in netting, hanging limply like a captured deer.As his eyes focused on the creature, Oliver felt his breath catch in his throat. He could scarcely believe what he was witnessing.⁕⁕⁕The second story of the courthouse was a hub for ammunition and armory as Aden and Ethan returned from their arduous task of collecting spent arrows and bolts. Ethan broke the silence first as they began tidying up their hard-won munitions at the opposite side of where Oliver and Ser Gareth were."Hey, ruhimi. Have you heard the rumor?" he asked, his voice lowered conspiratorially.Aden's brow furrowed as he turned to face his companion. "About what?""I've heard we're running short on provisions," Ethan replied grimly.Hefting a burlap sack brimming with arrowheads, Aden considered this. "We as in the imperial rescue party? Or all of us here?"Ethan shook his head. "No, all of us. I overheard Marcus and that chedaim discussing it in hushed tones.""Chedaim?" Aden frowned in confusion at the familiar term as he deposited his burden into a waiting bucket."Ralph. The one with the dumb bowlcut," Ethan clarified with a derisive snort.Realization dawned on Aden's weathered features. "Oh, that annoying fella.""Aye, that's the one."As he began methodically sorting through the battered projectiles, Aden's mind drifted to his former cavalry brother Nasser back in Median. An accomplished jinn warrior—also a chedaim— who always conducted himself with regal and boast but never in a disrespecting manner. In his experience, every Chedaim he'd encountered carried themselves with that same innate respectfulness."He doesn't look Chedaim to me," Aden remarked, unable to reconcile Ralph's abrasive demeanor with the noble bearing he associated with that ethnicity.Ethan arched an eyebrow quizzically, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "How so?""Well first, he's as pale as you fellas," Aden began, ticking off points on his fingers as he elaborated on his observation."These ones are believed to be converts eons ago," Ethan interjected, offering a potential explanation.Aden shook his head firmly. "No, there is no such thing. They don't accept converts or engage in any religious conversions for that matter. Highly insular, only full-blooded chedaim in their society."He wrinkled his nose in distaste, another point of contention surfacing in his mind. "And I saw him eating bacon in the dining hall, which no true chedaim would ever do."A tense silence fell between the two men as Aden's words hung in the air, casting doubt on Ralph's claimed heritage. Ethan's brow furrowed as he considered the implications of Aden's observations, his mind grappling with the possibility that the man they had known as a chedaim might not be what he claimed.A confused look passed between the two men before Ethan finally exhaled a mirthless chuckle. "Well, I don't know the finer nuances. All I know is around here, he gets called a chedaim.""An Aionian Chedaim?" Aden muttered, unable to mask his lingering befuddlement at the apparent paradox. "Okay, I'm just confused now."The brief spark of humor faded as Ethan nodded soberly, confirming the worrying scuttlebutt about their dire provision situation. "Anyway, word's spread that our stores are almost depleted, just as the winter kicks in. I can't deny seeing our meals growing smaller and more meager."Aden sighed, recalling the raided supply wagons after their beleaguered arrival. "Aye, I'm aware. Nearly half our provisions were ransacked by the harpies back then." His jaw clenched at the memory of the winged scavengers' bottle-necking tactics. "I was one of the first to spot them tearing into our stocks.""Many are talking about abandoning the courthouse and trying to slip away under cover of night," Ethan revealed in a hushed tone.While not surprising, the prospect still made Aden's stomach twist. "That would be unwise to the point of sheer insanity," he argued, shaking his head vehemently. "As hungry as I am, I'd sooner starve to death waiting for relief here than wander into that aerial gauntlet unprotected."His eyes were slitted in consideration. "Actually...we could slaughter the horses for emergency rations."Ethan's brows shot up. "The horses? As in, eat them?""Yes," Aden confirmed with a nod. "Back in my cavalry days, that's what we'd do when supplies ran low. One sturdy horse could provide enough meat and strength for the whole village if strictly rationed. Two days worth easily, maybe three if stretched thin."A low whistle slipped past Ethan's lips. "Well I'll be...that's one drastic but intriguing alternative, I'll give you that."Ethan and Aden caught sight of Oliver's sudden departure out of the corner of their eyes. Frowning, they turned to observe the young squire's movements, his urgency evident in the way he sprinted across the courtyard."Where's the lad off to in such a hurry?" Ethan wondered aloud, squinting against the fading light.Aden shrugged, his brow furrowed with concern. "I've no idea, but you'd best go and make sure he doesn't get himself into any trouble."A few paces away, they spotted Hjalmar and Martin approaching and waved them over. Hjalmar just got back after chopping firewood, he needed to sharpen his axe while Martin was tasked by Father Edgar to give the new projectiles buckets from the ground defenders salvaged.As the new arrivals neared, Ethan passed his remaining buckets of salvaged ammunition to Aden. "Here, you head on and submit these to Ser Gareth while they're fresh. I need to catch on the boy and I've got some other business to discuss with the lads."Aden accepted the containers with a grunt of effort, testing their weight. "Very well."When he turned to leave, Ethan called out one final remark. "And you be sure to run that slaughter idea past the captain the first chance you get!""I will!" Aden called back over his shoulder. His path was clear - submit the precious ammunition, and then seek an audience with Captain Willem regarding his proposed solution, grim as it may be.The storage room on the second story was a miraculously preserved pocket of order amidst the surrounding chaos. Ser Gareth, the stalwart knight tasked with overseeing their dwindling battlefield reserves, looked up in surprise as Aden handed over the ammunition."Ah, Aden!" he exclaimed, rising from his meticulous notations. "A hefty haul, I see. Quickly now, let's have them sorted for viability."Working in practiced tandem, the two men upended Aden's burden, quickly separating the still-intact from the hopelessly mangled and deformed. As anticipated, barely half the recovered arrows and bolts could be rendered serviceable once more.The mangled and deformed projectiles would be given to Hjalmar as fuel for the fireplace to warm the courthouse hall and the fire camp."Sufficient for another few volleys at most," Ser Gareth remarked with a weary shake of his head. "We must make every shot count.""Agreed." Aden straightened with a grunt, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension. "Speaking of which, where is the captain? I have a proposal that may..." He trailed off as motion at the nearby stairwell landing caught his eye.The unmistakable figure of Ralph, the self-proclaimed chedaim, was just departing down the stairs, likely after delivering some report or supply request. Aden frowned, feeling a niggling sense of unease at the man's presence that he couldn't quite put his finger on. There was simply something...off about him.Shaking off his misgivings for the moment, Aden refocused on the matter at hand. "Apologies, you were saying? The captain?"Ser Gareth nodded towards the open doorway. "Aye, I believe he was conferring with Father Edgar on their latest assessments. You'd best be quick though - he has a habit of being in constant motion during these dread times.""My thanks," Aden replied with a crisp nod. Adjusting his rucksack of personal essentials, he strode forth to seek out Captain Willem. They would need to hear his thoughts on implementing drastic measures before their options dwindled completely.As the echoes of booted footsteps faded beyond the storeroom's stout walls, Ser Gareth turned his gaze back to the modest arsenal under his charge. A melancholy sigh slipped past his lips as he began reshelving each hard-won arrowhead and bolt."Drastic times demand drastic measures indeed," he mused, dreading the next arduous phase their struggle was careening towards. "Pray our mettle remains as stalwart as these reinforced walls..."⁕⁕⁕