A short man with a shaved head and blond beard raised his hand to the others suddenly as he stopped his march. The other four were hardly paying attention, as the marches had become routine. The unwritten rule was that the appointed leader of the squad that day was the only one who really needed to stay sharp. The other four almost walked over him, not realizing he had stopped.
“What is it?” a tall man with a thick dark beard asked as his hand instinctively crept toward his sword. Even though the patrols had become complacent, they knew to take things very seriously at the first sign of trouble.
The short man said nothing as he rushed over to the lone horse they had with them, covered with sacks of gear. He grabbed the looking glass from one of the sacks and quickly marched back to his original spot. The winds were really picking up now, and they would be heading back shortly. He extended the looking glass and stared off into the distance as he swept from left to right. The sky was getting dark in that area, and the others doubted he could see anything, even if there was something to see.
Suddenly, his left leg began to tremble as he stopped his sweep, concentrating on one spot. His heel bounced up and down off the ground rapidly as the trembling seemed to move to his shoulders. Then, all in one movement, he collapsed the looking glass and ran back to the horse. “Go!” was all he said in an extremely tight voice as he launched himself onto the horse and began to turn it around.
“Go where? What are you talking about?” said the tall man as he grabbed at the reins of the horse to try to slow him down. The short fellow slapped his hands away as he urged the horse to run. It was a stubborn packhorse and didn’t really want to move, yet alone run, but the man dug his heels deep into the horse’s sides several times until it finally got the message.
“What is wrong with him!? Where is he going?” asked one of the other men. The remaining four patrolmen frantically looked around in all directions, each with weapons drawn. They couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t make any of them feel better. Their comrade clearly saw something that made him take off in a near panic. He had also taken the looking glass, so they couldn’t use it to see what the potential threat might be.
The winds were getting even stronger as the impending storm drew nearer. Then the tall man jerked upright as he told everyone to be quiet. Even with the winds picking up, he could hear something. “You guys hear that?” he asked. Everyone stopped and listened to the wind, weapons at the ready. A few moments passed before the other man said, “What is that chirping sound?”
*
The man on the horse rode as fast as he could toward the town, smacking the animal’s side repeatedly to get every bit of speed out of the lazy beast. The guilt gnawed at his insides like a rabid beast trying to free itself from his stomach. He had fled for his life and left his fellow militia out there to die. It had been a decision made in haste when his survival instincts took over, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The only way to make up for his cowardice now was to warn the town as fast as he could.
He could see the town clearly now as he pulled a funnel-shaped golden horn from the side of the horse. Continuing to ride as fast as he could, he began blowing the horn loudly in long, smooth bursts. Every patrol that was sent out was given a horn to blow if they ran into something they couldn’t handle without help. The horn was regulation to carry but hadn’t been used in many years.
He could now hear the chirping sound behind him off in the distance, but getting closer. The town was still too far off and he knew he would never make it. If he could just warn them, he could atone for his betrayal!
The guard at the front gate looked out lazily at the open road as he waited for his shift to end. There were a few folk walking the streets behind him, but no one was going in or out. The coming storm had a lot to do with that. He heard the sound of a faint horn blowing from somewhere as he lethargically turned this way and that to see where it was coming from.
He figured some child was playing with a toy he had won during the festival. He looked about, half expecting to see some mischievous little boy peeking around a corner, to see if he had fooled the guard. Then he heard it once more, only louder and clearly coming from the other direction. Now the guard was taking this seriously as he looked hard off into the distance to see where it was coming from.
Shielding his eyes from the dust-filled wind, he could see the horseman off in the distance now, approaching fast as some sort of black cloud looked to be right on his heels. The last blast of the horn was unmistakable. We are under attack? He scampered up a nearby ladder to the huge golden warning bell that was only to be rung during a raid or other similar emergencies.