“This used to be such a quiet town. Now it’s just out to make a buck out of everyone and anyone is welcome if you have a buck.
“Thieves, swindlers, muggers, all sorts of scoundrels. Even those Janshai scum set up camp to the east. King Armanar and his knights should step out of Ampheus now and again and visit the towns and villages. If truth be told, there are many that act in his name that are no more than hornswogglers. Sir, keep your head down; avert your eyes; finish your business and move on as quickly as you can.”
“The advice is appreciated.” Frowned Sumnar, “would you recommend anywhere to stay near the main square?”
The stable boy chuckled, “None that I would recommend. Keep your door locked and your valuables on your person; and watch out for those pickpockets!”
They walked the last half a mile or so into town. No stranger’s arrival went unnoticed; pairs of eyes bought and paid for watched them go by and passed messages on to their various paymasters.
“I get the sense,” said Sister Hulda, “that this place has eyes and ears everywhere; everything is everybody’s business. You don’t just slip in and slip out again of Everstead.”
“Agreed,” said Sumnar as they stood in the main square. “It’s likely Aron and the rest will arrive from the north, so we can check if they have already passed through here. If not we’ll wait. I suggest we take rooms at an inn on the south side of the square, in which case we can watch for their arrival.”
The first inn they tried did not have quarters available with windows over the square. The ‘Pied Piper Tavern’, however, did.
“Not from these parts?” asked the inkeeper.
“We are just passing through.” The innkeeper was short, dumpy with thinning greasy hair and alcohol infused veins popping from his nose and cheeks. Sumnar did not trust him a single inch.
“You have locks on the doors?” Sumnar asked.
“Locks you say,” said the innkeeper. “Now that’s a thought. Well if you need a lock I can surely supply one, but it costs extra!”
“Don’t worry about that, we’ll buy our own. Is there an ironmongery near here?”
The innkeeper sniffed at them, “Suit yourselves,” and gave them directions.
Within thirty minutes of their arrival a small urchin playing pick-up sticks informed the pickpockets guild of potential marks; a Janshai sentry positioned at the approaches to the town let his captain know of the new arrivals; the innkeeper told the local militia of guests that had demanded a lock.
Mrs Wilson scuttled down the road to gossip with Mrs Brown. ‘A man had entered the city with two women, and what scandalous affairs would likely be undertaken by the three. Oh, and the fact her rheumatism was playing up again; and that Mr Wilson, who was allegedly a useless layabout, had still not fixed a hole in the roof; and that she had to do everything herself or it would never be done.’
Across the way at the ‘Seven Stars Inn’, Maruq and a handful of the clan’s Elders sat outside in the sun enjoying an ale. They had completed their fur trading and had got a good price. They now took the opportunity to enjoy themselves for a few days before heading back to the Nyle Ice Fields.
The Windfell bandits had not taken lightly to the recent altercation in the woods. In fact, they were sick and tired of being pushed around on their home turf. Pud, despite several life-threatening injuries, still had some fight in him. The type of fight associated with the sort of person who was too stupid to know when they were beat. It would never occur to him to stay on the ground and live to fight another day and even then he may ask for a second opinion.
He’d sent a scout to follow Sumnar, and now he and his bandits entered Everstead. His men were on horseback, but Pud was laid flat on his back in hay on a cart. They checked into the ‘Last Resort Tavern’ to save a few farthings, and then planned how to take the arrogant wizard down a peg or two.
The Janshai sentry reported back to his captain. “Three of them,” he said. “Nobody knows what their business is here. There is a man, a woman and a girl. The man was dressed like a monk, but he was carrying a knight’s sword. It appears likely that he is a knight of Ampheus.”
“In which case he is either on the run, here to gather support from the mayor, or to meet up with Prince Aron and his companions.”
“I think we should pay him a visit, neighbourly like, and ask him a few questions.”
“Right, can do, how many men should I take?”
“I suggest six.”
“Six sounds a lot for a quick conversation.”
“Well that’s true, but this is how I see it: one to ask questions, one to hold his right arm, one to seize his left, one to smack him about a bit until he talks, one to act as a handle the woman, one to detain the girl and one to lookout and side-track anyone taking an interest; you know ‘move on please, nothing happening here!’
“And for god’s sake put your best guys on the woman. You know from experience all hell breaks loose if they break free, the screaming, kicking, biting, scratching, everything just goes pear-shaped.”
“Yes sir, it seems like a sound plan.”
*
“Alright, let’s take a stroll and see what we can see,” said Sumnar. “The ironmonger is on the other side of town. The quicker we buy a lock the better. We can find our bearings and perhaps find out if anyone has seen Prince Aron and his companions.”
*
The young Janshai, Aksel, and his unit were also approaching Everstead. One of his scouts had picked up word that a bunch of peasant bandits were following a small group containing a man and two women. Not an anomaly per se. But then the man was a knight of Ampheus by the look of his sword and bearing. And that was an anomaly. Aksel decided that in the absence of anything else worth their attention, they would find out a little more about this group.
He left two men to continue sweeping Windfell Woods and the remaining eight horsemen joined him.
“We’ll camp to the south west of the town,” he said.
His second-in-command queried this. “Captain, there is a Janshai encampment of perhaps forty men to the east, should we not stay there?” Aksel shook his head, “We have our own mission. I don’t want to be dragged into any local happenings. I assume the units here are still searching for Prince Aron. We would likely be pulled into a wild goose chase to the Nyle Ice Fields. If our destinies are to be changed then we must be where we can best make that happen, and so if we need to reveal ourselves and act I would rather do it on our terms.”
Aksel had eyes of steel that bore straight through you. They did not flit around, were not distracted by peripheries, they just burrowed into you. It was hard sometimes not to flinch and avoid his stare. It often made people uncomfortable, like he was trying to dig down to your darkest secrets. Were you to be trusted or not? Frankly after a few seconds under his stare, you were not even sure yourself. Even the saintliest may find themselves feeling guilty of a past indiscretion, a jealous thought or an unkindly deed. Then he would speak. A voice that belied his young age. A voice that sounded like footsteps pacing on a gravel path. It came from the nights out in the cold, the screams in his sleep that left his voice strained and coarse.
Aksel thought back to his childhood, all those years ago, and reflected on his story, that he perhaps had only told to a few in the past.
*
He could still remember when they came to take his father. So many men, they’d ripped open the hides that made for the door of the yurt and floundered in. In their haste to catch his father by surprise and unarmed, they’d stumbled over each other cracking the internal wooden lattices of the yurt. There was confusion in the dark, raised voices panicking, with those behind urging those further forward to ensnare their quarry. No one quite wanting to be the first man to confront his father as they violated his home, his family.
His father, a revered Janshai warrior, and of noble b
lood too. The first man would be run through by his blade as he bore down on Aksel’s father, the second too would no doubt be cut down. Finally, the sheer weight of numbers would overwhelm him, strike him, or pin him down. They just needed to get the men through the small opening to the yurt as quickly as possible they supposed, but that was not what happened.
A spark, a flame and a torch flared to life above him. Aksel remained hidden beneath the pelts that he slept under, his hands gripping them under his chin. He looked up at his father, who stood motionless. The torch gripped in his left hand, casting shadows over the muscles of his bare chest, and then up onto the roof of the yurt. The shadow seeming to magnify his father’s power and presence. His assailants gained their footing and momentarily held their ground. His father nodded to them, “Do not harm the boy or his mother, they have no knowledge of this. If I have your word I will come willingly.”
Then he looked down to his son, “Aksel remember this day. Let it stoke a fire inside you. Find a better way for our people.” And then his father returned his attention to the men in front of him.
They leapt forward, a man either side of him grabbed his arms and wrenched them behind his back. His father held his head high and strained against them, causing them to stagger from side to side. He was going to go with them but he was damned if he was going to make it easy for them. Then the warriors in the yurt parted and a man stepped in. His father’s face grimaced when he saw the man, and he thrust himself forward despite being held.
The man flinched back, raising a rueful smile on his father’s face. Then he gathered himself, clenched a fist and rammed it into his father’s midriff. Aksel heard the air explode from his father’s mouth as he grunted from the force. His father doubled over, and his legs staggered as he strained to keep his balance and steady himself, only for one of the men restraining him to strike their foot behind his father’s knee, sending him crashing to the ground.
The man turned and strode outside the yurt flexing his fingers from the impact of the blow.
“Lash him and drag him out here with the others.”
His mother tried to hold Aksel back, but he ignored her tears, pushed her hands away from him. He crawled over to the door of the yurt and peered out through the flap and into the night beyond.
As the minutes passed, seven other men similarly with their arms bound behind their backs were thrown on the ground next to his father. Even in the dark, Aksel could see that some of the men may not have come quite so easily. Several were marked with deep cuts and welts were already appearing on their faces where they had taken hefty blows.
The gusting wind that swept through the encampment carried the sounds of wailing voices of wives and mothers and the cries of children being comforted.
His father solemnly nodded to each in turn, some bowed their heads, and others met his gaze or grimaced back at him. Each sharing a moment, an understanding that their fate was already sealed. Finally, an eighth body was brought to the clearing and dumped in the dirt in front of them, the front of the man’s tunic blood-stained. He was already dead, but perhaps he was the lucky one.
His father’s assailants gathered around the bound men, some blocked Aksel’s view. Despite the terror of what he may witness and what would become of his father, he did not shy away; his eyes remained fixed, watching the drama unfold, remembering faces. He knew his father was about to die, no question. He knew his father was a good and proud man and knew what he would expect of his son.
He knew his life and that of his mother would be forfeited from this point forward. If he lived, he would live at the mercy of those who would spare him no kindness, who would take pleasure in his torment and pain. He accepted this and took fortitude in his father’s fearlessness. This the first time, but the first of innumerable ordeals where he’d look to his father for courage in the years to come.
*
In the preceding months the men had arrived at his tent and stooped to enter, furtively in ones and twos. His father’s family and lifelong friends. His father’s most trusted allies. They would drink tea; perhaps chat casually amongst themselves about the day’s events, their hunting exploits, until all were present. Normally they would defer to his father to start the discussion.
“Now is the time. Gorath is slowly regaining his powers; he grows his armies in the north. I feel he’ll make another attempt for the realms in the years to come. We have to rise up and stop him.”
“But we are too few,” said the man to his right. “No matter how much we believe in our purpose, we do not know if we will gather sufficient support from the people. They cower in fear of the tribal heads and their henchmen that do their bidding. They will not rise up for fear of retribution.”
“Torger, your counsel is welcome, but the time for caution has long run out. If we do not take action now, the Janshai may remain a servant of this demon for generations to come. Whatever the consequences to ourselves, we owe this to our children.”
The warrior facing Oskar across the circle of men spoke, “Oskar is right, we have to cut off the head of the serpent, and the vipers that surround it. Then and only then can we rally the people and succeed.”
“Thank you, Ulf,” said Aksel’s father. “I believe you are right my uncle, the time is upon is. The next full moon we will act. Let our preparations begin.”
*
But now in the clearing of the encampment Ulf stepped forward, he bent down on his haunches and grabbed a handful of the dead man’s hair, turning and raising his head to check who the man was.
“Gerlach,” he said out loud and spat in the dead man’s face. “Too painless a death for a traitor.”
Oskar’s eyes burned into Ulf, “You are the traitor, a traitor to our people. This path we have chosen, it is madness. For the realms and for our people. Following Gorath will leave the people without heart, without soul, just a pale spectre of a once proud people.”
Ulf scoffed, “You are mistaken, you, your father, my brother, and those that came before him, you always had an exalted opinion of yourselves. The Janshai traditions, the royal lineage, it’s meaningless.” He spat on the ground. “Only you can’t see it. At least Gorath gives the Janshai standing and power, we have regained our respect, our… pride!”
“Pride, there is no pride in murdering innocents, you bring ruination to your own people. The soul of the Janshai, it will be lost forever.”
A murmuring could be heard in the gathered crowd.
“Enough!” shouted Ulf. He removed his dagger from its sheaf at his waist and hacked off the ear from the dead man’s body. He held it up in the air in his hand. “By the time you are all dead, I will wear a token from each of you,” he sneered.
“You monster, do you have no respect for your people?” One of the men broke free and charged head first towards Ulf.
“Haken, no!” cried Oskar.
Ulf leant forward into Haken’s charge and smashed his unprotected face with his elbow and shoulder bringing him to a shuddering halt. He then swung his dagger up plunging deep into his belly, thrusting it up to his chest. He let him hang there for a moment, before Haken’s lifeless body collapsed to the floor, blood pulsing from the wound. Ulf leant down once more, once again hacking another trophy with the serrated edge of his hunting knife as Haken’s legs twitched and his life drained from his body. Again, he raised the ears in his bloodied hand and then wiped them on his tunic letting the blood smear across his chest.
Oskar shook his head.
“Why uncle, why would you do this, why betray us, your brother’s legacy?”
“My brother was a fool. You are a fool. Always fighting against everyone and everything. Making life so hard for our family. So self-righteous, it oozed out of his pores. Finally, we can put an end to this. Through me, this family can once again attain prominence and its rightful place in the tribe in the service of Gorath, not plotting against him.”
<
br /> “Uncle, your actions curse us. It is a stain that may never be removed. We’ll all deserve to go to hell. In my last breaths, I challenge you to a trial by combat. Is it not the right of every noble Janshai accused of a crime he denies?”
Again, murmurings from the crowd.
“You have no rights here, you forfeit all rights of a Janshai when you plotted your treason against us.”
Oskar addressed the warriors around him, “It is my birth right. It cannot be denied. You know this to be true. We shall take our oaths and set the battle circle. If I fend off Ulf from sunrise to sunset I go free. If I am vanquished then I accept my fate and will suffer whatever torment my accuser chooses.”
Ulf stared around the crowd lest anyone defy him.
“No, there are no second chances, no reprieve for those already condemned. Take them away; prepare the stakes at the base of the hills. Lash them and bleed them. Leave them to the mercy of the jackals, the ravens and the vultures. It will ensure a slow and painful death no doubt.”
Aksel swore that he would bide his time, and avenge his father’s death. Get his revenge.
Ulf turned from the crowd and strode over to the yurt and stood looking at the boy. “I see the hatred in your eyes boy, you want to kill me. Maybe you will have your chance but for now you and your mother are mine. And believe me you’ll wish you died at your father’s side.”
Aksel turned to his mother, but she was slumped on her side, blood still pumping from her wrists. What fight may have burned in the boy evaporated. He curled up into a ball and whimpered. Whatever his future, however terrible, he would have to face it alone.
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