by Sigrid Kraft
“We’re hungry, my precious.”
Turning her back towards Oswen, Lyesell busied herself with the sack of oats. “I’m going as fast as I can,” she remarked. Suddenly Oswen was behind her, wrapping both arms around her.
“Those fellows upstairs can wait a little while longer,” he whispered in her ear. He stank of sweat and grime. Lyesell’s heart almost stopped as the repulsive lout held her tight. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Panic overwhelmed her. Then Oswen pushed her onto the sacks and pulled up her skirt. Suddenly, Lyesell woke out of her stupor and lashed about wildly. With one hand she grabbed a small shovel and struck the libertine with it. The metal hit Oswen’s skull with a dull thud and he fell back. In an instant, Lyesell grabbed the knife handle from Oswen’s belt. She reacted without thinking as she drew the blade and stabbed Oswen sideways in the belly. Then she turned and ran screaming upstairs. She had almost reached the top when something hit her in the back. A fierce pain shot through her body, and still Lyesell ran on, pushed open the door and tumbled into the living room. She tried to breathe, but no air entered her lungs. Blood filled her mouth. She fell down and lay gasping on the floor.
The men jumped up and stared aghast at the dying woman. Then Oswen, too, stumbled up the stairs.
“The stupid slut stabbed me in the belly,” he bawled. Tarn thundered:
“Are you out of your mind, you vile knave? Couldn’t you keep your cock to yourself? And now? What shall we...?”
Right at that moment, the door opened and a big, strong man stood in the door frame. The master of the house was home and in a split second he understood what had happened. He drew the long knife from the scabbard and rammed it into the chest of the nearest brigand. Now they all drew their weapons and crowded in on Bron. He smashed one man’s throat with his bare fist and snatched the battle-ax from the dying man’s hand. A knife sliced through Bron’s shoulder and robbed him of the feeling in his left arm. With the might of desperation he struck out wildly and the ax took its toll.
But there were too many attackers, and after a short, bloody fight Bron was felled. His body was slashed with deep wounds and he was dead even before he hit the ground. He lay there, stretched out beside his beloved wife, his blood spreading out around him to form a steadily growing pool that joined him to Lyesell on their final journey.
Four brigands were dead, too, and almost all the survivors had sustained injuries. Oswen sat whimpering on the floor while his blood mingled with the contents of his guts before draining from the wound.
The sound attracted Tarn’s attention. Enraged, he crossed the room. With a swift slice through the throat, he sent Oswen to the afterworld before cleaning his blade on the dead man’s clothes.
“He would have died anyway, before we reached a healer. Thanks to the foolishness of this man we have to leave. We go at once... and torch the hut!”
Willen had kept himself out of the tumult. He was not a brave man. If he now opposed the brigands, he would be as dead as those already lying on the floor. So he acted as if he didn’t care about what had happened to Bron and Lyesell.
Half an hour later, the farm was ablaze and the brigands were already far away from the scene of their crime. Elken Redfox, Arun’s grandfather, was the first to noticed the fire from his farm, which was the nearest to the burning house. Soon the whole village was trying to bring the flames under control.
Earlier that day Bron, Eryn and Arun, along with some other men, had been to Jack Gateway’s settlement for a meeting of the warriors. As always, the old men advised prudence and the young argued for war. Vrat the Raven spoke fanatically and sparked fire in their hearts.
Afterward Bron left to go hunting, while the young men stayed and put on a competition.
They competed in shooting arrows, wrestling and racing. The sudden storm that day had surprised everybody, and they set out for home much later than they had planned.
The fire on the mountainside could be seen from far away, and the young men had an uneasy feeling that something terrible had happened. They hurried up the hill to the village. A cold sensation spread through Eryn’s chest when he saw that it was his parents’ house that was burning. By the time he reached his home, the villagers had already extinguished the flames and there were only charred remains and small pockets of embers scattered over the ground. The blood in Eryn’s veins turned to ice.
Arun’s grandfather, Elken, had already examined the corpses and he and the other villagers were now discussing the circumstances of the murder.
Ragnar No-Heart, a respected warrior, recalled: “I saw a group of men on the road yesterday. Willen was guiding them. If they were responsible for this deed, then five of them must still be alive.”
In a few short minutes, Eryn’s world had broken apart. Overcome with wrath and grief, he stepped over to his parents’ bodies and took his leave in silence. He struggled to take in the whole situation, which seemed so unreal. Finally he made up his mind and turned to the Clan:
“The fire has already taken almost everything. Burn the rest as well. Narna, please send a prayer to the Gods on my behalf - mine is the path of vengeance.”
This time none of the old warriors opposed him.
Eryn continued: “I will hunt the murderers down and then join Vrat’s rebels. I will never return to this place again. The time of the Raven has come.” The young warriors cheered their assent and Arun, Savas, Deren and Aileen were ready to join Eryn at once.
It was not difficult to guess the path the murderers had taken. Ragnar had seen them coming from Falgars Vale, which meant they were probably heading for the gate. Once they passed through the gate, it would become difficult to track them down.
Narna and Elken promised to follow the next day with all the warriors of the village, and they all agreed to meet at Aspengate. The murderers were almost certainly still there, as the Lowlanders let no one through the gate after sunset. Equipping themselves with only the essentials, Eryn and his friends set off once more into the night.
The sun had already climbed into the sky when Eryn and his companions arrived at Aspengate. The outpost was only lightly fortified and two sleepy guards stood watch by the gate.
Eryn headed for the soldiers, but Arun held him back: “Your heart is too full of rage and sorrow. Let me do the talking.”
Eryn nodded in silence. Arun asked the guards politely about Willen and the strangers, and found out that the murderers had arrived in town only an hour ago. Now the guards asked them what business they had in Aspengate, and Arun made up a story: “We were hunting in the mountains yesterday, when we were caught in the thunderstorm. So we had to spend the night outside and now we want to get some supplies and a warm meal.”
The guards let them pass without suspicion. Aspengate was not a big place and there were only a few houses where the brigands could be. There was a tavern for travelers in the central square. The market stalls were already open for business.
Arun and Eryn were undecided about how to proceed. Should they split up and check the different taverns or should they stay together? At that moment, Willen stepped out of the tavern called ‘The Red Deer’, followed by five men of dubious appearance. They were clearly men who were used to fighting, with their steeled muscles and sharp weapons. Arun was in two minds about what to do next, but Eryn, blinded by hate, seized the initiative and shouted across the square: “Willen! Is that the way you thank the Fenn for their hospitality during all these years?”
Willen winced slightly but when Eryn came close, he regained his composure. “Greetings, Eryn. What do you mean?” he asked with feigned astonishment.
The young man’s anger soared to even greater heights. “Yesterday my father’s house was burned down and murderers slaughtered my parents. I demand satisfaction!”
“I am extremely sorry. This is terrible news indeed,” whispered Willen, but his eyes avoided Eryn’s.
He lies. He was there.
Now a bulky man with an ax by his side interve
ned: “What’s the boy’s problem, Willen?”
Willen shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.
Eryn, who was anything but a diplomat, came straight to the point: “You and these men were seen as you took the road from Falgars Vale. And you rewarded my parents’ hospitality with murder! My father, Bron Bearslayer, cut down five of your rabble, but I cannot rest until their deaths are avenged.”
Willen made as if to answer, but the big man pushed him aside and interrupted: “Ho, ho, these are grave charges. Do you suspect us of being involved? We are honest people caught by the weather yesterday. It cost us a great deal of time and we didn’t reach Aspengate until nightfall. Forgive me, but I don’t know your father. And whatever has happened, we had nothing to do with it. So off you go and don’t bother us any more.”
Eryn took hold of his long knife, but the men around Willen just watched him with mild interest. This turn of events didn’t please Eryn at all. Somehow in his naivety he had thought:
I will confront the murderers and take revenge in combat. But now it looks as if they are trying to avoid a fight. They don’t take me seriously. But they are the murderers. That is absolutely clear. They have several fresh wounds. The bald one here has bandaged the cut in his arm. Looks like it was done in a real hurry. The piece of rag is already darkened with fresh blood.
Tattered clothes, cuts all over, countless bloodstains on tunics and breeches. No, there is no doubt – these are the men we are looking for.
Arun whispered in Eryn’s ear: “Let them go. We’ll catch them later when they leave town.”
But Eryn didn’t listen and demanded aggressively: “Explain yourself – how do you come to be wounded and what does all this blood on your clothes mean?”
“I will explain nothing, boy. And now take your leave, before I forget myself.” The leader’s voice rumbled deep in his chest.
“Let’s go, Tarn,” Willen tried feebly to calm things down. They had already attracted attention, with people beginning to stare. The bustle of the marketplace had stopped.
In his anger, Eryn forgot all common sense. In his youthful foolishness, he ignored the nature of the surroundings he found himself in and the fact that the murderers were head and shoulders above him in strength and skill. The long knife was already in his hand.
“The Gods of the Fenn will see to justice. Was it you who killed Bron from behind? Because a coward like you could never defeat him face to face!”
The clashing and scraping of metal rang out as weapons on both sides were drawn from their scabbards.
“We are leaving now, boy, and you will not stop us. If you value your life, you’d better put your toy weapon away.” Tarn slowly circled around Eryn while his men spread out, surrounding him.
The whole affair attracted the attention of the guards, who now crossed the square and headed for Tarn: “Put down your weapons! What’s going on?” Even the soldiers were no real threat for Tarn but it was not wise to take on the authorities. Tarn had already made trouble in too many countries, and he had grown wiser as a result.
“Apologies, Sir. These young men are looking for a fight and we were just leaving.” The blades disappeared as quickly as they had been drawn. Only Eryn held on stubbornly to his long knife.
“You too, weapon down!” shouted the soldier. Sullenly, Eryn followed the command. “Those men are murderers and I demand justice.”
The guard frowned: “Serious accusations. Can you prove it?”
But before Eryn could say anything, Tarn bawled out: “A boy’s fantasy. We are peaceful travelers and would like to continue our journey. We are already delayed. Yesterday the weather – you know. So if you would excuse us...” Tarn bowed slightly and attempted to walk away, but the guard held him back: “Stop! No one’s going anywhere. This matter needs to be resolved and only the commander can make a decision.”
Tarn cracked a smile: “Certainly, as you wish. The mistake will soon be cleared up.”
The soldier who had spoken walked away while the other stayed to keep an eye on the troublemakers. Tarn and his men drew back to the tavern veranda and seated themselves on a bench, whispering.
The bald one, Loren, spoke out: “We can just clear out. The soldier there isn’t a match for us anyway.”
But Tarn shook his head: “They can prove nothing. It’s our word against the lad’s babble. Who are they going to believe?”
“And the injuries? They can send for a mage to read our thoughts.” Balder was concerned because of the clearly visible cut on his arm.
Tarn looked disdainfully at them: “Idiots, here in the mountains magic doesn’t work. Everyone knows that. But now this is our story: We were set upon a wyvern – that explains the injuries and the blood. We are hunters. Let me do the talking, then we’ll leave without a problem. And Willen... don’t do anything stupid. You are just as much a part of this as we are. Think carefully about what you say.”
Willen nodded. He was already in far too deep.
Eryn and his comrades still hadn’t moved. They, too, were holding council. “This action was too hasty,” Arun commented.
But Eryn was not in the mood to give in: “They are the murderers for sure and justice must be done!”
Aileen tried to calm him down: “We all grieve for Bron and Lyesell, and your pain is surely greatest. But consider that we are strangers in this town. They have different customs. So, pull in your horns, for the more you are upset, the less they will believe you. Our clanbrothers will turn up soon, and the soldiers will take their word more seriously than ours. Even though we have received our names, we have not yet performed any great deeds. Our names are meaningless in the clan community and completely unknown amongst our enemies.” Aileen achieved her aim and Eryn saw reason. She still held the key to his heart, making her words more effective than the advice of his friends.
A little while later, more soldiers appeared on the square and kept a close watch on the parties to the dispute. It took another hour, however, until the commander of the fortress was disposed to listen to the case. All parties were led to the assembly hall, where all weapons had to be left outside. Tarn and his bunch were taken to one side of the hall, while Eryn and his friends were taken to the other. Several soldiers positioned themselves between them. The podium at the end of the hall remained empty while they waited. Time dragged on slowly and Eryn suppressed a yawn. They had been awake for many hours now and it was beginning to take its toll. He looked into the pale and tired faces of his friends. They weren’t much better off than he was. And the worst of it was they could do nothing but wait.
Suddenly there was movement at the door. A dashing officer in decorated armor entered the hall and shouted: “Attention!”
The guards at the entrance clicked their heels loudly and all the soldiers in the room sprang to attention. The officer was followed by a procession of dignitaries, who all walked up to the podium and seated themselves upon it.
At the center sat the commander of Aspengate, Sir Gart Orten. As the offspring of a noble house, he had already attained the position of garrison commander by the age of thirty. Sir Orten looked rather pale and unimpressive. Eglund Merett was seated right beside him. He represented the merchants’ guild, and wore a heavy golden chain around his neck as a mark of his rank. Eglund was the nephew of Ulf Merett, and the aura he radiated was far more powerful than that of Sir Orten. On the left sat the scribe. The dashing officer stood at the back and now commanded: “All rise!”
The audience obeyed and the officer continued: “In the name of His Highness Prince Raiden of Ardeen, Protector of the North, this hearing is now opened. Sir Orten, commander of Aspengate, will act as judge and the ambassador of the merchants’ guild. Eglund Merett will act as his assistant.”
The hearing commenced, and each side was given the chance to give their version of events. There followed endless talk. Sir Orten questioned everyone who had been involved, seemingly determined to uncover the truth. The judge asked for evidence that Tarn
’s men had been involved in the crime, but except for the word of the young Fenn warriors there was no concrete proof. Sir Orten was a conscientious man and wanted to be certain not to make any mistakes. Finally, he left the room to consult with Master Eglund.
Although Sir Orten had been sitting the entire time, he now sank back exhausted into a comfortable chair and offered the merchant a seat. “Please seat yourself, Master Merett.” Eglund may not have equaled the size of his uncle, but he nevertheless shared the typical Merett characteristics: short and chubby with thinning hair.
The hearing had once again reminded Sir Orten how much he disliked dealing with disputes of this nature. Aspengate was indeed a melting pot of vulgar roughnecks.
Added to that were the problems with savages from the mountains. Stealing and other crimes were a daily occurrence. And last but not least the merchants’ guild. Powerful and greedy for money, they were worse than all the other scoundrels put together.
“This Bron Bearslayer was one of the clanchiefs of the Fenn. The young warriors are very upset. It would help to find a culprit,” Sir Orten said. But Eglund countered: “There is no proof, and this savage Eryn admits himself that he did not witness the murder. Their only evidence is that Tarn’s men were on the road yesterday. Everything else is mere speculation.”