by V K Majzlik
As they entered the market, neither Nechan nor Cradon could fail to notice the guards that stood at the entrance and throughout the square. Dressed in heavy, black chain mail armour, breastplates marked with the crest of the Empire, the soldiers carried jagged halberds and tall shields. As they scanned the crowds and carts, theirs was an imposing presence.
“I don’t envy them! I wonder if they enjoy hassling the common people?” mithered Cradon.
“Let’s hope we end up with something better,” Nechan replied.
Jesfor curtly interjected, “Hold your tongues, we need to get a good price for this stock. Please do not cause me any unnecessary problems.”
The boys obediently fell silent. In recent years it was not uncommon for riots to break out in the market place, and it was the troops that had to deal with it. They were renowned for being brutal. To the boys it seemed the worse job imaginable, forced to be heavy handed with your own clansmen just because you wore the armour. Nechan wondered if you lost part of yourself once you put it on.
The family found a vacant lot and began sorting their stock, piling the bales of hay and sacks around the cart. People had travelled far and wide to sell and buy in preparation for the winter months, but although supplies seemed less plentiful this year, prices remained low, and the tax higher than ever.
Everyone was giving the pair of karzon a wide berth as they worked their way around the market inspected the goods. Karzon dwarfed most men. They wore decadent, heavy cloaks over their armour, trimmed with dyed, blood-red fur. As usual, they were faceless. They both wore the usual all-encompassing helmet, with only a narrow slit to see through. Their look was enough to send shivers down a man’s spine, but strangely, their voice had a charming quality. Any words spoken commanded immediate response, with only the strongest willed able to resist them.
The karzon passed between the stalls, conveying various orders to his following entourage. Everyone eyed them warily, bowing low, praying they would not draw any unwanted attention to themselves. Karzon were known for being ruthless for the slightest of infractions. At a whim, they could command the soldiers to harass a merchant, ransacking the goods, deeming them unfit for sale within the Empire. Other vendors would be forced to pay additional taxes, despite their pleas .
The Glamrind boys struggled to hide their resentful looks as the inspectors approached their stall. Upon command, at the karzon’s pleasure, the guards tore open several sacks of grain, spilling their contents on the cobbles. Cradon was hardly able to control his urge to grab the soldiers that rifled through the fruits of their hard labour, violating his family’s property. Keeping his hands hidden behind his back, he clenched his fists in frustration. Nechan struggled also, but maintained a steely composure. Jesfor just hung his head, silently praying his sons would hold their tongues and restrain their fists. It was not easy for any of them, but it was something they, like everyone else, were forced to endure.
Even with their stock destroyed and trampled into the ground, the one karzon was still not satisfied, something was causing a lingering interest He approached the boys and stooped low to look them both in the face. They could smell the sweet, sickly stench of honey liqueur and flavoured tabacco on his breath.
Then he spoke.
“Your sons look old enough to be in the service of the Empire.” His head snapped round to look at Jesfor, hidden eyes examining the nervous father. “Why have they not been drafted yet?” The karzon’s voice had a mesmerising quality, with undulating, melodic tones. His movements were strange, sharp and unpredictable, making the family even more nervous. He pointed at the boys with his bony, gloved hand. Everything about this being was unnatural, his actions and words carrying an ominous, menacing undertone.
Normally the brave one, Cradon could not look at him, and found himself forced to close his eyes. He wrinkled his freckled nose, holding his breathe in disgust as he tried not to inhale the strange stench. Nechan however, found an unusual defiant strength burning in him. He refused to look away, maintaining an unflinching composure.
Sensing something different about him, the karzon turned his attention to focus on Nechan.
“Please, my sons are young,” Jesfor stammered as he fumbled about in the deep pockets of his breaches. “Please, I have their papers…..somewhere…..” He found what he was looking for and drew out two slips of stained, crumpled paper. “If you will, sir, these are their birth papers.”
Jesfor’s words seem to fall on deaf ears as the karzon flicked his gloved hand to command silence. He continued to stare at Nechan, studying him as if trying to read his mind or soul. Nechan braced himself, standing tall, struggling to maintain his composure, feeling his controlled breathing start to waiver. He felt Cradon beside him and knew he was not alone, yet his palms start to sweat, as an inexplicable, nameless fear gripped his mind and body. It was as though invisible hands were suffocating him.
The karzon leaned in closer, his breathing slow and almost strained as if in deep concentration. Nechan found himself staring into the helmet slit; could he see eyes? Cold black eyes? An icy shiver ran down his spine as the long-fingered hand stretched out, grasping Nechan’s arm with a vice-like grip.
Nechan was unable to struggle, paralysed by an overwhelming fear. He felt an unnatural coldness surge down his arm, through his shoulder to the rest of his body. Something disturbed the karzon. Without warning, his grip released, leaving Nechan to slump to his knees, cradling his head in anguish. A burning voice was cutting through his mind, eating into his deepest thoughts and fears. He could hear it whispering words of an unknown, evil language. Within seconds, unable to take any more, he lost consciousness.
“Jesfor, Cradon, come quickly! He’s waking up. Come, quickly!”
Nechan blinked in the bright light, slowly opening his eyes. Gradually, he more became aware of the familiar warm touch of his father clutching his hand. He also sensed his brother somewhere by his side. Nechan felt cold and exhausted, as if he had perhaps fallen into a glacial lake, left trapped under the ice for hours. His body ached and his head hummed with thumping mugginess.
“Father…..What……..” Words came with an effort, each echoing in his head.
“Nechan, rest. You’re safe,” his father urged him, unable to hide the concerned tremble in his voice.
“Where……I can barely remember…..”
“It’s best you don’t, brother, you’ve been through quite an ordeal. You definitely know how to steal the limelight!” Nechan could just about make out Cradon’s bright, red hair through his bleary eyes.
At first Nechan could not remember what had happened, but as the vague memory slowly began to take shape, he struggled to breathe, hyperventilating, as if he was in the grip of the karzon once more. In his state of terror, his father and brother struggled to keep him pinned to the bed, controlling his thrashing movements, until exhaustion finally subdued him.
His sanity gradually returned and a few hours later Nechan mustered the strength to sit up and lift himself slowly out of bed. Cradon sent the maid to fetch some hot soup while he helped his brother dress. As he began to recap the day’s events, Nechan took the words on board with disbelief.
Closing his eyes, he remembered the coldness, the pain of feeling an evil, malicious presence inside his mind.
Cradon was his usual jovial self, and although concerned for his twin, he was determined not to show it. Nechan sighed to himself, almost in disbelief, at his brother’s apparent lack of concern, but then, that was Cradon, what did he expect? Life to Cradon was just one big joke, an adventure worth living to it full, why worry? Nechan sometimes marvelled at how different they both were.
Slowly, he made his way downstairs into the lively, buzzing inn, and took a stool next to his father and brother. The rest of the night passed in a blur, Nechan sat as if only a shadow, listening to the laughter and banter around him. The day’s events had exhausted him, both mentally and physically. It was all he could to sit and sip his ale. Thankfully, no
thing further was said, people only looked, pointed, and talked among themselves.
The next morning was yet another early start. None of them wanted to remain in the city. They had already escaped one encounter with the authorities, and Jesfor was grateful to be leaving Ath’Garnoc with both his sons in one piece. They had made very little money, but they were still just about able to stock up on winter supplies and some seed for the next growing season. The Glamrind family would somehow make do for another season.
Slowly and uneasily Nechan clambered into the cart next to his brother and father and they started through the city streets to the gate. He felt sapped of all energy and the cold to the bone and his usual tanned, healthy complexion was still a pasty grey.
The streets were quiet, with most people still asleep in bed. Only a few stores showed signs of life, as eager traders began setting up their goods. To their relief, the family passed unchallenged through the city gates, although under the scrutinising eyes of the heavily-armed tower guards. It was not until they had travelled nearly a mile from Ath’Garnoc that Jesfor finally felt it safe to put away the twin’s birth papers.
Although nothing was said, it was silently agreed that the events of the market should not and would not be retold back at the farmstead or village. Such dark events were nearly unknown in the quiet valley of Feolin. It would only cause unrest among the villagers and unnecessary worry, for the village was usually isolated from the harsh realities of the Empire.
Chapter 3 – Coming Of Age
The next few weeks passed uneventfully, but Nechan, although fully recovered, did not forget his experience. Upon their return to the farm, their mother, Rheordan, could immediately tell something had happened to her son. She was deeply concerned at the state of Nechan, smothering him with constant hugs, as she wiped his feverish brow.
At night, Nechan could hear her arguing with his father, demanding to know what happened, and constantly asking about the safety of the boys and the family in such dark, dangerous times. He would only hear snippets of their hushed, angry words.
“I know something happened…..Tell me….I trusted you to take care of my boys……”
Jesfor never broke his silence and neither did the boys. It soon became evident that none of the men were going to utter a word about the events at Ath’Garnoc and she was finally forced to leave it alone, brooding on it.
It took Nechan just over a week to recover, the deep-seated coldness being hard to shake, but eventually he regained the strength to begin working on the farm again. The only thing that remained with him was the sweet stench of the karzon. It lingered, stuck in his nostrils, even emanating from his skin where he had been touched. Try as he might, Nechan could not rid himself of it. Sometimes, it would be so strong that he could not eat, sickened by the smell.
The village was buzzing with preparation for the pending festivities. The women seemed to have been preparing food endlessly and the children had been making and hanging decorations for days. Although turning eighteen meant one was entering manhood, the celebrations were more designed to help the family say goodbye to their sons, hiding the resentful sorrow they really felt.
“Cradon! Nechan! Come! The Elders will not wait!” The deep voice of their father hollered from the cart waiting outside the farmhouse. The twins were dragging their feet, taking their time to get ready, neither wanting to hurry to the evening’s festivities.
The rest of the Glamrind Family was waiting impatiently, a dark cloud hanging over their heads. Even Rheordan, an elegant, graceful woman, had struggled to force herself to put on her best dress. Really, all she wanted to do was spend the evening at home, cherishing the last few moments she would have with her sons. In the back of the cart sat their younger sister, Danula, the only family member who was too young to understand and be upset. She was excited, wearing her new dress made by her mother, with her flaxen hair tied elaborately in bows and plaits.
The twins finally appeared in the courtyard, Nechan still pulling on his jacket as they clambered into the back of the cart. Cradon grabbed his sister, making her laugh as he flung her into his lap. They were all trying to put on brave face for Danula. With a crack of the whip the carthorse eased himself into action and slowly began his plod down the dusty lane.
By the time they reached Feolin, the celebrations had already started. Music and laughter filled the clear, night sky. The main village square was festooned with decorations, and torches flickered in the growing darkness. Only the other late arrivals could be seen ushering their youngsters into the village hall. It was the oldest construction in Feolin, built from strong, redwood timber, its columns and rafters elegantly carved with woodland creatures and scenery.
As the family entered the hall, all eyes fell on them and there was a momentary, sympathetic silence. Quickly, an Elder broke into a round of applause, his wife joining him with a jangle of a tambourine, until the entire village followed suit. Cradon and Nechan felt exceptionally awkward as old men came and shook their hands, patting them hard on their backs, while mothers hugged and kissed them. There was also the odd story of mischief about the boys, mostly about Cradon, but thankfully none embarrassing enough for him to blush too much.
Putting on brave, smiling faces, the family took their seats of honour alongside the village elders at the head table. The tables were laden with large plates of venison, goose and pork, all accompanied by freshly grown vegetables just as juicy and sweet as the meat. The wine and the ale were still flowing when they reached the dessert course of piping hot fruit pies. All present, children and adults alike, thoroughly enjoyed the feast laid before them, with not a scrap going to waste.
After the meal there was dancing, followed by more drinking, eating and story telling. Young children sat cross-legged around Barnon, the village bard, who, although he had been telling the same stories for the past seventy-six years, was still able to captivate a crowd. His tales were always exuberantly animated, his arms flailing, his cane hacking away at imaginary foes, as he portrayed wondrous stories of Elves, Dwarves and magic from battles and times long forgotten.
Nechan loved Barnon’s tales. The pair had become close friends, with Nechan often confiding in him. He was like a fathomless well of knowledge, drawing on his years of experience and ancient tales and myths handed down by his forefathers. Leaning back against the thick wooden beam, ale in one hand, Nechan fell into a dream world of magic, Barnon’s words intermingled with his distant thoughts.
Nechan had always tended to take things far too seriously, losing himself in the mythical realm of magic and folklore, but since the events at the market he had become more easily lost in thought. He often found himself pondering even more than usual on the ancient magic. Most children stopped believing in these stories by the time they entered their teens, but not Nechan.
“Hey, Nechan! Come dance!” his brother hollered from the middle of a gaggle of female admirers. He seemed to have quickly forgotten what they were really celebrating and was busying himself as usual with the village girls.
Nechan just waved a hand at him, dismissing his suggestion. His attention was turned to his mother and father, who were deep in conversation with two other parents. It was obvious to Nechan what they were talking about. Everyone in the village knew that Davin, their newly recruited son, had been reported dead, apparently killed during a riot in Ath’Yarzon. Nechan tried not to think about it, remembering how they had all played together when they were younger.
He could not watch any more, it made him think about his future too much, so he decided to get a breath of fresh air, taking a mug of ale and a plate of food with him.
It was chilly outside, with the first signs of a frost making the ground crunch under foot. Nechan made his way round the side of the hall, seeking to get away from the prying eyes of friends and well wishers. In the moonlit gloom he leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath before swilling down some more ale.
He coughed and spluttered with surprise as he heard shuffli
ng by his side.
“Who’s there?” he whispered, peering into the darkness. He took a step forward and found the source of the noise. It was Cadin, a homeless old man. He was slumped against the wall, staring into the darkness, slowly rocking back and forth, cradling himself.
Cadin was homeless more by choice than anything else. Many villagers had tried to offer him help, but he preferred to keep himself to himself. No one had ever heard him speak, so no one knew why he had chosen such a life.
“Cadin!” Nechan took a step forward.
The old man flinched.
“It’s alright.” Nechan took a step back and Cadin appeared to relax slightly. “There’s plenty of food inside. Would you like to get some? You’re welcome to come in.”
The old man did not respond.
“Here, have this.” Nechan quickly took several steps, crouching down beside the beggar to offer him his plate of food. Cadin screamed wildly, pushing the boy away, with a look of absolute terror in his eyes. Try as he might, Nechan could not calm him down. He did not understand what had made him over-react. He kept his distance, as the old man began tearing at his clothes, beating himself around the head in distress. The commotion was immediately heard, even above the music and several village men, including Jesfor, came running out, believing someone was being attacked by a wild animal.
“What did you do to him?” Jesfor grabbed Nechan by the arm, pulling him to one side. The rest of the men continued to try to calm Cadin, but he could take no more and ran off howling, into the darkness.
“I didn’t touch him, I promise.”
By now the rest of the villagers had come out to look.
“I just ….tried to give him food….that’s all,” stammered Nechan, utterly confused.