It was a beautiful sunset - the crimson disc that was the sun was already halfway down, and the only a semicircle was left, standing on the horizon. All around it, the sky seemed to be stained with the reddish color, and the small cumulus clouds almost seemed solid in the pale red light. All around was nothing but trees, bordered on two sides by high mountains. A large path could be seen winding off into the direction of the sun, and on it were no travellers this time of day. Everyone knew better than to wander out in the wilderness after dark. There were, after all, wild animals, brigands, not to mention the forest was so thick one could get lost there in daylight, never mind in darkness. The snow-peaked mountain everyone knew stood out as the only mountain tall enough to have white on it's spire, and it had been famous among the local villages as a place where only the most seasoned men went, and sometimes never came back.
Just to the east of the pass between the mountains stood a village. Small, by anyone's standards. It was a cold evening, and smoke could be seen exiting gray chimneys of mortared stone out of lazy-looking houses. A handful of people walked in the only street which was lined on both sides with houses. Most were in pairs or small groups, talking happily and laughing. The day before was a day they knew of as The Giving - a day when all celebrated the year they had, thanking the Earth for giving them a good harvest, and such other ceremonies. The blacksmith's forge was still ringing with the rythm of the smith's hammer striking anvil. The only other activity in the entire village was a youth bringing in firewood from a rack in the back of the house.
A party of four rode down the path, and entered the town. They looked peculiar in their finely trimmed black clothes; the one at the lead, a tall, dark-eyed auburn-haired man of about twenty five wearing a fine red coat, stood out more than the rest next to the villagers with their wools in grays, greens or browns. Riding just behind the red-coated man rode a woman, her blue eyes cold as ice and her long brown hair flowing in the wind behind her. The other two were simply black-clad with finely crafted sword hilts sticking out of their long flowing cloaks. There was no mistaking who was in charge - the red-coated man and the woman. The way their heads leveled, their facial expressions, their fine clothes - all created an impression of royalty, or at least nobility. The gazes of the local folk was drawn to them, yet no one seemed to stare. That wouldn't be proper, especially if they were royalty. Yet what would royalty be doing in a sleepy little village such as this? The question seemed to be on every face.
The party of four stopped in front of the inn, none so much as noticing the villager's intent looks. The red-coated man and the woman dismounted and walked into the inn, while the other two stood outside, apparently to take care of the horses, but it was obvious they were there to stop anyone from touching the horses. They stood there, staring at nothing with their hands on their sword hilts until the woman came out and said something in low tones. The two swordsmen nodded, and took the horses into the stable behind the inn. Their long strides seemed amplified by their height, as they stood at least a head above any villager. This was a strange party indeed. Not many people ever passed through the village, and those that did nicknamed it '1000 Miles from Anywhere', and rightly so, as the nearest significant city was far, far away. The latest passer-by was a rich traveller who wished to see every corner of the Earth. Though he only stayed for one night, he was the talk of the village for months. And now - out of who knows where - arrives four of the strangest travellers anyone in the village had ever seen - a man and a woman, nobility by their posture, and two men, apparently bodyguards or armsmen.
A young boy, only twelve or so years of age suddenly burst into sight from the woods bordering the village on the side opposite to the way the strangers rode in. He looked haggard - as if he was running for a long time, and didn't stop as people in the street asked him what was the matter. He truly was a strange sight - no boy of that age was allowed to wander the woods at this hour, not to mention that on his face, somehow seperate from the weariness, was a look of distinct and utter fear. He made his way into the inn and the door slammed behind him. Once inside, he ran to a man sitting with his friends enjoying a cup of wine. He was a well known sight in the village - everyone remembered the man who killed the two brigands who tried to rob the village coffers - one doesn't forget a thing like that. Everyone remembered as the two bloodied bodies with arrows in their backs were carried off into the woods to be dumped. And the look in their killer's eyes as he watched them carried away; a sort of detached coolness. The incident earned him the honor of being the village police. Everyone always came to him with their disputes, he even broke up fights of the neighborhood boys. His face was now worn with age, and hair starting to show the grizzles of gray in slight streaks. "Ah, that Kalin, forty five," people usually said, "and still going strong."
The boy burst into uncontrollable sobs on the spot, and the poor lad's eyes were already glazed with tears. His face was still contorted in fear, but it now consumed the whole face, no longer sharing with wariness. The men all looked at him, and sympathy found their way into their rough, weather-worn farmer's faces. "Any boy who cries usually has serious reason to," the people always said. Kalin patted the boy on the shoulder. The boy nearly flinched from fear - he seemed to be scared of everything around him. "Yes, it must have been something devestating that brought him here like this," Kalin thought.
"What's wrong, lad?" A fat little man sitting with Kalin asked. Instead of replying, the boy shook. "Probably saw a bear," the fat little man added.
"Quiet, Dalan. Can't you see he's scared half to death?" Kalin said. The fat little man shut up immediately. Turning to the boy, Kalin added, "tell us what happened, lad. Whatever it was can't get you here. You're safe."
The boy looked around suspiciously, and finally spoke. "They took my father!" It was a loud and sharp yelp, cutting everyone's attention from their own matters to the boy like a knife - everyone in the room, including serving maids, the four strangers, even the Innkeeper. A sob followed, and a tear trickled on the boy's cheek.
"Who?" Asked Kalin. "Who took your father?"
"The black-coated men. Fifty of them if there was one. Then they - " he cut off with another sob, and he brought up his hand to wipe the tear away.
"They what?" A new voice, sharp and clear, asked from a table not far away. It was the red-coated young stranger. All eyes in the room jumped to him. He seemed unaffected by this, and simply stared at the boy.
Kalin, not even bothering to hide his disgusted face, turned back to the boy. He hated being interrupted. "What did these black-coated men do?" The boy didn't answer. He just sobbed continuously. Kalin asked again, more gently this time. "What did they do, lad? Tell us. Nothing can hurt you here, you're safe." He patted the boy on the head.
"They...they...cut his head off!" The words came out like a flash of lightning. Kalin half expected the people in the room to mutter among themselves at this, but they all remained silent and stared at the boy. "The big man in the black coat took out a sword out, and - "
Suddenly, the man in the red coat rose from his chair, and walked over to Kalin's table. He said in a strangely unemotional voice, "My good sir, don't you think it would be best if the boy told what happened in private? I have a room upstairs you can use." He squatted next to the boy and asked, "What's your name, lad?"
The boy's croaking reply came after several studders. "Arden, sir. My father's name was Kordaw."
The red-coated man turned to Kalin. "And yours, sir?" Kalin stared long and hard before replying. "Kalin, sir. And yours, if I may ask?"
The red-coated man turned to the boy again, and said, "Christan. My name is Christan. This, " he motioned to the woman sitting with him, "is Jalon. We are very interested in your story, and would like to hear it. That is, if you have no objections, Arden?" The boy simply stared.
"In that case, I think we should take your offer and go up to your rooms," Kalin said suddenly. With a nod, Christan offered his hand to Arden, who took it and walked alongside Christan, followed by the woman, Jalon, and Kalin. They didn't get five steps up the staircase before murmurs began in the common room, heard loudly at the stairwell. The small procession worked it's way to the top, and entered a large, oak-panelled door into a spacious room with a double bed, a writing desk, a fireplace, and several chairs in various places around the room. Christan motioned them all to sit, and offered a three-legged stool to Arden.
Christan began quickly, just as they were all seated. "Now, Arden, you must tell me the whole story from the very beginning. Don't spare any details as they may be of paramount importance. Jalon here will order you a hot bowl of broth and some hot, crusty bread." Jalon got up smoothly, and walked to the door without a word. Christan turned to Kalin and said, "Master Kalin, while we wait for Jalon to return, I suggest you tell me about yourself, and why the boy - I mean Arden - ran to you of all people."
Kalin suddenly felt angry. Here was this pompous lordling or whatever he was, interrogating them all. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to disobey Christan. "A long time ago, I took care of a brigand problem we had. Since then, the whole town thinks of me as a problem solver and a man of justice. This boy's father was a friend of mine, and I have known the lad since he was this high." Kalin made a gesture showing how high Arden was at the time, somehwere around Kalin's knee. The door slid open, and Jalon stepped in, graceful as a swan and sitting down in her chair.
"The broth will be here in a few minutes, Arden. In the meantime, if you feel like telling us what happened, we would be very interested to hear it." Since Kalin first saw her until now, her expression never changed, and neither did her voice. She was a beautiful woman - her peircing blue eyes and long dark hair was enough to enchant a man, yet her perfectly balanced features made her stand out. Her eyes never left Arden since she sat down, but somehow, there was a sense of her seeing everything, knowing everything, hearing everything that went on in the room. Kalin took the opportunity to examine Christan as well. A tall, darkly handsome man, appearing to be at the prime of his life. Auburn hair was carefully combed and cared for - even though he just spent a long time travelling on the road. They both wore rich clothes, of a fine cut and fabric. Both were somewhat dark, yet they looked fitting in them.
The boy began his story, slightly stammering every once in a while. "Father and I went on a stroll this afternoon. We went far, farther than we usually went, and as we walked down the road, we suddenly heard horses. We didn't give it much thought at first, but then, they started getting louder and still we saw none on the road. We heard one behind us for sure, but when we turned, there were none. When we turned around to face forward again, we saw a dozen men in black cloaks riding up to us on black horses. They wore...thick plates of armor on their chests that were all the same, and one had a flag in his hand - with a long pole that stuck high above him." Arden took another breath, and sobbed.
Christan, who still showed no expression, now spoke. "Were there any drawings on the flag? Any emblems? Insignias? What were the colors of it?"
Arden frowned, and surpressed another sob. He finally answered. "There was an upside down triangle, and inside were these two red triangles, and they looked like eyes...the flag was black, and the big triangle gold. The little ones were red." Christan exchanged looks, still unchanged. "Blast it, they have to show emotion sooner or later!" The thought came like a clash of thunder in Kalin's head.
"Please continue, Arden. You've done very well so far, considering the circumstances," said Jalon, still not showing so much as a blink of emotion.
Arden looked at her, and continued his story. "They took out their swords. They told us to follow them or die. I was scared, but I couldn't even run. So we went where they told us to, and they led us to a camp with tents and fires. There were other black cloaked men there, and one woman, standing there talking with a man. They were both dressed in all black, and on their cloaks was the same triangle that I saw on the flag. Except hers had a small red dot just above the red eye triangles, and his had a sword drawn behind it. They turned toward us, and said something to the guards. I couldn't understand it. It sounded like 'cora duan liaes'. The black cloaked men that led us there pushed us toward this clearing in the woods. There were only two of them now, the rest broke away. My father punched them, and yelled for me to run home, to Kalin. I stood there, and couldn't move. He yelled for me to run again, and I did this time. As fast as I could, I did. I looked back and one of the black cloaked men swung his sword and father's head came off. I couldn't bare to watch any more, and I just ran as fast as I could all the way here."
Christan and Jalon looked at each other again, then at Arden. Sympathy was in their eyes now, and Jalon said, "Arden, you're a strong boy to have done what you did. Another would've failed to bring this information to us. To know that this is happening, and here of all places, that was worth it alone. You must be tired. As soon as you've had your broth, we'll have you taken to your house, and no one will hurt you or your family again."
Arden's face clouded over again. Kalin coughed loudly, then motioned for Christan to join him outside. Surprisingly Christan rose, and walked out behind Kalin. When the door was closed, Kalin suddenly burst out, "The boy lost his mother in childbirth. His father is dead now. He has no brothers or sisters, and no other relatives. He's alone now, and he has no home to go home to anymore. Without his father, his home is no longer a home. I understand you didn't know this, but what you just did was very cruel."
Christan didn't show any surprise at those words, nor did he show any emotion. He simply said, "Thank you for informing me. Would you please arrange with the Innkeeper for a room for Arden? He can stay here with us." With that he turned on his heel and walked back into the room, shutting the door behind him. A serving girl walked by him, still standing there and stunned, as she knocked on the door and brought in the tray of broth and hot crusty bread. A strong scent of herbal tea was also present.
Just to the east of the pass between the mountains stood a village. Small, by anyone's standards. It was a cold evening, and smoke could be seen exiting gray chimneys of mortared stone out of lazy-looking houses. A handful of people walked in the only street which was lined on both sides with houses. Most were in pairs or small groups, talking happily and laughing. The day before was a day they knew of as The Giving - a day when all celebrated the year they had, thanking the Earth for giving them a good harvest, and such other ceremonies. The blacksmith's forge was still ringing with the rythm of the smith's hammer striking anvil. The only other activity in the entire village was a youth bringing in firewood from a rack in the back of the house.
A party of four rode down the path, and entered the town. They looked peculiar in their finely trimmed black clothes; the one at the lead, a tall, dark-eyed auburn-haired man of about twenty five wearing a fine red coat, stood out more than the rest next to the villagers with their wools in grays, greens or browns. Riding just behind the red-coated man rode a woman, her blue eyes cold as ice and her long brown hair flowing in the wind behind her. The other two were simply black-clad with finely crafted sword hilts sticking out of their long flowing cloaks. There was no mistaking who was in charge - the red-coated man and the woman. The way their heads leveled, their facial expressions, their fine clothes - all created an impression of royalty, or at least nobility. The gazes of the local folk was drawn to them, yet no one seemed to stare. That wouldn't be proper, especially if they were royalty. Yet what would royalty be doing in a sleepy little village such as this? The question seemed to be on every face.
The party of four stopped in front of the inn, none so much as noticing the villager's intent looks. The red-coated man and the woman dismounted and walked into the inn, while the other two stood outside, apparently to take care of the horses, but it was obvious they were there to stop anyone from touching the horses. They stood there, staring at nothing with their hands on their sword hilts until the woman came out and said something in low tones. The two swordsmen nodded, and took the horses into the stable behind the inn. Their long strides seemed amplified by their height, as they stood at least a head above any villager. This was a strange party indeed. Not many people ever passed through the village, and those that did nicknamed it '1000 Miles from Anywhere', and rightly so, as the nearest significant city was far, far away. The latest passer-by was a rich traveller who wished to see every corner of the Earth. Though he only stayed for one night, he was the talk of the village for months. And now - out of who knows where - arrives four of the strangest travellers anyone in the village had ever seen - a man and a woman, nobility by their posture, and two men, apparently bodyguards or armsmen.
A young boy, only twelve or so years of age suddenly burst into sight from the woods bordering the village on the side opposite to the way the strangers rode in. He looked haggard - as if he was running for a long time, and didn't stop as people in the street asked him what was the matter. He truly was a strange sight - no boy of that age was allowed to wander the woods at this hour, not to mention that on his face, somehow seperate from the weariness, was a look of distinct and utter fear. He made his way into the inn and the door slammed behind him. Once inside, he ran to a man sitting with his friends enjoying a cup of wine. He was a well known sight in the village - everyone remembered the man who killed the two brigands who tried to rob the village coffers - one doesn't forget a thing like that. Everyone remembered as the two bloodied bodies with arrows in their backs were carried off into the woods to be dumped. And the look in their killer's eyes as he watched them carried away; a sort of detached coolness. The incident earned him the honor of being the village police. Everyone always came to him with their disputes, he even broke up fights of the neighborhood boys. His face was now worn with age, and hair starting to show the grizzles of gray in slight streaks. "Ah, that Kalin, forty five," people usually said, "and still going strong."
The boy burst into uncontrollable sobs on the spot, and the poor lad's eyes were already glazed with tears. His face was still contorted in fear, but it now consumed the whole face, no longer sharing with wariness. The men all looked at him, and sympathy found their way into their rough, weather-worn farmer's faces. "Any boy who cries usually has serious reason to," the people always said. Kalin patted the boy on the shoulder. The boy nearly flinched from fear - he seemed to be scared of everything around him. "Yes, it must have been something devestating that brought him here like this," Kalin thought.
"What's wrong, lad?" A fat little man sitting with Kalin asked. Instead of replying, the boy shook. "Probably saw a bear," the fat little man added.
"Quiet, Dalan. Can't you see he's scared half to death?" Kalin said. The fat little man shut up immediately. Turning to the boy, Kalin added, "tell us what happened, lad. Whatever it was can't get you here. You're safe."
The boy looked around suspiciously, and finally spoke. "They took my father!" It was a loud and sharp yelp, cutting everyone's attention from their own matters to the boy like a knife - everyone in the room, including serving maids, the four strangers, even the Innkeeper. A sob followed, and a tear trickled on the boy's cheek.
"Who?" Asked Kalin. "Who took your father?"
"The black-coated men. Fifty of them if there was one. Then they - " he cut off with another sob, and he brought up his hand to wipe the tear away.
"They what?" A new voice, sharp and clear, asked from a table not far away. It was the red-coated young stranger. All eyes in the room jumped to him. He seemed unaffected by this, and simply stared at the boy.
Kalin, not even bothering to hide his disgusted face, turned back to the boy. He hated being interrupted. "What did these black-coated men do?" The boy didn't answer. He just sobbed continuously. Kalin asked again, more gently this time. "What did they do, lad? Tell us. Nothing can hurt you here, you're safe." He patted the boy on the head.
"They...they...cut his head off!" The words came out like a flash of lightning. Kalin half expected the people in the room to mutter among themselves at this, but they all remained silent and stared at the boy. "The big man in the black coat took out a sword out, and - "
Suddenly, the man in the red coat rose from his chair, and walked over to Kalin's table. He said in a strangely unemotional voice, "My good sir, don't you think it would be best if the boy told what happened in private? I have a room upstairs you can use." He squatted next to the boy and asked, "What's your name, lad?"
The boy's croaking reply came after several studders. "Arden, sir. My father's name was Kordaw."
The red-coated man turned to Kalin. "And yours, sir?" Kalin stared long and hard before replying. "Kalin, sir. And yours, if I may ask?"
The red-coated man turned to the boy again, and said, "Christan. My name is Christan. This, " he motioned to the woman sitting with him, "is Jalon. We are very interested in your story, and would like to hear it. That is, if you have no objections, Arden?" The boy simply stared.
"In that case, I think we should take your offer and go up to your rooms," Kalin said suddenly. With a nod, Christan offered his hand to Arden, who took it and walked alongside Christan, followed by the woman, Jalon, and Kalin. They didn't get five steps up the staircase before murmurs began in the common room, heard loudly at the stairwell. The small procession worked it's way to the top, and entered a large, oak-panelled door into a spacious room with a double bed, a writing desk, a fireplace, and several chairs in various places around the room. Christan motioned them all to sit, and offered a three-legged stool to Arden.
Christan began quickly, just as they were all seated. "Now, Arden, you must tell me the whole story from the very beginning. Don't spare any details as they may be of paramount importance. Jalon here will order you a hot bowl of broth and some hot, crusty bread." Jalon got up smoothly, and walked to the door without a word. Christan turned to Kalin and said, "Master Kalin, while we wait for Jalon to return, I suggest you tell me about yourself, and why the boy - I mean Arden - ran to you of all people."
Kalin suddenly felt angry. Here was this pompous lordling or whatever he was, interrogating them all. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to disobey Christan. "A long time ago, I took care of a brigand problem we had. Since then, the whole town thinks of me as a problem solver and a man of justice. This boy's father was a friend of mine, and I have known the lad since he was this high." Kalin made a gesture showing how high Arden was at the time, somehwere around Kalin's knee. The door slid open, and Jalon stepped in, graceful as a swan and sitting down in her chair.
"The broth will be here in a few minutes, Arden. In the meantime, if you feel like telling us what happened, we would be very interested to hear it." Since Kalin first saw her until now, her expression never changed, and neither did her voice. She was a beautiful woman - her peircing blue eyes and long dark hair was enough to enchant a man, yet her perfectly balanced features made her stand out. Her eyes never left Arden since she sat down, but somehow, there was a sense of her seeing everything, knowing everything, hearing everything that went on in the room. Kalin took the opportunity to examine Christan as well. A tall, darkly handsome man, appearing to be at the prime of his life. Auburn hair was carefully combed and cared for - even though he just spent a long time travelling on the road. They both wore rich clothes, of a fine cut and fabric. Both were somewhat dark, yet they looked fitting in them.
The boy began his story, slightly stammering every once in a while. "Father and I went on a stroll this afternoon. We went far, farther than we usually went, and as we walked down the road, we suddenly heard horses. We didn't give it much thought at first, but then, they started getting louder and still we saw none on the road. We heard one behind us for sure, but when we turned, there were none. When we turned around to face forward again, we saw a dozen men in black cloaks riding up to us on black horses. They wore...thick plates of armor on their chests that were all the same, and one had a flag in his hand - with a long pole that stuck high above him." Arden took another breath, and sobbed.
Christan, who still showed no expression, now spoke. "Were there any drawings on the flag? Any emblems? Insignias? What were the colors of it?"
Arden frowned, and surpressed another sob. He finally answered. "There was an upside down triangle, and inside were these two red triangles, and they looked like eyes...the flag was black, and the big triangle gold. The little ones were red." Christan exchanged looks, still unchanged. "Blast it, they have to show emotion sooner or later!" The thought came like a clash of thunder in Kalin's head.
"Please continue, Arden. You've done very well so far, considering the circumstances," said Jalon, still not showing so much as a blink of emotion.
Arden looked at her, and continued his story. "They took out their swords. They told us to follow them or die. I was scared, but I couldn't even run. So we went where they told us to, and they led us to a camp with tents and fires. There were other black cloaked men there, and one woman, standing there talking with a man. They were both dressed in all black, and on their cloaks was the same triangle that I saw on the flag. Except hers had a small red dot just above the red eye triangles, and his had a sword drawn behind it. They turned toward us, and said something to the guards. I couldn't understand it. It sounded like 'cora duan liaes'. The black cloaked men that led us there pushed us toward this clearing in the woods. There were only two of them now, the rest broke away. My father punched them, and yelled for me to run home, to Kalin. I stood there, and couldn't move. He yelled for me to run again, and I did this time. As fast as I could, I did. I looked back and one of the black cloaked men swung his sword and father's head came off. I couldn't bare to watch any more, and I just ran as fast as I could all the way here."
Christan and Jalon looked at each other again, then at Arden. Sympathy was in their eyes now, and Jalon said, "Arden, you're a strong boy to have done what you did. Another would've failed to bring this information to us. To know that this is happening, and here of all places, that was worth it alone. You must be tired. As soon as you've had your broth, we'll have you taken to your house, and no one will hurt you or your family again."
Arden's face clouded over again. Kalin coughed loudly, then motioned for Christan to join him outside. Surprisingly Christan rose, and walked out behind Kalin. When the door was closed, Kalin suddenly burst out, "The boy lost his mother in childbirth. His father is dead now. He has no brothers or sisters, and no other relatives. He's alone now, and he has no home to go home to anymore. Without his father, his home is no longer a home. I understand you didn't know this, but what you just did was very cruel."
Christan didn't show any surprise at those words, nor did he show any emotion. He simply said, "Thank you for informing me. Would you please arrange with the Innkeeper for a room for Arden? He can stay here with us." With that he turned on his heel and walked back into the room, shutting the door behind him. A serving girl walked by him, still standing there and stunned, as she knocked on the door and brought in the tray of broth and hot crusty bread. A strong scent of herbal tea was also present.