He could feel them, he did not know how yet but he could. He felt there four of them around him. He could feel the beating of their hearts, the slow and syncopated pumping of their blood in their veins. It was slow and smooth, their hearts beating no faster than a one shaking off the vestiges of sleep. They were calm. He knew that they wanted something, whoever these brigands were they would not have taken a noble like him without wanting something.
His skin was clammy with sweat that turned the air about him into a winter's chill that stung the skin. His heart beating quickly from the excitement and shock of being grabbed, hooded, and choked into unconsciousness. He could not panic though, instead, he tried to focus on what he could find about his environment.
He was a simple noble's son. Blessed by Aengus when he was born to the River Boyne, some would say he would grow to have the looks of the god. His skin a light tan, his curly hair a rich warm deep chestnut with eyes as hazel green that some would say glowed in the darkness. His visage was smooth and elfin, the outcome of thousands of years of selective and fine breeding. He had a smooth suppleness to his face yet the tell tale sign of what would one day be sharp and strong features one day.
"Who are you" One of the many souls around him spoke. It was cold and hard, encompassing and powerful as if a dozen voices spoke around him and about him. It was the voice of a warrior, little suiting for a brigand. It was also painfully familiar, that only nagged at him more given the situation.
Another family or even another clann perhaps. War would come to Gwydion if it were another clan that dared this. Blood would spill from the shore to forest, plans to mountains, and ravines to valleys. "I am Weylyn, the third blood of Wyline of the Urshè family." He muttered, he wished he could look around to see but a cloth of wet wool was pulled tight and wrapped around his head. It made it had enough to keep his eyes open or breath. His hands and feet were both tied behind his back in a hogtie. He knew not who held him, but he knew the honor he must show. "In emerald grove, we stand and by Urshè blood and blade we sing for Chulainn."
"The Urshè stand among the knight and families of the north, do they not?" The voice in front of him muttered the question in response to his answer.
"We stand with the unbreaking north " Weylyn muttered an oath to the land in an agreement. The idea of what was happening was beginning to dawn on him. This was more than just a clan fued, this was between the houses
"Land of little cattle and many whores." Was the response that he got from a soul off to his left, it put the child's teeth on edge. Yet he tightly clenched his mouth shut. Young though he might be, he was taught well to know when to speak and to know when it was wise not to.
"Do you have a little whore yourself, little brat. Your ilk always marries children off, like human breeding sows" The voice behind him said placing a boot upon Weylyn's back. The man shoved the child forward, falling onto his face. His head hitting a wooden floor. His ears and head ringing for several moments, a low groan spilling from his lips before he was grabbed by his collar and pulled back up onto his knees. The insult hurt all the more as it had not been but a full change of the moon since he had first learned the girl's name. Branwen-Aine of the Ler family, though he thought her sister Emer the prettier.
"She probably is a better fighter than him, he could barely throw a punch and those he did were softer than silks, a proper milk drinker, the little cow"The voice in front of him seemed annoyed at the fact he could no longer clearly speak with his target.
Weylyn felt a cold chill press against his throat. A thin, weak gasp escaping his throat. A chill that made his blood turn to ice as his adam's apple passed slowly against the feeling.
It was the touch of steel kissed by moist air. "Now, I do not want to hurt you but if I must then I will." Large hands placed gripped his chins from behind the bag, "you sweet child have much to offer us, and we have your life to offer you," The blade gently caressed Weylyn's neck going up and down, up and down, he did not know he was bleeding until he felt it began pool on his shirt and the reek of copper hit his nose.
"Now little one, we know knights and lords of your land are preparing to marching out." The silky voice to his left spoke with an audible smirk. "The most peculiar questions though is where are they going.. and why."
Weylyn knew what they spoke of. The families were planning a hunt in honor of the newest squires to the order. It was a hunt being conducted by Lord Rabe, he went on one yearly but many some were saying this one would be the largest he had ever conducted. It was a large and grand procession that pushed into the wilderness to hunt and bring forth a feast for all the people to partake in. The thought of the succulent meats that would come would have filled him with a giddiness in any other situation. All he could ask though is, "if you don't know you shouldn't." They were not of the north, that was clear enough and more than a reason not to tell them.
Weylyn felt one of the men deliver a quick kick to his side. Pain spiking through him as his body screamed at him his breath was pushed from him. "don't be funny you little northern brat, did you whore mother ever teach you to respect our betters." The only response was a low wheezing sound as the childly greedily fought for fresh air. The flax sack about his hair though turned the air musty and hot, uncomfortably filling in his lungs.
The voice in front of him let out a long sigh, whether it a disappointment or annoyance to either Weylyn or the other man, it was impossible to truly tell. He composed himself after a few moments and then spoke to Weylyn again. "I am sorry, my companion seems to forget you are a child still. I can promise you tell us what they are planning to due and you will be we can prevent any more bloodshed than must come. It is preferable." The voice said though it did not actually sound that true. "If our blades must be warmed by your blood than it must be. If you tell us though you can spend the next few days living decently and then getting to return home is more than can be said for the others. A fair deal."
Weylyn's eyes widen as slowly, despite his inability to see, as the revelation of intent slowly began to dawn on the young boy. They were planning on setting a trap for the nobles. This horrified and revolted in a way he did not fully understand himself. Most of all though it scared him. "I won't." He muttered defiantly towards the man.
"I do not believe you understand child, you do not have of a chose." the man in front of him explained with a venomous air, "You will give us want we want or we shall make you tell us.
"I won't!" Weylyn said louder, His voice cracking as he spoke, leaving much to be desired in his tone. It made him seem weaker than he already was in this situation. he would not let these men hurt those he called friend and families. He tried to focus on that though, for the thought of the rebuttal to come terrified him more than he could voice. For a moment, he was grateful for the hood about his face.
"It is not a choice child," The man in front of Weylyn, hefted up the boy. Weylyn's feet slipping away from the ground. The man brought him so close that Weylyn could feel the man's breath. He could smell the reek of ale and grease that irritated a miasma of toxin that sicked the stomach and stung the nose.
Large fingers slowly began to wrap around Weylyn's neck, a slow building pressure chosed away Weylyn's breath. "do you have any family, I can promise you they will be spared if you tell us what we want. They will not face the same fate as the others." His calm and regal voice turned dark and fiery, "or I can dash their heads against the stone floors and leave their souls to the wrights and let you live long enough to know it is your fault"
The man slowly loosened his grip upon Weylyn's neck as he respected a response, but Weylyn stayed silents focusing on his breathing. The man simply dropped Weylyn back onto the floor and sighed, "Show the child what it means to show obstinate to us."
"Sir…" One of the other three men began before he was cut off.
"I said show him what it means to be obstinate to us." His tone bearing a threat to those who seemed to be under his command as well as their captor. Weylyn did not know what was going to come next until they began to strike him, again and again as he lay upon the ground. The metal heel of a boot making contact with his back. He tied to roll with the strike but the toes on another kicked the side of his head, leaving his ears ringing.
Weylyn was unsure how long it lasted, yet by the time it was over he hurt in ways he could not describe. Blow after blow rained down upon him for a time period that seems to drag on forever as a swift punt hit his gut making him feel as if he were about to seemed to know just where to kick and how hard, to deliver pain but not kill him due to his size. Blood frothed up into his mouth, he tried to spit it out but it just pooled soaked into the flax about his head.
"Now I am going to give you one last chance, where are they going?" The cold knife pressing against his throat, though not too hard, just enough that it would cut him due to a slip of the hand.
"Bugger off…" Weylyn managed through the pools of bile and blood, a fit of coughs stripping his tired and bloody throat, raw.
"You are either famously stubborn or loyal, perhaps you simply know honor. The true sign of a knight of the north." Before Weylyn even had time to contemplate such words, he felt the knife at his throat flick upward and beneath the bindings that tied the sac to his head. A quick tug and the rope began to snap and fray. The bounds fell away and the bag was yanked from his head. Weylyn gasped as the cold air smashed against his hot and flushed face. The air tastes so sweet without the musty taint of flax. It reminded him of the purest spring waters in the moment. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and savor every last breath of it but he could not.
Weylyn could not help but look up slow at his captors. Perhaps he knew from the moment he heard the man's voice or the piece just fell into place, but he knew the man. They had met on several occasions, each had been on more pleasant circumstances.
He was Sir Cairbre Ler stood on the balls of his heels. He was a tall man of broad shoulders and large flame. His hair long and black tied back behind his head. His eyes were dark blue sea waters and cold as ice. There was a primal fury that stayed just below the surface, and it was abundantly clear that he would never have needed the knife to go through with his threats. He was a fine knight if all stories were to be true. Looking around, Weylyn looked for the identities of the other companions.
Weylyn looked upon the other knights, while he did not know all the men, he knew their heraldrys. They all wore boiled and dyed brown and green leathers. Tabards holding their signals hung loosely onto their chests. The crashing waves in blue and white of Ler. The strong, proud bear in black and green of Artio. The red and bruised purple hammer of MacIntyre. The black and white shield with crossed blades of Alasdair
What stunned Weylyn the most, was the fact that they were all oath bound knights of the Red Branch. He knew many of their faces even if he had never hear them speak. "Tr… tra.. traitor." Weylyn managed to mutter through his ichor building in his throat. A pile of phlegm and blood making it hard to breathe,
Sir Ler only smiled at the thought, "no dear boy, I am merely a finder or extractor of loyalty in a trial. One in which you have shown the utmost loyalty." The words seemed almost foreign to Weylyn. They would not process for some time, his head swimming with pain and confusion..
"You are rather quick to trust him, most trials take longer." Muttered a lord of the Alasdair family with a raised eyebrow. While the other two lords stayed silent their looked saying more than any words clouds have to voice similar thoughts.
"And some are shorter with very few involve such beatings." Sir Ler reminded them with a greedy little smirk to the lords within that very chamber.
"Is it due to you connection to him that you take ease upon him" Alsdair responded with accusation that was on the lips of every noble men in the room who knew of the two families connections.
"perhaps... I do wish for my daughter to have a have a face she can be fond of." The knight admitted without a second thought, "but I trust a stubborn nature to honor his bounds. Are any of you in some form of disagreement" Sir Ler looked about to his comrades. The right side his lips twitching into a small smirk, that faded just as fast, at their lack of reprisals or objectives. He nodded and helped position Weylen into a kneeling position. He took a single sack of water from his side and handed it to the boy.
Taking it wearily at first, Weylyn greedily began to drown himself in the drink. It was for a wondrous moment all that he concerned himself with. He kept his kept his eyes trained on those around them. "Why did you do this."
"The trainers believe you are ready to take up your squireship." The son of the Alasdair family said looking to the child. He reached into his breast pocket and with a flick of the wrist threw a cloth to his charge, "Wipe the blood from your mouth, boy. It is disgraceful." Weylyn caught the silken cloth and did as he was told.
The knight of the MacIntyre family continued where his companion stopped, "The Brotherhood must assure that you are loyal to your commitments though. Any man may be of a body of iron, few have a will of such. We see what one is willing to give to keep safe the north and the secrets of the order. It would seem that you have take enough for Sir Ler and if you are willing, you can take an oath."
"Lord Artio would you please commence the rights, you know them better than any other," Calibre asked of his fellow knight. The oldest of the knights looked up to Calibre ler and only nodded. He coughed briefly to clear his throat and pushed himself up to his feet, for he alone had been sitting.
The four warriors drew their blades of their hilts with a metallic hiss, followed by a terrible cling as the blade tips fell to the ground in a salute. "Do you Weylyn Urshè accept the bounds of the northern knights. Do you take on the title and the responsibilities of a squire in service to your brothers" Artio began speaking for the first time since they had removed Weylyn's hood.
Weylyn managed to lift up his head and said, "I.." He felt his tongue catch in his mouth, unable to feel as if this was real, "do."
"Do you consign your blood and life to the defense of the northern lands. To die for our land if your lord or duty commands." Artio continued on with the oath. "Do you swear to hold the honor of our order until the gods or their angels come to claim you."
"I do." Weylyn replied, trying to push a shade more confidence than when he spoke at first.
With that, the knights of the Red Branch lifted their blades and rested their tips upon his back. All four of the knights declared, "Welcome to the order of the Red Branch, squire Weylyn Urshè."
now the story truly begins with our young noble boy, who this story is as much about as the chapter itself. For Weylyn plays a great deal of importance in the chapter even though he begins as a noble boy on the world of Gwydion.
Check out my other works on fiction press, particularly my main story: Trials of the Witch Hunter