Chapter 2:

The next day dawned bright, the sun reflecting off the freshly fallen white snow. A certain shepherd emerged from his hut to check his flock, which had been driven into the barn last night to protect them from the blizzard. They wouldn't fit in the hut the shepherd and his wife and children shared. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his three children emerge after him, rushing to go about their duties. His eldest, a girl, went for the axe to chop wood for the fire. The youngest, a boy, to gather snow to melt to water to wash clothes and drink and such; the middle child, another girl, had a bucket in hand and was already racing to the barn ahead of her father. The shepherd watched, amused, as his child ran to the barn and yanked open the door . . . and froze. Fear clogged his throat for a wild moment. Were his sheep and goats dead? Their income gone? Running across the short length, he skidded to a stop by his child and looked into the barn. The sheep and goats made their goat noises, crowding around something in the center of the barn. The shepherd ordered his child to fetch the rest of the family, as he grabbed the axe that stood by the door. Then he waded into the sea of stinky bodies to see what their fuss was about. There, he saw two figures, side by side and clutching each other tight. They both had short hair, but one was brunette and the other blond. Their cloaks cocooned them together. With a start, the brunette awoke and pierced the shepherd with a single grey eye. Spying the axe, the man leapt up, and the shepherd backed away quickly, at the tell-tale silver flash of a dagger. For a moment, they stared at each other. Then the brunette sheathed his blades and nudged his companion with a toe to the ribs. They spoke Finnish; that much the Swedish shepherd could tell. After all, they were right next to the border. The blond woke calmly, and the brunette spoke, and jerked a thumb over to the shepherd.
"Hei!" the shepherd said, greeting the two. The brunette looked at him and nodded, the blond rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"HallÄ . . ." the blond said sleepily. "Forgive my companion; he isn't fond of speaking to strangers." The blond stood, shaking out his body. "And please forgive us for intruding into your barn. See, the storm would have killed us if we didn't."
The shepherd shook his head, "It is fine." He said, comfortable in speaking Swedish, "This far north, I understand the need to survive." He looked at his flock, so small and wane. "Taking up a trade like mine is difficult here. Most people are hunters or fisherman. Only I'm foolish enough to have bought sheep and goats for wool, milk and cheese." He smiled, "But they pay handsomely for it."
"We made a kill." The blond said suddenly. "My companion can show you where it is. We just ask for forgiveness, maybe a little food to last us as we continue on our travels." The fisherman nodded.
"Sounds good."


It was dawn when they set out; it was midday when they arrived at the burned shell of the village. By this time, the bandits were long gone, and the villagers who had managed to escape had come back their home, dazed. The smell of charred wood and human flesh lingered in the air. Berwald looked over his people, even though they didn't even seem to recognize that 200 foot soldiers and 50 mounted soldiers had just come through the ruined gates. Some of the villagers wandered around aimlessly, calling names of lost loved ones. Others went through the burned buildings, trying to salvage something. More still clung to corpses, sobbing or cursing or just sitting there staring into space. He saw a particularly distraught woman, kneeling over a body and shaking it, telling the man with an arrow through his heart to wake up and stop playing pretend; they weren't kids anymore, they were just married, right? This was a joke made in bad taste, why wouldn't he wake up? Berwald had to look away. It was just like what happened to his mother. Berwald blocked that thought before it could develop.

"Scouts!" he called, "In pairs, through the forest. Any lost villagers send them here; if you find any of those bandits . . . kill them." Two dozen scouts went out, and to the rest of the soldiers, he ordered them to round up the villagers, and then have them help dig graves. Berwald knew from experience that giving a menial, repeatable task would help the shocked people. Then he ordered the worst part: the collection of bodies. Fifty soldiers followed the first order, leading people to the center of town while another 20 made sure they didn't leave it. The remaining 150 or so split up, half went to collect bodies and the other half to take valuables from houses.
It was dirty work.
Soot and blood was everywhere. Berwald went around, trying to help everyone with everything. Some of the villagers didn't want to leave the bodies of their loved ones and that's where Berwald came in. With either his giant frame or his monster strength, he managed to get the villagers to the town center, where they were then routed out to dig graves. Berwald could see the other benefit of making the villager's dig the graves: it left his men less exhausted in case the bandits decided to come back.

It was well into the night when all the corpses were buried. There were several unmarked graves that were unavoidable; they were too burned to make anything of their faces. After giving the villagers more time to mourn, he called over a young man named Ander Dahlstrom. After Henrikki, Ander was the most looked up to member of Berwald's guard. Being only 20 winters, he had somehow managed to become a swordsman equal to Berwald, and while Berwald had been trained to fight, Ander had not. The admirable man had dragged himself to the top, fighting tooth and nail for a place. And all the foolish man wanted to do was open up a school to teach letters. Apparently, a wandering monk had taught Ander how to read and write, and Ander wanted to spread that knowledge. Berwald had offered him the position of the captain, but it was rejected. Ander had argued, he was much too young to take the role, the men would not respect him. This was regrettably true.
But that was not what Berwald was concerned about for the moment.
"When it lights dawn, send all but 50 men with the villagers back to the castle. We're hunting these bandits down once and for all."