Yoric's Tale

by Cycle Pinsetter

Ever wonder what Tortall was like before it became the noble kingdom that we know? A peek into Tortall's early history through one of it's unsung pioneers, Yoric of Swiftfoot of Clan Conte.

7. 7

Author's Note:

This fanfic is set in the distant past, Tortall. Some content belongs to Tamora Pierce, and other content I have taken liberties with. If you are concerned with what belongs to me and what belongs to Tamora Pierce, please email me at cyclepinsetter@yahoo.com

Yoric's Tale: The Gathering

Seven

This is your world. The snow blankets the land, and the world slips into a frozen despair.

The dissonant clink of ale mugs summoned Yoric from his indulgent thoughts. He blinked and his eyes focused around the campfire.

Ere's another mug for the ol' conquering hero. A rough soldier pushed another ale into Yoric's empty hands. S' plenty more ware that came from, har, har. The soldier pounded Yoric on the back and turned to his companions, all guzzling ale and recounting their own version of the past battle. Incidentally, tribe Conte appeared victorious, although the battle had stretched on for days, with many losses on both sides. Yoric furrowed his brow, trying to remember why the men were calling him

Why not ask Ethan to do it? He's the Headsman. And I'm sure he wouldn't turn down your request. And this stuff is his kind of thing, being the hero and stuff. I'm just in this so my mother won't starve to death.

Almost like magic, Ethan appeared in front of him. Stop fading out like that ol' boy. He told himself. You're beginning to scare me.

Hey Champ. Ethan collapsed wearily on a log next to Yoric. I see your nerves are sufficiently oiled. That's good. Wouldn't want our big war hero bailing out due to fatigue or anything. Ethan teased Yoric thoroughly. You should have that wound looked at though. He was referring to a deep gash across his right shoulder. The ale was dulling the pain, but it wouldn't be long before the loss of blood would start effecting him.

What can I do? I am only one man. Even if I knew how to vanquish the darkness, who would follow a nobody from a mountain clan.

Yoric laughed bitterly. I think I'm going to be ill.

Ethan grinned, ignoring Yoric's bitter tone. Nay hero. It's just th' ale. He mimicked the soldiers and thumped Yoric on the back. General'd ne'er get sick af'er a battle. Ethan snorted. Not even with a gash like that. He added.

Yoric stood. Cos, you're scaring me. Maybe you should see the healers? He smiled cynically and started down the path to his tent. Ethan followed, still taunting.

Oh now that you're—

Yoric interrupted with a sharp that's enough glance.

Ethan shrugged. Well, we've won every battle since you decided to stay. It's not magic. And its certainly not luck.

Yoric opened the tent flap and entered. You honestly think that I have battle skill? You should have realized by now that it was just chance. He stripped off his bloody tunic and searched around for a fresh one. He gave up on his search when he failed to locate one. Yoric glanced at Ethan.

You realize that there's probably not a stitch of clean linen in this entire camp?

Ethan gave Yoric a wary look. Hey, that's the womenfolk's job. What do you expect me to do, require a course in sewing to join this brigade? He frowned at his own clothing. We haven't been back to base in weeks. And we haven't got the time. Yoric rustled through his chest to grab the bundle of linen hidden deep within. He tucked it into his outer tunic carefully.

Our people are facing a great peril. The land is shrouded in a darkness far colder than the deepest of winters. They eagerly await the spring.

Yoric shook his head tiredly. Eager Ethan, always the first to rouse the troops from their leisure. He sighed and then turned around to stare Ethan directly in the eyes. He held the gaze tensely.

But as long as our people remain islands unto themselves, you will never die in peace.

These troops need rest.

Bring this to your Headsman at his most desperate hour

Yoric spoke slowly, putting weight on every word. They're physically and mentally exhausted. If they don't get rest now— Yoric's lecture was interrupted but shouts from outside the tent. The young men looked at each other and trudged outside.

not a minute before.

What is it? Are we being attacked? Ethan shifted into command mode.

I dunno, Sir, but they're armed. A guardsman answered him, out of breath. The sentry posts were located a few miles from camp. He had been stationed at the southwestern post.

How many, what kind Ethan's rattled off questions.

A guard paused to catch his breath. Comparable in size to us. Mostly on foot but a few on horseback, Sir. Half carrying spears

At that moment another sentry guard appeared from the north entrance. The guard rasped, his breath ragged. We are being attacked from the north.

Yoric slipped unnoticed from the camp after hearing the details about the approaching groups of fighters. He followed the rough path southwest a few miles.

Ethan listened to the information impatiently. When the guards had finished reporting he called out to the troops.

Attention! All men to arms! Cease your weapons and muster arms! He looked around frantically. Yoric! Yoric, where are you? Yoric!

Ethan's voice faded into the night. Yoric's mind had finally stilled and he had composed his thoughts. The only thoughts that possessed his mind were that of the moment. He walked steadily along the northwestern trail, his eyes alert and focused on the path in front of him. But this moment was short lived. The sounds of the night surrounded him, and for a moment he wasn't a commander of the Conte force, but a child in the northern forests, camping with his cousin. He could almost hear the sounds of splashing from refreshing swims in the river. And he walked beneath the trees as if somebody was going to leap from the branches and onto the path in front of him. His thoughts flowed like the finest grain through his mind. Images flashed before his eyes of pleasant memories before the warring times. He finally allowed himself to think about Ellie. Ellysn. Thoughts of war didn't deserve a place among thoughts of her. She represented happiness. She represented that period of his life where the world was filled with vibrant colors and new things were waiting to be discovered if only they climbed higher, ran farther, and swam deeper.

Worry not young Yoric. She is safe in our hands.

Yoric blinked. The thoughts of war had returned

Safe for now, that is.

Safe is a relative term. He stated aloud.

Safe from what? A voice echoed out of the darkness. Yoric raised his eyes from the ground. He had walked straight into the approaching forces, which had been his direct intention.