Chapter I
A Change of Seasons
With a resounding thud, a blond haired boy hit the floor of his bedroom. Shaken, he looked around his space. His head spinning from the fall he took a moment to collect his thoughts. He was in his room and it was dark, that much at least he could gather seconds after the dream. After a short moment, he picked himself and his blanket up from the floor. He glanced out of his window and noticed the morning light peeking over the horizon. He stood silent with his eyes closed for a moment, trying to draw out a specter of the dream, but it had left him and his mind was clear. Fifth time this month. He thought. The boy quietly fixed up his bed, tugging carelessly at the sheets to straighten them out before moving towards his dressers to get ready for a long day of work.
This side of the country was beautiful this time of year. Autumn was unmatched by any. Rich reds and yellows decorated the trees rimming the base of the mountains that surrounded the valley. Swirls of leaves dotted the air across the plains as the tall grass swayed in the chilled wind, beckoning to the east where the red painted chasms and grey rolling hills opened to large rivers that fed even larger oceans. The sky, bright and blue, was lightly streaked with clouds but for the most part exceptionally clear this time of year. The countryside was the home to several inhabitants scattered about the plains and valleys. Farmlands with acres of wheat, barley, and grain amidst several kilometers of grazing lands filled the spaces in between the villages, towns, cities, and kingdoms that were spread across the horizon in all directions.
The backdrop was a picture perfect, idyllic scene for the small village that sat in the middle of this massive expanse. Large grey stone buildings with dark wood beams and frames seemed to stick up out of the ground almost randomly against the landscape. The quiet town of Thistlebrand was a trading post to many and a home to that many more. It was small, relatively, but an essential for trade and commerce as folks would pass through to the other kingdoms and major surrounding cities.
The people of Thistlebrand woke early in these months to prepare for winter and so the hustle of the morning rush started before the sun. There was talk that the local soothsayer predicted the snow storms to be particularly difficult this year, so the work to ensure an easy winter had started much sooner than the previous months.
The children and youth of the town usually helped with the farming and gathering of winter supplies and food. Some children, per tradition, sat with the edler women and young mothers to knit extra blankets and coats for the townspeople. Others helped out in the fields and tended to the livestock. The adults, young and old, best at hunting took to the hills and valleys for game and fish to salt and smoke to trade for goods for the coming months. Much of the meat would be stored and the leather and furs made great for bartering items for towns further away from forests.
The peaks, already capped with snow, were the first sign of the long winter to come. However, the harvest from the year was plentiful and was looking to provide the community well in the coming months. Despite this, there was a worry in the town as the flow of visitors had slowed unusually for the past month.
A young, blond haired boy made his way to the splitting stump that was set up twenty yards outside of his home. The chiling air bit at his face and his breath puffed out in clouds. Mornings during these months were unforgiving to his hands, but after 10 minutes of cutting logs the cold became a sort of reprieve.
He, as far as his usefulness, had a knack with handling the horses and could split logs pretty well for a boy his age and size. He had a natural swing to his arm that cut through wood like butter. The stronger men and women who brought him the dead trees for splitting left him with an overage this year. Much more than what he has seen in past winters but enough to keep him busy. He would rather be hunting, however, but his age and status kept him at home for now. Next year he would be out with the adults and he hoped to get his bow skill up during the down time as winter usually has plenty.
He worked for a few hours into the late morning before stopping for a moment to breathe, slumping down onto the splitting stump and propping his axe against it. His arms and back were exhausted, and his clothes were damp with sweat. He reached into a small leather pouch from his belt and pulled out a few small hard biscuits. Looking around as he ate; he took in the scenery. The wind was cold but the late morning sun had warmed the air enough to keep the freezing chill from turning his sweat to ice on his brow. The one thing about autumn he liked, at least. It was, though, still cold and keeping still for a moment reminded him of that.
Strange, he thought, that he would live here his whole life and not often take in the expansive beauty that surrounded him. It was hard not to see it every day, and often the very expansiveness of it all was cumbersome as it would take weeks to travel from one town to another. He hadn't had the chance to see beyond the blue mountains and sandy beaches that circled the valley, and his curiosity would often be stifled with duties at home or lack of supplies to make a trip longer than a few days. He looked about, taking small bites of his bread now and again and drinking in the air. He made a note of the storm clouds moving up from the west, finished his bread, and went back to work.
"Link!" Boomed a voice from behind him. Moving up the hill with a large limp buck strapped to his back, being tailed by an equally impressive chestnut clydesdale stallion, a tall and imposing man with broad shoulders and a big bushy red beard made his way towards the younger man. "Prepare the table, boy, this one should make for good reserves for this winter."
Link, practiced to this, moved quickly to the door of their home and opened it for his father. It has been 3 weeks since the young man had seen him, which was a week longer than usual per the hunting party.
It was a humble and small home. Most of the home was made from wood or cloth aside from the stone hearth that warmed the small space. Link moved to one side where a large tapestry covered a window space and removed it from the wall letting the bright light of the afternoon spill into the room. He rushed to the center of the floor where a long oak table was and cleared it. His father then quickly placed the buck on it for preparation. Link noticed the puncture wound behind the head; clean and deep. The man knew how to hunt and was one of the best in town.
"Aye, this one is big, huh? Boy, bring me my knives." The barrel chested man pointed to one end of the room where a rolled blanket sat in a pile on the floor. Link moved quick and produced the items as requested for his father. The large man opened up the blanket and took out knives of different shapes and sizes. "It took me a week of tracking this one, boy." The man made quick work of the buck, slicing in and removing the insides. A long, oval shaped wooden bucket sat below the table catching the blood and innards. "He was fast and strong. I had found his herd off to the North." His father changed knives and skinned the buck. He stopped for a moment to look at it. "Strange, it was."
"Deer don't move north this time of year." Link said without thinking. He knew their movements from years of listening in to the stories from the hunters. The better the hunter, the better the storyteller, or at the very least the more willing they were to regale you and anyone who would listen to their stories. His father was no stranger to this and made long winters a bit more interesting when the snows kept the doors shut.
"Smart boy." his father grunted, pulling at one of the legs. "Something spooked 'em. We seen wolves up the east valley moving in the direction of the herd." The man separated chunks of venison meat and sinew, wiping his massive hands on the canvas he wore about his waist. "Bastards." He snorted.
Wolves had been problems in the past as he could recall. They drove the herd far west one year and made hunting difficult and leaving for poor reserves when the snow piled and halted trade. Also, with hunting came the fight for time; It was one thing to find deer and kill it, it was another to get it home in one piece and before it began to rot. Ice fishing in the lakes off to the south was feasible during the winter to keep meat on the table and food in the belly, but the practice was impractical and dangerous if not done properly. It wasn't a guarantee for fish in abundance but it worked in a pinch which came as a blessing for those in need. There were ranchers that owned cattle and bulls that surrounded the town that made good use of the meats and hide before the heavy snows hit.
"We'll hunt 'em all down. We got four more comin' back from the hunt and the last we need is a wolf pack stealin' our cattle and chickens again." The man folded the skins neatly next to the carcass. "Bastards." He spat.
The man moved to the end of the room and pulled out a smaller wooden pail, placing it on the table next to the buck. He placed the folded skins inside of the bucket before turning it and working from the other side.
Link stayed and helped a bit further with the buck before heading back to his work. Someone had placed another tree for him in the pile. A total of 9 10-15 foot trees he had to breakdown made for a strenuous workload. He wanted nothing more than to be out in the field with his family and friends, hunting game. Next year, he will be out in the mountains, and leave the wood chopping to another young man with a good swing in his arm. It was, at least, nice to think that there was an end to this life stuck at home.
Link worked until sundown, finishing off another tree before clearing the area for the next day. He bundled the wood tight with twine and bagged up the kindling in burlap sacks, loading them neatly onto a wooden cart. The air chilled faster in these months; whipping up winds that were carried on autumn storms.
lol A lanturn hung on the end post of the fence that surrounded his home. Link used a flint to light a bit of shredded bark and lit the wick inside before stamping the burning bark in the dirt. He took the lanturn with him as made his way over to the stables near the back of the property.
"sister!" A young boys voice cried out from ahead near the stables. A pale faced youth with fore red hair, freckles, and big teeth ran towards Link. The smell of a hard day's work hit Link before the young boy embraced him soiling his already soiled clothes. "You're done with the wood already? Mother said you wood be. Haha"
"Aye wood be? How long it take yah to come up with that one?" He tousled the boys hair.
"All day! sister! Luno is waiting hurry!" The boy wiggled from his sister, grabbing his hand to lead him over the stables.
Inside the families livestock was kept in cozy stalls. Two horses and three cows made up the population in the warm and inviting housing. The child and his mother worked hard knitting blankets and insulting the barn from the cold. Clay and dried mud lined the walls and filled the cracks from the outside while blankets and skins lined the inside. Having strong healthy horses in the winter months was essential. A black stallion brayed as Link approached.
A fine horse it was. Link was given his stead when he came of age and it has been his best friend ever since. White tufts of hair covered its hooves, white accented its mane and a diamond of white crowned its forehead. The rest of the horse was black as night. Link reached into the leather pouch on his hip and gave some of the hard bread as an offering to get his horse ready for work. A loyal beauty Luno was, hard working Luno was not.
The night air seemed colder by the minute and chilled deep. This wasn't quite yet snow cold, but it was cold enough his horse took some convincing to cooperate.
The gravel made for speedy movement once they had gotten on to the main street. Lanterns high on posts lined the stone street ways and lit the paths leading in and out of town. Link and Luno took the cart to the east end where the town clock tower stood for their first stop. Below the bright white luminous face of the clock stood a small wooden shack like building buckled against the stone of the tower. Mr. and Mrs Wilikins were always the first to get firewood as they needed to be stocked for their trade. Link steered the cart up close for an easy load out.
The door swung open before his knuckles rapped the heavy wooden door.
"Oh! I knew it would be you. Heard yeh from a mile back. Come in boy. Come in!" A plump, shapely woman ushered him in and embraced him in two soft strong arms tightly. The inside was cozy and well organized. Glass bottles and containers lined the walls and filled the cabinets of all sizes, shapes, and colors. Each bottle adorned with a small label of its contents. She was the wife of the man who ran the local apothecary and winter was a busy season with flu and cold stricken travelers and locals needing a fix.
"Ye come at a good time, boy. I was just about to take the kettle off the fire. Been working on the soup since this mornin'. Come on then boy, have a seat with me." She hobbled over to the fire place where a kettle, nearly as round as her, was steaming. The smell hit him as soon as he moved past door, and it was heavenly. A small grumble from his stomach reminded him he hadn't actually eaten much today and decided to take her up on the offer. A mug of hot soup while dropping off firewood orders was a sound opportunity.
The woman took a deep wooden mug off the counter and wiped the inside out with her dress before filling it to the brim.
"How have ya been, boy? I see you swinging that axe from sun up to down." She waddled back over to Link and passed along the piping hot cup.
"Ah, work has been as it always is this time of year." He never did enjoy talking about himself. Small talk, quite honestly, annoyed him. "Where is Mr. Wiliken?" He blew over the top of the mug to cool it down before taking in a mouthful. Still hot, but the warming spice and heat was welcome.
The woman sighed deeply. "Oh that man. He's been away on the hunt foraging for ingredients. We've been low this year. Been getting order requests like crazy these past few days. They are drying us up, boy." She waddled back over to the stove where an old piece of parchment sat folded on the mantel above the smouldering hearth. "This has not been a normal season, boy I swear it. Me mum used to say it's a bad omen when things shift out of the normal flow before the snow hits." Link watched as she pocketed the small paper. Link noticed her mood changed drastically and, being one unable to control his expressions, sat with a worried look while Mrs. Wiliken bobbled about, sighing to herself anxiously. She peered over and took notice, and clicked her tongue in protest.
"Oh don't start with those eyes, boy. I'm worried but I'm sure the man will be home before the snow." The confidence in her voice fell away at the end. This wasn't really an appropriate time to pry, and filled his mouth with the warm soup in the moment of uncomfortable silence. She wasn't willing to tell him everything, he felt.
"Aye, lad," She said as she straightened herself out after a moment. "I can tell you have more bundles to deliver so be on your way then." She scooped up a ladle of soup and poured more into Link's cup. "Keep the mug, deary, I have too many of them! We really should catch up when you've not a job to do." She gave Link's arm a little squeeze and handed him a small leather pouch with their payment for the wood before sending him on his way and watching on with a warm smile. In his recent years, he had caught the attention of the older women in the town and still wasn't sure why. Regardless, she was a sweet woman and made the best soup in the land so he didn't mind spending some time with her in the cold months.
Link made his way back home late into the evening, face red from the biting cold that swept in after sundown. The slaughtered buck had been expertly cleaned up and stored away before his arrival. He placed his days pay on the table where the blood of the buck had stained the edges of the wood a red brown.
His mother and sister came back from the till carrying layers of woven blankets and baskets of nuts. The small chestnut haired boy tugged at his older sisters shirt, and with a burst of quick movement, Link spun around and picked up the small child, embracing him tightly.
"Link! C'mon let me go!" He giggled out, struggling with no avail to release himself from his siblings embrace.
Link set his sister down after and tousled his hair.
"Just a regular hug is good, you know!" The boy shouted in protest.
"Link, where's your father?" His mother, used to their antics, moved quickly to remove their soiled tunics for cleaning.
"Couldn't tell you. I was out delivering all rest of the afternoon'n evenin." His father was most likely out hunting, he figured. The buck itself will be used in the coming weeks, but having a hearty dinner tonight was probably on his mind after a long day of work.
"Be a dear, love, and go find him. I was hoping he would be here to talk about the storehouse." She looked upset. This woman was very good at being sad when she wanted, but she had a point, he supposed. The idea of going back out into the frigid chill was entirely unpleasant.
He begrudgingly went to put his boots on to look for his father, and within a moment after one was fastened the large man with soft eyes came through with a few logs of firewood and 2 freshly dead hares.
"Well speak of evil and it will appear." His mother rose to her feet to greet his father.
She planted a kiss on his cheek. "Your ears must have been burning."
"Aye, Merianne," He gave a wink and a kiss on the forehead. "Would you start the pot? Boy, skin these." The man put the three hares on the table and handed the fire wood to his wife. She happily grabbed up the wood and made haste with preparing the meal.
She was a bubbly woman. Round and smiling, her blond hair and blue eyes matched Link's nearly perfectly. She made quick work of the set up and the fire was roaring under the pot before Link could finish the last hare. She moved with a jaunty grace, flinging the ingredients into the pot, and stoking the fire. Humming light fluttering melodies under breath as she danced around the kitchen.
As she worked, her husband moved around her picking up a few items and readying to leave. Her routine slowed.
"Leaving? Dear yeh just got here! Wots the rush?" the blond woman asked as she watched him move about. She continued to fan the flames.
"Aye, it's the Willikins." His voice, in the moment, held a grave tone Link had heard only in a few severe instances. A chill setted on him.
His father seemed uneasy from the moment he entered the home, Link could sense that. "Was comin back from the forest and ran into Juno and some extra in toe. All look like they've seen better days. There is a meeting at the Hall, supposedly to explain something."
"The Hall? A meeting to explain something?" Merianne stood up from her small chari near the hearth. "Theo, whats wrong? Now ye got me worried."
"Don't be. There's no need. Just stay here I'll be back soon as we find out what's happening from these folk." There was another uneasy look about him.
"You think...this has anything to do with those rumors?" The woman paused her movements. There was an uneasy silence.
"I don't know." His voice was dark. Link could tell he wasn't explaining everything he knew. His father, though large and intimidating, was fairly easy to read when emotions were involved.
"I'm coming with you." Link said standing up and moving away from the half flayed rabbits.
The room again was silent aside from the crackling firewood. His father, with a stern look on him, surveyed his son for a moment.
"Aye," He said, sharply. "You're soon a man, best you come along, then."
The shock of him agreeing stunned Link momentarily. He was a man now?
"Well come on then! Get your other boot on and grab a skin to wear." His father broke his attention. It was all the courage he needed. Link quickly gathered up his things and left with his father to the Hall, while his younger sister begrudgingly took to the task of preparing the freshly killed rabbits.
Link tried to keep himself from smiling as he didn't want to seem too excited about something that could be a potentially serious situation.
"Here boy," His father removed a strap and scabbard from his shoulder and handed the weapon to his son. "I know you can use it, but I pray you never have to."
Link took the sword, pulling out just enough to see the glint of steel peek from the sheath. It felt right holding in his hands, he thought. His father clapped him on his back with a wide and proud grin.
"You're a man now, boy. It's time you were held to it." His father was a kind man under all of it. The furs always added size to him giving him a look that would send most running had they no knowledge of him.
Link furrowed his eyebrows. This was happening quickly, and he would need to adapt to this change and it would be his first real chance to prove himself as an adult. The two went off to the ranch together moving quickly.
The night was much colder and Link felt small, cold, droplets of water hit his skin. His breath billowed out in the damp chilly air.
As they neared the Hall a group of men and women holding torches had gathered close to the entrance. Another group, off to the side, gathered near a portion of the fence that lined the property. The chatter, he noted, among the adults seemed to have a theme. Link caught bits of their conversations as they spoke, and he kept hearing the word "invasion" popping up around him.
"Oi! Theo 'n kind!" A man with black hair and beard stepped out in front of him as the two approached the crowd gathered around the Hall entrance. Darkahn, the father of a friend and local carpenter, was an imposing sort similar to the build of his own father. He noticed the steel the young man was brandishing with an err of caution. Link had a good swing, but was a bit green for actual combat. The boy hadn't had his first hunt yet, and it was common knowledge amidst the adult men in town to know who was ready for weapon handling against beast or man. Link, unfortunately by their standards, was not.
"Oi, Darkahn," His father stepped forward and grabbed the hand of the other for a firm handshake. Link, taking his new title seriously, also went in for a strong handshake. The older man had a bit more of a grip, however. Link did his best not to wince.
"Tis grand to see ya two. Nice sword there, Link, first I seen you carry something sharp other than a splitting axe." The man gave a cheeky wink at Link before his demeanor dropped quickly into something more serious. He turned his head quickly to face Links father. "There's a bad air, Theo." The man shook his head.
"What's that mean, aye? A bad air?" Theo asked, a bit more frustrated in his tone than confused.
"Mayor's gonna be speakin' on it soon. Travelers comin in from the south. Seen the wagons and else they got and it's a mess." The man leaned in closer to Theo, his voice lowered to almost inaudible by Links ears, so the boy leaned in closer.
"I don't like rumors, but there's something unsettling about how messed up it all looks. Each one is either blackened or singed by fire, or is littered with holes and tears in the canvases coverin their wagons."
Theo looked generally confused, however stayed silent. Blackened or singed by fire and littered with holes?
The man looked over to where the smaller gathering of torches lined near the fence. It was then Link noticed Mrs. Wilikin sitting on a hay barrel surrounded by others. She looked like she had been crying.
Link moved away from his father into the crowd that gathered at the Hall. The whispers were louder here, and the theme was more consistent. At the center of the crowd another smaller group of roughly 15 men and women stood in a small circle near the stage. As he got closer, he noticed all of the small group had bandages stained with blood wrapped around various body parts. One of them, a plain man with a bushy brown/red beard spoke with the town Mayor whose face twisted in horror and shock as he listened to the travelers story. Link attempted to eavesdrop on the conversation, but the discussion was drowned out as the hall filled rapidly with curious and concerned townsfolk.
"Quiet everyone, quiet please!" the mayor shouted as he made his way from the man he spoke with to the center edge of the raised platform. The chatter remained and drowned out most of his attempts to ease the tension of the room. "Everyone please, can I have your attention?" Again, there was no response and the talking seemed to grow in intensity and clamour.
"OI BE QUIET!" Theo boomed. A silence quickly fell on the room and those who protested were "hushed" by townsfolk who were close.
"Yes, ah, thank you Theo. Very good." He adjusted his tie and brushed himself off.
The man was tall and lanky with a round pot belly and a pencil thin, very long, black mustache. It was a feature he was best known for, during his tenure as Mayor in this town. He had been Mayor, as far as he knew, for as long as Link had been alive. He was usually a bubbly and upbeat person. Always with a smile to complement his long, elegantly styled mustache. Tonight was different, though, and his usual jolly demeanor was now an uncomfortable mess of trembling worry.
"My dear friends," he shakingly called out. "I do hate to be the one to bring so many wonderful faces together in such a time of tragedy."
"Ah, get to the point!" An older man's voice shouted from the back of the room followed by a murmur of those agreeing in protest. The Mayor stuttered a moment as he caught his breath. As he moved to talk, the man with the bushy red beard the Mayor spoke to moments ago joined him on stage. The room burst into whispers and murmuring between the townspeople as the red bearded man took control of the moment.
"Sorry to interrupt, but I think it best I try to explain."
"Y-yes. A-absolutely," The mayor stepped away.
"Everyone, My name is Albin." The growing chatter in the room died down quickly as he spoke. "We are the last of the messenger party from the town of Crestfall." Link noticed a similar demeanor in this man to his father. A leader type, strong and serious with a voice that carried over a crowd. "A week ago our town was attacked. Most of the town fled to the North-West part of Salscanter Valley for the protective walls of the Terrimekki Keep near the kingdom." Again, a worried murmur stirred in the crowd. Link looked to his father who stood watching with a stoic expression. "We think this is happening in other towns. We have been getting word from villages near the ports and some word from the bigger towns. We have reason to believe Terrimekki knows of the coming threat and has been taking in refugees for a while now."
"Who attacked you?" A woman shouted frantically, nearly cutting him off. Others join in and the crowd started up again in nervous banter. The man held his hands up.
"We don't know." He slowed his speech, raising his voice enough to be heard through their whispers. "They wore no colors or symbols akin to this land. Flew solid crimson flags with no sigil. Nothing we could identify, and no word on who they serve." His voice settled as the crowd turned back in to listen.
"They were barbaric fighters is all we know. Nasty lookin fuckers. Ugliest bastards I've ever seen." He paused and looked about the crowd, now completely silent. He sighed and shook his head. "We think...No, we are sure, they are headed this way."
The silence, shortly lived, broke out again into a worry and concern. The group that stood behind the stage area was ragged, covered in blood stains and mud from a hard ride through, and the whole of the townspeople could see it. An attack on their town and the possibility of war was on their lips, something Link knew nothing of but stories. He looked to his father again and saw the same stoic expression.
"Are you suggesting we leave the town for Terrimekki?" A younger woman's voice cried out.
"Is war upon us?" A mans voice shouted.
"We've had peace in this land for hundreds of years! Why would this be happening now? How are you sure it isn't some bandits or scorned farmer?!" An older woman, voice cracking, rang out from the back. Several others joined in, their questions overlapping each other as they moved in closer to the red bearded man. He held his hands up lowering them to gain some control over their noise.
"People of Thistlebrand, please hear me!" His voice carried like thunder over them again, and the room settled. "I am not here to command you to leave, but hope a warning of our misfortune might save you from a fate many of us suffered from." His voice remained loud, and declarative. He caught eyes with the woman who spoke about bandits.
"About two months ago we caught wind of some uprisings near the port by the Eastern sea. We figured it was something that wouldn't reach much further past the trading ports, thinking it might've been pirates or bandits, like you said, but a week later travellers moved through our village with tales of war mongering armies moving through the land. Some never stayed to see them, others told tales of beasts that we didn't believe until it happened." The room, at this point, fell dead quiet.
"2 weeks ago they came to us in the night, and there were not many who survived. We were sure they couldn't be any stronger than our ilk, and we were grossly mistaken." A low murmur of worry bubbled up from the crowd. "Again, I tell you this as a warning. Us commoners do not have their numbers, and the keep to the north can offer weapons, armor, and food. This is a suggestion to all those who heed it. We will ride out in three days before the fourth sunrise for those willing to join us. We understand this is a lot to ask in such a short time."
"Aye, aye, aye," A man in front snorted, nearly cutting off Albin. The man loudly chortled back through the chattering townspeople at the red bearded man, his broad arms folded across his equally broad chest. "I know your town," His words, slow and biting, behind his thick northern accent. "And I know where you're from was no more five hundred ready men strong, we here have four times that many here in Thistlebrand." There was a loud muttering of approval.
"Yes, this is true." Said Albin. "We were a small village, with no walls to speak of. However, though this town bests us in size, it lacks strong and protective walls and experienced fighters."
"We don't need experienced fighters, we need strong men! Which this town has plenty of." The large man pounded his chest, the surrounding men equal in size grunted in approval of his claims. The red bearded stranger recanted his argument against his pride.
"I cannot say if your strength is enough to fend off these things." The man snapped back. His patience wavered. "I can only predict that should you fail to act now, your history will become a tragedy like many who stayed behind."
Almost instantly, the crowd was in a frenzy of those trying to speak at once at the man on the stage. "You may do as you wish," He shouted over the crowd but the noise continued. "We leave before sunrise. All who wish to join us may do so and meet with us at our camp outside of the town. The stone walls of Teremikkie will fill soon." The man jumped down from the podium, walking back towards his small group of fighters. Link caught his arm as he walked by.
"Sir, sorry to intrude but, what happened to Mr. Wiliken? The doctor?" It was the one pressing thing that wasn't addressed, at least to him, and it seemed to be forgotten with the looming fear of attack of the town erasing all other concern.
"The doctor man? Aye…" The man took a moment to recall. He signed in his resolve, tired from the tension. "Lad, we found him tied to a tree with a deep wound on his side. We don't think it might have been the same ilk that laid our town to waste, but we can't be sure. Could have been robbed by the wounds. Had no silver or copper on him, and looks he'd been stripped of his leathers. Sorry to say, boy." Albin, although gentle in his placement, rested a very strong and heavy hand on Links shoulder in a silent kind of condolences. He quickly turned and started to make his way out of the hall past the rush of questioners and angry deniers. However, just before he went to move out of the hall he stopped and turned his head towards Link. "I hope plain bandits all they be, lad" with that, the man pushed through the gathering of late gawkers.
Before Link could stop the man to ask anything more, the older gentleman from earlier Albin, shouted again over the clamor.
"If you wish to speak with us we set up camp a mile west of your village. We will speak only to those who will follow us." And with that, he and the entourage exited the Hall. The Mayor doing his best to control the floor of questioners who looked to him for immediate advice. Link looked back at his father who stared at those leaving. He broke his focus and glanced at his son.
"Link, you're going to need to be with your mother and let her know what happened here. Tell her I will be home late. There are a few things the townspeople and the council need to discuss."
Link, for a moment, lingered on protest. Why would he want to leave? He has never seen him so serious in a situation like this, not that he has ever been in something like this before. The state of things were uncertain, which was all he knew, and he had faith that his fathers insight and following decision would be best for the family. He gave his father a respectful nod despite his will to stay behind, and made his way back to his home.
On the way back to his mother, he overheard some conversations between the townsfolk. Some worried about the validity of the claims that their precious peace had been broken, others did not take to the words and decided it best to forget and move on. The fifteen travelers from the other town were correct, however. This town, though a major trading port for surrounding villages, had short and weak walls and lacked any aside from the small number of guardsmen with any actual combat experience. As far as centuries worth of local history was concerned, the need wasn't there. At least, until now.
Link arrived home as a light rain began to fall. It's timing was overdue for this time of year, he felt.
His mother sat near the fire alone with his younger sister asleep in the next room. She was stirring the pot of stew that was half way done. She looked up, and quickly noticed her son had returned without her husband in toe.
"Oh no," She said exasperated. "Where is yah father, now? Nothin serious happened, did it? Was it true about the rumors?" She seemed to stir the pot of stew more ferociously as her eyes started to grow more intense and wide. Link was not sure how to respond. Mr. Wilikins injuries were serious, and the possibility of an invasion, or whatever that could mean, was serious enough to get his father riled up. But there was no immediate threat currently, as far as Link could tell. For the moment at least, he felt as though they were safe.
"Well," he didn't want to start off to strong. He worried about her reaction and he wasn't good at calming her down. "The travelers, from the caravan, they were attacked in their village by something. They were saying we needed to leave for the Kingdom in a week." His mother listened quietly with a calm composure. She plopped her soup spoon into the pot, and sat down on the closest kitchen chair, and nodded her head with his story.
"Mr. Willikin, he went out gathering supplies and was attacked. There's rumors about it being what ever attacked the town because he search area was close to the town the villagers were from." At this point, Link was unsure if he should stop talking. His mother had covered her mouth with her hand. He didn't like making her uncomfortable. "Mum, what's it all mean then? Are we headed to the keep in the north?" He wanted to see where her head was. Her face and body seemed to settle as she processed how she wanted to respond. She drew in a long breath through her nose, and sighed quietly.
"You know," She said, her voice was softer than before. "I've always had a funny feeling something like this would happen. Having ta leave here. Dunno why, but the winds have carried a foul feeling this past decade." Her words trailed off as she muttered something inaudible, pausing for a moment of reflection before quickly catching herself. She stood up and straightened her dress out before returning to tending the stew.
He knew about the history, and he wanted to believe that was still the case. Not in any of his years had he any reason to believe any different. However, there was a feeling that gnashed at the back of his mind that something was different. His mother, like his father, was a story teller at heart. What ever was going unsaid, was an issue that couldn't be handled yet.
"I think it best you try to sleep this through, boy. Mornin' will come with more answers than night can offer right now. Go on to your room. This pot will need some more time." He hasn't ever heard this tone form his mother before. She wasn't scared, or worried, but she sounded...sad.
He gave his mother a sincere, tight hug before heading to his small room.
