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Hello guys! I'm baaaaack! The problem with having little to no proper attention span is that I get sidetracked by things while writing (Looking at LoL evilly)

Chapter 12: Looming Shadows

Anger for the Empire coursed through Garrow as he heard the pained, agonized moans of the men who were injured in the battle with the Forsworn and soldiers the previous night. His fear and rage kept surging into his body all the time, leaving him shaking feverishly and breathing heavily. Sadness and pain filled his thoughts. The deeds of the king's men have ruined the memories he had of the village.

Seething, Garrow left the healer, Gertrude, to tend to the wounded. He headed to Horst's house, eyes raking over the makeshift barriers used to fill the gaps between different buildings. Boards, barrels, rocks and the ruins of the wagons magically destroyed by the Forsworn weren't enough to look sturdy.

Few people moved through the streets of Carvahall, and they all bore the same blank look that spoke of their shock, grief and exhaustion. Of course, Garrow was tired too – more tired than he was when he worked in his farm all day. He hadn't slept the previous night and his entire body ached from the fight. He made his way to Horst's house and spotted Elain.

The smith's wife stood by the open doorway leading to the dining room, listening to the conversation going on inside. She caught his eye, nodded and motioned for him to come. Of course, he did. The prominent villagers put it upon themselves to decide the next action that the village must take. Should they punish Horst and his allies for causing the hostilities to open up?

It has been going on for most of the morning, and has caused much worry for the village. Garrow peered into the room and spotted Birgit, Loring, Sloan, Morn and many other villagers seated around the table, presided by Horst at the head. Kiselt was berating them for the "stupid and reckless" act which endangered the village – which they had no cause for doing.

Luckily, Morn cut into him with a wave of his hand. "You've been saying that all morning," he told the bony man. He glanced to the rest of the group. "What should have been done does not matter anymore. Quimby is a good man, and is my friend too. I don't want to think of what they want to do with Garrow either. What we need to decide upon is what we must to do to get out of this situation."

"Kill the soldiers?" Sloan asked slyly.

"Right, then that will mean that they have to send more men until the crimson tunics flood our valley." Morn shot him a dirty look. "We can't surrender Garrow either – it won't do any of us any good. You heard Kialandi. He told us that we'll be killed if we protect him and enslave us if we don't. I don't know about you but I do know that I'd rather die free than live as a slave. We can't survive."

"Well, we could leave. Something. Anything." Fisk crossed his arms.

"We have nowhere to go," Kiselt snapped. "We're trapped by the Spine and our road is blocked by soldiers. Even if we get past them, we're just entering the rest of the Empire."

Thane pointed angrily at Horst. "It's all your fault! Our homes will be burned, our children murdered all because of your harebrained schemes!"

Horst stood up so quickly that his chair tobbled backward. "You have no honor, man. You just want to sit back and let them burn us?"

"The only other option is suicide," Thane growled. He stood up, glared impressively at the table and stormed out without giving a second glance. Fear filled his face.

Gedric eyed Garrow and waved him in. "Hurry, come in. We've been waiting for you."

Garrow lowered his head and moved in, aware of the several pairs of hardened eyes that followed him. "How may I help you?"

"I believe that we have come into an agreement that nothing will be accomplished by surrendering you to the Empire – and it doesn't matter if we decide to or not if it isn't the case. What we must do now is to be ready for their next attack. Horst will make spearheads and any other weapon that he can, while Fisk volunteered to make the shields. We're very lucky that his carpentry shop wasn't damaged. We need someone to work on the defenses, and it would be great if you agreed to do it. Many will be more than happy to help."

Garrow idly noted that Thane was most certainly not helping. Kiselt looked outright mutinous and Sloan was – well, he was being Sloan. That didn't matter. "Of course. I'll do my best."

Tara stood by Morn, towering over her husband. She was a tall, large woman with black hair streaked with gray and strong hands that can twist off a chicken head as easily as separating brawling drunks. "You have to. We might end up with more funerals if you don't. Horst, there are men to bury before we proceed. We should also send the children to safety – maybe to Cawley's farm on Nost Creek? You have to go too, Elain."

"But I won't leave Horst," explained Elain.

Tara bristled. She crossd her arms. "The village is no place for you – not when you're five months pregnant. Before you know it, you've lost the child, running around like you do."

"It would do me better than it would if I worry, not knowing what's happening. I have borne my sons and will bear this child. I will stay – like you and every other wife in Carvahall will."

Horst moved to his wife and took her hand tenderly. "I wouldn't have you anywhere but beside me." With a pang of sorrow, Garrow missed Marian more than ever. He could barely recall the last time he held her, assured her, smiled at her. "The children must go though. They will be well cared for by Cawley but we must clear the route to his farm."

Loring cleared his throat. "No man – not one blasted man jack – should have anything to do with the families down the family 'side from this Cawley. They can't help us even if they want to. Those bastard desecrators will trouble them for it."

After agreeing to him, the meeting was adjourned and the men left, going throughout Carvahall with their own tasks. In the end though, they all gathered with the rest of the villagers in the small cemetery behind Gertrude's home. Ten corpses cloaked in white were lined before their graves, a sprig of hemlock on their chests and a silver amulet around their necks. Garrow silently wondered if he would be one of those men, had things been a little different.

Gertrude strode forward and recited the men's names, starting with Parr's. She placed black pebbles over the eyes before she raised her arms and lifted her face to the sky. She began the death lay, tears freely flowing from her eyes. She sang softly, sincerely of the phrases known to every villager, sighing and moaning, reflecting the sorrow of the village as she sang of the earth, the night and the ageless, inescapable sorrow of humanity.

Silence reigned momentarily after the last mournful note. After a few speeches of praise and love from family members, they buried the bodies. Garrow gazed at the anonymous mound containing the dead soldiers. One killed by Nolfavrell, two dying by Garrow's own hands. He felt the sensation of killing again and had to fight off the bile rising from his stomach. He can't be sick – not in front of the entire village. He never wished or expected to kill before, but he managed to kill more than any one villager in Carvahall. He felt drenched – marked – by blood.

To clear his head, he left the funeral as soon as he can. He didn't even bother to stop by and speak to some of the villagers. He climbed to a point high enough for him to survey the village and think of ways to protect it. He considered a defensive perimeter but discarded it. Nobody could easily fortify the spaces between buildings that are too far apart. Having soldiers fight against the walls of these houses would trample the gardens too. The Anora River was sufficient defense for the western flank but the rest of the villagfe couldn't even keep out a child. He needed something that was strong but can be built in just a few hours.

He strode to the middle of the village, taking care not to sprint away outright. "I need every free person to help me cut down trees!" A minute of silence passed before men began moving out of their homes and through the streets. "Come on now, there's more of us than that! We all need to do our part and help, right?"

The group grew, and one of Loring's sons – Darmmen – headed straight for him. "Plan?"

"Yes, my boy, plan." Garrow addressed the men. "We need to construct a wall around Carvahall, preferrably as thick as we can. I'm figuring that we can get some big trees and lay them on their sides, sharpen the branches. I think we're facing Riders which are not the brightest apples of the bunch, and this will hinder them."

A man named Orval raised a hand. "How many trees will it take, you think?"

Garrow gauged the size of the village. "Fifty – sixty trees if we can." Some of the men began to swear and started arguing. Garrow counted them men swiftly. "Wait! There are forty-eight of you. If you each fell one tree in the next hour, we're almost done. Can't you do that?"

"Are you taking us for children?" Orval hollered. "I was ten when it last took me an hour to cut a good-sized tree!"

"How 'bout some brambles?" added Darmmen. "We could drape them over the trees. Haven't seen any person who can climb through knots of thorny vines without suffering – especially, um, down there."

Garrow nodded and clapped the young man's back. "Brilliant, lad! Those of you with sons may want to have them harness your horses. You know, to drag the trees back." With a nod, the group dispersed throughout Carvahall to grab axes, saws and anything else that might be useful. "Darmmen, make sure that you keep tree branches along the trunk. Else, our plan might not work."

"You're not coming with us?"

"I'll be working on another line of defense." Garrow nodded and left. He headed for Quimby's home, where Birgit was working on the windows, boarding them up.

"Yes?" she asked in a perfectly controlled, neutral voice.

Garrow quickly informed her of the plan regarding the trees. "I was planning to have someone dig a trench inside the tree fortifications, slow down anyone who succeeds in going through, maybe also put some pointed stakes…"

"And? What do you want me to do, Garrow?"

"I was hoping that you could organize every woman, child – everyone else you can – to dig. I can't handle it all alone and we don't have long." Garrow firmly looked straight into her eyes. "Please."

"And why, pray tell, are you asking me?"

"We both hate the Forsworn. I know that you will do everything in your power to stop them – destroy them if you can."

"Aye." Birgit's eyes softened momentarily before becoming steely once more. "Very well, as you wish. Never think for one moment, Garrow, that you and your family have caused my husband's death even if you did not mean for it to happen." For a woman who was baarely thirty-three, she looked positively intimidating. She nodded and left.

Garrow understood her animosity. He expected it, knowing that she lost her husband because of them – directly or indirectly. He ws lucky enough that she did not decide to start on a blood feud. He shook his head sadly and headed for the place where the main road led into Carvahall. It was naturally the most vulnerable place in the entire village and therefore needed more protection. The Forsworn can't just blast their way in like they did before.

With Baldor, he began to excavate a ditch across the road. "I must go soon, though," the young man told him. "Dad needs my help at the forge."

Garrow merely nodded in acknowledgement. His mind whirled with memories of the soldiers' deaths – the look on their faces as he struck them, as they met the horrible realization that they were about to die. He hated the feeling of smashing bodies like rotten stumps. He felt nauseated and sick to the core. Just what would it feel like, then, to be one of the young Riders traveling with Brom if they were to fight bigger battles than he would?

Once Baldor left, Garrow finished the thigh-high ditch by himself before heading to Fisk's workshop. After securing the carpenter's permission, he took five logs from a pile of seasoned wood, pulled them to the man road with the use of hroses and tipped them into the trench to make an impenetrable barrier between Carvahall and the enemies.

He was packing down the earth around the logs to keep it sturdy when Darmmen trotted toward him. "The trees are ready. They're being put into place as I speak."

"Well, let's see them, then."

They headed to the northern edge of the village, where twelve men were aligning four lush green pines. A team of draft horses were being led by a young boy, returning from the foothills. "Most of us are helping to retrieve the trees," explained Darmmen. "It inspired the others so well that they're quite determined to chop down the rest of the forest when I left."

"The extra timber might help," agreed Garrow. His mind was already whirling with the possibilities.

Darmmen showed him the pile of dense brambles which were sitting on Kiselt's fields. "From the area along the Anora," he explained. "We can use them however we want, I'm sure we can find more."

Garrow clapped him on the arm before heading to the eastern side of Carvahall. A long line of people – women, children and men – were working in the dirt. Birgit was issuing orders as impressivel as a general while also distributing water among the diggers. The trench was already five feet wide and two feet deep. "I'm impressed," Garrow told Birgit.

The woman nodded, brushing back her hair without sparing him a glance. "We plowed the ground to soften it before starting. It made everything else easier."

"Is there any free shovel that I can use?" Garrow asked.

He was redirected to a mound of tools at the other end of the trench. He spotted Sloan digging into the soft loan with a terrifyingly furious, obsessive energy. What was he trying to do, destroy the earth? His eyes were wild, teeth bared in a feral grimace. Dirth and filth flecked his lips.

Garrow shuddered and hurried past the butcher, hoping to avoid his gaze. Shovel in hand, he plunged into the softened soil and did his best to focus on the task at hand. He had to forget his worries – even for just a little while.

The rest of the day was spent in a rush of activity, with not much breaks spared for eating or resting. Their work increased the size of the trench both in size and depth, until it spanned the area around two-thirds of the village before reaching the edges of the Anora River. They managed to pile up the loose dirt on the inside edge of the trench to create a high ground that is difficult to jump over and climb out.

They finished the tree wall early in the afternoon, so Garrow had to stop helping in the trench digging to assist in sharpening the numerous branches which overlapped and interlapped everywhere that they can. They also began to affix the nets of brambles and pulled out trees every now and then to let farmers drive their livestock into the safety of Carvahall.

With a smile of triumph, Garrow straightened up and marched to Horst's house, where he armed himself with his flail and returned to the entrance to the village from the main road. Baldor and two others kept watch there.

"Wake me up when you must rest, lads," he told them. He headed to a grassy patch under the eaves of a house, arranged his weapons so that they lay within reach and closed his eyes. He drifted off to sleep in no time.

Going to get a lot of action in Carvahall next chapter, and hopefuly catch up with the Riders. With no Katrina to be abducted, how do you think will the battle in the valley play out?

Faolin's more upset than he lets on, and I hope I could write some stuff involving him and his lady.

I could seriously imagine light reflecting off the wet Thorn's scales. :3 'Tis a pretty view, right?

Will be starting to read fics regularly again this week, hopefully the awesome schedule allows it!

Thorn needs to dry off for now and is looking forward to your reviews!