The hectic and immersive evening had caused Arik to awake late in this morning. Which frustrated him, but he could not get the matter at hand off his mind. With the encounter of the previous night, he had found his skin crawling.
Arik himself had been lucky.
During the night Arik had moved and investigated the cadavers. From what he could tell their skin was some kind of metal. But they were entirely human in form. How he had pierced the hard skin he did not know. But he was thankful he had.
Having replayed the evenings encounter repeatedly in meditation. He still could not understand how his foe had stayed unseen. For all he could gather they were almost invisible to the eye and moved with the shadows. This itself was disconcerting and impossible. But they also fought with recognizable patterns and were clearly versed in martial prowess.
He had known that something had followed the boy and himself up the Old North Road, and that his family home was being watched. But he had not been able to see anyone suspicious around the village, more just an eerie feeling, the sense that eyes were gazing upon him.
That was until last night, bitter realisation that the watchers were in fact shadows and moved unseen had dawned upon him when he sensed the attackers around the usually silent Keane's Folly.
Bloodlust and killing intent had been thick in the air making the hairs on the back of the soldier's neck stand on end.
Now back upon the gelding and the Old North Road headed south toward Risvale, Arik still had many questions for Aern, as the child had fallen asleep quickly with extraordinarily little explanation as to what he was running from, for slavers from Kel Hamar would not expend such resources chasing a young child into the highlands.
"Aern, things just aren't making sense. Why were such malignant spirits hunting you? Why were you at Kel Hamar? and how in Aeden did you make it this far north before the shadows had torn you to pieces?"
Aern had dreaded this moment. He was only supposed to observe, Master had told him to observe the Child of the North and that was all. He felt that he was not supposed to reveal too much. But Master hadn't spoken in his dreams during the course of eventide, and he hadn't been able to spirit walk either. So, his connection must be weak. What was he supposed to do?
"I will tell you soon Arik. I know you are angry with me. But please just get us back to the house. It will be easier there." floundered the child.
"Oh, were goin' to the house and you're going to tell us ALL, everything, you'll be sure!" snapped Arik.
Aern was beginning to reason just that.
"How long until we arrive at the village?" asked the child trying to ease the tension. "Probably three more hours. We left late as we had breakfast." came the reply.
"You did sleep late too." slipped a slither of cheek from Aern.
"I didn't see you fighting any gnarly beasts this previous evening young sir!" quipped Arik right back. Then the two on the horse found themselves smiling and before long Arik was chuckling to himself.
"It'll be mid-afternoon when we get back, I think there'll be a red sky tonight" said Arik suddenly.
"How do you know that? asked Aern
"Because blood was spilled late last night." replied the soldier.
"That's horrible." Aern pondered aloud. "My master once said something about red skies."
"You have a master?" asked Arik startled by the boy's revelation.
"Of course." stated the child realising the slip of tongue.
"Well, where is he?" asked a puzzled Arik.
"Far-far away, over the western straights." answered Aern. "But I might get in trouble if I tell you."
"Well don't tell me. Besides from what I have heard. Beyond the Western Straights is nothing but the hollow mists."
"That's not entirely wrong, there is a lot of fog." replied the child. "But it's not hollow."
"Is that where you've travelled from laddie? Alone?" came a quizzical look from Arik.
"In a way, I have travelled from there yes." the child squirmed.
"Well, aren't you the ever-growing enigma Aern!" Arik stated, feeling somewhat deflated. He thought he was finally getting somewhere, then the child would avoid the answers Arik was looking to receive. Feigning ignorance or playing coy, Arik felt as if he was talking to an Imperial councillor, who are reputed to have tongues laced with poison. One wrong word and carefully laid traps spring, honey laced words to lure you in followed by words that disarm you with a single utterance. Yes, this mere child could talk around the best of them Arik felt.
With the sun getting lower in the sky, an auburn red began to creep upwards from the horizon. Aern chuckled to himself.
"It appears 'The Tiger' was correct." the child mumbled under his breath.
Looking around Aern found the countryside bathed in the golden glow of a red sky and setting sun, something he and his master always found beautiful. After cresting the hill at the top of the valley he could see the conical rooftops around the village of Risvale. "The home stretch" thought the boy aloud.
"Aye laddie." sounded a jovial tone from Arik. "And it appears there a red sky too!"
"My master used to say that means tomorrows weather will be fair." replied the mysterious child.
"Well, that's something, care to wager Aern?"
"Wager what?" asked the child.
"If the red sky is foretelling good weather, or if it's the herald of bloodshed." said the soldier, with a crooked smile.
"That sounds fun, what do I get when I win?" laughed Aern.
"That's the spirit Aern! Tell you what now, if you win, I'll do the chores with Ursla the next day." Aern's eyes lit up. As much as he enjoyed helping the pretty young lady, he would rather some time to himself. "But if I win Aern, you're going to tell me all about this 'master' of yours!" Aern choked on his amusement. He realised he had said too much. Arik just chuckled at he the lad's response.
They were close to Risvale now and both could only think now of getting out of the cold and eating something warm. So, the rest of the journey was spent with a longing and comfortable silence. Which Aern found to be somewhat pleasing.
The Ram's Hide was busy. After the market, the woodsmen and stall holders had come to drink Celenan's famous mead. Majority the regulars would drink it watered down, but there had been one table in the corner that had not. They were rough looking fellow's and Celenan had done whatever he could to avoid their attention for the majority of the day. Though one of the three had left several hours prior, the two remaining men still had the air of foreboding around them. Which was obvious due to the empty space around the table. Seemed even the tribesmen were giving these outsiders plenty of space.
Celenan could not help but wonder where the other fellow had disappeared to but just as that thought crossed his mind the door to the tavern swung open. In walked a young man, with an air of authority about him. Celenan did not recognise the man, he was of average height and looked like he was Galish, with dark hair and eyes. Though he could have been mistaken, it had been a long while since the landlord had lived in the south.
The man then strode towards the table in the corner. The one with the ominous air to it. Celenan watched as the three men spoke in hushed tones. Then the young Galish looking fellow slammed his hand down on the table and Celenan thought he heard him say "where in the divine is he then?". Most of the tavern quietened down hearing the commotion and as the trio of outsiders noticed this, they got up to leave. The three men lumbered across the tavern in what looked like a hurry. But with the mead and firewater the two larger older brigands had been drinking they weren't getting anywhere fast. Celenan chuckled to himself.
"The drink up here is a lot finer than those Imperial wines I used to drink!". As the three men left through the door into the dusk, the furore in the tavern began to increase again as if a weight had lifted from the shoulders of the crowd.
Rauln was furious. Not only had he managed to secure some fresh labour for the next day, but he had done everything alone. After meeting with Captain Brelius, he had walked around the market and spoken to the local tribesmen successfully convincing some extra hands to come aid with the watchtowers. He had done all this alone and what rubbed salt into the wound was the fact that the three brigand's who had accompanied him had wasted the day drinking. Furthermore, one was now missing.
"So where's Corvell?" asked the Galish Noble?
Both Francis and Ike looked at each other. "We dunno Rauln. Honest, you know what that lowt is like. Hell he'll do whatever he pleases unless old Falco is about. We thought he shoulda been back by now, but the sun is dying down and we don't know where he could have gotten to." spoke Ike for the two of them.
"Well as long as the idiot doesn't do anything stupid. I guess we either look for Corvell or go back to Falco and let him know the situation. As for us, well you two stinks of alcohol. Falco is going to think were the stupid ones. Cross that bridge though a bit later."
"Sorry Rauln, but I think we should go get Falco involved in this." said Francis then.
"Pray, do tell me why Francis, for Falco will blame us for loosing Corvell." came a frustrated reply.
"Corvell ain't one to listen, not to any of us. I just have a bad feeling Rauln." muttered Francis back.
"I do suppose you have a point. We better make hay while the sun shines then and get back to the watchtowers." After the short exchange, the three men left the palisade and rode south at quite the pace. No further words were uttered.
Rigurd watched the three men leave town quickly as he himself locked up his workshop and begun his own route home. "I wonder what's going on with the southerners. They sure do always seem on edge." he caught himself wondering.
"Ignore them Rigurd, they won't be of no bother if you just ignore them." He muttered aloud to himself. As the smith followed his road home south the sun became much lower in the sky. Eventide was approaching fast and Rigurd suddenly found himself wondering what was for supper. His belly then growled loudly, loudly enough to startle Malcurn.
Malcurn was in the chair he crafted during his youth. He had always loved this chair it was always comfortable and never seen to degrade at all. Also, ever since his son had given him a whole sheepskin, he was able to sit on his chair outside his door and watch the world go by. His old age limited him from doing much else and these days he always felt drowsy. Today was no different, after tending his plants he had decided to take a short rest and had drifted into sweet dreams almost instantly. The next thing he knew he could hear the growl of some wild beast. Panicked by the low angry growl Malcurn immediately stood to his feet and squinted his eyes to see better in the dusk light.
"W-Wh-Who goes there?" asked the old man. "I'm just skin and bone ya bloody predator, I won't taste good, leave me be...." But before Malcurn could finish. He heard the low dulcet tones of a voice he certainly recognised.
"Ho Malcurn, what ye doin' out on the porch this late in the day, you're too old for that go get ya fire on. Soon be cold!" Malcurn just chuckled. "Rigurd? I thought you were a bear! You shouldn't scare old men like that, you'll be this decrepit too one day. Swinging that hammer round everyday"
Both men chuckled exchanged a few more words then Rigurd went about his way. Malcurn just slid back into his chair and sighed with relief. To think he had been that scared for a moment Malcurn the axeman was just old man Malcurn now. Once though he had been a giant of a man, felling trees daily tends to build strength. But old age leeches it away like a disease rotting the body. Malcurn didn't want to reminisce alone and soon found himself drifting off to sleep again on the chair in the cold. But tonight this old man was going to dream of his younger days and enjoy it."
Rigurd was not far from home when he spotted a cart left by the wayside. Alone and abandoned. "That's strange." the smith thought to himself.
" Why would anyone leave that here. Has some goods from the market in too." He pondered aloud. It wasn't until he approached closer that he recognised it.
On the back of the cart were two bushels full of berries and provisions. whilst some trinkets lay scattered. All this was clearly from the days market. Looking around Rigurd noticed that the cart had been dragged toward the west and the beast of burden unhitched. Then to his dismay he found a few spots of blood on the snow close to the cart and a shred of blue cloth. Cursing aloud Rigurd stood and immediately began to search the immediate vicinity. He knew that cart was his families because the berries and trinkets were Ursla's, and with the rag and blood he knew she hadn't left the cart here willingly.
Soon Rigurd came upon tracks in the snow, slightly weathered. That of a pony and the two other sets of one large heavy person, one smaller dainty, female. He knew it hadn't been long since the tracks were laid. So he set off instantly, following the trail left by the assaulter and his victim. Panic set in as the smith imagined the plethora of possibilities. Yet he surged onwards, up into the dense vegetation on the side of the western tor. Here the tracks were harder to follow in this vegetation the light of day was rapidly fading, the sun sinking behind the ridge of the tor. Just before the last beams of light disappeared Rigurd saw another scrap of blue cloth on a low hanging branch on a short sapling.
Examining the cloth he knew it to be Ursla's. Though now it appeared there was more blood on the snow around. That's when the Smith heard the cry. A short scream, but the voice was not Ursla's. Carefully Rigurd maneuverer towards the cry. He knew he was drawing closer as he could now hear voices.
"No, no you don't you vile beast of a man. I wont let you!" Swiftly followed by the sound of a slap. Then silence for a moment. The voice was Ursla's. Trying to contain his rage The smith edged forwards, until the light of a torch could be seen illuminating a small clearing, the foliage of the evergreens had concealed its glow until now. Rigurd could see clearly. A large man, not a Northerner was standing holding a rope. Ursla was on the floor sobbing beside him with mottled hair and dirty with spots of blood upon her dress.
The rope went into the trees and when the smith finally made out the shape of a small girl swinging the fire in his heart exploded, he felt as if his entire body was burning. The cold air condensing around his skin, steam rising from his pores. No longer could the Smith contain himself. Without thinking he surged forwards. Berserk now and weaponless he charged his enemy.
Ursla clutched her jaw. She could have sworn the monster had cracked it. If he had hit her any harder she might have died. As she gazed through waterlogged eyes, she could see her friend swinging. The man had forced himself upon poor Agne, she had resisted, but he had hit her. But when she went limp he appeared to loose interest in molestation and went straight to hanging her. Ursla had tried everything. But the brute was just to strong. Now just as the young Northern beauty had resigned herself to her inevitable fate, just as she lay there sobbing and thinking of her family and little Aern. She still found herself far more frightened by Agnes death.
Just as Ursla had resolved the strength to move, she heard an almighty roar, a large man appeared to be charging into the fray. Bare arms and empty hands she could see it was her father the smith. Filled with joy for only a moment she realised her father's mistake. But it was too late. Rigurd had barrelled into Corvell and astonishing speed. Knocking the mercenary off balance. The brute released the rope from his grasp and drew a long dagger from his waist. Agnes limp frame fell to the floor with a thud but the girl let out an audible moan. Ursla sighed with slight relief. Which is when she saw the torchlight glare from the edge of a blade held raised by the kidnapping brigand. Just as she screamed out "Watch out!" The dagger rammed home into Rigurd's back behind the left shoulder.
As Rigurd tussled with the Southerner, he felt warmth in his back and in his chest. A tightness gripped his lungs and he felt short of breath. He knew he could not stop, he had to push on. Just then he coughed and blood an sputum erupted from his mouth. Drawing in as much breath as he could the Smith clenched his right hand hard. He could feel his knuckles turning white, and with every ounce of strength he had, he drove that fist into the ribs of his enemy.
Corvell panicked by the surprised attack. Quickly realised his assailant was unarmed, with as much skill as he could whilst tumbling to the floor he drew his dagger and rammed it home. Relief fell over him as he realised his victory, then he suddenly felt what was like a boulder slamming into his left side. He felt all three ribs snap, the pain was excruciating and as he hit the floor with the body of the Northern man on top of him, he felt bubbles in his chest as he gasped for air. Rolling the heavy body off himself Corvell realised the situation. He was wounded badly, what is more this man looked like the smithy. He was in trouble, he knew that.
"Falco will have to kill me with his own hands." Corvell thought. Staggering to his feet, the mercenary stumbled over to the wide-eyed red head. "Still going to get my fun though!" He said aloud and grabbed the girl by the hair dragging her to her feet.
"Come now!" he barked then dragged her into the darkness.
Rigurd heard what the man had said. But his whole body felt leaden. He was aware he was face down and could feel a warm wetness upon his back with his vison foggy. Pressing his hands on the floor by his shoulders he began to push. Feeling a sudden pain in his back Rigurd struggled but managed to get to his knees where he slumped onto his heels. Closing one eye and rubbing the other he managed to clear his vision enough to make out his murderer and his daughter heading west into the darkness. Likely further up the torr. Reaching his right hand over his shoulder he felt around until he found the hilt of the blade.
"Shit." garbeled the wounded smith. "Drawing every ounce of strength he had he gripped the hilt of the blad and pulled. Gradualy the knife dislodged from bone and Rigurd sent out a ear wrenching scream of pain echoing into the eventide. When the knife came free Rigurd carefull drew it over his shoulder being careful not to drop it. Then he began to scratch into the ground in front of him.