The tall grasses swayed with the gentle breeze. Fields this late in spring were often overgrown with tall reed like grasses and spiked weeds. The past few years this field had been used as pasture, a place for the various herds to graze. Breod could tell, even if he had not already seen the cattle graze here. He could tell because it still smelled like cattle. Sure, there were the scents of cut grass and even some wildflowers, those that hadn't been strangled by the weeds, but more than that it smelled of cattle. Breod hated the smell of cattle. His older brother Dean didn't seem to notice. No, Dean kept swinging away with his scythe. Cutting swaths of grass with each pass of the blade.
Their father had finally gotten rid of the cattle. Breod had, at first, been thankful when he heard that Ocur had sold the herd. His joy was diminished the next morning when his father woke him and his brother at first light, they had to clear the fields. The old pasture would need to be used for something, and cutting grass is no work for old men.
Dean straightened, stood his scythe up and stretched.
"Ya know, I get that father is older now. And his bones are all creaky and stiff, but did he really have to get us up this early?"
The young man stifled a yawn, "I mean, the fields not going anywhere."
Breod took another swing at the forest of tall greens before him, then stopped to wipe at his brow.
"I'm sure father has a reason." Breod said. "He won't do anything without a reason."
Dean sneered at his brother, "I'm sure he has a reason." He said mockingly. "You're such a kiss boot you know that? You never have your own thoughts do you?"
Breod's only reply was a shrug. Dean was always meanest when he was tired. Or hungry. Or bored. Today it seemed to be a combination of the three, perhaps more. Dean shook his head in a sort of condescending manner.
"Someday I won't have to do chores like this." Dean said. "Someday I'll get off this stupid farm, unlike you. While you're still stuck here cutting grass and plowing fields, I'll be off on an adventure. Exploring the world, or becoming a knight. Something better."
Breod thought for a moment. He thought of his brother in shiny armor, somewhere far away. Maybe someplace where there's lots of trees or mountains. For some reason, the image of his gangly older brother in armor seemed rather silly. He couldn't help but smile at the thought.
"What are you smiling about kiss boot? While I'm off being a hero, you're going to be stuck here cutting grass until your old and grey like father."
Dean spat, and then continued to swing his scythe. Every few seconds there was a duo of out of sync swishes. They punctuated the conversation in a syncopated fashion.
"How would you even become a knight, Dean? I thought knights were highborn. Not some lowly farm boy like you and me" said Breod as he swung another arc.
Dean snorted, "shows what you know, half wit. Everyone knows that a king will knight someone who wins enough battles."
Breod wasn't sure about this. If everyone knew it, why didn't he? It wasn't worth bothering though, once Dean got an idea in his head, it was easier to move a mountain than convince him he was wrong. So Breod ignored it.
"Bre, look! Look over there! The road Bre!"
Breod hated it when Dean called him that. Not that Dean cared, but still, it managed to irk him to no end. Breod directed his attention to the road that lined the far side of the overgrown field. He gaped.
There, walking along the road was a line of men. Some rode atop horses, but many were on foot. All of them had some sort of armor, most some sort of mail about their chest, most again had helmets that shone and reflected the mid morning sun.
"It's an army…" Dean whispered. "It's a damn army…"
Breod had never seen an army before, but he had imagined them. This looked like maybe a part of one, but all the same, he had never seen this many men with sword and spear. It was an almost surreal sight. So much steel, so many blades. Breod felt a nervousness begin to flutter inside of him. He wasn't sure why exactly.
Dean quickly turned to Breod, " Do you think they're headed for the village? I bet they are. I bet they need food, or water, or… Bre! What if they need recruits!"
Dean ran his fingers through his hair all the while grinning from ear to ear.
"I gotta get my things!" Dean turned to start back to their home, "You finish up here kiss boot! My destiny has come today!"
"What in the name of… Dean! You get your scrawny hide back here!" A gruff, raspy, and near ancient voice called out suddenly.
Dean stopped with a startle and whipped around to see Ocur, his and Breod's father.
"I leave for nary an hour and already you decide you want to start slacking. I swear boy, The gods didn't give you the sense they gave a stump! When I was your age…" Ocur's voice trailed off as he looked towards the road.
"What's that?" He said.
Ocur stared out at the armored men with a frown that while hidden by his beard, was very apparent. He looked to his boys, then back to the road.
"You boys get back to the house." He said.
Breod and Dean shared a look. Dean had a mischievous glint to his eye that unsettled Breod. Dean always looked like that when he was about to do something that Breod would inevitably be pulled into, and thus punished for once their father found out.
Ocur started off towards the village that lay just over the hill. The same direction the men were walking in.
"But father," Breod started, his voice a little shaky. He felt a growing unease. "They're going towards the village. Are you sure we should just… leave you?"
Ocur stopped and turned back, his gaze hard. "You heard me, Breod. Get to the house. Both of you. Now." His voice left no room for argument.
Dean, however, still had that glint. "He's right, you know," he said to Breod, a smirk playing on his lips. "Father's got this. We should listen to him and get to safety. Maybe these soldiers need to see some real courage."
Breod sighed. He knew where this was going. He watched as Ocur continued his determined walk towards the approaching soldiers and the village. Dean, after a quick glance to make sure their father was out of earshot, winked at Breod.
"Come on, 'kiss boot'," Dean whispered, already turning away from the path to the house. "Let's go see what's really happening."
Breod wanted to protest, to argue, but Dean was already moving, skirting the edge of the tall grass, keeping low. Breod knew it was pointless. Just like he knew he would follow Dean as always.
He caught up to his brother quickly and together they began to stalk through the swaying reeds, moving parallel to the road, but staying hidden. The sound of the marching men grew steadily louder, a rhythmic thudding that vibrated through the ground. Breod's heart hammered against his ribs, a mixture of fear and unwelcome curiosity. He kept an eye on Dean, who seemed to be enjoying the thrill of disobedience a little too much.
They crept closer to the edge of the field, near a small cluster of thorny bushes that offered a good vantage point. Through the gaps in the leaves, Breod could see the soldiers more clearly now. He could make out the different insignias on some of the shields, though he didn't recognize any of them. There were banners, too, unfurling in the breeze, emblazoned with a strange beast of some sort.
Dean nudged him. "See? I told you it would be exciting." His eyes were wide with a boyish wonder that Breod couldn't quite share. Breod was more focused on the grim expressions on the soldiers' faces, the way their hands rested on their sword hilts, and the disciplined, almost frightening silence that accompanied their march. They saw father ahead of the column, it seemed like he was trying to talk to a man on horseback. The man in question was much better equipped than his fellow mercenaries. This man had a full suit of plate armor that gleamed in the sun. It was intricate, a work of art, almost. There were etchings on the pauldrons, on the gauntlets. Breod couldn't quite make out what they were, but he knew they were there. The man had a black surcoat over his armor, emblazoned with the same strange beast that was on the banners. He had a helmet, a closed one, that hid his face from view. He carried a greatsword on his back, a truly massive weapon, almost as tall as Breod himself. He was clearly the leader.
Breod watched as his father approached the armored man. Ocur gestured but his voice was too low for Breod to hear. The armored man, however, seemed to ignore him, simply staring straight ahead. One of the soldiers on foot, a burly man with a scarred face, moved to intercept Ocur, pushing him back roughly. Breod's heart leaped into his throat. He wanted to shout, to run, but he was frozen.
Then, the armored man on horseback raised a gauntleted hand. The burly soldier stopped, and Ocur, regaining his balance, stepped forward again, speaking with renewed urgency. The armored man still didn't speak, but he leaned down slightly, as if listening more closely now. Breod held his breath. What could his father be saying to them? What did these soldiers want?
The man atop the horse after a moment seemed to grow disinterested in Ocur's words. He straightened out and waved the old man away. Occur, never one to be so easily dissuaded, stomped off towards the village. No doubt he would gather the village council. He always had their ear it seemed, thought Breod. Dean nudged him again. "See? He's just waving him off. Told you they weren't interested in some old farmer." There was a note of disdain in his voice, but also a hint of disappointment. "Come on, let's get closer. I want to see what they do when they reach the village."
Breod hesitated. "Dean, maybe we should just go home. Father's going to be furious if he finds out we didn't listen."
Dean scoffed, already starting to move again. "He won't find out if you keep your mouth shut. Besides, what's he going to do? Yell at us? We get yelled at every day. This is different. This is important." He disappeared further into the tall grass. Breod watched Dean disappear into the undulating expanse of tall grass. For once, however, a stubborn, unyielding resolve settled deep in his gut, pushing back against the familiar tide of his brother's impulsiveness. He was tired of being dragged into Dean's reckless schemes.
His father's anger was a known quantity, a familiar thing he had endured countless times. It was predictable, understandable, and ultimately preferable to whatever unpredictable chaos Dean was about to stir up, alone this time.