Hildebran and a dozen of his men just about managed to sneak their wives out of their homes and onto the backs of their horses. A couple of the wives refused to leave behind their children, and they waved goodbye to the men who decided to flee. Hildebran couldn't help but feel pity for the men who chose to stay behind. They would most likely serve as servants to the will of King Arynda and his necromancer, Savok. Together, those two would turn what was once a glorious kingdom of the north into a dark place of sorcery. And who was to say where Savok's allegiances lie?

Hildebran believed he had his own tale in mind, but he could not be sure. He had heard rumors of dark times in other provinces of the north. "The rise of the necromancers," some were calling it. The fall of kings and the rise of sorcery. It was an age in which central leadership had crumbled under the heavy weight of war.

"People are willing to succumb to evil men because they want less death. It is a shame they actually believe that will work in their favor." Ser Ovald pulled his horse up beside Hildebran. Hildebran nodded sullenly but spoke no words. Ser Ovald had left nothing behind except his pride, which he had evidently actually brought with him it had seemed.

The slow, steady stream of horses trotting through the tame hills of no-man's land brought with it many tears and cries of the women and even some men whimpered softly. They had lost their home, and many brothers, loved ones, and children's lives were to be scattered under the hand of Savok, surely.

"Where do we venture to now, leader?" asked a man of the Fereton's battalions.

"What is your name, friend?"

"I am called Alvar Nightclaw, son of Edmund Nightclaw."

Hildebran hesitated a moment, the name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't think why.

"We venture until we find a home—either to Scourden, Ulthrak, or possibly Weptswur. Does it make a difference to you?"

"No, m'lord—"

"—don't call me lord. I am Hildebran."

"Oh, sorry Hildebran, forgive me. Consider me in your service whatever decision you make. Although I must say I do recommend Weptswur. There's a strong king there, he should take you in, he's got the honor of a saint I believe they do say."

"And how would you know that?" Ser Ovald was eavesdropping and chimed in from Hildebran's other side.

"My father resides in Weptswur, I write him often."

Ser Ovald pursed his lips and refused to reply. Elder Rattar rode up silently, replacing Alvar at the front line beside Hildebran.

"I do reckon we ought to find somewhere soon Hildebran. These people are in no condition to travel far at the moment. You and I both know we cannot camp outside of secure walls for too long, not with the condition of the realm—you know—with nomads and free men on the loose now."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Hildebran nodded his head and onward they trotted. They cantered their horses on through the swaying green grasses for hours. A few times they stopped to relieve themselves and fill up on the rations they brought with them. One man threw up and claimed he could go no further because he was too sick. His wife ended returning the horse to its feet with a little help from another man. She then ended up saddling up with man who helped her, much to the dismay of Hildebran, although it was his own doing. Aside from that small instance, there was little talk and little to talk about. They were headed into the unknown.

At the crest of a large hill they paused, looking down into a large valley where at the bottom was a small, guarded kingdom with high walls made of sharp stakes at least thirty feet high. Odd place to set up a kingdom, Hildebran thought to himself. Elder Rattar reigned up slightly in front of Ser Ovald, before Ser Ovald had to move his steed to the right much to his irritation.

"We must be in Scourden now, eh? Classic Scouwards with the penned in fence of a fortress. The stakes are a trademark of the Scouwards."

Although they held a high view from the top of the crested hill, they still could not make out much from within the confines of the kingdom due to the high walls. It was Alvar Nightclaw who spoke now, "Are they sending out riders? Oh, yes, they're sending them to us."

"Do you need to state the obvious, Alvar?" Hildebran gave a sideways glance at Alvar. Alvar shrugged.

The riders came out as a group of twelve men with banners raised high, the wild boar of Scourden flapping high and proud on the banner. The men bore the hallmark signs of Scourden men. Long hair flapping in the wind, steely eyes stained a dark brown, almost black. They ascended the hill and Hildebran suddenly realized a row of twenty archers had crept out from behind the fortress gates and lined up their longbows across a line towards where they stood at the top of the hill, as if to negate the disadvantage they held by being at the bottom of a gulley.

It was a while before the men finally arrived at the top of the hill. They paused about ten feet back. No one spoke for a moment, but eventually it was the Scourden man who spoke.

"Greetings friends, I am Eyofred of Scourden. I take it you are nomads of the who have lost favor with your lordship?"

Ser Ovald was quick to reply, "No, we just abandoned our fallen King and are in search of...new..." he trailed off, realizing in all reality they were just a group of nomads at this point, being in the situation that the man had just described. That is why he needs to learn to keep his trap shut more often than not. Hildebran was often on edge when in the presence of Ser Ovald, he never had grown to enjoy Ser Ovald's company.

The Scourden man had a smirk of arrogance at Ser Ovald's foolish comment.

"From where do you come? We do not accept men from certain lands so be straight about it."

Hildebran spoke this time, "We are from Fereton. We are not affiliated with their leadership. We are seeking refuge and a place to stay for a couple of days until we get our feet on the ground and finish grieving the loss of friends and family."

"Very well. Fereton is a friend to us or was a friend. Just know, if you should have any ties to the people of Weptswur or their King, you may well never see a day of life again, at least inside our walls."

"Why is that?" It was Alvar that spoke this time, Hildebran and Ser Ovald shot him a look.

"There is dark sorcery said to be brewing among that land and with those people. A necromancer rules in tandem with the King. We will not have that darkness rule our lands, and it is our duty to protect the north as it is. Enough talk, if you intend on joining us, come."

The escorts made a wide turn and the man behind Eyofred blew his horn and the gates opened, the archers turned their line around, and the hoard of men crowded through the gates of the kingdom and into the fortress.