The snow covered fields gleamed golden, and Erik peaked behind his shoulder.

“The knight rode on his white stead, to the tower to save his princess. The ogre there guarded, ugly green. A monster, a frightening giant. See, a lance, a knightly spear. The monster he fell to save his bride. Love they made thereafter.”

Erik smiled, for he had always enjoyed The Song of Harald Ogreslayer. “Tonight we’ll feast on charred boar!” he hollered.

His men cheered and Erik shared their joy.

For a moment.

Under a frost covered birch a wanderer sat. Blood poured from his arm and the cut in his stomach. His horse lowered her muzzle, as if to comfort him.

Erik swallowed, took a deep breath. “Halt!” he commanded, and the men stopped.

“What is it?” Eskil asked. A good squire he was. He had been at Erik’s side for many years, all since their time as children, playing with wooden swords together. Eskil’s long, brown strands of hair hanged down his shoulders. He had been marching, hunting, and marching again in his dirt covered chainmail and his gambeson beneath it. Erik saw that Eskil thought it was uncomfortable to wear it, yet the squire did not complain.

“Help him.”

Erik had barely said the words until Eskil ordered some men to leave their fellowship. They jogged to the wanderer, and some took his horse while others helped him to his feet. The wandering man gave them an exhausted gaze. Erik felt the beats of his heart, hard and fast, as the men brought the bleeding wayfarer into their hunting fellowship.

“The Aea forest is not far away,” Eskil said. “We can make camp for the night.”

“The Aea forest it is, then.”

They traversed the winter road as Erik looked behind his shoulder. His men rode or trudged laboriously on the long road that run across the snow covered meadows beneath the fells. The Green Road, one of the finest merchants’ roads in Engsmark.

The wayfarer gave Erik a haunted look, filled to the brim of weariness. He held his arm across his stomach, yet blood gushed out of his belly; dripped from his other arm, where he was wounded from a sword cut. His steely eyes seemed to have seen many hard days. I hope we can save him.

*

The wild boar hung pierced on a stout wooden stake over an open fire while the men laughed and joked. Erik looked at them where he stood under the snow-laden branches of the beech tree. In the large Aea forest they had made camp, tents raised, braving the winds, as did the trees. Erik drank a sip of mead and sighed.

“The men are satisfied, and the wanderer has woken up. Would you like to visit him?” Eskil asked.

“What are we waiting for?”

They began to walk under the snow-covered branches. The cold was in the air and their breath turned to white smoke. Erik didn't want to think about the shadow that haunted his dreams. For ten years he had dreamed the same dream, a nightmare about a lion cub backing away from a black wraith. The wraith slithered towards him, its red eyes feeding off the fires of the Abyss.

“Have you heard orders from your father?” Eskil asked.

“No. And I don't want to talk about him.”

“But we have to decide, the people are suffering. It is increasingly rumored that a rebellion is spreading, and people need a leader. They need us. I need you.”

“I don’t want to.” Erik felt his jaw tighten, and an owl hooted in the night.

“Very well,” Eskil said. “I'll let it be.”

Erik nodded, continuing to walk in silence.

Finally they arrived. The gray-brown tent where the healers performed their ungrateful work loomed in front of them. Erik looked dreamily at the sparkling stars and sighed. He entered the large tent, Eskil following him.

Chandeliers were well placed in the large tent to keep warm, and the lanterns hung over the patients. Bandaged men lay plaintive or sleeping on the beds. Erik met the gaze of a young nursing maid and nodded.

“Welcome, Your Grace ...” the head physician said, bowing.

Erik had no time for his politeness. “How is our guest?”

“He's better now, Your Grace. Thanks to the magicians. He was badly wounded and it would have been impossible to save him if it wasn't for them. We've healed him and bandaged his arm and stomach. Gave him some hearty midnight wine to restore his spirit.”

“That is good,” Erik said, catching his breath. “Can I speak with him?”

“I don't know if he is able to speak, Your Grace, but you can give it a try.”

The Wanderer lay on a stretcher. Is it a sin to wake him?

Erik was too curious to care. “Wanderer?” he asked as he gently touched the older man's arm. Erik took one sip of midnight wine from the goblet Eskil had given him.

The weary wayfarer opened his eyes and his gaze hit Erik straight in the heart.

Erik swallowed. “My name is Erik Magnusson, and I am the son of Jarl Magnus of the Vale. You have heard of him?”

“I have,” the wanderer replied. His gaze fixed on Erik. “He is a tyrant.”

Erik almost chocked on the midnight wine he had drunk from his goblet. He coughed.

“I know it’s hard for you, as it is for any son to defy his father.”

Erik sat in silence as the wanderer tried to sit up but gave up panting and fell back onto the bed again. “But you have to hear the truth.”

“The truth.” Erik snorted. “About a father who never noticed one. Never bothered. Birger was always the favorite.” Tears, shimmering in Erik’s green eyes.

“The sins of the father are never the sins of the son.” The wayfarer coughed, and a nurse gave him some more midnight wine. “I have seen a lot you have not,” the wanderer continued. “Wonders from far away, strange animals. War and intrigue, the strong oppresses the weak.” The wandering man sat up in his bed and spat out the midnight wine on the tent floor. “If there is something I hate, it’s tyranny. Your father is a robber baron in all but name.” The wayfarer’s gaze carved into Erik like a knife being twisted. “I was on the run from Lion’s Keep when you saw me. If you hadn't, I would have bled to death. Or worse, had your father’s dogs caught me.”

“Do not say so,” Erik pleaded.

“I saved a wedding couple yesterday. The soldiers would cut off the man's tongue, and in their cruelty, they decided to rape his bride. I intervened.”

Sweet mother. Erik didn't know why he thought of her. An unpleasant hunch took him.

“It led to this morning's fight,” the wandering man said. “I knocked down twelve soldiers and defeated a knight.”

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“By Kyrrastos!”

“If you ruled, it would never have been necessary.” The wanderer examined him, sitting up in his bed, bandaged, healed by magic, surgery and the midnight wine with its healing properties. “You're afraid. Afraid of your fate and what it means for you.”

Erik remembered his mother and her love ... and his father's coldness. “My fate was always the fate of the youngest son. To live in the shadow of my brother. He was always the heir. My father was so proud of him when he was initiated into the Brotherhood of Light.”

“The Brotherhood of Light, is that your father's sect?”

“Yes. Can you tell me your name?” Erik did not want to talk about his father’s sect. It made him uncomfortable.

“If you knew about my life, you wouldn't ask such a question.”

“What do you mean?”

“My name is the Wanderer. I will say no more about it.”

Erik put his hand on the Wanderer’s healthy arm. “Do tell your story and I tell mine. I will say why I don’t want to take up arms.”

“Well,” said the Wanderer at last. “Listen then, you blue-blooded spitter, for I will not say this again.”

Erik leaned closer and gave the Wanderer a respectful glance.

“My name is Delgorian Rindarron. I was born in a small village outside of Orroth in the southwestern part of the Republic of Bazyn-Evenheim fifty-three years ago. I grew up as a poor but loved son. The peace lasted until the day minotaurs raided our village and killed my family. I was twelve.”

“I'm sorry.” Erik truly felt sad about Delgorian's tragic childhood. Although his childhood had been tragic in different ways,

“It's been a long time. After that I wandered around aimlessly with only hate to keep me warm. So I walked for days until Ethelu's men found me.”

“Ethelus, was he the last emperor?”

“Yes, and I lead the revolution that overthrew him.”

Erik listened intently.

“They took me to Evenhem, the biggest city in the whole world. You know what they say: All roads lead to Evenhem. The capital made a lasting impression on me. Ethelu’s men gave good words to the headmaster of the finest war academy, and I was accepted. I trained diligently with, and without weapons for many years. I was sent to war against the minotaurs in the southwest as an eighteen-year old. I fought for a few years, and I think I was around twenty-two, twenty-three when I participated in the crusade against the zin-djahi people. Among death, blood and smells I felt an incomprehensible and indeed indescribable horror. Corpses littered the desert, their bodies drenched in blood, their souls restlessly searching … ”

Erik thought about his first battle. A small skirmish against Tyrimer's men it had been, but bloody and brutal all the same. Ghosts haunted his dreams, and he remembered throwing up afterwards. His brother still mocked him for it and his father had only coldness to offer. Five years had come and gone, but Erik remembered it as if it had happened yesterday. He looked at Delgorian.

“I met my first wife during the crusade, but she was taken from me. Sherwa, sweet Sherwa … After all my sorrows, I made my way to the city of Feinar where I met a serving girl. She became the love of my life. Sicolin … Ah … the most beautiful name in the world. We had a son whom we named Delgared.”

Erik drew his fingers over his chin. “It's a good name,” he said while Delgorian pulled the covers around him. “Yes ... ” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “You can excuse me, but I can't take it anymore. Give me the Midnight wine!”

“Servant!”

A page lifted Delgorian’s head so he could drink from the bottle which the other leaned against his mouth. Erik watched shakily. Delgorian drank as if he had wandered in the desert. The wine ran down his chin and wet his chest.

“That's enough now,” Erik said.

The pages obeyed and Delgorian laid his head on the pillow. “Sleep. Sleep now…” He closed his eyes.

The chill was in the air, brooding constantly among them. By God, why would it be so cold?

*

“He’s gone!”

Eskil had sprinted into Erik’s pavilion and now he stood there, like some nervous lassie. His brown hair hung in strands as his face whitened. Had the nightmares kept him in their grip this night, much like with Erik?

“What do you mean gone?” Erik asked.

“He isn’t lying on his stretcher. He’s disappeared. Without a trace.”

“He can't just disappear, can he?”

“With all due respect, Sir, he isn’t here.” The squire gave him a sad look. Erik scratched himself as he stood up from his chair. “We have to hurry!” He looked out through the tent flap and held out his arm. Eskil put the chainmail on Erik. He was already dressed in gambeson.

Erik stormed into the healers' tent a moment later with Eskil behind him. “Wake up, you morons! Wake up, by God!”

The head healer slowly stood up. He yawned and rubbed his sleep out of his eyes. “What is the matter, Sir?”

“Where is he?” Erik pointed to the empty stretcher where the wanderer lay.

“Your Grace… I…”

“Explain how no one noticed him. Not you, not the pages, not the guards. By God, the man can be anywhere by now!”

“I'm sorry, Sir, so sorry! I should have watched over him all night.” The old man bowed before Erik's feet while Erik himself stood at a loss. “I forgive you,” he said heavily. “Eskil, we ride now. Prepare our mounts.”

“As you command.”

They ran out of the tent in the morning mist.

Erik's black steed thundered forward between the thinning beech trees, away in the mist of winter. The clatter of hooves was the only thing that was heard as they galloped.

*

No... In the middle of the empty courtyard a pole stood. An iron chain dangled down from it and in the chain hung a cage.

I came too late. Perhaps I can convince father that Delgorian deserves to live?

Delgorian was covered in lacerations and his brownish gray hiking coat had holes and tears everywhere. The old man's hair and beard was too dirty, like he hadn't bathed in months.

“It's horrible,” Eskil said as Erik set off.

“Now keep calm and do as I say.”

The squire nodded.

The cursed castle towered over them. The guards let Erik and his men in. Eskil had a hard time keeping pace with Erik's thundering steps. In his father's audience hall a group of bailiffs and nobles had gathered. Erik was too angry to remember their names. His eyes went to his father, who was sitting in his wooden seat with lionheads, and his brother, who was sitting in the lion-adorned seat next to father.

“What is the meaning of this?” Erik demanded.

“So nice to have you here. Was your trip arduous?”

My brother. “Spare me your false politeness. What have you done with him?”

“Always so forward. It's getting boring at this point.” His brother's blond hair curled down his shoulders as he tugged his elegant moustache. His blue eyes glinted with mockery. His father sat with his face resting against one palm, letting the other arm lie limply on the wooden seat. His gray hair was cut short, and his blue eyes were always cold. The tapestries billowed down from the wall behind him. Erik had never liked them, especially the one behind the throne. Sky blue it was, with three white doves. His father's personal coat of arms. Traditionally, their house had a golden, rampant lion on a green field as their coat of arms.

His brother whispered something in his father's ear and whatever it was it seemed to have its effect for his father woke up. “Erik,” he said. Mild, coming from him, but Erik wasn't going to be fooled.

“My Lord.” Erik obliged himself to a bow. Slowly he sat down on his left knee and laid his hands over the upright right. He met his father's gaze and when his brother noticed it, he gave Erik a sneer.

“Beloved son, why are you here?”

Could it really be possible? Had he heard wrong?

Erik cleared his throat. “My words apply to the wanderer: I want him released.”

Erik raised his eyebrows when his brother replied: “Why do you want to release a lawbreaker?”

“He has broken the law, but don't you see that he served justice?”

Magnus, the ever hardened father, was as stiff as ever and Birger scoffed. His evil brother poisoned his father against him all ready and Erik felt pure frustration, it stiffened his hands into fists. “Are you blind and deaf? The laws are unfair, or do you admit that the soldiers’ crimes can be excused? That the rapes are allowed to happen and the executions to go on? That it is right to cut out people's tongues?”

“You call them people - I call them rioters and traitors.” Birger grinned, as if everything was a funny game. Eskil tugged at Erik’s arm. I'm not going to budge. “What evidence do you have?”

“I? We have proof. Father and I have proof, don't we father?”

Magnus stood up and Erik trembled with both fear and anticipation.

“Once upon a time I was like you: A good-hearted fool. I have been set to rule the Vale and rule it I do. Even if it often goes against me to see so much suffering. But I do it because it is my duty. The people are my children, but children don't always know their best. They turn and then you have to discipline them with an iron fist.”

Mother. Erik stood up shakily. “So you judge them? Your own people.”

“They are rebels, they stopped being people the day they chose to go against me.”

“So they deserve to have their tongues pulled out? Being raped and executed by monsters called men?”

His father did not answer and instead it was his brother who pulled the strings: “You know about outlaws.”

“Keep your forked tongue out of this!”

“I will not allow a feud between my own sons! Now make peace before blood flows.”

Erik bit his lip. It was hard to hold back the anger when he faced his brother's smile. Think about something else. Think about anything. He thought about Delgorian's words, which only made him clench his fists. “Father, with all due respect I must argue that this is wrong. Laws exist for the sake of justice.”

Magnu’s eyes blackened, and it didn't get any better when his brother replied: “Laws exist to be obeyed. It is our right as nobles to do as we please with our subjects. It is their God-given lot to crawl in the dust for better men.”

“That's what a robber baron would say.”

“That's enough! Guards, grab him and bring him to the dungeons. There he can think about his actions.”

Magnus had raised himself from his throne so fiercely that both guards and servants clamored, but only for a moment before they went forth to carry out their Jarl's orders. Eskil drew his sword but thought better of it.

“Get out of here!” Erik shouted. “Don’t try to save me. Ride!”

“But ...”

“Ride I said!”

“Let Eskil go,” Jarl Magnus said as he sank into his throne. Erik saw his father’s weariness, just as he had seen his anger. Father, please.

His father ignored him as Erik was dragged away. His brother whispered in his father's ear.

Magnus laughed.

I hate you, brother.

Their eyes met.

Birger smiled, a sly smile, his eyes twinkled with arrogance.

Erik wanted to scream. Scream out all his madness and grief as the guards dragged him away. Instead he was silent, but he never broke his brother's gaze. I hate you, brother.