It had been over a year since Tristan had seen Uncle Bodry. Where he lived or what he did for a living, Tristan had no idea. He used to say he was a fisherman and that he lived up north in Wehadon, a larger town in central Windem. Looking back, Tristan knew that was most likely a lie. He was far too important a man to be a fisherman. He had that spark about him. Besides, every time he saw him he always had new scars and pains to tell of. Fisherman don't get beat up that often.

Uncle Bodry crested the Twin Hills and then let his mount canter down the hill gracefully. His horse was a pale white and gray with a beautiful mane of hair. Bodry’s hair was longer than it had ever been–and fuller somehow. A long scar ran down his cheek, which appeared old and healed. It looked a terrible injury, but Tristan realized it only reflected just how long Uncle Bodry had been away. Uncle Bodry reined in his horse, shouting a friendly greeting to Tristan.

“Hullo there, young Tristan! It has been far too long!” Bodry dismounted with some discomfort, pulling his walking stick from its place along the rump of his horse. It was secured by a leather harness, which also kept a satchel and a warm blanket strapped down. He had a horrible limp and his joints ached with every step.

“Uncle Bodry, how good to see you. It has been far too long indeed.” Tristan had been in the middle of chopping wood. His morning hunt had already been a success. Three dead animal carcasses hung from a line. The blood was draining and trickling onto the ground. The grass was stained crimson where the carcasses hung. The largest amongst the kills was a forest fowl, which wasn’t much bigger than the rabbit and the squirrel that hung next to it. Tristan was planning a delicious stew that should last him and Ma the entire week.

“It looks like you’ve gained some hunting skill since I’ve last seen you…and some muscle!” Bodry looked Tristan up and down. His eyes were duller than Tristan remembered. And tired. The two embraced. Tristan was now equal in height with Bodry.

“I’ve done what I can since you’ve been away. Ma doesn't move around much like she used to. She hasn’t left home in years.”

Bodry seemed to brood over that for a moment, curving his lip. He scratched his head, then ran a finger ponderously over his scar. The scar was raised and textured. “Let’s go and see her shall we?”

Tristan led Bodry inside to find Mildred sitting coldly at their small two-chair round table. A cup of black coffee sat in front of her but it had been cold a long time. Her stare remained far off until Bodry spoke, startling her.

“Hello?” asked Bodry. Mildred turned slowly. Her mouth forming an “o” at his sight.

“Did you not see two figures instead of one standing inside your door?” Bodry gave a deep bellied chuckle.

“I’ve grown old and numb. I don’t see as vividly as I once did,” replied Mildred. Her eyes were tearing up. Tristan hadn’t seen as much emotion from his Ma in years.

“You’re not old yet, lady Mildred. What’s this I hear from Tristan about you not leaving home? You aren’t sick, are you?”

“No, no. I am healthy…just sad, is all,” said Mildred. Tristan dropped his gaze, fists clenching and jaw tightening. It was more than she told Tristan all the times he’d asked. Why couldn’t she just talk? He was old enough to shoulder whatever burden weighed her down. He wasn’t sure if it was the incident with Elric still, or just missing her husband–his father. Perhaps it was both, but Tristan did not feel entirely compassionate. He was available if she needed companionship or someone to talk to. Only, she never did talk to him. She was numb and distant. To Tristan, she was just as gone as his father was.

“What of you?” asked Mildred. A soft, gentle hand went to his scar. She touched it and then pulled away, as if the touch of his scar had shocked her hand.

“Ah, that,” said Bodry, referring to the scar. “Roads aren’t as friendly as they used to be, is all. Ran into some trouble on the road a while back. It's been nearly seven months since. Worse than it looks, if truth be told.”

Tristan wondered if that was the truth. He knew the roads were worse than they had been, but his body seemed beaten up, and that sort of wear on the body didn’t just occur from a one-time beating. His body seemed battered, as if it had aged twenty years in the span of two years.

Bodry looked back and forth between Tristan and Mildred, noting that further explanation was required. “My transport was ransacked traveling through Eudenium. I was delivering a large order of fish to the lord of that city when my entire supply was ambushed and taken. Four large thugs. It was a nasty thievery. Left me for dead, they did. They wore gray cloaks. I believe they may have been Denderrikans. They were of Windem, that’s for sure.”

Tristan’s skin went cold. It could have been any of the Denderrikan warbands that were roaming the lands. Something told Tristan that Bodry knew more than he was letting on. Of course, Bodry had no idea that Tristan was working for the Denderrikans, at least in part. Mildred seemed indifferent to the circumstances of Bodry’s folly, only slightly concerned for his heavy limp and his ugly scar.

“On that topic,” said Bodry, lifting a bony finger, “I wanted to warn you all of the trouble that is spreading across Windem. War is brewing, and, in fact, war may already be happening all around us.”

“War?” said Mildred, gasping.

“Yes, war.” Bodry looked forebodingly at Tristan. “That is why I am warning you to keep a sharp eye out for trouble. The Denderrikans have adopted a pesky strategy. They have hundreds of warbands spread across the kingdom. They’re planning to take Windem down, town by town, city by city. The King is trying to keep it quiet, for fear that all of Windem’s citizens will fall into a panic. He doesn’t want citizens to think he’s lost control.”

“Has he?” asked Mildred.

“I wouldn’t say so. Not yet. He’d better think of a better strategy soon though. He hasn’t been able to keep up with the movements of these warbands. He dispatched a new batch of spies last month, but they’ve churned up very limited intel. These warbands have intelligent leaders. Ascendiens, they’re called. Trained to kill like an assassin and trained in tactics and strategy like a war general. They’re the High Lord’s project. One of the King’s spies found out about the Ascendiens recently. They found a Denderrikan warrior and tortured him in King Tarren’s Tower of Terrors until he spewed. Didn’t take long.”

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“How do you know all of this, Uncle Bodry?” Tristan had a hand to his chin. His hair was still messy and sweaty from his morning endeavors. “I thought you were a fisherman?” He wanted Bodry to spill whatever he’d been up to lately. The look in Bodry’s eyes told Tristan he had done anything but fishing lately.

“I am a temporarily displaced fisherman. In the meantime, I’ve been taken on as a King’s spy. The King needs as many eyes and ears as possible. One of the Kingsguard found me beaten and bruised after I was ambushed. He was kind enough to take me somewhere to get patched up and on the way there we took to talking and exchanging ideals and thoughts about the kingdom. He told me I ought to consider doing some spy work for the kingdom, and I said I would. After all, the ambush I endured spurred me to fight back–and how better to fight back against these rogue invaders than to support the King in his efforts against them?”

Bodry looked wearily to Tristan, lifting an eyebrow. “You haven’t seen anything odd in Sesten, have you?”

Tristan scrambled for a response, stumbling over a few words that were hardly even words. “I–erm, yes, no…I have not. I mean, you know how I am Uncle Bodry. I hardly even leave the house. I’ve only been over to the other side of Twin Hills a few times to buy things from downtown but even that is rare now that I am able to hunt game for me and Ma.”

Bodry eyed him. He wasn’t suspicious, Tristan knew, but he was searching him. “I suppose that would make sense,” Bodry finally said. “Well, if you see something that doesn’t look right, make sure to let the Kingsguard know whenever they visit next.” Bodry pulled out a bag full of jingling coins. It had been tucked away in his cloak. “This should tide you over for the next couple months with taxes. I am sorry I didn’t come sooner with some coin.” Bodry tossed the bag down onto the small round table that Mildred had been sitting at.

Mildred regarded the bag indifferently. Tristan could hardly keep his hands from ripping open the bag and counting up its contents. Tristan used as much restraint as he could muster, deciding the bag would be there when Uncle Bodry left. No sense in counting it up now while he was still there.

“Uncle Bodry, if you don’t mind me asking,” Tristan paused thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes staring at a dark spot on the wooden floorboards. “What is the cause of all of this conflict?”

“You mean between Windem and the Denderrikans? The war?” Bodry was waiting to spill his thoughts like a bloated wineskin. Tristan nodded. Bodry continued. “Some say its just politics. It’s no secret that there’s been bad blood between Denderrika and Windem for centuries. Others say its a more pointed issue, related to the feud between Brantley and Windem. Its speculated that the Brantish and Denderrikans are working together. I believe it may be something darker…something more sinister.” Tristan leaned in. Even Mildred appeared mildly interested now.

“Something ominous seems to have gotten a hold in Windem–something from a different land entirely. There are reported incidents among the King’s spies of creatures of a different species that wander the land spreading disease and nullifying the five senses. I’m not sure of its relation to the war, but many think it is related somehow. It seems to be working against Windem, so I can only imagine that the High Lord of Denderrika has some sort of dark magic on its side. One can only speculate for now, but that is why I wanted to visit before too long had passed. It’s best if you keep your doors locked and your eyes open. They are calling one of these creatures a Verasifer, which roughly translates to Chain Slinger, in our tongue.” Bodry’s eyes were wide with fear, as if he was looking at one that very moment.

“What are they?” asked Tristan.

“Oh, I don’t know if they are to be talked about so casually,” said Bodry. “But if you hear the clanking of chains dragging, close your eyes–or run. Whichever is more suitable, do it. One look at the eyes of Verasifer, and you’ll lose all of your senses. They’ve been seen wandering in the north closer to the Citadel, but I just wanted you to be aware if they should chance to make it this far south.”

Tristan nodded his head. He didn’t know what to say. He hoped he’d never have to hear the sound of chains dragging and clanking, the thought of that sent a chill down his spine. Part of him wondered if that whole “losing your senses” thing was just tall tales. He’d now heard of a being that could kill your senses just by looking at it, a being that rode a black horse clad in all black that killed crops and spread disease, and a deadly force from the northern reach called “The Shadow”.

Tristan didn’t dare mention any of those things to Bodry. He held a deep fear–almost a guilt–for helping the Graycloaks. He needed the coin. But now that Bodry had dropped a fortune of wealth (in the form of a coin pouch) on their round table, Tristan considered that his time providing intel to the Graycloaks could be at an end. In the back of his mind, he knew that was not possible. Dalko had selected him to provide intel for a reason. He could have had Loren do it, or anyone else in that Company. If he stopped reporting to them now, they would become suspicious and he didn’t want to face Dalko in that instance. He didn’t seem like a forgiving man and Tristan had no plans of finding out what happened to men who were found to be unloyal.

After another hour of visiting and catching up, which included Tristan telling Uncle Bodry all about his strength training and the new sword he had acquired (which he quickly informed Bodry that he had found abandoned in the bank of the creek in the forest) Bodry and Mildred got to talking about old memories and the “days before Gareth’s appointment”. Tristan assumed that referred to the days before he was busy as Lord Commander. Shortly thereafter, Uncle Bodry subtly asked Tristan to step outside so he could speak to Mildred alone. Tristan was happy to oblige, only disappointed to miss out on what was discussed. He knew that Bodry wasn’t dumb. He could sense that Mildred was worse, much worse, than when he’d last seen her. She was depressed, numb, and hardly alive. She was gaunt and paper thin.

Tristan stood with his ear to the door. He could make out the gist of what was being said. Bodry did what he was best at–making others feel heard and comfortable. Once Mildred started talking, Tristan heard, she opened up like water breaking from a dam. She told Bodry everything. The grief she still felt, the hole Gareth had left, and finally–the incident with Elric. That’s when Tristan learned something new and equally terrifying to what he already knew. Elric hadn’t actually physically harmed Mildred. It had been consensual, but there was something that Elric had told Mildred afterwards that had been haunting her since the day it happened. Now it was haunting Tristan as his ears listened.

“I watched Gareth die inches in front of me. He was slipping and sinking, his body helplessly sinking beneath the ice and into the deadly water. I could have pulled him out, could have saved, but he wouldn’t have survived. It was too cold. He’d have been lucky to have made it off the icy tundra we were on. Besides Mildred, I wanted him to die. He was married to the lady I love, and that lady is you. He deserved death, and if the water hadn't killed him–I would have.” These were the words that Tristan heard Mildred relaying to Bodry. There was more too–a host of nasty things that Elric said about Gareth. But the way that Mildred felt was that she had betrayed Gareth by laying with Elric, and she had done so moments before Elric expressed his disdain and utter jealousy of Gareth.

“So it's guilt,” Tristan whispered quietly to himself. He walked away from the door, wanting to hear no more. He felt his anger slowly turn into despair. He felt sick. His stomach was in knots. He suddenly thought he might vomit. How could this be? Later that evening, Uncle Bodry was on his way–leaving hastily so that he could arrive at his next outpost before sundown. The stars had grown dim in recent weeks and the nights would be extremely dark. The other night, Tristan was arriving home late from a report to Dalko and his men and it had gotten so dark that he could hardly see his own hand in front of him. Because of that, Tristan understood Bodry’s haste to get going.

“I’ve got something for you before I go,” said Uncle Bodry. He went over to his pale white horse and grabbed something that was tethered to its back. It looked like a long pole at first, but Tristan quickly realized it was not a pole, but a spear.

“Use this to protect yourself, Tristan. You should be strong enough to wield it now…take care.” Bodry gave him a tight embrace, and then he was off. His horse cantered over the Twin Hills and disappeared over the other side. Tristan stood and watched him go, still watching long after his horse had disappeared from view. The way the sun had shone on Bodry as he rode away reminded Tristan of a hero from a story.