Chapter 1

Three on a road, not counting the goat

“Elder Erwo! Elder Erwo!”

A massive, rugged man dressed in a worn, long-sleeved homespun shirt and shorts paused his scything upon hearing the distant voice of a child. He raised his scythe, wiping it slowly with a bundle of freshly cut grass.

“Elder Erwo!” the young boy shouted again, running up towards the contemplative reaper "Uncle Marko sent me. There are newcomers... two of them, one is really big, and the other thin with a dark face. And they have a baby, a tiny one. They say they want to live in the community.”

“Mm-hmm,” the man grunted, taking in the information. “Two men, you say?”

“Yes!” the boy nodded eagerly.

“With a baby?”

Again, the boy nodded. The elder wiped his scythe, leaned on it, and stood there for a moment, deep in thought. After contemplating, he reached a decision:

“Very well... I shall go and see for myself.”

With those words, the man hoisted the scythe onto his shoulder and began walking steadily across the freshly mowed meadow toward the village.

The village of Gardale had emerged not too long ago. One summer evening, on the edge of the forest under the towering pine trees, a caravan of two dozen covered wagons appeared, each drawn by a pair of powerful oxen. The canvas on the wagon roofs had faded slightly but was still relatively intact, with only a few patches and repairs. This meant that the caravan hadn't been on the road for too long - several weeks, maybe a couple of months. Ahead and on both sides of the caravan, about a dozen horsemen rode in lightweight chainmail armor and sturdy yet plain helmets. The horsemen were mostly armed with spears, with two or three of them carrying swords hanging from their belts, and two with bows strapped to their saddles. The horseman riding at the front halted his horse, raised his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the setting sun, and surveyed the scene that unfolded before him. The forest in front of him receded slightly, forming a small hill covered in shrubs, and one of its steeper and more rugged slopes descended towards a small river, which, at this particular spot, widened its banks, creating a noticeable bend. On the opposite bank, the forest also receded a bit, giving way to a stretch of land covered in lush heather. The whole scene exuded such tranquility and coziness that the stern features of the horseman involuntarily softened, and his lips formed a semblance of a smile, which, judging by the structure of his facial muscles, had never been there before. The horseman turned his face towards the caravan and, waving his hand, shouted loudly:

“Halt!”

The sturdy man riding a couple of paces behind him pulled on the reins and, in turn, turned his head, assessing the vista that lay before him.

“So, we'll stop here, captain?”

The first man, still captivated by the forest and the river, chewed on his lips, then scratched his beard, and with a solemn grunt, replied:

“Mm... who knows. We'll see. We need to spend the night and see it under the light of day, then we'll decide. And... uh, I'm not a “captain” anymore, I'm the village elder. Understand?”

“Alright then” the man nodded. “I'm not used to it yet.”

“Alright” the elder nodded gravely. “Get down, let's unharness the cattle. They've had a long day. Whose turn is it today to tend to the livestock?”

“It's Dewon's turn” the man reported promptly. “I've been tending to the cattle for the past three days, and Vulk did it yesterday. So, it's Dewon's turn today. Definitely.”

“Very well, fetch him,” the elder spoke wearily.

***

Two months later, as the autumn rains arrived, a sturdy wooden stockade with a watchtower stood proudly on a hill cleared of shrubs. Behind it, three long communal houses with fresh pine-shingled roofs gleamed. This location was remote, requiring a twenty-day journey from the nearest settlement, which also housed former soldiers and resembled this one. It had been established ten years ago and primarily accommodated veterans from the esteemed Second Ayruvian Cavalry Legion. In contrast, the former soldiers of the Sixth Ironclad Phalanx had gathered here. The infantry held themselves in higher regard than the light cavalry and were determined to face the challenges independently to uphold their honor. They prioritized constructing the stockade first before turning their attention to housing. Gathering sufficient hay was crucial to ensure their livestock's survival before the onset of winter. They had an abundant supply of flour, barley, and onions for winter provisions and were confident they could acquire more through hunting. Although only a few of the former close combat fighters possessed marksmanship skills, they had managed to procure a substantial number of snare traps from the storehouses of the Imperial Registry of Affairs in Phaeta, the biggest city in this province.

By the time the first frosts arrived, the community celebrated its first weddings. In fact, there were seven weddings happening all at once. Soldiers rarely have the chance to start families, and veterans rarely accumulate wealth. According to ancient soldierly beliefs, it is forbidden to save money for civilian life. Whatever coins end up in a soldier's purse quickly find their way into the hands of tavern keepers or disreputable establishments.

When a soldier reaches old age, they are left with no place to go. Returning to their native village is not an option as their home is taken by a brother or son-in-law, and their intended bride is already married with many children. The only options left are becoming a bouncer in a tavern or living as a destitute under a fence. However, there is another path - to become a settler.

By gathering a group of veterans and submitting an application to the Imperial Registry of Affairs, they can become settlers and live with some basic provisions. The Imperial Registry doesn't make people rich, but it provides each settler with tools like axes, plows, scythes, nails, horseshoes, a sheepskin coat, fabric, and other essentials. Sometimes, they even send orphans who grew up in imperial or monastery orphanages to join the veterans.

For orphans, life choices are limited. Where can an orphan girl go without friends, family, or skills? Becoming a maid isn't easy, as good households don't usually accept orphans. Working in a tavern means giving up freedom to the owner. In the city, the only option seems to be finding a decent man quickly. That way, they gain a husband, protection, and a home.

Orphan girls often find solace among former soldiers. Even with significant age differences, nature takes its course. By the following spring, the first baby arrives, and then a child is born every year. Once a woman starts having children, it's hard to stop. It's just a part of being a woman. They may face years of widowhood, but usually have their children for support by then.

Before they know it, the village grows, and the population multiplies. Another village emerges nearby. Just like Phaeta, which was once a veterans' village too and now serves as the capital of the entire eastern border of the province, ruled by an imperial procurator. However, out of all the settlement villages, only every third one remains after a few years. Settlers usually venture to distant and uninhabited places, where they can't expect human assistance. Whether it's harsh nature, enemies, beasts, or the Shadows themselves, each settlement must face its challenges alone. The old military training doesn't always come to the rescue. So often, in one autumn, a stockade proudly stands on a hill, and joyful plumes of smoke rise from sturdy roofs. But come spring, only charred remains of the settlement can be found in that place...

***

The elder reached the village by noon. The forest now began almost a league from the village. Some of the trees were used for building houses and fences, some for firewood, while those that were not suitable for either purpose were simply burned, clearing the land for fields. Across the river, there was a communal pasture on the meadow.

But the men went to a sandy hill six leagues north of the village for harvesting. The terrain there was marshy, making it ideal for abundant wheat growth even in the driest years. However, the place was far from peaceful. These were untamed lands, where bears chased women away from raspberry bushes, wolf howls occasionally echoed, and even more terrifying creatures roamed the area. For instance, last summer, old Leido went to search for a stray heifer in Heather Deep and vanished. It was a week later when the men discovered his body in a completely different location: by the Dark Lake. The distance from there to Heather Deep was about ten leagues in a straight line, or fifteen if you went through the woods. And what they found wasn't recognizable as old Leido anymore. Despite being a strong man who had fathered more than six children, all that remained of him was a mummified figure - skin and bones. It was clear that only the Shadows could be responsible for such an atrocity. Hence, the men ventured to mow the grass in groups. Eight armed individuals would gather with helmets and spears, and off they went. However, by noon, it was time to get back to the village. It wasn't advisable to wander alone through the woods, especially once dusk fell and darkness enshrouded the land. The gates were promptly locked, and a guard was posted on the watchtower...

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Entering the gate, the elder didn't immediately head towards the village center but leaned his scythe against the fence and climbed onto the platform of the watchtower. During the day, the kids would sit there. Right now, one of Vulk's sons, the eldest, was on duty. He was a sharp-eyed boy and spotted the elder approaching from a long distance. Well, that's surely due to their upbringing with the soldiers. They train the boys in martial skills from an early age. The kids start by doing what they can: serving on guard duty, cooking for the group, and One-eyed Mirtul has even started teaching archery to those who showed promise. Though he himself wasn't particularly skilled, he knew how to teach. Old skills, just like habits, die hard.

The newcomers looked suspicious. Firstly, there were only two of them. Eight years ago, when the elder and his group were making their way here in a caravan, they were ambushed twice: once near the Lonely Mountain (although calling it a mountain was a stretch, it was more like a hillock covered in forest, but Shadow creatures were abundant there), and they fought them off with fire and silver. The elder, back then, was forced to spend all the silver from his purse, the one they were given for settlement expenses in the Imperial Registry. He deeply regretted it later, realizing that they were practically defenseless because silver is the first and only line of defense against Shadows.

And then, another time, near the Twilight Mire, there was a pack of wolves, each the size of a good-sized calf. Pure-blooded vargs they were! But steel dealt with them just fine. It was during that incident when the wolves carried off an orphan girl named Keyme. She was a lovely girl... The elder himself couldn't help but admire her. She had everything - skillful and tender hands, some plumpness to her figure, and hair that cascaded down to her waist... It's all in the past now...

But how did these two manage to make it through all the perils together? And on foot, no less. And why did they have a goat with them? Well, maybe the goat is not a mystery by itself - If they have a child without its mother, they need something to feed it, and goat's milk is the obvious choice. But goat bleating can be heard from miles away. As soon as it bleats, all sorts of hunters will rush in for fresh meat, and you won't even find the remaining bones likely. On the other hand, the goat seemed docile, standing there nibbling on grass...

The bigger newcomer was dressed in leather boots reinforced with iron, leather pants with additional tanned plates sewn onto the front, and a jacket with the right shoulder shining brightly, as if its owner carried some weight on his shoulder, like a two-handed axe or a large two-handed sword. Well, he's certainly the right size for such a weapon. But the elder didn't spot anything of that sort nearby.

A regular sword hung from the newcomer's belt, albeit with a slightly fancier hilt and crossguard, and he had a plain knife in sturdy leather sheathes. And what's peeking out of his bag? Could it be a blacksmith's hammer? Ah, they could really use a blacksmith... now the elder himself is the blacksmith, but he's not much of one... just enough to sharpen blades.

The second man was also clad in leather, but of slightly better quality. He was also dark-skinned. The elder knew that there are lands where people like that live. He has seen them himself. Five of them served as bodyguards to Count Olmer once... And he had two lightweight curved swords as weapons, which the elder heard were called yatagans. They were crossed behind his back so that the sword handles protruded over his shoulders. Terrifying weapons. Fighters who know how to use them are called "many-handed." In that same clash at the Stone Bridge, where Mirtul's brother met his end, the Shadow managed to break through to Count Olmer's banner, where they clashed with his bodyguards. And among them, the count had a dozen "many-handed" warriors... The elder didn't witness the battle itself, but he managed to see what was left of the enemies. Horrifying... as if a meat grinder had passed through. But it's still very suspicious how these two managed to make it here, just the two of them, on foot... It was time to talk.

Descending from the wooden watch-tower, the elder smoothed his beard with his hand and solemnly made his way towards the center of the village. Both of the newcomers had noticed him before old Marko did, but they didn't show it. They waited until Marko finally spotted the approaching elder (Marko's eyesight had been deteriorating lately, and he had been quite ill, which is why he didn't join other villagers for the harvest), and he joyfully exclaimed:

“Here comes our elder, Erwo.”

The newcomers turned and respectfully bowed to the elder.

“Greetings, Elder Erwo! May the gods send you health and prosperity.”

“And greetings to you, travelers," the elder replied solemnly. “What are your names?”

The shorter one pointed to his companion.

“He is Wolet the Hammer, and I am Gur the Lizard.”

The elder smiled. The man truly did resemble a lizard - agile, alert, ready to react swiftly to any situation. And his companion's nickname suited him well, considering his massive hands. Perhaps he carried the child in his palms all the way here... Speaking of which, where was the child now? Ah, the women must have taken him.. You couldn't always rely on women for serious matters, but when it came to looking after someone else's child, they would do it with an unprecedented enthusiasm - washing, feeding, and doing all the necessary tasks. They could be harsh with their own children, but when it came to another's, they were as tender as a hen with the egg. Women were peculiar creatures - Erwo could never fully understand them.

“So, you're mercenaries?” The elder asked with a wry smile. Mercenaries didn't earn much respect. How could you willingly risk your own life for money, being a pawn in someone else's war? Killers for hire.

“Yes, Elder.”

This was already evident from their nicknames and the calluses on their hands, formed by the grip of swords or axes. The dark-skinned one even had calluses on his fingers. He must be skilled with a bow as well. Such a person wouldn't be a burden to the community. And there is a place to live if it comes to that... Leido's house has plenty of room, and Marko surely wouldn't last much longer. He's the oldest among the veterans, the first to be laid to rest. So, one more house without a man will be available. And Leido's and Marko's wives are still in their prime. The only question is, how did they pass by the Lonely Mountain? There's only one road - no way to avoid it...

“Have you traveled from far away?”

“From far away, elder.” the dark-skinned man answered again.

“Where from?”

The black man smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth.

“Oh, I wouldn't advise you to go there...”

“And how do you know that I haven't been there? You tell me, and I'll figure it out myself.”

The one who called himself Gur sighed.

“We escaped from captivity, from the Black Pits.”

“Oh, my” Marko gasped. The elder also clicked his tongue. Difficult indeed. Marko expressed their surprise:

“So, that means...”

“That's right,” Gur said gloomily. “We didn't come from the east, but from there,” and he waved his hand to the north. “To be honest, we didn't expect to find a settlement here. But our luck is still with us it seems...”

The elder pondered. The situation turned out to be very, very complicated.

“Hmm... So you want to settle with us?”

“Yes, elder, we would like to... we haven't seen a human face in a long time.”

“And what will you do next?”

The dark-skinned man smirked bitterly.

"Well, there's nowhere to go. Our entire squad was wiped out. Only Wolet and I survived... Well, the captain too... But they impaled him right away and put him in the fire... But he got his revenge - he had a vial of poison on him, hidden. So when they started gutting him, he hid it in his mouth, and while he was catching flame, he swallowed it. We were able to escape because the Shadows poisoned themselves with the captain's flesh. Otherwise..." He waved his hand. The elder nodded approvingly. He had heard of such things before, but he had never met anyone who had witnessed it firsthand.

“And what if the Shadows will be after you?”

Gur shrugged.

“Well, that's unlikely. They would have caught up with us long ago. It's been two years since we set off. That's why we headed south, even though going east would have been three times shorter, just to throw off the pursuit. But it doesn't matter now. If we didn't shake it off, they would have found your village anyway...” He fell silent.

“Why are you the one doing all the talking? Does your buddy not have a tongue?”

Gur nodded.

“That's right. When the Shadows caught us, they tore out everyone's tongues, alive or dead. They spared mine, though. I was a curiosity to them, so they decided to wait and ask questions.”

The elder nodded in understanding. The human tongue is a delicacy for the Shadows. Sometimes these creatures could forget everything else, completely enthralled with their favorite food. During the Crimson campaign, their regiment was heavily cornered at the Midday Pass. They managed to hold their ground only because while they were pinned to the rocks, almost half of the horde stopped fighting and started tearing out the tongues of the dead, devouring them right on the spot. That's how their squad managed to hold out until the armored troops eventually broke through.

“What was the job, then?”

“Well, elder, forgive me, I don't know. And even if I knew, I wouldn't say. It's the secret of the employer."”

The elder nodded. Gur's refusal didn't disappoint him; it rather pleased him. It meant they were honorable men who knew how to keep their word.

“What crafts are you skilled in?”

Gur brightened up.

“Oh, quite a few! Wolet is a skilled blacksmith, and I'm adept at pottery. I'm also handy with a bow, so we won't be a burden.”

The elder nodded again and moved on to the main question.

“And where did you find the child?”

Gur grew somber once more.

“Well, we didn't leave alone; we were with a woman. Of Noble blood, but we don't know who exactly she was or where did she came from. She had her tongue ripped out too. We didn't even know she was pregnant. In the first few months, she ran quite fast, but then... well, let's just say she gave birth, but... ” And he waved his hand sadly.

“And where did the goat come from?”

“Well, like I said, she was one of the Nobles. When she realized she would die soon, she just conjured it up from somewhere. At first, we were afraid she would bleat all the time, but no, she's quiet.”

The elder nodded once more.

“And how old is the child?”

“Almost four months, I'd say. A fine little lad. Quiet. I don't know, maybe she conjured something for him too, but we have no trouble with him. He eats and sleeps, sleeps and eats.”

The elder nodded in his familiar way.

“And what did you name him?”

Gur moved his shoulders awkwardly.

“Well, his mother named him. Here.” And he handed over a piece of thin fabric that, despite the hardships of the journey, looked as if it had just been cut from a merchant's roll. It bore a scratched complicated symbol. The elder had limited literacy, but understood that the word was not written in the human language.

“Is that a name?”

“Well, sort of... But we don't know how it sounds. She was mute, as I said.”

“And so, now the boy has to live without a name?” The elder frowned.

“No... we named him Grey. Like our captain.”

The elder nodded again. They fell silent, and then the elder asked:

“So the journey was difficult?”

The dark-skinned man snorted.

“To be honest, elder, we don't even know how we made it. We saw some awful things...” His voice trailed off.

The elder furrowed his brow in deep thought.

“Hmm... well then, stay for now. We'll gather the village folk and discuss your further stay in the evening.”

And thus that was settled.