Venna had informed the villagers of her plan to ride on ahead to send help back to them. Besides several wagons, the villagers were able to find three saddled horses and tied them off nearby for her and her sons to ride. But Brenda stepped in and talked her out of it. “You need to sleep, dear. You’ve been non-stop since sunup yesterday. Lay down in the wagon and have a kip for an hour or two. We can lead the horses as we move along the road, and you can ride on ahead after you’ve rested”
“There’s no time for that!”
“Venna, for the love of the Gods, sleep!” Brenda pleaded. “What good will it do to risk a fall from your horse? Please, get some rest. Your boys need rest, too.”
Venna had a pleading, indecisive frown, torn between needing rest and wanting to get word to their local jarl. Brenda took Venna’s hands. “I promise I won’t let you sleep too long, all right?”
“All right.”
“That’s my girl. Come, the three of you can sleep in this one.” Brenda took Venna by the hand, leading her to one of the flatbed wagons. “And we’ll hitch the reins of your horses to the back so they can follow along.”
Venna, Erik, and Orn climbed onto the wagon and lay down. They were out no sooner than their heads touched the bundle of blankets.
ᚲᚺᚱᛟᚾᛁᚲᛚᛖᛊᚱᛁᚾᚾ×ᛟᚱ×ᛟᚱᚾ
Orn stared down at his father’s burning corpse, alongside the two soldiers next to the fire pit. The sickly sweet smell of burning flesh accompanied the acrid smell of carbon from the burning cottages. “Oh Gods, I killed Father, I killed Father, I killed Father!” Orn screamed as he sat up, his eyes wide open and unfocused as they looked frantically about.
“Orn!” Venna screeched, as she bodily shook Orn awake.
“I killed Father!” Orn, covered in sweat from his fitful sleep, began sobbing uncontrollably and pulling his hair. He could hear muffled voices, and it looked like the blurry figures were shouting at him. Finally, his mother’s voice gradually got through, “Orn… Orn.... Orn!”
“Mother!” His face was colourless. The dream formed out of his patchy recollection and his imagination, used his guilt to fill in the blanks. He was looking at Venna now, tears falling from his eyes as he said in a broken voice, “I think I killed him, Mother! I think I burned Father!”
“Stop that!” Venna gave him a stern look of rebuke. “I’ll hear no more of it. He would have been there if that were the case. His body would have been there. They took him, I’m certain. It’s awful, but at least we have hope that he’s alive. We will find him, all right, son? We’ll find him.” She as much said that to him, as she said it to reassure herself while she hugged him close until he calmed down.
After a few moments, she said, “There’s no time for this. We were down for about two hours. I wanted to be in Bosberg before midday. As it is, we will make it by mid-afternoon. Let’s get these horses and ride on ahead.”
In a subdued voice, Orn replied, “Yes, Mother.”
“Erik, come on. Grab your father’s hammer, and mount up. We’re leaving.”
Brenda brought the wagon to a halt, and she and Selti hopped down to help Venna and the boys get sorted. Venna walked over to Brenda, hugged her beloved friend fiercely, and said, “We’ll see you when we arrive in town,” and kissed her cheek.
She held on momentarily before letting Venna go. “Oh, before I forget...” Then she moved to the front of the wagon, rummaged under the driving seat and pulled out a bag, pressing it into Venna’s hands. “There, love. Make sure you eat. You must be starving.”
Venna’s eyes welled up momentarily as she accepted Brenda’s gift of food and hugged her again before turning around and mounting her horse.
Orn had already mounted. Erik had attached the war hammer to his belt and slipped a foot into the stirrup of his horse.
Selti approached him and gently touched him on the shoulder. When their eyes met, she held his gaze momentarily and hugged him quickly, as she said into his ear, “Be safe.” She kissed his cheek and dashed back to her mother, keeping her face hidden from his eyes.
Erik was stunned. He was still touching his cheek, staring after Selti, when his mother’s voice snapped him to. “Erik! Get on the bloody horse. We need to go.”
“Right, yes. Sorry Mother.” Having finished mounting, he wheeled his horse around to follow his mother and Orn. They had already broken into a canter and were heading up the road.
After a couple of minutes, Venna slowed to a trot, and as the boys came up alongside, she handed them each a hunk of bread. After they finished eating and each took a drink, they spurred their horses into a gallop.
They rode along in silence for what seemed like a long time. Gradually, the trees began thinning out before giving way to a lush green hilly meadow. Amongst the grass were dashes of yellow in sporadic clusters of dandelions worked by clouds of busy bees and occasionally kissed by fluttering white butterflies.
When Venna reined her horse in, slowing to a trot. She pointed off to the right slightly, and in the distance, they could make out the wooden palisade that surrounded the town. As they drew closer, the road bent around to the right, approaching the bluff and back around left to run parallel, some two hundred feet away from the water’s edge, leading up to the west gate of the town.
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They could just hear the waves lapping away at the shore and the occasional lonely-sounding cry of a seabird. Seeing this prompted Venna to spur her horse on faster, their destination almost within reach.
As they arrived near the open gates, they slowed down again. They passed through the gates without challenge, jarred by the scene of normalcy in stark contrast to their last twelve hours. There were no sentries, as complacency had since set in, due to there being peace on the island for so long.
They made their way along the main thoroughfare and headed straight to the local Jarl’s keep. It took around ten minutes of riding to arrive there. The building had two guards posted out front. Although the security at the town gate was lax, the Jarl’s keep guards were alert and competent, wearing well maintained helms and mail shirts with blue and yellow surcoats.
They steered their horses to a hitching post nearby and dismounted before loosely tying off them to it. The three of them walked over to address the armoured men. Venna spoke, saying, “We need to speak to the Jarl.”
The guard on the left eyed her warily. “Are you alright, woman? Are you hurt?”
“I need to speak with him now! Mythwitch was attacked!”
The guard’s face drained of colour at what he had just heard. He looked at his fellow, inclined his head, telling him to go see the Jarl. Once his comrade had left, he turned back to Venna. “Please wait a few moments.”
He had recovered somewhat from his initial shock when he gently asked, “Are you all that’s left?”
“No. There are other survivors on their way here, about half a day’s ride behind us.”
“Rest easy. I am certain we’ll have the quick of this.”
It seemed like an eternity before the other guard returned to them, a little winded. “Follow me.”
They walked in through the large double gates and across a large courtyard before arriving at the front doors to the Jarl’s residence. It was a large building with a stone lower story with the upper made of wood. The front beams of the roof overlapped at the apex.
As they entered through the large double doors, they walked into a cavernous audience chamber with two long dining tables, one on each side, for entertaining honoured guests and their retainers, a large square fire pit in the centre. There were various animal heads, stuffed and mounted, hanging from the beams above, and a walkway surrounded the entire hall. An ornate chair sat atop a dais towards the far end of the chamber.
Hanging above the chair on the wall behind it was a round shield, painted in the Sofjorland provincial colours of yellow and blue, with a burnished silver boss at its centre. Seated on the chair was Jarl Sigtrin. A well-dressed man, with greying, well-kept, shoulder-length hair and a clean-shaved face, except for a plaited goatee on his chin. A pair of guards, dressed the same as those out the front of the keep, stood on either side of him.
He regarded them with pale grey eyes tinged with sadness and with his hand, gave a languid gesture. “Approach.”
Venna and her sons moved towards the Jarl and stopped ten feet from him, where they all took a knee and bowed their heads.
He nodded in answer to their obeisance and then spoke in a bored sounding tone. “Rise. Who are you, and what is this I hear of an attack, hm?”
“I am Venna Avdlak, and these are my sons Erik and Orn. We’re from Mythwitch, and last night, raiders in Nevan legion armour attacked us and took some of our men captive, including my husband…”
The jarl held up his hand to interrupt, seeming to come out of his melancholy. “You’re the wife of Vylder Avdlak?”
Venna nodded.
“Vylder, the ‘Black Bear Berserk’? The scourge of Ohlsbach?”
She again nodded.
Although they had opted for a quiet, anonymous existence to raise their family, the Avdlak couple were quite famous throughout the Halder lands. Their tale has given inspiration for many a skald and aspiring young warrior alike.
Orn looked at Erik with a questioning look on his face, and Erik looked back and frowned while shrugging his shoulders.
“By the Gods!” he exclaimed as he stood up suddenly. “And these are your boys?” He didn’t wait for her response, as that last question was rhetorical. He was already coming down from the dais when he gestured to them, “Come, come. Follow me. You must be exhausted.”
As they were about to proceed toward the rear door, Venna also informed him that the remaining villagers would arrive to seek refuge in the town later in the day, adding that they had a prisoner from among the raiders. She explained to the Jarl it would allow his men to investigate the scene of the raid unimpeded and without bias, if it were his will for it to be so.
Jarl nodded as he listened, then waved one of his guards over and, speaking quickly, instructed him, “Form a detachment. Take three ravens and meet the villagers on the road. Direct them to the barracks. We’ll let them rest up there. Then go on to their village and send back your report. Go!”
He moved towards a door to the right and behind the dais. Venna and the two boys followed. Through the door was a hall, and following the Jarl, he led them to a small dining room.
“Sit, sit. I will have some food brought to you.” He moved over to a corner of the room and yanked on a thick cord that was hanging from the ceiling. He then returned to the table and sat down. “So they were wearing Nevan Imperial Legion clothing and equipment, you say?”
“Yes. I don’t know the whys or wherefores, all I know is what I saw. I killed two of them and we captured one. He is bound and being brought here by the villagers. I figured you might like to interrogate him or have him sent to the Grand Duke.”
“Ah yes, I see. I would have to agree…”
Some servants interrupted the Jarl as they brought in platters of meat, vegetables, loaves of bread, and fruits. Some others brought in horn cups and jugs of mead. Orn’s gaze met the prettiest green eyes had ever seen, belonging to a blonde serving girl. She looked back at him and blushed as she flashed him a dazzling smile that made his cheeks flush and his throat dry. After she placed the tray she held on the table, she glanced at him one more time before leaving the room. He had the strangest sense that he had seen her before.
With an emphatic expression, Jarl Sigtrin pointed at the food, signalling for them to enjoy, and declared, “No matter what happens, we will not allow this invasion to go unanswered. We must inform Grand Duke Viggin. I shall accompany you and your sons to Fludavera tomorrow.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Venna as she bowed her head in his direction.
“My men will investigate and report back. The more witnesses, especially impartial ones, the better. It was wise of you, painful though it may have been, to leave the village untouched after the attack. And better yet, a prisoner! We shall get to the heart of this travesty. You have my word.”
“Yes, lord,” she said, her voice shaking a little while she once again wrestled with the rising tide of grief and anguish.
“Be assured, my men shall put them to rest with utmost care.”
ᚲᚺᚱᛟᚾᛁᚲᛚᛖᛊᚱᛁᚾᚾ×ᛟᚱ×ᛟᚱᚾ
The leader of the guard detachment sent by Jarl Sigtrin removed his helmet. As he leaned against the front corner of the cottage, the sun had since set, and the men were setting up in the village chief’s residence.
They had found Chief Bon among the dead, a short distance from the village square. The soldiers loaded the enemy bodies onto a cart to separate them from the villagers and reverently buried the villagers in a communal grave.
They had to complete a large part of this by torchlight, as the sun was already beginning to set by the time they arrived. Fortunately, it was mid-summer, so the daylight persisted long enough to afford them the time to investigate the area and get an idea of how things unfolded.
He had already sent his report via the ravens upon surveying the scene, corroborating Venna’s account. He needed to get them on their way before the daylight disappeared. At first light, he planned to pack up and be well on the way back to Bosberg.