The wind was howling and the sky was dark with not a tinge of light. The rain pittered and pattered upon my cloak as I marched on the muddy path. My hands were numb as I rubbed them together and my breath was a mere fog.

It was a miserable night to trudge down and up the everwinding hills. The overgrown grass and fields of wheat danced with the wind and rain, like a strange lullaby across the land.

Only a single farmstead stood out in the cloudy night, with a striking light from a lit candle, as Agatha trudged frantically after the wisp of a boy who seemed to know nothing of rest even in rain and wind.

I chuckled and continued on my path and soon enough the town came into sight, laying at the heart of the valley. It was filled with specks of light, lanterns glittering even in the rain and wind. I trudged downwards, on the now cobbled path. Half way down the valley, stood the old ramshackled stone tower, with nary a lookout or light in sight. I struck the wooden door with my fist, pounding it.

“Get out here!” I knocked again. I cleared my throat, yelling. “Who’s on watch, it better not be you Harrien!”

The door groaned open, as the young boy stood with a lantern in hand, his eyes drowsy, as he attempted to smile. “Just grabbing a bite, Yacob. Was just out here, but the rain, oh and the wind, Yacob. The wind!”

19 Summers of age and still can’t tell a lie without quaking. His freckles and smiles stood starker by the swaying light of the lantern. His blond hair disheveled, clearly by sleep. “Oh, my manners. Come in Yacob, come in!..Ma would have my head. Tea?”

He yawned suddenly. I took the lantern from his hand. “Go grab Yandar, grab yourself a spear and some rations as well. We’re going to the library. Wash your face while you're at it. Oh and grab yourself a shield.”

“The Library, why would we be?” I gave the boy a glare “...ah I’ll wake Yandar, sir.” Harrien ran off without another word.

I sighed and invited myself inside, closing the door and taking a seat on the nearby chair. Should have asked him for something to eat.

I closed my eyes and focused, rubbing my hands underneath my cloak as I waited in silence, with the scuffling of feet on stone surrounding me. The warmth was a great reprieve to my chilled fingers and feet.

Harrien returned first, “Yacob, I’ve brought you tea.” His voice upbeat, the wonders of youth, I suppose.

I opened my eyes, “My thanks.” I sipped it from the metal cup, feeling much better. “You do seem to know manners, your ma would be proud.” I chuckled as he groaned.

Yandar lumbered in, the foreign man disheveled. His wild flowing hair, his tunic and his heavy wool spun cloak made him look even more akin to a giant. He quickly came and sat next to me, all but collapsing onto the chair, much too tiny for his frame. I watched its quaking legs warily, pinching my nose as it creaked.

“What do yoo’s need?” Yandar was eating rye bread at a rapid pace.

“Alarian is dead, Yandar or so Sarath says. He found Viran wandering in the mud and cold.”

The large man blinked, “Dead?”

“So, I’ve been told.”

“Yes,yes. The body. Yes, go we will.” His heavy accent stumbling on the words. “Dead, you are sure? Sarath is sure?”

“172 summers past, he was no spring chicken.”

I put the tea aside, and raised myself on my weary legs. My back ached from the sudden exertion.

“You are old. Yacob. Killing you would not be easy.” I chuckled at the sincerity in his voice while he seemed to mull over his words. I opened the door, and gestured for Harrien to exit first with the lantern. The boy quickly complied, huddling into his cloak, while lighting the path, back up the hill.

We trudged upwards, as the rain died down. Small relief.

I fell in lock step, with the giant. “I’m pretty sure my back is going to give out one of these days or my legs, Yandar. That’ll kill me, if these damned winds won’t.”

Yandar chuckled, as we moved behind Harrien. “Grand view, Yacob. Worthy of the many climbs.” I exhaled steadily as we reached the top of the hill overlooking the town.

“I suppose so, Yandar.”

We trudged west, on relatively flatter land, through the muddy path to Alarien’s home. The forest was on the horizon. Harrien was walking ahead of the both of us, as Yandar whistled at him to slow down. The town was still in sight, but soon faded to view as the cultivated forest and the winding roots became our world. The lantern light hung and swayed from Harrien’s hand, being the only constant aside from the whistling wind in the forest.

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Harrien spoke, his voice soft but loud in the din of silence. “Always different at night.”

I shrugged, “You have sharp eyes. The wonders of youth, I suppose. But keep your silence as we get closer. Let’s see if this was a murder.”

We soon emerged to a clearing, with the large oak tree standing behind the stone manor that seemed to be like a beacon jutting out from the forest. The manor was dark.

The clearing of the manor created a path down below, on a very steep decline. We could see farmsteads, on the horizon, inside the valley itself but outside the town proper, barely in sight.

No one could make that climb, not without a lot of equipment and effort. I exhaled, and breathed. I saw, listened, smelled. My world became a cacophony of sound, sight and smells as the world imploded into focus, into clarity.

“Yandar, take point, Harrien in the middle, lad. I’ll be in the rear. Douse the lantern.” Yandar nodded, and exhaled, as his eyes gained clarity. Harrien nodded hesitantly as I spoke to calm him. “It’s fine lad, you’ve got the oil for the lantern, if it gets too dark, we can just light the wick again.”

Yandar took his sword in hand, and led the way, pushing the massive door aside. Harrien did as he was bid, stowing away the lantern and raising his shield and sword instead as we marched into the absurd home of Alarien.

We moved through the hallway, until we reached the main chamber filled with dusty books, and a grand table for reading. The smell of copper, of blood filled my nose. Yandar sniffed the air and took the lead up the stairway.

I heard no life, but the creaking of the oak tree outside the manor itself, the sound of wind against stone. The only constant was me, Harrien and Yandar. Our breathing, our heartbeats.

Harrien stumbled upon the stairs, as I quickly caught the boy and led him slowly onto Alarien’s personal library on the second floor, a massive labyrinth of books and old tomes. The single mantle on the wall was missing a sword.

Fading lit torches, with large stained glass windows facing outwards into the side of the forest greeted us. The library was quiet, the smell of blood became more pronounced. Then came the stench of rotting meat and fruit, a tinge of revolting sweetness mixed.

We trudged down the corridor, moving to the center of the labyrinth of books, with a hint of light from the corner, next to the stained glass depicting events of grace.

The old man lay on the table, his unblinking face facing us, his cloudy eyes unseeing. His white hair was disheveled, his garments stained in blood, as he lay on his books.

There was a sword in his back. The entering wound and exiting, through his chest, barely, onto the table itself. At Least it missed the book.

Harrien grimaced, his face twisting as if he was a second away from retching. He could smell it now.

I pinched my nose and spoke; “There doesn’t seem to be anyone else. Harrien, guard the corridor, just there. In sight. Scream if you notice anything.” The boy nodded and quickly left.

“Dead, Yacob. What next?”

I held up my hand as I sniffed the sword, which held nary a scent I could make. “He’s been dead for at least a day, Yandar. The rain and the wind make this much harder. He had at least finished eating, bathed, then sat down to look at the”- I hovered over the open tome, “The accounts of the Black Hills?”

I leaned closer, noting softly. “Stabbed in the back, near immediate death, the sword went through his heart. No signs of struggle.” The old man had his lips curled into a slight smile. I began to chuckle at the sight, “Smiling, better way then most.”

Yandar shuffled on his feet, his eyes missing the clarity and focus from before. “Yacob, how?”

“Wondering that myself, he doesn’t seem like he had much to drink. We’ll check the kitchens later.” There was not any food in sight, a cup was next to him but the sword was clearly the bigger culprit.

I turned and spoke to Yandar, “He should have noticed the sword leaving the display mantle, should have heard movement. He should have struggled. Now, either we have a very good killer or a very lucky one. We need motives, we’ll clear up the body in another day or two, put the old man in the ground. You and Harrien go grab some men, we’ll make postings here. ”

The lumbering giant nodded, “I’ll come back as soon as possible. In Peace, brother.” He placed his fist upon his heart and uttered a quick prayer before marching away at a rapid pace, taking Harrien along with him.

Their footsteps faded as they left, their beating hearts fading from my senses. I took a seat, next to the old man. The dead old man, and snorted in laughter. “Aye, dead. Happens to the best of us.” I took a whiff of the cup, “Maybe poison made all this possible but can’t smell anything strange about it.”

Caw Caw. I closed my eyes and focused on the sound. I opened them, looking into the lurking shadows to see, I looked up and down as my dagger came into my hand with a flourish. I tapped the table in a rhythm, long lost in time.

I glared, as if it would make the shadows fade. “I like my ramshackled hut much more than all of this. So much space makes a man uneasy.” The crow had gone silent, and nothing else could be heard.

“Paranoid you said. Always jumping at shadows Yacob” I mimed the dead man’s voice, in some grotesque imitation or puppet performance as he lay with a smile on his face. That grim smile, I chuckled.

No other heartbeats. I looked over at the old man again, standing from the chair. “Can’t say you don’t deserve it. But a sword in the back, a dagger in the night. No, you should have seen it coming, you should have struggled.”

My eyes landed on the crow. “But the question is, how did you get here?” I stroked my chin. “Before or after he died?”

The crow moved from the darkened shelf, its beady eyes staring at me, as it quickly turned away, discontent with eye contact, flying away out the chamber and fading away near the stained glass windows.

That was not a normal crow. A smile tugged at my face, there was a game afoot and a wolf in the pen.