Where there is Smoke

67th Day of Summer

766 Karloman’s Peace

The migrating owl flew through warm skies over the fields of Roth County.

The name of the lush meadows below, bordered by grassy hills, meant little to the owl. The owl had no use for names. To the owl, all that mattered was that it might provide a suitable place to nest. Somewhere warm and cosy with a woodland nearby to hunt in and a meandering stream full of fish to eat.

The idea of possession was foreign to it too. The fact that the land belonged to the Reubke family was neither here nor there. The owl didn’t care that the family had claimed this place as home for several generations, and it was not bothered if the eighteen members of their family didn’t want him sharing their roof. If the owl decided it, he would find his way into its rafters, one way or the other.

It circled the manor, its predatory gaze focusing in and out, trying to make up its mind about the place.

It was equal parts beautiful and ugly. Emerald grazing fields stretched for miles in every direction, housing hundreds of cattle. The large lumbering beasts picked and munched at the countryside grass and the blanket of wildflowers that coated it. The humans had built many nests. Large wooden barns and stone and timber houses with colourful roofs. They didn’t impress the owl. The owl had recently migrated from the city, and it had seen more lavish nests there by the thousand. Built along the stream, however, were some terribly pockmarked grounds accompanied by vats of stinking fluids.

To the owl, the fluids simply reeked.

It didn’t appreciate that this tannery was an essential addition to the Reubkes' property and a source of their growing prosperity. It certainly didn’t appreciate the noise of the tanners, with their gruff voices barking at one another back and forth, either.

All it wanted was some peace and quiet and that tannery would not do at all.

The owl spotted a large cluster of dust gathering just beyond the boundaries of the farmstead. Curious, it flew over to inspect it. Two dozen more humans, all sporting purple plumage, were riding towards the place on the backs of their slave horses. They rode with pace and purpose and the owl wondered about their intent.

The owl watched as they rode past the small construction site, a short way up from the manor, and down a dirt path that led to its courtyard. The residents of the manor seemed nervous, and the owl could smell the sour odour of fear. The riders asked the manor people questions that the owl did not understand, but the people did. Words such as “apostate” and “heretic” caused panic amongst them.

Then swords were drawn, and blood was spilt, and the owl was driven away by anguished cries.

The owl flapped his wings and headed east towards the wood; it did not see humans again for almost two miles. Six of them, also on horseback, emerged from one side of the wood. One of them spotted him, but the owl paid them no mind.

It had had enough of humans for today and went in search of a tree.

Ekkehard admired the owl above, its impressive wingspan casting a shadow that ran smoothly along grassy grounds. He was reminded of his days studying scripture in preparation to join the priesthood. Although he had turned his back on that life long ago, many of its lessons were still clear in his mind.

Owls, the scrolls said, are agents of Winter, God of Death, and an ill omen.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Today had been a good day. There had been many good days for a very long time now. He had no reason to worry that would change. Things were going well for him and his family. The farm was prospering, his newborn son was healthy, and it seemed like an age since anyone last called him “apostate”.

He was an apostate, of course. A man who had broken his vows to the faith and refused his commencement. But that was long ago, almost as long ago as the war. Ancient history, as people say. He turned his attention back to his family.

Ekkehard and five of his brothers were returning from a hunt. The six siblings exchanged the typical jibes of brothers with Gerwald, the youngest, being the target of the day's banter.

“Now, now, brothers,” Ekkehard shouted jovially, “let’s not tease Gerwald too much. After all, it’s not his fault he’s a few inches too short to see over the grass.” Ekkehard sniggered, joined by a few of his brothers.

Embarrassed, Gerwald turned his blushing face away from the group.

“Come now, Gerie,” Aldedramnus said, riding up alongside the youngest Reubke, “no need for that. Perhaps if you spent less time hauling logs with the workers and more time on the range with Evroul, like you’re supposed to, next time you’ll hit something that isn’t made of bark?” More sniggering followed.

“Oh, fuck off, all of you!” Gerwald exclaimed, his face reddening.

There was a saying in the Reubke family: “There is no greater motivator than the relentless bullying of your brothers.”

“Oi!” Audomar, the eldest, shouted, pulling his horse up to block Gerwald’s path. “Such language is unbecoming of you, little brother.”

His manoeuvre forced Gerwald to face him, and the younger brother went pale at the sight of his elder’s stern expression.

Ekkehard smirked, silently praising his brother’s theatrics.

“After all,” Audomar added, a smile cracking his features, “you’re not old enough to know those kinds of words.” More laughter emerged, and Gerwald’s expression shifted to relief. Gerwald had only recently begun joining his elders on hunts. A decade and a half separated him from Audomar, and the younger wasn’t used to the disciplinarian’s humour.

“Is that smoke coming from our home?” Otker asked, pointing toward the black, sooty plume rising from behind a small hill that separated the hunters from their homestead.

Their jovial exchanges ceased.

Otker had been leading the group. His youthful face looked back at Audomar, confusion and worry in his eyes.

“It must be,” Audomar confirmed, riding up alongside Otker. “There is nothing else out that way.”

Audomar’s appearance contrasted Otker’s starkly. The elder brother was broad and muscular, with a ridged face that bore stern lines, while the younger was slim, with an athletic build that caused his light grey tunic and leather jerkin to hang loosely. Audomar sported a short but thick black beard, and military-style hair while Otker’s face was peach-fuzzed, with his messy chestnut hair.

A vein-styled shortsword, a double-edged blade designed for slashing and piercing, hung from elder’s black tunic belt and he carried a six-foot war spear in the hrapan style, a thrusting spear with a dagger-axe head, resting on his shoulder. The aged weapon was finely crafted with a wooden haft and an iron blade, meticulously cared for and polished free of blemishes.

Ekkehard admired his elder brother and the weapon. The spear was an officer’s badge, earned by Audomar in the Merchants' Rebellion years past. Even in these times of peace, Ekkehard still saw the brave, authoritative commander his brother was, especially when he carried the hrapan.

He appeared almost invincible with the spear in his hands.

Ekkehard turned from his brother and also looked at the smoke. A knot formed in his stomach, and his neck became tense. Auriana, his wife, and Cheldric, his newborn son, were waiting back at the farm. He swallowed uncomfortably at the thought that harm might have come to them.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he looked back at the rest of his party and saw his concern mirrored on the faces of his brothers. On all their faces but Audomar’s, that is. All the Reubkes looked to him for direction.

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Audomar smiled at the group, “Worry not, brothers. Grandfather has likely just knocked over a candle, the old goat.”

The group forced a chuckle.

Seeing the stern and steely resolve of his elder shamed Ekkehard, and he chastised himself for his melodrama. Audomar also had a wife and child waiting for him, yet his composure remained perfect, unfazed, ever the leader. Yet, Ekkehard still worried. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the heavy air, suddenly devoid of the scent of sweet spring grass. Ekkehard’s vision clouded like a thick mist, turning the picturesque countryside before him into a blurry watercolour.

He shook himself. “Get a grip, you idiot,” he thought.

“If there is a fire, Mother will need our help,” Ekkehard said to his brother, his tone more disconcerted than he intended.

Audomar shot Ekkehard a puzzled look, and Ekkehard grimaced in response. He had meant to keep is concern from his voice, so not to worry his younger brothers, but had failed entirely.

“Right,” Audomar agreed, going along with Ekkehard’s botched attempt. “Well, let's hurry back then, or we'll be sleeping in the barn tonight.” Audomar gave another reassuring smile to the younger Reubkes.

Ekkehard envied his brother’s talent for keeping a cool head.

Although taller and slimmer than his brother, Ekkehard shared facial features with Audomar, and many described them as twin-like. The only real difference was that Ekkehard was more unkempt. His hair was longer and thicker, and his beard scruffier. His elder brother’s features, however, always commanded an authority unattainable for Ekkehard.

“Aldedramnus,” Audomar said, addressing his third youngest brother, “don’t lose that boar’s hide. Take your time and catch up with us later. The rest of you, with me.”

With that, the group spurred their horses forward, leaving Aldedramnus behind, and began the two-mile journey back to their home.

As they cantered down the road, Ekkehard's thoughts raced, wondering what had happened at the estate. Perhaps just an accidental fire, as Audomar had suggested. That would be devastating, but at least they had spare timber and workmen available already. They could rebuild before winter, although it would waste their investment in the estate’s expansion, possibly killing that dream for good. That would frustrate Audomar, Ekkehard thought, who had taken great pride in the farm’s prosperity since he’d taken over.

“It’s probably the tannery!” Evroul shouted from the back of the group. “Mother must have finally gotten sick of the smell and burned it down.”

Several brothers laughed in agreement.

Evroul, although the shortest save for Gerwald, was considered the prettiest of the Reubke brothers. He preferred to let his hair grow into long, thick waves. Nearing his thirties, Evroul still maintained a youthful face, an athletic build, and was always clean-shaven.

“She’s always hated that thing!” Ekkehard shouted back, trying to distract himself. “If Father were still here, she would have killed him over it by now!”

As the road wound around the hill, the Reubke estate came into view.

Three clusters of buildings made up the estate. First the Reubke brother’s saw the construction yard nearest the road. It consisted of the stone foundations and wooden framework of the inn and hunting lodge, a newly begun expansion to their property. It had the typical disarray of a building site.

A dirt path branching off the main road, ran past the site and toward the manor that the Reubkes called home, nestled in a series of green fields, shaded by tall, thick-trunked oak trees. It comprised three buildings: the modest-sized family house, the servants’ quarters, and a small stable for a dozen horses. The house was beautiful. Its walls were painted a smooth, crisp pearl white, and its double hipped-eave roofs with yellow lacquered tiles resembled a golden wheat field. Abstract carvings and minor embellishments softened the features, giving it a warm, welcoming visage.

Behind the manor, a few hundred meters further, were two barns and the slaughterhouse for the family’s cattle. Next to those, built alongside the stream running through the land, was the tannery, with its pits and vats, seeming an ugly blight on an otherwise picturesque landscape.

When the brothers saw the scene before them, all joking ceased, and they fell silent.

Evroul was right, the tannery was in flames, the barns too. They cast an orange glow over the manor, though mercifully, the fires had not yet reached their home. Ekkehard hoped their family was safe within its walls. He gripped the reins of his horse tightly and clenched his jaw.

As Audomar led the group past the unfinished buildings, Ekkehard saw several dead and bloodied bodies by the roadside. They were builders hired by his family. They passed too quickly for Ekkehard to pick out any specific individuals.

He didn’t know if any of his relatives were among them.

“What was going on?” he asked himself, the thought screaming in his mind. Banditry was almost unheard of in these parts. It was one of the safest places in the empire. Ekkehard’s younger brothers gasped in dismay, arresting his attention, as they finally witnessed the full extent of the horrors unfolding at their family’s home.

Their home had been transformed into a battlefield, with death and despair at every corner. The first thing Ekkehard noticed was a large group of armed and armoured men scattered across the manor courtyard. They wore cloaks of imperial purple, identifying them as either Hirsau's city guard or imperial soldiers. Ekkehard was relieved to see their defenders had responded so quickly to whatever was happening. He whispered a prayer of gratitude to Summer that they had come so swiftly and hoped that the attackers, whoever they were, would be dealt with.

Then Ekkehard saw a guardsman cut down an unarmed woman.

That didn’t make sense.

She was one of the farmhands. One of the Reubkes’ servants. Why would an imperial kill her? What had she done?

Looking around, Ekkehard witnessed farmhands and workers running in every direction, trying to escape the guards. One by one, they were being slaughtered. The imperial guards were slaughtering his home. His breath caught in his throat as a question raced through his mind. Why?

From the head of the group, Audomar looked back at Ekkehard and the rest of their brothers. His eyes were wide with fear, and Ekkehard knew his brother struggled to comprehend the scene before them just as much as he did. Then, Ekkehard saw those old veteran instincts kicking in as his brother’s face turned to one of resolve. Inspired, Ekkehard was ready to follow his elder into battle once more.

Without slowing his horse, Audomar raised his spear and shouted back to the group, “Whatever is happening here, it ends now! Don’t think about it. Ask your questions to the dead.”

Audomar pointed his spear toward the slaughter and cried out, “Our family is in there! That is all that matters!”

With that, Audomar spurred his horse into a gallop and charged into the fray, racing ahead of the rest of their party. There were no cheers or battle cries from Ekkehard’s other brothers, as there might have been from soldiers, but Ekkehard knew each of them was readying for what was to come.

Before the Audomar could reach the battle, they saw one of the attackers catch a young female servant by the arm. As the soldier aimed his spear at the woman's back, a boy rushed to her rescue. Charging the guardsman with a small hatchet, the boy roared and swung the weapon as hard as he could. The boy’s war cry alerted the soldier and quickly raised his shield to block the blow.

The soldier batted the boy back with his shield, smashing its flat side into the boy's face. The boy’s nose erupted. Falling back, dazed and disoriented, the boy collapsed, his face contorting into a child's wail. Releasing the woman, the guard turned his attention to his fallen assailant. He pinned the child down with one heavy boot and drove his spear through the boy’s chest.

Ekkehard's vision narrowed, drawing him into the harrowing spectacle.

The boy’s agonized form arched upward as the blade entered him. Blood and snot dribbled down his chin as he cried helplessly. He spat viscera as he watched in horror as the guard pulled his spear back out of his chest, leaving behind a gaping wound. Then, the boy’s head fell back to the ground, lifeless.

Corbus, Ekkehard’s twelve-year-old and youngest brother, was murdered.

Otker, Evroul, and Gerwald each let out a howl of grief. Ekkehard silently blinked photopsia from his vision, stunned by the sight. The eldest Reubke, however, cried out with rage and charged into the fray.

Audomar aimed his spear at the nearest guardsman, who turned at the sound of Audomar’s galloping steed. The spear swing that split his head and face. A red mist clouded the air as the guardsman fell.

Audomar’s horse deftly weaved between enemies and fleeing victims as the gap between him and their brother’s killer closed. Leaping from his saddle seconds before reaching the man, Audomar landed in a sprint, spearhead thrust ahead of him.

Another guardsman, also wielding a spear, rushed between Audomar and his prey, charging him.

Ekkehard’s heart seized for a moment, but it needn’t have.

Audomar deflected the attack, halted himself, and assumed a wide, striking stance. With predatory grace, he drove his lance through the attacker’s neck. From his flank, Corbus’s killer stormed toward him, spear and shield in hand. Audomar wrenched his spear free from his first victim’s throat, sending the man’s body spinning to the ground, and turned to face the new challenger.

He sidestepped an oncoming charge and seized his attacker’s weapon with one hand. Without a second’s hesitation, Audomar drove his own spear through the man’s exposed chest. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying over the ground. The guardsman groaned in agony, dropping his shield and weapon.

Grasping his spear in both hands, Audomar lifted the guardsman off his feet, holding him briefly aloft. With a roar, he leapt and drove the point of his spear into the ground, impaling the guardsman as he had done to Corbus. Ekkehard relished the sight of one brother’s vengeance as he lamented the loss of another.

Ahead, Audomar looked to the Reubke manor. Ekkehard followed his gaze and, horrified, saw what had drawn his brother’s attention. The front door had been battered open. They were in the house. His wife and son were in there too. They were in danger, and he wasn’t there to protect them.

Ekkehard's heart raced, and his head throbbed as visions of what might have happened to his family flashed through his mind. How long had these men been here? What had happened within the walls of their home? The questions tried to steal his senses.

Ekkehard looked wide-eyed at his brother and shouted, “Go!”

Without hesitation, Audomar dashed towards the manor entrance, leaving his spear in the body of Corbus’s killer, and drew the vien-style shortsword hanging from his belt.

Another guardsman rushed to intercept Audomar, but Ekkehard saw him coming.

From atop his horse at the edge of the courtyard-turned-battlefield, Ekkehard notched and drew an arrow with his hunting bow. Loosed, the arrow flew past his brother and struck the oncoming guard in the shoulder. The impact knocked the guard off his feet, and he landed on his back with a thud and a groan.

Audomar leapt over the man and vanished into the depths of the manor, leaving Ekkehard and his remaining brothers leaderless and alone to face the remaining foes.