The crunch of gravel underfoot was becoming tiresome. Thankfully, looking up from the bleak grey stone Arik recognised the rolling, forested Glenns of the Icanii Highlands "Three days since Skelba, a long path but worth the scene" he mused, slumping his canvas sack to the ground next to a small stream, he pulled loose a goat wineskin and filled it. Once corked Arik returned the wineskin to his bag and ambled into a Pine copse a hundred or so yards from the path. "Looks like another night in the cold" he mumbled aloud whilst gathering some kindling. Taking a tinder box from his leather hip satchel, he built his hearth. With the fire now fed and burning, he took a roll of wax paper from his sack and gently unravelled it. Inside was some dried ox meat and a slice of goats cheese. Biting into the jerky, he began to salivate. Too long had it been since he had a good meal. "Far too long" he chuckled thoughtfully.
Gazing now upon the copper hued reflection of the autumn sunset, radiating from Loch Grynn. Arik had a nervous realisation that he would soon be home, his childhood home. One more day and he would see the family that he left behind six years ago. Twenty-two now and past his majority, he wondered what his father would think. His father, after all had told him not to go. Arik couldn't bear the memory of the disapproving glare from across the table when he announced his intentions of duty and honour. Now, the young man finally understood, why his mother had shed tears when he gleefully said his farewells.
Finishing off his dried meat and cheese, he strode to the fire and fed it some more branches. In the distance he heard the howl of a wolf, then closer the call of an owl. The nocturnal animals had begun their chorus. With a sense of nervous anticipation for the day ahead. The young man set himself down drawing his viridian green woollen cloak around himself. With what seemed the last slithers of the golden sunset slipping behind the western ridges, Arik rested his head on his left arm and faced the hearth. He took one last look at the flickering firelight closed his eyes and fell into an unusually deep sleep.
On a ridge overlooking the great lake a figure loomed, half silhouetted against the darkening sky. They were clad in a hooded cloak and carried an ornate gnarled-root staff. Of which appeared to clasp a smooth crystal orb. Their face was shadowed and just a matted grey beard visible. "Rest now, Child of the North. Soon you will be tested." Muttered the figure, only for the words to be carried away by the evening breeze. With the gloom of night now cast over the lake, the shadowy figure began a slow purposeful descent. Weaving between the glacial boulders, his dirty bare feet gliding through the thick and coarse bracken barely making any audible noise. Closer and closer to a small pine copse they walked, until, into the darkness of a moonless night, the figure faded.
Eventide had passed without incident. The sun's rays now pierced the Pines of the copse and glared from the lakes surface. Seeming to bring life back to the valley from the clutches of obscurity. The highland birds could be heard, singing their morning praises and the trill of a hawk off in the distance circling, hoping to break its fast. No more were the sounds of the night but Arik was stirred abruptly from his deep slumber, a rustling, something large beyond some Furze bushes. A clumsy rustling though, loud and clearly inept. So obviously not wildlife. With lethargic morning muscles Arik took a knee next to the smouldering embers of his fire. Though still half asleep he was alert. With his hand on the carved antler hilt of his hunting dagger, he slowly rose. Scanning his surroundings for more movement, he concluded that whatever the trouble, there was only one of it and he drew in a breath. "If you meant to rob me, you will be sorely dissa…" cut short as the rustling grew louder, a small child shuffled into view from within the Furze. A boy, with tawny-brown hair and eyes that were as green as emeralds. Couldn't have been more than six full years and he was stood here alone bare footed and in rags. 'Dirty too', observed Arik relaxing his hand from the knife. The boy looked gaunt and fearful and Arik suspected he was looking for food.
"I didn know you wer awake m.mister." uttered the child. Then seeing Arik the child's eyes widened and he asked "y.y.you a s.soldyer? "Not anymore." Replied Arik hastily. "B.but the a.armour" said the boy, pointing towards Ariks black leather cuirass. "Do not fear. I am no longer a soldier. These routes are perilous and it is merely protection. You see, it is well made and leaves me with little reason to spend the coin on anything new." Insisted the young man. "My name is Arik." The child's expression changed to contemplation and after a moment he appeared to pluck up some courage asking "Got any food m.mister?" Clearly still fearful. Arik smiled and said "Well it is time to break fast I suppose", whilst pulling a linen bag of oats from his canvas sack along with a small copper pot. He glanced at the child straining to appear as non-threatening as he could, he asked "Porridge?" Throwing his shoulders into a half shrug with an awkward smile across his face. Eyes lighting up the child nodded. The emeralds sparkling now, almost iridescent. So, Arik set to work rebuilding the fire and cooking the 'morning gruel' as he remembered it being called. He chuckled. Some fond memories did remain.
After they had both eaten, Arik learned the child's name. It was Aern. "Are you alone out here Aern?" asked Arik. The child nodded. "I'll have you walk with me then, can't leave you out here alone can I? Unless you happen to disagree?", Arik extended his hand. Aern, surprised at how easily he offered his assistance. Looked shyly toward the dying fire, agreed and took the hand. He smiled mischievously to himself as they prepared to leave and looked up at Arik. The man was young but broad of shoulder and lean. With hair a similar colour to his own, a tawny blonde. It was medium length and tied back, shaved to a line above the ears. Strapped to his shoulders a cloak of beautiful green. There was a long-jagged scar on the left arm that stretched from a leather bracer to bicep and he sported stubble on a defined jawline as if it had not seen blade for a week.
Other than the cold sapphire eyes, it was just the armour that really stood out to Aern. The chest piece was black leather, it looked extremely hard and embossed with silver trim. In the centre a silver emblem with the head of a long tooth tiger. This for some reason made Aern nervous. The rest of the armour Aern recognised as greaves, black leather boots and a right shoulder pauldron to match the cuirass along with the left bracer, underlaid by short sleeved chainmail. However, despite the look and weapons of a soldier. He saw no malice in Arik and felt reassured by that fact, deciding to privately call the man "The Tiger" due to the sinister emblem.
"The Tiger" had not understated the danger of these routes, not that he realised when saying so. Aern watched as Arik cleared the campsite and gathered his belongings. Looking back just once, Aern noticed shadows dancing along a treeline up the flank of the western hillside and a sullen look befell him.
Rigurd wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped outside into the afternoon sun. He was a well-built man and being in the workshop still to this day made him uncomfortably hot. There was always work to be done though, even in a small village like this. Irvin and his woodsmen were forever needing an axe re-edged or new tension hook forged. Then there was farmer Ebass with a broken plough blade or bent forks. As well as nails, so many nails. For repairs to the palisade and other general maintenance to the imperial buildings. The smith had initially thought Samel the carpenter to be lazy, what with using so many nails. Rigurd had been convinced by an old carpenter once that 'intersecting joints' were a superior method for joinery and much cheaper. Though what men say over mead in taverns cannot be taken so readily and Rigurd worked with hot ore not wood. Samel had only sourly told Rigurd "That's not the imperial way though old friend" in response to the information. Chuckling to himself, the smith thought about how it was the nails that kept bread on the table and oats in the barrel for the most part. "Leave them to their own dilemmas" the large man chuckled aloud.
After allowing the furnace to die a little Rigurd sealed it. Then locking up the workshop he turned south to make his way home. Entering the central palisade, he passed a dirt courtyard, centred with a water well and surrounded by rectangular stone-built shop fronts and the tavern 'Rams Hide' in the northern corner. Where he noticed it was busy as usual of late. Several men with thick mountain accents were engaged in a debate about how best to travel to Knol Hagen. "The Old North Road, that would be the safest!" clamoured the shortest of the trio, with a flat nose, wide neck and thick black beard. The taller man with his back to Rigurd loudly retorted with "That'd be a week by horse from this backwater, and we nae have horses! I'd be a damned fool to track a fortnight through bear country an nae get ma chance to sink the end of my pick into some gold!"
"Miners" scoffed Rigurd as he strolled on the opposite side of the courtyard. There had been an increased number of prospectors passing through of late, a surly bunch. "Unpleasant to have too many in town at once. Glad they're all in such a hurry to get to Hagen" muttered Rigurd thinking aloud. Then he recalled a conversation between two prospectors recently, about a rush. A gold 'rush', it sounded as though somebody had finally struck it lucky up in the Icanii Peaks. Even though the majority percentage of what is dug out belongs to the Council Lord of Fort Hagen, people with picks would flock from leagues afar to have a swing at the sparkling veins of ore. Rigurd had heard such stories from his grandfather about the last time Gold was struck up there. About how the town was full of life, people full of hope, trade was booming and people not short on coin. The blacksmith sighed. That was before his time. When the North was not under Imperial rule and the Icanii were not a conquered people. He recalled how his great grandfather had hated it here after the conquest. Rigurd had always put that down to the bitter resentment of a once proud peoples, for it was only his great grandfather's generation that would truly remember times before.
Exiting the palisades of the village centre, the large smith strolled through the southern quarters. Passing circular cob dwellings with thick conical thatch roofs, the old Icanii round houses. Outside many of which hung rabbits and small game aging in preparation for winter. How the new village centre with its bleak stone square mansion and shops compared with the humble dwellings outside the palisade, most of the stone in these homes lay in the foundations, if they had any at all. The smith preferred it modest. Just off the southern route to Skelba about a half hour walk from the imperial courtyard, the homes were sparse but not so much as to not call each other neighbours. On the southern side of the palisade they were shielded by thickets of Pine and Fir woodlands to the west, which offered ample windbreak. All in all, Rigurd had been quite content here his whole life. He had some success in the workshop and had aqquired quite the skill as well as savings. Some of which he invested in land. Which had a double edge, as taxes had become exorbitant of late.
The Smith could see his home now. A large timber framed cob house modelled after the square style of the Imperials. With the timber frame visible it was a unique building here amongst the traditional roundhouses. Instead of the usual conical thatch roof, Rigurd had used an A frame and built a chute for the fireplace alongside the house instead of having a central opening in the thatch. He was particularly proud of his abode as he had constructed it mostly himself. Adding to it over time with the acquired land he had attached stables as well as a small workshop to continue his tinkering at home.
Whilst passing his daughters rose bushes, his woven willow fence and the gated entrance to his property, he saw the one thing that reminded him of his errant son the most. A bronze knocker set on a heavy wooden door. Vaguely distinguishable as the head of a Tiger, glinting in the early evening sun. Not a masterpiece, but something he and his son had crafted together what felt like decades ago. Roughly hammered and shaped and drastically under refined, it was a rough piece made with love and enjoyment, not expertise. A smile touched the big man's cheeks and to stop himself tearing up he spun on his heel and puffed his chest before he got too close to the door.
By pure chance he spotted movement on the road. Still a few hundred meters off he had to strain his old eyes to see properly. Two travellers, "A man and… is that a child?" queried the Smith aloud. "Bit late to be strolling into town. Nae find a room in the Rams Hide. Fills up fast with all the prospectors". Getting closer now the man and child became much clearer to Rigurd. Eyes relaxing, he could clearly make out the man. A soldier in black leather armour and viridian cape. Rigurd took note of the short sword and dagger at the waist and the canvas pack and long wooden stave on the back of the soilder. "One of Iruss' men no doubt". Said Rigurd to himself. The General Iruss, sent south to fight in another of the Imperial Emperors pointless conquests. What would have been six years prior. The child however looked like a beggar. Tattered and dirty and now even closer, Rigurd saw the lack of shoes then emblem on the soldier's chest. The long tooth Tiger. Shuddering ever so slightly at the reputation of Corvin's Fangs. The elite regiment of the Icanii Auxiliary. "Takes a certain sort to wear that armour" said Rigurd.
To the smiths surprise the pair turned into his property. Suddenly the soldiers face, behind the dirt and stubble was very familiar and as if almost reactionary he shouted at the top of his lungs "Ilga! Ursla! Come now! Hurry!" and began a very purposeful stride towards the young soldier. "By all the divines, I cannae believe my very eyes. I never thought I'd see you again!" Laughing now, rolling thunderous laughter full of joy and tears forming in the wells of his eyes, the usually cantankerous Rigurd embraced the young man. Lifting him clear off the ground into a lung evacuating bear hug. The young soldier winced then chuckled.
"Arik me boy!" cried the old smith as his hulking frame squished the air out of the returning son. The door to the house opened with a whack and two women appeared from the emanating warmth of indoors. "What's all the racket ye grumpy old ox?" shot an angry question from the older of the two women. Rigurd suddenly dropped Arik to his feet and straightened himself. "Ilga, just look!" came his retort. Ilga, Arik's mother was an intuitive lady, she had realised the moment she laid eyes on the man. "Oh Arik, my son. You're early!" Now both the women began to well up and Arik approached them. The younger had flowing Auburn hair and wore the traditional Icanii garb of blue and white tunic tied at the waist with red flax rope.
They were both older than when Arik had last seen them. Ursla had been tiny then, loving to follow her older brother around on his many adventures. Now she was striking, slender with defined cheeks, full lips a ravishing smile and the same Sapphire eyes as Arik. Almost identical to his mother Arik thought. Though his mother now sporting grey and white locks in her Auburn hair and certainly becoming stouter of hip, looked tired he noted. He brushed himself off and moved to embrace them both. "Mother, Sister, it has been too long! What are you now Ursla fifteen?" then turning towards the smith "Father, may I intrude upon you all this evening?"
Slightly confused by the question Rigurd responded "Of course, Son you don't need to ask! I am hoping it's to stay though." With anxious laughter" But pray tell me, who's the little rapscallion you've brought with you?" "Oh Father, this is Aern. I suspect, he tried to rob me of food a day's ride from here. Poor little tyke was hungry. Fed him though, now I have bought him here. Not safe out in the wilds father, not alone." replied Arik feeling ashamed he had forgotten about the child in the commotion. "It would seem you were alone until you found the lad, Arik." Replied the father candidly.
Ilga, now over her initial joy and surprise, coughed loudly and stepped forward. Her expression now firm and serious. "I think poor little one will need feeding, bathing and clothing. He looks gaunt and terrified. As for you Arik you smell like a dead goat and look like a bandit. You must first remove your armour and wash it. It smells as if you have been sleeping in it. Then, wash yourself." Taking a few paces forward she scooped up a rather shocked looking Aern and marched indoors. Followed swiftly by a giggling Ursla. Arik and his father exchanged a look "Better do as your mother says son. You know how it works 'round 'ere." "Aye father, I'll see to it." Rigurd nodded and strode towards the door. Before he could even reach the threshold Ilga's serious tone could be heard from indoors "You too ye lumbering old ox, don't think I couldn't smell the furnace on you and shut the door the fire will be wasted!" Both the men took one knowing look at each other and burst into harmonious laughter.
Aern had stood in awe of the reunion. At first, he was surprised by the size of the large intimidating man that he now understood to be 'The Tigers' father. His arms were the size of Aern's torso, he stood a clear foot over his son. A black beard speckled with flecks of white and grey eyes that gave the man's face a stone like chill. His legs were as big as trees and he wore a leather apron over a cream woollen tunic with a large hammer at his belt. The whole experience was rather daunting for such a small boy, then after unceremoniously being carried away and subjected to being soaped and dunked into warm water he now found himself sat warm and dry, in a new woollen tunic eating a meal of watery stew and toasted stale bread at a real table. He felt spectacular. He had been out in the cold too long. He could not even muster the strength to speak when he had finally arrived at this house and was swept along silently with the good-natured ruckus.
A beautiful woman with Auburn hair and Sapphire eyes sat opposite him. She was looking at him rather adoringly. He found himself blushing and looked away awkwardly. Ursla burst out in rich laughter and moved her gaze away from Aern, helping herself to a jug on the table and pouring an amber liquid into her clay cup. The small stranger gazed around the room. He could not help but wonder if the family were poor or humble, it was larger than any house of any craftsmen he knew of, but yet it seemed unadorned with comforts. It only had things he could recognise from any other working household. Yet they seemed so full of joy, he glanced over to the fire where he could see the large man Rigurd conversing with his son Arik who was freshly shaven, just a light shaded goat chin remaining. He looked particularly clean now, without the stubble his smooth complexion and strong jawline were more obvious. He wore black leggings and a white shirt, which allowed his finely toned arms to show, with his long hair shaved to the ears and tied back. Aern noted that both father and son looked exceptionally formidable even in this relaxed environment.
They were both drinking the same amber liquid from the jug Ursla had poured from and the room was filled with warm enriching sounds as the family, reunited were regaled of tales from Ariks journeys. Finishing his stew, Aern got up from the table. Determined to take the wooden bowl and spoon to a stone basin full of water in the corner of the room. When all the warmth and food began to make him feel drowsy and he found he could not quite reach the basin to place his bowl. Beginning to get frustrated the young boy noticed Ilga behind him. Appearing silently as if she had glided across the room without ever touching the floor. She took the bowl and swiftly cleaned it and the spoon. Placing them to dry she turned to Aern, "I think it's time for the Ladies and Children to retire. You look dreadfully tired after all the commotion. Added that the herbs in the stew would have also made you sleepy. Come I will take you to bed." From the fireplace came and long feminine groan. "But Ma Arik has just got settled it's been so long, can I have just a bit longer?" moaned Ursla begrudgingly. "Not tonight, Ursla, the boys must catch up and you are sharing bed with Aern." Rebuked Ilga. "Come, its late I have no patience for it." She snapped. Ursla blushed, turned to her father and brother. Swiftly planting a kiss on her brother's forehead, she bid them goodnight and fled the room.
Aern glanced up at Ilga feeling slightly awkward in the authoritative woman's close proximity. "Let's get you tucked in with Ursla Aern my child, you've had a long journey. You can tell us all about yourself in the morning. You've been awfully silent this eve." Said Ilga with a loving but inquisitive tone. At even the thought of the prospect of being tucked up with Ursla, Aern's cheeks flushed red. It was embarrassing enough that he had been unable to muster the courage to speak all night. But now he was going to be tucked into a bed with a girl. She was pretty but Aern swiftly put that from his mind. He felt safe, waving goodnight to the men by the fire, he allowed himself to be led off to bed smiling to himself.
"Ha half the young men in the village would die to be in that little rapscallion's boots. I bet they would give up everything they owned. He better makes the most of it, being young, innocent and doted upon won't last forever!" bellowed Rigurd from the fireplace erupting into drunken laughter. "The look on his face too." "Okay pa. That is your daughter you're talking about and my sister." Interrupted Arik smirking "Aye that she is me boy, but she is beautiful, and she damn well knows it. She will be a dangerous woman one day. Just like her ma." Grinned the Smith.
Smiling openly, Arik rose from his seat to pour himself another cup of the amber liquid. "Good batch this year pa." he said. "Got it from old man Celenan at the Rams Hide. The Old codger is a genius with the honey and yeast. Gave up brewing it myself when that place got built and he moved in. About the only good thing the Imperials did way up 'ere in Risvale is building that Inn." Replied the smith thoughtfully staring into the fire. Taking on a grave look Arik downed the Mead in his cup. "Aye, not that I'd know. But I've had my fair share of unpleasant experiences with the damn fools. I'm glad to be rid of them." Rigurd turned his head from the fire. The light reflected from his eyes giving them a burning orange glow. Which only elevated the stern look upon his brow, sighing he spoke "You'll not be rid of them. They rule our ancestral lands. But come now enough of the macabre. Tell me, did you find what you set off in search for all those years ago?"
Raising an eyebrow Arik took his seat. "Aye father, that I did. You know all too well I was a foolish child when I left. I have had six years and plenty of misery to mull this over. I think I went for selfish reasons, join up with General Iruss' five thousand men and march south. I suppose I thought it would be adventurous and honourable. Aye it was those illusions of grandeur that led me off. I am sorry for not writing, I am also sorry for the hurtful things that were said before I left. I know…" Being cut off by his father Arik looked up. Rigurd had a tear rolling down his cheek. "Son, I can only thank the heavens that you're home. I know why ye left, I know exactly why, heavens I did the same in a sense. Left 'ome to find me self, I just didn't want ye going ta war." The stress lines in the Smiths face and the stern look now melting away, Rigurd began to chuckle "If I remember rightly, I was pretty foul mouthed too!" Offering his palm to his son Arik took it by the wrist in the warriors embrace. "But heavens son, you must have some stories? You marched south for six years. What did you see?" Asked Rigurd, with curiosity now glinting in his eye.
And so the evening went on, Arik and his father sat drinking fine mead and talking in exultant tones by the fire. Recounting tales from Ariks travels. Rigurd had learned that Icanii maps merely showed a tenth percentage of the true world. That there were countries and continents he had never heard of. Some with jungles so thick you couldn't march an army through them and others with deserts so vast than no man dare enter for fear of consumption. It was only when the evening had turned to morning that the smith's childlike curiosity and bewilderment were shattered and the stern atmosphere returned to the pair. The volume of their voices was now hushed, as if to hide the discussion from the very walls around them. "But that can't be! If what you are saying is true and the Emperor was murdered by his peers. Then I hate to think what that implies." wheezed Rigurd under his breath, the colour fading from his cheeks. "It's already begun father; the Empire is beginning to crumble. Especially in the capital, where everything is chaos, and it won't be long before the northern city of Lyvidsten begins to twitch with rumour and turmoil. The vassal states are already recalling Auxilia, and there is two Imperial generals of high influence, enemies by nature leading factions into fervent opposition. A war for power will erupt before long."
"I take it this is why you are home Arik?" Queried Rigurd. "Aye father, I was serving with Corvin in a country called Arama. We got word from Iruss to head home. That our commission was rescinded half complete, it then took us a month to get out of that war-torn sand-tundra and the best part of eight months to return to the Highlands." Rigurd smiled, "Well I'm glad you're home. Been awful quiet without you around. What of Iruss and Corvin, what are their plans?" he asked. "They are not forthcoming with any plans to my knowledge. They have both returned to Cresta to see their families. I imagine they intend to keep a low profile, until word of the assassination spreads. I think they assume to enjoy themselves for now. Though I have not seen much joy on my travels up the Old North Road, seems times are tough father." "Aye lad, it all makes sense now. The last six months have been a wee bitter." Uttered the father, "An extra twentieth of the harvests and coin taxes have been climbing steeply. They were high enough to begin with. Now some families have been left destitute and smaller villages left short on supplies, this close to winter its daunting. It appears that the local council lords have received word already and are preparing to quell any angry locals." Spoke the Smith with a hint of resentment in his voice.
"Well father there's not much two men from Risvale can do about it is there. Best to live our lives best we can. The only way I know to do that is here with my family." Arik began as he rose from his seat, "But it appears I have reached my end with the mead and must retire, for fear of becoming maudlin. Goodnight father I am ready for rest." "Alright Arik, off you go. Do not fill your heads with notions of peace, not after what you have told me. But relax tomorrow. After that, you'll earn ye board." Arik chuckled at his father and half staggered from the room. Rigurd sighed, he had missed his son becoming a man and he thought he could hear tones of cynicism in the lads attitude despite spouting notions of the quiet life. But he knew war would do that to a man. Tired now, Rigurd moved from the fire which was now no more than embers. He collected the three clay cups and placed them in the stone basin. After restoring the furniture to the correct positions, he doused the two candles illuminating the room and made for bed and his wife.
It was late now, Aern had struggled to sleep. The smell of honey and vinegar hung on Ursla's breath and she held him tight as if he were a toy bear. This stifled Aern and he found it a mild distracting to feel the attractive young woman pressed against his back. None the less, as he lay there in Ursula's drunken embrace and could hear beyond the room the chatter of the reunited father and son. Not clearly but he could tell by the tone that things had become a bit more serious now the hour was late. With the quiet settling into the room, Aern found the excitement of the day to be far too much and regardless of how uncomfortable he felt he began to drift into a deep sleep.
He found himself drifting in darkness, his body a swirling mist. The silence was eerie but somehow it bought him peace. As he floated ever deeper he heard the voice of the old man, locked away in the depths calling to him. "Don't forget yourself Aern, you are at task. Don't forget." The voice seemed to resonate within hm now, giving him strength. The mist that comprised his being swirled and pulsated seeming to take form in solidity. Aern had his body again and as he realised this, a flood of memories came to him and the darkness faded to light. He found himself floating above the bed in which he lay, looking down upon the sleeping forms of himself and Ursla he migrated through the walls into the room with the fire. Here he saw the two men conversing in hushed tones. Moving closer he began to listen intently to what the men were saying. Once the men had finished, they retired. With this Aern drifted back to his body and sank back into the realm of darkness. To sleep heavily comforted and warm in Ursla's arms.