War of the Solstice

Chapter One

Snowflakes hung, suspended in the late afternoon air.  Not seeming to fall, but just dance lazily in the faint breeze as if unwilling to relinquish their individual beauty to the endless carpet of their fallen comrades.

Valen tried to fix is gaze on a single flake and then follow its course but could do it for no more than the space of a few heartbeats.  His mind wandered as he stared into the failing light, trying to remember the last time he had felt so weary, so cold and bereft of hope.

He threw another snowball at the outcropping of rock near him.  The dull crunch of the snow hitting the stone sounding loud in the preternatural silence of the falling snow, that was now beginning to show signs of becoming heavier.

His eyes turned to the soldiers further to the North and along the choked ravine.  They were just silhouettes in the last of the days light and like him, moved wearily.  The whole dishevelled group had stopped for rest and food but, as the Captain had warned, it was only to be brief.

It was hardest on the old and the very young, Valen reflected, not even being allowed fires added to the misery if that was possible.  Perhaps, now he thought about it, he had never been warm.  At least he couldn’t actually remember the last time he had been anyway.

A commotion behind him drew his attention away from the soldiers and, as he had thought, found that it was time to move again.

Earlier in the day Valen had dropped to the back of the refugee column where the main bulk of the garrison soldiers were marching and had asked one of them to show him some sword technique as they marched.  As he made the request he had proudly drawn his most prized possession, his grandfather's sword, the only item of true value he had rescued from his cabin when he had taken flight.

The soldier had just laughed. Though, on seeing Valen’s indignation, the laugh became a conciliatory smile before his face returned to the impassive, somewhat grim demeanour it had maintained before Valen’s request.

“I’m not laughing for the reason you think man.  Nobody learns swordplay with a real sword.”  Valen could tell the man was appraising him as he spoke.  “You are a woodman?”  The man had put it to him as a question but in such a way as to imply he was more or less stating a fact.  Valen nodded.  “Why should I waste precious energy on you?”

Valen had expected the man to be gruff, particularly in the light of recent events, but not quite so abrupt.  He considered the question before giving his answer, “It’s my guess that, in the coming weeks, every man and woman capable of holding a weapon will be required to do so.  I just thought I might start sooner rather than later.” As an afterthought he had added “My Grandfather was a warrior.”

“What’s your name?” the man had asked.

“Valen Garr.”

“I am Orn Marl but you can call me sir.  Find a length of wood that is of a similar size and weight to your sword and then find me again.”

Snow fell from Valen’s cloak as he stood up with the last group of refugees.  It was falling quite heavily now and he could hardly make out the soldiers who had set up their piquet line across a narrow point of the ravine the whole column was now moving along.  He picked up his piece of wood and again ran through the moves that Orn had shown him.  It had turned out Orn was a lieutenant and, according to one of the other soldiers named Frak, he was lucky he hadn’t been summarily told where to sheath his father’s sword. 

Valen’s body ached from the days walking and the additional wood swinging he had chosen to practice as he moved off with the other refugees.  Behind him, the dull scrape of armour and harness informed him that the detachment of one score soldiers bringing up the rear of the refugees were also on the move just as a score more were somewhere up front.  Regularly, during the previous day and also during this day, the main body of the soldiers had remained behind while the refugees kept moving.  Once, so far, not all of them had rejoined the column.

--

Orn looked north along the ravine as the guard of soldiers bringing up the rear of the refugee column moved out of sight.  Even as he turned his calculating gaze to the defensive arrangements, he heard the faint sound of racing hoof beats.

“Shields!” Without thinking he called the order.  The front line of men, with gratifying speed given their tiredness, locked their shields to their front. Instantly forming a barrier across the breadth of the ravine floor.

It was a while before the source of the sound came into view, the confines of the ravine carrying the rhythmic thumping further than usual.  It was one of the scouts.  As Orn turned his eyes uneasily back to where the horse had just appeared, the Captain ordered a small gap formed in the shield wall which closed again as soon as the horse was through.  The men of the line were by now exuding a nervous tension as they kept their eyes fixed on where the scout had come from.

The scout, a man Orn had spoken to only a few times, all but fell from the saddle as the Captain approached.  He then stayed by the horse leaning on it heavily for support.  The horse, harness jangling, was breathing heavily and lathered with sweat.  The man, on closer inspection, appeared extremely pale and the reason for this was quickly apparent as the Captain reached him.  The broken off stump of an arrow was embedded in the man’s left thigh, sheeting his leg in red.

Orn, standing four or five strides from the Captain and the stricken man, signalled two nearby warriors to go help the injured scout.

“How long?” The Captain asked.

“Two hours.” The scout’s breath was coming in pained gasps.

“The other two?” The Captain seemed to know the answer already from the look on his face.

“One dead, one taken.” A soldier put a skin of water to the man’s lips.

“Look after this man.” The Captain quietly ordered the soldier holding the skin.
Orn neither liked nor disliked the Captain but he had developed a respect for him over the last couple of days.  Prior to that, Orn had had no contact with him.  Orn also knew that the Captain now had a difficult decision to make.

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Chapter Two

The arrow sped silently towards its target, finding the mark with a satisfying thud.  Quickly a second arrow was notched and released with a fluid motion that belied the marksman’s skill.  This arrow was not destined to make its mark with the same results as its predecessor however, as it drifted slightly off target.

“You’ll never win if that’s the best you can do!” Laughed Taub. 

“You need to be more steady when you release.” 

The youthful, dirty-faced boy jumped down from a low branch where he had been watching, to get a closer look at the target.

“You were lucky, a gust of wind caught that last shot!” Retorted Marek.

“Anyway, you have father’s best hunting bow which is better than this useless thing.” He added, scornfully tossing his bow to the ground in disgust.

“We need to head for home, it’s starting to get dark and remember what we were told about strangers in the forest.” Instructed Taub, who usually felt he needed to order his brother around as he was the eldest.

The boys had just finished their archery competition, on the edge of the forest and now decided to head for home.  Marek was the younger of the twins by an hour or so and was often reminded of this fact by his brother, who had an annoying habit of beating him at almost every contest they had.

Marek picked up his bow disdainfully and they both shouldered their knapsacks and headed West with the setting sun in their faces.  Despite the sunshine it had been a chilly day and it seemed like an age since summer time.  As both boys walked quickly on a well-defined path, the forest soon gave way to rolling downs as they made the quick hike back to their village, nestled in a wide valley.  By the time they had got back to their small farmhouse it was dusk and their mother greeted them with a hearty meal ready on the kitchen table.

“What have you two been up to today dare I ask?” She questioned as only a mother can, whilst the boys sat down to eat.

“We tried some hunting in the forest but it was poor so we had an archery contest.” Replied Marek, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth hungrily.

“More like I gave Marek a lesson in archery.” Smirked Taub, through a mouthful of cheese.

“You’re right about the hunting being poor.” Agreed their mother. 

“You’d best make the most of that meal, as it will be the last good one you get before the Solstice feast as the weathers been too harsh of late.” She added sadly.

“The stores are getting low already, but we have had one of the pigs slaughtered today, so I have made a few treats.  Don’t be getting used to it though!” Warned the ruddy faced women.

Ornil was a short, stocky women, yet pretty in her own way, typical of the farming people of Athoril.  She had lived in the village since she was a young girl, around thirty years ago now and as she watched her sons eating she thought back to happier times in the village when the living was better.

The boys were tucking into a great spread, the large wooden table was nearly groaning under the weight piled upon it.  There was a large mature cheese as a centrepiece, rapidly being reduced in size as the two youngsters tucked in and several small loaves of freshly baked bread with butter.  A large cured ham had been carved and there were freshly made pork pies, pates and sweet pastries as well.  There was a flagon of ale and some cider for the adults to drink.

Just then there was a loud clatter of hooves on the cobbled courtyard and in came a man with a greying beard and a long cloak drawn up tightly around him.

“You’re late back father!” Cried out both boys, obviously pleased to see him.

“Yes, I’ve been out on the downs all day trying to round up sheep, there are several missing I fear.  It’s either the bad weather we had a couple of days back or someone has been sheep-rustling.”  He said as he hung his coat on a hook behind the door.

The boy’s father, Gan, was sitting down to join his children in their meal.  He’d farmed these lands for many years, taking over from his father and his father before him and the years of hard toil had left his mark on him as he had a slight hunch to his back and walked with a limp.

“Surely no-body would steal our sheep, we’re miles from anywhere and none of the villagers would do such a thing.” Ornil stated, matter-of-factly.

“I’m not so sure.  There are plenty of refugees heading south from the Marakith area down to Corelay these days, most take the main road to the east of Thrall but I’m sure some might detour through the downs and take a sheep for a feast if they run out of provisions.” Gan explained glumly.

“It might be pestilence of some kind of course.”  Gan stated glumly.  “But I doubt it as there is no sign of any strange footprints or other markings.”

“What about Doomdark?  Could it be his foul armies foraging for food?” Interjected Marek excitedly.

“You listen to too many stories my boy.  No Foul could get this far south even in such troubled times, the men of Marakith would soon have them running back to their lairs in the North.  I’d think it more likely refugees or that Lord of Trorn and his cronies are up to something.  If the tales I have heard recently are true, he’s not to be trusted and the harvest down there was especially bad this year so they need food desperately.”

As the conversation continued, it grew darker outside and a few flakes of snow began to softly fall.  This didn’t bother the farmer and his family as it was warm inside their home with a roaring fire in the grate.  Soon they had polished off the feast of ham, bread and cheese, washed down with a watery ale.

“It’s an early start for you both tomorrow my lads, so off to bed with you both.” Gan ordered.  “I’ll need your help tomorrow looking for those stray sheep.  This is promising to be a long and harsh Winter and we're going to need them I fear."

--

Next day dawned brilliantly clear, but there was a bitter chill in the air.  There had been a slight fall of snow in the night but it amounted to less than an inch all told.

The family gathered in the kitchen, as there was just time for a quick bite to eat before setting off for the days adventure, after which the two boys eagerly helped their father load up the horse and ponies.  Being simple farmers they couldn’t afford a horse each so the boys had small ponies, sturdy enough but not the quickest of beasts.

“We’ll head West to the Cavern of Athoril” stated Gan.  “It’s possible our flock may have strayed in there out of the blizzards we had and could have been blocked in by a drift”.

“Wow!  This will be a great adventure, I’ve never been to the cavern before!” exclaimed Marek.

“It will be a tough day’s ride there and back in these conditions, but we should be fine as long as we set off early and the weather holds” came the reply.  We’ve plenty of provisions for the trip, mostly what was left over from last night’s feast."

With that they led their beasts out of the courtyard and then mounted up before setting off on the long ride.  As the crow flies the journey would be no more than 12 miles each way, but the downlands of Athoril do not in the main have well-maintained roads and those which do exist tend to wind their way along the valleys which criss-cross the area.

The small group had been riding for about an hour before stopping for a brief rest.  The going had been fairly easy so far with only light deposits of snow to contend with, but the ground being bone hard had meant they could only move at a trot at the most as their mounts were having difficulty keeping their footing.

“Are we nearly there yet father?” whined Marek who was always one to dream of adventure but didn’t really have the patience for such things when faced with them in actuality.

“No, we’re barely a third of the way yet, we’ve come maybe 5 miles, almost a league perhaps as they say in the army.  We’ve at least another 10 to go.  We should arrive by noon for a quick bite before we start our search” replied the boy's father matter-of-factly.

“You’re always complaining!” sighed Taub, showing his growing impatience with his twin.

“Stop bickering you two and have a drink of this” said Gan, handing Taub a skin of cider.

After a few minutes, when all were rested and had drunk their fill they started out again.

By now it was getting on for noon, the patchy snow which remained glinted in the sunlight and was starting to thaw fairly quickly except where shadows lingered.  A fresh breeze was beginning to spring up from the north and Gan was looking worriedly at a bank of thick cloud that was coming closer.

“We may have to seek shelter soon, those clouds look heavy with snow and will be here soon I’m afraid”.  He picked up the pace to a trot as the boys’ ponies snorted in derision at the extra pace they were being forced into.

The track was quite wide here, but still not in very good condition with pot-holes and deep ruts in places.  The direction changed to a north-westerly as the path now ran along a small stream between two low rounded hills.  The tops of the hills till looked to have quite some snow on them and the stream was very boisterous as it was reinforced tremendously with melt-water coming down from the higher ground.

“Where does that stream go to father” asked Marek curiously.

“I’m not sure” replied Gan.  “It’s heading south-east so I reckon it probably winds up in Lake Athoril, but I’m not certain.  Your cousins might know as they are quite keen fishermen and often visit the lake.”

“Where do you think we can shelter?” asked Taub.  “Are there any farms around here?”

“There used to be, before you two were born when times were better” replied Gan.  “They used to grow wheat in this valley as it is quite sheltered.  We might find the derelict farmhouse about a mile ahead but I’m not sure what condition it will be in.  It will make a good place for lunch whatever as it will be about time for a bite by then, I’m starving!”

Soon they could see a building loom into view.  It was positioned on a small raise next to the road and the stream was much wider here.  A few trees surrounded the farmhouse, or what was left of it.

“Here we are boys, fingers crossed it’s still got a roof on it!” Gan shouted above the wind which was now getting close to a gale.

Quickly they left the track and headed towards the building, following what used to be a cart-track which was now well overgrown with grass and brambles.  They had to dismount and lead their beats on foot as it was too treacherous underfoot with stones lying all around.

The farmhouse could now be seen clearly and it looked in a sorry state of repair with most of the paint peeling off the doors and window-frames.  The roof had partly fallen in and in fact a small tree poked out of one end of the building. 

“We might be best at the South end as the roof looks more or less intact there” ordered Gan.

He walked up to the door, which was clearly bolted and gave a hefty kick and it gave way with a loud crack.  They tied up the animals to a dead tree just outside the door, under the shelter of an overhanging eave and entered.

Inside it was quite gloomy, they walked down a narrow passageway, which then gave way to a large, square room with a window in one corner.  The room was empty, but there were a few leaves and bits of twig which must have blown in over the years.

“I think this was probably a bedroom, maybe a living room once” said Gan.  “We’ll eat here as it is quite sheltered and we can get a good view from that window”.

As he motioned to the small window in the south wall a few soft flakes of snow could be seen starting down.  Gan walked over to the window for a look as the boys opened their knapsacks and started to eat their lunch.

“It doesn’t look too bad” Gan said relieved.  “I think we’ll have a very heavy blizzard, but it should only last about 20 minutes or so, the cloud is thick but not too extensive”.

“That’s enough time for a good lunch” stated Taub.  “Mother has been generous once more"

The snow grew thick as they ate their fill and drank the last of the cider they had brought with them.  As the snow fell the wind grew stronger and small drifts began to form.

After about half an hour, the snow abated and the wind died down with it.  The bank of cloud had passed over as Gan had estimated and the sun was back out, albeit watery and low in the sky so it provided little warmth.

“Time to go again lads!”  Gan got up and walked outside with his sons behind him, eager to renew their journey.

“That snowstorm has made us behind schedule, we need to hurry now or we wont be back home before dark and it will be a cold night”  Gan pointed up at the clearing sky to emphasise the fact.

“Is the cavern nearby now?” queried Taub.

“It’s probably just over 5 miles or so, a good hour if the snow isn’t too bad” replied Gan.

Soon they were back on the road in the saddle once more, the snow was deep in places but the wind had ensured that the roads only had an inch or two covering them.  A few hundred yards further on from the old farm, they came to a rickety wooden bridge crossing the stream which had run alongside the road for the past couple of miles.

“We need to be careful here.” Warned Gan  “The stream isn’t deep so you wont drown, but it is freezing cold and if you fall in it will be unpleasant”.

The bridge was in need of repair, several planks making up the roadway looked rotten and the party dismounted and led their beasts across one at a time, carefully picking their way over.  On the far side they refilled their skins with cold water from the stream and then resumed their journey.

The stream now turned to the north and entered a steep looking wooded gorge, as the road itself also turned to the west and headed up a gentle incline.  The valley was now getting narrower as they climbed steadily, but gently.

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