《A Tale of Winter》


 Chapter 1 - The Winds of Winter

    Through leaves, through alleyways, through the air, the wind flowed.


    After the wind, came the dread.


    Not something a man could explain; nonetheless, a feeling of dread pervaded each man¡¯s soul. Every time the leaves sang their dry song of autumn, someone shivered. Howling, the dread swept through the alleys and awoke those sleeping within, their faces painted with trepidation. It swirled and meandered through, rousing those who slept soundly and horrifying the few who were awake.


    After the dread, came the cold.


    Bitter cold, colder than any Thircian had felt before. Icy daggers stabbed the skin, sucking any trace of heat from the body. A man¡¯s breath would freeze on his lips. The light clothes used for autumn stayed it not at all. It was as if some wintry demon had blown its breath upon the unfortunate citizens of Thirce, making the lakes freeze over in minutes. Any person caught outside of a warm fire¡¯s embrace would start to shiver, then their fingers turn numb.


    After the cold came the realization.


    Four long months the cold had been gone. Four months, and everything within Thirce thrived and pulsed with life. Those four months had now passed and the cold had come for its revenge, a revenge that would change the land for generations. Each man, woman, and child began to understand this winter would be the worst one since their father¡¯s, father¡¯s time. A black sky swallowed up the moon and the first flake of the freeze fell. Then came another, and another, until a blizzard had engulfed all; draining the hope from all those alive, and even some who were dead.


    After the realization came the rider.


    With much haste he rode down the snow covered dirt path, turning from the Bruden Road¡¯s cobble. Each dull thud made the rider¡¯s back ache and legs burn. His cloak flew back behind in a flurry of blue and gold, the colors of Lord Grimond. A thin sheen of sweat covered the horse. Both the rider and animal¡¯s breath came in a white fog, quickly dissipating into the night. Lord Grimond¡¯s rider galloped until he came into the presence of a great, sprawling manor. Only then did he finally slow and eventually stop.


    Weary, the rider slid off his mount, and in the process, took note of all the aches that he would feel for days. Seeing no post, he tied his horse to a light pole. Its candle extinguished long ago. Slowly, he walked to the door of the manor, his form small compared to the large, meticulously designed pillars, windows, and the door itself. It was almost two men high, painted a dark burgundy, and looked more solid than a battlement¡¯s gate. For the fortieth time, he checked his inside pocket for the letter written and sealed by Grimmond.


    Right as he knocked on the door¡ªor more accurately, right before he knocked¡ªthe door opened, revealing a plain man with a plain suit and plain white gloves. A small smile, almost a grin, stretched across his face.


    ¡°Hello, I am Lord Leonine¡¯s butler,¡± said the smiling man. ¡°What brings you to our estate?¡± The butler looked the other over with eyes that did not judge. He saw the gold and blue colors of the other¡¯s dress, the dirt that covered a considerable part of it, his labored breathing, and finally the unmasked surprise on the rider¡¯s face.


    Stumbling to recover, the messenger responded, ¡°Many greetings and apologies.¡± Although the man had introduced himself as the butler, the rider had no way of knowing how to address the servant. Within a few silent seconds, the rider resigned to an educated guess, greeting Lord Leonine¡¯s man as one below his station. ¡°I have a horse that needs tending soon.¡± He gestured toward his haphazardly tied animal.


    ¡°And what is the nature of this intrusion for which you must apologize?¡± A pause. The butler raised an eyebrow.


    The messenger could not help but fold into himself in the cursed wind. His beast could wait a minute or two. ¡°The nature is of my own business, as well as both of our lords.¡± The rider looked pointedly. ¡°It is most unwise to deter such dealings.¡±


    ¡°Of course, sire.¡± He bowed and gestured for the man to enter. The messenger passed the threshold, nodding. Heavy oak clicked shut too silently behind.


    ¡°May I ask the name of our honored guest?¡± The butler put on his almost-grin once again. His eyes only spoke of reverence and servitude. As it should be.


    ¡°Rigeos,¡± said the rider. Then added, ¡°I¡¯m here on important business from-¡±


    ¡°Lord Grimond.¡± The butler¡¯s grin faded. ¡°I can see.¡± Beneath his polite tone, lay something darker. ¡°The colors.¡±


    Before Rigeos could take offense, the polite man stood before him again, agreeable and smiling. He blinks. ¡°Of course.¡± Losing patience for the formal talk of two servants, he brought out the letter from his jacket pocket. ¡°Bring this to Lord Leonine.¡± The butler nodded. ¡°And wake the stable boy. My horse still needs tending.¡± He nodded his head once again before he was off.


    Into the distance the click of the butler¡¯s shoes on the wood floor faded. Relaxing, Rigeos lay back into a plush chair. He ran his hand over the cloth covering his seat. It was as soft as silk. He felt the smooth, polished surface of the giant table used for coffee and chocolate. As he relaxed further, he felt his feet sink into the thick carpet covering the dark, shining wood. He could not help but compare this resplendence to his own lord¡¯s lacking manor.


    A door opened and he quickly sat upright, composing himself. The butler appeared, grinning as he spoke. ¡°It is very late. My lord wished not to be disturbed.¡± He motioned into the hallway. ¡°I was told to lead you to your room.¡± Standing, Rigeos glared at the butler. Lord Leonine was not known for his impoliteness. No matter the hour, a message from Grimmond was to be read immediately. Reeling from such an insult to his lord, the rider followed code and trailed the butler through the hallways.


    Inside was even more richly decorated, as to be expected. Every few paces hung portraits; expertly painted lost kings and queens, landscapes that could not exist on mortal planes, and scenes of knights destroying great foes. Red carpet cushioned the footfalls of the two men slowly making their way to the room. Leonine¡¯s man departed outside the entrance of the guest bed, telling their guest not to hesitate to ask for anything. The butler shook the stable boy from a troubled sleep, and then directed himself to the house¡¯s lord.


    He opened the door to his master¡¯s study. Inside was Lord Leonine. Even sitting down in his chair he came up to the chest of his servant. His broad shoulders and tall frame made the seat seem like it was built for a dwarf. With the colors of his dukedom, red and gold, sitting upon his massive shoulders, he adjusted the patch resting over his right eye. Under a shaggy mane of dark hair, the other eye looked far past the plaster walls.


    Once the door was closed, Leonine still did not look up from what he was holding. It was a small, black leather-bound book, dwarfed by his rough fingers. Gently, almost delicately, he turned it over in his hands, feeling every ridge and crack in the binding of the familiar hide . He flipped through the pages like he had done a thousand times before. Between his fingers flew each page as water flows across smooth stone. A small twitch threatened to bring his lips into a smile. The servant cleared his throat.


    Leonine¡¯s eye looked up. His voice was slow. ¡°These nights . . . these nights remind me of long ago. Do they have the same effect for you?¡± He closed the book.


    ¡°A man has come. A messenger from Lord Grimond.¡± Aldrich sat in one of the plush chairs, ignoring the question. ¡°He obviously wants to discuss business. The steel mill comes to mind.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Leonine tucked the book into his overcoat, eyes still searching for something behind the walls. ¡°You didn¡¯t bring him to me at once?¡±


    Aldrich¡¯s grin returned. ¡°I know, for a fact, that you would have hated to have been disturbed. Whenever you happen to detach yourself from the rest of us into this study, anyone other than I brings your disposition . . .¡±


    Leonine stopped him with a wave of his hand. ¡°You know me the best of all, of course.¡± He breathed deeply, searching the window for answers. ¡°Lord Grimond¡¯s messenger should not be kept waiting. I¡¯m known to be a most gracious host. I hope your overstep in bounds does not cost me.¡±


    Aldrich lightly cuffed his lord on the shoulder. Instead of a horrified look for the violation in procedure, Leonine only exhaled one breath of air that might have been the ghost of a laugh. The servant smiled even wider. ¡°Stop jesting. I shall bring your temperament back to its jovial normalcy.¡±


    ¡°I am in no mood for talking in riddles tonight.¡± Leonine pressed his breast where the book was placed. ¡°We must rest. You were right in postponing my meeting with Lord Grimond. Messenger or not.¡± He gritted his teeth. ¡°That pretentious butcher has always been vying for my assets.¡±


    Aldrich stared, carefully choosing his words. ¡°My lord, he has quite considerable resources of his own. Making a friend . . .¡± Leonine¡¯s grey eye is drawn from the window to the butler. Aldrich swallowed but started again. ¡°Associating with such a man, not altogether wholesome, is beneficial to everyone involved. Do not let your exaggerated honor get in the way of securing your future. What of Abraham or Daven? Your wife?¡±


    Instead of hurling anger, as a younger, less learned man might have done, he accepted what his wise second said. ¡°Lhiasa will overcome what has confined her to her bed. She is much stronger than you think, Aldrich. And of my ego?¡± He chuckles. ¡°Your meaning does not fall on deaf ears, dear friend. It is what I have lived by for all these years. Through my honor, I wish to live on. Abraham will become the best of men. He is already reliable as any man twice his senior. They would understand if I chose right over convenient.¡±


    ¡°My lord, if I may inquire as to why you must choose the right thing? While we were discussing Theofylaktos just a fortnight ago, we discovered¨C.¡±


    ¡°I already said, I am in no mood for such puzzles tonight.¡± He tastes something sour. ¡°My temper is short. I must ask you to retire from my study.¡±


    In the few moments that followed, Aldrich was able to quietly bow, apologize, and exit out the study door in virtual silence. There was a reason the lord had taken his employment. He was a wise man but would not test one¡¯s patience to the edge of its limit. Leonine watched the door, wondering if maybe he was too harsh on him.


    Casting his doubts aside, Leonine left his study. Walking and thinking is what he would do. It was a habit he had taken to. It gave him time to enjoy the paintings. A nagging required him to enjoy them. He spent a fortune commissioning them. He could, however, never bring himself to love them. From around the globe he sought the most skilled of masters, hoping to lay their craft upon canvas. It never pleased him. What purpose did colored oil have on the sheet of white?


    In his dark stroll he stopped in the main hall. Sandarac frames leaned, the dark visages of the Leonine family staring blankly. Disapproving eyes leered from more than a hundred years ago. Somehow, through the plague, his family was able to spirit these heirlooms away, but the man had a cool indifference to these meticulous works of art. On the best of days.


    Raoul P¨¦lissier, a contemporary maestro from the Thriam school, was able to discern the exact condemnation between dark wrinkles the previous matriarch always gave her children. Her downturned, pale lips. Her crows feet tearing all the way to her ears. Raoul was even able to paint her jowls in the most flattering of ways. How Leonine hated her. He contemplated burning it many times just to rid himself of those grey eyes. Raoul had outdone himself. The patriarch never hired him again.


    A gentle cough startled Leonine. He jerked his head to the darkness where his butler bowed. He sighed. ¡°I wish to be alone, Aldrich. I thought I had made it abundantly clear the last we were together.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry for the disturbance, milord.¡± Aldrich bowed in apology. ¡°Your wife has called for you. I saw it as wise to relay the message promptly.¡± Without another word, Leonine hurried past. He mumbled an incomprehensible gratitude. The butler bowed again.


    Before a polished, oak door, he stopped. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, long and slow. Without a mirror he futilely straightened his suit and pushed open the door to reveal a soft yellow room. The carpet gave way to hardwood. Upon the floor rested a large bed embracing a small form.


    He made his way to the bed and kneeled beside the deeply breathing woman, running his hand through her disarrayed hair, feeling the thin blonde strands against his rough skin. Her normally perfect face was flushed and hot. If she was sleeping again, Leonine had no intention of trying to wake her. He even breathed as quietly as he could.


    As always, he tried to comprehend her beauty and, as always, failed to do so. The old stirrings of his heart felt almost alien after all this time. He often told her he was proud to have her. Not because he owned her, but because this woman had decided to own him. She liked to remind him of it many times a day when she was well. He felt her flushed cheek with the back of his hand, caressing her supple skin. He breathed a prayer and kissed her as if her skin was a soap bubble, trying not to break its fragile shell.


    Her eyes fluttered open. Those emerald green eyes pierced him. He froze in place. The white of her teeth showed when she smiled. Leonine¡¯s breath left his body in a sharp exhale. She pulled him forward. This close he smelled her sweat and her sickness. Nurses bathed her, but her bedridden body wafted a distinct putrescence which squeezed the man¡¯s heart. He held back his tears and gritted his teeth. She would be well. He knew it. He had to know it.


    Her voice is rough, not having been used in days. ¡°I have missed you.¡±


    Leonine was able to choke out, ¡°The same. The same for me.¡± He rubbed her earlobe then traced the folds of skin within.


    She flinched and smiled. ¡°Stop. It always tickles.¡± She looked at the candle by her bedside. ¡°What day is it?¡± Then back to her husband. ¡°Where is little Abraham?¡±


    Little Abraham. Suddenly, Leonine felt very old. His knees creaked on the carpeting. His left eye could no longer in the distance without squinting, giving him severe headaches. His back hurt even now as he leaned over her. Every morning he looks in the mirror to find more grey along his temple and in his whiskers. A child puts things in perspective.


    ¡°Abraham is not so little these days. He is away. I gave him the duty of convincing Lord Lark of the benefits of being reticent about Daven¡¯s exploits in June. Once Lark and his retinue have been dealt with, we can welcome Daven into the family once again.¡±


    Lhiasa only nodded with a sound of half acknowledgement, closing her eyes. He smiled solemnly and rose from her side to exit. However, before he was able to open the door he noticed a chill. Glancing around, he saw one of the windows cracked open. She must have told Aldrich to do it, and not being able to say no, the doting man must have figured Leonine would close it. The window smoothly slid back. Looking around for the last time, Leonine walked towards the door only to be interrupted by Lhiasa¡¯s smooth voice.


    ¡°Why are you leaving so soon? Stay with me awhile.¡± Under her spell, he walked back to her side. ¡°Sit down next to me, my love.¡± He did. She smiled into his eyes and said, ¡°I love you.¡± Her lips could never let a lie pass over them


    Pinpricks moved across his skin. A grin, larger than any he had in months, painted his face with joy. ¡°And I you, but you must sleep now.¡± He kissed her in truth this time, all his love behind it. ¡°Let it embrace you in its healing hands.¡±


    Nodding, she said, ¡°First, you must do me a favor.¡±


    ¡°And what may this favor entail?¡±


    ¡°You must read me a story.¡±


    ¡°It may be that my fears are worse than I originally thought. To demand something from your lord husband shows certain mental instability.¡±


    Lhiasa laughed her bell-like laugh, ringing through his heart. When she was finally able to catch her breath she said, ¡°Still, a story. I must demand it for otherwise you would never give such a thing to me.¡± Almost as if she was never ill, she was demanding childish things.


    ¡°Never? I would rip down the gates of Hell to give you what you desire.¡± He felt the leather book he had stored within his jacket. It came free of his pocket, the pages turned his joyful face somber. ¡°Ah, here it is.¡±


    ¡°Pray tell, what is it?¡±


    He pauses but forges ahead. ¡°Would it please you if I was to read a story that was not quite . . . untroubled?¡±


    She only thought for a moment. ¡°A sad story? It would, indeed, exhaust me. It would then please me, my lord.¡± She added the last with minute mockery.


    He sniffed. ¡°Promise me one thing. You must try and sleep once the story is concluded.¡±


    ¡°An easy promise to keep.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°And will you promise it?¡±


    ¡°I will. I promise it.¡±


    Nodding, Leonine felt the page with his outstretched finger. He started to read.

 Chapter 2 - The Dread of Winter

    It was cold. It was always cold. Filth choked alleyways ran along the sides of beaten down buildings. Glass windows seemed nonexistent within this place. Only boards stopped the cold air from penetrating a man¡¯s haven. On top of the filth, fell snow, over a foot deep. Frost covered all that was not hidden by the flakes. One¡¯s breath frosted white against the black of the night. The alleys, buildings, and slow shambling people of the broken city led to the culmination that was Trael. Three years after the interregnum no place reeked of decay like this place. Inside one of the many taverns¡ªalcohol being the last refuge of the cheerless denizens¡ªsat four people.


    The first two sat at their own table. Dark cloaks enshrouded them in darkness. Maybe only a gleam of eyes shined from underneath thick hoods. Backs hunched, the other two gave them much room. Their black scabbards and the red eye crest resting upon it marked them for ¡®the town watch¡¯. They were by no means working towards the good of the town or looking for trouble, but they did watch the town with their apathetic eyes. Their bags always jingled with coin from the mayor¡¯s own purse. Only a few indiscernible whispers of the watchmen fell onto the ears of one of the others.


    To the third man, it did not matter if the mayor was corrupt or not. It did not matter if the watch had given up. The only thing that mattered to him was survival. No sword rested at his hip, just a concealed dagger kept him safe in the deep of night. The orange light from the small fire danced across his features giving his gaunt face a ghostly appearance. Weighing the options in his head, he wondered if killing the two watchmen would be worth the risk. He settled on deciding once they left.


    Finally, the last sat at the bar instead of the heavy oak tables that had miraculously not been stolen and burned for warmth. Barely breathing, he stared at his reflection in the ale that looked and tasted of urine, and maybe other, worse things. His oily hair fell down around his head, reflecting light off his strangely dark hair. One grey eye, even stranger for Thirce, looked back at him. Those traits were indicative of Eastern descent, none too well liked among the Thircians. Out of wont instead of need, he adjusted the eye patch over his right eye. At this point in his life, Lyon had lost his will. At this point, he had lost everything. One last copper penny weighed down his purse, enough for one last glass of the foul ale. It had all come to an end so fast. A point of a sword through his throat and it would be peaceful once again.


    Cold flowed under the gaping hole in the doorway. The door strained against its noisy hinges and worn catch. It added to the noise of the fire and the two watchmen. Trying to win a futile war, the barkeep came from the back with a piece of cloth to stave off the worst of the chill. Right before he was able to position it into place, the door burst open.


    Much cursing from the barkeep followed the doors unexpected opening as he stumbled back. Fiercely scowling at the newcomer, the barkeep went back to tending the bar. Everyone, a grand total of four people, watched this new man stride in with confidence.


    That made everyone wary. All hands were resting upon a blade. They knew that a man only walked with confidence because he had killed too many men to count, or he had just come to town. Both were dangerous. Especially dangerous was his red hair. Only northerners had red hair tied into meticulous braids like this man. Up to the north they were known for their obsession for battle, spilling blood as easily as one would draw breath. Although, this one measured in around five and a half feet tall, no man underestimated the northerners for their height anymore. Fear of them was proven to be a necessity during the interregnum, for they had almost taken the impregnable high keep, Rockreach.


    Surprising Lyon, the northerner took a seat only one stool away. Obviously, everyone within the room wanted his solitude. Talk was not in high demand, nor was the supply overwhelming. As he furtively studied the figure more, he noticed anomalies to his first impression. The confidence he walked into the room with was not born of killing instinct, but of three collected knives from a local thieves band. Twenty men had been terrorizing traders outside Trael but this man had taken them out single handedly. He was definitely not new. Sitting straight up was comfortable and normal to the northerner, meaning a man of rank. This scars marred his face, meaning a man of battle. What was a high ranking general from the north doing as far south as Trael? Then Lyon saw it.


    On his finger he wore a grime covered gold ring, engraved with the crest of a dragon curling around an unsheathed sword. No doubt arose in Lyon¡¯s mind. This had to be King Arthur¡¯s right hand man. News of his fall from grace had gotten to Lyon many months ago. A price, so large it attracted every bounty hunter from every kingdom, had been put on Abel¡¯s head. Finding this man, Abel, had been his goal and that of his band of thieves. Now, the gods had smiled upon Lyon, giving him this bounty to scoop up.


    He had to be careful, though. A man who openly wears such obvious signs of who he is means he is either stupid or an excellent killer. The stories of Abel, although few, collectively point towards the latter. Lyon would be hard pressed to secure the man by himself, especially alive. Better to try to talk to the man first. What he would do from there, Lyon had no idea.


    ¡°Hello, friend,¡± said Lyon scooting one seat over. ¡°This one is on me.¡± He pulled out his last remaining penny. Before he even clicked it onto the table the barkeep snatched it like a hungry wolf. That was when Abel did something so unexpected Lyon almost fell from his seat.


    He smiled.


    It was a warm smile that ran against the grain of this dark place. Startled, Lyon searched for words but they all swam in incoherent circles. All he could do was emulate this Abel showing his teeth in something that might have been a smile in some forgotten part of civilization.


    ¡°Thanks, friend,¡± said Abel. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting such pleasantries, especially in this town.¡± He downed the ale. If its taste bothered him, he did not seem to show it. ¡°I must know the name of the man who would bestow such gifts.¡±


    ¡°Lyon is the name.¡± He had now recovered from the staggering blow that was this man¡¯s goodness. ¡°I am glad to make your acquaintance.¡± Lyon offered his hand which the other shook firmly. ¡°I would wish to know your name as well, to make things alike.¡±


    ¡°Ulric.¡± This falsity was not surprising. Only a dead man gives his real name when being hunted. ¡°I beg you to accept a gift of another cup of this fine ale. Only in this way can our situations truly be alike, as you say.¡±


    ¡°It is said well,¡± nodded Lyon. Abel called the barkeep over for one more glass. ¡°I cannot refuse such a generous offer.¡± Lyon drank his cup within seconds, trying not to taste the bitter concoction. Wiping his mouth, Lyon started again. ¡°What brings you to such a place?¡± He pointed to the well-worn armor that adorned Abel. ¡°Your choice of cloth seems to invite trouble.¡±


    Abel almost looked surprised as he looked upon himself. ¡°So it does,¡± he said without any derision but almost like Lyon had pointed out the sky was blue and Abel had just failed to notice. ¡°So it does,¡± he repeated. ¡°Nevertheless, this has turned a sword¡¯s point many a time. Without it, my chest would be full of holes!¡± Abel laughed at a joke he seemed to have made. It came from his chest and maybe, only slightly, lightened the mood before everyone realized where they were again.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°True enough, but what of the sword?¡± Lyon could not help but see the scabbard hanging from Abel¡¯s waist. Grime and dirt covered some of it but the rest was a striking blue. Designs, no, letters that Lyon could not read were etched into it. Its pommel had the head of a cat, its mouth open in the middle of a roar. ¡°An openly worn sword has the habit of pulling danger towards it.¡±


    Abel only smiled. ¡°Maybe the sword likes to have a bit of merrymaking every so often?¡± Lyon grunted while Abel laughed at his own joke. Lyon was perplexed by the man in front of him. His cheery demeanor had no place here. The way he carried himself was not of someone of this city, let alone this time. Everything about him was so lighthearted and genuine. It sickened Lyon. However, he had to overcome his disgust of such a simple man. To survive in this age meant he had to destroy this western deserter.


    ¡°A warrior then?¡± Lyon asked, acting interested.


    Abel gestured for another round, for the both of them. ¡°Aye. What gave me away? Was it the sword?¡± Wry smiles mirrored each other. The barkeep set down the mugs. Abel raised his. ¡°To long forgotten heroes.¡±


    ¡°I could drink to that.¡±


    They both downed their drinks. A companionable silence fell between them as they drank their fill of alcohol. After many minutes, Abel broke the silence. ¡°Which side were you on?¡±


    The question was a common one, three years after the interregnum. ¡°Originally?¡± Lyon swallowed another mouthful of the foul stuff. ¡°The Duhn dynasty was my patron. I sold my sword, for my master had died under my watch.¡±


    ¡°Ah, a terrible thing to happen. A stroke of bad luck, I presume?¡± Surprisingly, Abel knew much about the shame of failing to protect one¡¯s lord. His face showed a knowing pain, the many times used folds in his skin folded once more into a frown. Maybe, this man who sat opposite of Lyon knew of honor as he did, a long time ago.


    ¡°Indeed it was.¡± Lyon grunted. ¡°And you? Which side were you on during the war?¡±


    Now Abel grunted. ¡°You fought against me. In the end, Childermass¡¯ had become my lord.¡± Lyon rethought his conclusion on Abel¡¯s character. ¡°Do not misunderstand. I do not, and cannot, justify my time within Childermass¡¯ army. I can justify, however, that Arthur was a just and honorable man. At the time, my judgment was clouded by false ideals spouted by Arthur¡¯s own son.¡±


    Lyon thought himself foolish. Of course one would fight on this side or that side. Everyone was a soldier during the war, whether they wanted to be or not. Abel had the sense and honor to realize that he had fought for a man who had massacred thousands senselessly. Nevertheless, Lyon had to bring himself to an objective distance. He might have to kill him still.


    ¡°How much of it were you there for? The fighting I mean.¡±


    ¡°Since The Battle of Thuring¡¯s Hill.¡±


    ¡°You were there for all of it?¡± Not even Lyon had been there for all the fighting. The constitution of this man must be awesome.


    Abel stared into the distance, a forlorn look sweeping away his cheerfulness. ¡°Yes, yes, I was there. I saw the fall of Aikaterine. I saw her, the last Meciian, clash against the last of the elves. It was an epic battle that I shall not forget within my lifetime. Besides that honor bound duel, the rest is just an almost unremembered quintessence of battle, swords, blood, and pain. When Flielnune made his deal with Arthur, only to be absent when Arthur¡¯s own son, Childermass, flowed upon the battlefield to kill his father, I was there.


    ¡°When Rithton and Eckhart made their last stand upon the River of the Horse¡¯s bridge, two against a thousand. I saw men just as strong as them die upon an unlucky arrow. I saw the land ravaged by magicians and mages alike. I saw them until Thuring battled Huxley to the death and the combined powers destroyed the ties of the supernatural to us. I was there when magic was destroyed through Thuring¡¯s brazenness and Huxley¡¯s pride.


    ¡°I was there when the great Tiger of the East deserted, for he would not ravage a defenseless town.¡± Lyon sank into himself, remembering. ¡°After Arthur had died, I ran behind Luther¡¯s banner. The screaming of the dying echoed across the battlefield, louder than the screams of men trying to kill their compatriots. Hu Duhn pitted his entire force against Luther¡¯s battered troops. Hu destroyed Luther¡¯s army but before the last of Luther¡¯s men, and Luther himself, were killed, Childermass flew once again across the hill. Childermass,¡± Abel spat the name, ¡°murdered the emperor and finally struck his deal with Luther, sealing the fate of the Easterners.


    ¡°I was there when the last battle was fought. Flielnune appeared again, the last roadblock against Childermass¡¯ unstoppable army. His army of ferocious highlanders from the colds of the north clashed against Childermass for five days. Men died of exhaustion more than by a blade at the end of it. After each army was almost nothing, Flielnune and Childermass themselves fought.¡± Abel looked to the ceiling. ¡°It was beautiful. Fleilnune swung his gleaming battleaxe in wide arcs while Childermass countered with his unyielding sword. Alas, Flielnune was wounded and could not cut down the monster. I was there at Childermass¡¯ death when Luther¡¯s blade bit into Childermass¡¯ back. I remember distinctly the look of disbelief as he died only looking at the sword protruding from his chest.¡± Abel finally drew himself back. He shook his head from the memories of yesteryear. ¡°Sorry, I seem to have forgotten myself.¡±


    The two men looked at each other with newfound respect and laughed. Lyon said between laughs, ¡°Old times that shall not be forgotten.¡± They hit their mugs together. Lyon hadn¡¯t felt this in high spirits in months.


    Lyon said old with only a bit of irony in his voice. The interregnum had aged the land considerably. No young men sought adventure in these lands anymore. All that was left were the children, old men, and the hardest of people that had somehow survived The Battle of Trael, The Battle of Horseblood, and Childermass¡¯ Fall. It had all ended a scant three years ago. Two years after Childermass¡¯ Fall; Luther, Flielnune, and Xiao Duhn gathered together to end the madness in Thirce¡¯s capital, Farsung. Their agreement became known as the Tripartite Coalition Agreement. It finally ended the one hundred year period that had been referred to as the interregnum.


    ¡°I must agree with you.¡± Abel sipped his ale slowly. ¡°I must agree.¡± This intensely sober moment brought about Abel¡¯s cynicism. He thought of the day his king, Luther, declared independence from the Coalition, forcing the other two nations to follow. The pure futility of success.


    They both sat there for some time, thinking, reliving the best and worst moments of the great war. Their surroundings faded into the background. The two corrupt guards no longer bothered Lyon, nor did the surly barkeep. The screams of the dying echoed in his head. The master swordmen and elite tacticians battling upon a field of death and blood. Lyon remebered Aikaterine, the greatest warrior to have ever lived severing heads from shoulders. Her blue sword swinging through bodies like they were made of water.


    Lyon looked at the sword at Abel¡¯s hip. Forgetting himself he said, ¡°That sword, it looks much like Aikaterine¡¯s.¡±


    Abel looked at the other sharply. ¡°How did you come to that conclusion?¡±


    Lyon fumbled for words. He had lost himself in the memories, not thinking. ¡°I have heard stories, like all have.¡± He silently cursed himself for his folly. He tried to recover. ¡°Blue steel is not common.¡± Blue steel was common, but not the blue steel of Aikaterine¡¯s blade. Only someone who had seen it in person would know the difference between unbreakable steel and a common northerner blade.


    Resting a hand upon his pommel, Abel smiled. This time, though, there was no warmness within it. A hint of fear seeped into his eyes. ¡°Where did you say you were from?¡± Lyon¡¯s eyes hardened. He had no way out, the muscles of his arms tensing for the imminent strike. ¡°Was your name Lyon? An uncommon name, is it not?¡±


    Beyond any hope of recovery, Lyon mirrored Abel, resting his hand upon his sword¡¯s handle. ¡°It is indeed.¡±

 Chapter 3 - The Realization of Winter

    A cold wind blew along one of the watchman¡¯s neck. Strange, only the crack under the door would betray such cold against the popping warmth in the hearth. Further mystifying the situation was the look upon his companion¡¯s face. Terror, mixed with horror was openly displayed. Nothing was right about this. Gusts of wind, no matter how cold, would never freeze the skin like this one, numbing his neck, chest, and face. Only after he had taken those few precious seconds to analyze the situation did he try to inhale.


    Instead of arctic air burning his lungs, he only choked upon a thick, warm liquid tasting of iron. Instinct took over, forcing him to exhale only to be rewarded with bloody bubbles frothing from his mouth. Too late did the realization fall upon him, he was already dead, his mind only now catching up to speed. Terrible, terrible pain attached itself to the bloody wound. The watchman grabbed at his lifeblood¡¯s exit point in vain. His head slammed against the table before collapsing to the ground, never to take another breath.


    Bloody blade held deftly in his hand the thief said, ¡°Yer purse. Yer life. Choose.¡± The other watchman stared upon his fallen comrade. Just moments ago they had been conversing about the topic of being picked off by an urchin dweller within this wretched city. Ironic, thought the watchman, a mad grin spreading across his face. Somehow, the barkeep had disappeared at this exact moment into the back.


    ¡°Choose!¡± The thief jabbed at the air in front of the watchman. ¡°I¡¯ll not ask ¡®gain.¡±


    Lyon, shocked at the turn of events, shook his head trying to extinguish the dead man from his thoughts and looked upon his mark.


    He was gone. The insufferable fool had vanished right as Lyon¡¯s attention had been broken.


    Blasting through the door of the inn, Lyon saw a quick movement around the corner at the end of the street. He barreled after his prey not paying attention to the scuffle that had broken out behind him. Abel had the upper hand, due to his small size, in the cramped alleys. Lyon, on the other hand, was not as affected by the snow¡¯s depth as Abel was, for his long stride would carry his momentum through the snow¡¯s encumbrance.


    They dashed through narrow streets, open courtyards and destroyed buildings. Abel bounded off a table within one of these desecrated homes, to catch a rafter. He deftly swung himself onto the roof, losing no momentum from the maneuver. On and on he ran, his only companion, the moon. Its silvery light brought some small solace to him. Quickly, he looked back for signs of his pursuer. Finding none, he jogged on top of roofs, jumping over the small gaps between houses. Slowly, his heart started to fade from a booming drum to a fast worked billow¡ªwhite frost no longer poured its ghostly wisps from his mouth.


    Frost fell from another¡¯s lips as well. Snow crunched loudly under his leather boots; the boots themselves in slight disrepair. Lyon looked upon his prey from the streets below, gold thorns passing through his mind every step he took. No more would he and his have to kill travelers for small coppers. No longer would he have to dig graves for the men and women he had killed. No longer would his men go hungry but still trust him to lead them to their next meal.


    Still, he reveled in his quarry¡¯s speed and strength, a breath of fresh air after so many mundane targets. Lyon¡¯s mind tried to rationalize it as the excitement for the money, but somewhere within him, he knew it was only his animal ferocity trying to unbind itself. However, with this bounty, Lyon would be able to feed his entire cohort of thieves for years to come. Not just feed them from day to day but to buy their own hamlet. Lyon could even settle his little band into the life of governorship of a small town¡ªprotecting the townsfolk from what Lyon and his band once were¡ªfinally finding some sort of finish to his story.


    One must never forget the cruelty of fate and the gods when musing about the future.


    Abel stopped at the edge of the city. Guardsmen no longer patrolled the walls, especially during the seven months of winter. It was not that the mayor paid them regardless of duty served, or even that the cold penetrated the thin cloaks that were supplied. It was that no army would march upon these lands for years to come. There is no reason to defend the walls against a generation wiped clean of fighting men. Abel would be reminded forever of this; the sight of the city before him only brought the distinct realization to a burning, tangible reminder.


    Upon his eyes fell the sight of melancholy. Empty walls were only filled with the ghosts of battles long past. Rubble would continuously fall from the collapsing walls during blizzards, adding another hazard to an already deadly city. Black smoke rose from almost every chimney. White smoke arose from the proletariats¡¯ houses. They could still afford to burn the wood that was shipped in from Restchur, thirty leagues from Trael. Beyond the walls laid nothing but scarred earth from which no seedling or sprout had burst forth for over a decade since The Battle of Trael. On this day of the sixth month of the year, Vunes, the snow had fallen extremely heavily.


    White peace swirled around the city, casting its flakes upon it. It was counterfeit peace, though; the hands of it would reach down upon the people to pluck their life up into its deathly embrace. Abel could see a man collapse from the perch he had ordained as his own, the body in the distance falling into the cushioning snow. Surely, this was accompanied by a muffled crunch and tired eyes gazing upon the dead man, his pockets quickly emptied of everything. Abel could see a few others from his angle upon the sad excuse for a city. He could see those without homes freezing to death right beside those who were already dead, their shaking hands trying to claw warmth from an icicle.


    Like death itself, a huge man rose up from the catastrophe of the city not twenty feet from Abel, a wild smile suddenly growing across his face. Death had let Abel roam his domain for too long and now had come to claim his prize, the death of his rival, destroying the quarry before he had a chance to escape once more. Sword in hand, Abel began to charge the unimaginable legend that now stood before him, its dark silhouette casting a shadow upon his smaller form.


    Metal struck metal. Whines of steel bending echoed off the calm snow. The white fluff was kicked up around them in their duel of death, creating a shroud of misty ice. Death battled the smiling fool, equally matched in terms of skill. Their blades met again, and again, but Abel was forced to his knees under the strength of a ground shaking arc.


    ¡°Enough, oh solemn angel, enough I say!¡± Abel¡¯s legs quaked with pain and his arms were numb. His voice fared only marginally better. ¡°Take your accolade that is my life. You have earned it many a time over.¡± His head bowed in one last sign of resignation. After many moments of silence, Abel looked up at the towering man. ¡°Where is your voice, oh taker of lives and ender of legacies? Where is your say?¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Lyon shook away his incredulity. ¡°I am no ender of legacies. But a taker of lives? That I can attest to.¡± He circled behind the defeated warrior. ¡°Stand noble Abel. Stand and let your life be worth something at the end.¡± Lyon swung his large sword in a wide arc, hoping to rend the head of Abel from his body. Instead of harsh resistance from the thick bone of his spine, Lyon¡¯s blade met air, making him stumble forward. He recovered quickly and looked about him, to no avail. Abel had disappeared within a few short seconds of the other¡¯s faltering. ¡°Where hath he gone?¡± Wind gusted, blowing the recently disturbed snow into the air in a flurry. Lyon followed the gusting snow until it flew above the crumbling wall, right past the figure he had been searching for, outlined from behind with the moon¡¯s great light.


    ¡°Yourself a noble warrior,¡± said Abel atop the wall, ¡°I will refrain from killing you this night. Be warned, though, the next we meet, my blade will find your heart.¡±


    Before he could jump from the wall to disappear, Lyon called out. ¡°One last request, Abel.¡± The man turned to face Lyon. ¡°Tell me, where will you go now?¡± Lyon had no doubt that the plea would be dismissed. Then again, after all his searching, he wanted some way to track his bounty after his hapless luck this night. ¡°Your feet move like wind. Surely you could escape me once again.¡±


    ¡°An honorable man, such as you, deserves some answer not riddled with half-truths and lies, but I am not known to give such things,¡± Abel laughed. He thought a moment until his eyes lit up with playful glee. ¡°I will run to the night¡¯s embrace, following the trail of utter disgrace. The hawk, the eagle, and the pig shall talk, quite at length until the king shall balk. You shall find me here, you see, at the last hours of the marquis.¡± One last quick flash of teeth and he was gone. Abel hitting the snow was the last thing Lyon was able to hear, not even his footsteps could be discerned against the, now, howling wind.


    It all came crashing back: the hopelessness, the grief, the ever building weight that held itself on Lyon¡¯s shoulders. He had missed his chance for redemption. He had let his prey escape him this one, and only, time. All his animosity welled up. His hand gripped his sword and his shoulders shook while he gnashed his teeth together. Anguish escaped his lips in a guttural scream. His emotions were soon assuaged by his cold, calculating mind. He put his sword and his ferocious smile away. The wind whipped at his face and hands for what seemed like a lifetime before he finally moved. His bones seemed ancient and his joints pained him. Back to his band of thieves. Back to unrelenting helplessness. One great breath filled his lungs with burning air before he released it into the black night in a deep sigh.


    Lyon lumbered through the city streets and out through the city gates. No man paid any mind to the giant Easterner. No one cared. Right outside of town was a more respectable inn than anything within the city¡¯s walls, its ale only tasted of horrible ale, the foul stench of waste almost removed. Lyon burst through the double doors into the large chamber.


    Talk was loud and rowdy, this being the only place where anyone with a semblance of joy stayed. Nights were expensive, real logs burned in the hearth and actual food was served. Everyone here was just passing through to Burins or Restchur. Out of the crowd Lyon spotted his band, packed into a corner, all hands rested upon their pommels. He made his way over to his compatriots.


    ¡°It¡¯s Lyon!¡± roared Berik, the only one who towered over Lyon. ¡°He¡¯s finally come back! Relax everyone.¡± Berik made his way over to Lyon, long, powerful legs traversing the distance between them in a breath. ¡°How goes it, friend?¡± He clapped Lyon on the back with his log he called a hand. His crooked smile and eyes were of real joy.


    ¡°Some questions have the undesirable effect of turning a cheery mood rather sour,¡± said Lyon brushing past the brute. ¡°Another time, perhaps.¡± Berik only grunted in reply, moving on to bother his brother, Ferik. Under his breath, Lyon whispered, ¡°One day, I shall smash your skull in, you fool.¡±


    Inside, the fire¡¯s warmth turned Lyon¡¯s mood less bitter. It was good to sit upon solid ground. Someone pushed a thin soup into his hands. Thanks were mumbled and Lyon ate every drop of the meatless broth. It did very little to sate his appetite. Feeling returned to his face and although the soup did not quite make him feel full of energy, it lent some strength, to contend with his fellows again. Just in time, too, for Lavara chose to sit beside him.


    ¡°The business in Trael not come to a pleasant end?¡± asked Lavara. Her rough features did nothing for her rough voice. Dark, ratty hair grew out from atop a scarred face; a broken nose adorning the center. Although beauty was not a trait she exemplified, strength and hardness more than made her a formidable opponent. The ability to survive was much more sought after than a fleeting thing such as beauty.


    ¡°What possibly made you think such a thing?¡± Lyon asked, harsher than he intended.


    Lavara grunted in response. They sat in silence for some time, the fire in the hearth crackling all the while. As per the innkeeper¡¯s agreement with them, Richard was tasked with tending the fire and replenishing the wood. He threw another broad log onto it, sending sparks dancing up the flue. An argument arose from across the room only to be broken apart by Berik when he finally decided to notice. Another agreement for room and board. With their services bartered the cost of such an extravagant inn was lowered to a less extortionate rate.


    ¡°Would you like to share my bed tonight?¡± Lavara asked this without any inflection in her voice. Her eyes stared into the fire, as if trying to pry its secrets from its inferno.


    Lyon looked upon this woman again. He did not outright find her revolting he surmised. Although her face was marred by this age of battle, Lyon thought it would be better than shivering within his own bed, brooding with his thoughts alone. ¡°Yes, I suppose I would.¡±


    Lavara turned toward him and nodded. She grunted, as was her wont, and disappeared into the crowd of drunken brawlers to take care of some unruly youngster, no doubt. Lyon watched her go, differently this time. Intelligence swam behind her brown eyes and she did, indeed, have the body of a woman, despite remarks otherwise, mostly from Berik. Strange, it seemed, the woman never betrayed such thoughts towards him before.


    Less than an hour later, the inn¡¯s lobby began to empty. Feeling Lyon¡¯s mood, no one had come over to talk to the man. He enjoyed the quiet. Most days he had to labor over every miniscule dispute. This time, they read his demeanor well enough to leave him alone. The last of the cooked food was shoved down the gullets of hungry men; the fire was then left to burn itself out while providing some heat with its dying embers.


    Being the last one in the hall, Lyon looked down upon his mug of ale to see his amber reflection, just as he had earlier that day. He tried to remember that feeling he had when Abel was in front of him but it escaped. If anything, Lyon only looked more worn than he had before, no extra vitality bestowed from catching his quarry and returning home victorious. He subconsciously adjusted his eye patch and checked his sword as well as his purse. Then, he slowly made his way up the stairs of the tavern to Lavara¡¯s room. She had gotten her own for she was the only woman that Lyon had let on to his group.


    Instead of knocking he tried the handle first, surprised to find it unlocked. Casually striding in, Lyon found Lavara already asleep on her bed, her form dressed in a light cloth. A moment of indecision warred in his mind. He chose to undress himself and climb into bed beside her form. Draping his arm across her, Lyon smelled her hair, sweat laced with the aroma of spruce. He closed his eyes, lost in the memories of yesteryear.

 Chapter 4 - The Reminder of Winter

    ¡°Lyon, what¡¯s the plan?¡± The man who asked was covered by shadow. His face was unclear except for his blue eyes. Pure fear showed upon them. ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± he asked again, terror seeping from those haunting azure orbs.


    Fires danced like demons around Lyon and the other, houses creaked and groaned, slowly collapsing. The warmth was almost intolerable. Sweat poured from their faces and their chests heaved with deep breaths, muffled coughs trying in vain to exhale the suffocating black smoke. Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door they had haphazardly barricaded, clinking metal followed every footfall. Through the slats of the house Lyon was able to see over a score of men armed with swords and clad in shining steel. Their helms reflected off the swaying blaze to make it seem as if their heads were made of flames instead flesh and their bodies clad in pure fire. Their mouths stretched along their faces into maddening grins and all that was missing to complete the visage were horns growing from their glowing helms. Men, born of demons, were attacking his town.


    ¡°Settle yourself, Waldemar,¡± Lyon shushed. ¡°Our plan is to survive, nothing more.¡± Lyon looked around as smoke bellowed in, filling the entire house they had taken refuge in. No fire had yet taken root in the dusty girders but fire engulfs with utter destruction and abandon. Desperately, he hoped that Galya was alright, and Larisa as well. Most of all, he hoped for Aleksandr¡¯s safety. He silently cursed himself for thinking of his son before his wife and daughter. However, there was no one else to carry on his family name. His two other sons ruthlessly cut down in wars about lands and goods Lyon would never see.


    Waldemar whimpered loudly. ¡°Be quiet, you fool!¡± rumbled Lyon before biting his own lip. He closed his eyes trying to calm himself. ¡°Do you want to draw the entire army¡¯s attention?¡± No one outside could have possibly heard him; the fires crackled loudly and the other men¡¯s footsteps and helmets prevented such things, but the chance existed. Lyon just wanted the miserable fool to stop his pathetic sounds of anguish. The more one pities oneself, the less time one has to actually face the problem.


    ¡°They¡¯re all dead, Lyon!¡± cried Waldemar. ¡°Gratia, Hanna, Heike, all dead.¡± His head fell into his hands. ¡°I saw them, Lyon! All lined up. Their little forms, lined up like little sacks of grain.¡± He started to sob. Lyon always felt sorry for the man. Having only girls, three for that matter, was an insult to manhood. Now, disgust was all he could feel for the crying thing that tried to pass itself off as human. ¡°I want them back!¡± he screamed. Lyon tackled the fool to the ground, covering Waldemar¡¯s mouth with his hand.


    ¡°Be quiet, I say!¡± Lyon snarled. He looked between the slats to find a few men had their swords drawn were heading towards his refuge. Lyon looked upon the man beneath him. ¡°You have doomed us both. I should kill you here.¡± Waldemar pleaded with his eyes, tears streaming from them. Lyon¡¯s hand found its way to the other¡¯s neck. ¡°You brought our death upon us,¡± Lyon said tightening his hold upon the smaller man¡¯s neck, his fingers turning white as blood rushed through his powerful forearms. Waldemar¡¯s eyes bulged and futilely beat his hands against Lyon as the edge of his vision began to fade. Gritting his teeth, Lyon stared into the dying man¡¯s eyes.


    Suddenly, Waldemar¡¯s face warped into a familiar face, stained with blood and dirt.


    The face smiled crookedly up at Lyon whose hand still squeezed like an iron vice. His voice came out in a language only Lyon would know, ¡°Just like the old times, eh, Tiger?¡± Piercing blue eyes look up at Lyon over his crooked smile, small chuckles escaping even through the stranglehold. Lyon jerked away, inhaling a sharp breath. The face began to laugh louder and louder until it was a deafening pitch. Blood poured from the laughing man¡¯s eyes, nostrils, and mouth but the sound never faded.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my fault!¡± screamed Lyon screwing his eyes and covering his ears. He roared, trying to drown the unbearable laughing to no avail. ¡°It wasn¡¯t my fault!¡± he roared again.


    The laughing stopped.


    Lyon opened his eyes to see a wheezing Waldemar clawing at his neck as cherished air rushed into his lungs. Two armor clad men were now throwing their shoulder against the door they had previously barricaded. Shaking his head, Lyon banished the thought of what had just happened for another time. Thinking quick, Lyon thought of only one way to escape.


    ¡°Come,¡± Lyon commanded, pulling the other to his feet. ¡°We have to shatter the window and get out without killing ourselves.¡± The building they had taken refuge in had one window facing an alley: the resident had it installed, for quite a price, to try to catch their husband whenever he would sneak out to visit less than savory establishments. Instead of protecting the sanctity of marriage it would now protect Lyon and Waldemar¡¯s life. However, glass often killed whoever was unlucky enough to break it.


    Waldemar was able to understand his meaning but shook his head. His arms wrapped around himself and body slightly turned away from Lyon. Lyon motioned again, urgently. Waldemar did not even bother to shake his head as he sat down and began to weep as the door slid open with each ram of the soldiers outside. Lyon tried to hoist the man up only to be met with Waldemar¡¯s dead weight.


    ¡°To your death you go then,¡± snarled Lyon. ¡°This is not on my hands.¡± Lyon picked up a chair used in the barricade and jabbed at the glass, bouncing the chair¡¯s leg off its surface. Surprised at its strength Lyon put tremendous strength behind the second blow, shattering the glass. The few seconds Lyon wasted was enough for the two soldiers to swing the door open enough for them to charge in, swords brandished.


    For a few moments the trio stared at each other. Then, Lyon hurled the heavy, oaken chair at the soldiers and launched himself through the window, a hot pain rushing down his thigh. Rolling into a run in the alley, he whispered to himself, ¡°Damn you, Waldemar.¡± Behind him, Waldemar¡¯s sobs turned into screams. Pouring on the speed, Lyon ran through the burning city towards his own house. If Waldemar made it so that Lyon was too late to save Aleksandr he would kill the man, again, if the soldiers beat him to it.


    So far, Lyon had not seen any bodies of his fellows. Screams he could hear, but the absence of bodies and blood gave him hope. A small chance still remained, a small hope. He ignored the harsh smoke clouding his vision. This town was not large, but the way was always blocked. Burning buildings created impassable sections while soldiers cut off the rest. Lyon¡¯s only way through was across the central square. The soldiers came and went from there frequently, so Lyon would have to be extremely careful while trying to traverse it.


    Only once did Lyon have a close call. The soldiers happened to be looking the other way when he barreled out of an alley to the one opposite. He would thank the gods later. Everything in Lyon¡¯s mind was playing out in a perfectly worked plan. He would corner and kill a soldier to acquire his uniform and sword. If his family were barricaded inside their house, he would easily spirit them away; the soldiers being too battle crazed to dutifully check every back street. It would work. He could save his family and leave the violence behind him once again.


    As he came closer to square where fresh vegetables and grains were once sold every Sunday, a pungent smell pervaded Lyon¡¯s senses. It almost made him retch but he held back through years of attenuation. This acrid smell was all too familiar. Lyon¡¯s face morphed into a teeth bearing snarl. Memories of exhaustion and misery permeated his every thought and his run slowed to a fast walk. He cleached and unclenched his fists while grinding his teeth and letting out small grunts. The source of the smell, smoke, and heat was in the center of the square.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Lyon peered out of the alley into the inferno. Skin, muscle, and fat burned in an enormous pile of bodies. Heat emanated from the bonfire of corpses so fiercely it turned the cheeks scarlet in seconds and stole one¡¯s breath away . All the people he ever knew were burning to a black crisp within the inferno¡¯s hungry maw. Screaming faces stared at Lyon¡¯s disbelieving eyes. Their eye sockets only filled with darkness despite the roaring flames. Every piece of hope, every spark of motivation, every burning wish was casually extinguished and a blackness consumed Lyon


    Anger filled the abyss that remained. A smile spread across Lyon¡¯s face and he let out a small chuckle. Without hesitation, Lyon stormed up to the first soldier in sight, quickly forcing his arms around his neck. The soldier tried to lash out, but Lyon¡¯s strength and surprise gave him the upper-hand. Slowly, Lyon felt the life drain from the man in his clutches, his last twitches of life stopping as Lyon smiled ever larger. Conscious thought was lost as Lyon threw aside the unmoving man, running at another. A small scuffle ensued but Lyon was able to mount the soldier and close his hands around the other¡¯s throat until a pop was felt under his hands. After the second man was snuffed out the other soldiers within the square started to notice the sounds of mortal combat. Lyon charged a third, disbelieving stares following him.


    Lyon tackled the ironclad soldier, knocking the air out of him. A few vicious punches hit the man causing his head to smash against the ground and bounce back into Lyon¡¯s waiting fist. Gurgling, the soldier fell limp. Instead of going after the man closest to him, Lyon kept smashing his now bleeding fists into the twitching man¡¯s skull. Dull pain ebbed into his mind but Lyon ignored it, his fists would mend. No man came to help his fellow, instead choosing to look in horror as their comrade¡¯s face was demolished to a pulpy redness.


    The square stood in silence as Lyon arose, warm droplets falling from his mangled hands. Wide eyes stared upon the gore covered man. There was no way they could kill this embodiment of death. This was no man but an angel come to claim their souls.


    Before Lyon could attack the next man they had regained their sense. Their swords were drawn and Lyon was encircled by the men. He gave them one last look of bitter defiance; he wouldn¡¯t go down like the weaklings in this town. He would kill these men or die trying.


    A roar rumbled from his chest, bellowing out against the cold steel in the other men¡¯s hands. He charged them as they yelled out their own cries of war, running towards this demon in human form. Lyon wailed and snarled, bashed and growled, sliced and roared as twelve men stumbled to stop an animal bred for war. Bones broke and swords were plunged into flesh. Eyes were ripped out as necks were bitten clean through. The last man started to run but Lyon pounced upon his back and splintered the man¡¯s skull into the welcoming cobble. Twelve lifeless husks had tried their best to kill one, unarmed, smiling man. Lyon rolled off the body, still pumping blood through its ruined face.


    Lyon¡¯s chest quickly rose and fell while lying on the ground, a sword skewered through his innards. Warm blood blossomed from the wound as the rest of his body grew cold. He heard footsteps fill the square announcing the arrival of a larger force. Lyon, however, could not see them. He could only see the bodies of those he once loved, still smoldering in the square. The feet of the army surrounding him obscured the gruesome picture, but he saw past them to the horror.


    The men who faced Lyon saw a different view. They saw twelve soldiers killed, beaten lifeless with a wild thing¡¯s hands. They saw the thing lying there, fire still in its eyes, not daring to come any closer no matter how wounded the thing was. It was not until their commander approached did they muster the courage to check upon their men.


    Something touched Lyon¡¯s cheek as the bodies of those fallen around him were dragged away. He ignored it. He was dying, the worries of this physical place could wait just a little longer. Sharp pain lanced through his cheek. A grey blade drew back, its intent realized.


    ¡°Lyon,¡± called a gruff voice. ¡°Lyon, make your ears work, I have little time for an old, dead soldier.¡± Slowly, Lyon was able to focus on the face the words spilled from. ¡°Ah, there you are.¡± A smile spread across a familiar face, maybe even more horrible than the vision he had before. Black eyes stared down at the dying man, black hair enshrouding his face. ¡°It¡¯s been far too long, Lyon son of Ziigr.¡±


    ¡°Udivitel,¡± Lyon spat. ¡°You have betrayed me? You? I saved you from certain doom. I saved you!¡± Lyon spat blood into the face of the smiling man.


    Udivitel¡¯s smile disappeared as he wiped away the insult. ¡°Yes, you did.¡± He frowned deeply. ¡°You had a great fire in you,¡± he looked around, ¡°and still do. Now everyone in this town shares the fire you epitomize.¡± The cruel smile returned. Udivitel looked at the bloodbath Lyon concocted. ¡°Those were men trained in the highest caliber. You ended their life as easily as blowing out a candle.¡± Looking up into the sky Udivitel chuckled. ¡°Do you remember the day when-¡±


    ¡°Why!?¡± Lyon screamed. ¡°Why did you do this? What evil has pervaded your being? We were comrades!¡±


    Udivitel kneeled down and took Lyon¡¯s mane in one hand. ¡°You think it easy? To kill the innocent when our emperor orders it? No, you betrayed the trust that was given to you. You betrayed us all. Instead of doing this,¡± he swept his hand across the burning town, ¡°you decided you knew what the best course of action to take for our country was. Your luxurious life had weakened you, made you into the profligate son of a whore you are.¡± Udivitel smacked Lyon across the face with his free hand.


    Face stinging, Lyon asked, ¡°The time at the academy meant nothing, old friend?¡± Lyon already knew the answer.


    ¡°No more than it means to kill your wife right here.¡± Udivitel motioned towards a group of soldiers who hurriedly brought forth a woman. She was slim but athletic and her face had all the signs of eastern nobility: high cheekbones, full lips, and a thin nose. If she was not covered in soot and dirt her skin would be fair and flawless. ¡°Oh beautiful Galya, your face has not aged a day. How it was always my wish to feel your lips with mine.¡± Udivitel grabbed her hair, forcing a yelp out of her before he violently forced her face to his.


    ¡°Galya!¡± yelled Lyon, coughing blood. She opened her eyes to see her husband sprawled upon the ground, scarlet rushing from his wound.


    Udivitel pulled back. ¡°Lyon!¡± was all Galya was able to say as cold steel flashed across her neck. She gasped in shock, inhaling blood, and fell to the ground. Useless fingers clawed at her neck while her eyes stared into Lyon¡¯s. She finally stopped trying to breath her own blood and the lights dimmed from her eyes.


    An anguish so deep enveloped Lyon it almost swallowed him. It purged what was driving him, devouring every bit of reserve he had to lash out at these people. His hot, unfathomable anger, quenched. ¡°Unforgivable.¡± Tears poured from his eyes. ¡°Unforgivable,¡± he said again between sobs.


    Udivitel wiped the blood from dagger, his face now grave. ¡°Yes Lyon, what I have done is unforgivable. Remember, though, it was not I who could have stopped the death of Hu.¡± No words were able to leave Lyon¡¯s broken heart besides unforgivable. ¡°It seems I may have broken him. Bring me his daughter, then.¡± Another group of soldiers brought forth a girl, just twelve seasons old. She was crying, her face marred by cuts and spots of dirt. ¡°Will you do nothing as I rip open her throat as well?¡± He gently caressed the recess underneath her chin.


    Lyon looked sharply at his comrade. ¡°Do not, Udivitel. If there is any humanity left within you, do not do this!¡± Udivitel breathed in deeply. ¡°I beg you! I beg this one thing of you, Udivitel.¡± He sighed. ¡°You have punished us enough.¡±


    Exploding, Udivitel roared. ¡°Punished? You have not been punished enough!¡± He put the knife up to the girl¡¯s throat.


    ¡°Do not!¡±


    The knife ceased its journey. Only a small rivulet of blood ran down the crying girl¡¯s throat. ¡°Maybe you are right. I will not kill her.¡± He sheathed the knife. ¡°Raven, she¡¯s yours now.¡± A man, with a hungry smile took the small girl away. ¡°This shall be your punishment, deserter.¡± Udivitel smiled fully, looking down at the broken man. ¡°You can watch.¡± He considered for a moment. ¡°It is a horrible scene to witness, however. I should lessen some of the burden.¡± Udivitel''s knife moved swiftly. Screams of Lyon and his daughter filled the night.

 Chapter 5 - The Thaw of Winter

    ¡°What a horrible story,¡± laughed Lhiasa. ¡°You want me lose interest in your horrid tale and rest.¡± Lhiasa squeezed Leonine¡¯s leg reassuringly. ¡°If that¡¯s what you really desire then I willingly concede. Your efforts will not go unnoticed.¡± She closed her eyes. ¡°Tell me what happens next.¡±


    Leonine reached out and squeezed his wife¡¯s hand. ¡°You see right through me, my love.¡± He looked down and began to read again.


    Lyon awoke, inhaling sharply. He looked around in confusion, teeth bared. It was quiet save for a whistling through a small crack in the room¡¯s window. Lavara was huddled against him, her hand gently squeezing his. Lyon looked at the battle scarred woman as she reached her other hand up to his face, caressing his rough cheek. She shushed him and pulled him closer. His heart finally began to cease its incessant thundering when their lips met; his heart now beating heavily for a different reason. Lavara soothed Lyon at least four times in the darkness before collapsing into an exhausted sleep. No demons chased him this time as he closed his eyes. Their hands clasped together as their chests rose and fell rhythmically through the rest of the night.


    When he awoke the second time the room was still shrouded in darkness. His hands rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes while his legs swung over the edge. The sun, as well as his friends, were far from waking; however, Lyon was not about to squander these few extra hours. After having such dreams he remembered the days long past; when he ran to the night¡¯s embrace, following the trail of utter disgrace. He remembered when the hawk, the eagle, and the pig talked, quite at length until the king balked. He remembered the last hours of the marquis, where he would find his prey. His salvation.


    Some time passed while Lyon sat in the lobby of the inn, back against the wall and a scowl on his face. A plan formed in the back of his mind while the hours passed and the sun started to rise. The innkeeper saw the restless soldier and served him a thick soup and a weak ale, but Lyon was surprised. Actual pieces of meat floated alongside bits of vegetables. The ale was weak but had a palatable, almost enjoyable taste. Lyon raised an eyebrow towards the innkeeper.


    Noticing the innkeeper laughed, ¡°I¡¯ve been brewing myself recently. I can¡¯t get the stuff to be too strong without ruining the whole batch, but every barrel from Trael has been butchered. Thought I¡¯d give it a go.¡± Lyon raised his mug to the innkeeper as rays of light appeared through the windows. ¡°Thanks, soldier. You can your company have pulled your weight around here. Brought a lot of travellers here. Not leaving too soon are ya?¡±


    Alas, Lyon was committed to catching his prey. The innkeeper was disappointed at the news of Lyon and his company leaving but he was anything if not understanding. He walked over and clasped Lyon on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile, something Lyon would have to acclimate to, it seemed. ¡°I thank you for what you¡¯ve done. You¡¯re good people.¡± The innkeeper went about his daily duties as Lyon sat there trying to reconcile his disbelief.


    There are good people in this world. Lyon sat in silence for many minutes before he scoffed. He wasn¡¯t one of them.


    ¡°Awake at last,¡± Lyon gibbed as his companions started filing down the stairs later into the morning. ¡°Awake at last.¡± Berik more fell than walked down the stairs, his feet touching just a few more stairs than just his hands, Ferik following suit. After them came Lavara, Bern, Hietzler, Kilvnet, and Openduis. From the four corners of the known world they found Lyon. Berik and Ferik had latched onto Lyon at a young age when their home was destroyed. Lyon become their protector and they became his arms. Any shortcoming in intelligence they had was more than made up for in strength.


    Openduis was from Magnhild. Berik and Ferik were large men but Openduis could have been mistaken for a marble statue. The corded muscles on the man were like slabs of stone, hard and impenetrable. Where the Erik brothers were conceited, Openduis was humble. Lyon knew he could tell the man anything and the words would never be uttered again. Unassuming and taciturn, he was often found whiling away the night looking at the stars.


    ¡°Lyon, tell us what curtailed your adventure into the city proper,¡± said Openduis, an obvious look of worry wrinkling his face.


    Lyon heaved a great sigh. He drummed his fingers upon the table he sat at, looking about the room at the other early risers. ¡°I found him.¡±


    ¡°Found who?¡± spoke Hietzler, who was usually quiet.


    ¡°Him!¡± emphasized Lyon. Every bleary eye turned to face him. All their eyes trained upon his lips so they could maybe see the words formed before the sound filled their ears. ¡°However, I lost him.¡±


    Gasps of disbelief and curses fell from everyone¡¯s mouth with the exception of Openduis; his eyes lazily traced the floorboards as was his wont. Although the curses were not directly placed upon Lyon they had the desired effect of scorn and disdain.


    Lyon growled and stood, hand resting upon his sword. ¡°Enough. Your mouths forget their place.¡± The lot of them settled. ¡°As I was previously communicating, I lost him. I was about to say ¡®I know where he is going¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Pray tell,¡± said Bern. Lyon looked at the small, hairy man squinting his eyes. Lyon¡¯s knuckles were still slightly bruised from the last time he had struck the smaller man. Bern smartly added, ¡°We should be off at once to collect.¡± The others shook their heads in agreement.


    Lyon betrayed his calm countenance with a slight sneer. ¡°Of course.¡± Lyon bent down, as if someone might overhear. ¡°He said to me that he was going to the capital itself.¡±


    Murmurings flowed between the other companions. Talk of crimes they once committed there punishable by death and those they once knew. ¡°Going there would be suicide,¡± spoke Kilvnet. ¡°We would be arrested, tried, and executed before words would ever spring from our throats.¡±


    ¡°Except Lyon,¡± grumbled Ferik.


    ¡°Yes, except Lyon,¡± agreed Kilvnet. ¡°He would just be tortured and eventually handed over to the Easterners. Then they would commence to kill him.¡± The group looked suspiciously at Lyon.


    ¡°Listen friends,¡± commanded Lyon. ¡°Listen to what I am saying. Our bounty worth a thousand kingdoms is slowly heading towards the capitol. We can catch him. He has no horse and I forced him from the city before he could gather supplies.¡±


    ¡°How do you know he¡¯s not still here?¡± challenged Kilvnet. ¡°What if he just outsmarted you? Why would he even tell you where he is going?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that is a strange bit of information to procure,¡± said Openduis. ¡°How, exactly, did you manage to gain it? You did not just ask him.¡±


    A laugh rumbled out of Lyon¡¯s chest. ¡°That is exactly what I did. He is known for his honor and I only used that.¡±


    Shaking of heads followed the point. They each shared their opinion no one would willingly give away their position just to uphold something that did not even exist. Even loyal Openduis shared his doubts of such loyalty to one¡¯s own principles. Lyon tried to assuage their doubts, but each attempt was met with resistance by one of his band. He gritted his teeth and growled, ¡°We head to the capitol. That is final.¡±


    Kilvnet stood. ¡°You call and expect us to¡ª¡°


    Metal slid against leather and cleared the sheath before the sword stopped barely a fingerbreadth away from Kilvnet¡¯s throat. Lyon¡¯s steady sword was complimented by his cold, deadly eyes. ¡°Leave it, Kilvnet.¡± Kilvnet bared his teeth and moved his hand to his sword. ¡°Leave it,¡± warned Lyon as the others held their breath. .


    Kilvnet¡¯s hand relaxed slowly from his pommel, the hard look fell away from his face slowly, cracking like stone. ¡°Of course,¡± smiled Kilvnet, and then added, ¡°My friend.¡± The rest of the group slowly began to breathe, their hands moving away from their own weapons. The butting of heads between Lyon and Kilvnet had become frequent occurrences and even now, with Lyon¡¯s sword drawn, no real fear of blood being spilled entered anyone¡¯s mind. ¡°How ¡®bout I get us some ale. Do us good. Put some life back into these bones.¡±


    Kilvnet turned his back on the drawn sword prompting Lyon to sheath it once more. Uneasiness, as always, followed their exchange. Sweat beaded off Kilvnet¡¯s forehead; his smile turning into a snarl, but Lyon seemed more and more rash in his decision to challenge him and may not believe his visage of confidence the next time. The thought of letting Lyon¡¯s blood run freely across the floorboards made Kilvnet breathe erratically. Lyon ground his teeth, thinking about how best to end the thorn in his side. Both, however, always saved their bloodletting for another time.


    ¡°As I mentioned before,¡± huffed Lyon, ¡°Abel is off to the capital.¡± Bern, with his usual haughtiness, opened his mouth. Lyon quickly added, ¡°He did not tell directly. I was given a riddle.¡± Bern¡¯s formerly puffed chest decreased in volume quietly. ¡°His honor and stupidity betray him: he thinks he can outrun us.¡±


    Kilvnet spoke up. ¡°Then we have already wasted an entire day. Why was no word mentioned earlier of this?¡± The others voiced their agreement. They could have left immediately the night before.


    Gritted teeth let Lyon¡¯s words pass through. ¡°I had only figured his nonsense for something of worth this morning. I am usually slow to understand nonsense.¡± He pointedly stared at Kilvnet. The other only shrank into a chair he had procured on the other side of the room.


    ¡°When do we leave?¡± asked Openduis, always sensible.


    ¡°This moment,¡± grimaced Lyon.


    After an hour of preparation, Lyon and his band were able to leave the stinking city and its denizens behind. Horses were mounted and equipment was secured before the plan was able to come to fruition. Haggling of the extortionate price of Lyon¡¯s horse broke out into flashes of steel until a stain of red spread across the snow. Nobody so much as sniffed at the passing of the stable master. The only hint they even knew he existed at all was their insatiable need for oats and saddles and other various items a stall master would sell. Without hesitation, the band took their coin back, as well as a few more handfuls of oats in the frugally filled bags.


    ¡°Best be off now,¡± Ferik said.


    ¡°Now, we best be off,¡± said Berik with a smile. The humor was unappreciated by the rest.


    ¡°Do we have enough food?¡± asked Lavara checking over the saddlebags one last time.


    Lyon mounted himself upon his horse. ¡°Enough to get us to the capital? Of course.¡± He started to walk the horse away hastening the rest to follow suit. Without turning to face the man, Lyon said, ¡°Kilvnet, you will ride by my side.¡± The other sardonically saluted.


    Trael¡¯s city guard rarely manned the crumbling watchtowers so their exit went unnoticed by all; Berik¡¯s and Ferik¡¯s noises and banter only waking the spirits of the long dead. Snow crunched beneath the horses¡¯ hooves, the cold trying to breach the heavy cloaks keeping the riders warm. The capital was filled with cutthroats and barbarians who had sprung up from the Far East: their numbers no longer being watched by the kingdom under constant threat from both the East and the West. Farsung, the capital of Thirce, had become a place of dark dealing and death instead of the strong asylum it once was. Nothing was really as it once was.


    One thing was for certain, ten days south of Trael was a warmer climate where their heavy cloaks could be sold or stored, no longer inhibiting their movements or weighing them down. The road was hard near Trael but became easier as the travelers became more numerous in the warmer climates of Farsung. First, the band would travel through Durren, a small town that could be reached within the next day. After Durren, the air would be tempered enough to sleep on the bare ground. Another five days of traveling would take them to a small lake travelers used in abundance. Traders could usually be found here, hunters as well. There they could restock on supplies. Four days of easy travelling followed their last stop. All of this, of course, was dependent on how long their horses were able to keep pace. Horses from Trael rarely lasted long.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Fate happened to let them enter Durren without much undue duress. The threats and injuries they did receive were from much due duress received from their daily stealing and occasional killings. Through Lyon¡¯s mass and the size of his band he was able to commandeer an inn for the night. The guard was not able to uncover any sign of the perpetrators until they left the next day, now long down the road, out of reach of the most foolhardy watchman. Durren¡¯s inhabitants dealt with cutthroats and criminals all the time, being so close to Trael. The deaths Lyon¡¯s band instigated only engendered a small amount of grief. Death came for everyone eventually.


    On the way to the Lake of Yiparash¡ªan homage to the Great Yipar whose plays are still told, even with most being lost during The Great War¡ªthe band of thieves met some resistance.


    ¡°Lyon, do we have to ride so hard?¡± asked Kilvnet, his usual belligerence sending blood coursing through Lyon¡¯s veins. ¡°It isn¡¯t so much of a hurry, is it? Our quarry has had a day start on us, you know. There is no way to catch him before he rides his pretty little horse into the safe gates of Farsung.¡±


    Openduis spoke for Lyon before a burst of rage issued forth from the latter¡¯s mouth. ¡°We aim to become somewhat lucky, Kilvnet. Maybe he ran his horse too hard and is now stranded on foot, forced to weather the unforgiving land by himself. If this is true-¡±


    ¡°¡®If¡¯ is always a horrible word to use, my dear Openduis,¡± interrupted Lavara, smiling slightly.


    Openduis smiled in reply and did not continue his hypothetical situation. Instead, Kilvnet spoke up again. ¡°Thank you, Openduis, for instilling such an amazingly well thought out ¡®if¡¯.¡± Bern chortled at the insult. ¡°Now Lyon, as I was saying, the likelihood of finding him before he reaches Farsung is slim, if anything at all. Now can we slow our pace?¡± To emphasize his question and point, Kilvnet pulled back on the reins of his horse, slowing it.


    Turning around, Lyon stared icy daggers into Kilvnet. Lyon¡¯s one grey eye made the air escape from the other in a quiet breath. ¡°Openduis¡¯ assumption was, indeed, correct. However, we can absolutely slow down.¡± Lyon¡¯s grim frown turned into a smile. ¡°Once the land is prosperous and war no longer ravages man.¡± That said, Lyon started his horse forward once again.


    ¡°Come on now, Lyon,¡± pleaded Ferik, wiping the sweat away from his forehead. ¡°Anything not covered in sweat is instead covered in ice but yet we still press on harder? It is not too much to ask to slow down, only a little?¡±


    Berik nodded. ¡°I think my brother is right. Our horses could use the break. They are from Trael, after all. Moreover, the snow will be melting soon. Let¡¯s relax.¡± Lyon turned his horse once again to face his companions. His cool eye piercing their souls.


    ¡°Now Lyon,¡± spoke Bern, ¡°I think the four of us can agree that we need a little rest.¡± Bern looked at the band for support, which was given in looks of approval and nods. ¡°What are the chances we catch him tonight? Listen to reason.¡±


    Kilvnet slowed and stopped entirely before he dismounted. ¡°I for one am not moving until I feel otherwise. We all need rest. Our limbs grow weary. Agreed?¡± Concurrence sounded across the small road. ¡°See, Lyon?¡±


    Now dismounted, Lyon put his hand upon his sword. ¡°Openduis, are you with me?¡±


    ¡°Always,¡± he said, taking up position next to Lyon.


    ¡°Lavara. Hietzler. Are you with me?¡±


    The two silently took up position next to Lyon as well.


    ¡°Now Kilvnet, I have given you every chance, every chance to stop your impertinent, blustering attitude. Enough is enough, though. Your insolence will go no further, this I can promise you. A choice, however, is now presented to you. Live, and stand respectfully by my side. Or die, and be forgotten by all except by my blade¡¯s metal.¡±


    Berik and Ferik looked nervously at each man, not wanting the man who they saw as their father to strike down another they saw as a brother. Bern stood defiant, as always, against the threats issued forth from Lyon, only looking back into the eyes of the livid man. Whatever Kilvnet did, Bern followed.


    Eventually, Berik and Ferik moved towards Kilvnet and stood against their benefactor. ¡°Lyon,¡± pleaded Ferik, ¡°we just ask for some time to rest and Kilvnet means no harm in what he says. He¡¯s tired. We¡¯re all tired. The Trael horses will give out if we push them too hard.¡±


    Berik whispered into Kilvnet¡¯s ear, ¡°You¡¯re newest. You can¡¯t challenge Lyon as much as you have been. Be like Openduis-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this!¡± spat Kilvnet. ¡°Lyon expects us to follow every order he hands down to us like loyal soldiers. To him, we¡¯re just fodder. Not even Harlock¡¯s Hill changed how you saw me.¡± Lyon grimaced at the name. ¡°You¡¯d be dead right now if not for me! Everyone would be dead right now if not for me!¡± Berik tried to grasp Kilvnet¡¯s shoulder but Kilvnet twisted the other¡¯s wrist and shoved him away causing the brute of a man to fall into the snow on all fours. ¡°I don¡¯t need your protection, Berik. Yours either, Ferik. Don¡¯t anger your commander. Otherwise he might idly threaten you.¡± Kilvnet spat at Lyon¡¯s feet. ¡°Come Bern, we don¡¯t need these fools.¡± A smile spread across Kilvnet¡¯s face. ¡°Who knew the Tiger of the East had fallen so low?¡±


    As Kilvnet and Bern turned to leave, Lyon¡¯s sword flashed almost imperceptibly. It was over in an instant. A single pained cry cut off right after it began echoed across shadowy night. Dark lifeblood spattered the white ground. Berik and Ferik had time to flinch before their eyes gave away their fear. Bern showed open surprise and disgust. Openduis, Lavara, and Hietzler relaxed into a dismal state. Lyon¡¯s always cool grey eye settled into a grim satisfaction. Kilvnet¡¯s blood pumped beat by beat out of his neck, his head almost severed from the rest of his body.


    ¡°Anyone else?¡± snarled Lyon. ¡°Does anyone else want to taste my blade?¡± He searched the downcast eyes of the three before him. Berik, on all fours, started to weep. Ferik grimaced while he shook his head, clenching his teeth. Bern, Ferik, and Berik would never again question their patron¡¯s word. Lyon looked down at the bleeding body. He had become a useful tool.


    ¡°We leave him here. No dishonorable man deserves a proper burial. He can be feasted on by the crows; his flesh will probably kill them with the infection of his soul.¡± Lyon wiped the blood off his sword on the dead man¡¯s cloak. ¡°Take what you can from him.¡± Lyon unbuckled the sword from Kilvnet¡¯s body. ¡°Do not leave supplies we can use. Yiparash is still far. We need them.¡± Mounted once again, Lyon started to gallop down the road. The remaining companions searched their departed companion for his paraphernalia.


    Silence was tangible as they rode down the road. Eye contact was a rare thing and quickly let go if ever caught. Bern was the only one who urged them to properly bury the man, but his arguments fell upon deaf ears. The remaining seven raced down the road, hooves pounding against the beaten path to Farsung. Stopping became a great relief as the days wore on. The horses were becoming more and more fatigued, as were the riders. Eventually, during a short rest, Lyon broke the somber silence that had engulfed them for four days.


    ¡°Friends,¡± said Lyon, his hands out. ¡°We have travelled down this hard road to catch our prey. Do not forget why we have come: Abel, a man with more gold on his head than most countries own. We must press on.¡±


    ¡°Was Kilvnet your friend as well?¡± asked Bern, a snarl beginning to form on his face.


    ¡°Not now, Bern,¡± commanded Openduis. ¡°It is as Lyon says; everything comes down to catching Abel. Being able to acquire him outside of the city would make our job many times easier.¡±


    Lyon nodded in thanks. ¡°Much has been lost during this journey. After this, however, we will gain much, much more. The world will be ours for the taking. Think of it: servants to wait on your every need, any armor or sword to adorn you, and a manor within a place that no danger can ever get in. We could even buy into one of the Telrulian.¡± His ideas of grandeur made the rest of the band momentarily forget their recently lost companion. ¡°After that, who knows? It would be what we have always wanted. Power.¡±


    Greedy smiles mirrored those of Lyon¡¯s except Openduis, who said, ¡°Not everything is wealth, Lyon.¡±


    ¡°True, however, most of it is,¡± countered Lyon.


    Openduis pursed his lips together and grunted in response. Lyon took it for agreement.


    Ebbing away was their guilt and pain for Kilvnet, now giving way for the many splendors their imagination could fathom. Buzzing flies and rotting flesh of their once friend pushed aside by mountains of gold and renown. Silent ponderings of what was to become of this band flew around only in Openduis¡¯ head. Someday, he would stop trying to resurrect the long dead man he once knew. The honorable man was now replaced with this cold, uncaring thing. Openduis sighed. Someday.


    It was Lyon, however, who held the most sorrow for the decision made. Long ago, Lyon knew he would have to destroy his companion but not so soon. There was also a small corner of his mind that wished he talked Kilvnet down as he always did. Nevertheless, Lyon had ended his life which weighed heavily upon his heart. No matter what he said about him, Kilvnet had saved his own life many a time over. Openduis¡¯ recent looks of concern and sadness worried Lyon, as well. He could not show weakness, not even to his closest ally, while others were around, and the others were always around.


    ¡°To the largest riches one could ever dream!¡± shouted Lyon gesturing off towards Farsung, their ever closer objective.


    ¡°Aye!¡± shouted the others back.


    Briskly they moved in upon Yiparash during the night to find many campfires and temporary stores. The snow was nonexistent, except for patches, this far south. Yiparash was filled with many travelers; campfires were strewn about and a lute could be heard playing in concert with a singer of extreme skill, weaving intricately the lute¡¯s lilting tune and her resounding voice. Loud cheers sounded whenever a song finished. Traders were busily haggling, moving about trying to keep their prices up until both sides felt cheated but satisfied. Fifty or more different groups had settled at the lake that night to enjoy a drink with a pleasant stranger and learn of recent gossip. Being at the center of the country seemed to make the lake a very profitable place to be. Luck had changed in their favor.


    ¡°We make camp here,¡± said Lyon. ¡°Hietzler, get us some wood for a fire.¡± Hietzler turned around, ever silent. ¡°Oh, could you also spread word that we are looking to sell a sword?¡± Nodding Hietzler turned and left. ¡°Berik and Ferik-¡°


    ¡°Aye, we know,¡± they interrupted. Ferik continued, ¡°You¡¯d think we¡¯d know by now how to set up a few pieces of cloth to keep our clothes from getting soaking wet.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Lyon. ¡°Carry on.¡± He paused a moment. ¡°Lavara, try to acquire the supplies we are lacking. I have not been paying close enough attention to our stores to readily give good estimate to what is needed.¡± She left without complaint. ¡°Openduis, keep the inquiries unobtrusive when you go around asking for the whereabouts of a small, redheaded man.¡±


    ¡°Inquiries such as this rouse even the most moronic man, but I will somehow manage.¡±


    With Openduis¡¯ departure all that remained were Lyon and Bern; Ferik and Berik being preoccupied with setting up the tents. Firelight from other camps lit the ground, sending dark shadows sprawling across the ground. Bern sat upon the shadowy ground, his arms crossed in deep brooding. Devastating as the blow was to Bern, Lyon still needed the man. Lyon knew Kilvnet would only create more discord, but if Bern rebelled against him, as well, the whole group might fall apart, destroying any chance they had of catching Abel.


    ¡°Bern?¡± called Lyon grimly. When Bern did not reply immediately Lyon continued. ¡°It was an unavoidable and contemptible action. I only ask . . .¡± He took a moment to compose himself. ¡°I ask that you forgive me.¡± Still Bern did not speak. Lyon only shook his head. ¡°I am sorry, friend.¡± Bern grunted in reply. Satisfied, Lyon went off to take care of his own darker responsibilities the rest need not know about.


    He crept through the mass of people, trying to find his target among the camps. Solitude encircled Lyon¡¯s mind as his silent feet pressed down upon the grass and small patches of snow. Everything was riding upon the scant hope of catching Abel before he reached the capital¡¯s gates. If Abel were to make it in the gates before Lyon, the city guards or any other denizen of Farsung could easily pick him up.


    Running about was a boy. Dirty rags hung about him, a hard look upon his face. Lyon grabbed him as he passed with an iron-like grip. Fear, then defiance showed in his eyes. Even better.


    ¡°Child, I will give you a copper penny to see a parcel sent off to the right man,¡± said Lyon fiercely. ¡°Once it has been delivered more recompense may be possible.¡±


    ¡°Aye, sir?¡± asked the child, the defiant face now becoming one of suspicion. ¡°How much would you pay me for this?¡±


    Immediately the child had recovered his bearings. He had to have been living on the streets for many years, ever since he was a small child who could barely understand language, let alone how to survive. Maybe the fates really had turned their smiles upon his little band.


    ¡°A silver barb,¡± said Lyon smiling. The boy¡¯s face went alight before he was able to master his features once again. A silver barb was something a travelling urchin was unable to acquire during most of their lives, however short they may be. Truthfully, Lyon could have settled for a much lower price but he was in no mood for bargaining.


    ¡°A gold thorn, nothing less,¡± said the boy firmly.


    Hard skull was met by even harder knuckles. Lyon¡¯s first drew back for another blow. ¡°A barb, nothing more. Boy.¡± The lesson of humility learned well, the boy struggled to his feet and nodded, a small cut on his forehead glistening with red. ¡°I am glad we have come to an agreement.¡± Lyon rifled through his cloak until a small, folded piece of paper was pulled from it. ¡°In the next town, take this to the Duhn legate. Tell them an animal with a great mane sent you.¡± The boy nodded. ¡°Remember those exact words, an animal with a great mane.¡± Again, the boy nodded before running off to whatever mischief he desired to commit.


    His business done, Lyon crept back to his camp with a small smile spread across his face. When he arrived everyone had completed their tasks and a strong fire was on its way to fruition, gently being cared for by Hietzler, his dark eyes looking deeply into the fire¡¯s heat. Bern, sullen, stared deeply into the fire, deep orange crossing across his face in the shadows. Berik and Ferik were lazily punching each other on the shoulders, exemplifying their tired bodies: Berik and Ferik never did anything lazily. Lavara was unpacking certain necessities she had acquired around camp while Openduis was busy contemplating the information he had gathered.


    Lyon looked upon his band of thieves, killers, and ruthless bargainers. Everyone had earned the others¡¯ respect. Even now, Bern saw why Lyon had killed his friend but could not yet accept is fully. This group had the mettle to find the man separating them from their fortune. This, Lyon was sure of.


    Looking into the fire¡¯s brilliance, Lyon pondered his options after the mark was caught. Thoughts of his son, Aleksandr, surfaced while he contemplated the best move. He clenched his hands until his knuckles turned white. A familiar scowl covered his face. Duhn would soon be getting Lyon¡¯s reply. He looked up at the faces of his companions, the only people he trusted. His stomach dropped as he mulled over what must be done.


    Fate, on the other hand, had another plan for Lyon. As Lyon looked up from the fire¡¯s smoldering heat, Abel¡¯s eyes made contact with his own. The white of Abel¡¯s teeth showed before he disappeared into the night. Lyon bolted after the vanishing form.


    This could end it. He could catch Abel here and now.