Iiro
A flash of blinding, white light. That was the first thing Iiro saw as he entered this world. A muffled voice. And pain thumping in his head, agony beyond measure. He tried to scream, but all that left his throat was a pitiful croaking. And there was a shadow, standing between him and the source of the blinding light.
The shadow mumbled something and Iiro squinted his eyes in the hopes of recognizing something, anything about his predicament. Though he was not bound, as far as he could tell, his movement was nonetheless limited and sluggish. “Hnghrh”, he managed to press through his teeth and the mumbling shadow paused.
Slowly, his vision cleared, revealing more details around him. The blinding light came from a window, with the winter sun reflecting from snow-covered roofs. He was not, as he first suspected in his pained, confused state of mind, somewhere in the Nether Hells, but in a rather well-furnished room, lying in a wide, soft bed. And finally, he realized that the shadow was none other than Vittorio Crawford.
“You can hear me now?”, Vittorio said and Iiro groaned. “Hmrr”, he confirmed, as he struggled to remain conscious through his badly thumping head. A sly smirk flashed over the mage's face. “Thought as much”, he replied. “You've been drinking with the duke. Bearsdeath all night for the two of you” He shook his head. “Frankly, you reacted like any normal person would. That Duke Waldemar, he's something else. No man was meant to consume such ungodly amounts of alcohol”
Fragments of the last night flashed through Iiro's mind. Him and Waldemar sitting in the Great Hall, a mug of Bearsdeath in front of each of them. He groaned again, trying to say something and Vittorio sighed. “An understandable reaction, given that you drank with a man who, I can only presume, was born with four livers at his disposal”, he admitted. “Usually, I'd just let you regain your strength on your own. However, we are in a bit of a hurry. Missing people, great evil and all that. Hold still for a moment”
With these words, he placed a cold finger on Iiro's forehead and pushed it back onto the pillow. “Klarum Purum”, he intoned and his finger began to emit a faint glow. Instantly, biting cold flared up in Iiro's forehead, flashing through his entire body. It was painful, like crashing into a frozen lake in the midst of winter, a dozen needles of pure ice piercing through his mind.
Amazingly though, his vision cleared completely and the thumping pain in his head faded. The weight around his arms and legs disappeared just as well and as he opened his mouth, he managed to utter a handful of proper words. “What the fuck is going on?”, he gasped and Vittorio rolled his eyes. “It's nine in the morning”, he revealed. “Everyone's ready. Montclair wants us to leave in an hour, so I decided to check up on you”
“Awfully kind...”, Iiro growled, as he glanced to the pile of clothes on the ground. Specifically, he glanced at the pieces he did not recognize at once. “I allowed myself to add a few bits to your wardrobe”, Vittorio informed him. “Courtesy of the duke. He found your attire to be a bit lacking, though if it cheers you up, he said the same about mine. So, enjoy a new set of fur gloves, a proper hat and a set of snow boots, though I wouldn't wear them until we actually need them if I were you”
To Iiro's surprise, he found it easy to resist the urge to sink back onto the bed. Whatever spell Vittorio used, it had cleared his mind all at once, removing dizziness and fatigue, though he suspected it also had a hand in his current mood, which was somewhat foul. “So then!”, Vittorio spoke. “I'm not staying here to watch you get dressed, but I'll wait outside your room. Don't take too long, the Rondrian is all itchy for this journey” Without exchanging another word, he turned around, carefully stepping over the pile of clothes, before passing through the door.
Iiro grimaced as the mage closed the door behind him. He was no stranger to hangovers, though it was the first time he had been drinking Bearsdeath with a duke. Proper Balihoan Bearsdeath, of the kind only the nobility could afford. He sighed, as not even a hint of the taste remained. Vittorio's spell was working outstandingly, though Iiro found hardly any joy in it. Just like how the human body was not made to consume too much alcohol, it reacted badly to having all of it removed at once. His stomach growled and his muscles were uncomfortably stiff, as he slowly got up from his bed.
As he got dressed, the sellsword glanced out the window. Perhaps by chance, his guest room offered a beautiful view over the southern outskirts of Trallop and Lake Lamprey. The landscape beyond the walls was frozen over, the roads covered under a thick layer of snow. To even traverse through Meadows at this time of the year would be a pain without proper preparations. And yet, someone, something was going around the duchy, abducting people or killing them outright.
The lake itself was large, perhaps the largest in all Aventuria and he could not make out its northern shore. By experience, he knew it took a healthy man two weeks to travel around the lake during summer and much more under the current conditions. Peaceful and serene it was lying there and yet, he would never forget the stories his father had told him about it. Of dreadful beasts, sleeping beneath its waves, of demons roaming the island of Cealan in the centre of the lake. As peaceful and serene as all of Meadows on the surface, but just as full of dark corners and dreadful secrets when taking a closer look.
He pulled himself away from the window and quickly finished dressing himself. For the actually journey, he would not be wearing his light armour, though he obviously kept it with him. Instead, he wore thick clothing, fur pants and proper boots, two layers of fur for his upper body, as well as a leather vest and a proper coat above. The cap was made of dense fur, with ear flaps that would warm his ears and cheeks all the way down to his lower jaw. Like all of his newly gained attire, it was nicely crafted, probably made form wolf's fur. As he tried it on, though, he frowned. The massive ear flaps, while comfortable and undoubtedly important to prevent frostbite, were limiting his field of view.
Finally, he decided to keep it off for now. With his backpack over his shoulder, he stepped out of the door and was greeted by Vittorio, who leant against the wall. The mage, who at least wore an open coat, stifled a chuckle as he saw him. “You look ridiculous, my friend”, he greeted him and Iiro rolled his eyes. “I look like someone who won't freeze to death”, he replied. “This is your first northern winter, Crawford. Stick to me if you want to keep all of your toes”
This wiped the smile off Vittorio's face in an instant. “Perhaps I should...”, he admitted. “Got my pair of gloves in the saddlebags” He noticed Iiro's expression and shrugged. “Yes, there will be horses. I don't know much of your northern breeds, but they look sturdy enough. Joanna got all wide-eyed when she saw them, so they must be special enough”
“Trallopian giants, I presume”, Iiro mumbled, as they walked through the hallway. “Really the only breed that can function in these temperatures” He stopped for a moment and put a hand to his head. “Twelve Curses, what have you done to me, mage?”, he gasped, still feeling deeply uncomfortable. Vittorio glanced at him from the side.
“I put a spell on you”, he explained. “The Klarum Purum was originally developed in Thunderbrook. It removes poison from a body, or from food or drink” His satisfied smile returned. “Of course, the mages of Horasia are far more creative than that and they used it to cure their patients from hangovers”, he added. “Quite popular where I come from, as you can surely imagine. Unfortunately, it does leave the patient with a sour mood for a few hours, but at least you're functioning again”
Iiro rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance. “I start to believe you're actually a demon”, he growled and the mage chuckled. “Oh, I am something far worse, my friend”, he revealed. “I'm a trained court mage. Only I realized I want something better than to slave away for some pompous asshole” Iiro shot him a glare from the side. “So, you decided to become a pompous asshole yourself”, he replied.
This actually got a laugh out of Vittorio. “Pretty much, yes”, he admitted. Another fragment of the previous night flashed through Iiro's mind and he groaned. “Bloody hells...”, he spat. “I think I spoke to the duke about my family” Vittorio gave him a nod. “Quite extensively so, yes”, he confirmed. “To his credit, Waldemar listened carefully. I think he even cared. He might be a bit of a buffoon, but he's the right buffoon for this land”
“Wait, you've been there as well?”, Iiro asked and the mage smiled. “Drinking a glass of wine with the duchess”, he confirmed. “She's a remarkable woman, though surprisingly, she relies on Waldemar as much as he relies on her” His smile faded and for a moment, he actually seemed concerned. “You've never been one to talk much about your past”, he added. “And I'm not one to pry. Keep your secrets if you must, but... for what happened to your family during the Orkenstorm, you have my condolences”
Iiro sighed. It was unlike him to chat about things that were in the past, but the last night had brought up quite a few bad memories. Waldemar had fought and bled for his people during the Orkenstorm and as boisterous as he was when it came to war stories, as sombre he had been when Iiro spoke of those he lost. His parents in the Valley of Svelt. His uncle, aunt and cousin in Meadows.
“It's alright”, he spoke, lying through his teeth. “But next time I start to talk about such things to a nobleman, I expect you to stop me” He stopped, as two voices echoed through the hallway to their right. Glancing into the direction, Iiro spotted Thea, stern-faced and in deep conversation with Gwynna of Lionshead. The ageless witch had just mumbled something, when both women spotted Iiro and Vittorio.
“Good morning”, Gwynna greeted them, cutting of whatever she was just saying to Thea. The elf gave them a nod and a genuinely curious look appeared on her face as she looked at Iiro. “Just what happened to you?”, she asked. He rolled his eyes, though a thin smile found its way onto his face. “I had an interesting night”, he admitted. “You?”
“I slept”, Thea replied. “I doubt your kind finds sleep very interesting” She glanced at the witch next to her. “Though I just learned about something you might be interested in”, she added. “You can tell them” Gwynna shifted her attention away from the elf and towards the two men. Though seemingly not older than thirty years in appearance, Iiro had heard of her kind. Witches born from eggs, blessed with a lifespan similar to that of the elder races. His uncle used to say that they were the foulest of the witch-spawn. And yet, there seemed nothing foul about Gwynna. If anything, the look in her green eyes was calming and filled with wisdom far beyond her youthful looks.
“You already know Yveshin used to be safe in Blue Firs”, she revealed, as the four of them walked down the hallway. Iiro nodded reluctantly. “I wouldn't say anyone's safe in Blue Firs”, he replied. “My aunt's grandfather got lost in there. Never seen again. Whatever madness led him into that cursed place...”
Gwynna merely smiled a calming, polite smile. “It is a shame the people of Meadows view it in such a light”, she said. “But that's beyond the point. If you believe Blue Firs is as dangerous as the stories make it out to be, you might be happy to learn that he has left the forest yesterday morning. My Lady Luzelin informed me of it just this night”
“Another one of Naeem's plots”, Thea interjected. “First, the druid convinces him to abandon me because it would be safer for him alone in that forest, now he tells him to leave it again” She shook her head. “I don't doubt he has a reason, but should we ever meet again, I expect him to tell me”, she hissed and for a second, she seemed actually angry.
“Indeed, he received a missive from Naeem Umer”, Gwynna continued. “As of now, Yveshin is heading to the Alackskeep” As he heard this name, Iiro gasped and actually tensed up. “Has the druid lost his mind?”, he barked. “Yveshin has no idea what he's getting himself into. The Wraith is going to take him!”
This time, Gwynna did not smile and her expression was notably less mild. “As harmless as Blue Firs actually is, the Alackskeep deserves its reputation”, she told him. “You can sleep better at night not knowing what fiend lurks in its catacombs, but Luzelin assured me Yveshin would be fine. It seems she trusts the druid a great deal”
“And you don't?”, Vittorio interjected. Gwynna shook her head. “I don't know him, but druids are a double-edged sword. Some are not unlike my sisters, they protect the balance between the wilds and the people, they genuinely care. And then there's some who follow plots so complicated not even I can hope to unwrap them. They lack an ounce of humanity. From what Thea told me, it's hard to presume anything about Naeem. That being said, I trust Luzelin. Though younger by quite some margin, she proved herself my superior in all regards”
“We should nonetheless warn Yveshin”, Iiro brought up. “He's walking right into some demon's lair” Gwynna shook her head. “The Wraith is no demon”, she revealed, though even she seemed reluctant to share any other detail to indulge Iiro's darkest curiosity. “And how are we supposed to warn him? Luzelin didn't deem it necessary, so I doubt he's in any real danger”
Iiro glanced at Vittorio. “Could you send him a message?”, he asked and the mage shook his head at once. “Not over such a distance. I'm not familiar with this land, but I think I saw the Alackskeep on a map. It's in the other direction from where we're going to head to” He shrugged. “I'm sorry, but I cannot help. It's as Lady Gwynna says. If a witch trusts him enough to send him there on his own, then so should we trust in Yveshin”
Though he seemed genuine, Iiro noticed that Thea was far more reluctant to show such trust. Neither did he himself, to be honest. Trusting a witch did not come easy for a man who spent most of his life in the Meadows. And he couldn't help but be concerned for his friend. “How was it when Yveshin left either way?”, he asked. “He didn't strike me as the kind to just pack his things and leave”
“And yet he did just that”, Thea mumbled, as they walked down a set of stairs and into another hallway. “We've been travelling together for a few weeks by then. Yveshin, he's been in a bad state of mind. Drakesfield left a toll on us all, but with him, it's worse. He suffered from nightmares and he told me he heard voices... no, a voice, right in his head” She shook her head. “He wouldn't even let me see his injured eye, refused to let me treat it”, she added. “I think he's been hiding something. From me, at least. Certainly not from Naeem”
As she said this, they stepped through an open door and out into the courtyard. The cold was indeed not as bad as Iiro expected. With the coat and the gloves, he was able to withstand it quite decently, though Vittorio flinched as he stepped out. “Firun have mercy, has it gotten even colder since yesterday?”, he asked.
Gwynna gave him a nod. “A storm is coming from the north”, she warned them. “Time is running short for your journey...” She was about to add something else, when a loud voice demanded their attention. There in the courtyard stood, of course, Waldemar the Bear. The Duke of Meadows was accompanied by his wife and a small assignment of ducal guards, though with his impressive build, Iiro doubted he even needed any protection. Clad in dark fur and with his wild beard, it was not too hard to see why he gained his nickname.
To the side stood Maximus Montclair and Joanna Walter. The Priest of Rondra actually wore light plate armour for the occasion, with the symbol of his church engraved into it. Aside from woollen clothes underneath, he had a massive white cape draped around his shoulders, possibly a bear's fur. Over his shoulder, Iiro spotted the hilt of Maximus' sword. Like all members of Rondra's clergy, Montclair's weapon of choice was a two-handed sword, a so-called Rondracrest. Fifty inches of steel, a waved blade and a set of parrying hooks a few inches above the wide crossguard... Iiro had seen such swords in use during the Orkenstorm and could testify for their usefulness.
Joanna meanwhile was dressed less impressively than Montclair, but truth be told, it was hardly possible to outshine a Priest of Rondra dressed for battle. She wore no armour safe for light leather, but even in the cold, she insisted on wearing the green and shite tabard of House Lionshead above. Her brown hair was hidden beneath a fur hood of the same colour and just as she spotted the rest of her travelling companions, she finished tying her spear to the saddlebags of her horse.
Speaking of, the horses were indeed Trallopian giants, the largest breed Iiro had ever seen. Strong, sturdy and ever reliable, they were a favourite in these lands. His uncle had owned an older mare, but the ones he saw here seemed younger and even stronger. And the name was fitting, as they were slightly taller than even the already towering Maximus Montclair. Undoubtedly, they were the only breed that could best the current weather.
“Iiro, there you are!”, Waldemar called out for him and before the mercenary could do anything, the duke had reached him, with outstretched arms. “My friend, I'm glad you've been able to make it in time!” With these words, he pulled him into a bone-crushing hug and Iiro's eyes actually widened at the strength of the duke. Behind Waldemar, Joanna did little to hide her amusement at his expression.
He vaguely remembered just how much the duke drank last night and admittedly, it did not show at all. Waldemar looked excellent, not the least bit tired or hung over. And his excitement at seeing this band of heroes come together seemed real. Heroes... Iiro almost flinched at the thought. Perhaps Montclair was one, but he himself... a sword for hire and nothing more.
“My duke”, he greeted him and Waldemar finally let go of him. Immediately, Iiro took a deep breath. “Wouldn't miss it for all the gold in Almada” This got a grin out of the duke. “Quite a lofty statement”, he admitted. “It's good you're ready though. I faced orks and goblins, fought against the usurper and the Maraskani, but what is happening in my duchy right now, I got no shame to admit that it scares me”
“You won't crap your ducal pants now, will you?”, Iiro remarked, before even fully realizing that he was talking to the man who ruled this entire land. Joanna's smirk faded and Montclair briefly narrowed his eyes, while Waldemar seemed taken by surprise. Then, a wide, goofy grin appeared on his face and he began to laugh. It was not the stilted, fake laugh Iiro had come to expect from a nobleman, but hearty and loud, the kind that reminded him of soldiers and peasants.
“Crap my ducal pants! You heard that, wife?”, he roared, as he looked to his wife. Duchess Yolina raised an eyebrow and she did not chime in with his laughter. “It was hard not to”, she replied thinly and the duke gave Iiro a massive pat onto the shoulder, enough to nearly bring the sellsword to his knees. “Boy, I like you”, he growled. “Half of those bloody courtiers I got to suffer all day are too scared to speak their mind and the rest is too polite”
“Good thing I'm not one of your courtiers then”, Iiro replied as he and the duke separated again. “We'll find whatever is taking your people and we will put an end to it” For him, it wasn't just empty words. Though it would haunt him for the rest of his days, he had braved the wasteland of Drakesfield. After this, a string of disappearances in wintry Meadows seemed tame in comparison.
The duke at least seemed glad about his confidence. “I know my blessing's not worth much on the battlefield, but take it regardless”, he growled. “Save my duchy and you will all be rich men” He paused, as his wife audibly cleared his throat, before an apologetic smile appeared on his face, glancing from Joanna to Thea. “And a rich woman and a rich elf”, he added. “I might not be as rich as Jast or Irmegunda, but I pay my debts”
As he spoke, Iiro carefully placed his humble belongings in the saddlebag of his horse. It was a beautiful destrier, dark brown and with long, but well-combed fur. Though Trallopian giants were hardly the fastest breed around, they were by far the most reliable. Once set on a course, it would not fail him.
Next to him, Joanna climbed to the saddle with surprising ease, given that it hung at the height of her neck. She gently moved a hand through the massive animal's mane and leant forward to kiss it. “Hey beautiful”, she whispered into it's ear and a smile formed on her face. She seemed at home in the saddle and Iiro had to admit, she did it better than him, who was accustomed to riding the smaller horses that were bred in the Valley of Svelt.
“We don't have these where I come from”, Thea stated, her usually firm voice slightly shaky. “What am I supposed to do with this?” With confusion, she looked from Iiro to Joanna, then to Maximus, who had gotten into the saddle with only a small chair to help him, despite his plate armour and the heavy cloak. At least Vittorio was struggling quite a bit.
“Aye, let me!”, Waldemar roared and before Thea could defend herself, he had grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up. Though she was as tall as most of her kind, he didn't seem to struggle with her weight at all, as he lifted her to the saddle with ease. “What are you...?”, she merely managed to exclaim, before she was firmly sitting where she was supposed to be. The horse remained calm throughout this and Waldemar gave it a soft pat against the neck for its trouble.
Thea glanced down with wide eyes and Iiro suspected this was the first time she ever sat in the saddle of a horse. She had seen it with the humans, of course, but actually experiencing it for the first time had to be scary. “Now you're supposed to grab these”, the duke told her as he handed her the reins. “You'll get the hang of it. Don't worry, she won't throw you off. This is Thistle, the most gentle horse in my stable. They say your kind calms them beasts even further, so I'm sure you'll be fine”
“And if I fall, I fall soft, with all the snow out there”, Thea pressed through her teeth, though she didn't sound comfortable or convinced at all. Waldemar chuckled, as he moved over to Iiro. “And you're riding on Shorty”, he revealed and the name had to be some cruel irony, for the animal was anything but short. “He's a bit of a rowdy one, but loyal. Show him you're in charge and he won't fail you ever”
“You sure know your horses”, Iiro remarked and Waldemar gave him a proud nod. “Raised most of them myself”, he revealed, before he glanced at Duchess Yolina, who was speaking with Vittorio. The mage had managed to climb into the saddle at last, though he made far from a good figure while doing so. “Truth be told, the wifey is at fault here”, he added. “She told me a duke needs a ducal hobby. And no, playing ball with severed ork heads apparently doesn't sound very ducal to her gentle horasian tastes” Iiro was only half certain Waldemar was joking with that one. “My handwriting's as bad as it gets, so no calligraphy for me, I can't play the lute and never touched a harp in my life and I don't hunt for sport when my subjects have to hunt just to feed their families, so... horse-breeding's acceptable, apparently”
A grin flashed over his face as he looked at Shorty. It was clear that he cared for the animal. “Bring him back safely, aye?”, he mumbled and Iiro was not sure if he was talking to, steed or rider. His smile faded as he looked at Iiro in a moment of genuine concern. He leant closer. “I don't show it in front of Yolina. Someone's gotta be the cheerful one, after all”, he whispered. “But I'm concerned for Walpurga. Even that milksop Dedric, he's an oaf, but a reliable one. It's unlike them to go silent” He took a deep breath, as if he had to press the next words out against his will. “Bring me my daughter back and this old warrior will be in your debt for the rest of his life”
“I will”, Iiro simply promised, as he placed a hand on Waldemar's shoulder. It was odd, how this man was so unlike the few noblemen he had met in his life. He hadn't been sure what to expect from his meeting with the Duke of Meadows, but by now, he felt like he had gained an unlikely friend.
The duke extended a hand and as Iiro grabbed it, he felt hard metal within Waldemar's palm. He pulled back and looked at the object he had just given to him. It was a finely crafted brooch, made of silver, depicting a bear who held a greatsword within his paws. “The Medal of the Bear”, Waldemar told him. “Given by the Duke of Meadows to agents working in his name. I doubt any of my barons will give you trouble, with Max around and all, but if they do, show them this brooch. It'll prove you act in my name”
“Attention!”, Maximus barked and even in the saddle, Joanna immediately straightened her back. Iiro raised an eyebrow, before saluting half-heartedly, earning himself a glare from the Rondrian. “It'll be a week until we reach Broonsgorge”, Maximus proclaimed. “We'll travel fast and light. The sooner we get to the bottom of this nightmare, the better”
He and Waldemar exchanged a long look. “We will not fail you, my duke!”, the knight of Rondra proclaimed and Waldemar smiled. “You never have, old friend”, he replied. He walked to the side, accompanied by his wife, while Gwynna approached the riders once more. “I know little of what lies ahead for you”, she told them. “But be careful of whom you trust in these dark days. I feel not everyone who pretends to be on your side is actually an ally”
With this grim warning in mind, the five riders left Bear Castle and with it a fleeting sense of safety from the coming storm. Though the castle was the sturdiest of its kind in the entire north, it soon felt less impressive as Iiro glanced back at it, after they had left the streets of Trallop behind at last. It seemed small, as it lied there on the shores of the huge Lake Lamprey, vulnerable for all the stone and steel that protected it and the city at its feet. If not even the Duke of Meadows, this bear of a man and veteran of countless wars could fight against the darkness that held his frozen land in its fangs, then what hope could he, a simple sellsword even have?
These grim thoughts were a constant companion for Iiro as they made their way south, through a land entirely covered in snow. At least the warning about the weather held true, as even the great imperial road that connected Trallop to the merchant city of Baliho to the south was harsh to travel on. The winter in Meadows was the most severe in the entire realm and if not for their trusty steeds and proper clothing, Iiro was certain they would have risked their life just by riding down the road.
The following days dragged on, as each was a struggle just to move forwards at a speed Montclair deemed acceptable. The warrior priest had taken charge quite naturally, with the calmness and experience of a man who had led others for most of his life. He was a demanding leader and yet, Iiro trusted in his abilities. If he couldn't even trust in the Church of Rondra to lead, then surely all would be lost.
The knight's gruff attitude reflected in the terse conversations the group had among each other in the first few days of their journey. Though Joanna had a quick wit to her and a pleasant smile even during these hard days, she kept quiet when Montclair was around, whereas Thea was not much of a talker to begin with. As such, they talked little if at all during the day, where they rode in one long line, with Maximus first, followed by Thea, then Iiro, Vittorio and lastly Joanna, always ready to guard their rear. And during the evenings, the demanding journey caught up to them, where Iiro often found himself quickly falling asleep wherever his bed for the night was, be it a roadside tavern, or a place in some helpful peasant's barn.
Then there was Vittorio... never before had Iiro seen a man equal parts so miserable on horseback and yet so unwilling to give up. Unlike Maximus and Joanna, he was not a skilled rider and unlike Thea, who held herself in the saddle with the strange, inhuman elegance that was typical to her kind, he was not naturally talented either. As such, his ride was a rather painful experience, bumping around on his patient horse all day, then complaining about his aching thighs in the evening. And yet, perhaps it was just the promise of a ducal reward that pushed him forward, or perhaps it was a tiny shred of compassion for the sorrow-stricken people of Meadows, but he was determined to push on, often being the first in the saddle and the last to call for a rest. Perhaps he just wanted to get it over with as quick as possible.
Another thing Iiro noticed during their journey was the respect people showed them. Last time he had travelled through this part of the Meadows, it was still summer and they travelled with two elves. Now, Thea kept her ears hidden beneath a hood and few looked at her long enough to recognize her for what she was. Maximus however bore the white and red of his church openly on his chest and with his armour and the Rondracrest on his back he was unmistakable. His church had saved the people during the Orkenstorm. They were the first line of defence against the black-furred beasts that still dwelled beneath the Darkencrest. Their steel brought hope to the innocent during these dark times and death to all who sought to harm them.
As such, virtually every door opened when Maximus was around. People who would have turned a run-down mercenary away and especially the elf and the mage who rode with him would never refuse a knight of Rondra. Wherever they went, people tried their utmost to please him. To his credit, Montclair never demanded anything, refused offers that were too generous and took only what he needed for his basic needs or when it was impolite to refuse.
This led to the evenings being surprisingly pleasant occasions. Iiro had travelled through Meadows during the winter before and back then, he had to spend more than one night in a thin tent or in some abandoned barn or farmhouse, with the biting cold and hunger being his constant companions. This time around, however, there was not a night he did not spend beneath a sturdy roof and near a warming fire.
And anywhere they went, they were met by the same story. People were indeed disappearing and Waldemar's account hadn't been exaggerated. It had started around early autumn, three to four months ago, during Efferd's month. First, it had not been too concerning. Meadows was a wild land, its forests home to quite some dangers that were unheard of in the south. Sometimes, people would disappear without a trace. It was tragic, but hardly unnatural.
From the peasants' accounts, Iiro realized that for the first two months, people had been underestimating the scale of what was happening around them. The first to disappear had been hunters. At least one was missing from every village they passed through, more often than not it was two or even more. It was odd that it happened at such a scale, but the truly frightening thing about it was that not all of them had vanished during the hunt. And most of those who went missing weren't even hunters to begin with. Farmers, washing women, merchants, children. They were fine on one day, before vanishing without a trace on the other, disappearing from their homes, from their shops or simply as they took a stroll in the local wilds. Only the smallest part of those who went missing turned up again, always dead, always torn apart in some gruesome manner.
He had seen this before. Not people who vanished without a trace, of course, but he was quite familiar with those who were left behind. He had seen the same fear, the doubt and, yes, the anger in the eyes of those who suffered through the Orkenstorm in the Valley of Svelt, when half of their homeland was taken over by the Blackfurs. They were afraid and soon, they would find someone to blame. Last thing he wanted was his homeland painted red with the blood of innocents.
Though snow-covered, Iiro eventually began to recognize the road. Though they approached it from the north instead of the south, the gentle hills were unmistakable the lands of the cattle barons and the road they took right now was certainly the road to Drakesfield. A shiver ran down his spine as he thought of it, the rotting village, the lifeless wasteland, the black sky and the red lightning. He saw it in his dreams and sometimes even when he merely closed his eyes. Though he had escaped with his life, Drakesfield had kept something of him just as well.
As expected, they soon reached Treybirch, whose leader, cattle baron Gero of Hollbrinck, had so rudely refused to shelter them for the night last time he passed through here, on Ucurian Jago's orders. Back then, he had been merely a mercenary and not an envoy to the duke himself. And still, he felt angry just thinking about it. Turning them away, it had been due to the elves, plain and simple.
When he told Montclair of this, the knight grew even more serious than usual. Whatever relaxed expression he had, it got replaced by a grim frown in an instant. “I see...”, he growled. “We won't be heading to Treybirch then” Joanna, who had moved her horse next to them, raised an eyebrow. “But Sir, it's a day's ride until we reach the next settlement”, she protested, though Montclair would have none of it.
“I don't know this cattle baron, but I am inclined to believe in Iiro's word”, Maximus explained. “It would not be out of character for the lords of central Meadows. To the north, west and east, the counts and barons are hardy folk, strong in their faith, true defenders of the realm. The cattle barons though, they get rich because others bleed for them. They're closer to Phex than to Rondra”
Vittorio's expression made it clear he did not consider this a bad thing, but all of a sudden, the mage's expression lit up. “How about the Foxton farm?”, he remarked and Iiro reciprocated his smile as he remembered the young family. “Peraidor, Marita and their son, Peldor. They're local farmers, good people”, he explained to Maximus and Joanna. “They gave us shelter last time we've been on this road. Their farm is only a few hours from here. If we hurry, we can make it before nightfall”
Maximus thought about it for a moment, before he nodded in agreement. “I don't want to give this Hollbrinck the satisfaction of dining with a knight of the goddess”, he growled. “I'd much rather see if these people are truly as hospitable as you claim them to be” With this, he led on and to Iiro's satisfaction, they soon left Treybirch behind.
“We've met a priestess of Rondra last time we've been there”, he brought up. He hadn't spoken much to Maximus during the past days, especially not about his journey to Drakesfield, but that was one detail the knight might be interested in. “Said she came from Tobria to meet up with your leader at the Rhodestone. Her name is Ayla of Shadowsground”
“I know her, yes”, Maximus spoke in a calm, controlled tone. “She used to train under a sword brother of mine. First met her when she was a lass half your age. Must have been, what, fifteen years ago? Though I wouldn't say we're close friends. She is strong in her faith, I can give you that” Iiro felt that there was something else he did not say, but he didn't want to seem impolite, so he remained quiet about it.
Vittorio, however, had no such qualms. “But?”, he asked and Joanna glanced at them from the side, silently raising her eyebrows as she carefully studied Montclair's reaction. If anything, the priest of Rondra seemed surprised by the mage's straightforwardness. “But she has made quite a name for herself lately and not a good one”, he added after a moment of hesitation. “Obedience and a sense of duty are crucial to advance in my church. Though I am a Knight of Rondra, I have my superiors, people whom I would follow blindly, for I know they have been chosen by the goddess. Ayla, she... lacks such deeper devotion to the hierarchy of the church”
“Well, whom did she piss off?”, Iiro finally remarked and Montclair sighed. “She didn't piss him off, but she made a powerful opponent regardless”, he remarked. “Ever since she arrived at the Rhodestone, she has grown into a fierce critic of Lord Dragosh's plans for a punitive expedition against the Orkland”
“Dragosh of Sicklecourt?”, Vittorio asked and Montclair nodded again. “The Sword of Swords, yes”, he clarified. “He has my full support in such matters and he knows it. Ayla though, she leads the opposition against my lord. Calls it a mad endeavour, she fears that any move against the Blackfurs would be met with harsh retaliation”
He was about to add something else, already opened his mouth, before calming himself and slightly narrowing his eyes. “That will be all for now”, he growled. “I won't share gossip over a fellow servant of the goddess” And indeed, he was quiet after this, silently leading them as they made their way across the frozen road.
The sun was already fading behind the looming mountain range of the Black Sickle in the distance, as Iiro spotted the Foxton farm in the distance. By then, the riders fastened their pace, determined to get some peace and warmth for the night. He knew quite well that the worst part of their journey, the ride through the frozen Dragongap, was still to come.
As they approached the farm, Iiro leant forward in the saddle. Shorty grew slightly uneasy beneath him, moving impatiently and he had to cling to the reins as he caught up to Montclair. “It that the farm?”, the knight asked and Iiro gave him a quiet nod, unable to look away from the open door and the darkness behind. No smoke came from the chimney, no sound from within the house.
“It looks abandoned”, Joanna remarked and her left hand moved to the spear she kept readily near her saddle. “Perhaps they fled? Would explain the open door” Maximus shook his head. “I can think of a dozen darker reasons for that” He slowed down at the small path that led up to the farmhouse and up close, Iiro could still spot no sign of life. The door stood half open, as did one of the windows and behind it, there was only darkness.
Thea mumbled something, before she gulped. “No life within”, she stated, her gaze fixed on the farmhouse. Maximus was the first to descend from his saddle, though Iiro and Joanna followed quickly. “Doesn't mean it's empty”, the knight growled, before he glanced at Vittorio. “Mage, you will cover our back. Stay in the saddle, if anyone or anything approaches, you warn us!”
“Got it”, Vittorio confirmed and Iiro was certain his friend was rather glad he didn't have to go in there. “Thea, you move around. Look for anything suspicious behind the house”, Maximus continued. “Don't enter unless we call for aid” The elf nodded silently and as Iiro tried to move in first, Maximus placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let me”, he growled and he pushed himself past the sellsword.
Briefly, the knight put a hand onto the massive Rondracrest on his back, before taking a deep breath and instead merely placing a hand on the short sword at his belt. “Is anyone in there?”, he barked, as he approached the door. When he received no reply, he drew his sword. Slowly, he moved the tip closer to the door, before using his sword to push it open entirely. He moved inside, first glancing left, then right, his sword following into the same direction. “Clear!”, he finally yelled.
Iiro and Joanna hurried after him and both entered the dark living room of the Foxton family. A few remnants of light shined through the open window, illuminating a deserted, yet seemingly normal room. Iiro expected devastation and yet, the furniture was in order, the modest belongings of the family were still in place. Two cups even stood on the table, next to a clay bowl, filled with a rotten, brown mass. The fireplace was cold and empty. Perhaps it was possible they had to flee from something?
Wordlessly, he gave Joanna a nod, then pointed at the pantry. The woman understood at once and turned to the bedroom, as both began to approach their respective destination. Iiro's heartbeat quickened and he felt a weight on his chest as he approached the closed door. Slowly, he drew his sword and already, the unmistakable smell of rot reached his nose. As his hand reached for the doorknob, he noticed that he was shaking slightly.
For a moment, he stayed there, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself. Then, sword in hand, he yanked the door open, ready to strike at any threat. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness behind, though he quickly realized that the room was indeed empty, safe for what little the family had in terms of supplies. The smell of rot came from a large slab of meat, perhaps deer from the local woods. Though the cold had slowed it down, it hadn't been unable to keep it fresh forever. “Clear!”, he yelled.
He glanced over his shoulder at Joanna, who was just pushing the bedroom door open with the tip of her spear, immediately spinning the weapon around, ready to defend herself if necessary. “Cle...!”, she began, before her eyes widened. “Boron have mercy...” Iiro's heart skipped a beat as he fully turned towards her and in an instant, he had rushed past Maximus Montclair and reached her side.
Her facial expression was all he needed to know what to expect. And yet, nothing could have prepared him for such a sight. A corpse was lying close to the door, horrifically mangled. The face was torn apart, with eyes and nose missing entirely, while the lower jaw had been almost entirely ripped off, now merely dangling to one side. The throat had been torn open, the flesh ripped to shreds to the point where Iiro could see the bone. Only the hair and his general build clued him in that this had to be Peraidor Foxton.
His wife Marita was lying to the side, close to the window. In her case, her face hadn't been harmed, though the sheer horror in her eyes didn't make it any better. She had died in fear and pain, with her frozen hands still clenched against her open belly, with part of her entrails hanging out. A horribly large hole was gaping in her chest, where her heart used to be.
Iiro could only stare at them, wide eyed, in horror and shock. He barely noticed Montclair walking up behind him, only flinching as the knight opened his mouth to speak. “By all that is good and holy...”, he mumbled, though unlike the visibly shaken Joanna and Iiro himself, he showed no sign of shock at the mangled corpses. Instead, he moved to the window and opened it. “Both of you, come inside!”, he barked. “And prepare for the worst”
Then, he turned to Iiro. “Look at me”, he growled and Iiro barely managed to move his gaze away from the look on Marita Foxton's face. Quickly, Maximus grabbed his chin. “Look me in the eye!”, he barked harshly and finally, Iiro did as he was told. Twelve... he had seen corpses before. Whole families massacred. He had seen Drakesfield, where the very essence of life was sapped away. And yet, this was something else. This unmitigated brutality...
“I can hold it together”, he assured the knight quickly, before Maximus had even said anything else. “They were friends of you?”, he asked and Iiro sighed. “I barely knew them”, he admitted. “Just for one night... but they were good people. They deserved better... By the gods, I have never seen anything like this” Maximus shook his head. “Neither have I”, he admitted. “And I'm doing this for longer than you are even alive” He looked past Iiro, to where Thea and Vittorio had just entered the small house. “I misjudged you, Iiro Redal”, he then said. “Cling to your compassion in the days to come. It'll serve you well”
“Oh... shit!”, Vittorio exclaimed, as he spotted the corpses. Thea said nothing but unlike Vittorio, who seemed horrified at the sight and quickly turned away, she did not pull her gaze off them. Her large eyes filled with tears. “What happened here?”, she merely asked. Maximus sighed and unlike the rest of his companions, he seemed to have no obvious problem with looking at the horrific injuries the Foxton's had sustained. “I have not the slightest idea”, he then admitted.
“It wasn't the Blackfurs”, Joanna mumbled, before Iiro could share the same discovery with his companions. Briefly, he gave her an approving nod. If anything, she surely knew orkish handiwork when she saw it and this was none of it. “They wouldn't have mangled the corpses like this”, the young woman continued. “Besides, they would have used weapons. They are strong, true, but they could never tear a man apart like that”
“And this was no wild animal”, Iiro added. “A bear would have mauled them worse, a wolf less. Any predator would have eaten them during this dark winter and yet...” He had to pause again. Though he was a mercenary of some experience, hardened in battle, scenes like this always got to him. They hit too close to the home he had lost.
“I agree, it was no predator”, Maximus spoke. “Whatever killed them, it was likely the very beast we are hunting for” He looked around. “Didn't you say there was a third? A child?” Iiro froze at these words and he forced himself to look around in the room. “Peldor...”, he mumbled. “Little Peldor... he's not here!”
“And I don't see any traces of a body having been moved”, Montclair spoke up. “The parents dead, the boy missing without a trace” He straightened his back, now being a truly imposing figure. “This is what's coming to all of Meadows if we don't find a way to stop it. We have a duty, to Duke Waldemar, to Meadows and to the Twelve Gods. This I tell you, look at them! Look at what was done to them!”
He turned to Iiro. “Are you angry, Redal?”, he asked, almost softly and as Iiro looked down, he noticed his fists were clenched, painfully so, and he was trembling. “More than you could imagine”, he growled and to his surprise, he noticed a satisfied smile on Maximus' otherwise stern face. “Good”, the priest complimented him. “Because I want you to be angry. I want you to be filled with righteous wrath, for those who have none left. Something did this to them, something is feasting on innocent people as we speak, tearing families apart, devastating a war-torn land and feeding off death and misery. Does that sound fair to you?” He shook his head. “I didn't think so”, he mumbled, before his gaze shifted. “Keep this fury close. Let it steel your heart in the trials to come!” He looked around, making sure to build eye contact with each member of his small group. “And this I tell you, stand before this darkness! We will not fail, for these people, for all of us!”
“Yes, Sir!”, Joanna exclaimed and Maximus seemed satisfied with her reaction. He looked around, as if he was waiting for anyone to say anything. Finally, it was Iiro who broke the silence. “Sir, what are we going to do now?”, he asked. “With... with them?” Though it still hurt to look at them, especially as memories of the night he spent at this farm flashed through his mind, Maximus' speech had made it easier. He felt fury indeed and a deep conviction. Whatever beast was responsible for this, he would find it and he would kill it. They had killed the mage responsible for Drakesfield. They had stopped Borbarad from returning to this world. For certain, they would now stop this new terror.
Maximus sighed and all of a sudden, he looked tired. “Now we bury them”, he mumbled and he looked at the mutilated corpses with genuine regret. His approach was not met with unanimous praise, however. “B... bury?”, Vittorio managed to exclaim. “Like, right now?” Maximus raised an eyebrow, before he gave him a nod. “That is what I said, yes”, he clarified. “I will need all four of you to help me”
Vittorio glanced outside. “The ground is frozen”, he protested. “This will take several hours” Maximus nodded again, entirely unmoved by the protest. “Then I suggest we start digging”, he spoke. “Unless you have a better idea?” Immediately, the mage straightened his back. He was a good head shorter than Montclair and yet, he seemed no less determined. “Sir, with all due respect, but we really should not linger”, he replied. “What if the beast that did this is still around? This whole house might be nothing but a trap for unsuspecting travellers”
“We are no unsuspecting travellers”, Maximus growled. “If the beast wants to pick a fight right here, I say let it come” He looked back at the corpses. “I am sworn to Rondra, but I have vowed to uphold the ideals of the Twelve. All of them without exception. In Boron's name, we must bury them. We owe it to give them that much at least”
“It's getting dark”, Vittorio tried again. “I respect your faith, but we need to think of the living. You said it yourself, we have to stop the monster responsible for all this” He glanced outside again. “For this, we need to stay safe. Do you want to travel through this land after nightfall? Or do you want to spend the night in this... tomb?”
Maximus and Vittorio looked at each other for a few moments, each of them with a hard look in his eyes. Finally, the knight sighed. “I am open for other opinions”, he admitted. “Captain?” He glanced at Joanna who hesitated. With a sigh, she finally looked away from Peraidor Foxton's corpse and back at the priest. “I'm with you, Sir”, she assured him. “The Orkenstorm has seen too many unburied dead. It will not be easy, but hells, no one ever said anything about easy”
With a satisfied smile, Maximus looked from her to Thea. The elf was crying openly and it was a heartbreaking sight to see such despair in a woman who was otherwise ever composed and dignified. “Mylady?”, Maximus asked and Thea visibly forced herself to look away from the corpses. “A... burial?”, she asked, completely dumbfounded by the question. “I know of that strange tradition” Finally, she shook her head. “I don't understand it. Their souls have moved on, why care for their bodies? We should mourn them, but Vittorio is right. We have to make sure we get through this night, so that we can avenge them”
Maximus sighed. “I see”, he spoke and it was impossible to even just guess what was going through his head right now. Finally, he looked to Iiro. “How do you stand on this?”, he then asked. “Should we stay and give them a proper burial at the very least, or should we make haste for the next village?”
[Bury the Foxton family] [Leave them]