A Storm for the Ages.

            A storm blew in from the west, off the mountains of the Spine. The valley below welcomed it with open arms as the growing season had been fatally dry. Few crops had sprouted, and the harvest was bare. Not many had eaten well, and those who did were either very skilled with the bow, the tongue, or the sword.

            Thunder cracked the sky, waking Reoedin from a restless sleep. Nightmares had haunted his dreams of late, a bad omen he knew. Rain started beating on the grass roof of the forge, putting a smile on the blacksmith’s lips. He walked to the door in not but his trousers, opening it to feel the wetness of the shower. He stuck his hand out, cupping it to hold the water. He could not help but to chuckle as he splashed it onto his face, rubbing it into his grizzled beard. It had been far too long.

            “Illyena,” he whispered as he shook his daughter’s slumbering body. “Come. It seems the Gods have answered your prayers.” She rubbed her eyes, not realizing what he had said to her. Monstrous arms grabbed her up and held her tight. She laid her head against his massive chest as he brought her to the door. When she heard the rain, her head shot up looking for the source, not believing her ears. The six year old grinned from ear to ear, giggling as well. They laughed together, embracing the blessing they had received. When the rains started in the valley, they did not let up for many months. They were going to be ok. The young one hugged her father as he held her.

            Looking to the Spine, he noticed the mountain pass begin to glow with a faint light; at first only one, but it was followed by many more. His joyful mood turned to one of curiosity and worry. It seemed a large caravan of people passing through, perhaps one of the Missionary groups or… Suddenly, he knew exactly who it was. It was a mass of Eihmn soldiers, a cruel and ruthless bunch. They took what they wanted and put what they did not to waste. The only explanation that Reoedin could find for such a large party being in the area was conscription. Luckily enough for him, he was getting too old to be a soldier, nearing his forty-second year, but he knew that the draft was always a violent and saddening event.

            With a sigh, he shut the door and sat in a chair near the warm coals of the forge, his now sleeping daughter in his lap. Despite the rain, the following days would be tough and difficult to bear. He’d been down this road before, and it was certainly not something he wanted to endure again.

            He was just eighteen at the time. His mother wept as his father hugged him and shook his hand, tears welling up in his eyes. It was going to be him; they all knew. Rumor had spread like wildfire of those who were to be chosen the moment the soldiers had come down off the mountain. Reoedin’s father tried to be strong, crying only when none were looking. Of course, he never let on to that until Reoedin returned from war after sixteen long years.

            When the soldiers finally came, they came in force and brutality. They burst into the doors and attempted to subdue him by any means. He went down calmly, without a fight. They picked him up and lead him to the streets, a crowded, caged wagon in front of them. They pushed him to his knees, down onto the trodden dirt, and a dark-haired soldier in an unscathed breastplate of decorative armor – a lieutenant he assumed – put a sword to his throat. The steel was cold as it nicked the skin of his neck. The lieutenant’s face was thin, he’d almost seem gaunt if not for the muscles that protruded from the breaks in his armor. His teeth were yellow as he spoke. “Reoedin, son of Feorin,” there was now a host of bystanders about him, watching. “Hereby you have now been formally conscripted into the King’s Army. May you fight well and live long enough to see your mission done.” The lieutenant’s voice seemed almost sarcastic, as if he honestly couldn’t care less than he did. He lowered the sword and approached Reoedin with contempt. When he was within arm’s reach, the Lieutenant reached down and backhanded him across the face with a gauntlet of engraved steel. The world around him went black.

            His time as a soldier was even worse than that first day. He’d stood by as he watched men kill, rape, and pillage not only the enemy, but innocents as well. Man, woman, child: none were safe. Nothing would be so sweet to him as getting away from all of that. But what could he do? If he’d deserted, they would have found him. They always found deserters, and then they and their families were put to death. He couldn’t do that, not to his parents.

            And so, he had served out his term. The wars, the things he’d seen, things he’d done; they changed him, hardened him. When he returned home, he was not the same man. He shut out those whom he had loved, and those who tried to help him. Until one woman came along; Illyena’s mother and namesake. She was fairly tall for a woman, still shorter than him by a hand or two, and more beautiful than all the wonders of the world. Her hair was the red of wine, her eyes the blue of the ocean lit by the moon’s light. Smooth as silk, her skin was almost flawless. She might well have been the epitome of what is perfection. She was the one thing that brought him back to what he had been before the horrors. If only she had survived the birth…

            Reoedin found himself sobbing. The girl was still asleep in his arms as he wiped the tears from his cheeks. He’d done all he could for that child, but it was not enough. It likely never would be.

            The door burst open and Reoedin instinctively jumped to his feet, knocking the chair to the ground and gripping the girl firmly. Now hugging him closely, the girl was awake and afraid. “Gods be damned,” he cursed in relief; it was only his apprentice. “I thought you were a soldier, Ara’Mon.”

            “You’ve heard then?” Ara’Mon was not handsome by any means, with a bulbous nose, missing teeth, and several chins, nor was he very tall. He was however, strong as an ox, and even more skilful with the hammer than Reoedin had ever hoped to be. Eventually, that boy would work for kings. That is, if Reoedin had anything to say about it. His breaths were ragged and shallow; he’d obviously come a long way very quickly.

            “Catch your breath, boy. Heard what?” Reoedin questioned him, and he took a few deep breaths. Maybe the soldiers weren’t just looking for more recruits. Perhaps their plots were far more sinister.

            “The soldiers… They’re here for conscripts,” the boy brushed his hair back with a big hand.

            Reoedin laughed, picking up the chair setting the girl gently in it. He stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort, putting her back to sleep. The boy looked shocked at his leisurely attitude. “Oh, I already knew they were here to take some of the men. That’s what they always come… But that’s not all, is it?” The look in poor Ara’Mon’s eyes was one of sheer sadness and horror.

            “They’ve come for you, Reoedin,” tears actually started falling from his eyes. Reoedin’s heart thumped, desperately trying to escape from his chest. “Yours is the only name on the soldiers’ tongues, master. Rumor is they’re here to sack the town otherwise.”

            “What?” Reoedin asked incredulously. He was now truly fearful. “But I…” A scream in the distance made them both freeze. What was he to do? Run or fight, those seemed to be the only options, and with a little girl at his side, he couldn’t very well fight. The thunderous clatter of hooves in the distant night drew closer. He hadn’t much time to prepare. “Run and hide, Ara’Mon. Go to the forest and wait near the Drasil tree. It’s fairly well hidden, but don’t get too close. Like as not they’ll be looking to cut the tree down as well. The Royal City’s never been very fond of our traditions,” he ordered the boy as he packed a bag with a few linens, some bread, and cheese for what may be a long journey ahead of them. Ara’Mon just stood and stared at Reoedin. “Go, boy. Go!” He clapped his hands together as the sound of soldiers barking orders became present. Illyena let out a shudder of breath as the boy took off. She was scared. There was shouting, and screams, and her father was darting about frantically. She began to cry. The poor girl, she had no idea…

            Reoedin donned a leather tunic, his wool cloak, and attached his personally crafted sword around his waist, slinging a bow and quiver across his back. The little girl dressed as he did so, still weeping, but doing her best. Tipping the cot over as he tried to move it, Reoedin quickly tore up the floorboards to get to the locked chest hidden below. He fumbled for the key around his neck, amongst the protective runes he wore. Trying to unlock it, he realized he actually didn’t know what was inside. The chest was given to him by his father years ago, but he was told not to open it until such a time as he knew he needed to. Was now that time? Not waiting for an answer, he worked the lid ajar. Inside, smothered in linens and silks, a tarnished metal sphere lay, inscribed with runes and ancient languages. It shocked him. He studied it, and tried to unlock its secrets before more screams, shouting, and the crash of buildings collapsing jolted him back to the situation at hand. He placed the sphere into a pouch tied at his waist.

As he fastened the cloak around Illyena, he could not keep from tearing up. “Shh, shh, sweet girl. We’re ok,” She just looked at him with all the innocence of the world. He held her to his chest and kissed her on the head. “We’ve got to go now.” Nodding, Illyena sniffled and pulled her cloak tight around her, ready to follow her father into the darkness. Reoedin drew his sword, ready to take on what may come.

            Stepping out of his door brought a close encounter with an arrow. He dropped to the ground bringing the girl with him. They all but crawled to the alley way, getting up only when the streets themselves were out of their view. Fire lit the entire village, and Reoedin could only guess how many homes had been destroyed thus far; how many lives had been taken.

            It had been perhaps an hour since the raid began, and already the streets, alleyways, and gutters were slick with blood. The scent of fire and death were thick in the air, a most sickening combination. An unprepared people, untrained in the skills of war was an easy thing to defeat in very little time, and the sounds of war were finally beginning to die down when the two happened upon the first street crossing.

            They were just behind the market square, in the area where the vendors would store their goods, normally roofed by wooden beams. Hundreds of bodies now hung from those beams, they’re bloody corpses haunting the scene. It was difficult for Reoedin to bear; he could not imagine what the girl would be going through if he had not covered her eyes. “Illyena, I need you to keep your eyes closed, ok?” She nodded ok, and he could feel her eyelids flexing beneath his hand. After sheathing his sword, he hoisted her in his arms, putting her face into the crook of his neck, holding her head in place. His feet hesitated with the first step into the pool of blood that was the street. He moved slowly and quietly, praying the Gods would let them go unnoticed, at least in this place. Beneath his feet, beneath the blood that reached above his ankles, the ground was uneven from what he hoped were not bodies or their parts. His feet were sucked into the mud, making each step a chore, as if it weren’t difficult enough already.

            Reoedin tripped, barely catching himself with a knee and a hand submerged in the puddle. The girl, understandably startled, tried to look up, before being denied by Reoedin’s massive, blood-soaked hand. None had seen or heard them when they reached the other side, and Reoedin did not put his daughter down for several streets. When he finally did, his hand stuck to her hair, and the girls quiet, endless weeping did not let up at the sight of the blood.

            It was not long after that they encountered another of the dreads of war. The father-daughter pair cut through a small, shack of a house to find a shaggy soldier raping a young girl who was completely unconscious. Reoedin, entirely sickened by what he saw, put his sword straight through the soldiers back. He threw the man’s body to the side, and checked on the girl. Dead. He hadn’t noticed the coloring of her lips at first, but she had probably been dead for quite some time. Who knows how many had gotten to her before she was strangled…

            They walked along the abandoned streets and alleyways, avoiding the soldiers’ patrols. The city quieted to near silence, dulling down to only the omnipotent roar of the fire blazing across the town and a few lieutenants snarling orders. Closer to the edges of the village now, a whimper broke the calm. Reoedin tried desperately to locate the source of the noise, fearing it might give away their position. When he found it, his heart dropped. Ara’Mon, the poor boy, had hardly seen his sixteenth year. He was propped against the wall of a simple stone structure, a beautifully ornate shield attached to one hand, and a sword nearby the other. Three arrows pierced his chest, and a girl about his age lay limp across his lap, her throat open wide. Life had not yet left him, but his breaths were wheezy, short, and sporadic. Reoedin had seen wounds like this. Nothing could be done for the comatose boy. He was growing weary with the grief of this trivial little town.

             What was the point of all this? The Lower Houses that ruled the mainland under the King in the Royal City Eimha were already on the edge of a knife with the King; did he really want to push for war? Ever increasing taxes, conscriptions, imprisonment without trial, all in a time of great peril – these were far too much for a people to endure. Eimha had, perhaps, the numbers to defeat one, possibly two, of the nations under its control, but they were all true allies to each other. If one was attacked, the other eight would rush to its defense; Royal Decree or no. Reoedin knew the King, or at least knew who the King had been. He was certainly not stupid, he may have had poor council in the past, but he knew where to draw the line.

And yet, rumor had been spreading of a darkness overcoming the King’s good sense, and of a powerful object, one of a magical nature, being located in the east. Of course, that was folly. Magic hadn’t existed for centuries; the King wouldn’t base an all out war on false hopes. Would he? Perhaps they’re not false hopes at all, Reoedin wondered, reaching into the pouch at his side to pull out the runic orb. “Gods, help me,” he plead. The flashing image of a colossal deciduous tree permeated his thoughts, almost in answer. He sighed and reached for the child’s hand, to lead her to the Drasil. She was not yet old enough to see it, according to the ancient scripts, but the volatility of the situation demanded it. It seemed as good a place as any to gather their thoughts and formulate a plan, hidden deep within the forests of the mountain. Perhaps the only place…

A sword slashed through the air at Reoedin, and he had just enough time to put his own up before the man wielding the weapon could cut him down. “Run,” he shouted at the girl through gritted teeth. Illyena fell to the ground, still sobbing, as she fled the fight to hide.

Their swords were fairly well locked together. The soldier on the other side, a younger man with a nearly bald head and patchy beard stubble, was strong and skilled with the blade. It would be a tough duel. For a few seconds that passed like hours, Reoedin stared into the soldier’s grey eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of what his next move would be. Apparently, it was up to him to take the next step.

With a burst of power from his arms, shaped by years as a blacksmith and a soldier, Reoedin parried his opponent’s sword to the left, and bounced back to take up a high guard. It was something he learned in his travels, and it worked well enough to confuse the other man. The soldier, with all the speed of a rat, darted at him, his sword drawn back and to his left. Agilely, the man danced to Reoedin’s other side, catching him slightly off guard. Reoedin brought his own weapon down, deflecting the blow with just enough room to keep his side intact. Spinning with his sword, he slashed at the villain’s legs, catching him in the area behind the knee before he’d had time to turn himself around. He hit the ground hard, with a thud and a deep roar of pain.

Reoedin watched the motionless swordsman for a moment. He did not move. Eyeing him apprehensively, Reoedin approached with caution. Questioning him would probably be a useless effort, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Well, it wouldn’t hurt Reoedin, at any rate.

Holding his sword at the ready, he kicked the soldier over only to find he had fallen on his own steel. Not a very good swordsman after all. To die by your own blade was an embarrassing thing, but it certainly made it easier for Reoedin. Easier, but far less productive.

A sensation of panic took him when he couldn’t find his daughter anywhere in sight. “Illyena,” he shouted, more worried than he had been at any point during the quarrel. He cried her name again, searching behind barrels and crates and doorways. After calling for her several times over, she came to him from across the alleyway. He took her hand, sword still drawn, and led her out of the village, to the northern forests, and toward what he hoped was safety amongst the tree of his Gods.

Hours passed as they hiked the way to the Drasil. Reds, yellows, and oranges filled the sky as the sun crept up to the horizon. The path would have taken them near the great tree before dawn, but Reoedin was not keen on the risk that posed. So they trekked. Rather, Reoedin trekked, carrying Illyena in his arms as she slept. Of course, she surely deserved it. She should never have had to go through what happened tonight.

The grove was wholly still when they reached it, and that brought Reoedin’s mind to ease. He was still wary, however, when they came up on the tree.