It was during the Great Shattering that the mortal kind was born, lost and tumbling as the Chaos Lords tore at the world. The mortal kind died in immeasurable numbers, and could not live enough years to build or farm, or long enough to even understand what was happening to them.
Out of this Chaos, the many Lords of The Heartwood were forged. And They looked at their mortal kin and took pity. Each in His or Her own way reached out and taught Their children how to survive through the Shattering Wars, until She rose above the remnants of the World Forest.
And when the Chaos Lords were banished Beyond, and mortal kind finally swept across the newly calm world, they did not forget who rescued them from the terrors of the Shattering. And thus, as the mortal kind prospered in the world, so did their Lords.
When the Empire crossed the Sea of Opals and conquered the rough mainland rabble, they sent the Gods of the farmers and witches scattering. To these new colonies came the true Gods of the Bankorpool Empire, the four Lords of the Imperial Court.
Liddy dropped her heavy basket and peeked through a crack in the rough wood fence. Yes, she'd been right. There he was! Squire Kelvin Kraigskell himself, son of the Lord. And he was as handsome as handsome could be in his snowy white surcoat set with a red cross and outlined in golden threads that rivaled the shine of his hair. It was enough to make a young lass' heart flutter. It certainly did hers.
And there next to him was young Robert, all done up in a Squire's clothes, too. Who would have thought that just a handful of days ago he was working in old Farmer Nabob's field? Today he is riding across it!
Liddy peered through the fence. In Farmer Nabob's field were the two Squires, old Jacob Nabob, and a rough-looking man all trussed up on a horse.
"So, Squire, you be tellen' me that you caught that ruffian," Farmer Nabob said, "up in the Jambles, eh? Look at him, he's not but skin and bones, he is.
"You'd think that cattle of mine would have fattened him up but good, eh?
"Boy, I ought ta skin ye alive! That was a good milk cow, she was." Farmer Nabob turned to the bound man. "Now where am I gonna find a new one, eh? Or find the crowns and pennies to buy it once I did?!
"You one dumb boy. Stealing cattle right underneath the chapel's nose. Musta thought you were one big man taking a single cow right out from under the Knights!"
The ruffian stirred, and looked down at Farmer Nabob. "You count your blessings, old man. It was those Knights what kept me from slipping through your unbarred door and," he lowered his voice, "slitting your throat!"
Squire Robert raised his hand to silence the thief.
"Hold, Robert," said Kelvin. "We have him caught and bound. We do not punish. That is for our Lord Hastur to decide. He is not worth tarnishing your honor or bruising your inexperienced hand. And you," Kelvin said to the thief, "keep your tongue still, lest I consider it a threat to my friends here."
"Squire Kelvin," said Farmer Nabob, "now that ye got him, why don't you just leave him here. I kin make more than sure he won't ever touch another animal agin."
Squire Kelvin gave the farmer a cold look. "Aye, we have the cur. And we shall deliver him unto Hastur for Judgment. That is the Law, Farmer Nabob. The Law that protects you. We are only the Swords in Rames' arms, Jacob Nabob, and for you we will uphold the Laws of the Imperial Court, 'til our death. For you."
"Yessir, Squire Kelvin," Jacob Nabob said quietly. "Yessir."
"Come, Robert, let's take this man away to the Keep," said Kelvin.
The two of them turned and began to leave the field... Robert on his new horse, leading the prisoner, and Squire Kelvin walking beside.
"Oh, and Farmer Nabob?" Kelvin turned and looked back, "You are coming to Mass tomorrow, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes, Squire Kelvin, I will surely see you there!"
"Good... now, it's a fine sunny day, you are lucky to work out in these fields, Farmer Nabob, so smile a bit and have yourself a good day!"
As he walked toward the rocky path up to Kraigskell, he shook his head. The farmers would never learn. Farmer Nabob was all excited about capturing a single peasant. But come harvest, the bandit raids would begin again. And, if Lord Rames was willing, Farmer Nabob would never even know that such brigands existed. It takes much more than promises to provide protection. It takes the lives of many Squires and Knights of Rames.
The small group continued through the wheat, and up to the wooden fence that bounded the fields.
Liddy, behind the fence, saw her chance and ran up to the young lords. "Why, good day, Squire Kelvin, and how does it see you?"
Kelvin turned and smiled at the young girl, automatically taking the heavy basket from her hands. "Why, it sees me quite well, milady Liddy. And yourself?"
Liddy grinned and batted her eyelashes. "Oh, marvelous. Of course, any day we get a visit from yourself is bound to be a good one."
Kelvin laughed good-naturedly. The peasants had their better moments.
"Here, Squire Robert, you can get this fierce thief off to the Keep safely, right?
"Yes, my Lord, I most certainly can," said Squire Robert. He was somewhat pleased; he was but a new Squire and not many tasks were yet trusted to him.
Kelvin turned to Liddy, "So, where would you be taking this heavy load?"
"Just up the hill a bit, to Granny Fay. She's been ailing and momma wanted to send her a basket of breads and cheese."
"How kind of your mother." Kelvin reached down, picked up the basket and settled it on his shoulder. He knew well that Granny Fay lived quite a bit farther than 'just over the next hill', and his lessons had been very clear: better that he carries the heavy basket than any young lady. That was what a Knight was for. "Well, then," he said, "I'll be quite happy to walk you there.
"A young lady like yourself shouldn't be out alone, even in these peaceful lands."
Liddy grinned again and clapped her hands. "Oh, would you? I'd be ever so happy! Thank you ever so kindly!"
And so they walked, together, under the midday sun... the Squire with a basket, and the young girl skipping happily along beside him.
In every Keeptown across the land, clustered about a cold stone well, there is a grouping of three buildings. First and foremost, tall and proud, is the cross-shaped cathedral that houses the Knights of Lord Rames. Sheltered next to this can often be found the small hospice of Lady Attera, who quietly houses the helpless, the sick, and the poor. The last then is the marble court, marked by a procession of tall, strong columns, where the Lord of Hastur writes the world's Law and dispense its Justice.
Kraigskell Town is no different than any other town watched over by a Keep. And come the week's second day, the day of Judgment, a crowd can usually be found gathered at the Temple's gate.
"Harry, take a look over there... ain't that old man Nabob, going into the Justice's Court?"
"Sure enough, Geoffrey, sure enough. Remember, a couple days back, he lost that cow and claimed that some bandit had come by and stolen it?"
"Yah, that I do. He's always thinking that all the bandits in the world are after his cows and his cows alone. Imagine a bandit in these quite times, under Rames' protection."
"Well, Geoff, sure looks like old Nabob was right just this once. I hear that two Squires went out and got one of Nabob's famous bandits. Looky there, Geoffrey, that must be him, all bound up and being lead to Hastur's Court. So that's what a fierce bandit looks like. Don't look so fierce to me."
"Harry, perhaps if you had a farm a little bit farther out, like, let's say, me, perhaps you would be a bit more concerned about those ruffians. Hmmm... it looks like there isn't much else wrong today, eh? The Court's doors are closing on up ... Judgment is Temple business, they say. Yes, there, see? Brother Arri is finally coming up the stairs. He's one of Hastur's Eyes, he is.
"He's gotta' be the smartest man in this whole town, Brother Arri must be. Even the Lord Judge listens to him cause he knows that you just canna' make a judgment withou' knowing the truth. And Brother Arri is just full of the truth and all sorts of other facts. I hear that he even travels, he does, not just across the lands of Khorall Kraigskell, but even to Highgaard, and Cragside, and Lilia's Castle, and even to far off Bordertown.
"And he writes down everything he sees on long parchment scrolls, he does... I seen him do it, like when he came and talked all to Farmer Patrick about his new plow. And if I give Brother Arri a share of my grain, to give to the Temple-Court, he said he'd teach my son the letters, too. Just like a Noble, he would!"
The doors to the Temple of Hastur closed. Within the quiet building, the fate of a simple thief was being decided.
"Tcha, Harry! Would you ever want to be brought up before his Lord Justice?"
Harry looked at the silent door. "No, Geoffrey, I donna' believe so. Because I hear that the Lord Justice can call on Lord Hastur Himself, and Hastur will look deep into your soul, He does.
"And that He can see all that you've done, all the good...
"And all the wrong. Only then does He make His Judgment. And it is straight and true and oh so perfectly just.
"Whether you be the criminal or the wronged, Hastur casts His Judgment on both."
A lone figure ran towards the temple doors, stumbled, then got up again. She wore mud-stained white and looked as if she had not slept since the Shattering. Her long blonde hair was tousled in the wind and she raised a clenched fist to the door and defiantly pounded on the wooden panels.
"Justice Karson, Arri, open this door at once! How dare you start a Court without me?! By My Lady's Mercy, you will let me in!" Lady Darcy demanded.
After a bit, the great doors opened, and the Priestess of Attera was let within the Court.
"And yet Harry, if I had the Lady of Attera next to me, to temper Hastur's will with Her Mercy, then perhaps I would not be too scared at that."
"Jacob! Jacob! Are you all right? Tcha! Husband, look at you limping like that, and a horrible tear across you new tunic, oh come on in here, sit down, look, I'll get a blanket, and give you a bowl of stew, are you sure you are all right..."
Jacob smiled at his wife, "Hush now, don't..."
"...Oh, how could such happen to you? Must disaster always fall on us? Last month it was our poor lonely cow, and now..."
Jacob shook his head. "My good lady, be a bit quiet..."
"...If you got yourself hurt and torn up, who'll work the farm? And take care of our poor herd? And look at all that blood on thy tunic..."
"Wife! Close thy mouth!" Jacob shouted.
"...ulp..."
"Now, now," Jacob said, "I'm all right. I just had a little accident down at the Market. And yes, I did get myself all torn out and cut up, but it's all right.
"Down at the Market, Marcus had his dancin' bear, you know, to scrape up a couple of extra pennies and perhaps a silver or two. And he had to leave for a bit, to get food for him and his bear. But since it was such a nice day he just left tha creature tied out in front of the Hawk n' Bells. Now there be nothing wrong with that, Marcus had done that many a time before. His bear be a usually gentle beast, never much given to rage.
"But some ruffians came passing by the inn and decided that a tied up animal was but fun to bait. It took a bit, but they managed to work the bear into a fearsome rage. And then one stepped too close and was torn open by sharp claws.
"His friends, they just scattered and ran. And no matter how rough they had treated the animal, being clawed was bad enough. He didn't need to die for it.
"So I took these old bones and tried to pull the rapscallion beyond reach. Tcha! You'd think that a boy so thin wouldn't weigh so much! So I had to go right in there to pull him out. And I got just that wee bit too close. I felt that bear reach down and claw at me, and he tore at me like a dog breaking a foul rat's neck.
"All I remember was the pain, my lady wife, I almost called out to Krysta herself to come end the pain.
"And then just as quick, it was gone, and I felt good inside. I opened my eyes but to see fair Lady Darcy, imagine that, Lady Darcy! And she told me to hush, and that all was fine now. She stroked my brow and it was nice! She helped me up and asked me if I needed any help. And I said, thank you no, my Lady, and asked her what I could do for her. I mean, I had never even had a chance to see her up close, much less talk to her! And she just smiled at me and walked on back to her Hospice.
"Then Harry looked at me, pale as a ghost, and said 'Jacob, you all right?', just like you did, wife. And he said, 'we thought you were sure and dead, what with your bloody leg lying torn right off'n from ya!'"
In Talantal, grand Talantal, a merchant sat in a forgotten corner of a dim tavern. His face was pale, and his hands twitched so nervously. He watched the common room in a quiet dread terror.
He had been taught all his life that they didn't exist, that they had been outlawed so many ages ago. But at dawn he awoke with a deep red scarf draped across his pillow, a scarf of the finest silk, so soft and light to the touch.
And he knew that the dark swords of Jagnar were coming to hunt him, to grant him entrance to the gates of death. And that he would, most probably, not live to see the morning.
...and with the coming of the Imperial Gods, the older Lords of men were shown to be the false ones that they were. The bonfires grew large cleansing the lands, and the rule of the Imperial Court eventually brought peace.
But in the dark corners of the world the scattered few are both still mentioned and still followed.
Rhys reined in his horse as the woods around him exploded with the hooves and horns of a fullhand of hart. For a brief heartbeat, the world was a tumbling wave of panicked creatures, and the next it was empty and green, punctuated by the occasional sound of a moving deer disappearing into the woods.
Then the courier's blood ran cold and he looked swiftly about him. For echoing through the woods, was the deep baying of a hunting dog, the unmistakable bellow of a hungry snarkhound.
Somewhere, close behind the running deer, a Hunter of Khannish stalked through the small woods.
Rhys walked his horse slowly down the trail, carefully, very carefully. He fingered the crossbow tied to his saddle. And then let it rest. The heavy machine struck a powerful blow, but it was no way as swift or as keen as the hidden Hunter's bow.
There, a burst of color! All shades of tawny and fur, wild shaggy hair streaming on a taut and determined body. The snarkhound eyed him, almost as if it could ken the worry Rhys felt. Then, just as quick as it appeared, it disappeared back into the woods. A Hunt was never to be broken.
Rhys stood on his horse and waited.
After a bit, a forest bird called through the trees. Rhys started. Only the sharp cry made him realize just how quiet the woods had become. Slowly the life and sounds of the small backwater forest returned.
Rhys turned his horse down the trail and kicked him into a brisk canter.
Somewhere, deep in the lost copse of trees, the Hunter and his Hounds ran, in the Hunt that was their life.
"Daddy, why did big Squire Kelvin scowl at you?"
"Oh, young Gregor, that's not for your little ears, perhaps when you're just a little bit older." Farmer Patrick smiled, ruffled his son's hair, and distracted the boy with some simple chores.
He had almost gotten into a lot of trouble that day. Squire Kelvin was one of the more steadfast of the Squires, usually not one to overlook a heretical slip of the tongue. What was it he said? Oh yes, it was about his fallow third field.
"Given over to fair Risha," he said aloud, there being no Squire around to hear.
He thought back, to his grandfather's tales, pagan stories, and his old tricks and lore to keep a small farm operating. His grandfather had the audacity to curse the Imperial Court, for driving Risha from the farmer's lands. For She was the Lady of Growth and Newborn Life. To give over a field to Her was to leave it fallow and alone. And come the following spring, where once that field was leeched of goodness, it would be fertile and rich, reborn again. Risha would watch over the newborn calves and kids and lambs, protecting them from Krysta's greedy reach.
He chuckled, remembering a child's picture built from a grandfather's tale. A fat and chubby witch surrounded by an entourage of young beasts and laughing little children... the protection of a mother's hug.
Farmer Patrick bent down to work with his strong plow. Yes, the Imperial Court may have driven Lady Risha far away, but She still watched over a farmer's fields, a year of fallow begetting a year of growth.
Joelin rose from the table. The bloody, red rays of the setting sun had met the tallest tree in Fredrick's yard. It was time.
She had naught left to do but gather her cloak against the bitter wind, and yet every movement seemed a day, and every step a season. By her reckoning, a year passed when she finally reached the door, and the walk to the village square was an eternity. A coldness had grown within her, and she was sure it would never leave.
The square was scattered with the village folk, friends once, who now seemed strangers. Joelin moved among them like a ghost, pale and quiet, and deadly serious. She found a spot that suited her and stopped. Waiting, like all the rest. She hadn't long to wait, but for her it was a lifetime.
Slowly, a solemn procession of two entered the square. One was clothed completely in black: leggings, tunic, even up to a hood that covered his face, and with him he carried a large, bloody ax. Krysta's man he was, and for him this was just another day. At his side came a shackled man, seemingly worn down by the weight of his chains. He was once a tall man, and proud, but today he just looked old. Joelin watched her father impassively, ice coursing through her blood. She had cried in days past, but today she could do nothing but stand there alone. Krysta was calling, and She would not be denied.
The two men, one tied, one in black, stopped once they had reached the small wooden stump at the square's center. Behind them softly walked a pretty young woman, dressed in darkest sable. Her Priestess she was. The man in black turned, and pushed the other to his knees and bent him over the stump. He went willingly enough. The time for fighting was over.
Krysta's executioner raised and hefted his ax. "For crimes against the people," he said, "I now send you unto my Lady. May you pass in peace." He looked at the young girl. She gave a simple nod. With that he struck, and it was done.
Joelin sat in her spot for a long while, caught in the moment of her father's death. But eventually time eased slowly back to her. When finally she thought to look around, the square was empty, except for the body. They would take it away soon, she knew, leaving it just long enough to warn others who would try what her father had done.
She rose quietly and walked over to it, touching the man who had once cradled her in his arms and promised to care for her always. Well, the times were tough, and promises hadn't been enough. Krysta's kiss had separated them for now. A single tear rolled down her cheek. The Ice Queen's chill had begun to seep through him. She reached into her pouch and retrieved the two copper coins she had put there earlier and, with a loving touch, set them upon the dead man's eyes. "Guarantors of peace," they said. Now he could complete the journey and finally find rest in Krysta's cold arms.
Then she turned and walked away.
"Tcha! Did you hear the master's order? He may be a great merchant prince, all done up in such fine robes, but when do ye think he's done a little bit of work, eh? Leaves all the dangerous things up to us. Where would he be if he had to truck all this stuff across the Colonies? No, he sends me and you, Jack.
"You hear the latest? We're to truck a load of grain and wheat to Tor-an-dal. You know where that is, Jack? It's on the bloody Road East, that's where! And he says it's up to us to find protection for the trip. That's what he pays us for! Tcha!"
"Well, Jonesy, we could always go to the Temple and beg a favor from the church," Jack replied. "Maybe they have a couple Squires who need a bit of training."
"Did you not hear me, Jack? This is the Road East! We need ten or twenty to guard our caravan. There's not that many Squires and Knights at our small cathedral!"
"Well then, I guess that leaves us the other choice... I hear there's some Jvrillians looking for hire."
"Hmmm..." Jonesy thought long and hard. "Well, I guess that could solve all our problems. I hear that they are good and strong in a fight, that they know how to use the swords they sell."
"Aye," said Jack, "And I can read enough to sign a contract, I can. And I've been told that once signed, that Jvrillian will fight well and die for you. And not once even dream of breaking that contract and besmirching his... ah... church's honor!"
"What!", Jonesy exclaimed, "You know your letters and can read and write! You never told me that! All I can do is scribe my name..."
The merchant caravan was traveling along the Highland Path, heading east for Talantal, with a load of coral, and wine and Amber Beer destined for the halls of Lord Korie.
Come noon the caravan halted. The merchants made lunch, ate it, and then the caravan moved on. It trudged its way along the winding trail, around small hillocks, and in and amongst the scattered stones. The caravan dragged itself around two hills and then a stone, and...
...halted again.
There, by the side of the road, stood a ghastly and horrible visage: the remains of a fierce warrior and his mount, weapons drawn in challenge, their heads tilted back in rage. Holding them upright was a weathered spear, piercing through both corpses, horse and rider impaled upright.
"Tcha! May She have Mercy on us. I ain't never seen anything as horrid as all that! It looks as if the poor soul is still fighting demons in Krysta's cold hells."
"And enjoying it, Marcus, enjoying it." Logan looked at the macabre sight and thought for a moment. He said, "Marcus, you know what that be? That's a Jvrillian, an old Jvrillian. See, he stands even in death to taunt and challenge his enemies.
"Be glad you met him this way, old friend. I've heard talk about these reclusive warriors. Cold and quiet they are, and they live but for one thing, to fight and make war. They care not for what civilized men hold dear, but only for that which can make them stronger and more powerful. It is said that if you cut off their head they will still fight for hours, not yet realizing that are dead."
"Barbarians!" Marcus snorted.
"Oh, don't make that mistake," said Logan, "they are as cunning as the fox, and they are as clever as the wind. Their world is as complex and as bound as ours, but it has a different emphasis, simple laws. The strong survive, that's what the stories tell of them.
"The strong survive. That's how they live, and only to the stronger do they perish."
Up in Kraigskell town, the two Squires poked through the ransacked shop. It was Harold Millerson's place, where he sold assorted dry goods and supplies. It was as if a very careful man had made a very thorough search looking for the secrets to the Dall Gwynn itself.
Harry sat in the corner, watching. He looked sorrowfully at the two men and sadly shook his head.
"It's not as if he cleaned me out, as is," Harry said. "But I lost enough to hurt, so now what am I going to do? That's a month's hard work gone into someone else's pocket, it is!
"And it's not just me! I heard that Anson an' Dherrick, an' young Richard got robbed too! As regular as the sun and stars I tell..."
"Here!" Squire Kelvin interrupted, "Millerson, I take it you keep your house all barred up at nights, don't ye?"
"Why sure, I'm not a fool. This thief must have been on the wings of a god to slip that heavy oaken board!"
"Well, look up here, Master Millerson, this window on the stairs. It does not have a latch."
"'Course not," Harry replied, "You'd have to be able to fly to reach it!"
"I am sure the thief was not blessed with such a Pagan gift," Kelvin scowled at the merchant. "But your thief did leave a sign in the dark. A token lost in the night. See here?"
Squire Kelvin held out a simple leather thong. Threaded through, by a single carefully punched hole, was a copper penny.
"Come, Squire Robert, we must report this to our lords. The town of Kraigskell seems to have a bit of rot within it."
Marcus and Logan pulled their caravan into Talantal. They paid the tolls to get up into the Third Ring, where the richer merchants did business. There they quickly sold and traded their wares, and by nightfall had a new caravan bound for Highgaard and a pouch full of crowns and pieces of bright shiny stars.
"Come, Logan, let's find a tavern, buy a drink, and rest our feet. An honest day's work deserves an honest bit of pleasure!"
The two of them followed sounds of laughter and merriment, and soon enough it lead them to a crowded tavern. They pushed their way to the bar and grabbed a couple of mugs of mead.
"Hi ho," the barkeep said, "You seem like you're new here, just some merchants passing through, perhaps? Got some good Amber Beer here, just came in today!"
Marcus laughed.
"Yes, I think so," he chuckled, "Let it come around full circle."
The barkeep poured the drink from a cask that but a little while ago rode in on Marcus' wagon. "Any news from beyond the Keep?"
Marcus smiled and began at length to tell the news from far and wide. Logan looked at his friend for a while. On the trail, he was as quiet as a mouse, but let anyone ask him the news and he had more words than an angry wife.
Four drinks later, Marcus asked the barkeep for news of Talantal, and then began to ask many questions, too. Logan just shook his head. Four drinks of talk, then four drinks of questions. Sometimes Marcus was just that predictable.
And four drinks later, Marcus said good night for the evening. The barkeep thanked him for the news and gossip. It was good when a merchant passed through, to tell of the happenings across the world.
"Hey Marcus," Logan said, "where you off too? I think we could beg a room off the barkeep here."
"No, Logan, I have some friends in town who will be glad to house me for the night. I'll meet you at the caravan at dawn, all right?"
"Sure enough," Logan replied. Marcus had friends and relatives in almost every town it seemed.
Marcus walked through the darkened streets of Talantal, having paid a few coins for a man to carry a torch for him. As he walked in the flickering light, he thought about the day's work. Yes, he did well. An honest day's pay and a caravan to a point farther down the trail. And more news to parlay up the Highland Path. He smiled. It was good when one's duties lay along one's desires. Thoughtfully, he fingered the totem looped around his neck, concealed under his tunic... a simple leather string, threaded through a penny's punched hole.
Freddy threw a small branch onto the fledgling fire and sat back, looking up at his best friend, Jim. "So," Freddy started, "We made it this far."
Jim nodded at his friend, eyes searching the darkness around them. "Yup. But I can't says as I like it much here."
Freddy laughed. "Tomorrow we'll get to Hickory's Town, pick up that cow and be back in no time." He punched Jim softly. "What you afraid of? Ghosts? Animals? Or mayhap them witches from the Second Age?"
"Nay," Jim replied, "I ain't 'fraid of none of them."
"Ohh... right. Well, I heard a story once, and I'll bet it'll set your blood a chillen. Back in that evil Second Age, when the Coven ruled, they would hold their Pagan sacrifices on nights much like this, when neither moon lights the sky."
Jim listened intently to his friend.
"But before the sacrifice could be held," Freddy continued, warming to his tale, "they needed fresh blood. So as the sun faded ruby red over the horizon, the hunts would begin. Now these weren't like Khannish hunts, no indeed. There the hounds can be heard baying from long away, and good men could be warned and run. No, these were the witch hunts. Quiet as a fish in water are the witch folk when they run in their woods. And any man unlucky enough to be caught in their path became substance for the night's celebrations. Imagine, if you can, sitting around a smallish fire, with the darkness of the moonless night waiting just outside the glow. Then, a crack of wood behind you, and turning," Freddy lifted his hand and pointed off into the darkness at the edge of the fire, "you see the shadowy form of the Horn God, antlers crowning his head, dressed in a simple grass-green tunic."
Jim looked deep into the inky blackness and shivered.
"And beside him, Mother Nature incarnate, wild hair, all colors of the harvest, wearing the skins and furs of beasts unknown. Smiling at their prize. You could turn and run. But you might as well stay for all the good it would do. No mortal can outrun the witches on their hunt."
Freddy paused for a breath. Jim watched quietly, enthralled.
Freddy continued. "So you are caught. Now they want the blood fresh, so they wouldn't harm you, nay, just tie you up and take ya along, until they find enough for their perversions. No light now, just stumbling through the heaviest wood, pushed along by followers unnamed and numberless. Soon you would enter a glade where sat one of their circles. Coven rings they call 'em, and it is here that the sacrifices are held. Then they would tie you up to one of them big stones, too heavy for single might to move. And around the circle you would see the others, eyes wild with fear like your own. The food for their worships.
"And they would dance. I've heard of those dances held long ago. Men and women together, naked, moving like the very beasts in the forest. Drums beating, whipping the bodies up to a frenzy, then leaving them swaying like a summer breeze. By the end, they'd be more beast than human, with the look of wildness in their eyes. At times, they would play with their tied captives like a kitten plays with yarn. Drawing them into their wickedness, only to laugh and cast them back to the stone. And in the end, the blood would flow. Gifts for their evil Gods. I've heard that they even sometimes ate the remains, like a hungry beast in the wilds, ripping and tearing at their food."
Jim shivered again and looked frightfully into the woods.
"Then, when morning came, only the rotted corpses and the flowing blood would be left. Buried deep within the woods of the Tarn you can find these circles sometimes, and the skeletons of men and women sacrificed."
A crack of wood in the forest behind them interrupted the end of Freddy's tale. Both boys turned as one and stared, hearts in their throats. There was no Horned God there, but a shadow did flit about the fire's edge, and then moved off to be swallowed by the night. Freddy moved closer to their small fire, as if for protection, closely followed by Jim.
"Perhaps it isn't good to be telling such tales on nights like these," said Jim.
"I've heard that not all the Coveners died in the Eastern Wars and that some can be found roaming the woods on darkest nights."
"Aye," said Freddy, "though their hunts are surely a thing of the past."
"Well," Jim added "I wouldn't want to find out if they aren't."
Julius looked over his purchases so proudly. Four carts of grain, two fine steers, a pair of goats, and a bolt of bright homespun cloth. And he had traded only a small amount of supplies and tools, some knives, a metal plow, and a few trinkets.
Heh, he thought, a few trinkets, probably for their wives and daughters, that. He smiled. He had them real cheap and sold them dear, for while the Noble ladies would no longer be seen in such things, those backwoods farmers knew not their actual value.
He remembered what they said as they left.
"Thank ye, and may the Folk of the Wind dance about your path," that's what the peasants had said.
Must have been one of those Spirits that these poor folks looked to out here in the middle of nowhere. He had listened to one of their shamans once. He was determined to buy the shaman's beautiful woven shawl, and the shaman would not let him go until he had finished his preaching.
He remembered what he said. That there were Spirits in the air, in the trees, in the woods, in the rocks, in the grass, and everywhere.
Spirits indeed.
Julius turned his wagon and began his long trek back to civilization. One of these days someone is going to have to teach these fools to give up their childish games and worship a real God.
The greasy smoke rose from the great fire, and slowly the great stake toppled and fell. The body strapped to it had long since stopped screaming, and the remains sent up sparks into the night sky.
The villagers slowly began to disperse, fifty torches slowly splitting up and finding their way home.
"Sandy, that was but a close call to hell, wasn't it?" Deniz quietly said.
"Aye, Denny, that was. Did you see what happened to Master Caleb when we come to get that evil man? He took him over and made him mad an' fight us, and it took three men to hold him down so he wouldn't hurt anyone!"
"Yeah. I... ah... well... oh hell! I was scared Sandy! I dinna' want to get cursed or changed or killed! It's not normal or Godly what they do to you! I tried to come and help, but I could nae move. What they do is so wrong, Sandy, they take what's good in the world and rape it, pervert it to their own warped purposes. I'm a good Rames protected man, I am! An' I go to Mass every Firstday, an' I send a sheep to Lady Attera's house every year, an' I don't want to lose my soul forever!
"They can steal your very soul, Sandy, they can steal your soul!"