4 replies to this topic

[Berethin]

Greetings! I've come here at the advice of a friend, and have a chapter from my book I've been working on for ages. My goal is to have it finished by the end of summer at the latest, and I'm hoping earlier than that. Anyway, I've been working on this story for the past seven years, since I was thirteen, and it's seen several revisions, in this past year especially. This latest version actually takes it back closer to the original; I'll leave it to you to decide if that was a good idea or not.

Well, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One
The Forest Gladelon

Two men rode down the forest trail. Autumn was at its peak, and the leaves overhead were full of vibrant color. The birds sang loudly, as many gathered in flocks for the flight south, and leaves rustled gently as they fell to the ground. The two travelers were both clad in long-sleeved tunics and trousers, over which they wore ring-mail shirts and leather jerkins. Each bore a weapon.
The foremost rider ducked under branches as they went along. His name was Arlin, and he was of a settled disposition. His clothes were plain brown, but he wore a fine long-sword at his side.
“Macleod,” he asked, as he turned in the saddle to look at the other rider, “how much farther is this village? We must have been in these woods for an hour now.”
“Not much further,” replied the other rider, Macleod, as he swatted aside a branch.
Macleod was a little edgier than Arlin, and wore both brown and green. He had a quiver and unstrung longbow on his back, while at his side hung a single-edged falchion.
“I don’t know why you wanted to come out here yourself anyway,” continued Macleod. “You know it can be dangerous, and you aren’t exactly used to this kind of environment.”
Arlin only shook his head, as he had heard Macleod’s argument several times before. Macleod was not finished, either.
“I could easily have gone and done this myself, after all.”
Arlin continued to ride without reply. They went only a short ways more before Macleod stopped them.
“Look, there it is,” he pointed.
Arlin could see the wooden palisade walls of the village they were making for.
“Careful now,” said Macleod. “These woodmen aren’t exactly always friendly.”
“Neither are you,” retorted Arlin. “Don’t worry so much, Macleod.”
Macleod grumbled under his breath as they came out into a glade, and to the edge of the village. A ditch had been dug around it, the dirt from which had been piled on the inside and topped with the wall. A dirt path crossed the ditch and ran up to the foot of a gate in the wall. Arlin led the way up, as Macleod warily followed. There was not a sound to be heard from within.
The gate was open, and they easily entered in. The village was a collection of huts in no particular pattern, and a crowd was gathered in the center of the town.
“Hail, travelers,” said one of the men, as he left the crowd and advanced to meet Arlin. “Welcome to Berron. I am the chieftain here, and though we’d like to offer you hospitality, I’m afraid this is not the time.”
“Are there problems?” asked Arlin. “The people look troubled.”
The chieftain looked surprised.
“You haven’t heard yet? The Ogrenes are less than a day off. The few stragglers from the nearest town reached us just moments ago, with word that the Ogrenes had pillaged their homes. Curse them!”
“Is it true then? The Ogrene tribes are on the warpath?”
“You’re not from the woods, are you?” asked the chieftain, scornfully. “Yes, the Ogrenes are on the warpath! Most of the woods is theirs already.”
Arlin nodded slowly, and examined the defensive situation of the village.
“How far out are they?”
The chieftain shrugged.
“Maybe half a day, maybe less than an hour. We really don’t know. All we know is that they are coming, far faster than we could safely escape them.”
“Would it be possible to hold this position against them so your women and children could escape?”
The chieftain grew plainly irritated.
“Just who do you think you are? Do you think we haven’t considered that already? We don’t have enough men to hold the Ogrenes at bay for a moment!”
“My friend and I have some veteran fighters outside the forest. We can bring them here in a matter of hours.”
The chieftain’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re from Beween, aren’t you? That same ‘glorious kingdom’ that sent our people to die! We’d rather share our forefathers’ fate than accept help from you!”
The people heard everything that the chieftain had said, and quickly drew near. They looked weary and haggard, a pitiful group to see. Children clung to their mothers, and families stayed close together. There were a number of young men, however, that seemed less somber than the others, with a sort of desperate battle craze over them.
Arlin felt a great deal of pity for all of them.
“Chief Baldon!” said one of the younger men, as he stepped out of the crowd. “If he is a Bewinnian, then we should take the chance to avenge those of our village who died in the war for his kingdom! Kill them both!”
Macleod had his falchion out and was alongside Arlin immediately, who remained calmly seated. The young woodman drew a blade of his own and rushed forward, but the chieftain caught him and roughly pulled him back.
“Thurden, control yourself! No matter what, this man is a guest in our village, and we are not going to discard hospitality because of the times!”
The woodman sheathed his sword and sulkily returned to the crowd.
“I apologize,” said the chieftain, as he turned to face Arlin again. “Tension has risen so high I can barely manage my own people. Still, I will not change my mind about your help. Leave here while you can.”
“Chief,” said another woodman, “maybe we should reconsider. We need help, and we don’t have a chance without it.”
The chieftain paused, and looked off to the side.
“Chief,” persisted the woodman, “our families depend on us receiving aid! We need help desperately!”
“We can never accept help from the Bewinnians!” said Thurden, as he emerged from the crowd again. “If we did we would only seal our fate for a later time!”
“He’s right!” cautioned another woodman. “The Bewinnians are not to be trusted!”
Arlin listened quietly to all that the woodmen said, and motioned for Macleod to put away his falchion. The woodmen argued back and forth for several moments, all the while of which the chieftain stood silent.
“Enough!” he said at last. “Bewinnian, we will accept your help. We need every man we can get, regardless of past quarrels.”
“Wisely said, my friend,” said Arlin, with a pleased smile. “If you will excuse me, I have something of which I must discuss with my companion.”
The chieftain nodded and stepped back, while Arlin and Macleod withdrew to the gateway. The crowd was a buzz of talk, but neither of the Bewinnians paid attention to what was said.
“Macleod, I need you to go get the militia,” said Arlin. “We need them brought back as soon as possible.”
Macleod looked startled.
“Aren’t you coming too?”
“No, you can go get them. I’m going to stay here, and see if I can organize these men into any better of a defense.”
Macleod’s face was set in his stubborn expression that Arlin had seen many times before.
“I won’t go unless you go too. If you want, I’ll stay and prepare the defense while you go get the men.”
“Macleod, don’t question my orders.”
“And if the Ogrenes attack sooner than expected you’ll die with the rest of them!” said Macleod, as he angrily gestured towards the woodmen. “Arlin, you’re too important to risk like this! I know more about woodland warfare then you do to begin with!”
Arlin simply did not respond, and Macleod began to splutter other reasons. Finally he stopped, and slowly nodded his head.
“Alright. Alright, I’ll go. But keep safe, Arlin. Don’t do anything stupid.”
With that he turned his horse around and rode back down the trail. Arlin turned about and rode back towards the woodmen. They seemed confused to see Macleod leave while Arlin remained.
“Your companion is leaving,” said the chief, confused. “Aren’t you going with him?”
“No,” replied Arlin firmly. “He will bring help back as quickly as possible, but I will stay here and help in preparing the town for defense.”
The chieftain seemed to gain a whole new respect for Arlin, and most of the crowd was won over as well.
“Perhaps I was wrong about some Bewinnians,” said the chieftain. “You, for one, do have courage.”
“Thank you, my friend. Now, let’s see about those defenses.”
Arlin and the chieftain quickly set to work examining the town. They chose its sturdy town hall as the place for their final stand, if it came to that, and also as a place to shelter the elderly, women, and children during the fight.
They also examined the wall, which had scaffolding on the inside so men could shoot over the top.
“We do not have much towards keeping the enemy from the wall,” noted Arlin, “and the gate isn’t strong enough to resist a determined attack.”
“It won’t stand in the way of the Ogrenes for long,” admitted the chief. “We can barricade it; that should slow them a little.”
Arlin surveyed the walls again.
“How many archers do we have?”
“There’s at least a score of good archers among us. Most of the rest know how to use bows, but are not necessarily good shots. We can give bows to some of the women.”
The idea struck Arlin as somewhat barbaric.
“I believe our goal was to protect the women and children, not press them into service.”
“You’ll find that things are different in the woods than in your kingdom,” replied the chieftain, with a cynical expression.
Arlin recalled that many times Macleod had told him much the same.
____

The woodmen earnestly began the work before them. Arlin helped in the erection of the west gate’s barricade, and directed archers to positions on the walls. Many of the archers were able women, while a group of men armed with a variety of woodland weapons stood ready to defend the street.
A horn call was heard not far in the distance. Every woodman paused and listened, for to them it sounded like an eerie note. Arlin climbed up on the scaffolding near the west gate and looked out over the wall into the woods, even though he knew he would not yet see anything.
“We likely have less than half an hour,” said the chieftain to another woodman. “Make sure everyone is at their positions, for I fear that help will not arrive in time.”
Arlin loosened his long sword in its sheath; he was the only one present who bore a weapon anything of the sort. He began to doubt whether he had been wise to stay in the village, and if he was even doing the right thing.
“Too late now,” he muttered to himself, and he climbed back down off the wall.
He returned to his horse, and untied it from the post it had been left at by the town hall. He reached into his saddlebag and retrieved a steel helm, which he placed on his head and fastened tight. He quickly mounted his steed again and rode back to the barricade. The horn calls came again, much nearer.
“They are coming fast,” said the chieftain, a little edgy. “Make sure everything is ready!”
“It is, Chief,” replied a woodman, obviously nervous.
“Hold firm,” said Arlin, reassuringly. “Macleod has never failed me yet, and I know he will not disappoint us today.”
Time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly. Many of the woodmen looked doubtful.
“Maybe we should have tried to get the women and children away,” said the chieftain.
Arlin checked his straps and gear one last time; everything was ready. He adjusted his helm a little.
Several more moments passed. Some of the woodmen began to fidget nervously. The horn calls came again. Arlin looked over his shoulder, half expecting some sign of Macleod’s return, but all that met his eyes were the nervous woodmen charged with keeping the barricade.
He mentally compared his own fine blade with the broad axes most of the woodmen bore.
“Perhaps, with my arms and steed, I may be able to do some good here,” he reflected.
The woodmen looked to him with hope, for it was apparent that any hopes for holding the town rested with him. Still, as he knew all too well, his advantages could only do so much good, and one wrong move on his part during the fighting would be enough to end any such hopes.
Macleod had to return soon, or the battle would be quickly lost.
Nothing could be heard in the town, except for the nervous breathing of the woodmen and an occasional cry from a child in the hall. Even the birds were hushed. The horns sounded again. And still no sign of Macleod.
A chorus of howls broke out not far from town, with cries so unnatural that Arlin’s hair stood on end.
“The druids of the Ogrenes,” whispered the chieftain hoarsely to a nearby woodman. “They can change their forms to wolves through evil enchantments!”
Arlin felt as if his hair was standing on its tiptoes. Could it be true that a branch of the Black Arts was still practiced in the heart of the forest? He had heard of dark sorcerers and enchanters before, but never did he expect to face any. But perhaps it was just the superstitions of the woodmen. That was a reassuring thought.
One of the woodmen on the wall motioned to the chief. The chief climbed up the scaffolding, even as many others on the wall suddenly took more alert positions. The woodman indicated out into the forest, and the chieftain nodded slowly. Woodmen across the length of the wall began to put arrows to their bow strings. Arlin drew his sword.
The horns suddenly burst out, close and furious. A maddened cry leapt up from hundreds of throats in the woods, and drew steadily nearer. Arlin, still behind the gate, could see nothing.
The chieftain held his arm up for several moments. Many of the woodmen on the walls cast nervous glances towards him, but they kept their bows ready. The cries sounded as if they were just outside the wall.
“Volley!” roared the chieftain, swinging his arm down. The woodmen released their arrows, but nothing could be heard outside except the furious cries of the Ogrenes.
The woodmen continued to set arrows to their bows and released several more volleys. A great pound was heard on the outside of the gate.
“They have a ram!” shouted the chieftain. “Shoot down those bearers! Brace the gate!”
Several woodmen ran forward, and threw themselves again the wooden barricade inside the gate. They were shaken backwards by the second blow, but quickly returned. The nervousness of the woodmen was gone, replaced by a grim determination.
“Steady!” shouted Arlin. He held his reins tightly, and wished he had brought a shield with him. His horse shook its head nervously, and he stroked its neck to calm it.
A third blow was delivered to the gate. It was not thick, and its wood was already cracking. Arrows began to fly over the wall and into the town. One of the woodmen was struck, and fell to the ground, not to rise again.
A fourth blow was struck the gate, and it shattered into several pieces. Several tribesmen rushed the barricade and tried to scale it.
“Stop them!” shouted Arlin. “Don’t let them through!”
His last words were drowned out by a sudden chorus of howls, accompanied by a great cheer from the tribesmen. Several woodmen leapt atop the barricade, and swung down at the tribesmen, but suddenly two wolves leapt forward and cleared the top of the barricade with great leaps. One tackled a woodman and hurtled with him off the barricade. The wolves moved quickly, and were a truly terrible sight.
“Stand fast!” ordered Arlin, as the woodmen wavered. “They will die like any other creature!”
Even as he said so one gathered itself and leapt off the top of the barricade for him. He turned his horse aside and brought his sword crashing down on the creature mid-air, killing it instantly. The woodmen gave a great cheer, and surged forward again.
Arlin began to grow quite frustrated with Macleod.
More wolves and tribesmen followed the first, and it was all the woodmen could do to hold the barricade. Soon wolves and tribesmen both were within, and Arlin urged his horse forward to battle. The Ogrenes were armed like the woodmen of the village, but many of them bore round shields as well. They were a fierce sight, with wild beards and temperaments.
“For the king!” shouted Arlin, and he guided his horse into the fray. He struck skillful blows, and laid low several tribesmen. More clambered over the barricade to replace those that had fallen. The woodmen were suffering greatly, especially from the wolves.
Arlin suddenly became aware of something to his right, and turned just in time to see a leaping wolf before it crashed into him and threw him from his saddle. His horse whinnied in fright and fled the battle, while Arlin crashed to the ground with the wolf on top of him.
The wolf did not get a chance to attack, for a woodman drove his short-sword into its neck. Arlin quickly climbed out from beneath its body, and made a mental note never to underestimate woodmen as fighters again.
Arlin held his sword with both hands, and leapt back into the fight. It was clear, however, that they could not hold the gateway much longer. He noticed that the woodmen on the wall were suffering from enemy arrows, too. The chieftain held one arm, out of which protruded a shaft.
“Curse you, Macleod! Where are you?” Arlin raged to himself.
Another arrow struck the chieftain, and he fell to the ground dead. The woodmen began to waver, and several started to run.
“Hold fast!” shouted Arlin. “Hold fast or die!”
It was too late, for the first few to flee triggered a rout. The woodmen literally ran for their lives.
Arlin fought himself free, and pushed himself to a burst of speed. He ran along the woodmen, shouting continually to reform in front of the town hall.
Arlin was surprised to find that he was the first to reach the building, and he shouted for those inside to barricade the door with whatever they had. He then turned and began to try to form the woodmen into some sort of a line, but the enemy followed too closely. The only thing that held any of the woodmen in place was the realization that their families were within the town hall.
Arlin found his horse near the hall and remounted it. He was quickly surrendering all hope of Macleod’s return. It occurred to him that he himself, mounted once more, could make an escape. It was his last chance to do so, and he knew he was important to his country.
He was not about to abandon the woodmen, though, whether or not it was folly. He urged his horse back into the battle. All that could be heard was the din of the fighting, the shouts of men, snarls of wolves, and the screams of children inside the hall.
Arlin fought recklessly, charging in and out of the enemy line. He accounted for several more wolves and a number of tribesmen, but the enemy was too numerous. A sudden shouting and a cheer rose from behind him, near the east gate of the village, but Arlin paid no heed.
Suddenly several hands gripped him, and tried to pull him from his saddle. He tried to fight the tribesmen off, but could not succeed. They pulled him from his horse, and his head struck a rock on the ground. Darkness took him, and he saw no more.

[Vortigern]

Good stuff. Pretty standard as fantasy tales go, but I have just a couple of points, queries if you like. First, are you aware that 'Macleod' should be pronounced like 'McCloud'? It's Scottish and weird. Second, isn't there normally a little bit more of an introduction in these things before the deadly fight scene and capture and whatnot comes in? I understand that you've fitted in a bit of character development within the fighting, but so far there's only a military side to Arlin. Either he'll need developing in other directions as you go on or he'll be a very two-dimensional figure. I'm just curious because, in my experience, the non-warrior traits become apparent first.

As a whole, though, I liked this. I'd be happy to read the next part too, if it's available.

[Berethin]

Thanks for the review! Yes, it has been told me before that the tale is pretty standard, but as long as it's good I hope that won't be a problem. As for "Macleod", yes, I am aware of how his name is supposed to be pronounced. I could have sworn I saw somewhere, though, that it used to pronounced differently when used as a first name... I intend it as "mac-lee-ode"; if all else fails, I'll just have to modify the spelling of the name, I guess.

As for the character development, I hope the next chapters will show how I'm handling that. I have two more I'm ready to post, but I had a question first. Should I just add them on to the end of this chapter, or should I put the two of them in a new topic, or even just make a new post inside of this topic? The next two are both about as long as this one; I just wondered if there was some kind of length limit or something to the posts that I don't know about.

[Vortigern]

No, there's no limit to how long a post can be. Keep it in this topic, but put them in new posts. It makes the whole thing easier to read that way.

I'm not aware of Macleod ever having been used as a first name... Still, if that's how you want to use it, I don't suppose anyone will mind, as long as this never gets made into a film.

[Berethin]

Okay, thanks for the advice! I have the next two chapters posted below. As for Macleod, it was used as a first name back in the eleventh century, at least according to wikipedia, but appears to have been used as a surname instead from the twelth century on. You got me. Anyway, here you go.

Chapter Two
Of Dwarfs and Monks

A dwarf trudged down the mountain trail. He was short, clad in rough garments of earthy shades, and bore a large pack on his back. His brown beard was long, and his temper short.
Horn, as he was called, was a different sort of dwarf than most; his kind had a reputation for many less than desirable traits, especially cowardice and greed, while Horn tried very hard to prove that he was not so.
The mountains were a long range that straddled the forest Gladelon, and which together with it was generally considered an untamed wilderness. The mountains were where the dwarfs made their dwellings, in numerous caves and tunnels, hidden deep out of sight of men.
The mountains themselves were tall, and crisscrossed by a myriad of passes. The air was crisp and clear, and only an occasional bird call or falling stone broke the general silence. The wind among the rocks and many pines added to the atmosphere of tranquility, which in such regions could often be an illusion.
“Winds picking up,” he muttered to himself, a habit he had picked up from many journeys alone. “Might be a bit of a storm later.”
“That’s right, laddie,” came a faint voice in reply, “and there’s much worse to come!”
Horn stopped, a little concerned, for he had never gotten to the point where he heard someone reply to his mutterings. However, the voice continued, and Horn soon realized that someone around a bend in the pass ahead was speaking. By the sounds of it, the speaker was another dwarf, and not likely a friendly one. Horn growled quietly to himself and gripped his staff a little tighter. He adjusted the dagger tucked in his belt to a more ready position.
He came to and cautiously peered around a rock, and saw on the other side several dwarfs gathered around a man. The man was clad in long, sturdy brown robes, and his hair was cut in a tonsure, with the signature bald-spot in the middle. He was apparently a monk, but at the moment was caught under a heavy net. The dwarfs jabbed through the mesh at him with sticks, and tossed a bag they had apparently taken from him back and forth among them. It jingled as it passed from dwarf to dwarf.
“Please, I beseech you, that is for my abbey,” begged the monk. He seemed to be only a few years short of thirty at the most.
“Ah, don’t worry, man,” chided the dwarf. “Show a little spine, eh?”
The dwarfs laughed in such a way that showed they were deriving far too much pleasure from their torture of the man. Horn grumbled to himself, for he knew what he should do.
He stepped out, staff in hand, and marched straight for the other dwarfs.
“Oh, what have we here?” chortled one of the dwarfs. “A peddler, I take it? Business been good recently, by any chance?”
Horn looked with disdain at the others. They were weak, and had spindly limbs, while he himself was stout and of great strength. He dared not show any sign of fear, but he was concerned, for he was not as crafty as most of his race.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he blustered. “These roads should be safe for travelers, not just another chance to play cruel tricks on people.”
“Oh, temper temper,” taunted another dwarf. “You had better be nice to us, or we won’t play nicely with you.”
Horn placed one hand on his dagger.
“Playing nicely never crossed my mind, you miserable little wretch!”
The monk looked carefully back and forth between the dwarfs, waiting to see if one side would back down or whether a fight would begin. Horn took several more steps forward. The other dwarfs took several steps back.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” demanded Horn gruffly. “Are you going to face me, or are you going to go slink back to your holes?”
The dwarfs retreated several more steps. Horn advanced toward them more quickly, and they suddenly turned and ran, taking the jingling bag with them.
Horn gave a sigh of relief.
“You have my thanks, kind sir,” said the monk, just as relieved as Horn. “If you hadn’t of come they would have killed me for sure.”
Horn only muttered something incoherent and began to cut away the net.
“Sir, you saved my life,” persisted the monk. “At least accept my thanks.”
“Why do you keep calling me sir?” asked Horn, as he stood up and left the net unfinished. “I’ve been called many names, but sir?” The monk began to speak but Horn cut him off. “Don’t patronize me just because I saved you!”
The monk looked back at him calmly.
“Sir, I have made it a point to address everyone with respect, and, as I do not know your name, I can hardly call you anything else.”
“Just call me Horn,” growled the dwarf, as he set back to work on the net. “There, you’re free. Now, exactly where are you trying to get to?”
The monk climbed out of the net and brushed his robes off before replying.
“I was returning to my abbey, down in Belgest, from a pilgrimage to see the Patriarch at Morona. I decided to take a shortcut through the mountains, in the hopes of saving myself time.”
“You should have known better than to go through the mountains alone. What about that bag of silvers that was stolen from you?”
“That,” said the monk, despondently, “was a generous donation towards our abbey. It could have done much good for us and the local villages if I had been more careful.”
Horn shifted the pack on his back.
“Well, can’t do anything about it now.”
“Where are you on your way to, Horn?”
Horn looked anxiously down the pass; he was beginning to fear he was about to gain a companion for the road.
“Oh, I just head wherever the road leads.”
“Well, for the moment, at least, it looks as if our roads are the same.
Dwarf and monk set out together, an unlikely duo, but travelers on the same road for the time being.
Horn kept his eyes and ears open, for he guessed that the other three dwarfs would not leave them unmolested if they could. He felt a little uncomfortable traveling with someone else, as he was so used to traveling alone.
“I heard trade has picked up in Belgest recently,” said Horn, awkwardly, trying to start a conversation.
“Yes, it has improved,” replied the monk. “Things have improved ever since Beween reestablished control. Recently the crown prince has been very active in the local government, and helped greatly to restore order. Banditry has been completely removed from some regions.”
They walked in silence for several moments.
“Oh, I should have mentioned earlier, but my name is Eithaneal,” said the monk. “I am a monk of the Beneficine order.”
“That’s nice.”
They walked on in silence for a longer duration, and entered a section of the pass that was dense with pine trees.
“Do you think we’ll run into those other dwarfs again?” asked Eithaneal.
“No, no,” blustered Horn. “Once I’ve scared them, they’ll never bother us again.”
No sooner had he said so than his foot snapped through a cord, and a pine branch swung and hit him directly in the face. He was knocked off his feet, and landed hard on his back. A chorus of wicked chuckles broke out from behind a rock, and quickly receded down the pass.
“Are you okay, Horn?” asked Eithaneal, as he knelt down beside the dwarf.
“Those wretched little… little… pork-eaters!” spluttered Horn.
Eithaneal was a little confused by Horn’s choice of names to use as insults, but decided it was best not to question him.
“Why, I should hunt them down and pull every last hair of their beards out!” continued Horn. “How dare they -”
“Horn, Horn, calm yourself!” said Eithaneal, as he helped the angry dwarf back up to his feet. “Ranting like this won’t help anything!”
“Maybe not, but it sure feels good!” yelled Horn.
The duo set out again, a little more cautiously, as Horn rubbed his back and growled into his beard in turn. They did not encounter any more traps throughout the forest, and passed out into a wide slope that ran down the mountain side.
The slope was covered in tall golden grass, and another forest lay not much farther down. Over the tree tops, however, the plain of Belgest could be seen in the distance. To its side lay the forest Gladelon, almost aglow with a multitude of autumn colors.
“We should come to the plain about this time tomorrow,” said Horn. “Come on, let’s move while we still have daylight.”
“Night has been falling ever sooner,” agreed Eithaneal. “Soon the snows will come, and with them many nights gathered around the hearth.”
“Not for everyone,” growled Horn. “Some of us have a slightly harder life.”
“And some choose to make it that way,” retorted Eithaneal. “Come, Horn, you could spend the winter at my abbey. You would be kindly received, and perhaps it would do well if others saw that not all of your kind are like -”
Before he could finish his statement, a chorus of laughter broke out near the top of the slope. Horn and Eithaneal turned, and saw the three dwarfs dancing gleefully in plain sight.
“- them,” finished Eithaneal.
“Why those insolent, mocking vermin!” shouted Horn, nearly hopping up and down in anger. “I’ll show them!”
He started off at a lope up towards the other dwarfs, but Eithaneal caught his shoulder and stopped him.
“That’s what they want, Horn. Don’t give them any more twisted pleasure at our expense than they have had already.”
Eithaneal started off again, dragging a grumbling Horn behind him. The other dwarfs followed behind them at a safe distance, dancing and laughing all the way; it seemed as if they grew louder and more obnoxious with each step.
Horn and Eithaneal gladly took to the woods again, and after they had entered deeply enough into it the laughter behind them stopped. The forest was a mixture of pines and leafed trees, the colors of which seemed especially brilliant next to the evergreens. The birds chattered all about them, and great flocks occasionally took flight from the branches above.
Suddenly they became aware of three men approaching them.
“Excuse me, fellow travelers,” asked one, a large man. “Is Jaigon just beyond these mountains?”
Horn and Eithaneal exchanged confused glances.
“I told you, Berthron!” chided one of the men. “We’re in the wrong story!”
“Well, I just wanted to make sure,” sulked the large man, and the three set out down the path again. Horn and Eithaneal exchanged confused glances once more before continuing again.
They had not gone far when suddenly a set of three screams from three men broke out behind them, followed by a short commotion. The screams started up again, but quickly passed out of hearing range. All that could be heard was the all-too familiar chuckles of the three dwarfs behind them.
“I always loved the fall, you know,” said Eithaneal. “There’s something about this time of year that is so pleasant.”
“Yes,” growled Horn, “because all this plant life shrivels and dies. Nothings worse than when you’re surrounded by greenery!”
Eithaneal cast a concerned glance towards Horn, but said nothing.
“You are very different from the rest of your kind, Horn.”
Horn looked surprised.
“Actually, probably any one of them would share that sentiment.”
“I wasn’t referring to that. You have a truer nature than the great majority of dwarfs.”
Horn growled quietly to himself and kicked aside a stone on the trail.
“Don’t get any ideas that I’m a nicey nice kind of dwarf. I learned a long time ago that anyone who’s nice gets run over in the general flow of life.”
“And yet, I’m a living testimony to the falsity of that, for, in a manner of speaking, I have made a life out of ‘being nice.’ And I think there’s more to you than you like to say.”
“You hardly know me! How can you even think you can come up with some mysterious inner side of me?”
“Calm down, Horn. Maybe I am going a little quickly, but I have no doubt about my assumptions. And there is hardly any reason why you should be offended at them!”
Horn was silent for several moments, except for an occasional growl.
“How about we strike a deal? You won’t peer into my soul, and I won’t break my staff over your head.”
Eithaneal sighed and continued on in silence.
Evening began to draw near, and the two companions selected a campsite for the night.
“First,” said Horn, “we need wood for a nice fire. It’s going to be cold tonight, I bet my beard on it.”
“Fortunately, I swore away gambling when I took my oaths,” chuckled Eithaneal. “I think I hear a stream; give me your water-skin, and I’ll refill it while I’m there.”
Horn gladly handed his skin to Eithaneal, and even more gladly took his pack off and set it at the base of a tree. He started to gather an armful of wood, and strayed a short ways from the camp. Soon he had an impressive load, but as he stood up with the last stick he saw one of the other dwarfs, standing and grinning only a few feet ahead oh him.
“You false-bearded tormentor!” exploded Horn, throwing his load up in the air in rage. “I’ll have you this time!”
He set out as fast as he could before he even finished speaking, but the other dwarf spun about and ran just as quickly, laughing with wicked delight. Horn chased him around in circles, weaving in and out among the trees. Their stout legs threw up leaves and moss in the fury of the chase, but Horn could not catch his foe, and began to tire. Suddenly he heard something, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
“Horn!” came a long call, some distance behind him. “Horn, where are you!”
It was Eithaneal, and he sounded urgent. Horn turned about and ran back towards the camp, leaving the other dwarf dancing and laughing behind him.
Horn was a little taken aback by the sight that met him upon his return to camp: Eithaneal was hanging by a rope tied to his feet from a branch. The hood of his robe brushed the forest floor as he swayed back and forth in the breeze.
“Horn, I told you not to fall for their tricks,” said Eithaneal, with surprising calm.
“Well I… I mean… He was…” spluttered Horn, still a little shocked.
“Please cut me down.”
Horn wordlessly drew his knife and climbed up the tree that Eithaneal was tied to. It was not hard to scale, for it had many branches, or otherwise the dwarfs would never have bothered to try.
Soon Eithaneal was sitting aright, rubbing his ankles. Horn examined the rest of their campsite, and found that his pack had been rifled through.
“They didn’t take anything but your blanket,” commented Eithaneal, as Horn angrily searched through his things. “That’s all they took of my things, too.”
“Well, I’ve got them outsmarted this time!” gloated Horn, suddenly pleased. “I have a few spare blankets for trading at the bottom of my pack!”
“They took those, too.”
Horn threw himself to the ground and pounded his fists in frustration.
“Why, why, why?” he bellowed. “What do they have against us?”
“I don’t think they’ll stop till we’re out of the mountains,” said Eithaneal. “Maybe we should try to go on through the night, especially as they took our blankets.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not going to go without my sleep just because of these pestilent toads! We’ll just take turns standing watch through the night, so that we’ll both get at least a little sleep.”
“I never seem to need as much sleep as others, and I’m accustomed to few hours of rest as a monk, as well. If you need your sleep, then we’ll camp; but I still say that it might be best if we just keep moving. They’ve enjoyed tormenting us till now, but I wouldn’t put greater mischief past them.”
Horn still insisted on camping where they were, and so soon they had a fire going and carefully collected a good store of wood. They shared a meager supper of traveling fare, of which both of them were low on, and settled down for the night.
Eithaneal took the first turn to stand watch, and Horn huddled close to the fire. There was a slight incident where he accidently caught the tip of his beard on fire, but it was soon put out, and his snores rocked the campsite. In addition to his snores, the smell of his burnt beard proved to be both tenacious and revolting.
Eithaneal knelt to pray and meditate, but scarcely had he begun than several wicked laughs broke out just beyond the firelight. Horn leapt up mid-snore.
“What was that? Where are the devils? Oh, sorry.”
Horn lay back down, after glancing warily into the woods all about. His snores soon began again. The laughter followed close behind.
“Those miserable Macadians!” snorted Horn, as he sat up again. “Can’t they allow a dwarf a little shut-eye? Oh, sorry.”
Eithaneal was not about to let the dwarfs torture him, and remained kneeling. His senses were alert enough to detect if they drew near, and that was all the more he needed.
Horn’s snores started again, and the camp was left in peace for several moments. Suddenly three voices broke out into a loud and off-key song, each voice coming from a different point around the camp. Its words were mostly nonsense, sometimes not even words at all, and it followed no particular tune.
Horn was on his feet in a moment, and spun back and forth several times trying to figure out what was happening.
“I just can’t take it any longer!” he shouted, as he drew his knife. “Where are you? Come and face me! Fine, I’ll come and face you!”
He started to charge off into the darkness, but Eithaneal rose and caught him.
“I’ll have you know that I do not break my prayers off that quickly for light matters,” said the monk gravely. “Don’t be a fool, Horn. They want you to come to them!”
Horn was quick becoming a pathetic sight, and his right eye had developed a twitch. The fire had grown low, and its dim light cast shadows all over his rough face.
“You’re letting them get to you!” continued Eithaneal, trying to speak over the verses of the song that still continued around them.
“I think we should try and keep moving,” said Horn. “We can’t get any sleep here anyway.”
“I suggested that earlier,” said Eithaneal, the closest he had been to being cross yet. “Go get your pack ready, and put out the fire. There’s something I need to finish first.”
Horn did as he was told, while Eithaneal knelt for a few moments more.
“Alright,” said he, as he rose to his feet again, “let’s make for the plains as quickly as we can. Surely those dwarfs will weary and leave us alone before the night is over.”
The two companions set out, and carefully continued down the trail. There was a full moon, and it aided them a little, but the trees blocked much of its light.
The laughter of the dwarfs broke out periodically behind them. Occasionally one of them would sing a nonsense verse, or make a jeer, but they remained in the distance.
“This is the most infernal night I have ever spent!” growled Horn, after he had picked himself up from tripping over a branch. “And I have spent many infernal nights!”
“I long for the peace of my abbey,” moaned Eithaneal. “When I get back, I am going straight to the abbot, and see if I can remember any sin I may not have confessed.”
The hours dragged wearily by. At last light began to fill the land again, and the sun rose in the east. Horn and Eithaneal continued doggedly on, with the laughter of the dwarfs always behind them.
“How can they find so much glee and strength in our torment?” lamented Eithaneal. “Surely they must be as tired as we!”
“Beef….” moaned Horn. “Oh, what I’d give for a slice of beef….”
“How can you even think of food right now?”
“I don’t know, but I can. Beef….”
At last they passed out of the forest, and beheld the final slope that led down to the plains. They set out down it gladly. The dwarfs stopped at the edge of the forest, but called insulting names loudly after the two companions. Horn, in a crazed daze, turned to charge back towards them.
“Horn, we’re rid of them now,” said Eithaneal, realizing that the dwarfs would go no further. Come on, I see a town down there.”
“Bless my beard, so there is!” exclaimed Horn. “Come on! Beef and bed await!”
The two companions strode on, and finally the calls of the dwarfs passed out of hearing.

Chapter 3
Awakening

Arlin slowly regained conciousness. He did not know where he was. His head still swam a little, and his vision was hazy.
He realized that he was laying on soft padding, and a warm blanket was over him. There were voices in the room, but he did not even have the desire to listen to what they were saying. He started to drift off to sleep again, but slowly his strength returned.
“My lords, I think he’s waking up.”
It was a woman’s voice, but Arlin did not recognize it. He lifted himself a little in bed, and was surprised at how sore he was.
“You feeling okay, Arlin?”
That was unmistakably Macleod. Arlin opened his eyes again, and his vision was much better.
There was a group of men standing before him, all richly clad and armored in shining mail. Macleod stood out among them with his weather stained clothes and less than polished mail.
“Macleod,” began Arlin, but his throat was dry and he had trouble continuing.
“Bring him a drink, woman,” said one of the men, scornfully.
The woman who had spoken earlier hurried to Arlin’s side, with a cup of cold water. She helped Arlin to drink it, and it revived him wonderfully. Arlin smiled in thanks, and turned his attention back to Macleod.
“Where were you?” he asked irritably.
Macleod seemed a little shamefaced.
“I’m sorry, Arlin. We should have been there sooner. It was my fault.”
Arlin perceived that something had occurred.
“What happened?”
“We were ambushed while returning to the village. I should have had scouts out ahead of us.”
Arlin was mollified by this news.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure the only reason that you and your men were ambushed is because you were pushing on with all speed. Don’t let it get to you.”
“I’ve never been caught off guard before, Arlin. Maybe I’m getting old.”
“You’re only thirty-two!”
The heavy, self important man who had spoken earlier stepped forward.
“My lord, I hate to interrupt, but allow me to speak for us all when I say that we are glad to see you still in good health.”
Arlin rubbed his forehead, which still throbbed a little.
“I wouldn’t exactly say ‘good health,’ Douglas, but the sentiment is appreciated.”
“If I may make so bold, my lord, I must say that you should never have endangered yourself so. What will your father say when he hears of it?”
Arlin remembered back to the chaos of the battle, but what came to mind most strongly was the sight of the desperate men and women fighting, and the screams of the frightened children in the town hall. He had no regret in helping the people protect their own.
“I will answer to my father, if it comes to that,” said he. “Till then, I need some rest yet. Please, leave me be for a while.”
The men bowed and began to leave, though the nurse stayed behind. Macleod was one of the last to head to the door.
“Macleod, wait,” said Arlin. “I want to hear more of what happened.”
Macleod dutifully returned, and stood at the foot of Arlin’s bed.
“Well, it was a close fight. I don’t know all of what went on in town, but I heard nothing but praise afterwards for your prowess in combat.”
Arlin chuckled to himself, and Macleod continued.
“Well, as I said, we were ambushed. Those Ogrenes laid low in the bushes till we were right in the middle of them, and we had a hard fight to break free. You know my militia, Arlin; you yourself have said how proud you are of them. But we were caught and got hammered hard. I lost ten men in that little incident alone.”
Arlin sighed deeply. Before he had been in battle, while still a boy, reports like this had always sounded like so few casualties. As he had grown, though, and joined in battle himself, he realized how much was lost with each life. Macleod continued.
“They were good men. One of them was old Finley; I’m sure you remember him, my best scout. I honestly don’t know if it was his wounds or the humiliation of being ambushed that killed him. Anyway, we got back to town as quickly as we could, and we found more than enough work left for us. Those Ogrenes were everywhere, and they had some very unnatural and disturbing wolves among them.”
Arlin thought back to what he had heard the chieftain say about druid shape-shifters among the Ogrenes. The chieftain: he too was dead.
“But anyway, I split my men into three groups, one to go around either side of town, and one to follow me right into the middle. It seems I got there shortly after you fell, because the woodmen were still fighting over you. I have to say, you gave me quite a scare, because I thought you were dead.
“We pushed hard, though, and rode down those tribesmen like wheat. We managed to trap most of those in the town between our forces, but a good deal of those outside escaped. We took at least sixty prisoners, though, and counted about thirty dead. Our own casualties were seven, counting three dead. It was our turn to catch the enemy by surprise.”
“What happened to the woodmen?”
“We escorted them out of the woods. They’re currently sheltered with many others of their kind at the abbey, just outside of town.”
“I should go see them later,” murmured Arlin. His weariness was quickly returning.
“It’s night right now, same day as the battle, Arlin,” said Macleod, with a smirk. “I think your should at least wait till tomorrow.”
Arlin suddenly realized that outside the window it was dark. He had not even taken time into consideration.
The woman noticed that Arlin was quickly tiring, and asked Macleod to leave him to his rest. Arlin had fallen back to sleep before the captain was even out the door.
____

Arlin woke up with sunlight pouring into his face. His head felt clearer, and he stretched to work away his soreness. There was no one else in the room with him, but a pitcher of water and a cup sat on the table beside his bed.
Arlin carefully turned and sat up, and he contemplated the room for several moments. He heard the bustle of town-life outside, with rattling carts, the murmur of crowds, and the calls of animals, so he guessed that he was back at the town of Plen that he and Macleod has used as a base. He stood up, gladly took a drink of water, and quickly dressed himself. Just as he finished buckling his sword belt on Macleod knocked and opened the door.
“Ah, good to see you up again,” said he. “How’s your head feel?”
“Better,” said Arlin. “It still feels a little sore where I hit it, but I think the helm took most of the blow.”
“It took enough of a dent to show for it. Well come on, the sun’s been up for a couple hours at the least and you’ve overslept enough. Breakfast is waiting for you.”
The two men left the room and proceeded down a hallway. They entered into the main room of an inn, where Macleod called for the innkeeper to bring out Arlin’s food.
Soon Arlin was seated at a table, gladly eating. Macleod sat at the table with him, but did not have anything to eat.
“No, I’ve already had some,” objected Macleod, after Arlin offered him some. “It’s good country fare, but I’ve had my fill. You know, Arlin, there’s something that’s been troubling me.”
“Yes?”
“It’s those wolves we fought. There was something very unnatural about them. They had an almost… human quality to them.”
Arlin, set down his fork, and looked out a window. The same thought had troubled even his dreams the night before.
“They were unnatural, alright,” admitted he. “I keep thinking of something I heard the woodmen say.”
Macleod looked interested.
“What was that?”
“Oh, never mind. It had to be nonsense.”
Arlin returned half-heartedly to his breakfast, and Macleod still looked troubled.
“You know, Arlin, I was raised on the edge of the woods. I hate to bring up fairy tales, but I do remember something my grandfather used to say. He used to claim that there were enchanters who lived deep in the forest, men who could turn themselves into wolves. Whenever a flock was attacked at night or anything of the sort he would attribute it to the wolf-men, and he earnestly believed the story.”
Arlin tapped his bread absently on the table.
“That’s what the chieftain claimed. I overheard him mention something about a class of druids, who can change themselves to wolves with enchantment, which live among the Ogrenes.”
Macleod nodded slowly, and drummed his fingers on the table.
“The thing is, though, are we really going to believe this stuff? I mean, it’s nonsense, but then again its really beginning to worry me that it makes sense!”
Arlin had lost his appetite, but he ate on, for strength’s sake. He had the feeling that he would soon need as much of it as he could get.
“As soon as we can, Macleod, we’re going to see those woodmen one more time.”
____

Arlin and Macleod soon left the inn, and retrieved their horses from the stables. They were in a small town, with thatched roofs and dirt roads, which was none the less quite busy. A large number of Bewinnian militiamen were gathered at it, and there were a number of knights as well.
As Arlin and Macleod rode back out onto the street, they encountered a small party of such knights riding towards them. They were all clad in bright mail, and they held their helmets in hand. One of them was the heavy, self-important man from the night before.
“Lord Arlin,” said he, bowing in the saddle. “It is a pleasure to see you up and about again. Let me assure you that I kept close care of the village while you were so grievously hurt.”
Arlin stopped, and had to grab Macleod’s cloak to get him to do likewise.
“And a pleasure to see you as well, most esteemed Douglass, Earl of Lendon. I thank you for having taken upon yourself the duty to oversee such matters, but I can assure you that I am more than capable of resuming such a task myself.”
The man bowed low again.
“I only live to serve.”
The knights continued on, while Arlin and Macleod rode through the bustle of people to the town hall.
“Pompous windbag,” grumbled Macleod. “He thinks he’s so important!”
“Well, he is, for Lendon is no backwater territory. He contributes the single largest body of knights in the kingdom.”
“Yes, but my troop of militiamen can fight just as well as any of them.”
“You have a rather exceptional militia force, though. And remember, the knights have borne their share of the fighting here in Belgest.”
They soon reached the town hall, a large building with decorative woodwork. Two knights stood guard outside. They took Arlin and Macleod’s horses, while Arlin and Macleod proceeded into the hall.
A number of men, all clad in mail, stood within, looking over a set of maps laid out on a table.
“Lord Arlin!” said one, as they all turned and bowed. “I trust you are rested from your adventure?”
“Yes, indeed so. Now, what’s the situation?”
The men quickly went over what they had been discussing.
“We received word late last night that bandits have been picking up their raids in the northern territories, along the foot of the hills. We believe that that is where the majority of them have retreated too.”
“How wide spread are their raids?” asked Arlin, with concern. “Do you think there’s any unified effort behind them?”
“There’s always a chance of that. Another concern is the dwarfs. We’ve moved men, as you ordered, to guard the border with the mountains more closely.”
Arlin closed his eyes, and remembered the reports that had been brought to him about Loundan, a small village at the foot of the mountains. The dwarfs had descended upon it under cover of night, and had done all manner of cruelty there. Many villagers lost their lives, and the dwarfs burnt the town to the ground before leaving.
“I will not soon forget what they have done. But we have other matters to attend to at the moment. What about the woods? Are the companies all in position?”
“The forest line is well watched, my lord. If the Ogrenes try to break out they will have to face us on the field, where we have the advantage.”
Arlin tapped his finger on the map restlessly.
“I don’t like just sitting back on the defense. Still, unless I receive orders otherwise, that’s all we can do. As matters stand, our task is to ensure that the plain remains secure.”
“My lord, we also received word that your father has sent your brother to help you.”
“Delaney? He will be more than welcome.”
“No, my lord; your youngest brother is the one who is coming.”
Arlin was less than excited.
“Trevar?” he asked in disbelief. “Trevar, coming to help?”
“Yes, my lord. That is what was told us.”
Arlin turned to Macleod, but got no more support than a mischievous smirk.
____

Arlin spent several hours going about town and attending to various matters. All the while the thought of his youngest brother’s imminent arrival greatly disturbed him.
“I don’t know about this,” admitted Arlin, when he and Macleod were at last on their way to the abbey, shortly after noon. “Trevar is only seventeen, and hardly one I would trust to help me in such a precarious situation. Between the bandits, tribesmen, and now these wolves, I know there is going to be a great deal of fighting. And yet he is not safe to take to battle with us, nor would he be safe if left in charge of things in our absence.”
“Oh, come on, Arlin,” retorted Macleod, “I’m sure you’re just being hard on him because he’s your brother.”
“You don’t understand, Trevar has no desire for greater responsibility. I somehow suspect that Father is trying to force him to grow by sending him out here.”
They rode out of town, and followed the road through the surrounding fields. Farmers were still hard at work with the fall harvest, and flocks of sheep grazed in nearby pastures.
Macleod was not sure whether they or Arlin made more noise, for Arlin continued to complain all the way to the abbey.
“I just wish that Father hadn’t sent him out here. I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”
“He’s not even here yet,” grumbled Macleod.
“You’ll understand what I mean when he is.”
They entered an expansive orchard, beyond which lay the abbey. A good many people were out, collecting the ripe fruit and gathering it into bushels. Macleod swiped an apple as they passed through.
They soon came to the grated iron gates of the abbey, which stood open. Within was a wide courtyard, where many makeshift shelters had been erected. It was crowded with woodmen, even though Arlin had seen many of them helping in the fields.
“Do you know where the ones we helped are?” asked Arlin.
“Nope.”
“You’re a lot of help, you know that?”
“I try to be.”
The entire abbey was built with much craftsmanship, and was truly a magnificent sight. Arlin looked up with admiration at the series of buildings that it was made of, the chancel bell-tower rising highest of all.
The courtyard was shaded by numerous trees and traversed by well-paved walkways. A fountain murmured near its center.
Arlin remembered hearing that the Beneficine order, which this abbey was part of, upheld the values of self-sufficiency and peace. He only hoped that the ravages of war would not sweep over it soon.
“Arlin!” called one of the woodmen, leaping to his feet and running over to them. “Arlin! You’re okay!”
Arlin recognized the man as the one who had helped talk the chieftain into accepting help.
“I’m sorry, my friend, but I never did get your name.”
“It’s Barden. What brings you back to us?”
Arlin and Macleod dismounted, and proceeded with the woodman farther into the courtyard before continuing.
“There’s something we need to know,” said Arlin. “You see, we have been thinking about the wolves we saw at the battle yesterday.”
The woodman’s eyes grew large, and his face went pale.
“You mean the wolf-men, the shape-changers?”
“Yes. What I want to know is if that’s what all of your people say they are.”
“Those who had not believed before do now,” said the woodman, still a little hushed. “It’s not a matter we discuss openly, for talk of such matters is sure to bring bad luck.”
“I just want to know -”
“Please, don’t ask me any more of this!” said the woodman, as he drew back a step in fear. “We have suffered enough already!”
The woodman quickly turned and retreated back among the crowd.
“Arlin, how about we split up?” suggested Macleod. “We can cover ground twice as quickly that way, and see if we can’t find at least someone around here who is willing to talk about this.”
“Good idea. I’ll meet you back here in about an hour.”
The two men split up, and left their horses in care of several of the abbey’s brothers.
Arlin made his way through the sheltered people, but wherever he asked his question men would turn pale and mothers would shelter their children. Even the few monks he asked seemed hesitant to speak on the matter, but knew little on it anyway.
After the allotted time had passed he made his way back to the gates, hoping to find that Macleod had had better luck. Any such hopes were crushed when he saw the frustrated scowl on Macleod’s face.
“We’ve wasted our time here, Arlin. These people don’t have anything more to say than that we already know.”
“I wish that chieftain hadn’t died in the fighting,” sighed Arlin. “I have a feeling he could have helped us.”
“Well, let’s get back to town. We can’t do any more good here.”
____

Night came and went, and still Arlin was troubled by the thought of the enchanters and by the imminence of his brother’s arrival.
Word came before noon that Trevar’s party was near, and Arlin dispatched a body of knights to escort them to town. He himself garbed himself as usual, and prepared grudgingly to welcome his brother.
“My lord,” asked Douglas, the Earl of Lendon, as he followed Arlin about the town hall, “is there any chance at all that your brother will be of assistance?”
“Hardly,” growled Arlin. He had nicked himself while shaving, which had not improved his mood.
“Then, if I may venture to ask, what has ever possessed your father to send the boy here?”
“I wish I knew. I suspect it is to try and make a man out of him; you have to try to look at it from Father’s viewpoint, after all. What would you do if you had a son like Trevar?”
“Disown him.”
Macleod watched their conversation with amusement.
“I don’t know, I think you two are taking this whole thing a bit far. Give the boy a chance!”
“I have seen the boy before,” retorted Douglass. “You haven’t, and be glad it is so.”
Macleod shook his head. A trumpet sounded outside.
“The watchmen must have spotted him,” moaned Arlin. “Come on, let’s go greet the little dear.”
Arlin and those with him proceeded out to the entrance of town, from which point they could see a company of horsemen approaching.
“Well, it’s not his fault, after all,” said Arlin. “He’s never had the same experiences as Delaney or I, and Mother has babied him greatly.”
Douglass looked over at Arlin incredulously.
“My lord, I applaud your mastery of understatement.”
The company drew near, and at their head rode Arlin’s brother Trevar, clad in the finest traveling clothes. As soon as he was near he dismounted and quickly ran to Arlin.
“Arlin!” the boy exclaimed, seizing Arlin’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, brother!”
“And good to see you, Trevar,” said Arlin. He could not help smiling fondly.
“I see you have the same distasteful lack of color to your garb as usual,” commented Trevar.
“And I see -” began Arlin angilly, but he quickly switched what he was about to say. “I see that you have brought a sizeable force of knights with you.”
“My lord, half of those are ours,” said Douglas, discreetly.
“Oh, yes,” said Arlin. “Still, every little bit helps. I hear, Trevar, you have been sent to assist us.”
“Oh, I suppose so. I know I’m not very experienced, so I’ll just stay out of the way if I can.”
Arlin, however, was determined to try to do some good for the boy.
“If you came to learn, then the only way to do so is to watch carefully all of our doings here and partake in them. It’s time you started taking a little responsibility.”
Trevar paled at these words. He was not very strong featured, and rather soft though not quite feminine. He did not seem very used to exerting himself.
“Where will I stay?”
“At the inn, same as me. You’ll find that there’s not much comfort out in these border regions.”
“As if there is in a castle; but to dwell among commoners? Surely you haven’t sunk so low, Arlin!”
Arlin furrowed his brow, while Macleod’s rose in surprise.
“I’m not ashamed to live among such people,” said Arlin. “My duty has called me out here for the time being, and so I must make do as I can. Here, let me introduce you to my closest assistants. You know Lord Douglas already.”
“A pleasure to see you again, Sir,” said Trevar.
“The pleasure’s mine,” said the earl blandly.
Arlin quickly went through several men of rank who were with him, and at last came to Macleod, who’s eyebrows were still raised in surprise.
“And this is Macleod, a militia captain I have been indebted to several times over.”
“A commoner?” asked Trevar, shocked. “So this is your friend that Father spoke of? You actually trust him in your planning?”
Macleod’s eyebrows quickly drew together.
“I can fairly well bet that I’m better at it than five of you.”
“Arlin!” exclaimed Trevar, shocked. “How dare he talk to me like that! We, of noble blood, should not even tolerate him in our presence!”
“Enough!” said Arlin. “Trevar, we’ll take you to your quarters now. Lord Douglas, please lead on.”
“Gladly,” said the man, and the assembly started down the street. Arlin turned to Macleod, who was still glaring after Trevar.
“Well?” asked Arlin, wryly. “What do you think now?”
“Arlin,” said Macleod, putting emphasis on each word, “you were right.”