The sun shone over the trees of Grünvelt Forest. A playful breeze flowed through the trees and rustled the long golden hair of the ranger. Ferrit smiled to himself as he walked the forest’s trail, and there was a bounce to his step. After a few minutes of walking the green wall of trees broke and a small village came into view. Alba. A small village that had been part of the great forest for longer than one could remember. The folk within were a quiet people who didn’t experience much in the world. The most excitement Alba would see were the rare wanderers and the traveling caravans that would frequent the forest road. Despite this though, the Albans were a fair folk and always quick with a smile. This wasn’t Ferrit’s first time in Alba, oh no, he actually comes here often because he loves the town folk and enjoys their company. On this day he came to visit an old friend and headed to the smith. Alba’s forge wasn’t big by any means but it was big enough for the smith and the town. The smith himself was not to be found in the forge this day. No, it was too bright and sunny a day to be spending indoors with the sweltering heat. The smith was outside under a great oak tree, with a small circle of children around him.
“And with a ear splitting roar, the dragon soared over the castle walls wreathed in flames,” the smith told the children, “To this day the kingdom of Sundagore flies the banners of a dragon.”
“Tell us another, Owan!” yell the children in delight.
“Haha!” bellows the smith, “ That I would, but it seems we have a visitor.”
The children looked to where Owan was pointing and saw the ranger. Immediately the children forgot all about another story and rushed over to Ferrit.
“Ferrit! Ferrit!”
“Do you have anything for me?”
“What new places have you seen?”
Ferrit tried to wade through the children to get to the smith.
“Children!” bellowed the large smith, “Go play! The sun is out and the day is beautiful, and I wish to talk to my woodsman friend.” With a loud collective sigh the children gave up and ran off laughing and giggling.
“What brings you back to Alba friend?” asks Owan
“I’ve come with a warning: Bandits are massing in the west. I think it’s of dire importance that you contact your elders and warn them. I don’t know what can be done but surely they could think of something.”
Owan looked worried but a smile broke across his face, “I appreciate the warning. We all do, but why would bandits come to such a small town like Alba? There are much better pickings elsewhere.”
“Owan. I really think Alba is in danger. You have to believe me.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Ferrit, it’s the fact that bandits don’t come around these parts. We simply don’t have anything that they would have any interest in.”
“I see your point, but I also know this feeling I have in my gut. Something feels wrong. I ask again, please warn the council.”
“I will, my friend but I fear they will feel the same. I will do it for you.”
“That’s all I ask.” And with that Ferrit left his friend and the village of Alba.
Alba’s council hall sat in the middle of the town. It was the largest building in the village but still rather small compared to other towns. Owan stood in front of the council and repeated Ferrit’s warning to them.
“Though this news is troubling, Owan, we cannot see a reason that these bandits would bother with Alba. We have nothing to offer them and we are close enough to Renton that we are under their protection.” said Elder Maris. Of the four elders Maris was the oldest and the most wise. Though not leader in name he was respected in that way.
“I thought the same thing but I have never seen Ferrit shaken like this. Something is wrong and he can feel it. Maybe we should do something.” replied the smith.
“And what would you suggest, Owan?” asked Elder Glenda, “Evacuate the village? That is complete nonsense.”
“We are not doubting the words of the ranger,” said Elder Len, “For he has been a great ally and friend these past years, but he doesn’t know the ways of bandits. They come for things that have value and, as Elder Maris stated, Renton has always provided protection to us and all the other outlying villages from such harm.”
“I know that but maybe these aren’t your everyday bandits. Maybe they are after more than just loot.” Owan replied.
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” said Glenda haughtily and rolling her eyes. Glenda and Owan had never gotten along and she made it clear she was not fond of him.
“Glenda is right, Owan. It seems that you are grasping for excuses. We can’t clear the village with excuses alone.” Maris said.
Elder Martin, who had been silent the whole time, finally spoke up. “If bandits do come, the gods will protect us.”
“I hope you’re right,” Owan said as he turned to leave, “Gods help us if you are wrong.”
Outside the council hall Catherine, Owan’s wife, stood waiting for her husband.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Went as well as I thought it would,” he said, putting his brawny arm around her, “They said that there is nothing to be done.”
“I hope Ferrit is wrong. Maybe they will just pass us over and look for something better.”
“I hope so. Come let us go back home. I am hungry and I just want this out of my mind. Maybe swinging the old hammer will set my mind at ease.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Catherine smiling, “I have some stew cooking at home and some fresh bread to go with it. Everything will be fine,”
Night fell over the small village of Alba, and Owan lay in bed tossing back and forth. The smell of smoke pervaded the room and Owan was awakened by a noise. Upon waking he realized that the sound that woke him was screaming. Not a playful scream, but the scream of pure fear and terror. He jolted out of bed and ran to the window. Outside he saw the neighboring building alive with flames. People were running back and forth from strangers in black. Black hoods hid their face, but he knew them: bandits. Ferrit was right. He woke Catherine up and she saw the chaos outside.
“Go to the council hall!” he said, “The other women and the children will be there.”
“No. I will go with you!”
“I will not allow it. If something were to happen to you I don’t... I don’t know what I’d do. Go. Please,” he said pleading.
“All right,” she said, “I will wait for you. I love you.”
“And I you.”
They hugged and she left the house and ran to the safety of the council hall. The door to the forge burst open and Owan rushed to the weapons rack in the back of the forge. The weapons were covered in a light layer of dust. Alba had never needed them before. His hands found the leather grip of a one-handed axe. He swung it in the air and found it to be good. Of course it was good, he thought to himself, he made it. The dark figure of a bandit lurked into the doorway behind Owan, skulking closer with his sword drawn. The sinister grin in his dark face was erased as a black arrow found rest in the base of his skull. The man fell to the ground with a choked thud. Owan turned in readiness to see Ferrit standing at the door.
“I warned you.” he said quietly.
“I know. I went to the council like you asked but they would do nothing about it.” said Owan.
“It’s too late. We need to leave at once.”
“Leave? What do you mean leave?” Owan said, anger rising, “My village is under attack!”
“And what will you do, Owan? You’re a smith, not a warrior! Find your wife and return here quickly. We have to go!”
“Coward.” Owan muttered.
“What did you say?” Ferrit said, eyes narrowing.
“I said you’re a coward!” roared the smith, “I thought you were a friend of the village, a friend of mine, but I was wrong!”
Ferrit stood there silently as the large man pushed past him and out into the chaos.
“The fool.” Ferrit said to himself.
Outside, the surviving villagers were in a panic. Owan saw a woman being dragged by three men.
“That’s a good place to start.” He said grimly. The smith ran over to the three men who were preoccupied by the woman and didn’t notice till they heard his roar and one of them fell with an axe buried in his skull. The other two just looked at him. Owan took advantage of the moment and freed the axe just in time to swing it at one of the others. The second man fell, a gaping gash in his chest. The last came to his senses and pulled his sword from the worn scabbard at his side. It was too late and he fell gurgling to the ground, his throat cut. Owan stood there panting, the axe dropped to the ground, and he fell to his knees. He looked at his blood soaked hands. Tears started to form in his eyes.
“Ferrit was right. I don’t belong here. I’m no warrior.” A scream tore him from his moment. The scream was familiar. It was Beth, the miller’s wife. He looked around and saw bodies around him. Bodies he recognized. He pulled himself up and grabbed the axe from the ground and steeled himself. He’d be damned if he let these thugs ruin his home. With that, a roar was loosed from his lips and he ran to find the next target.
The light of morning found its light resting on the wreckage of what was Alba. Ferrit, the ranger, walked through the debris and bodies to find survivors. The only movement he saw were piles of ash blowing away in the wind and the rustling of clothes on the fallen. Why did I leave? he thought, I should’ve stayed and helped. I owed them that much.
He continued his sad walk through the town he almost called home when he came to the burnt wreckage of the council hall. The building was a shell of what it once was. Only walls stood, blackened by the fires. The roof had collapsed and was strewn across the bloodied ground. He walked through what once was the double wooden doors to find a bloody form kneeling in the middle of the debris. He walked over to the man and noticed not only was he alive but his broad shoulders were shaking.
“Why?” came the shaking voice, “Why us? Why here? Why her?”
When the ranger got closer he found the smith holding something in his arms. It was Catherine.
“Owan. I am sorry.” he said breathless.
“You should be.” the big man said, “You could’ve helped. You chose to run.”
“I know.” he replied softly, eyes lowering to the ground.
The smith’s shoulders stopped shaking then. He turned to the ranger.
“They will pay.” he said, anger in his voice. “They will pay dearly for this.”
“Yes my friend,” Ferrit said, resting his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Yes they will.”
“Can you track them?”
“A child in the dark could follow their trail.”
“We must bury them first. It’s only proper.” Owan said heavily.
“Then we must do it in haste. The more time we spend here, the more ground they can cover.” Ferrit replied.
The two men spent the better half of the afternoon gathering the bodies of Alba and digging small and shallow graves near the remains of Paran’s shrine.
“Their souls will need the Sky God’s guidance.” Owan told Ferrit grimly.
Ferrit looked around and saw that Catherine’s body was not among the buried. He noticed Owan moving away from the site with something in his arms. The ranger quietly followed his friend to the charred oak tree by the forge. From afar, Ferrit watched the smith slowly dig a hole by the tree. After he laid the shovel down, he carefully lifted his wife’s body and slowly lowered it in the grave. He then covered the grave with the earth. Ferrit watched as the big man whispered something to the grave, shoulders heaving in great sobs. He walked over to the smith and put his arm around his broad shoulders.
“You know what?” Owan said through his tears, “She was the only girl in the village who talked to me growing up. All the other girls were scared by my size, but she had an adventurous spirit to her. It was love at first sight.”
A tear formed in Ferrit’s eye as he heard his friend’s story. This is my fault, he thought to himself.
Wiping his tears away, Owan turned to Ferrit with fire in his eyes. “Let’s make those bastards pay.”
“I agree. Come my friend, before they gain more ground.”
Owan grabbed the axe from where it was resting and walked to his friend’s side. The sun shone through the iron grey clouds as the two men embarked on their trail of vengeance.
End of Part One
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