I was startled out of my sleep, eyes wide open, body drenched in sweat. Outside the tent, the crickets still sang—their voices the only sound the night had to offer. That, and the heavy snoring coming from the other tents.
"What frightens you?" my younger brother asked. I couldn't see him in the darkness, but his hand reached up to mine.
"A dream," I whispered.
"What kind of dream?" he asked, shuffling through his blanket.
"Nothing of much concern. Go back to sleep, Nuel." I squeezed his hand gently. He murmured something incomprehensible before returning to sleep. Soon the sound of his breathing joined the night's choir.
I settled back down on my blanket, eyes still wide open. There would be no more sleep for me, that I knew for certain—but it was the things I was not sure of that troubled me. This was the second week without sleep, and I could feel its toll starting to take hold. I could not withstand much more of this. Gods know I would give up everything I had to my name for a night without dreams. Gods know it.
My dreams were not comprehensible—just flashes of blood, men groaning… and hell. At the end of it there was always this woman, I chose to call it that, for it was no woman. Skin red as freshly spilled ox blood, eyes holding fire. I rolled over on my back once more, my mind still tussling within itself. I looked up at the tent and sighed.
"Damn it," I cursed. I rose painfully and searched around in the dark for my sheepskin. We already slept layered in the cold; my sweat had begun to cling to my face in icy sheets. It was painful. I struggled outside the tent; the cold air bit through the woods. A hamlet of tents stood in a circle with a massive fireplace in its middle. The fire was dead—just a faint speck of smoke trailing into the night sky.
"Couldn't sleep too?" a voice asked from behind. I turned to see my uncle sitting on the root of an oak tree, his sword in hand.
"Yes," I whispered nervously. Grantho frightened me. He was a bear of a man, arms as thick as cedar bark, ginger hair long and flowing, and eyes green as summer leaves. But he was always angry—be it at Mother, or the men, or the peace. Or me.
"Why?" he asked. He had a sharpening stone in hand, but I could sense his hesitation to use it.
"Nothing."
He rose from the tree and next to him, a monstrous figure rose as well. I had not noticed it in the pale light of the moon—its shaggy fur bristling in the wind. I took a step back as Grantho's brown bear lumbered lazily beside him, its stomach swaying with its movements. It looked stupid, but I had once seen it tear a man limb from limb, its brown fur caked with dried blood.
Its master beckoned to me, and I took a hesitant step toward him. He watched me for a moment; his greens flashed and he exploded.
"For fuck's sake, you've known the beast all ya fucking life. Quit being a pussy and come here."
I hesitated for a moment still.
"Come here, Magnus!" He wasn't yelling—probably didn't want to wake the entire camp—but his voice was loud enough. I walked to him. The bear, Sodscub, sniffed at my face, its mouth thick with brown teeth and odor, before turning away.
"I do fear for the days ahead." He hit me on the head with a stick. "The day when our safety would lie in your hands. I pray I am already dead." Another draft of wind blew, blowing his cape, revealing the chainmail underneath.
"I'm not a coward," I said, more to myself than to him. Grantho and his bear looked at me, probably wondering what the hell I was on about.
"Well, you do act like it." A wolf howled into the night, its voice echoing through the valleys. "How old are you, boy?"
"Fifteen," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
"Speak louder, boy!" Grantho growled.
"Fifteen," I repeated, my voice somewhat more audible.
"At that age I had already slain my first man, had my first woman, and was more of a man than you are turning out to be." He growled, rubbing his hands together. I hated this man, his confidence and roughness. He hated me too—my meekness and gentle spirit.
"Walk with me," he announced, turning toward the woods at the end of the plains. I hesitated once more; the clouds overhead were threatening. Snow was probably coming. I did not fancy being outside in a storm with Grantho or his beast.
"Boy!" he growled, sounding just like his pet.
"Damn it," I cursed under my breath. I turned toward my parents' tent, hoping my father would appear and put an end to his brother's madness.
"I swear I'll shove this stick up your ass if you make me call you again."
But he didn't have to.
A violent horn tore through the night air, its tune sharp and painful. Grantho stared up at the sky; Sodscub's ears pricked. All around, men shuffled out of their tents, struggling into jerkins and pants.
"Aghh," Uncle scowled. "The king's found us." He turned to me. "Gather the children. You can at least do that."
His words stung. If the tyrant king had found us, then I'd be more useful in a battle.
"But uncle…"
"You shut up." He yelled, his hand pointing straight at me. "Go gather the children." Arguing with him was useless so I turned toward the tents and fled.
My father had already risen from his tent; his red hair clung to his face. He had no armour on, just his long sword. Behind him, Mother struggled with the laces of his jerkin. Her blue eyes caught mine and she immediately abandoned it.
"Where is your brother?" she asked frantically.
"Still in the tent," I replied, making my way past them. The breath of men and fear mingled; the air was already thick with dreadful anticipation.
"He's not there!!" My mother's words stabbed into my mind. I turned to find her and Father staring back at me.
"Magnus, find him," Father ordered. He rushed toward the other men, his jerkin open at the back. Sweat dropped down my back. It had been freezing cold just moments before. Goats and sheep ran through the camp; a tent burst into flames. I rushed toward the stables to find the women and children gathered around the carts.
"Nuel!!" I yelled as I searched frantically through the flock of blonde and brown hair. I saw a boy with red hair and I rushed to him. He was not my brother; he was the child of the shepherd.
"Strap the horses, boy!!!" Gast, one of Father's men, yelled. He was called Mad Gast. Always claimed to be able to see the future. His balding head reflected the orange air, and his salt-stained sheep's cloak was thick with mud.
"I can't find my brother!"
"He's in one of them carts. I brought him out of the tent meself." He threw a strap at me; the rubber missing my eyes by a few inches.
"Now strap the horses to the carts."
Relief tore through me violently, almost bringing me to my knees. My hands rushed through the straps and soon all six horses were strapped to the carts.
Grantho rushed forward with a thick rope, linking each cart at the end, forming a train.
"You still practiced with ya bow?" he asked, his eyes mad with urgency.
"It's nothing good… I can hardly even hit a target," I protested.
"That means you can draw the string. You can shoot, and it's good enough for us." He produced a longbow and a quiver full of arrows.
"Gods help us. Get in." He climbed up into the cart.
"What about my parents… Mother?" I didn't ask about Grantho, but the thought of his wellbeing haunted me.
Gast rushed toward me, clawing my face and turning it forcefully toward the company of poorly armoured men and women.
"Your mother and father risk their lives so you get to see another day."
"Let go of me." I squirmed in his grip but the bald devil was much too strong for me.
He released me like I was a leper and stared, his eyes filled with madness. There was a chance that I would never see my parents and his was the last face from camp I would remember. The thought filled me with dread.
"They are out there doing their duty. Your father paves the way for you and buys you time. We should be halfway to Lisberg by now." He turned and climbed onto the cart. He looked down at me for a moment before offering his sweaty palm.
"Up, boy."
I didn't have a choice. I took his hand and got up into the cart. With a ferocious whip he rallied the horses toward the path in the woods, the camp I had once called home trailing behind us. I could hear the children sobbing inside the carts.
The cart jolted over a root and nearly threw me off. Behind us, the hoofbeats were unmistakable, it sounded like hundreds. Gast yanked the reins, swearing his tongue off. "They must have hidden in the woods, waiting for stranglers."
"They're coming!" one of the women screamed from the cart.
Gast stood up, longbow already in hand. "Magnus,arrows!"
I fumbled the quiver my fingers numb. The first shaft slipped and clattered to the boards.
Another horn tore through the night, this time right behind us.
I nocked an arrow, drew back the string until my arms shook. The bow felt wrong, too heavy, too long. I aimed at the darkness, there was nothing there,but I could hear the horsemen.
The lead rider burst from the treeline, his black cloak blowing in the wind and a heavy lance leveled.
I loosed.The arrow flew wide, disappearing into the night.
The rider laughed.
Then Gast's arrow took him through the throat. The man toppled sideways, lance clattering.But more were coming by the dozens.
Gast shoved me down. "Get under the bench!"
I took cover as arrows rained down all around us. One thudded into the cart's side, inches away from my head.
The king's men were closing and the forest was just up ahead.