Alef straightened his aching back and leaned his ax up against a tree as he heard the snow crunching, signalling the arrival of the ox drawn sledge and the end of their work day. He and the other woodsmen began loading the sledge with the felled and delimbed trees from the day’s cutting. Garban loaded a tree on his own that was as big around as Alef’s leg. They still hadn’t talked much since their conversation during their break. However, as the last of the day’s cuttings were loaded onto the sledge Garban pulled in a deep breath and held it, like he was preparing himself for a dive into cold water. After a second or two he let the breath out in a sigh and said “We need some things from in town. We can ride the sledge back and get what we need before we go home.”

  It wasn’t exactly how Alef had expected the icy silence to be broken. However, he was more than happy to move past it in whatever way they could.

  Alef clambered up into the sledge, on top of the felled trees and Garban hauled himself up next to him. Alys, the sledge driver, greeted them warmly as they settled in for the ride. She was an older woman, with long messy grey hair she kept in a loose braid. Even though she was the only woman who worked with the woodsmen, she had all of their respect. She had led a hard life, as evidenced by her worn and gnarled hands, but she hadn’t let that harden her. She was as quick with a smile and a laugh as anyone you could find, and despite her years she had somehow kept a youthful glint to her eye.

  The sledge was slow moving, weighed down by the felled trees. No matter how slow the sledge was, it still beat walking back to town. Alys took the opportunity to talk Garban and Alef’s ear off about anything that crossed her mind. She talked about the weather, her children that were now grown and having their own children, and the weather again. None of it necessarily interested Alef, but he still listened happily. He liked Alys. When he was young, after his lessons from the village’s Scribe, he would often go to Alys’ cottage in town and help her with chores. She would feed him or give him a few coppers, and at the end of the work day she would let him ride out on the sledge to meet his father.

  Garban also had a soft spot for Alys as well, so he listened politely to whatever she had to say and asked questions about how her young grandchildren were doing. It was a nice change after Garban had been silent the whole afternoon. It was almost as if their unpleasant conversation during their lunch hadn’t happened.

  Eventually the sledge arrived at the town and Garban and Alef bid farewell to Alys. They stopped off at the village's bakery and bought a loaf of bread to share as an afternoon snack and dropped their tools off there as well. Fergus’s wife, Iona, ran the bakery and she didn't mind them leaving their equipment for a spell. Iona was a wonderful woman. She was as tall as Fergus, with long blonde hair that she always had up in a bun and kept out of her face with a sweat stained headband. She had also often taken care of Alef when he was young. She was quiet, which was evened out by Fergus’s constant stream of words, but she was no push-over. You had to be shrewd and firm to haggle with the villagers and not get taken advantage of, and Iona had both qualities in bucketfuls.

  After leaving Iona’s the two walked through the village to finish the rest of their errands. They stopped by the butcher to get some meat for dinner and some tallow candles.

  Alef wrinkled his nose at the purchase. “Our purse must be light, huh Pa?” Alef muttered under his breath as Garban packed the goods into his rough canvas bag. The two of them hated the oily, rancid stink of tallow candles and would only buy them when they didn't have the coin for proper beeswax ones. Alef continued quietly as Garban paid for their purchases. “One of the crew told me you can burn your own turds if you can get ‘em dry enough. If we’re really broke we could try that. It’s free and the smell’s probably better.”

  “Aye lad, you know how it is.” Garban grumbled as they walked away from the counter. “Cold months roll ‘round and the price of a proper candle soars. I don’t think we need to resort to lighting our leavings though. Just no beeswax for a spell.” A wry smile showed through his dark tangle of a beard. “Them bees must like the cold as little as you do.” He clapped Alef on the shoulder, playful but still hard enough to almost knock him off balance. Alef grinned. It seemed all was right between them again.

  Having finished up their shopping, the two of them walked back to Iona’s. As they drew close, something pricked at Alef’s ears: raised voices. Ermont was a quiet village so the sound was out of place. Alef picked up his pace as he headed towards the shouting. Behind him Garban paused for a moment, but eventually began to follow.

  The shouting was coming from Iona's bakery. As they approached they saw a stranger standing in the doorway, almost nose to nose with Fergus, both shouting. Iona was desperately trying to wedge herself between them, but with little luck.

  “You’ll be paying my wife, you thieving bastard!” Fergus yelled, veins looking ready to pop in the side of his neck. The stranger was holding a loaf of bread in one hand, and was clutching a spear in the other. People didn't typically carry weapons in town. No reason to, really. This looked like it could be trouble, or was already.

  The stranger didn't balk at Fergus’s anger. He seemed to be a hard man, wearing a hog hide leather jerkin stretched tight over a broad chest. It left his arms bare below the shoulder and from where Alef stood he could see that he had the beginnings of a Legend drawn onto him. Although he wasn't close enough to see what kind of deeds had earned him the ink. “I already told you.” The man’s voice was raised and his face was flushed, but he lacked the raw anger of Fergus “I’m a warrior of the land! That means I get meals where I want.”

  “Not likely!” Fergus did not seem like he could be swayed on the matter. “Who says you're a warrior? They never come ‘round here anyway!”

  The man fished inside of his jerkin and brought out a stout necklace of rough iron links “How's this for proof?” He said, looking triumphant. It was a warrior’s chain, no doubt in that. Alef hadn’t seen very many before, but there was no mistaking it.

  The reveal of the chain gave Fergus pause. Long enough for Iona to finally insert herself between the two men. She kept her voice low and calm as she said “It's fine Ferg. It's one loaf. Not worth causing trouble for, at any rate.”

  “By the Spring, if it gets the yelling to stop, I’ll pay the copper for him.” Garban rumbled from over Alef's shoulder. Things had been so tense he had almost forgotten his pa was there. By the look on the warrior’s face as he glanced Garban's direction, he hadn't noticed him standing there either.

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  Fergus looked over at Garban and then back at Iona and the furious tension drained from his shoulders. “Listen to your friend and your lady, lad.” The warrior said, a bit of a smirk creeping onto his face. “Besides, me and my comrades are here to protect you and your town. We’re due a bit of hospitality.” His smirk was growing and shifting into a leer. “I’d love to see what kind of hospitality your lady will offer me and my boys. Finally some real men around the place and all.” His eyes drifted towards Iona, as his leer ripened into a full, toothy, predatory grin. He grinned at her that way for about one full second before Fergus's fist crashed into his mouth and sent him sprawling in the street.

  Silence fell in the street, the atmosphere tense and threatening like a quickly fraying cord pulled to its breaking point. Even Fergus looked shocked. He was standing stock still, staring down at his own clenched fist like he couldn’t believe it had really laid out a warrior in the middle of the street. Like his fist had leapt out at the man of its own accord to bludgeon him and Fergus was trying to figure out how. A few people had been walking the street and had stopped to see what all the fuss had been about. The crack of the punch froze them all in place. Alef had been right, this was trouble.

  There could be no good that came from chinning a warrior, no matter how inappropriate his behavior had been. At best, this hardened man would beat the piss out of Fergus for hitting him and, more importantly, wounding his pride. At worst, he would force Fergus into dueling him for the dishonor he had dealt him, or maybe just spit him on his spear here in the streets. That would be discouraged, but warriors were held in higher status than other commoners and could get away with a lot. Plus, Alef guessed, the man probably wouldn’t be putting much attention towards consequences after taking one to the mouth like that.

  The warrior was picking himself up from the cobbles now. He spat blood out onto the ground and a malicious sneer twisted his scarlet stained lips. The fist wrapped around his spear was gripping so tight it was ghostly pale and he had fury in his eyes. “By the king and the widows,” the warrior growled, his voice steadily rising “I am going to make you regret that!” The last two words came out as a slavering roar, bloody spittle flying from his mouth.

  Behind him, Alef heard Garban suck in a deep breath. He held it for a second, like you would before plunging into deep water. Then he swept Alef behind him as he took a few strides forward to stand in between Fergus and the frothing mad warrior. Garban’s face was stony calm as he met eyes with the man. He held up his open palms, the same as you would to calm a frantic horse. “Let’s not do anything rash.” Garban said, his tone even and unbothered as ever. “Our Fergus is a hothead, but a lot of people feel pretty attached to him, for some reason. You stick him here in the street and you won’t be warmly received here, new as you are.”

  “And how will they feel if I stick you, big man?” The warrior took a step forward, his face a mask of rage and his spear leveled at Garban.

  “Can’t say there will be as many upset about that.” Garban’s voice was still calm and even, his eyes still locked with the stranger’s. “I’d be pretty broken up about it, if that counts for anything. Would hate for my boy to lose his pa.”

  “Then you best be stepping out of my way.”

  “Afraid I can’t.”

  The warrior took a menacing step forward, pulling back for a thrust. Before he could lunge forward and skewer Garban, there was a rasping, metallic hiss from behind Alef and everyone froze. The noise hadn’t been much louder than a whisper, but at the same time it screamed louder than a peal of thunder. It cried out…

  Danger

  Danger

  Danger

  Alef spun on his heel to see the tallest man he had ever seen standing behind him. He was probably a full head taller than Garban. However, where Garban seemed to be almost as broad as he was tall, this new man was lean and lithe. Every bit of him spoke of speed and ferocity. One arm was covered in a Legend, images of a man fighting and leading charges: his deeds of strength and honor. The sides of his head were shaved in the traditional warrior style, leaving the back and top shaggy and interwoven with wooden and clay beads with runes carved on them. On one side of his shaved head was a tattoo of a snarling dog in mid leap, mimicking the angry snarl plastered across his own face.

  Although, the thing that had frozen the small crowd had been the drawing of his blade. It was almost nine spans long, but the man held it as if it had no weight to it at all. Swords were a rare thing. Metal was a rare thing. The only mines were in the far North of Durmagos, and so to have enough iron to make a full blade, and to find a smith skilled enough to forge one, was a tall order. Most warriors only carried spears or axes for those reasons.

  It was the only sword Alef had ever seen, and it bewitched and terrified him at the same time. He wanted to reach out and touch it, test the blade. He wanted to run screaming away. Here was power. Real, raw, tangible power, distilled down into something you could hold in your hand.

  The frozen silence shattered as the giant bellowed, “Gunar!” His voice was deep and rough. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “The little man hit me for taking a loaf, Brok.” The warrior, apparently named Gunar, whose voice had been so full of hate and authority only seconds before, came out hollow and fearful. “Gotta teach ‘em respect, Brok.”

  The giant, Brok’s eyes shifted over to where Fergus stood behind Garban. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice had calmed, but was full of icy menace.

  To Fergus’s credit, he held up well under Brok’s menacing stare. He didn’t meet his eye but his response came out steady and even. “He made remarks to my wife, sir. Fighting words in my mind.”

  Brok turned his gaze back on Gunar, snarl contorting his face. “We get posted in a town and the first thing you do is cause trouble?” He took one lunging step, covering the distance between himself in Gunar so quickly that Alef felt the wind from his passing, and backhanded Gunar across the mouth so hard it flung him to the ground where he lay unmoving. Something glinted in the air and landed next to Iona’s feet. Alef recognized it after a second and his stomach lurched. It was one of Gunar’s teeth.

  A few other warriors began to arrive in the street as Brok sheathed his sword and faced the townsfolk. “Citizens of Ermont, my men and I have been sent to protect your town, since there have been more creatures creeping from the mist. I apologize for my man’s rash behavior. However, as your protectors, it is your duty to provide for us, that is the law of king Alrik.” His eyes shifted to Garban and Fergus. “There will be no further trouble about this.” He didn’t need to add an ‘or else’, everyone could fill it in themselves.

  He sheathed his sword and, with as much effort as most would lift a sleeping child, picked up Gunar by the front of his jerkin and handed him off to two waiting warriors. With that, the warriors turned and walked away, as if the violence and threats of the day would pass from the minds of the crowd like leaves blown by the wind. Even though Alef was only a boy, he knew it wouldn’t. They could scrub Gunar’s blood from the pavers where he had been flung by Brok’s thunderous slap, and pick up the tooth he had left in the street, but the memory, and the fear of it couldn’t be wiped away so easily.