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jonwassingwriting · 7 years

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A Matter of Honour: The Oaken Throne Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Cagairn, The Wild North

120 Winters after Ait Siochanta

The summer breeze drifted about the city of Cagairn, brushing up against stalls and stone as it whipped through the open doors of the eastern gate. The great oaken planks stood impressively tall in the morning light, at least eight yaern tall and a full two yaern thick.

The little breeze ruffled the summer songseason pendants along the wall, causing them to flutter in it’s gentle embrace. Seeds from the nearby lilly-trees floated in it’s warm eddies, their playful dance and the aroma of their parent trees warming the weary souls of the travellers passing to and from the gate. It was as if Athair himself was sending tiny dancers to add their performance to the roster of the summer songseason festival.

Below the merry whims of nature one man leaned up against one of the open doors, glaring at the seed that floated down onto the shoulder of his cloak. He sighed, brushing the offending seed away with an anxious wave. Really there was no need for such foul demeanour, the warm summer day was even more beautiful than was to be expected, but all the same Beocallum was in a foul mood.

Now the former hall-man enjoyed sneaking about as much as a cat enjoyed a long swim but even that was nothing compared to all this thrice-damned waiting. He tugged at the edge of his hood, trying to lean nonchalantly against the gate as he subtly watched the guard hut on the outside of the wall.

Of course, the wilderguard he was spying on weren’t even paying any attention, bruskly laughing and breaking fast on smoked Khumom meat in the cheerful summer air.

Beocallum listened carefully as the wildermen loudly broke their fast, watching carefully as they passed the brown pack of oil-skin wrapped meat around the group. Crude wooden plates were tossed out over their rickety table amid a scattering of wilderblades, cups of blackcurrant wine and a bag of coins.

The meat and the wine were from the highwallers of course, but this time they had the unique characteristic of being a willing gift. Earlier in the morning Eonan had brought the meat and little casket of wine to them as a token of appreciation for the guard’s diligent work.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the meat; it was the wine that was different from any normal libation. Eonan and Beocallum had spent a full night grinding dried mournflower seed pods into powder and added it to the strong little casket of wine before re-sealing the wax stopper.

Beocallum smirked, looking to the empty little jug as it sat innocently by the wildermen’s feet. Soon the wilderguard in the hut would be unable to do anything except sleep and dream vivid dreams, their duties forgotten in a haze of bliss.

Some of the lazy men passed a wary eye over the people coming and going through the gate occasionally but Beocallum was fairly certain no one would move unless they saw weapons or something they wanted to steal.

Beocallum took a quick glance up, peering at the wide top of the high stone wall that ringed Cagairn. Up on the ramparts a lone feilkhu loped by quietly, it’s strange leggy gait making no sound whatsoever as the monstrous wolf completed a circuit of the eastern wall. The wolf doubled back, shooting a haughty look down at the rancorous wilderguard as the gate guardians began to sing drunkenly.

The former hall-man watched the wall sentry lope off down the wall, breathing easier once the wolf had left his sight.

Beocallum was calm and collected on the outside, but his inside was a ball of nervous wire and fractious glass. His eyes darted to and fro as the guards grew louder, watching in case a wilderman decided to come their way, or the wilderguard relief came early.

Agnes, on the other hand, was much less troubled than he. She was playing a game of clachan by herself seated on the ground, the polished stone pieces gleaming in the sun. Her hood wasn’t even up as she fetched another stone from the bag at her hip, checking the pieces laid out before her for a matching rune.

“Do you mind?” He quietly asked, his lips a thin line.

“By the three hells Beocallum, you’ve been fussing for over an hour!” She hissed back at him. The fire-haired woman paused and squinted at the sun a moment, measuring it against the lee of the walls.

“It's almost mid-morn. I think if the wilderguard were going to kill us they’d have done it by now.”Agnes grumpily tossed her tile down, fetching another quickly from her pouch. “Now you’d best sit, your fretting is more likely to catch their attention.”

Beocallum begrudgingly sat, pulling his own hood down and looking up to the top of the wall again.

“The Feilkhu we saw when we first got here just finished his patrol, looks like they rely more on the gateguards than the wall sentries.” He breathed a little sigh of relief, “that will help us get the shipment in without them noticing.”

Agnes nodded, placing the little stone tile up against two others below her, reaching to rummage around in the pouch at her hip.

“Aye everything will be fine, you fret too much.” Agnes glanced to the guard hut and grinned. “Looks like they’ll be asleep soon anyways.” She motioned to the little casket of wine, the guards downing their cups as they feasted on the smoked meat.

Beocallum was forced to agree but all the same he patted the dirk under his trousers to comfort himself, the cold metal strapped to his bad leg. Agnes noticed the little motion, deftly placing her next tile without hesitation down before her.

“Does it still hurt, or is it mostly an act?”

Agnes had a certain way of speaking that was blunt and direct but Beocallum quite enjoyed it compared to pandering or overt politeness.

“Yes, it still hurts all the time. But the pain does not bother me as much as I act.” He shifted, more comfortable now that he was sitting and the wilderguard were beginning to doze off. “It helps hide the dirk I have under there.”

Agnes shot him a clever little smile, an impressed look on her face. Beocallum felt a little thrill of pleasure at managing to impress the brusque woman and pressed on.

“How I walk when the resistance meets is a bit more accurate, though if it’s paining me I will hide that from them.”

Agnes fished out another piece, grimacing at the rune as she turned it over.

“Why hide it?”

“It makes them uncomfortable, they worry my injury may jeopardize the cause. Some occasionally refuse to accompany me.”

Agnes cursed the little tile piece in her hand, dropping it ruefully back into her pouch before sweeping the other tiles up in her hands.

“That’s stupid.”

Beocallum couldn’t tell if the comment was directed at him or the pieces, so he simply let the conversation lapse into silence.

Agnes doled out another game, placing six tiles in front of her on the ground. She handed him a rune from her pouch and Beocallum regarded it a moment, his finger stroking the little “x” shaped rune in the center. After he laid it beside a tile in the center of the game before them.

“Figures,” she laughed, pulling a tile of her own from her pouch. “I’ve been dying for a center place all morn and you get it on the first try.”

Beocallum smiled as she laid her own rune out, enjoying the diversion the complicated little game offered. He mind wandered as they played, Agnes actively trying to block him with every piece she had.

Three months had passed since the fight by the Athairwood, both the wildermen and the resistance had lost more warriors than they could spare. Both sides had taken a couple of weeks to lick their wounds, the people of Cagairn enjoying a brief respite from wildermen tyranny. Unfortunately the peace did not last long, wildermen reinforcements had arrived only a week later.

Anesh had sent word to all the wildermen tribes and they had responded in earnest, sending almost all of their warriors into the city and swelling the ranks of the wilderguard past the point they had been before.

The exchange of men had left the wilds ironically peaceful but the city was now fully under the control of Anesh and his new horde. The lady Morag Had further made secure the city by summoning six score Feilkhu warriors from the gilded north.

After that Captain Anesh had gone about with his men, interrogating everyone until he had a list of identified Resistance members. Thankfully it was a short list, but those on it had been rounded up and butchered alongside their families on the banks of the Jorgen, their bodies tossed into the current.

This had been a major blow to the morale in the Resistance, a large portion of their warriors and allies withdrawing from the fight. The only ones left were those with hearts of true steel or nothing left to lose, like Agnes and Beocallum himself.

The wilderguards had also become so taxing in their “fair due” that whatever resistance left was kept busy at all times just sneaking food into the city and distributing it out among the highwallers, lest they die of hunger. Up against these odds they looked weak compared to their task, and it was having an effect on the city.

“You got me.” Beocallum sighed as Agnes laid her last tile, securing her victory.

“It’s cause you just play to win,” She chuckled, pulling the tiles back into her bag. “You need to start playing with the end in mind, lose a few rounds to begin with. Makes them think you’re on the defensive and they get complacent.”

She grinned at Beocallum, shaking the bag to mix the pieces.

“You were close though, want to play again?”

Beocallum laughed, stealing a glance at the sleepy wilderguards across the street from them.

“I forgot my father’s rule: never teach a woman how to play a game, you will never win at it again.”

Agnes chuckled back, laying the pieces out before them again.

“Wise man, your da. Taught me how to play Fhikless but never played against me after that, good to know why.”

Beocallum smiled, remembering his father’s frustrating and fruitless campaign of Fhikless games against his mother, which was one of the fondest things he remembered about the both of them.

The smiled faded quickly though, his mother’s features slipping as he tried to remember her face. She had passed on about three winters before Beocallum joined the march on Bearsgore, the wailing cough stealing her breath away as her young son and husband watched helplessly.

“Looks like they’re out.”

Agnes’ comment snapped Beocallum back to the present, her subtle motion to the gateway drawing his eye to the sleepy wildermen. They watched as the spear fell from the hands of one of the wilderguard, the resulting clatter of the weapon on the ground not even stirring his comrades.

“Perhaps the mournflower was too much this time, they look set to sleep until the kingdom-come.” Beocallum shook his head, using the corners of his vision to scan around them as they started a new game of Clachan. Every once and awhile he would send a glance or two out of the open gate, looking for the caravan.

On they played for a time, the people passing by expressed more interest in the slumbering guards than the two former hall-men seated on the ground. Lots of highwallers stood and gawked, it was common to see wildermen loafing around but to have a whole group asleep at once was a rare sight. The extra attention made Beocallum nervous, worrying someone would tell Anesh, who would send a new patrol to investigate.

Instead several highwallers took advantage of the dozing wildermen, more than a few leaving to fetch valuables from where they had hidden them in the wilds. Beocallum grinned and shook his head as a man scurried through the gate, his arms laden with silver plates and goblets.

Beocallum relaxed a touch, breathing a deep sigh of the fresh morning air. The heavy perfume of the lilly-trees sent a calming rush through him and he actually found himself humming under his breath as Agnes laid another clachan piece. His little tune was picked up by one of the men coming in from the wilds, his voice carrying over the little morning breeze clearly. The sound made Beocallum start, but he smiled as his eyes rested on the bard’s robes the man wore; nodding to the songmaker as the man strode off singing.

Such sights were not as uncommon before the fall, as every summer the city became a haven to bards and minstrels. The summer songseason was originally a celebration of the Ait Siochanta, but as the Feilkhu had taken to gifting a tribute of food every songseason it had become a celebration of the harvest as well.

Since the wildermen had taken over the festival had been largely ignored but this year the Feilkhu had insisted upon it; pressing him politely until Anesh relented, announcing its reintroduction not more than a month ago. Their persuasion and the large tribute of food they brought from the gilded north had done much to convince the wildermen, who now had embraced the festival openly. The city almost felt like before as the nearly forgotten pendants were pulled from storage and placed to flutter over the city.

Of course the highwallers were excited, a feast would do much to alleviate the hunger felt in the city. Beocallum idly wondered if the Feilkhu were trying to gain favour with the highwallers, their insistence on having the festival mostly benefitted the people of the city over the Oaken Lord and his brigands.

“Fayna would have loved this.”

Beocallum had been waiting for Agnes to make her move but paused and turned to her as she spoke. She was gazing at one of the songseason pennants, a mournful look in her eye.

“The birds are singing, bards are getting ready for the festival and the wildermen seem in a good mood.” Agnes lowered her eyes, placing her tile unenthusiastically. “She should have been here to sing for us.”

Beocallum rested his hand gently on hers as they stared at the ground in silence a moment longer, the memory of that last Allfather Hymn ringing in the echos of his mind as he remembered the quiet little girl.

Agnes gave his finger a tiny squeeze after a moment and he lifted his hand. Her grief passed as quickly as it had come and the plucky woman motioned to the tiles before them with a sigh.

“Your move, but you’ve got two turns before I win.”

“Why do I even bother?” Beocallum threw up his hands in frustration, placing his tile haphazardly on the pieces before them. Movement in the street caught his eye, causing him to tap her urgently on the leg.

“Get your hood on.”

Agnes, despite her earlier complaints of his wariness, immediately complied. Keeping her eyes fixed on the pieces as she placed another, Agnes hissed a question at Beocallum softly.

“What is it?”

Beocallum kept his eyes low, watching from the corners of his eyes as three men wandered into the edge of his vision, laughing and shouting as they roughly made their way down the street. It was Mageth, Seamic and Geralt; three former highwallers that had joined the wildermen after the battle of the Athairwood.

They were all wearing widerman furs, their hair now wild and tangled in homage to the wilder. Instead of wilderblades they carried daggers from the warrior-hall; the dirks and blades of the hall-men smeared with soot and pitch to emulate their new masters.

Mageth and Seamic opened one of the low stone hut doors not far off, Geralt taking up a lookout behind them as they stooped to enter.

“Just your three friends making their usual lecher patrol.” Beocallum grimaced as a woman’s shriek came from within the house, Geralt quickly entering and closing the door behind himself as if on cue.

Before Agnes had even risen from her haunches Beocallum clamped his hand down on her shoulder, pinning her in place.

“Remember what Balcund said; no more killing until his word.”

“Thrice damned be Balcund, He’s not here!” Agnes settled, fire blazing in her eyes. “They’re not really wildermen, he said nothing about killing highwallers.”

“And then what?” Beocallum hissed back, his hand still clamped hard on her shoulder. “Miss the food shipment entirely, let people starve because we didn’t tell them where to go or watch as that woman and her whole family are slain and thrown into the Jorgen?” He took a sharp breath, leaning in towards her ear. “You know that’s what the wilderguard will do if they find any sign of their death in there; kill every last highwaller within the walls of that hut.”

Agnes settled back onto her seat, gripping her tile so hard her knuckles turned white. The game halted as the woman’s plaintive cries rang out into the street from her hut window, casting an awful pallor over the cheerful morning.

A ball of guilt rolled about in Beocallum’s stomach as he sat and listened, his own impotence nearly maddening. He had watched his father cut down a man for simply beating his wife before the fall, now it was becoming common for women to be trampled underfoot while the wildermen ruled.

“I swear I will kill those three with my bare hands.” Agnes cursed through gritted teeth as the woman’s screams turned to sobbing, the rest of the people around them in the street either averted their eyes or scurried away from the shameful scene.

“On that day I will aid you and consider it an honour.” Beocallum relaxed his grip and leaned back, tossing his tile into the dirt beside him. “But for now you should keep your head down lest they recognise you.”

Agnes grunted a confirmation, shaking her head as she gathered her clachan pieces into her pouch. She pulled some food from the satchel on her opposite hip, cracking open a small loaf of stale balnoc and biting into the tough bread.

Beocallum had a similar pouch on his hip but he did not break his fast. He really had no appetite for stale balnoc, it made his teeth ache, and he would keep it for when Agnes undoubtedly gave hers away to someone. She was kind like that and Beocallum liked to have a little food to offer his voracious friend when she gave her own away.

“Why did you take so long to recruit me?” Agnes chewed quietly, her voice still low, “Was it because I’m too brazen, too loud and impatient for a member of the resistance?”

Beocallum paused and considered her tone for a moment; he was unsure if she was either mad at the resistance’s lack of action or honestly thought that her impulsive nature was a fault. Eventually he decided that the latter was less likely, but resorted to respond in honesty anyways.

“Do you remember Mahdad?”

Agnes shook her head at Beocallum, a quizzical look on her face.

“He was the man who killed Fayna’s father, the wilderman you bought her and Jorgen from.”

“Ah! Yes, I remember.” The anger in Agnes’ eyes faded a bit as recognition dawned on her face.

“He was interested in you, much like Mageth and his fools there.” Beocallum motioned to the hut, which had now fallen silent. “He was one of the targets we had in mind when Balcund first told us to strike; a troublesome wilderman with highwaller blood on his hands.”

Beocallum grimaced while remembering his confrontation with the wilderman in the market, his head had hurt for weeks where the brute had ground his spear butt into his scalp and the scar on Beocallum’s wrist was still visible.

“Not long after I killed him we found out he had spoken of this interest to Thale, who was like a brother to him. We figured that Thale would suspect you of killing Mahdad and we would have to wait until his interest waned before we offered you a place with us.” Beocallum paused, a small grin playing about his lips.

“We were sure you’d jump at the opportunity to join. Had no one known of your name we would have asked you right after the first attack.”

Agnes barked a laugh, a short and curt sound, but it was not without mirth.

“Now I’m one of the most recognised people in the city and you decide to include me in your ranks?”

Beocallum rolled his eyes, dealing Agnes a playful but heavy blow to the leg with his fist.

“The wildermen know your name, not your face. Everyone who really knew you is either dead, on our side or,” he paused a moment as Mageth left the hut, “incredibly stupid.”

Agnes snorted, still working her jaw on the tough bread from under her hood.

The fat lech across the street stretched, looking about arrogantly as he shut the door behind himself. Eventually his two companions emerged, straightening tunics and belts as they chortled evilly.

Beocallum put a warning hand on Agnes’ knee again but the former hall-man returned the gesture comfortingly instead of rising. She was getting better at keeping her anger in check but Beocallum knew that her rage still simmered under the surface, ready to boil over at any moment.

“Now don’t forget,” Mahdads voice cut through the morning air like a knife, “there’ll be food in it for you if you don’t scream so much next time. Think of your little boy there, looks like he could use some fattening up.”

He slammed the door behind himself and the three made their way towards the two hall-men, Beocallum lowering his gaze to the ground as they neared. Mageth laughed as they passed through the gate and meandered towards the guardhouse, Beocallum’s fear rising as the three traitors approached their sleeping allies.

Much to the former hall-man’s relief, Mageth and Seamic retrieved a pair of bowds and arrows from the hut instead of attempting to rouse the slumbering wilderguard. They took off into the forest wilds outside the city wall, Seamic picking up a game trail not far from the gates.

Immediately after they were out of sight Agnes stood, packing the rest of her Balnoc into her satchel.

“I’ve got my apple and a bit of cheese with this, do you-”

Beocallum cut her off by silently unlooping the satchel from his belt and handing it to her, all of his food still inside. She chuckled, snatching the rough fabric from his hand and wandering over to the hut.

As she knocked quietly on the door, Beocallum wondered how exhausting all of this was for the flame-haired woman.

Agnes had not been raised the same way he had, she was a shepherd turned warrior instead of a hall-man raised by the hallmaster himself. Where Beocallum had been taught to wait and watch for an opening, Agnes had been taught to stand up for what was right and defend those who could not. She was probably the bravest and most initiative person he knew but Beocallum worried that the means and sacrifices they had to take to free Cagairn would wear down on her and break her spirit.

Beocallum looked back out the gate with a heavy sigh and watched the road as it vanished into the forest just outside the city, his heart weary from the thoughts swirling in his head.

The trees rustled happily in the summer breeze, the sight of their pretty flowers and leaves dancing in the sunlight soothing his spirits a bit. Deeper in the forest the light streamed through the foliage, casting a dappled pattern over the low rocky ground.

The Jorgen had a plethora of different trees growing on the sides of it’s impressive banks, melting effortlessly into a forest that stretched out over the eastern side of the city. It made for a beautiful view, but the eastern side was difficult to patrol thanks to the heavy foliage. The rest of the wall looked out on low rolling hills with very little cover, which is what made this side of the city perfect for smuggling goods into the bustling settlement.

Beocallum abruptly spied a man standing by the bend in the path, warily staring at the gate from behind a tree. He shifted from side to side impatiently, he must have been there for some time, the shadows of the underbrush hiding his frame from the untrained eye.

Recognition dawned and Beocallum surged to his feet, waving urgently. The man waved back and disappeared from view, returning a short time later accompanied by a small group of people with pull carts and bundles wrapped in burlap.

Agnes returned from the hut, joining Beocallum as he crossed through the gate to take up position beside the slumbering guardsmen.

“Just in time.” He motioned to the little caravan as they made their way cautiously into the short section of clearted trees between the forest and the eastern gate.

Agnes looked pleased, casting a glance over the slumbering wilderguards as they snored around the crude table beside the two hall-men.

“Hopefully they stay out for it.” She sighed, watching as the little group of people neared with their cargo.

“They will.” Beocallum kicked one in the leg in response, smiling as the wilderguard made no move to rouse himself from his dreams. “They are however going to be suspicious when they wake, we should adjust the mixture to be less potent next time.”

Agnes nodded, her hand straying to the small of her back; a place Beocallum had noticed she liked to keep her dirk hidden. His own hand hovered over his own, remembering that his other duty on this mission was to make sure that, if any of the wildermen woke, they would not have the chance to raise an alarm.

The man from the woods walked up to Beocallum, offering a warriors greeting to the former hall-man. As they clasped hands Beocallum pulled him in close, whispering in his ear.

“Good day for it?” He asked, his other hand laid gently on the man’s back.

“As long as the winter stays put, we never can tell up here.” The man responded, patting Beocallum three times on the back. Beocallum patted the man five times on his back and they parted, the former hall-man nodding at the other highwaller knowingly.

That was it, the instructions had been relaid. Three taps from the man was for six bundles of food, hidden among other trinkets and goods they would give to wildermen in the market as a cover.

In turn, each different dead drop in the city had a number associated with it and the five taps Beocallum gave the man was for an abandoned boathouse near the Jorgen. Now the smugglers would visit the little stone building and drop the food bundles there before heading to the market. Eonan and other members of the resistance would then make sure the packages got out to those in need.

“There’s a man looking for you, says Balcund sent him.” The man motioned to the group as his charges filtered through the gate, the people looking about nervously as they entered the city.

Beocallum followed his finger, his eyes resting on a man with a heavy load of poles and canvas on his shoulder walking a short distance behind everyone. The load seemed not to bother the man at all and he easily overtook the rest of the caravan, staring about in what could only be surprise at the city gate.

His tall figure was completely swathed in bandages, any place not covered by his clothing was obscured in thin brown linen wraps with a heavy traveler's cloak draped over his shoulders. A small section of the wraps parted at his eyes, just barely enough for him to see.

“What’s with the bandages?” Beocallum asked as the man neared, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

“He’s a leper.” The man shuddered, shaking his head and leading the rest of his people through the gate. “Can’t believe he asked to walk with us, filthy thing.”

Beocallum’s eyebrows shot up, watching warily as the bandaged man strode towards them as if on an early morning walk through the woods.

“How do you do?” His voice was husky and breathless as if it pained him to speak, but it was cheerful nonetheless.

“Fine, how are you?” Beocallum automatically extended his hand in greeting, cursing himself mentally as the man refused to take it.

“You don’t want what I have boy.” The tall man made no movement of greeting at all but Beocallum saw a twinkle of merriment in the lepers’ blue eyes.

“My apologies.” Beocallum coughed nervously, hearing Agnes’ quiet snicker from beside him. “What can I do for you?”

The former hall-man raised an eyebrow suspiciously, trying to gauge the man standing before him. He might as well have tried to get information from the stone wall instead, the bandages covered everything he could see of the man and the quiet voice betrayed little as the leper spoke.

“Balcund sent me to relay information, there’s a series of things he needs you to do to get ready to take the city.” The tall man motioned to the gate, his voice low and raspy.

“Fair day for it?” Beocallum asked instead of responding, raising an eyebrow.

Suddenly the man burst out laughing, putting his birch posts down for a moment to clap his other hand on his stomach.

“Right you are lad, Blacund told me you were very cautious. You'd be Hrokison, am I right?”

Beocallum kept his silence, waiting for the counter-sign.

“Ah yes.” The man coughed, shaking his head a little. “As long as the winter stays put, never can tell up here.” Beocallum relaxed as the leper continued. “You take your task seriously boy, Balcund was right about you.”

“Interesting idea, seeing as I have never met the man.” Beocallum felt a little smile tug at the corner of his mouth; he didn’t know why but talking to the leper was putting him at ease, even despite his usual wariness.

The highwaller who had originally approached Beocallum paid them a hurried farewell, leading his caravan down the quiet street and out of sight. The tall man in bandages shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the sleeping wilderguards as the last of the food caravan passed into the city beside them.

“Shall we go Hrokison?” The leper’s tone was curt, but not impatient.

“Aye, I can take you to Eonan right away. If you want to meet the other members of the resistance we will need till evening to gather them.”

The man cocked his head, watching in amazement as Agnes went over to the guard house and collected all of the meat from the table, actually pushing one of the wilderguard aside to grab some of it.

“They’re not...”

“Dead? No.” Beocallum sighed in exasperation as Agnes walked through the gate and over to the little hut Mahdad had invaded. Her charity shone through as a young man responded to her gentle knock, placing the armful of smoked food into his arms.

“But it seems the mournflower wine was more potent than we thought, looks like we’ll have to tone it down next time. We wanted them dozing, not dead to the world.”

The leper gave a loud chuckle, causing Beocallum to wonder how a diseased man could be so jovial.

“I imagine so. As for meeting with Eonan, I think I’ll set up my home before I do. Do you mind showing me the quietest way to the river?” He picked the giant poles up again, hefting them over his shoulder with barely a bend in his back.

“Uh, Sure.” Beocallum was a little taken aback by the man; his illness seemed to have no effect on his strength or attitude, not what he had been told to expect from a leper. Something about the man seemed very familiar to Beocallum though, the way he spoke and stood called to some forgotten part of his memory.

Quickly banishing the strange thought, Beocallum smiled as his generous friend returned from the bereft little hut. Agnes nodded to him curtly and they set off into the cobblestone street, the sporadic huts thickening and closing around them until they were deep in the turmoil of the lower city.

Unlike the hill and it’s occupants, the lower city was packed with people living in close quarters. Even before the fall it had been a bit crowded, but now the people lived two or three families per home thanks to the wildermen taking almost all of the good housing.

“The city is the same but she feels different,” The tall man intoned, “everyone seems scared.”

“You’ve been here before?” Agnes asked, skipping a bit to catch up to the lanky man beside her.

“Aye” he said, “I used to live here before my sickness took hold. I left so my family would be spared it’s effects.”

Beocallum grimaced, wondering what that was like to watch your own body deteriorate before your eyes.

“Does it hurt?” Agnes said after a moment’s pause, Beocallum shaking his head at her brazenness.

“No, quite the opposite.” The tall man smiled, or at least Beocallum thought it looked like he was smiling, and tapped his cheek.

“The first sign is a complete lack of pain, I haven’t felt anything during my years with this disease.”

“You’re awfully upbeat for a man with an illness.” Agnes unashamedly continued, making Beocallum briefly wonder if she had been raised entirely by the sheep her family cared for. The man paid the offense no heed, continuing easily.

“No point in dwelling on it really, The disease will eventually claim me and that’s a concern of course. In the meantime there’s work to be done and people to meet.” He chuckled, straightening the bandages about his chin. “I’m Tagraich by the way.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’m Agnes.” She smiled at him, waving instead of shaking his hand. Agnes giggled and motioned to Beocallum in turn.

“I would introduce you two, but you already seem to know the mighty Hrokison.”

Beocallum smiled in response to her mocking tone, Agnes often liked using the many different things people called him as ammunition for her constant teasing.

“In reputation only lass; heard he’s doing a lot of good here in the city for the cause.” The tall man lowered his voice in mock conspiracy as they spoke, eliciting a chuckle from Agnes and a snort from Beocallum.

They grew silent a moment as they passed a group of wildermen standing on a street corner. The wildermen balked at Tagraich’s appearance, shifting uneasily and peering at him as they passed.

“Fionasdotter there has been fighting more than I of late.” Beocallum spoke up once they passed, leading them into one of the back alleys to avoid any more widlermen. “There’s still plenty of former hall-men in the resistance, even after Anesh drove most of the resistance away.”

“Anesh, the wilderguard captain?” Tagraich groggily whispered the question, eliciting a nod from Agnes as they continued down the grassy dirt-lined back alley.

“Aye, that’s him. Didn’;t drive everyone off though, even master smith Eoin has been keeping us in weapons and supplies whenever he can.”

“Fool’s going to get his family killed.” Agnes almost whispered to herself in response, Beocallum looking up sharply as she spoke. The hall-man knew she had been shocked to hear Eoin was a major part of the resistance, but had never figured out why she minded his involvement so much.

“Eoin's a tough lad; knew him when we went to the hall together.” Tagraich shook his head. “And that wife of his would skin anyone who got close to her children.” He paused a moment, shifting the poles on his arm.

“I miss visiting them, Maydah used to climb up on my back whenever I was there.”

They were quiet awhile, the only sounds the murmur of the street nearby and their footsteps on the grass.

“I’m Eoin’s aide now,” Agnes spoke up, “ May is close to eleven winters’ old.”

“Is she now?” Tagraich chuckled huskily, “Does she still sing that little song of hers?”

Agnes chuckled, shaking her head.

“She sings all the time, it’s a bit annoying really. Why don’t you come up to visit them today? I promised Eoin I would return right after we finished here.”

Tagraich paused, shaking his head sadly.

“No lass, I’m afraid they wouldn’t recognise me. I vanished as quickly as possible when my leprosy was discovered, telling only my family of my sickness. Better they think I perished somewhere in the wilds; it’s better that way.”

Agnes grimaced, finally showing a little regret for her words.

“I’m sorry.” She patted the cloak over his shoulder and this time Beocallum could tell the man was smiling for sure, his eyes sparkled.

“Thanks all the same lass, You’re a kind soul.”

“We’re here.”

Beocallum interrupted, leading them out of the end of the alley. The stone huts gave way to grass and loose earth as they approached the clear northern bank of the Jorgen, it’s dark waters shining merrily with the caress of the mid-morning sun.

Tagraich quickly went to work, trudging a good distance away from the closest stone hut before laying the heavy bundle from his shoulder to the ground.

Beocallum watched as the leper set up his tent, planting the six birch poles into the ground in a cone shape before draping a heavy fabric tarp over them. He then stepped into the hasty shelter, fastening to the fabric to the posts from the inside while Agnes and Beocallum patiently waited.

Beocallum noticed the leper’s gear on the ground, wandering over to investigate as Tagraich finished settling into his new home. There was a heavy satchel, looked like it contained some food and more bandages, but alongside that the leper had dropped another long fur-wrapped object that piqued the hall-man’s interest. Beocallum couldn’t really make out it’s shape through the thick fur but a glint of metal from the very end caught his eye.

“Is that a sword?” He raised an eyebrow at Tagraich as the leper untangled the tent flap from it’s mooring ropes.

“Aye boy, you have a sharp eye.” Tagraich stepped out of the entrance flap, hefting the giant weapon and his pack from the ground.

The fur-wrapped weapon was enormous, the very end of it nearly level with his eyes as Tagraich placed it point first on the ground.

The Leper quickly unwrapped the top quarter of the weapon, giving Beocallum and Agnes a brief glimpse at the wide steel crossguard that swept gently forwards away from the long handle and heavy pommel.

“They’ll kill you if they find that.” Beocallum tried to keep the lecture out of his tone as Tagraich pulled the fur back up around the sword handle, fastening the skins in place with a long leather strip.

“You’d be surprised what a little fear of disease can render invisible my friend.” Tagraich winked and pulled a brown bundle of something out from under his cloak, tying the tight knot of birch roots to the end of his fur-wrapped sword with a cord of leather.

“Clever,” Beocallum let a little smile creep onto his face, “the wildermen hate those things.”

“What are you talking about?” Agnes looked both confused and impressed at the same time.

“This is a vogulknot, the wildermen carry them if they’re diseased or ill.” The leper motioned to the little knot, giving it a swat with his hand. “They also wrap boughs of poplar in fur whenever there’s a pox upon a tribe or gathering, they think it pleases the wilder and keeps them safe from disease.” Tagraich gently waved the sword from side to side, the tight tangle of roots swinging at the end of it’s cord.

“So you carry a poplar staff wrapped in fur with a vogulknot. But it’s really your sword.” Agnes smiled mischievously, putting both of her hands behind her head.

“It makes sure they avoid me like, well: a disease.” Tagraich chuckled at the irony of it. “No wilderguard is going to touch anything I touch, which keeps my sword here safe.”

Agnes’ hands fell from behind her head, pointing at the sword as if she had just remembered something.

“That’s a greatsword!” She exclaimed, a look of awe in her eye.

“No my dear, It’s a healing stick with a vogulknot at the top, pay attention now.” Tagraich teased, laughing at the look of exasperation she shot him in return.

“Not an easy weapon to master.” Beocallum smiled at the leper, seriously impressed by the ruse.

“Aye Hrokison. Dagon taught me, as he did you.” Tagraich clutched the weapon about the middle, using it like a walking stick.

“I never really got a chance to master it, Dagon just made sure I could wield one before we left for Bearsgore.” Beocallum gave the blade a sidelong glance but the fur now obscured any hope of getting another glimpse at the impressive weapon.

“It’s served me well over the years.” Tagraich patted the end of the weapon gently and set about tying the door of his tent closed, another vogulknot making it’s way over the opening as a warning for anyone tempted to root about inside.

“You’ve both got to teach me sometime. Never thought I’d be friends with a pair of Oakenguard!” Agnes practically bounced alongside Tagraich as the three made their way back into the city, Beocallum taking the lead.

“Nay lass, the greatsword is a weapon for those who feel no pain. There’s little protection for one using the long blade and the axe is better for fighting in ranks.”

Agnes set her chin to a stubborn pout and Tagraich laughed, launching the two into a friendly argument about the weapons in a shield wall as they quietly made their way through the market.

Beocallum grimaced briefly as they chatted, wishing Agnes would stop referring to him as an Oakenguard. He had never actually become part of the guardians of the oaken throne; the fall had happened before Dagon had officially taken him in. To be reminded of that actually caused him a great deal of pain and shame, but he kept that from Agnes. She had enough to worry about as it were.

The conversation quietly petered off as they passed a patrol of wildermen, Agnes and Beocallum subtly raising their hoods to obscure their faces. They needn’t have bothered, the guards ignored them and turned their greedy attention to a shopkeeper as he unloaded his wares instead.

Beocallum noted to look of despair on the merchant’s face, grimacing as the Wildermen began to silently take the best of the man’s goods. Their spear points and axe blades glinting dangerously in the sunlight, making their stolen authority clear.

Since the death of his son, Captain Anesh had shown the highwallers the back of his gauntleted hand. Anyone who died, whether by wilderguard or not, Anesh had their remains tossed into the river for the current to take. No burials were allowed anymore, upon ain of death and the exhumation of the cadaver.

Those who managed anger Anesh were put on a mock trial before the town hall, a terrible public spectacle that was a mockery of any true justice. Afterwards they and the members of their families met a terrible fate on the banks of the Jorgen, the bodies carried downriver in shame.

After a month of watching entire households perish on the banks of the river, Beocallum noticed that the people of the city had lapsed into a terrified silence. The fear and anger that had prevaded through the city before now gave way to nothing but a cold acceptance and despair.

“It’s as if they’ve forgotten who friend or foe are.” Tagraich watched as a highwaller man fought a band of his kinsman over a loaf of balnoc.

“Aye.” Beocallum simply answered, sadly watching as the man fell and the bread was snatched up by one of his assailants.

The the wilderguard’s artificial famine had the people of Cagairn no longer looking after each other, hoarding food whenever they could. The welfare of Cagairn gave way to desperation as food became scarce and the boot of the wilderguard ground their noble natures into the dirt.

Beocallum shook his head and continued on, remembering those who were fortunate not to be in the city any longer. Eventually his mind strayed to Jorgen, remembering fondly the young man’s grin as he deftly caught the axe Beocallum had tossed to him when he last saw the heir to the Oaken Throne.

Now Jorgen was with Balcund, supposedly at the man’s secure hall somewhere out in the wilds. Beocallum didn’t even know where that was but Eonan assured them that Jorgen was safe there, though it was also told that he was not sound of mind since the news of Fayna’s death had reached him.

Master Gaelie, who had left for Balcund’s stronghold instead of returning to the city, had written Agnes not long ago detailing the youth’s sombre mood and constant night terrors.

Apparently without Fayna to calm him Jorgen was prone to fits of sudden anger and silence, confusing and concerning all who cared for him. Agnes had taken the news worst of all; despite her efforts on that night, the hall-man still blamed herself for Fayna’s death.

Beocallum took a moment to look at her, feeling his lips purse slightly as the tough crimson-haired woman animatedly chatted with Tagraich. She did not show it, but Beocallum knew Agnes was still hurting over their young friend’s death.

Soon the three reached a heavy crowd of people milling about, goods and meager wares placed on the ground and upon the doorways of the homes around them.

Those who used to sell their wares out in the wilds had filled and then burst the seams of the market, selling their goods among both the houses and the alleys of the lower city. Wildermen of course had followed, keeping an eye on them and snatching up the best wares for themselves.

Beocallum and Agnes disappeared into the crowd at the request of Tagraich, who warned against the appearance of familiarity with a leper. Agreeing to meet on the other side of the crowd the two hall-men chose a less populated alley and used it to escape the crush of bodies, peering as best they could over the heads of the gathered people to find the best route to the old boathouse.

The two could only watch in awe as the leper actually passed them, the crowd parting a ways ahead of him to admit the diseased warrior as he shuffled plaintively among them. His “staff” garnered very little attention from the higwallers but the wildermen took one look at his regalia and nearly leapt from his path.

True to the oakenguard’s prediction, this gave the man a clear berth at all times, one wilderguard even running between a couple of groups of his fellows to warn them. Word of a leper in the city would spread quickly, Beocallum knew the whole of Cagairn would know to avoid Tagraich by the time the sun fell below the horizon.

What a clever use of his affliction. He thought to himself, trying to politely push his way through some people gathered in the alley.

By the time Agnes and Beocallum had managed to sneak to the other side of the improvised market, Tagraich had found a comfortable box to sit upon and was smearing some sort of paste over his lips, which appeared deathly white from under his bandages.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” He jokingly teased, quickly putting the pot of paste back into the satchel at his hip. Beocallum noted his animal-skin tunic and trousers before the heavy traveler's cloak again obscured them, realizing that the leper must indeed live alone.

“Where to now?” Tagraich pulled the bandages over his mouth again, little flakes of something white falling from his hand as it moved.

“The Boathouse on the bank of the Jorgen, not a far pace from here.” Beocallum tried to keep the disgust from his face as he spoke, he was fairly certain that the flakes were the older man’s skin.

The three left, Beocallum and Agnes keeping a watch for wildermen as they made their way once again into the grassy spaces between huts and houses.

“Here we are.” Agnes motioned to the stone building, her feet squelching as the grassy ground became very muddy this close to the Jorgen. Tagriach whistled, taking a moment to admire the tall stone walls.

The building had been built to house a longboat during the cold season by some merchant from upstream. During the great thaw when the river swelled its banks often the water would be high enough to simply row the boat back out into the river, but that also meant the building had begun to sink into the muddy ground, the Jorgen beginning the slow process of claiming the stones for it’s own.

Due to that the Boathouse had been abandoned when it was discovered the stones would eventually surrender to the river, the walls and thick wooden doors at the southern end beginning to shift and break as it’s foundations sunk inescapably down into the ground.

Both the highwallers and the wildermen avoided the place, as it was deemed unsafe, but that had made it a perfect place for the resistance to gather supplies and organize their cause.

As Beocallum and Tagraich stepped through the door a pair of knife points appeared from the shadows, one pressing up against the hall-man’s throat while the other hovered menacingly over the tall lepers back.

“Three hells.” Beocallum cursed, his hands in the air.

“Aesahbuhd!” He shouted and screwed his eyes shut, wondering whether the steel at his throat was friendly or not.

“Tehrsahbuhd!” Beocallum sighed in relief as Eonan’s voice rang out over the abandoned storehouse, the blades disappearing back into the shadows with their wielders.

“What was that?” Tagraich had his hands up still, his blue eyes searching about them tersely.

“It’s from the ancient tounge,” Agnes walked in behind them, plopping herself down carelessly. “We use it to identify each other in circumstances where the call-signs aren’t really practical.”

Tagraich lowered his hands, Beocallum couldn’t tell for certain but he thought the tall man looked amused.

“Thrice damned Beocallum!” Eonan emerged from the dusty darkness to give the hall-man a swat upside the head. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

The building wasn’t exactly bustling with people but a fair number of the resistance was there inside, now all staring at the three intently. Beocallum could just make out around twenty people either hiding in the shadows or paused in the process making parcels of food.

The back half of the buildings’ floor gave way to mud and eventually water, so the majority of the people around them sat or worked upon the tall piers that formed a horseshoe shape in the center of the doomed building.

With a sharp wave by Eonan the people picked up the pace again, hurriedly stuffing food into oiled paper bundles and wrapping them up for families in need. A few others milled about, weapons held low in their hands, nervous eyes peering out of windows. The whole ordeal was taking place in a ominous aura of silence, a trademark of Eonan’s careful planning: everyone knew what to do well before they arrived.

“Thought I could get here before you did,” Beocallum rubbed his neck where the fine edge had pricked it, “avoid the welcome party.”

“We stepped up the haste of our work,” Eonan scratched his head, “the wildermen are increasing their patrols.”

The creedah warrior peered up at Tagraich, his bronze skin almost invisible in the shadows.

“Who in the three hells are you?”

“This is Tagraich,” Agnes piped up from her seat on a box nearby, “Balcund sent him with instructions.”

“Aye,” Tagraich inclined a bit at the waist, “ I am an Oakenguard, at your service.”

Eonan’s eyes rose in surprise, impressed.

“First of your kind we’ve seen here in the city since the fall, good to have you.” He adjusted his dark red tunic, shifting his weight as a mace rattled at his hip. “What’s the word from Balcund?”

Tagraich looked about him at the silently working highwallers, most of the protectors and the unburdened highwallers were peering at him curiously, a few whispering quietly.

“Is this all the resistance?” His voice sounded fearful.

“No, but gathering all of us is too dangerous.” Eonan countered, waving at the gawking highwallers again to get back to work. “I serve as the head of the resistance here in the city, you can tell me and I’ll make sure the word gets out with no mistakes.”

Tagraich nodded, motioning to a nearby crate with his hand while muttering a curt “Good” in hushed tones.

They wandered over, Agnes bringing over a few smaller boxes to sit upon as tagraich began to question Eonan eagerly.

“Can you tell me how many we have at our command? I also require a map of the city, do you have one?”

Eonan nodded, reaching into a satchel placed upon the old timber peer to retrieve a map of the city from within.

“We’re five score warriors and allies for now, but that's down from what we had before. The wildermen have started slaughtering the families of those of us they kill, which has led a great number of our warriors abandoning the cause to protect their loved ones.”

“Will they surrender us to the wildermen?” Tagraich brusquely responded, smoothing the map out onto the crate and placing his sword over one end of it.

“No, they will not, they are still loyal men of Cagairn.” Eonan unhooked his mace and placed it on the opposite end, stretching the map out between the two heavy steel weapons.

“Hopefully once we’ve begun our attack we can count on them to aid us again.” Tagraich muttered and studied the map intently a minute, seemingly oblivious to the eyes watching him for some sign of their instructions. After what seemed an eternity he spoke, not looking up from his study of the map below him.

“Balcund says the attack at the Athairwood could not have come at a better time, we would have asked for you to make a similar strike had you not already gone to rescue your friends.” He lapsed into silence again, leaning forwards to peer at the Oaken hall.

“Not everyone thinks so.” Eonans’ arms were crossed, obviously he was more used to Balcund contacting him directly without someone in the middle of it. “Several members of the moot have condemned the resistance for the actions taken by the wildermen since.”

“They were squabbling fools before the fall as well.” Tagraich made no effort to hide the contempt in his voice, “His Lordship Thall did much to keep them in line, Deamhan has no such talents.”

Upon the uttering of the traitor's name several members of the resistance spat, as was their custom in private.

“How charming, not that I disagree.” Tagraich looked about, the twinkle of mirth back in his eyes.

“Why was the attack a boon for us?” Eonan’s impatience was beginning to show, his foot tapped a quick staccato on the ground as he waited. Beocallum cleared his throat, hoping the Oakenguard was not offended by his friend’s impatience. Tagriach answered straight away, ignoring Eonan’s irritation.

“Balcund has been raising an army over the past four winters, he needed the wilds emptied in order to finally gather them in his hall. The wildermen withdrawal to the city provided the perfect opportunity.”

Tagraich pulled a small map from under his cloak, placing it just above the one stretched out before them. Beocallum saw that it was of Siothall, the lands surrounding Cagairn clearly defined in dry ink.

“Here.” Tagraich pointed to a mark on the map, causing Eonan to peer at it curiously. “It’s a force of about fifty score warriors, plus three archer warbands numbering six score bowmen.”

“Fifty score!” Eonan’s head shot up in surprise, everyone around him letting out similar little signs of shock. “Where on Athair’s green grass did Balcund find a thousand warriors?”

“They’re mostly scattered hall-men and Oakenguard but also people of the wilds who have had enough of the wildermen. Elven warriors from cagairn also rounded that number out considerably.” Tagraich responded, smoothing his little map out with his hands carefully.

“We love a good fight.” A voice drifted in from the roof and everyone looked up to see Romas perched by a hole in the clay tiles, obviously keeping watch of the city as they spoke below.

Romas blonde hair was braided in a traditional highwaller fashion, the warrior-strand long enough to drape over his shoulder rakishly. Beocallum felt a little pang of jealousy in his gut as the elves’ hair seemed to almost sparkle in the contrast of the sun to the dark recesses of the boathouse. The man was handsome to say the least, his pale grey eyes visible even through the gloom and Beocallum was reminded of a wolf stalking his prey.

His brother Reimas was there as well, lazily reading a scroll on the rafter beside the plucky elf. The lithe warriors were decked out in typical linen highwaller garb but like Agnes and Beocallum they both wore traveller's cloaks to help hide from the wilderguard.

“And danger too I see master elf.” Tagraich nodded to the two elves, his gaze returning to the map. Romas deftly dropped to the ground beside them, his brother tucking the scroll into his sleeve as he took up watch.

“For you lady.” The tall elf smiled and produced a tree lilly from behind his ear, handing the flower to Agnes. She blushed and accepted the pretty thing, giving a little embarrassed cough as Tagraich pointed again to the map.

“As I said we have an army and a decent amount of archers but it’s not enough to storm the walls, much less the keep.” He gestured to the map and sighed, rubbing his chin.

“The few tribes of wildermen out there cannot possibly monitor all of the wilder all of the time, so Balcund is fairly confident he can sneak his forces right up to the walls of the city.” Tagraich mused a moment more, pondering as the rest let his words sink in.

“They should strike the main gate on the northeastern wall.” Eonan leaned forwards, pointing to that space on the map. “It’s far enough away from the hill that the wildermen wouldn’t be able to reach the army with arrows. The eastern side’s trees would let us get closer without detection but the heavy forest wouldn’t allow any troops to form proper ranks or shield walls: we would be weakened more than the surprise could afford us. Not to mention it would make our archer’s ability to hit their targets on the wall next to impossible.”

“Aye, while the original plan was to have the resistance secure the eastern gate and move the army in from the forest but we don’t have the manpower do we?” Tagriach looked up at Eonan, who shook his head sadly.

“Not with all these reinforcements from the wilder. We will need the wilderguard distracted to do any real damage in the city.”

“Who are the archers?” Agnes piped up, raising an eyebrow. Highwaller archers were good, but didn’t form full dedicated warbands like what Tagraich had described.

“Allies from the west, wild men not of the wilder.” Tagraich answered, still staring at the map intently.

“The hunters? I thought they were wildermen.” Beocallum spoke up, his belief waning as the leper spoke.

“They live like the wildermen do, but do not worship the wilder. For that they haven’t been treated well by the other tribes since Anesh and Deamhan made their little pact, they are eager for a chance to end that.” Tagraich looked back to Eonan, tapping the town hall with his forefinger. “Do you know Anesh well?”

The hall-man nodded affirmative, his hand idly coming up to rub at his temple as they spoke. Eonan seemed now fully interested in what the Oakenguard had to say, his finger resting on places on the map as he spoke.

“Aye, I’ve come to know the man well. Anesh will muster his wilderguard in two places once the army is sighted, one along the walls of the lower city while his own personal men hole up in the keep to guard the Oaken Lord.” He paused, sucking the air in between his teeth while tapping the map with his finger. “He’s no coward though, you can bet he will be on the wall with his men.”

“Would he garrison anyone to guard the people of Cagairn?” Tagraich motioned to the houses and market of the lower city.

“Yes, anyone not considered his finest will be guarding the people and their women equally. Anesh will not be caught off-guard by us again, not after the Athairwood.”

Tagraich nodded, pointing to the walls and the market in turn.

“Then these are our targets. First we will form two forces, one to cause a major disturbance along their ranks in the lower city and get the attention of the garrisoned widlermen. Then the second will get whatever weapons we can to the people we will gather in the market. If Cagairn rallies properly we can catch the wildermen on two fronts, opening the doors to our army outside.”

Beocallum shook his head, biting at his lip anxiously. It was a risky plan, if anyone failed the wildermen would be able to simply wait out the army from the safety of the walls. The food stolen from the higwallers would keep the wilderguard fed for months, perhaps even a full winter season as well. And then after the dust had settled Anesh’s vengeance on the city would be swift and terrible.

“You’re forgetting something important,” Eonan motioned to the town hall again, “Lady Morag and her six score Feilkhu will be among them, bolstering their numbers. I do not know the Lady at all, she may sense our insurrection and bring her wolves to bear on us before we can rally.”

“Do not worry about the Feilkhu, Balcund has a plan to deal with them when the time comes.” Tagraich dismissively waved a hand, moving as if to continue his instructions.

“One cannot simply discount the Feilkhu,” Eonan looked incredulously at the tall leper, “have you even seen one yet?”

“I have traveled among them before.” Tagraich was terse, obviously not too used to back talk among warriors. Beocallum wondered if the Oakenguard had lost perspective due to his time in the wilds or his illness, his attitude was beginning to grate on the people around them.

“Then you know why I am wary of them.” Eonan shook his head, “I haven’t seen any in battle but I watched one end a brawl between six wilderguards by himself. They’re obviously seasoned warriors, more than capable of surprising even a mighty Oakenguard like you!”

Tagraich paused a moment in the shocked silence that followed, mulling over the map again. The deathly quiet reigned a moment as the people around them held their breath, it was not known for a Hall-man to speak to an Oakenguard with anything but respect. Undaunted, Eonan set his jaw firmly as the taller man took a deep breath.

“I apologize master Eonan.” When Tagraich spoke his tone was more subdued, breaking the tension gently. “I did not mean to dismiss you.” He sighed, rubbing his temples and causing a cascade of white flakes to drift slowly to the ground.

Again Beocallum tried to hide his disgust, noting how a few of the people about him backed up as the lepers skin fell from him. After another long moment of silence, Tagraich continued.

“Balcund has a plan for the Feilkhu but is hesitant to share it with any of us, for fear of word getting out to the wildermen before we arrive. He hasn’t even told me what it is and yet I still believe it will work.” He looked Eonan dead in the eye, neither flinching as a minor battle of wills took place.

“Have faith in your leader; he has not led us astray yet.” Tagraich leaned back, his hand resting on the rawhide belt at the hip.

Eonan was taken aback a moment, the dark look melting away from his face as he calmed. Beocallum shook his head slightly, he still thought it too much to take on faith, but the words had seemed to strike a chord with the older hall-man.

Eonan’s gaze met Beocallum’s eyes for a moment, a spark of trust passing between the two as Beocallum begrudgingly nodded to his friend.

“Aye, I can do that.” His tone more subdued and respectful, Eonan continued. “We learned from the battle at the Athairwood that the Wildermen panic when under ranged attack. As long as we have plenty of arrows, we can keep them pinned down in the lower city.”

He motioned to the buildings in the city with his forefinger, drawing a zigzagging line from the market to the wall. “The rooftops give us plenty of range to attack, the last time we used them the wildermen could not keep up.”

“That’s good.” Tagraich pointed to the city walls on the map, “you can harass their troops on the wall and pin down anyone garrisoned in the lower city.” He turned to Beocallum, pointing a bandaged finger directly at his chest.

“Balcund has requested that you take an active role in the battle, I want you to lead the second force.”

Beocallum was taken aback, the ground dropping out from below him as all the eyes in the boathouse turned to stare at the crippled hall-man. He swallowed hard, but instead of wavering or refusing Beocallum took a moment and nodded somberly, electing an approving look from both Tagraich and Eonan.

“I will not fail.” His voice was laden with a bravado Beocallum did not quite feel deep in his heart.

“See that you don’t,” Tagraich responded, “to see the son of Hroki fighting will do much to inspire the people.” He pointed to the market square on the map, his tone even.

“Your first task is to secure the market against the wildermen, make safe a place to rally. Then it will be your job to send out runners and gather all the people you can, let them know the hall-men have returned to free the city. Once you have gathered enough warriors to form a fighting force, my task will be to join you there with weapons to arm them.”

Beocallum nodded in the affirmative, a bead of cold sweat forming on his brow. Why would Balcund give him such an important role to play, surely there were better men than him to carry out such a task? As his fear built up inside of him, Beocallum looked down to his bad leg in shame, wishing against all odds he were whole again.

From nowhere a familiar blow to the arm came, jarring Beocallum from his dismay and self-pity. Agnes grinned at him impishly, her fist still raised.

“Don’t worry Hrokison, we’ll be there to make sure you don’t foul it up.”

Beocallum smiled at his friend, the courage returning in earnest as he laughed along with Agnes and the others. Romas threw his arm roughly around Beocallum’s shoulders, grinning widely at Tagraich.

“If anyone can get that done it’s these adventurers. Beocallum and the lot of us have fought in the market before, it will be no problem really.”

“Good to hear.” Tagraich nodded to the gung-ho elf, turning back to Eonan who was tapping the Oaken hall on the worn paper with his forefinger

“Once Anesh sees the lower city is lost he will abandon it, hole up in the keep. There’s a spring and plenty of food in there, they could hold out forever. The people would be safe, but the Oaken throne would still be Deamhan’s.”

“Once the army is within the walls we will have to be swift.” Tagraich continued through another round of spitting. “But we have a man inside the hall, he will make available a back route for our warriors to enter the keep.”

A little gasp sounded in the quiet boathouse, everyone inside was listening now, their progress on the food halted by their curiosity and excitement. Beocallum looked at Agnes, who simply shrugged.

“That’s new to me,” Eonan’s face reflected all of their surprise, “I didn’t know we had a member of the resistance that close to the Oaken throne.”

“It’s not exactly a member of the resistance, just someone interested in the Wildermen leaving Cagairn for good.” Tagraich shrugged, tapping the spot he indicated the army was gathered on his map. “Balcund says they were an ally of his even before the fall, you can assume someone like that is familiar with shady practices; moreso if they worked in the lee of the Oaken Throne.”

He returned to the map, tapping the front door of the Oaken Hall.

“We muster the army before the keep, forcing the wildermen to pay attention to us there. Once we have their focus a smaller force will sneak in the other way with our archer allies, laying waste to the wildermen across the keep. Once the doors are down we will seize the oaken throne and the traitor along with it.”

Eonan nodded, smiling through the hand on his chin.

“What do we do in the meantime, when will the army arrive?”

“Seven days time, during the songseason festival. For now we hoard away any weapons we can and prepare for the fight. Eonan,” He pointed to the creedah warrior, motioning around him. “You’ll need at least three score of your finest men and archers to harry the wildermen. The rest will go to Hrokison in securing the market.”

A few people murmured worriedly around them, Tagraich nodding in agreement of the unspoken doubt.

“Those are slim numbers I know,” He raised his voice a little to allow all in the warehouse to hear him, “but we hope the surprise attack from within the wall will disorient the wildermen. Blacund will be without the wall pressing his attack, which should keep the majority of their force occupied.”

Eonan nodded.

“If Anesh feels he can win in battle he may even leave the walls to face Balcund on the field, he’s been anxious to vent his fury ever since we slew his son.”

Tagraich looked surprised a moment, but bobbed his head in agreement before continuing.

“I will only need a few strong men to carry the arms, hopefully we can sneak them to the market without too much resistance. For security I can take care of any wildermen who look to stop us.”

Eonan shook his head and made to argue, but Agnes cut him off my pointing to the sword on the table.

“That’s a greatsword.” She intoned matter-of-factly.

“What, in the city?” Eonan’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he looked closer, smiling as realization dawned on him.

“Ah, a vogulknot: that’s very clever.” Eonan paused briefly before shrugging and nodding in agreement.

“As you say then, I'm sure an Oakenguard master of the greatsword can handle a few wildermen.” He stared a moment longer at the weapon on the table, as if he was looking at it with new eyes.

Tagraich chuckled, shaking his head at Agnes.

“Where can we gather weapons that will not garner suspicion?”

“Here should be fine.” Agnes piped up, motioning to the muddy building. “As you can see, we’ve been gathering here with relative ease for awhile now.”

“Too risky,” Beocallum shot his friend an apologetic look, “we start coming back and forth with heavy weapons and the wildermen are sure to notice the tracks. In fact; the pullcart trails have marked this place too much already.”

Eonan nodded in agreement.

“We can use old wood-cutter bags and place them in the lee of the wall that stops the Jorgen from overflowing, no one pays attention to them in the warming season anyways.”

Smiling at the satisfying irony of using his woodcutter alibi to smuggle weapons to highwallers, Beocallum nodded along with the rest as the final part of the plan came together.

“Athair smile on us, give us the strength to do this.” Eonan intoned, touching a knuckle to his head respectfully. Beocallum and the rest mirrored the move somberly.

“Athair keep us all,” Tagraich responded, “I need you all to remember everyone of you has a crucial part to place, so watch your step around the wilderguard. If you are captured or worse we will be all the weaker for it.” He raised his voice to include the rest of the resistance members in the building.

“Once the word is out among us we have to be extra careful, if the wildermen get wind of our plan they will surely find some way to stop us. Everyone needs to stay hidden, safe and above all silent.”

“Long live Cagairn.” Came the enthusiastic response from the members of the resistance, albeit in a very hushed tone. Beocallum recited the battle cry quietly along with the others, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I’ll keep these,” Tagraich rolled up the maps and put them in his pouch. “The wildermen will avoid anything I touch, they should be safe in my tent.”

Eonan nodded, motioning to the back of the building.

“Once the food is ready to leave I’ll take you to meet some more members of the resistance, you can personally deliver the plan to them. Agnes.” Eonan turned to Aggie, who abruptly ended her whispered conversation with Romas.

“Yes?” Her tone was curt but respectful, a sign of her hall-man upbringing.

“I need you to go to Eoin and let him know we need as many weapons and arrows as he can get ahold of. I think we have enough bows hidden about the city but I’m unsure about our stock of arrowheads. Beocallum, could you go with to make sure she’s safe?”

The tone was a request, Eonan was their commander but he always acted as if Beocallum were an equal, not a subordinate. Beocallum supposed it came from either the fact that he had been the mighty Dagon’s second or that his father had been the former hallmaster.

“Aye, I can.” Beocallum nodded to the older hall-man.

“Thank-you.” Eonan looked up to the rafters, “Reimas?”

“Aye?” The elf laconically responded.

“Get ahold of your elven friends outside the city, we’ll get as many as want to fight in here, hopefully it’ll bolster our numbers a bit. Make sure to warn them not to get caught.”

“Aye.” The quiet elf rolled from the rafter, landing alongside his brother with an almost bored expression. His eyes were a vibrant green unlike his twin brother but other than that only their personalities held them apart.

We have some other allies in the city, wildermen not loyal to the Throne.” Romas piped up, “we could ask them for aid as well.”

“Can we trust them?” Tagraich looked skeptical.

“These ones we can, I know who you’re talking about.” Eonan nodded at Romas evenly.

“Then I agree, even out in the wilder we’ve found wildermen willing to aid us.” Tagraich shook his head a bit, uncertainty crossing his features for a brief moment.

“We should get a move on.” Beocallum tapped Agnes on the arm, both of them bidding farewell to those at the table.

“Later I’m going to drop by and ask for some advice, I’ve a need to learn about that sword of yours.” Agnes pointed at Tagraich, eliciting another laugh from the tall man.

“It’s set then. Let us know what the blacksmith says Agnes.”

Agnes nodded, fetching a few of the parcels of prepared food and tucking them under her travelling cloak. Romas and Reimas also bid farewell of the group, leaving alongside Beocallum and Agnes into the bright mid morning light.

“My lady is most radiant today.” Romas winked at Agnes, pulling a tight leather cap over his ears. Beocallum felt a little pang of jealousy bite at his gut but he pushed it aside as the four comrades made their way quietly into the lower city.

“You flatter me elf, it will avail you nothing.” Agnes pulled her hood up, almost successfully hiding her bright red cheeks. Beocallum bumped her arm playfully, earning a friendly blow in response.

“As my lady wishes, I will desist.” The impish elf smiled, his strange accent gracefully sounding the words like oil over silk.

“You don’t have to do that either.” Agnes muttered in a voice only Beocallum picked up on, causing him to chuckle at her discomfort.

“I’ll go get Xerix.” Reimas looked to his brother with hooded eyes. “You should find that wilderman and stop bothering Aggie.”

Beocallum smiled at the laconic elf, waving farewell as Reimas raised his hood and vanished into the crowd while marvelling at how different the twins were from each other.

Romas was daring and roguish, whereas Reimas was withdrawn but given to short bouts of wise speech that people found quite profound.

“Mind if I come with you a bit farther, keep an eye on each other?” Romas spoke up, his tone was not pleading but it did carry a touch of urgency to it. Beocallum nodded affirmative, nowadays it was more normal for the resistance to keep an eye on each other for safety, not to mention that his company was not really ill-kept.

Beocallum had always liked Roma’s personality, right from the first day he had met the mischievous man on the long march home from Bearsgore. You’d never have known the elf had just lost a battle, animatedly quizzing with the highwallers about Cagairn as they marched him in chains back home. Finding out later that Romas had joined the resistance had not been surprising really.

Apparently the Argentum (which was what the elves called themselves) had been fleeing some sort of conquering force when they crossed into Siothall. Because of ignorance and the stark nature of the land they had set to raiding to survive, unknowing the events they had set in motion. After the Bearsgore victory the elves had actually elected to come and be captives of the highwallers rather than return south, much to the amazement of Beocallum and most of the other Hall-men.

After their return Xerix and the others had been tight-lipped about what was going on to the south of the great expanse but Beocallum had managed to glean from the elves that they had been fleeing something called “the Empire.” Apparently their foes were also Argentum, but dogmatically hells-bent on bringing all in the land under their heel.

A short while after Romas had joined the resistance Beocallum had joked that he would love to see the empire invade, just to watch the wildermen experience that brand of terror for themselves.

In response Reimas had broken from his characteristic silence to rebuke him sternly, saying that at least wildermen it was possible to shake the yoke and resist. With the Empire their culture would be eliminated and their society molded to fit the needs of the Emperor, all other religion and traditions be damned.

Shivering at the thought, Beocallum looked to his friend again and felt like he understood a bit better why Romas and his kin now fought at their side for Cagairn’s freedom, seeing as it was probably the last home they had left.

“I know we whet our blades at the Athairwood but I’m looking forwards to the battle.” Romas lilted quietly in his strange accent, shooting Agnes a roguish grin.

“Aye.” Agnes grinned back at the elf, her hand straying briefly to the rump of her trousers. “It’ll be a relief to finally come from the shadows, stand up for the city regardless of how we fare.”

Beocallum shook his head at the two, casting an eye about the street for wildermen. Both held such a romantic view of perishing in battle, but Beocallum was of the mind that a dead warrior was no good to anyone, least of all Cagairn.

Beocallum spotted a few guards as they carefully made their way through the crowded streets but they were mostly ignoring them. An unexpected boon from the tightening of Anesh’s fist had been the gradual the complacency of the wilderguard in response to the broken spirit of Cagairn’s people. The Resistance, despite being greatly diminished, had little trouble sneaking about the city still.

“Do you not agree Hrokison?” Romas tilted his head at the former hall-man, a half-smile on his lips.

“I worry.” Beocallum simply responded, eliciting a chuckle from Agnes.

“It’s what he does best.” She flatly responded.

“I’m concerned for the city once the fighting breaks out: There’s a chance Anesh will destroy Cagairn at the first sight of the army.” Beocallum lowered his voice, drawing close to the elf as they walked. “We’re counting on the man trying to hold his ground instead of simply burning everything around him.” Beocallum softly intoned, limping a bit more theatrically as they passed a pair of armed wildermen. Romas kept his eyes down, their vibrant pale hue the only elven part of himself he could not hide.

“He wouldn’t dare.” Agnes hissed after they had passed, pulling one corner of her hood forwards. “Deamhan may be a traitor and a fool, but he’d be the Lord of nothing if his captain burnt the city to the ground.”

“The wildermen revere him as a Lord still, despite what he’s done. To them he’s a hero who gave them this life of conquest and victory.” Beocallum countered softly. “He may content himself to be the Lord of the wildermen.”

“We will have to hope Anesh’s pride will rule the day.” Romas chimed in, “If he deigns to hold his prize we will have won the first battle towards victory.”

Beocallum nodded, agreeing that his worry was more than a little unfounded. More than likely Anesh would feel that his five thousand could hold against whatever was thrown at him, but a little pit of worry still dug at his heart all the same.

“As long as no one thinks I'm going to start running along the rooftops with a bow, I’m fine.” Agnes said, prompting Romas to peer at her quizzically.

“And why is that?”

“Agne’s couldn’t hit the highwall from two yaern away with a bow.” Beocallum chuckled, taking his turn to whack Agnes jovially on the arm.

“I’m not that bad.” Agnes groaned, “Alright, well maybe I am. But a warrior doesn’t need to be good at everything to be a good warrior.”.

“At least you can throw an axe.” Romas countered, winking at Agnes. “You even taught me pretty well.”

They continued on towards the warrior-hall, pausing only long enough to allow Agnes time to drop her bundle of food parcels in an old barrel she had placed in an alley. Agnes tied the lid down with a complicated knot to prevent anyone from just happening upon the food by accident and rejoined them in the street. No one had stopped them so far but nearer the hall and the market it would be difficult to sneak the food past marauding wilderguards, even under her cloak.

Finally they neared the hall, Agnes taking off into it after assuring her friends she would be back shortly. Romas looked about a moment, nodding to himself as he studied the street carefully.

“It’s the lee of the morn, do you think Burte will pass by soon?”

“Aye.” Beocallum replied simply, watching as the elf went and sat himself down on the low stone wall about the warrior home. Once the man was settled on the wall looking out over the crowd, he pulled a long white feather from his pouch and tucked it into the crook of his hat.

Noting that as a trademark piece of Eonan’s particular brand of spycraft, Beocallum crossed to the opposite side of the street, keeping an eye on the people walking by from the shadow of a stone hut. The shade helped hide his form and Beocallum used that to keep a lookout for Romas from relative secrecy.

If Burte passed and saw the feather in Romas’ cap he would take note and continue on, meeting the elf in secret some time when it was safe. To signal the place to meet the wilderman would drop a signal object of his own at the base of the wall where Romas sat.

Beocallum mused about Burte a moment, wondering how wilderman cruelty could inspire such loyalty from some while such hatred from others.

Burte was as opposed to the rule of the Oaken Lord as was any Highwaller, disgusted that his own people had become so vile now that they were in possession of the city. He had even mentioned once to Beocallum that he now understood why the ancient Siothall men had chased his forebearers from the land into the wilder, despite having been raised on stories of highwaller treachery.

Burte had been true to his word on the day of the Athairwood battle, keeping the men and women of the Athairhall safe at the watchtower until the morn. Then he had gone to see Eonan alone, risking his life to contact the resistance on the behalf of his charges. After they had fled the people from the city Burte had agreed to work with Eonan, returning to his wilderguard post to glean what information he could for the resistance.

Eonan had taken some time to warm up to Burte but eventually the wilderman’s surprising talent for spycraft had won the hall-man over. It was thanks to him that the resistance knew so much about Anesh and his men, and the code of dropped items had been Burte’s invention.

Agnes returned a moment later, pausing abruptly as she noticed Romas and his feathered cap. Crossing the street as if she didn’t know the elf at all, Agnes came and joined Beocallum in the shadows.

“Here?” She asked, idly scratching her nose.

“Burte will be by shortly, the wilderguard love to come and leer at the hall before noon.” Beocallum calmly responded, still looking about the street as highwallers and wildermen alike shuffled past the impressive old hall.

“How’s Gertrude?” Beocallum asked, eliciting a smile from Agnes. He had long ago been introduced to Agnes' friends at the old hall and he knew she had been sneaking them food since her return to the city.

“Good, her boys are doing fine thanks to the food we’ve been getting them. Some of the others aren’t so lucky but everyone’s sharing as best they can.”

Beocallum nodded, impressed that the charity of the hall had not faltered like that of the rest of the city.

“I told her where to find the food,” Agnes continued, using their hushed conversation as an excuse to put her back to the people in the street and hide her face. “She’ll pick it up as quickly as she can, and agreed to drop off some weapons there for the resistance.”

“Did you tell her about the attack?” Beocallum asked sharply, glancing about the street.

“No, all she knows is that we need arrows and weapons, nothing else. Fargut was there too but I said nothing to him.”

Beocallum kept his silence, instead nodding at Agnes.

Before long a patrol of the wilderguard shuffled past, their spears and axes held nonchalantly over their shoulders like a group of hunters surveying a fresh kill. Occasionally one or two would break off to leer at some highwaller or investigate something suspicious but the group of twenty or so wildermen still made it’s way slowly down the street.

Romas kept his eyes locked on the ground in front of him, not moving a muscle as the throng of fur cloaks and horns made it’s way past him. Beocallum lost sight of the elf as the wilderguard passed but he did not fret, the lithe elf was a swift as he was disciplined.

Beocallum passed the tense moments by idly wondering what the man had done before Bearsgore; Romas’ ability and skill betrayed a warrior’s training but his attitude was more like a scoundrel or rogue.

Once the patrolling men had disappeared around a bend in the street Romas dropped deftly down onto the street and walked over to the two highwallers, a white-painted pebble in his hand.

“Looks like I’m headed off to the watchtower, I’ll walk with you until we reach Eoin.”

“I didn’t see Burte.” Beocallum’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Wasn’t him.” Romas continued as the three set off up the hill, climbing towards the summit. “He’s been gathering other wildermen to our cause. Don't worry,” He held his hand up to cut off Beocallum as the hall-man opened his mouth to speak, “he hasn’t told any of them about the resistance. He says all they know is that he’s planning against his sister’s former husband and some of the highwallers are in on his scheme.”

Beocallum chuckled, shaking his head again in surprise how easily the wilderman had taken to this shadowy world. Perhaps Balcund could take the man on after the battle in whatever criminal activity the revolutionary had enjoyed before the fall.

“Who is that?” Agnes piped up from behind, her tone dangerously even.

“His sister's former husband?” Romas paused as Agnes nodded. “He’s another mid-level wilderman by the name of Bagrun, used to serve under Thale but took over his work when you ended his predecessor.”

“I wish Burte luck, Alane suffered a lot at his hands.” Agnes answered grimly.

“I’m sure he will enact the same amount of retribution he visited on that wilderguard at the Athairhome,” Beocallum put a comforting hand on Agnes’ shoulder, “but for now we should just be grateful of the man’s help.”

He looked to Romas with a small smile, a pleasant incredulity in his voice.

“Who knows? Maybe the warriors we need will come from the wildermen’s own ranks.”

Romas chuckled, nodding in agreement as they started the climb up the hill.

As they scaled upwards they lapsed into silence, none of them were slothful but the climb was still ponderous and they conserved their strength for walking and avoiding wildermen.

Perhaps it was not as destitute as the lower city but the upper city was quite subdued nonetheless. Most people either kept to their own in an attempt to avert attention or outright hid as the wilderguard patrols continued to pass. Most of the Feilkhu had been stationed to the walls but now and again one could be found walking alongside wilderguard patrols, bedecked in fur cloaks and antlered pauldrons.

Beocallum peered from the corner of his eye at one such wolf as she watched them pass, a bow nearly as tall as he was nestled over her shoulder. He tried his best to act nonchalant but the wolf’s gaze was unnerving.

Soon they stood at the entrance of the blacksmith shop, The normally quiet building alive with what sounded like children laughing. Romas turned to Agnes, taking her hand gently in his own.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow; till we next meet milady.” He gave the hand a little kiss and winked, turning and briskly making his way up the hill.

“Careful,” Beocallum laughed as Agnes turned a deep shade of red under her hood, “you’re likely to catch aflame if he charms you further.”

Rewarded for his jibe with a forceful punch to the arm, Beocallum continued to laugh as he clasped his limb in pain, Agnes sulkily snorting at him and briskly striding over to the blacksmith's door.

Despite his jibe, a little pang of jealousy again wormed its’ way through Beocallum’s gut as they stepped into the darkness of the store. This time it was not having any of his banishment, persisting well after they entered the shop and lowered their hoods.

He knew it was beyond his place to tell the elf to stop with his flirting, but the more Agnes looked like she enjoyed it the more he felt like telling the elf to jump off the summit. Shaking his head of the useless thoughts, Beocallum squinted as his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the shop.

Khalsidhe was there at one of the tables, struggling to change the cloot on her youngest girl as the other three raced about noisily. The former hall-men touched their knuckles to their heads in respect as the beautiful woman looked up from her dirty work.

“Can I have a moment of your time Agnes? Please fetch that Hellion.” she pointed a offal-covered hand at one of the children, who was running around without her clothes on. Agnes missed the opportunity to catch her but Beocallum stepped deftly into the child’s path, leaning low to peer into her face.

“Who is this here?” His tone was quiet and friendly but Beocallum knew he had no skill with children, who often found him frightening. The ploy worked as the little scamp grew immediately quiet and hid behind Agnes' legs.

“What’s this then?” Agnes picked the little girl up, “a naked child! How embarrassing!”

The little girl shrieked in laughter, a piercing sound that made every one of the gathered highwallers wince. Agnes helped Khalsidhe with the naked hellion as Beocallum cornered the other two, his mere presence unsettling enough to calm them from their rambunctious actions. Beocallum wasn’t really offended by their reaction, it was better than how people in the market often told their khids to steer clear of ‘Hund’ or outright throw things at him.

“We’re here to speak with Eoin.” Agnes said as the older woman wrestled a clean cloot onto her child, plunking the little girl down on the ground in front of a straw doll.

Khalsidhe nodded, wiping her hands on a rag from her pouch, quickly drawing up the soiled cloth cloot in it before tossing both out into the space behind the store.

“Been in the forge since you left Aggie, finished some work for the Lord and he’s now working on some blades for the resistance.” Khalsidhe walked over to a clay pot of water on the floor and cleaned her hands into it, tossing the soiled water out the back door when she finished. She turned her dark gaze on Beocallum, her lips a terse line.

“Get them out of my shop quickly Hund; I’m ill at ease when your weapons linger here.”

Beocallum nodded respectfully, earning a rather icy look of appreciation from the elegant woman, Khalsidhe motioning the two hall-men out the back door after ordering her children to take their cloaks.

Khalsidhe might have been a friend of Agnes’ but Beocallum had never received more than a cool civility from her. He really could not bring himself to fault the beautiful woman for it though, he had brought her family into danger when he recruited Eoin to the resistance winters ago. Still, Beocallum had seen Agnes’ lips thin angrily when Khalsidhe called him “Hund,” despite the young woman’s respect for her mistress.

The land between the shop and the forge was exposed to the street so Agnes and Beocallum made haste as they crossed the short open space. Already Beocallum could hear the song of metal on metal as it reverberated through the air, sending shivers down his spine as it always had since the battle of Bearsgore. Stepping into the heat of the forge, Agnes and Beocallum were greeted by a happy shout from the master blacksmith.

“Aggie, Beocallum!” Eoin put down his hammer and came over, his leather apron stuck to his chest with sweat. The slow boy Caelan was there as well, still holding the glowing metal perfectly still in a pair of tongs until Eoin patted his shoulder.

“Let it rest Caelan,” Eoin rolled his eyes as the nearly-blind youth peered at them, “head over to the shop a moment while I speak with Aggie.”

“It’s just because you like her more.” Caelan sulked in his strange flat tones and handed the tongs to his master, peering at them a moment with his oddly pinched eyes that never really pointed in the same direction.

Agnes pulled her fellow aide into a big hug and gave him a little peck on the forehead in response to his scrutiny.

“That’s not true! He likes us both Caelan; we do all his work.” The young man’s face split open in a snaggle-toothed grin as she continued. “Plus, you’re always my favorite.”

He barked an uncomfortably loud laugh, whispering back to Aggie in a tone everyone in the forge could hear.

“It’s ok, my arms are tired anyways. Maybe there’s a pie for me in the shop!”

The simple man released aggie from her hug and waved at Beocallum with a brief “hi!” before pulling the door aside and stepping out into the morning air.

Beocallum knew that Caelan was actually older than both he and Agnes but his affliction kept his demeanor at that of a child. As he grew though it was known that he had the steadiest hands in the city, leading Eoin to take him in as an aide and silversmith long before the fall. Agnes often told Beocallum that Caelan had the keenest eye for detail and his finishing work was the finest in Siothall, despite his near-blindness.

Beocallum turned back towards the forge, watching Eoin reach about the cluttered forge with a mess of smithwork and metal scale covering the floor around him.

Some fellow blacksmiths and members of the moot questioned Eoin’s loyalty to Cagairn for still providing service to the Oaken throne, but Beocallum knew the master smith did it all to create a perfect disguise. No one would suspect the best weaponsmith for the widlerguard to be secretly working himself to death to undermine the very warriors he outfitted.

His forge however, bore all of the signs of the overuse. Metal blades and work sat everywhere on the ground, carefully stepped around by the master blacksmith and the two hall-men as they rounded the forge. The clay shelf for holding metal as it cooled was already almost full of axe heads, the new symbol for the Oaken Throne forged into the side of the metal. Chicken bones and wooden plates gathered in a far corner of the dark room, indicating at least five meals eaten in the forge without rest.

Eoin turned from the glowing behemoth of stone and ember, grimacing as he picked up a blade from the mass of metal below them and held it up for their inspection. To Beocallum It looked like a simple sword, straight with two edges, but the metal was almost fatally twisted with the core leaning heavily back and to the left.

“I just want to fix these blades for the Resistance tonight, the steel’s warping and cracking more often now because I’m quenching them in water instead of oil.” Agnes sucked air in through her teeth and Eoin nodded in response, placing the warped steel back into the glowing coals.

“I know,” he answered grimly, “it was mostly for the speed and cost of it in the beginning but now it’s starting to affect the work.” He picked up a couple more twisted blades, tossing them back into the forge beside the other, stoking the flames with his free hand as he chatted with the hall-men.

“Small defects make them easier to smuggle to you, the wildermen think I’m just throwing away ruined weapons.” Eoin held the twisted blade up into the light as it changed colour to cherry red, his lips a thin line of bitter disappointment. “But now my speed is working against me, ruining my blades before I can get them out to the resistance.”

Agnes nodded, pulling another of the short blades from the floor and inspecting it. This one was true, the two edges lining up perfectly with the core as she cast her eye along its’ profile.

“Unfortunately speed is going to be our only ally from here on out.” Beocallum sighed, looking over the anvil and the metal scale that sat smoldering on the floor. “We need to gather as many arrows and weapons as we can in the next week.”

“Oh?” Eoin tossed the warped blade back into the fire, pulling a second pair of tongs out from his apron belt as he stoked the embers hotter. Beocallum felt sweat begin to break out on his forehead as the temperature grew in the forge, Agnes shooting him a look of glib superiority as she weathered the heat without issue.

“Balcund has gathered an army.” Beocallum began, watching as Eoin’s head snapped up in surprise. He relaid all that had passed that morning, finishing up with what Tagraich wanted from everyone. He only omitted only the part where Tagraich said he knew Eoin, out of respect for the Oakenguard’s wishes.

Agnes had begun to balance the sword blade in her hands, trying to find a point where the two ends of the metal stayed steady on the end of her finger.

“My place will be with the leper.” Eoin rumbled as he pulled the blade back out of the forge, twisting with his tongs to straighten the metal. “I’m strong enough to carry a full bundle of weapons, two if I don’t have to worry about defending myself.”

“I’m not sure what he has planned for you, but we will need all the help we can get.” Beocallum countered quietly.

“Good, I’m done with all this sneaking around.” Eoin grimaced as the metal began to cool, placing the sword back into the coals. “Plus all of this extra work for both you and the wildermen is exhausting me. I’ll need at least a week of rest once this is all over.”

Agnes barked a laugh, nodding in agreement as she whipped the sword carefully about, feeling it’s balance.

“I’ve a bundle of arrows out by the kiln.” Eoin motioned to the door, “you can take those down to the boathouse right away. Later I can get two more bundles down to Eonan along with these blades. Anything more and I’d risk alerting the wilderguard who come to the store.”

He paused a moment, peering out the small window in the door as the sounds of laughter trickled in through it over the constant heartbeat of the bellows.

“The arrows will fly true for sure, Caelan fit and fletched them.”

“Aye, that’s enough for me.” Beocallum nodded somberly, glancing out into the open grass between the forge and the shop where the happy half-wit was playing loudly with Eoin’s girls. Even though he was not of their blood, Beocallum could tell they were family and it brought a little smile to his face.

“You want me to get the hot cut?” Agnes began pulling off her tunic, gesturing with her chin to the blades at their feet.

Beocallum’s face immediately felt uncomfortably warm and he spun on his heel away from Agnes, nervously inspecting one of the blades he had hurriedly picked up from the ground.

Eoin shook his head, staying Agnes’ hands with a gesture.

“No, these blades are almost finished, we just need to get the scale off and edge them before we get them to Eonan; you know I never really do any finishing work for the resistance anyways.”

He shot Beocallum a disapproving look and the hall-man felt momentarily ashamed while Agnes pulled her tunic back down over her undershirt, confusion written on her face.

“But, the tang’s too long.” She picked the blade up again and gestured to the long dull part extending from the base of it. Beocallum peered at the metal in his own hands and was forced to agree, the part of the sword that usually sat inside the handle extended well beyond what was needed; nearly an equal length of the blade itself.

“Not for this type of weapon.” Eoin smiled and took the blade from her hands delicately, motioning to the long handle with a smile on his face. “This is a weapon that I designed some years ago when I lived in Muirkirk.”

“They’re greatspears.” Recognition dawned on Beocallum as Eoin spoke, the young man raising the blade to peer at it better in the light from the door.

“That’s right Beocallum, I imagine Dagon or your father told you about these.” He held up the blade, motioning to a collection of ash poles in the corner of his forge. “You see Aggie, they’ll be mounted onto those. The tang is long to stop the head of the pole from breaking off in the swing or backswing. Usually there’s a crossguard to stop blades sliding down the pole, but with both you and the wilderguard making orders I’m running low on metal.”

Beocallum quickly made his way over to the poles, handing the blade in his hands to Agnes before picking one of the stout lengths of wood to test the balance of it. The pole was about 3 yaern long, meaning that with the blade on the end the whole weapon would be just slightly taller than himself.

“It’s like a mixture of a spear and and sword. Never actually seen one before.” He responded, replacing the pole to its pile while Eoin nodded.

“We designed them with the aid of the Oakenguard back when the wildermen were harrowing my old city by night. Good Allfather, I believe that was before both of you were born.”

Shaking his head sadly, Eoin placed the finished blade down carefully on his anvil, pulling the warped blade out again from the coals. Firmly he twisted it with the iron tongs, pushing the protesting metal back into shape.

“Originally we used staves but when the Oakenguard arrived we decided to step up our defense to impress our new allies. A friend of mine from the Oakenguard suggested putting a sword on the end of a staff, almost in jest. But after a bit of thought he and I got to work and my greatspear was born.”

The master blacksmith paused, nodding as the edges began to fully line up in the rebellious little blade before him. Again the metal plunged into the coals for one final work, the axe-head he had been forming before almost forgotten as he coaxed the spear-blade back to temperature.

“These became famous in the north, I can’t believe you created them.” Beocallum felt a little flicker of admiration for the blacksmith as Agnes peered down the small fuller in the center of the blade in her hands with a critical eye.

“Not me alone.” Eoin responded, “like I said, it was both me and my friend in the Oakenguard.” Eoin paused in his bellows-pumping to stare off into nowhere for a moment, an absent smile of nostalgia on his lips.

“Now there was a fighter if there ever was one. I tell you, if that man had survived to see today the wildermen would be shaking in their boots.” Eoin sadly took the glowing blade from the forge one last time, finally making it perfectly straight as Agnes and Beocallum shared a knowing look.

“I’m certain we’ll see some of my kin from Muirkirk in three days time though,” Eoin placed the blade carefully on his little clay shelf, finally picking the poor axe-head from the forge to rest it gingerly on the floor out of his way. “The men of Muirkirk never forget a debt, especially one they owe a friend.”

“They’re not highwallers though.” Beocallum raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“The city doesn’t possess all the honour of the north Hrokison, Muirkirk may not swear fealty but they’ll come to our aid, hopefully Balcund has had the presence of mind to ask.” Eoin gave him another disapproving little look and picked up one of the other warped blades, looking it over in the forgelight before thrusting the blade deep under the smoldering coals.

“You should take the arrows to Eonan now. Caelan and I can finish these blades before nightfall at least. Then we’ll bring those two extra bundles of arrows down to Eonan’s safehouse, should have a resistance member or two there.”

“We can finish faster if I stay and help. Get these wilderman axes done tonight as well.” Agnes placed the blade she had been inspecting down on the clay shelf beside its’ rapidly cooling sibling but Eoin shook his head at her.

“If we truly only have seven days time till the fight we will need to get everyone ready. I understand Eonan and Balcunds’ need for secrecy but the people down at the hall need to know what’s going on. Perhaps we can get some of the braver highwallers prepared for the attack, get them already in the market before the fighting breaks out.”

Agnes made to argue again, but Eoin held up the dark red-glowing blade to cut her off.

“Consider it a request of your master blacksmith,” he jerked his head to the door again, “get those arrows to Eonan as soon as you can, then head to the hall and tell at least Gertrude about the attack. She’s got a head more sense than Eonan makes her out to be.”

Agnes nodded in response to Eoin’s words, an approving look crossing her features.

“Thank-you Eoin.” He piped up, “We’ll take the arrows right away. We’ll make sure Eonan knows you’re coming, spare you the sharp welcome.”

Eoin chuckled, nodding his thanks as he gently pumped the forge to a low heat. The “sharp” welcome was a bit of a joke among the members of the resistance, as it seemed more effective at scaring other members of the resistance than protecting them.

Despite that, more than once a wilderman had perished before he had known what he was looking at after stumbling into the wrong hut or back alley.

“Athair keep you.” Eoin intoned, waving them out the door as he carefully brought the twisted blade up in heat until it was a cherry red colour. Beocallum and Agnes returned the blessing, ducking quickly out the low forge door and into the light.

Calean, who was sitting on the ground with the three older children, gave an exaggerated sigh and stood; trudging over to the forge sadly.

Agnes gave the child-like man another brief hug as Beocallum made his way over to the squat clay kiln Eoin had built beside his forge. Picking up the fur-wrapped bundle of arrows Beocallum followed Agnes back inside the shop, where Khalsidhe greeted them with an icy disapproving look.

“The blades aren’t done mum,” Agnes spoke up, an apologetic look on her face. “Eoin’s going to take them to Eonan tonight though. You should speak to him before he does, something important is going to happen soon.”

Khalsidhe’s look of indignation immediately changed to alarm, the beautiful woman nodding curtly to her husband’s aide before ushering them out of the shop, closing the wooden doors and windows behind them.

“She may be angry now,” Agnes muttered as they began their descent, “but she and a lot of others will be changing their songs when the city is free.” Agnes gave Beocallum another apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“Her disapproval doesn’t bother me that much.” Beocallum countered, keeping the arrows under his arm, as if on his way to deliver them somewhere. Wildermen wouldn’t particularly care about them without a bow in his hand. He began his theatrical limp again, nodding respectfully to a wilderguard as they passed him.

“Back when all this started I acted the way I did so I could be invisible to the wildermen. No one would expect a crippled boot-licker to be a major part of the resistance now would they? But even back then I knew that it would mean my fellow Highwallers would hate me and I made that choice willingly.” He paused, easing up on his limp a bit to make her feel better. “I never joined the resistance for praise.”

“It’s still not right.” Agnes grimaced, “even the people who know what you’re doing treat you unfairly, I don’t much care for it.” Her fists were balled, a sign that all of her frustrations were beginning to mount.

“My father often told me that glory should be the last thing on a warrior’s mind.”

“This isn’t about glory!” Agnes nearly shouted, glancing about nervously as she continued in a more subdued tone. “It’s about common decency! You’ve been risking your life longer than I have and yet even your friends in the resistance give me more respect than you. It’s not just, It’s not fair and I think you should be angrier about it.”

Beocallum walked in silence a moment, gathering his thoughts. Agnes was right, even Eonan would send him pitying looks on days Beocallum’s leg hurt more than he could conceal and others often refused to go on task with him because they worried he would fall behind.

“Honour is in service.” Beocallum responded, reciting the hall-man’s oath. “Glory is in the freedom we preserve.”

“Athair remember our names forever more.” Agnes, a bit sheepishly, finished the oath.

“Our honour will come, whatever sacrifices we make here will all be worth it once the city is free again.” Beocallum turned and smiled, stopping with her in the street for just a moment. “The friends who truly matter always seem to stay by my side, I’m sure I can count on them to be there when I need them.” Agnes smiled and nodded, tapping her chest in a subtle warrior’s salute.

“Till the end Beocallum.”

Beocallum smiled back as they stood a moment in silence, the air thick with words unsaid. Eventually Agnes turned and started back down the hill, shaking her head as she made her way back down the hill.

“You have a quiet skill with words Beocallum, you should have been a priest.”

Beocallum chuckled, following her down the cobblestone road towards the old hall. As they approached the domed building he handed Agnes the bundle of arrows, motioning to the alley where she had stored the food for her friends briefly.

“If Fargut was there when you asked for weapons, that means there’s probably a few there already. Wait here with these and I’ll go see if there’s something we can sneak to Eonan. Whistle if there’s trouble.”

Agnes nodded, leaning up against a stone hut with the bundle of arrows nonchalantly slung under her arm.

Beocallum took a moment to make sure no one was watching him and ducked into the grassy alley, quickly making his way around the round stone building beside him with a careful ease. The barrel sat not far ahead of him, the marks on the ground indicating it had been moved recently.

“Good.” Beocallum whispered to himself as he neared the wooden container, reaching out with nimble fingers as he began to undo the complicated knot keeping the lid secure.

After a full minute of pulling and tugging he jekred the last piece of twine free, lifting the heavy wooden lid to gaze inside. Disappointment bit at his gut as an empty barrel greeted him but Beocallum simply shrugged and lowered the lid, picking up the twine to re-secure it.

“Are you looking for these?”

Beocallum’s heart caught in his throat as the wilderguard stepped out from between the two buildings to his right, an axe balanced in the one hand with a shield in the other. The Hall-man’s hands flew to the dirk strapped to his leg, but a spearpoint from the other direction pressed gently against his neck, making him freeze.

“Looks like they were right.” A voice that made Beocallum’s skin crawl rang out over the alley, prompting him to look back from where he had come.

Mahdad stood there, glee stretched out over his piggy features. Beside him was Agnes, a dirk held to her throat by another wilderguard.

“One of your fellow highwallers sold you out hall-man; told us the resistance was hoarding weapons here.” The fat letcher laughed, pulling the cloak off of Agnes' shoulders are she yelled and cursed at him. “Good thing I recognised Agnes or we wouldn’t have caught you both.” “You get your hands off of her!”

Beocallum started forwards but the spearbutt of the wilderguard behind him cracked viciously down on the back his head, blurring his vision and draining the strength from his knees. He collapsed in a heap, Agnes’ shout of concern sounding like the far-off bleating of a sheep through the thick curtains that drew themselves across his mind.

Through blurry eyes Beocallum watched as several more wilderguards, including Mahdad’s partners-in-crime, shuffled into the alleyway. Two pairs of rough hands dragged him up, ripping the hood from his head.

“You’re joking, it’s the cripple?” Seamics’ exclamation came from somewhere in the blurry fog around Beocallum, who struggled against the murky feeling in his head to focus.

“And why not? He is Hroki’s son.” Mahdad grinned, leaning close to Beocallums face as Agnes struggled against the wilderguard holding her.

“Looks like you rang his bell there friend, he won’t be awake much longer.” He backed up, vanishing from Beocallum’s dwindling eyesight entirely. “Let’s get them to the Oaken hall, Lord Deamhan and Anesh will be interested in these two for sure.”

Beocallum tried to struggle but a heavy blanket of darkness fell over him as his head throbbed in pain. The last thing he heard was Agnes’ defiant shout as night fell in his mind and he rushed headlong into the arms of oblivion.

#writing #original work #short story #celtic #freedom #viking #fantasy #medival #medivalfantasy

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