Chapter 2

Sounds of screaming, people crying. The bloodthirsty marauders killing, looting, burning and raping. Led by a strong war magi , who blasted the guards with ease, letting his men roam the streets unhindered. No escape, everyone trapped. A Scraw-bear is pierced by magical spears, as it is rearing up on its hind legs, protecting a child…

It was the light and soft sounds of cooking that woke Deedra that morning from a bad dream, still utterly exhausted after the day before. The dream however quickly faded away into obscurity.

“Good morning my little sleeping blossom.” her mother said to her, noticing her stirring in her bed.

Deedra fought to get the sleep out of her head as she sat up. It took a couple of seconds before she remembered that she would be going to the market by herself.

“Am I late?!” she nearly yelled, worried that she would not get a good spot at the market, since she had to unload the dried flowers first.

“Do not fret,” her mother told her, smiling at her as she went about setting up the table for them all to eat “there is plenty of time for you to eat and get ready. Your father is setting up Ballock with the cart harness, so you can go once you have eaten.”

Deedra quickly went about getting dressed, made a loose braid of her long brown hair and then helped with the remaining things to get the breakfast ready.

Just as they were setting the cauldron of porridge on the table, her father came in, wiping his hands in an old rag.

“That main buckle is not in good condition anymore,” he said with brows furrowed in thoughtfulness “you have to get a bit of copper from the smith in town, so I can make a new one.”

“Will it be safe for her to travel alone then?” her mother asked, gesturing for them to sit down to eat.

“Yes, no doubt about it. The harness could make the trip ten times over with a much heavier load before I would become worried, but it needs to be mended nonetheless.” he reassured her, as he sat down on his chair and grabbed a piece of bread, leaving the dirty rag on the table. Her mother scowled at him, which he either did not notice or outright ignored, of which one Deedra could determine.

Her mother then cleared her throat, which got his attention.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“That rag, dear?” she said, giving him a stern smile.

He picked it up, holding it at his eye level and looked at it as if it was a tiny defenceless cub of some sort.

“You hear that, raggy? Old meany, weany Genna does not want you at the table. Guess you better be hidden in my pocket.” he said to it, while making big sorrow filled eyes at it.

At this, Deedra laughed so hard that the water she was just about to drink shot out of her nose, causing her to cough and laugh at the same time.

Even her mother could not hold back laughing at his utter stupid silliness.

It took them a while to calm down to be able to eat again, but the sheer happiness and love for one another filled the little home to the brim. Right now, this was the happiest place in the whole kingdom, if not the whole continent.

As they were finishing up, Deedra and her mother went over a list of items for her to buy, once she had sold what she could, adding on to it the copper for the buckle. In the meantime, Wrenrik was fastening Bullock to the cart, making sure everything was secure and working.

Once everything was in order and the list securely stored in her wandering sack, along with some food and drink, Deedra took her bow and quiver with two handfuls of arrows in it and heaved herself unto Ballock, the big Scraw-bear lending one of his legs for her to use as a stool.

Even though the roads were safe from other people, there was still the potential for critters of various kinds.

As she was making herself secure in the saddle on the big beast's back, her father came up to her, reached up and gave her a gentle squeeze on her thigh, saying “Tomorrow you’re turning 12, so you have my permission to spend a full silver coin at Mrs. Boon’s store.”

“A WHOLE silver coin?!” she exclamied in surprise.

Mrs. Boon made some of the best hard sweets and small cute pastries. And to get to spend a full silver coin would get her a stomachache of grand proportions, she knew.

“Be careful and make us and yourself proud” he said to her, as she set off with Ballock pulling the heavy cart with ease.

“And remember, if Master Fremdon tries to get out of giving you coins in hand at delivery…” Her father called out to her.

“I know, I know! Start to pack up and mention Master Blenberry.” She yelled back at them, giving them a final wave.

“What was that about?” Genna asked him, looking up at him with curiosity.

“Master Fremdon has been trying to drive the prices down and on more than one occasion tried to withhold payment upon delivery of goods. A couple of weeks ago, I learned that Master Blenberry, over in Gladston, was the former apprentice of Master Fremdon. And his famed tea-making skills are quickly growing.”

“Huh…” Genna said, thinking a bit “Small town slander and gossip?” she mused “Rivalry among the tea-makers. Would it be worth the trip at some point?” she asked him.

“I will bring him some samples, next time I have to make the trip and see what he would be willing to offer.”

Then, they stood there a while, looking at Deedra making her way to town, arms around each other.

“Listen, my blossom,” Wrenrik said to Genna after a short while “I have a few things I need to do, but how about we relax today and maybe we could open a bottle of blueberry wine…” he trailed off.

She pinched his buttcheek and looked up to him, answering “I would love that. I too, however, have a few things I need to get done, but come find me, when you are done with the things you need to do, I think I will be done before you are.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek and sauntered off toward the barn, the wind playing with her long black hair, the early morning making it gleam like polished onyx. Wrenrik just stood there, taking in every little detail.

“Get going, you big oaf!” she called out to him over her shoulder, laughing “I want to be in your embrace soon!”

With that as motivation, he started off to do the things he had planned to get done this fine morning.

First he wanted to take some measurements for Deedra’s room and mark it up, which should not take him very long. After that, he needed to go see, if that blundering ball of negative elegance, Ballock, had trampled through the firewood piles, he had spent quite some time building up.

Doing the measurements had not taken Wrenrik very long and with a little luck, it should not cost much more than 3 gold in total to build. Now he was sorting through the stacks of firewood, the freshly cut stack and the stack of dry firewood having been knocked over, as he suspected, by Ballock, most likely while chasing small vermin through the grass.

As he was squatting down and sorting the wood into two piles, his ears picked up the sound of snapping branches in the thick underbrush of the forest, some 60 feet away to his left.

Getting up and turning toward the sound, three men emerged, clad in mismatched armour, various pelts and dirty clothing. The one in the middle had a bow with an arrow already knocked on the string, while the other two had nasty jagged swords and small round shields.

By instinct, his hand went for where he would have had his sword, but it only found empty air. The only thing he had was his small axe and a log of wood.

“Oha farmer man,” one of the men with a sword called out to him “you live here alone so far out from a town?” as they all slowly started to advance toward him, dark intentions in the eyes of them all.

“Ay, that I do.” Wrenrik lied to them. ‘By the Gods, please run and hide my love’ he prayed within himself, as he slowly started to move toward them, evaluating their movements and which of them would be the biggest threat.

The fact that this simple farmer started to advance toward them and did not wet himself and run, as they had expected, made them pause. No matter, even though a hunt for scared prey is fun, nothing beats a fight, the one that had spoken, thought to himself.

In an instant, the man with the bow had let the arrow fly at him, Wrenrik just managing to twist out of its path in the last second, as it zipped past his chest within the width of a hair.

He could feel it. He had gotten old and slow. He had not physically trained since Deedra was born, only going over the movements in his mind. In his prime, these would-be robbers would not have presented a challenge for him. As things were right now, however, he was without sword, armour and practice. He would have to make due with what he had and win by outmanoeuvring them.

Using the momentum of the twist, he flung the log at the archer. A crunch from the archer's nose could be heard, as it connected with his face with great force, knocking him out cold.

The other two men were caught off guard, not expecting a simple farmer to stand up against them like that, but it only lasted a second. “Aw, this gonna be fun!” one of the men with a sword snarled, flashing a wicked smile at him, exposing his dirty teeth.

They charged headlong at him, savagery making up for the lack of discipline and skill, slashing at him, stabbing and lunging, but Wrenrik dodged the attacks, blocking them with his axe and getting them to block potential attacks by not allowing them to surround him. Wrenrik was straining himself to keep up with the much younger men and the wooden handle of the axe would not stand up to many blocks from their swords.

Using the head of the axe, he managed to get it to lock around the guard of the sword and with a strong twist and spin, he disarmed one of them. The surprised marauder did not perceive how the spin ended with the small axe buried in his skull, nearly cleaving it in two and the handle finally giving out after all the punishment, breaking in half.

The other man took a couple of steps back, not willing to re engage, giving Wrenrik time to pick up the sword and shield from the dead man.

“Looks like it’s just you and me now. And you picked the wrong farm to attack!” Wrenrik said to him, getting into a proper defensive stance and started toward the now worried would-be robber.

Wrenrik did not see other than a small streak of blue light out of the corner of his eye, as a vicious magical arrow came flying, tearing through his calf, ripping it halfway off.

Crying out in pain, he fell to one knee, unable to keep himself standing, the last man with a sword beginning to laugh at him

“You think it was just us three, you dull peasant? Look at the big bad man now!” he said, spitting at him. Wrenrik was still holding on to the sword, keeping it in a defensive position between himself and the swordsman.

The underbrush rustled, as some four dozen men stepped out from the forest underbrush, having watched the spectacle. Wrenrik’s heart sank deep and fast, a gaping pit forming in his gut.

“Enough of this!” The man in front, leading them, called out, clearly not pleased that this simple farmer could take down two of his men with such ease.

He was clad in fine maroon robes and wore light leather armour, an elegant rapier hung at his side and he held a staff with a glowing stone at the end of it in his right hand.

“Answer truthfully, and I will end you quickly. Lie to me, and I will slowly sear off your skin.” the leader of the group said, as he walked right up to Wrenrik, just out of reach from the sword.

“Do you know of someone named Gren? Or maybe Mallock? Might have moved to these parts 3 or 4 years ago, setting himself up to be a mayor or judge? A man of authority? Hm? Oh, and where do you keep your coins, if you have any? You owe me for a man or two…” he said, as he pointed the staff at Wrenriks head.

—

Genna had just finished milking the cows and was about to set them out to the pasture, when she heard what sounded like… fighting? No, that’s not right, she thought to herself. She stood still for a bit, just listening. Nothing. Must have been old nightmares playing tricks on her mind again, she thought to herself.

As she started to pour the last milk into a clay jug, she heard Wrenrik cry out in pain.

All of the world's fear set upon her in an instant. Letting the bucket fall, her legs felt like they were filled with lead, as she began to run. With every step, she tried to reason with herself, that he had just fallen and broken something or cut himself by accident, nothing serious, just…

It took her less than a minute, but it felt like hours, to reach the house, where she looked inside for him. Not here, she thought to herself and worried that he might not hear her, if she called out to him.

Just then, she heard an unfamiliar voice talking, dread gripping at her gut. She followed the sound of the voice, coming from somewhere behind their small home.

Peaking around the corner, her fear was replaced by vengeful fury. Without thinking, she started to walk toward them.

To Wrenriks great horror, he saw his beloved Genna come walking towards them, eyes glowing bright green, her hair flowing wide with the power within her.

“YOU FOOLS!” She screamed at them, voice cold and nearly ethereal “YOU HAVE JUST DELIVERED YOURSELF TO SLAUGHTER!”

The sudden appearance of her put many of the men on edge and even their leader took a couple of steps back, raising his staff toward her, ready to fend off an attack.

“NO! GENNA, PLEASE! DON’T BREAK THE PACT! THINK OF DEEDRA!” he yelled out with all his might, that he might break through to her.

The green light faded slightly from her eyes as he continued to plead to her.

“If you break the pact, not only will you die, but Deedra too. Both of your spirits…” he continued, tears starting to roll down his cheeks. He knew that there was no surviving this for the two of them, but at least Deedra was safe in town.

The green light flickered in her eyes, as she remembered the pact she had made and her beloved daughter. Never would she use magic again, in exchange for giving birth to a living child, made with the man she loved, the man that had saved her from her dark and lonely spiral of death.

All her thoughts left her, as two arrows, laced with poison, found their mark in her abdomen, bringing her to her knees.

“What are you?” the leader asked noone “Such power… and yet you hold back? What? Because of your child? Pathetic!” he said, his voice laced heavily with disdain. “Weak!”

He stood still a few seconds, contemplating the situation.

“No matter,” he continued, as he gestured for his men to pick them both up and bring them along “we will search your house and be on our way soon enough, once you have answered my questions.”

Wrenrik tried to fend them off, but they roped his arms and tied him up, making sure he could not pose a threat to them again.

Genna was numb in her entire body, unable to fight back, as they dragged her by one arm to the front of the house. Here they tossed onto Wrenriks woodwork table, which stood under a small canopy.

Several of the men started to rummage through the house, sounds of items being broken, things being torn apart, as they searched for anything of value. Their leader questioned Wrenrik about some man. Not knowing who he was talking about, the leader's frustration grew, as he kicked Wrenrik several times in the gut and face.

“Sir, look what we found…” one of the men came running out of the small home with something wrapped in cloth “it was hidden in the rafters.”

The leader removed the cloth to reveal a sword. Not just any sword, he quickly realised, but one given to soldiers that served in the Demagok war at Heraman, for their bravery. It was sleek and light, made of the finest steel, inlaid with silver along the spine and magically sharpened. On the hilt, the names of the survivors were etched and outlined with white gold and a family crest engraved in the pommel, a crest given to the survivors by the five kingdoms. Only 36 were made and given out, to the very few that survived the ordeal.

“Will you look at this?” Their leader said, smiling with delight, as he gripped the sword and gave it some practised swings. “Do we have ourselves the Great grandson of a war hero here?” He turned to face Wrenrick that lay bound on the ground “Or did you steal it?” he asked, smiling slyly at him.

“You are not worthy to hold, nay, even to gaze upon that sword!” Wrenrik spat at him, as he struggled against the ropes, blood dripping from his mouth.

“Oh, I will be more than just holding it.” he retorted, his eyes flashing with anger at the insolence of this peasant, as he quickly lifted the sword above his head, bringing it down in a swift motion.

One of the men walked over to Genna, where she lay on the table. He was huge, both in height and bulk. Half of his face was disfigured by fire, the eye having turned white from the damage.

Leaning in over her, he squeezed her breast hard, her eyes flashing murder at him.

“Mmm…” he said in a low growl, smiling darkly at her “Ripe.”

He flipped her over, the arrows boring deeper into her gut, as he tore apart her dress.

He then forced himself upon her, violently and without mercy, tears of pain running from her eyes, as she turned all of the thoughts to Deedra, focused on her beloved daughter, who would be safe in town at least.

Once he was done with her, he drew out a knife from his belt and let the cold steel glide over her cheek til it came up to her ear.

She didn’t even feel the pain of it, as he cut off her right ear, which he stroked gently between his bloodied fingers very shortly, before adding it to his collection in a pouch.

The giant man then let his fellow marauders have his leftovers.

They took turns violating her, the pain from the arrows not masking the hurt it brought, as they cheered each other on, laughing like madmen.

With what little strength she still had left in her body, she turned her head to look for her beloved husband, her Wrenrik, to seek comfort in his eyes.

She found them looking at her, unblinking and lifeless, the happiness, warmth and joy robbed from them by these filthy animals. She wanted nothing more than to release all of her power, in a last consuming firescape, ridding the world of these monsters.

But she could not. She could not bear the thought of her daughter's spirit being bound to a Grand Deamagok, bolstering its own powers, forever in torment.

Her lifeforce was ebbing out quickly, the wound of the arrows and the poison working quickly in tandem. She exhaled her last breath, cursing the men.

After tearing the small home apart and not finding much else of interest, except for a small chest with their coins and some trinkets, the leader released a torrent of fire from his staff as he sat the small home ablaze, before they moved on. ****___