“Are you out of your mind? Vortannis is dead. He died at the battle of Beltin Fields, as we all know. This is all ancient history. Don’t give us your theories about him ‘rising again’, as some mad prophets have said. They’re the same ones who claimed there would be one who would reunite the races, some kind of ‘savior of the world.’ Look around, do you see that happening?” Chaim sneered at Cayden now, his enmity no longer concealed.

“Cayden, why do you think this is happening?” Ferast asked him. There wasn’t any sarcasm in his voice. Boaz saw that many were nodding their heads. Clearly, not everyone felt the same as Chaim. Still, Boaz thought as he looked around, there were a few skeptical looks on upturned faces.

“I believe, like the scholars who are far more learned, that Vortannis found a way to preserve his spirit, and it was only his body that died that day in Beltin. You may remember in your history the mention of a powerful magical object called the Triune Sigil, created by the sorcerers of old to unite the races?

“I think that he somehow used it to preserve himself. It was, as you remember, the same object that was unmade by the races at that time. Each of them took their part of it, departed to their own lands, and passed down their enmity toward the other races to their generations, even to this day.

“It is Vortannis, I think, that is causing these ancient creatures, such as this Grimboldt, to reappear. If it is he, then he is again directing his will to fulfill the prophecies about reuniting the races — under his dominion of course — to become slaves for his evil purposes. Elyndor forbid he should go to the lengths he did when he was alive, and reanimate the Fallen and their handlers. I fear that will happen.”

There was a tumultuous set of cries, and voices at this proclamation. No one in living memory had ever seen either Grimboldtan or Fallen, the reanimated corpses of those Vortannis captured and killed. However, everyone knew their history. These were the dark things that transpired before the sundering and were taught in schools across Eluvia.

“Silence, all of you! This is nonsense, pure speculation, and unproven. This is a single incident with an unknown creature, and I won’t have you spreading falsehoods and your fears among these good people!” shouted Chaim at Cayden.

Cayden looked resigned, as if he expected that answer, and started to stride off to the exit. “Suit yourself Chaim, but I for one will make sure those wardens in my charge, and the villagers under our care, will be protected from any attacks that I see fit to defend against. I suggest all of you look out for one another as well,” he gestured around the room. “And it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make sure you sharpen any weapons you may have. I must be off, to see what my wardens have found.” And with that, he was gone.

Boaz found himself unconsciously moving toward the exit as the people all talked, their voices rising at this astonishing news. He could hear Chaim trying again to regain control of the crowd, but Boaz wasn’t listening. All his attention was bent on Cayden, this strange and powerful man who seemed to know more than he let on.

Once outside, Boaz caught sight of him again. “Cayden, wait!” Boaz shouted at the shadow of the large figure ahead. It stopped, and turned to wait. When Boaz reached him, he saw the lines of care etched across his face. Funny how Boaz never noticed it before, but Cayden was not a young man, and yet he seemed so vigorous and youthful. Tonight, however, concern and age seemed to etch his face.

“Don’t go just yet please. I, for one, believe you, at least as much as I understand all this. I know what I saw, and it … well, it terrified me, like nothing has ever done. I froze, in mind and body.”

“Yes, from what I’m told, Grimboldtan have that effect on people. You were very brave to face your fears after seeing and experiencing that, to go running into the village to help.”

“Oh, I don’t know about brave, I just wanted to see what was going on, and to help. I didn’t have much time to think about fear, I guess.”

Cayden laughed, “Well, that’s one way to put it. But there are many different kinds of courage.” He looked at Boaz thoughtfully.

“I was curious, mostly, not courageous. I wanted something more than horseshoes, hammers, and tongs.”

Cayden’s demeanor changed. He turned to look at Boaz more fully in the moonlight. The torches of the great hall were behind Boaz, so that his face was partly unreadable. But he sensed something in the young man that did not belie his youthful face. There was hidden power and character, as he had always thought. Little did Boaz know it, but Cayden had been watching him grow up these past two decades, and was watching out for him. He would stop by the village occasionally, outwardly to do business, but mostly to keep an eye on the boy. Now he was almost a man. What kind of man would he become?

“Sounds like you know what it is you want to do with your life,” Cayden remarked.

“Well, no, but I know what I don’t want to do. I’ll not be a blacksmith.”

“Why is that? There is no shame in it at all.” the older man said, testing him.

“Blacksmiths get no respect. Da works so hard, from first light to last, just to make a living.”

“And yet, he has raised you.”

The last remark hung in the air for a few moments, like an accusation. But Boaz knew it wasn’t. It was just Cayden’s usual way of pointing out the flaw in his argument. They had had this discussion, or one similar, a few times before, and always Cayden had tried to make Boaz see his side.

“You skirted my question,” Boaz countered. “What is a Grimboldt or … Gromboldtan, and why do you think it attacked?”

Cayden laughed. “You thought I was trying to distract you from your question? No, I was simply pressing you for the more important point, which is, what do you plan to make of your life. But perhaps that’s not a question you can answer yet.”

The man sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “A single creature is called a Grimboldt, more than one is a Grimboldtan, as with many names in our language. Alta, Altan, Terra, Terran … These Grimboldtan are creatures from the ancient world, as I said. They are terrifying, and stories say some have died at the sight of them. They look partly like a moose with their hind legs. But they have the forepaws, face, and head of a lion. Some do have the horns of a moose as well.

Being created beasts, and reanimated from the dead, they are a monstrosity of decaying, deadly filth. And, as you’ve seen, they have red eyes. It’s the eyes that get most people, despite the other horrifying features. Soulless, merciless, and piercing. Some say they can hypnotize a man. I’m not sure I believe that, but I’ve not tested it,” he said with a wry grin.

“But if it’s a creature of the ancient world, how can it be back now? I mean, why would they even exist now?” Boaz said, feeling a sense of confusion.

“A great question. You’ll remember from history lessons that the last time they appeared, terrible things happened. Vortannis coerced them to attack. He once was content with his powers and the land he held, but he desired to rule over all. It is said he turned more and more to the evil powers, in order to get what he wanted. So, why indeed do we see Grimboldtan again?”

“Do you really believe what you said, that the truth about Vortannis’s death is not fully known?” Boaz had so many questions, but this seemed the most pressing.

“I do. I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to discover the truth about this.”

“And what is the truth?” Boaz asked.

“It’s too long of a tale to tell now, and I’m not sure I’m ready to tell it, nor you to hear it. I’ve told it to no one, partly because no one would believe me, and partly because I find it hard to believe myself. Maybe someday I can tell you, when I am more certain. For now, I must go. I’m not really welcome here, and I have one more discovery to try to make before I know for sure.”

“You are always welcome at our house Cayden,” Boaz said.

“Thank you. Take care of yourself, and your father. Good bye.”

And with that, he walked away, unconcerned about the night, and the creature still out there somewhere. It seemed like he was just taking a stroll, with not a care at all. Boaz tried to shake off his fear, but the thought of that creature and its red eyes. What it had done to Tua’lan and his house was foremost in his mind. He walked briskly back to his house.

His thoughts were preoccupied with Cayden. The warden had long been held in awe by the villagers, and only ever seen once every few months as he bought supplies in town. He had a cabin in the foothills. Boaz had been there once before. He knew some of the village folk thought Cayden to be odd, but Boaz felt a connection with him, whatever anyone else said.

Cayden had been his father’s friend long before Boaz was born, and had become a friend to him as well, as little as he knew him anyway.

Boaz decided he would bide his time to talk to him again, to ask Cayden if he could train as a warden. Anything to be away from being a blacksmith.

When he got home, the house was lit with a warm glow from the fire inside and the lantern. The smell of food made him realize he hadn’t eaten since this morning, and was famished. It also reminded him that he should’ve gone straight home after the meeting and started supper. Shame rose in him at the thought. He needed to care for his father better than this.

When Boaz entered his house, his father was sitting at the table, eating. It was a simple, hearty meal of stew and bread. “You’re back. Thought maybe you got lost,” his father said with a smile. “Sit ‘n eat. We’ve had a busy day.”

Boaz sat and started to eat, but, hungry as he was, his heart wasn’t in it. That much seemed plain to his father. “Eat, you’ll feel better. I know you don’ much feel like it after what we’ been through, but we can’t be worryin’ ‘bout things out of our control. And frankly, that’s most everythin’.”

Boaz wished he could just tell his father all his feelings, that is, his feelings about his future. His father wouldn’t understand, though, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint him. He thought it best just to stick to the obvious topic of the attack. “What do you think of all this Da? I haven’t heard you say much about it.”

“I tend to think Cayden’s right. He sees more’n we do, livin’ on the edges of Forlon, in the wild, really. Has loads o’ quiet time to think about all this too. I think we’re in for a heap o’ trouble like no one has seen since the sundering.”

No more attacks, noises, or commotion disturbed Forlon that night. When Boaz awoke in his small room, the sun had not yet risen. The clouds in the eastern sky were scarlet with the rising sun, and the stars had already retreated. Boaz rose sleepily and dressed. He could hear his father already rustling about in the kitchen, and knew he would be anxious to start work for the day, after a hasty breakfast. He left his warm bed behind and splashed water on his face. It was very cold. Summer had definitely come to a close, and the cool of fall had descended. He joined his father in the kitchen.

“Mornin’! Start the fire, would ya?” His father called in way of greeting.

Boaz busied himself with the flint and tinder, pinecones, and the remainder of the wood he had brought in from the night before. He had a cooking fire burning before long. He placed a kettle with some water on the tripod hook over the flames, to boil for the porridge. There was an iron skillet built into the fireplace they used for cooking, and today there would be eggs and some sausages. His father kept a few hens in a coop around the back of the house, and the sausages came from the local butcher’s pigs. It was a typical hearty meal for two hard working peasants. They would not eat again until suppertime, so it needed to sustain them.

“Da, have you heard any more about the attack last night? Do you know if the scouts had returned, or what they would do about poor Tua’lan?”

His father grunted, and Boaz took that to mean “No.” His father was not a talker in the best of times; especially not in the morning. Boaz had always found it odd that his father awoke so early in the morning, out of need, really, and yet was not a morning person.

Boaz knew that the topic of last night’s attack would have to wait. As important as it was to discover the truth of the matter, they still had jobs to do, especially with winter coming on. Winters were harsh, so close to the Reaches, the mountain range that ran north and east of Forlon-a-Midden. The winds whipped down the passes into the village and positively froze everything.

The villagers were preparing for harvest now, to get all the crops in, and also chopping and splitting the firewood from the previous year, now dry, for burning through this winter. Any household who didn’t do these things would not survive. Most of them were farmers, but some had specialties, like his father, and poor Tua’lan, the apothecary. Those with specialties traded their goods or services for food with those who farmed.

It was a good system, and everyone ended up with just what they needed. Occasionally a local noble house, like Lord Ferwan, would commission something, like the horseshoes, and Truan gladly accepted the task, knowing that it was fairly easy work for better pay.

When they finished breakfast, with little to no talking, Boaz cleaned up while his father prepared the shop and kindled the forges. This would normally take some time, except that last night he had not let them die down as much as usual, so they could start work quicker in the morning.

Before long, Boaz and Truan were hammering and dousing again.

By mid-morning, they had completed the order, and were just sealing up the wooden crates with horseshoes when they heard hoofbeats outside. Boaz went out of the shop to find his friend Jaxson pulling up on his horse, hailing him.

“Boaz, is your father in?” He asked, out of breath.

“Yeah, just inside, why?”

“Go get him, would you please?”

Boaz went into the shop and called his father out. His father came out, in a bit of a huff at being disturbed from his cleanup.

“What is it that you call me away from my work, Jaxson?”

“Sorry sir, but Chaim has called a special council of the elders, and needs you present, immediately.”

“He would. Think he likes bossin’ people ‘round and to hear his own voice a little too much. Tell him I’ll be along as soon as I might. Lord Ferwan will be wantin’ his order and I can’t be away all morning in meetings!” He walked back in the shop to get his things, still grumbling. Boaz gave Jaxson a wide grin, knowing that his father meant well, but was not the most amicable of men sometimes.

“Well, I can’t stay. I was told to hurry back as soon as I had delivered the message. See ya!” And with that, he rode off in a hurry.

Boaz was left to finish tending the shop, and preparing the order for the courier, who was scheduled to arrive at noon. His father asked him to write out the order, since Boaz could write with a fine script. It was a formality, as it had already been agreed upon, but this bound the contract.

His father walked quickly to the council, and Boaz wondered what it was that was so urgent. “Probably the matters of last night,” he thought. He wondered if the scouts had returned with anything to report, or what would be done with Tua’lan, now that they had no apothecary. It was an important specialty, and one they could ill afford to lose in the small town.

Moreover, what was to be done about any future attacks? Surely if this Grimboldt was still around, it would attack again, knowing that there was a ready supply of food. Perhaps they would bolster the Border Wardens, maybe even send out advanced scouts to track and kill the beast. Boaz pictured himself leading a company of men in armor and with weapons of war, hunting for the great beast, killing it, and returning home a hero.

“Not likely at all,” Boaz thought.

By the time Truan came home it was almost noon, and the Lord’s courier was to appear any time. Truan was in a huff. He clearly felt that it had been a waste of time, and took him away from work that paid for his living.

What little Boaz could get out of his father was that indeed the council had gathered, first and foremost, to find a suitable time to schedule the wake and burial for Tua’lan. It would be in two days. Next they heard from the scouts, who had very little to report, except that there were indeed signs of at least one creature about, based on tracks and droppings, but the disconcerting news was that there were different size prints as well, which most read to mean that there were more than one about.

Chaim, however, was quick to dismiss that. They would indeed increase patrols of the Border Wardens, and would recruit immediately for it. Before Boaz’s hopes got too high, however, his father said they had determined not to “waste any time or resources” sending out a hunting party for it. They basically would take a “wait, watch, and see” approach for now.

There was one other tidbit that his father thought absolutely trivial, but Boaz thought it might be significant: many of the farmers were reporting a blight on their crops. It had sprung up all of a sudden, and many of the crops on the edge of town, near the eaves of the forest, had withered because of a blackish grey fungus. They didn’t know what had caused it, and had decided to harvest sooner rather than later to avoid any further loss of crop before winter. Either way, even a little loss of crops would mean prices in the market would be higher for a smaller supply of goods, and tighter belts for the winter.

That was the extent of what Boaz could coax out of his father.

All the while Boaz was questioning him, they were checking and crating the horseshoes. Before long, they heard many horses coming, and the creak of a wagon. The courier for Lord Ferwan had arrived. There were four soldiers on horse, the courier, and a wagon driver and an assistant. When they pulled up, the courier said, “Truan Halenfell, I am Sardir, courier for Lord Ferwan. I believe you have an order of horseshoes for my Lord? Are they ready?”

“Yes, sir, as promised, here they are.” Truan said, gesturing to the wooden crates.

“Very good. Drivers?” Sardir pointed to the chests, “Please inspect the order carefully.” The drivers dismounted, ambled over to the crates, opened them and inspected the horseshoes. After bowing low, the drivers said “Sir, the order is of the promised quality and quantity.” Sardir dismounted and removed a purse out of his saddlebag. I believe the promised price was 100 silver pieces, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” Said Truan.

“Here is your payment with our thanks, blacksmith. Maybe we can do business again with you in the future.” It was not a question, more of an open-ended statement.

“Yes, sir, of course. May they serve the Lord’s horsemen well.” He accepted the purse without opening it, handed Sardir the written contract, and backed away.

The courier indicated that the driver and his assistant should put the crates on the wagon. While they busied themselves with the task, there was an awkward silence.

“What is your name, boy?” the courier spoke to Boaz.

“Boaz, sir,” he said bowing.

“Certainly not the young lad who could barely carry a hammer the last time we were here? Surely it hasn’t been that long?” He looked suspiciously at the youth.

“Yes sir, I remember the last time you were here, and I was just a young lad.” Boaz said.

“You’ve grown much,” Sardir said, eyeing him. That was an understatement. Boaz was nearly a head taller than Sardir, and had fifty pounds of lean muscle more than he. “If you have any interest, Lord Ferwan may be interested in taking you in as a soldier, or … more than that.”

Boaz was torn by indecision. He didn’t want to disappoint his father, yet his father knew full well Boaz didn’t want to be a blacksmith, and longed for an adventurous life.

“My father needs me here, sir.” He glanced at his father, who gave him a nod and an odd smile. Sardir seemed to sense the exchange, but didn’t pursue it. Clearly more was going on than could be said. If the boy didn’t want to do this, or couldn’t, it meant little to him. Lord Ferwan had many soldiers and aids, and did not need a peasant blacksmith’s apprentice, however large.

“Very well.” Sardir spoke over his shoulder at the assistants, “Are the chests secure?”

“Yes sir.”

“Fine then, my master is waiting. Let’s be off. Thank you, and good day,” he said as he looked at Truan and Boaz. Both bowed. Without another word, they were off.

Truan came over and laid his rough, weathered hand on his son’s shoulder. “Thank you, son. I know what that cost you to say, even if you din’t mean it.”

“I meant it, Da. You do need me. I told him no lie.”

“True. I taught you well, and I ‘ppreciate your loyalty.”

Boaz wasn’t so sure if he did it out of loyalty, or just fear. Fear of the unknown. He had been so close to accepting the offer and just riding off with the courier. It was best not to let on to his father how close he had come. His father already had hard feelings that his son didn’t share his passion for the trade.

“Well, we have a fair bit o’ coin now, son. What say we get some supplies at the market for the coming months, eh?” He clapped him hard on the back. He was in a supremely happy mood.

The farmer’s market was crowded, as usual. But there seemed to be more jostling, people hurrying, and generally more raised voices than was usual. Tempers were high, it seemed. Truan and Boaz made their way through the streets with their horse and empty cart and stopped outside the grain merchant.

As they were approaching the stall, it was clear some heated haggling was going on between the merchant and his customer, a middle aged, balding man, who was yelling at him.

“I can’t afford these prices, why, only last month they were half as much! How can you justify raising your prices and robbing poor people for your gain?” Said the customer angrily.

“I told you, there’s been a terrible blight on my crops that came about recently, causing me to lose a good portion. I’ve had to raise my prices because of the low supply, to recoup my costs!” The merchant was telling him.

“A likely story! No doubt you figured you weren’t lining your pockets enough, and since you couldn’t justify higher prices in the city where you would be found out, you decided to rob poor country folk!”

“Believe what you will, Raynauld, but if you’re going to accuse me of trickery, I’ll have no dealings with you, and you can clear off out of my shop!” Said the stout merchant, his face turning red and angry, as he pointed toward the exit.

Raynauld stomped off in a huff, looking just as angry and red-faced as the merchant.

The merchant saw Truan and Boaz and looked a bit ashamed of the interchange. “Sorry you had to witness that. Third time today I’ve had customers accuse me of price gouging. Honestly can’t say I blame him, as I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough that my prices are higher than usual. But it is true, what I said.”

“About the blight on the crops?” Truan asked. “If you were the first ‘un to tell me that, I mightn’t believe you, but I’ve heard tell of it before at the council. Other folks’r sayin’ similar.”

“Aye, other vendors here too, from the talk going about. It’s across the board, not just crops, but livestock too. Whole herds of cattle lying in the field with a horrible black fungus all over them. It suffocates them like, and they die. Terrible to watch, they say, and nothing seems to cure it. My crops had the black fungus all over the roots, and even as hard as we worked to try to remove it, we couldn’t keep ahead of it. I wasn’t sure it was even safe for me and my family to be touching the stuff, but what choice did I have? That’s my whole livelihood. I was lucky to have started early enough to get what you see here.”

Truan and Boaz looked over the sacks of grain mistrustingly. The merchant must’ve seen that look in other customers, because he quickly said, “I guarantee that none of these have the black fungus on them. They are untouched.”

“What are you asking for a sack?” Truan asked, dreading the answer.

“I have to get no less than 10 silver, sir.”

“Ten silver! That IS twice the price of last month!” Truan exclaimed.

“I know,” the merchant said mournfully. “You won’t find prices any cheaper elsewhere, I’m afraid, and I’m not just sayin’ that.”

“Fine. We need two sacks.” He paid the merchant while Boaz dutifully picked out two sacks that he hoped were fuller than the others, threw them over his shoulders, and brought them to the back of the cart.

They found the same conversations going on at all the other merchants. It was worse with the livestock butcher merchants, because there seemed to be even greater losses of livestock than grain, and of course the expenses of livestock were much higher. Losing one cow was much more of a blow financially than several sacks of grain to these merchants.

All over the market, the talk was the same: “What is happening? What is the black fungus? Has anyone seen it before?” No one had heard of it, and no one knew what it was, what caused it, or where it might be from.

Truan and Boaz bought their supplies at a higher price than anticipated at all the merchants, and made their way home. They rode in the front of the wagon, filled with supplies, and their poor old mare pulling with her head down dejectedly.

They were unloading the wagon supplies and storing them when another alarm sounded in the main square.

Truan and Boaz both looked at each other. “Not again,” said Boaz.

“We should go,” Truan said, “But we need to put away these supplies. The horse is tired though. I’ll stay here and put away the rest of these here supplies. You go on now by foot, and I’ll be ‘long when I’m done. Bring a weapon in case.”

Boaz ran off to the shop and grabbed a sword from the rack, and a sheath and belt. He quickly fastened the belt and sheath, but unsheathed the sword. It was easier to run without it hitting his leg. Then he took off at a jog. When he made it to the town center, again there was a crowd of people all talking, but Chaim was there trying to be heard over all.

“Yes, we’ve heard that seven people are missing. The whole Clackus family, in the foothills, and the Nolons, nearer the forest edge. It looks like their houses were ransacked. The wardens didn’t see any blood, but there was definitely a struggle in both cases.”

Many people cried, as the names were familiar in the village. The Nolons, in particular, were a young family, with two young girls and their parents. The Clackus’s were an older couple, grandparents to several in the town, and their older daughter had lived with them.

“What are we going to do, Chaim?” The cry went out from several people. Chaim was forcing his voice to remain calm as he said, “For those who wish, we can arrange to stay in the old Traveler’s Rest station for the time being. I would recommend that those nearer the foothills and the forest edge should be given first chance to stay there, especially those with children. The wardens are out on the trail now. We have to stick together in this. Whatever this is.”

“We can’t fit that many families in the Traveler’s Rest, and none of us feel safe right now. Plus winter will be coming on soon,” said one man. There were many voices raised in agreement to this.

Chaim continued, “I know this. What I was going to suggest is that those who live on the southern parts of the town, away from the forest and foothills, might temporarily lodge the families in those areas. I know it will be difficult, but we must all stay together at times like this.”

“Who or what do the wardens think it is? They must have some idea?” The question was directed at Chaim, who seemed to have spoken with the wardens.

“Never mind that,” Chaim said, “Let’s get organized and get the supplies you need, so we can help people move to where they are more safe.”

“Chaim, we got a right to know,” Came a voice behind Boaz. It was Truan. In the commotion, he had ridden up on his horse, who now looked very tired indeed.

“I don’t agree with the wardens on their assessment of who is responsible. I think this is that same creature from last night.” Chaim said dismissively, as though the matter was settled.

“It was not.” Cayden had ridden up unnoticed around the side of the great hall behind Chaim, who had his back to it. He looked tired, like he had been awake for several days. “It was the Fallen.”

At this, a tremor of fear, anguished cries, and murmuring rippled through the village.

Leave feedback on this chapter