A little boy, no more than five years old, was sitting in a muff old room which smelled of mahogany and old books. The room was filled mostly with ornate wooden bookcases, of which the shelves had accumulated a layer of dust over the past years. Before the boy stood a table filled with scattered pieces of clean parchment, full and empty vials of ink, quills and a small oil lamp. Next to him sat a man with a small black beard, a pair of glasses and early wrinkles which gave his face a nearly constant frown. In the dark, his expression was hard to recognize. Nevertheless, he spoke with obvious authority as he directed the boy in his works. The man took a quill, scribbled a gracious letter on a piece of parchment and pushed it to the boy.

“This is the letter E. Be sure to remember that one, as it’s very common letter in our language. Using that letter, we should be able to form simple words which you can use to practice your writing and reading. Why don’t you try to form a word with the letters I taught you?”

The boy was silent for a moment, thinking about which word to form. After a few seconds, he grabbed the quill and wrote ‘Deer’ on the parchment which harbored the E. The letters were crude and wobbly, and he spilled a bit of ink at the R, which was now decorated with an oil stain.

“Excellent, although the writing may need some work”, the man exclaimed. “Using this letter, you can now –“

The door suddenly opened, gracing the dusty room with a welcome ray of sunshine. A woman dressed in a white apron, with long, brown locks draping over it, stepped in the doorframe. She was obviously related to the boy, as he had inherited many of her features. They both had the same long, round face and bushy hair. Unlike the boy however, she was more stout in her appearance. With an unexpected loud voice she addressed the man.

“Harold, what in the name of the Light are you doing with him here! He’s just a kid, he should be playing outside. He might get the lung fever if he’s locked in your dusty old library all day.”

Although the words were a little harsh, they held no venom. Harold looked up from the scrolls and retorted in an unusually calm voice: “It is important for him to learn how to read.”

“He’s only FIVE! Besides, I need him to help me fetch Maxwell. I think he’s spotted a hare again and gave it a good chase.”

Harold sighed and scrambled the parchment on the table. “I guess that’s the end of our lesson, Gareth. I’ll be out of town tomorrow, but try to practice your writing so we can make some good progress next time.” He handed Gareth the parchment they had been writing on and watched him leave the room with his mother as he stayed behind with his precious books and scrolls.

It seemed to be a good time later now. Gareth was no longer small, but stood nearly as tall as Harold. It was more clear now that Harold was Gareth’s father: Gareth had developed some distinct features of him, such as the powerful jaw, relatively small torso and calm expression his father always carried. They were standing in the same old dusty room, which seemed to have hardly changed in the ten years that had passed. The atmosphere was very much different, however. Gareth had an angry expression on his face. Harold looked the same as ever, not one grey hair streaking his beard yet, as he was calmly assessing the situation.

“I don’t care about your precious law books and ancient languages. You’ve always been pushing me so I might fulfill your legacy one day. But I’m not made of the same stuff as you are. I don’t revel in finding gaps in the law, writing an inspiring speech or translating an ancient text.” Furiously, he tossed the book he was holding to the ground. Harold saw the book slide away, it’s cover battered by the fall, but he made no movement to pick it up. Under his breath he said: “Seems you do have some talent for the inspiring speech part”. That seemed to anger Gareth all the more.

Harold then took him by the shoulders. “You may not be interested in the same things as me, but that doesn’t diminish their value in your life. If you ever get in real trouble, only your guile will save you, not the mindless brawl you always admire. You will find out that some of the skills I taught you will be invaluable.

Still, I guess you’re right about one point. We should find you a suitable profession. I’m afraid I failed to push you into a political career.” Chuckling, he picked up the battered book and returned it to its bookcase. He walked restlessly for a few seconds, then set his eyes on Gareth.

“Where lie your true interests, son?”

Surprised by this sudden question, Gareth stumbled upon his words until he had finally decided:

“I’ve always dreamed of adventure. I spoke Evan a few days ago and he said they wouldn’t mind another trapper in their company. I could go there and learn from them. They would make me a good hunter in no time!” Filled with enthusiasm, Gareth looked expectantly to his father.

“How would you fit between the hunters? You can hardly lift a bow with your arm. Still, if Evan has given you such a clear invitation and it is what you wish to do, I guess that could be –

Gareth woke from a playful stomp in his chest. “Get up, you lazy twat, or we’ll be late and some farmer will have stumbled upon our traps.” He groaned, and let his eyes adjust to the light of the lamp the man who woke him had brought in. “Dammit, Gunther! You could’ve at least waked me in the conventional way”, he complained. Annoyed that Gunther had disturbed his pleasant childhood dream, he sat up and began to scramble his things. He crawled out of the four feet high cavern he was in. It was still dark, but the other hunters were ready and waiting for him. He hastily stuffed his possessions in his pack, and grabbed his walking stick. Suppressing a big yawn, he followed the men as they went to check their traps.

His father had been right: He really was a horrible marksman. Every time he tried to fire an arrow, the bowstring would wobble and the arrow would fly in an undesired direction. People had soon learned to stay away from the practicing Gareth, lest they lose an eye to the uncontrolled projectiles flying in all directions. Luckily, you didn’t need to be good with a bow to become a hunter. Although all of them except Gareth wielded a bow, it wasn’t altogether necessary to catch your prey. Most of the catch came from the traps they put down in various locations, and he could easily keep wild animals at bay with his walking stick, should they come close.

“Little boy needs his sleep, aye?”, Gunther nagged. The rest of the hunters laughed, including Gareth. He liked Gunther. He always brought a merry atmosphere into the group, and Gareth liked to play cards with him during their little spare time. “Maybe if you didn’t keep me awake with your deafening snore, I might actually get a night’s sleep in this godforsaken cave” he answered. Gunther laughed, then slapped him on the back. “I’ll put your shirt in my nose then to stop the snore next time. You’ll have a warm shirt the next morning as well.” A grin widened on both Gunther and Gareth’s face. Then Evan’s trembling voice shouted them to attention: “Gunther, Perkins, you go and fetch the traps in the basin, the others come with me for the rest of the traps.” Disappointed they were separated, Gareth and Gunther gave each other a friendly shove and departed in different directions.

Gareth was following Evan, the leader of the hunting party. Evan was a tough, lean man near his fifties, but still had as much vigor as a twenty years old. Although he was ruthless in his approach, Gareth knew him to be a fair, reliable, and conscious man. After a few hours, they split up again to find the various traps that they had set up. After they collected all the traps, they met with all the other hunters at a giant oak tree facing the only road to Alberich, their hometown.

“The catch is bountiful this time, Evan said content. I guess you can buy yourself an extra ale tonight. The men cheered. When they reached the crossing near Alberich, every hunter received his share and departed in different directions, to their homes. Gareth received three hares, a duck and a piece of boar flank, which had been the lucky catch this hunt. Before he could leave for his home, Gunther stopped him.

“You should come an’ have dinner at ours tonight. Elaine’s gonna bake the best liver pie you’ll ever taste. What about it?”

“That sounds great!”, Gareth responded cheerfully. You’ll see me around then tonight.

“Oh, and don’t buy yourself too much ale. You know how my wife thinks about spirits.” Gunther gave him a wink.

They departed, both going home. Gunther needn’t worry that I blow my money on ale, Gareth thought. He was saving up every penny he could get his hands on, for he wanted to buy his own place. He would then be fit to marry somebody, though he had still to meet a girl he really loved. Better to be prepared when it happens.

It was still a four mile walk, but already Gareth longed to be home. Their home, situated on the edge of Alberich, was a reasonably old building, with stone brick walls and a wooden roof. It had belonged to an old wealthy merchant, and was bought by Gareth’s father after the death of the inhabitant. About five miles from the town’s center, it was seldom bothered by people, which was exactly why Harold Arcanos had chosen this home. “A man needs to bring the hermit in himself up when he encounters people every other minute”, his father would often say. Therefore he secluded himself, entertaining himself with his books and other curiosities he found on his travels.

Many of these curiosities were gifts to either his wife Marian or Gareth. Being a member of the district council, Harold was often sent to represent their region in the capital city Meledyl of their homeland Arganoth. These travels were long and weary, but he would always bring exotic gifts back to their home: A book, a shiny bauble, a piece of jewelry for his wife. When Gareth was ten years old, his father had brought back a book depicting the scenery and wildlife surrounding Meledyl. Awed by the unknown creatures which seemed to stalk Arganoth, Gareth would look at that book for hours. Now, it was found in one of the many bookcases in their library, where Harold stored many of his gifts. They pleasured him almost as much as Gareth and Marian. Due to this, the house was filled with all sorts of literature and artifacts over the years, littering the various tables, drawers and bookcases. It added to the historic atmosphere of the house. Marian could not keep up with the frantic collector her husband was, so she ultimately resigned to it and only dusted their living rooms.

Thinking of his home warmed Gareth’s heart. He was eager to arrive, so he could have a warm meal, sleep in his own comfortable bed instead of on the ground and play with his dog Maxwell. Increasing his pace, he soon had his home in sight, on the outskirts of Alberich. However, as he approached the house, he began to get a nasty feeling which made his skin crawl. Normally his dog would have ran up to him to greet him and lick his fingers, or else bark at him until its throat ran dry. It was awfully silent when he opened the wooden gate to the grounds. Something was wrong ..

The front gate creaked as Gareth closed it behind him. He approached the house with caution. A nagging feeling in the back of his head told him to run away as fast as possible, but he had to know what was going on. After all, it could just be his imagination. The gravel of the path to his home creaked beneath his shoes, breaking the silence. He started to see something unusual in the distance, much like some sort of giant pole. Closing in on the house, he started to get a better view at it. He stopped abruptly, stunned, tears filling his eyes. He had discovered the fate of his dog.

What he had mistaken for a pole was actually a spear so large he couldn’t think of anyone able to carry it besides a giant. It was stuck in the ground, through the body of his beloved dog Maxwell, like a skewer. Gareth could still see the expression of fear in the lifeless eyelids of his pet. It was a horrible sight. Who would do something that cruel to an animal? Gareth wondered. Horrified and sick, he pulled his sight off Maxwell and, wiping his tears away, forced himself to take a look inside.

He tried not to think of what might have befallen his parents as he pushed aside the battered front door, which tumbled to the side as he put force to it. He gripped his walking stick more firmly as he slowly entered the house. He was struck with fear as he saw the insides of their entrance corridor. Drawers lay crashed on the ground, their glass windows shattered in a thousand pieces, littering the floor. Paintings had fallen down from the wall, some having been damaged without repair holding what Gareth thought to be marks of sword cuts and elbow thrusts. The only undamaged object in the room was their priceless mahogany grandfather clock, for which Gareth would normally be glad. At the moment, he couldn’t care less about it though, as he sped through the corridor and entered the living room, where he found an even greater devastation.

Precious antiquities his father loved to collect lay on the ground in shambles. Their long leather couch, on which Gareth would often lay down with Maxwell on his lap had fallen over, its cushions slashed open to reveal the soft white padding inside. But worst of all, a trail of blood ran throughout the room, and led to the kitchen. It looked like the remainder of a battlefield.

Sweat ran from Gareth’s brow as he inspected his ransacked home. Even if he intended to, he doubted he could inflict so much damage to the house’s interior. He wanted to follow the blood trail to see where it lead and, more importantly, whose it was, but before he could make a step, he heard the sound of heavy leather boots on the wooden floor of the entrance corridor. Swiftly turning around, he saw a glint of light and an incoming blade as he ducked. The sword missed him by an inch, but immediately a broad shoulder followed crashing into him. Gareth slammed into the stone brick wall, tasting blood in his mouth and a sudden, terrible pain in his left hand. Dazed, he rose just in time to see the man making a second charge.

As he had more time to anticipate a move now, he jumped to the side, breaking his fall with a roll as he leaped on his feet. And my dad said brawn would never come useful, he thought grimly. He burst through the open kitchen door, slamming it shut and barring it with a chair. He immediately heard a loud thunk as his attacker crashed into the door, obviously expecting it to open up. The man behind the door groaned as he hurt himself, but started hammering the door. Gareth could hear the wood creak. Still, it should hold and keep the intruder outside.

Feeling temporarily safe, Gareth turned to take a good look at the kitchen. His eyes widened as he lay eyes on a giant puddle of blood, with a body lying in it. He could not recognize who it was because of all the blood and the rent body parts. The person lying there had gone through a terrible torture, as it seemed to Gareth. The legs were stretched in an impossible angle, the knees battered to pieces with the bone coming out of them. The right arm lacked a whole hand, with blood streaming freely out of the open wound, while the other arm missed three fingers, the other two broken and bloodied. Looking up at the neck, the torturer seemed to have severed the main artery as blood was gushing out of there as well, adding to the puddle. Next to the body lay a bloody, awfully familiar sword, which he picked up to inspect further.

He could not bear so much gore. He averted his eyes but wasn’t able to unsee that which he had seen. Feeling sick, he felt his cornbread breakfast come up, and emptied his stomach in the kitchen sink as he gathered his senses.

Suddenly, a deafening sound filled the kitchen as the door and chair holding it down splintered and cracked. Though came the man that had assailed Gareth from behind. Gareth was astounded that the man had managed to break through his makeshift barricade.

He could finally see how the man looked like. He was at least six feet tall, with heavily muscled, scarred arms which still held the splinters from the impact with the door. He wore a chainmail outfit overlaid with leather and a belt, which held various small knives and a warhammer. His long blond hair braided his face, on which Gareth could read his one and only intent. Killing. He held a vicious long sword in his left which, to Gareth, seemed to be made for two hands instead of one. With the other hand he tossed the broken chair aside, making way for his attack.

The man charged, but Gareth had anticipated the move and sidestepped, ducking past the blade as it whipped through the air. With a burst of speed, he dashed through the living room into the entrance corridor and slammed his back against the wall, waiting. Heavily panting, he didn’t hear the other man yet. Surprised, he found out that he was still holding the bloody sword he found in his good hand.

Ignoring the pain in his hand and jaw, he forced himself to listen for footsteps. He heard the leather boots making creaking noises on the wooden floor as the planks nearly buckled under the man’s enormous weight. The attacker advanced slowly, checking every corner. He would soon be upon the hiding place. However, Gareth was determined now. This man has devastated my home, killed my dog and maybe my parents and attacked me. He has destroyed everything I love, and I will have his blood for it! Anger was coursing through him and more tears filled his eyes as he thought of the fate of the people he cared about. Gripping the sword hilt tighter, he heard the assailant come ever closer. When the man set foot in the doorframe Gareth let out a scream of rage, releasing all his confined emotions in a single desperate strike. as he flailed the bloody sword at his target with all his strength. He saw the sword crash into the enemy’s chest. Dull as the weapon was, it cut through the leather but stopped at the chainmail tunic. Still, the force of the blow was so great Gareth could hear some ribs snap. The man fell down on his back and groaned, fire lighting up in his eyes. His fury was nothing compared to Gareth’s though, who lifted the sword and crashed it down with utter fury on the man’s head.

Not protected by thick chainmail, the sword hit him at the temples and tore the upper part of his head off, cleaving the skull in two and sending bone fragments, brains and blood flying through the air. It was a disgusting sight, but in his fury, Gareth was delighted by it. With a dry splat, the man’s body crashed down in the mess of his own body fluids..

Still breathing hard from the tiresome assault, Gareth dared to take a look at his fingers. They were wet with blood and throbbed with pain. His shoulder was numb as well. He forced open one of the broken closets and took out a large piece of cloth, which he used to bandage his fingers. The bandage was already soaking wet with blood, but it would steep the bleeding. Having tended to himself, Gareth reluctantly decided to take a look at the body in the kitchen again. He had to know if it was one of his parents. He stepped over the debris of the broken door and inspected the face of the unfortunate soul. He gasped and started to sob uncontrollably at the sight. Although the body’s visage was bloodied and cut, it was still easy enough to make out the familiar jaw line and streaks of dark hair that weren’t yet tainted with blood. Gareth’s tears fell down on the face of the man, who he had known for so long, with whom he had suffered so many hardships.

“Stop crying son! Your tears … are … unpleasantly salt” Gareth suddenly heard in a gurgling, raspy voice, with the tone and authority he had known for so long. He looked down and saw a pair of emerald eyes looking at him with compassion. His father was terribly injured, coughing up blood after his sentence. Every word seemed to hurt his broken ribs, and since his throat was partially filled with his own blood he sounded like a drowning man. Still, his father was very much alive, even in his deteriorated state.

“Father! You’re alive. I’ll hurry and get the neighbours, they can get a surgeon and save you.”
New tears appeared at Gareth’s face, now of happiness, as he sped to the kitchen door.

“No.”

Stunned and confused, Gareth turned around. “What?”

“No.”

“What do you mean? We can still save you! I won’t lose you to fate today, father!”

“You will, it is too late already. I’ve lost too much blood”, Harold Arcanos said grimly. “But there are certain things I want you to know, so listen now, for I feel the spirit world tugging at me already.”

Gareth wanted to say something comforting, but no words would form in his mind. He stood there, motionless, feeling the words of his father wash over him. Harold coughed up more blood, then continued his words.“First of all, your mother is safe. I got her out before that fiend came.”

“Where is she now?” Gareth asked, relief washing over him at the news.

“That’s not important, the only thing you need to know is that she’s safe.”

Gareth wanted to protest, but a single look of his father silenced him as he continued his speech.

“Secondly, I want you to search the pockets of the man you killed and retrieve two things for me. A leather bag with my savings, and my ring. You did kill him, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.” Gareth responded with a mixture of dread and pride. He went and checked the pockets of the leather trousers of the corpse in the entrance corridor. He took out a gold watch on a chain, a few coppers and a wet handkerchief before he found a leather bag containing the savings. The ring his father meant was found in the other pocket. It had a silver band with a small ruby in a finely wrought socket, which shimmered as he held it in the light. Swiftly, he returned to his father. “I have the things you asked me for.”

“Good. Seems you did have your pretty adventure at all, didn’t you?” Even at the brink of death, the old man hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “The money has its obvious purposes. Take it and spend it wisely. As for the ring: I want you to keep that as a memento of me. Never tell anyone I gave it to you, and don’t give it away to anyone either. Will you promise me that?”

“Of course I’ll promise that!” Gareth yelped. He solemnly swore never to part with the ring. Harold seemed satisfied. “But what should I do now? I will inform the authorities of this atrocity. They will hunt down the person behind this. Justice will be served!”

“Unfortunately .. things aren’t so easy. If you return to Alberich, they will capture you and ultimately put you to death. The authorities aren’t on your side in this one, as it seems. You must run. Find your uncle Bertrand. He will know what to do.”

Every word seemed to put a bigger strain on Harold Arcanos, so Gareth refrained from asking too many questions and just nodded. “I will be fine. I can survive on my own for that long.”

“I hope you do, indeed. Lastly, would you please receive my blessing?” Gareth took on a serious expression. “I would be honored.”
“May the good spirits protect you in good times and bad times. Especially the latter, that would be most helpful now.” Harold grinned, and coughed up yet more blood. Gareth saw the twinkle in his father’s eyes vanish, and the facial muscles go slack. And so, with a smirk on his face, Harold Arcanos left the world of the living to join his ancestors in the spirit world.

Gareth felt completely devastated. He was engulfed with sadness, but he had no fluid left for even a single tear. He clasped his father’s only remaining hand one last time before he left the kitchen. Leaving the estate, he gave his home one last glance before he disappeared into the incoming dusk, never to return again.

Gareth’s breath had somehow stabilized, after all the horrible discoveries in his former home. Ghosts of all sights went through his head, and he almost submitted to sitting on the ground and waiting for the cold to take him. What was there to live for anymore? His family was dead, his home wrecked, and he would never be able to go back to his normal life besides getting caught and tortured for a crime he didn’t commit. Still, this invigorating feeling, which he could feel in every muscle, every strain, was keeping him going. A feeling which made his skin crawl, his blood pump, his eyes flicker. A feeling which emboldened him to increase his pace, to keep his sense, to make a difference.

Vengeance.

He now had a new purpose in life. In a world which held many doubts for him now, one thing was crystal clear. The blood he drew would not be the last of his enemies. He was a bit confused: Bloodshed had always been something distant for him, something he abhorred and condemned. Yet, when he struck the devastating blow in the house, he was filled with exhilaration, joy, accomplishment. What was he turning into, he wondered as he mindlessly stepped over the gravel of the road leading away from his home.
Gareth had considered avoiding the road, so that he could avoid possible patrols looking for him, but he quickly dismissed the idea. The area surrounding his house was made up of all sorts of alluvial forests, which were so dense and without steady ground that it would take days to venture across them. Winters were cold, and if he couldn’t find a dry spot and suitable wood in those soaked woods, he would surely freeze to death. It was better to traverse as many miles as possible before anybody could assemble a search party, and travel during the night. At least he had his thick buckskin cloak which would keep him warm on his travels. His pack held food for at least two weeks, so if he could make it out of Alberich, he was pretty optimistic about his survival. His pursuers were going to have a hard time, he vowed to himself silently as he closed in on the crossroads near Alberich. From there, he would take the road east to Copperwood, where he would find his uncle and his answers.

First, he would have to clean himself. His hunter garb was blood splattered. If only he had thought of it earlier, he could’ve swapped clothes. He didn’t dare go back anymore. He wanted to go somewhere warm: Maybe he would make a fire somewhere in the woods, where the thick brush would conceal most of the smoke. Hauling the wood there set him off though. It was going to take too much energy for the little comfort it would give.

Gareth snapped out of his thoughts when he took a casual sight at the horizon. Some traveler, still at least a quarter mile away, was moving his way. Panic came over him. Although his eyesight was keener than most, he was reasonably sure the traveler had seen him by now. Could it be another assassin? Gareth quickly weighed his options: He could go back and brave the alluvial woods. There was no road in another direction than the one he was using, so there would be no quick escape route. Still, the traveler could be a stranger who wasn’t aware of what had happened. But what would a stranger do at this road at this hour? There were no houses besides theirs at the end of the road. His time was running out, the stranger was closing in..
He had to hide, and fast. Gareth looked in both directions: Wet woods. It would have to do, he thought to himself as he quickly dashed into the thick willows. He made a leap across a small pond and hid between a particularly large willow tree, from where he could see the traveler pass, but where he was still reasonably concealed. Waiting in a crouch, like a predator stalking his prey, he waited for the stranger to pass by. Within minutes, he heard the creaking footsteps of the person coming closer. At least he wasn’t trying to be silent; his heels pounding the gravel could wake a deaf man. Gareth held his breath, his legs getting numb from the crouch, as he waited for the traveler to continue along the path.

The creaking stopped.

Gareth kept himself as still as he could, keeping his head down and praying the good spirits the stranger would pass. Somebody was fumbling with something. Maybe the man had lost something and was fetching it. It was more of a comforting idea than something he really believed.

His heart missed a beat.

Realizing his fatal error, fear crept up at Gareth. He had left his walking stick in his frantic attempt to conceal himself. Cursing himself silently for his stupidity, he made himself ready for a fight, should it come to one. Maybe he could move past the traveler and make a run for it. They would know they were on his tail, but at least he would live a few more days to tell the tale. Suddenly, he heard a deep, menacing yet familiar voice.

“Do you honestly believe you can survive in a wet wood in winter? Haven’t you learned anything in all those years?”

Clearing his skinning dagger in its holder, he raised his head up to catch a glimpse of the traveler. It was Evan. As he moved to check on him, Evan had spotted Gareth and was coming towards him.

“I see, there you are. How in the name of the light did you get there without being wet?”

Looking at the pond between Evan and him, Gareth realized he must’ve made a leap of nearly eight feet to get to where he was.

“I uh, don’t know”, he stumbled. You scared the hell out of me.”

Evan tossed him his walking stick: “Here, use that to get back here.”

Catching his precious possession, he still hesitated. All the events this day had made him cautious. “Why are you here Evan?”

Evan cleared his throat: “There’s talk in town. Seems your father is dead and you murdered him. I was sure they were nothing more than dark tales of those who wish to do you harm, because when the ‘murder’ took place, you were hunting with us. Still, they’re mounting some soldiers now to ride this way. I came to warn you, and to check on Harold.”

"My father is dead", Gareth said grimly as he spat on the ground, clearing his mouth of the bitter taste of heartburn. “There’s no point going back there Evan, but I appreciate your effort.” Convinced of Evan’s good intentions, he used the stick to pole-jump across the pond, landing on the far bank. ”I’m on my way back.”

Clearly taken aback, Evan looked over him, and gave a nod of compassion. “I’m sorry Gareth, I really am. He was the greatest man I’ve ever known.” In a tenderness much unlike Evan, he embraced Gareth and patted his back. “What happened to your old man?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Gareth grumbled.

“I see”, Evan said, not pushing the subject any further. “You are hurt, both physically and mentally. We should get you some bandages and supplies. I know somebody – trustworthy – who we can visit. We should head there now. There’s no saying when the authorities will come to clench you in irons.”
Seeing as what Evan said make sense, Gareth submitted to it and grabbed his bag. Soon they were running in their hunter’s pace, the icy wind tormenting them, making their skins red and senseless and their tongues dry. Still, the crossing came in sight quite soon. As they stopped there to catch their breath, he managed to speak.

“Evan, I have to go east from here. There’s no telling how swiftly they will be here, and if I go from here, I might be able to outrun them. Time is still on my side.”

Still panting, Evan rolled his eyes and spoke sternly: “You can’t outrun cavalry. Besides, in this state you’ll probably die on the way there. You’ll come with me to Carrell’s, where we can tend to your wounds and you can get some sleep. Carrell isn’t quite acquainted with you so they shouldn’t suspect you staying there.” It wasn’t a question, but an order. Gareth was too tired to go against him, and unfortunately he was completely right. He wouldn’t last a day in his current condition. Therefore, they headed north at the crossing, avoiding the town center as they shuffled through the ragged streets of north-eastern Alberich. Evan stopped at Carrell’s doorstep, and pounded the door with three exuberant knocks.

The lights upstairs went on, and he heard a grumbling man coming down the stairs, until he finally reached the door and opened it. “Damn it Evan, you screwed up our climax. What do you want?” he snapped as he saw Evan’s familiar face on the doorstep.

Carrell was the town’s blacksmith. He was quite known for his temper, which Gareth had to endure when he had sneaked into his back door with some friends when he was young. Carrell had chased them with his blacksmith’s hammer long enough that he was reasonably sure he scared them so much they’d never return again. He did indeed have a bit of a menacing appearance, with his ruffled grey eyebrows and balding head, which was remarkable because he was only in his early forties. Still, Carrell was an expert in forging cart wheels and horseshoes, for which people came from far and wide to get the best quality for their products.

“We’ve got a situation here, Carrell. You remember Harold Arcanos?”

“The hermit? Yeah, everybody knows him. Bah, politicians, they’re always jabbering more than they get work done. Never did anything for the good hardworking folk here. Anyhow, what’s he gotta do with me?”

“You owe me one, and I owe Harold one, so I’m urging the favor now because I need some help. You see this guy next to me, Carrell?” Evan patted Gareth on his shoulder. “That’s Harold’s boy, and he’s in trouble. We need some help.”

“Gah, did he impregnate somebody important’s daughter? Why do you call your favor for such menial tasks, Evan?”

“No Carrell, we’re in some much deeper trouble.”

“What are you buggering me for then? Did he murder somebody?”

“The authorities seem to think he did.” Evan sighed.

The blacksmith shook his fist angrily: “I don’t want no murderers in my house, get him away before I turn you both in. What the hell are you thinking Evan!?”

A soft female voice came from upstairs: “What’s wrong honey?” Carrell’s wife said as she stepped out of the sleeping room, dressed in a night gown.
“Stay out of it woman! Carrell snarled. Can’t you see I’m talking?” He put his eyes back on Evan and Gareth. “Anyhow, I want no bloody blood on my hands. No murderers in my house!”

“He didn’t murder anybody. It’s a false rumor. They want to put him to death for it; therefore I need your help. Please give him shelter for the night, some food and let me tend his wounds. We’ll be gone by morning.” Evan made it sound as a plea, but there was a distinctive urge to his voice.

Carrell was clearly uneasy about what was happening, but finally he said: “Curse you Evan, he can stay, but we better be damn even after this then! Come on up lad, I’ll check where I can get you some place to stay.”

Thank you Carrell, we’ll be completely even, Evan smiled as they entered the house. Reluctantly, Gareth followed the blacksmith until he stopped at a small storage room where he could barely stand in. As Gareth looked around, Carrell tossed him a pillow and some blankets. “Sleep under these. Evan you know where to find your bandages, I’m off to bed.” Grumbling he went back to the sleeping room, and in no time his snore was filling the house again.

“Don’t mind him”, Evan said as he checked on Gareth. “He’s a good man, just a bit grumpy.”

“I’ve noticed” Gareth responded. But I appreciate the aid.”

“You should, especially from Carrell. I’m glad he owed me one” Evan chuckled while tending to his wounds. Using a washing cloth, he cleaned up Gareth’s bloody fingers and put a fresh bandage on them. “This should do the trick. Get some sleep now, I assume you have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.”

Too tired to nod, Gareth sank down on the blankets. Not wanting to ponder all things that had happened in this life changing day, he closed his eyes and quickly drifted away from consciousness, in a sleep where nightmares ruled his disillusioned mind.

Gareth was in the same old dusty room in which he had spent so many of his days. Harold Arcanos sat there, fresh and alive, at the other end of the wooden table. Astonished, Gareth tried to reach for him, but his father seemed to drift away into the eternal darkness beyond. He started to run, but with every blink, Harold seemed to have moved several yards away. Heavily panting, he saw the twinkle of his father’s eyes disappear in the black void.

..his father was really gone.

Gareth awoke, and remarked with a certain indifference that somebody was tugging his arm. He didn’t sleep well with all the dreams he had. Would he ever sleep well after all he had seen? Moony, he opened his eyelids and met Evan’s gaze, who seemed to have woken him. Groaning, he wiped the sand from his eyes and left his warm linen sanctuary. Taking in the room he had slept in, he noticed a wooden armchair bearing some fresh clothes. Evan seemed to have packed his bag already. He looked out of the window: It was still dark. He hadn’t slept for long.

At least his fingers had stopped bleeding. They were healing remarkably fast, to Gareth’s relief. Still, he would bear a scar to remember the events for the rest of his life. His arms were still heavy, but he understood why Evan had wakened him. He had to leave before the first rays of sunlight emerged. Leaning on the armchair, Gareth cast a glance at Evan, who gave him an assenting look.
“That’s still part of the same favor”, Evan said as he tossed Gareth his hunter’s bag. “I’ve added water, fresh biscuits and some matches to your pack. I don’t know where you’re going and I don’t think I should know either, but this should at least get you to Copperwood.”

“Must’ve been a hell of a favor” Gareth muttered. “What did you do for Carrell that he is helping you with such a predicament?”

Evan smiled. “Let’s say I’ve gotten him out of a terrible fix in a bar at some late hour. He lowered his voice. “Never told his wife too. He loves me for that.” He started fiddling in his pack until he found what he was looking for: A loaf of rye bread. “I reckon you’re hungry. I can’t let you go before you’ve eaten something, can I?” He tossed Gareth the bread.

Gareth couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, so he gratefully devoured the meal. Grabbing all his belongings, he silently followed Evan down the stairs, as not to wake Carrell from his deep, noisy sleep. When they were at the door, Evan cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry I cannot come with you Gareth. I have a family here and I can’t leave them alone. I pray you will find a safe haven somewhere away from Alberich. Maybe this whole situation will die out sometime, but I’ll probably not see you again for a very long time. You have my blessing. May you become as great a man as your father was.” Then he gave Gareth a very unexpected fatherly hug.
Gareth didn’t know what to say for a moment, which they spent in silence together. He looked up at Evan, the tall, lean man he had hunted with for all those years. Still, he wondered.

“Evan, why did you help me?”

“Because I know you and I knew you were a victim of injustice.” Evan answered briskly.

It sounded very much unlike Evan. Gareth didn’t know what to think. A man with Evan’s heart would certainly have done it for that reason, but he had a feeling there was more to it.

“What was the real reason you helped me?”

Clearly uncomfortable, Evan took a deep breath before he decided upon what to say.

“Did you ever know how I repaid the favor to your father, Gareth?"
Puzzled, Gareth shook his head. "I didn't even know you owed him anything in the first place."

Evan continued: "He asked me to look after you. Maybe he was afraid something like the mess we’re in would happen sometime, or maybe he was just overly worried, but I promised him I’d look after you. He didn’t want you to know, but I guess I shouldn’t hide it from you. You’ve got enough problems already without this question bothering you.”

“And you did that for all these years, for a simple favor?” Gareth said derisively. “Doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“Harold did more than just a favor for me. I am forever indebted with him for what he did for me.” Evan paused, carefully choosing the words he came across. “He gave me life.”

He seemed to be reminiscing. “All of the hunters you’ve met were born in Alberich. But not me, my tale started somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Do you know how your father and I met for the first time?”

Gareth shook his head.

“I robbed him.”

Dumbfounded, Gareth couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Of all the people he knew, Evan would be the last he’d suspect of such a thing. He couldn’t think of a more moral man.

Expecting such a response, Evan spoke in defense. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done. I was young, times were tough. I was a highwayman on the main road between Meledyl and the neighboring town of Cerris. We were like a plague back then. The authorities didn’t have the manpower to deal with us, and if you could brave living in the mountains, then it was a great way to survive.

Harold had just finished his lawmaking study, and was on his way back to his birthplace to fulfill the Arcanos legacy, and to find a wife who he would spend his life with. In the way Harold always moves and makes his case, I mistook him for one of those blatant politicians from Meledyl. Those types who have wealthy families willing to pay for their son’s safety, so I put a knife at Harold’s throat and captured him.”

Gareth was still staring at Evan wide-eyed. Not expecting a response, Evan continued his speech.

“It took me about three days to realize that Harold didn’t have any wealthy acquaintances who would pay for him. In that time, with lack of a better thing to do, I spoke with Harold. At first we only shared simple speech regarding food and sleep, but as I started digging deeper into the persona that was Harold, I had more sophisticated talks with him.

He told me who he was, what his hopes and dreams were. Then he asked what my hopes and dreams were. Can you imagine? A captive asking his captor what his dreams are? Well, Harold did, and it hit me deeply.” Evan rubbed a stray tear from his eyes. “I couldn’t come up with any. My life back then consisted of robbing people and wasting the riches on gambling and women. I don’t think I have ever been more ashamed in my life than that moment. Ashamed that I didn’t want to make more of myself. Ashamed that I wasn’t more like the person I had captured. Those simple words made me cry on the spot.”

Chuckling, Evan continued his story. “And you know what that crazy old man of yours did then, Gareth? He offered me a job. A chance to forge myself into something new, protecting him from highwaymen instead of being one myself. I swear the people of Alberich could hear me shouting my cooperation back then.

He taught me how to read and write during the travel home, and when we reached Alberich and my employment was over, Harold encouraged me to find something I was truly good at. I found myself in the trapping of animals. Trust me when I say there’s no more satisfactory feeling than finding yourself in life. If not for Harold, I would probably be killed for my robberies sometime, but he helped me find the right track and that’s why I have always and will always owe him my friendship and my support.”

Evan seemed to be relieved that the story was off his heart, but fell silent as he saw Gareth gaping at him. Trying to break the awkward silence, Gareth started off.

“Of all the people I knew, you would be the last I’d suspect of such a thing.”

“People can change.” Evan mumbled as he avoided Gareth’s gaze. “I should have told you a long time ago. It’s something which has bothered me for a long time, something I’m ashamed of and hide in the darkest corners of my mind. I’ve been working my entire life to atone for what I’ve done, not necessarily for society but mostly for myself. Never try to do anything you can’t forgive yourself doing Gareth, or you’ll get old early like me.”

Gareth was reminded of the man he had killed. Would he forgive himself for it? The man most certainly did horrible things to his father, and he prayed the perpetrator would be punished in the underworld for all eternity, but he was uncertain. What gave him the right to wield the sword of justice? Still, there was no way in which he could have captured the man. He acted on self-defense. Every rib he snapped, every drop of blood he spilled, was justified in his heart. The spirit of justice had vanished long since from their home. He intended to bring it back.

Trying to control the mixed feelings of regret, anger and misery he felt, he clenched his fist as he cast his glance down. Evan seemed to notice, and put a comforting arm around him. They stood there for a few minutes, until Evan finally broke the silence.

“We’re wasting valuable nighttime. I think it’s time to leave Alberich now.”

Gareth knew he was right. During the night, it was far less likely for townsfolk to see him leave. If the authorities knew what direction he traveled in, it would be disastrous. Also, mornings in Alberich were generally busy, with folks coming to the town’s center to sell their wares, have a drink with acquaintances and stock up for the cold nights ahead. He had to avoid the people at all cost.

Looking at Evan, he gave a slight nod as he gathered his things. Sharing one last look together, he stepped through the doorframe and into the cold, damp night, away from the familiar, a start of a journey into the unknown.

What did he send that lad into ..

This thought was dominating Evan’s mind as he watched Gareth become a speck at the horizon. He prayed that the good spirits would protect that very unfortunate boy. Yet, another thought, still small but manifesting itself like a plague in his head, was forming: What was going on in Alberich?

Moving back to the kitchen, he saw Carrell sitting at the dining table, munching on his breakfast. “You’re up early Carrell.”

Carrell grumbled: His mood hadn’t improved since last night. As he opened his mouth to speak, he showered Evan with a cascade of breadcrumps.

“Got a big order yesterday with some urgency. Need to fix a cart for some nobleman from Copperwood. He’s paying handsomely too .. just needs to be done by dusk.”
Evan could tell Carrell was lying from his voice, which wasn’t as aggressive as he was accustomed to. He, just like Evan, probably hadn’t slept well this night.

“I see. I won’t be bothering you today then. I should see my wife and kids, they’re probably dead worried because I didn’t come home tonight.”

Carrell nodded in silent consent, but as Evan was moving for the front door, he broke the silence:

“Evan. Hold it. This – er – situation of last night .. it’s our little secret right? I don’t want ‘em searching my house.”

Evan turned around and faced Carrell again. “Trust me on my word that nothing that aspired here will leave these walls because of me. I’m in much bigger trouble than you are, Carrell. Housing a murderer means death. Knowledge of the murderer would mean torture, before death. I wouldn’t want that to happen, now would I?”

As Carrell seemed convinced by these words, Evan left the smithy to head where he should've gone much earlier: Home. As he was sauntering over the pavement out of east Alberich, he heard the blacksmith furiously pounding his anvils, as to forget that Gareth’s problem was now also his responsibility to bear. Still, Evan was reasonably sure he was not going to tell anybody, even if Carrel’s only reason was to save his sorry self.

As he approached the town center, the noise of the crowd reached his ears on the wind, like the buzzing of a fly in his ear. Closing in on the marketplace, the streets became increasingly populated. Stall vendors were trying to sell their roasted chicken to the hungry, others were praising the quality of their silk, trinkets, livestock and various other goods Evan didn’t really pay attention to. In the dark alleys, he could see shady dealings taking place that couldn’t bear sunlight: Corrupt officials taking bribes, black market traders selling skulls and poisons and a sinister bunch of men probably waiting for an ignorant traveler to trespass the small bystreets. Yet, all these places had something familiar: Everywhere he went, there was the buzz of chatter. Gossip about the terrible event that had taken place.

As he was passing through the busy avenue on his way home, he noticed the sign of the Feisty Goat tavern. Stopping in his tracks, he decided his family would have to wait a few more minutes. He needed a drink to forget his woes.

Entering the noisy inn, which was just as crowded as the streets outside, he was greeted by the innkeeper as he managed to capture a seat at the bar. When he was about to order a drink, the crowd was suddenly stirred: Somebody was speaking. Evan tried to make himself tall to see who it was, but there were simply too many people. Hence he turned his ear to the voice and as the crowd gradually became silent, he managed to make out the speech.

“Dear citizens of Alberich. This day, our peaceful town has been witness to a terrible event. Our most respected councilmember Harold Arcanos, who is in the hearts of many of us, was brutally slain by none other than his very own son, Gareth.”

The crowd burst out in angry whispers at hearing this terrible incident. When the speaker managed to subdue the noise of the crowd, he continued his message.

“But death wasn’t horrifying enough for this monstrous murderer: Not even granting the dead their rest, he mutilated the corpse of his own old man.”

The crowd was getting increasingly loud now. Evan was afraid there might be a riot, but miraculously the speaker seemed to keep control of the situation, hushing the mass and scraping his throat to continue.

“But rest assured, dear citizens. We will not allow this unforgivable deed to go unpunished. The coward is on the run, but our soldiers are looking for this disgrace to humanity as we speak. Other criers like me are spreading the word about him right now. Soon, all of Arganoth will know of the criminal act of this boy!”

The crowd was shouting in consent now. It was sickening Evan. How he longed to shout that what really happened into the ears of these narrow-minded herd animals. How he wanted to make them see how they were deceived, herded by the information officials were feeding them. If a truth was buried deep enough, lies could become the new verity.
But he didn’t. He had his family to care about. What were they going to do without him? He would only be captured in vain if he decided to stand up now. Therefore, he stayed where he was, watching the crowd dissolve as the message had been relayed.

When the barkeeper offered him a drink, he refused: Better not get intoxicated now. A deep sadness was emerging from inside him of the events of late. Of how easy it was to mesmerize people with the things they wanted to hear. He wanted to be home as soon as possible to see his wife and children again.

Leaving the Feisty Goat, he moved against the current of people moving to the marketplace on the way home. As the streets grew increasingly deserted, he finally caught his small wooden home in sight, on the western edge of Alberich. As he entered the house, his wife was storming towards him. Spreading his arms, he caught her in a sure embrace. She was in tears.

“Oh Evan, we were all so worried about you! When we heard about what Gareth did and you didn’t come back we all thought you ..” She had difficulty speaking as Evan comforted her, while her cheeks wetted his shoulders. “I’m just so glad you’re back.”

Evan stroked her back and wiped her tears away. “Martha, there was nothing to worry about. I didn’t want to scare you. I just stayed at Carrell’s because I was so tired from the hunting trip. I know I should have gone home immediately, it was foolish of me not to think about your anxiety.”
Martha seemed satisfied with that answer. She kissed him as she guided him to the living room, where a pot of tea was fuming on the stove. He longed for his children to be home, as he hadn’t seen them since he departed for the hunting trip. As he and Martha sat on the couch, he was sunken in thought. First, he would have to organize the hunting party in the absence of Gareth. What he was to do next, he didn’t know yet. He had to know what was going on. And he also knew who was going to help him with his thirst for information.

Max Brownlow.

Oh, his feet were hurting so much from the walking. For hours upon end, he had been traveling the road between Alberich and Copperwood, wearing down both his boots and his resolve. A cold breeze blew across his face, partially revitalizing him yet reminding him of this cold reality: A good night’s rest was still far away. Gareth could feel his feet growing callus upon his callus, but he dared not stop, lest his pursuers would get to him.

At first, he thought he was reasonably safe as he left Alberich. Good spirited, he had started the hike towards the town of Copperwood. He knew it was far, for he had been told by both his father and Evan, but he would never have guessed it would be such a nightmare. His hunting trips were long and tiresome, but at least they would stop on the way to have some rest. Now, he could not rest, nor feel safe for any second of the journey.

The shattering of his resolve started with the emergence of tiny specks at the horizon. Riders they were, Gareth soon found out, as the clatter of their hooves resonated throughout the whole valley. When they came past, Gareth could hear the rattling of their chainmail, and he was blinded by the shimmering of their sword hilts. He would not want to face these warriors in combat. As they closed in on him, he made sure to hide in the brambles next to the road until they had passed a safe distance, the thorns bloodying his face in the process.

The wind was carrying salty sand from the sand drifts to the far east, pouring into his wounds and making it feel as if his skin was on fire. The sand entered his eyes, his nostrils, his ears, making him ache with every breath. The food he ate was spoiled by it, the grains crunching between his teeth as he devoured the hare meat. He was starting to feel increasingly miserable.

Dusk was setting upon Arganoth, the dark clouds obscuring the last rays of sunlight until it was completely dark. Gareth was completely exhausted and decided he would rather die than continue right now. When he noticed an opening in the thick bramble bush he took his chances and entered the dark woods.

Gareth curled up in his coat next to a reasonably sized boulder, where it was still bramble-free. He felt lonely, alone as he was in the wild. Lying on the ground watching the moonlight that sometimes managed to penetrate the thick branches, he was fingering the ring his father gave him before he died. Thinking back of his father nearly brought him to tears again. Dad would’ve known what to do now, Gareth thought as he put the ring on his finger. It would be a reminder to him of the great man he always loved. It somehow comforted him as he watched his reflection in the ruby. Slowly, he drifted to sleep.

Two men were talking somewhere distant, like whispers on the wind. Gareth didn’t put much notice to it, still in the transition between rest and wakefulness, until he jolted awake by a kick to his stomach, rendering him breathless for a few seconds. As he moaned in pain and confusion, he dared to open his eyes, staring into a shining steel halberd, of which the head was decorated as the elder dragon, symbol of Arganoth. The menacingly sharp edge was pointed towards him. He was in some deep trouble.

Having opened his eyes, he took in his surroundings: It was still very early, the sun was still creeping over the horizon, as if it was reticent in its approach. The few rays of sunlight that managed to escape did*’t reach Gareth anymore though, as he was now overshadowed by two large figures.

They were dressed in heavy plated armor, making the earth quake with every step. A black crest bearing a silver dragon was clearly visible on the shoulder plates of their armor: These were unmistakably Republican soldiers. One held its halberd pointed at Gareth, while the other was keeping his own at the ready, albeit at a distance, to strike with deadly effect at any abrupt movement. There was no escape.

“Looks like we found the murderous brat” the first soldier said decisively. His voice was deep and growly, doing honor to his menacing appearance. Gareth wanted to say something in his defense, convince the soldiers he was innocent, but as he raised and opened his mouth, he was backhanded by the armored glove of the soldier.

The blow resonated throughout his whole head, concussing him and making his ears ring. He felt his teeth break as the glove finished contact with his skull. Instantly, his head burned with the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. He wanted to scream, but the pain of his jaw made him unable to, having him hiss instead of cry in pain. The ache slowly subsided to a level where he was able to think again, but remained steadfast in its torment. With faint eyes, he saw the second soldier bind his wrists and ultimately blacken his view with a blindfold.

“Get up, follow us and don’t say a word” the first solder clamored. Gareth didn’t even dare to think of going against that, not after what they had done to him. He came up with effort and was sometimes herded in the right direction by a shove. They soon came out of the brambles, as he could feel the gravel of the road beneath his feet again. The two soldiers lifted him and threw him on something Gareth was oblivious to. When he heard the clatter of hooves and the creaking of wheels, it became clear to him he was on a coach. A coach on the way to his doom.

They traveled for a long time. Gareth had lost track of all time. It could have been hours or days, but to him, it seemed like an eternity until the rocking of the carriage was tempered and the clatter of hooves became increasingly loud. The gravel path had turned into a stone road, which meant they were nearing a town. Gareth figured it would be Copperwood. Soon, the clatter of hooves mixed with the sounds of a bustling town, and not long after that the coach stopped. He was pulled out of the back of the coach and urged into some sort of building.

Even with a blindfold, Gareth knew he did not like the building they stepped into. The chilly wind from outside managed to penetrate inside and it stank of something he couldn’t define. One of the soldiers left to converse with one of the many voices he heard around him. Within the minute, he was back, forcing Gareth down some slippery stone stairs. Downstairs, he could hear the wails and whispers of a dozen men. Some were praying, others were cursing the guards as they moved past. Slowly, the realization came to Gareth: This was a dungeon. After a bunch of steps, the soldiers removed his blindfold.
“Get in the cell” the soldier shouted in his growling voice, pointing his halberd at Gareth’s chest. He didn’t even dare to object against that, so he carefully stepped back until the soldier closed the rusty metal gate before him.

“Right where he belongs” he heard the second soldier say smugly as the two moved out of the dungeon. Up the stairs, he heard a door being slammed shut. Everything was now cloaked in darkness.

It took him a few moments to get adjusted to the dark. The gap under the door enabled him to see just enough to make out his surroundings. He was in a tiny cell of about ten square yards. He couldn’t stand up tall without bumping his head to the low ceiling, so he was forced into a crouch. The dark brick wall behind him was reeking and covered in green slime. In the back of the complex, he could hear rats creeping around, looking for a meal. On the ground of his cell lay two rags he was supposed to sleep on, which probably hadn’t been washed since the time they were put there.

But the worst of all were the people in there. They were all staring at him, scaring him, making him feel uneasy. Gareth tried not to look at them as he turned his head away from all the misery. How could anyone allow people to live under these conditions? Even murderers didn’t deserve such an existence. And he was stuck in this horrible place, for the good spirits knew how long. Just this thought made him crestfallen. His life was no longer his, dependant on the people who were to judge him. Everything was over. He would probably be executed, something that seemed like a glorious release to him right now. Death would be better than living on in this inhumane environment.

Dispirited, he lay down on the filthy blankets on the floor of his cell, trying to ignore the whispers of the other prisoners. His head was still instilled with violent pains every time he moved a facial muscle. In this state, he simply lay there, thinking of the life he would miss, about what would happen to him in the next few days. After hours of self-pity, his eyes shut and he fell asleep.

Gareth was walking on the gravel path to Copperwood. He breathed the fresh outdoor air and felt a cold breeze in his face. He was surely dreaming. His stomach grumbled, but his pack was empty. He couldn’t even remember having breakfast this morning. Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t remember anything that happened this morning at all.

That was odd, Gareth thought, straining his mind to try and remember what he had eaten this morning. He was unable to. Maybe it just hadn’t happened in the dream. Putting his mind off the matter, he continued his hike until exhilaration came over him. The clock tower of Copperwood was looming in the distance. He was nearly there.

Copperwood was larger than Alberich, and owed its name to the early brown colour of the trees there, that filled the streets with their coppery leaves, making the city beautiful to behold during autumn. Gareth had been there only once, and he was absolutely awed by the beauty of the place. Now however, it was winter. The leaves were gone, and suddenly, Copperwood felt like a very unfriendly place.

As he was nearing the gates of town, he tried to be unsuspicious. The guards at the gate looked at him with a wary eye, but didn’t take any action, to Gareth’s utmost relief. A single snowflake fell on top of Gareth’s coat. Winter was finally starting to get Arganoth into its icy grip. Checking his pockets, he found that everything was still there. Good, Gareth thought. He would be needing his resources quite soon.

First he entered a textile store and bought himself a black scarf, which would not only keep him warm against the chilly wind and ever lowering temperatures, but could also be worn over his face to conceal him from the guards. Luckily it was winter, so it would not be suspicious for him to walk around nearly unrecognizable.

He didn’t forget why he was here though: To find his uncle Bertrand. Gareth really hoped his uncle could shed light on what had happened the last few days.

He was tired though, and it was getting late. Having the comforts of a bed and a warm meal really seemed appealing to him, and as he walked past the town’s inn, he dismissed his doubts and went for the door. As he moved for it though, something struck him: He could not live under his own name anymore. After a few seconds, he had mustered the courage to go in. From now on, he was Jack Reed, assistant to Alberich’s renowned notary, Sir Brownlow. With conviction, he stepped into the inn, which welcomed him with the warm glow of the raging blaze of the fireplace. The bald innkeeper smiled politely at his newfound customer as Gareth slipped a few copper marks over the table.

He wanted to go to sleep, but something was making him unable to, so he was lying on the bed sunken in thoughts for several hours. The inn gradually grew more silent as the night approached, the sheer serenity of it making him drowsy. He was about to fall to sleep when he jumped up in alarm: Somebody was slowly opening the door.

Not wanting to get surprised again, Gareth slipped to the back side of the door, waiting for the intruder to appear. The door’s hinges squeaked as the door slowly opened. He was standing on his toes now, ready to strike whenever it was needed. When the entering figure put a daring step into the room, Gareth launched himself towards the stranger and put his skinning knife at the invader’s throat.

He was looking in the fearful eyes of the innkeeper. Keeping his voice a whisper, Gareth hissed to him. “Why are you here?”

The innkeeper’s voice was trembling. “I-I-I am not here to turn you in. I was supposed to keep an eye out for you.”

“Keep an eye out for me?” Gareth inquired more aggressively than he wanted to. “And exactly who is looking for me then?”

“I bear a message. Bertrand Arcanos would like to meet you.”

Evan was shuffling through the dusty streets of Alberich. The sun only cast a weak glow on the world below, unable to penetrate the dark clouds hanging over Arganoth. It was as if the weather was mourning the events of late.

Around him he saw a town waking: Vendors were setting up their stalls while only a handful of people were about. Mostly they were merchants wanting to get away before the snow would completely cut Alberich off, readying their supplies and departing in all directions. The only bustling place was the bakery, where they were undoubtedly hard at work to get the bread ready for the hungry crowd that would soon appear.

Evan however, was already coming back from one of his tasks. He felt compelled to ensure the continuity of the hunting party, because he was not going to lead them on the next trapping venture. There were some other things he had to take care of. That still meant somebody else had to take the lead though, so he faked an illness to Perkins, requesting he’d take the burden of responsibility for the hunting party from now on. Perkins reluctantly agreed. Hopefully nobody familiar would see him right now, in his miraculously recovered state. That’s why he made haste to the east, to his new destination: The notary’s home.

Evan didn’t know much about Max Brownlow except of what rumors told him. He was supposedly proud, paranoid, rigorous, but also a very well educated philosopher. Some said he was at heart a revolutionary, while others claimed he was actually very conservative. In the end though, very little people knew anything about him other than his name. Evan felt a little uneasy visiting such a powerful and refined person, but Sir Brownlow was the only person he could think of that could help him with his questions. The notary had always been good friends with Harold.

Closing in on the notary’s home, which was easily distinguished from the other houses, Evan started feeling uncomfortable. He never had any problems speaking with people, but then again, he had never really encountered nobility in person. His legs were shaky as he stepped through the iron gate surrounding the estate.

Evan could not hold himself from admiring the taste of the inhabitant. The manor was wholly constructed from wood that resembled rich mahogany, but was a bit tougher to hold out against the harsh conditions from outside. Surrounding the building was an outstretched courtyard, harboring apple trees of which the town’s youth would often try to snitch an apple in summer. On the other side, there was a sizable pond, having frozen over by the cold of the last weeks. Ivy was creeping up on the walls of the house, making for a gradual transition between the yard and the building. Due to this, the manor felt as if in perfect harmony with its surroundings.

Carefully treading the stone steps to the front door, Evan took a last deep breath and sounded twice with the opulent brass knocker. He heard movement behind the door and within a few seconds, he was looking in the eyes of a small clean-shaved man, dressed in an elegant black suit. Evan saw the man’s eyes go over his ragged hunter’s garb. Ultimately he spoke: “What is your business here?”

Evan forced himself to a calm before he responded: “I would like to speak to Sir Brownlow, if I may.”

“Certainly, I will inquire,” the butler said politely as he closed the door in Evan’s face. Evan waited outside in the cold for a minute or two until the butler opened up again. “Sir Brownlow requests you wait until he is done with his client until he can speak to you. Meanwhile, you may rest inside. He opened the door a little further, allowing Evan to come in, which he did thankfully. Inside, it was pleasantly warm, so he removed his cloak as he was led to the waiting room by the butler.

While the butler darted away to tend to his other tasks, Evan observed the room he was standing in. It was very similar to what he had expected it to look like. Sir Brownlow seemed to have a preference for wood, as the room was breathing it in almost everything in it, be it from the richly decorated teak chairs to the various wood framed paintings that filled the walls. The hazy sunlight that fell through the tall windows didn’t quite manage to lighten up the place, so a fire was burning in the marble fireplace. Evan hesitantly took a seat near the fire and was content in warming his nearly frozen hands until he heard the door creaking. First came the butler, opening the door for another figure to step through. He quickly lowered his head then closed the door behind him, leaving Evan and Sir Brownlow alone in the waiting room.

Sir Brownlow was dressed in a fine brown jacked, paired with dark silk trousers. Evan guessed him to be in his seventies. The wrinkles started to show on his face, and his hair was completely grey. Still, he stepped inside proudly, conveying an air of regality.

Evan didn’t really know what to do, so he respectfully bowed as Sir Brownlow turned towards him. Sir Brownlow laughed. He was not quite sure if it was in pleasure or mocking.

“There is no need for such formalities” Sir Brownlow said. “Let us speak in a more personal matter. Who do I have the honor with?”

Evan was a bit at loss of what to say. “I – eh – am Evan. Fairwood,” he quickly added, seeing the confused face of Sir Brownlow. I am here because I hoped you could help me, Sir.” Suddenly, Evan felt silly for coming into this house, without proper clothing or even making an appointment. What would Sir Brownlow think of him, just stumbling into his house like this. Tensely Evan awaited the response.

“Evan Fairwood, of the hunting company?” Sir Brownlow inquired. Evan nodded. “And you may call me Max, I do not like speaking in such a formal way. But first, we need some atmosphere in here.”

Max opened one of the drawers in the room and revealed a phonograph, putting it on the desk. Within a few seconds, violin play was filling the room. Max was humming with the melody. As he was done, he seated himself in the chair opposite to Evan.

“Ah, music. It clears the soul and loosens the tongue. How I tried playing the violin. Alas, we are not all fit to play it. Anyhow, recurring to your business, I am certainly interested to know how I can help you.”

Evan found the music relaxing, and he felt easier now. Sir Brownlow wasn’t at all the person he had imagined him to be. Confident, he shared his thoughts.

“As you may have noticed, Harold Arcanos has died a horrible death a few days ago.” Evan tried to word it in such a way he wouldn’t give away his interference. “I know his son is being hunted, but ..” Evan paused, not quite sure how to put the matter into words.

“Aha!” Max exclaimed, scaring the wits out of Evan. “You do not believe Gareth killed his father?”

Evan was stuttering, not having expected such a response. “I – I just don’t think Gareth could’ve done such a thing, that’s all.” He was not quite sure if he trusted Sir Brownlow yet. He saw Max stand up and move towards the door. Was he going to call the court? Evan wondered as he grew increasingly afraid.

Instead, Max listened at the door and soon proceeded in closing the curtains. Then he sat down again and spoke: “I, for one, have my highest doubts that Gareth was the murderer.”

Relief washed over Evan, his heartbeat decreasing to a steady pace again. “What makes you think that?” he ultimately asked.

“Harold had a lot more problems than he shared with even his best friends. But he did not need to tell me them to make them obvious. While he was quite popular around these parts, his fellow council members weren’t so happy with his behavior.” As he was about to continue his speech, the butler suddenly came in with a platter of tea, which he set on the table. He bowed slightly and left the room again. Max handed Evan a steaming cup of tea and took a sip of his own, smiling. “Nothing revitalizes a man better than a warm cup of tea.”

The tea did indeed warm him better on the inside than anything else he could come up with. He was almost getting drowsy in the comfortable chair he was in. A silence fell, in which they both enjoyed the rich aromas. After some time, Evan put down his porcelain cup and resumed the conversation.

“Aren’t you afraid that the butler hears anything of the conversations you want to keep private?”

“You mean Jeremy?” Max said. “He has been my butler for forty years. If there is anyone I would trust with my private conversations, it would most certainly be him.”

Evan hummed in understanding. “Still, I am quite baffled as for why you are trusting me. I mean, you could be in some serious danger doubting the jurisdiction right now. What makes you trust me on that matter?”

Max took another sip of his tea. “You are wrong about that, I’m afraid. I do not trust you at all.”

“But imagine the harm somebody could do to you with that information. You could be in some serious danger!” Evan was edging his seat now, not quite understanding what foolishness had come over this man. Calmly, Max waited until he was done.

“You and I are not so different in this, Evan. Do you know the saying ‘Curiosity killed the cat’? If I was a cat, I would have lost my nine lives long ago. Much like you, I am interested in what is going on here. But I’ve been aware of this situation for quite some time, and if I am to do something about it before I die, now is most certainly the time. Also, I am aware that I cannot do this on my own. My sources tell me you had friendly intercourse with Harold for a good amount of years. That means if I was forced to trust somebody, you would be one of the better options.”

Evan was baffled. How much did Max know about him? Still, his speech intrigued him. He felt he was on the edge of understanding. Just that feeling gave him a great sense of accomplishment.

“The fact that I cannot wholly trust you means I am not going to share my intimate knowledge of the problem with you, but I think you have the right to know what is going on.”

The fire was still crackling in the hearth, making Max’s eyes flicker as he embarked with his story.

“Harold has been in the Council for a long time. At first, he was very naïve, thinking he could achieve a better world on his own. But the quick learner he was, he soon understood that politics are not quite as righteous as they make you think they are.

Every law that gets voted at in the Council needs a two third majority in order to pass. Soon, Harold found out that it was nigh impossible to get a two thirds majority in a council that is teeming with corruption. Bribing is as common in the council as eating bread is for you. Therefore, Harold dedicated himself to blocking laws that were unbeneficial for Alberich, instead of trying to change the system by himself. That is what he has devoted his life to. But in his heart, he was bleeding. Bleeding because he could not achieve that which he had vowed himself to do: Making the world a better place. Getting support for him was hard, as there were few likeminded people in the council. Since politicians do not get paid for their work, it is necessary for them to either be very wealthy themselves, or in case of Harold, to have certain benevolent and wealthy supporters to sponsor their political career.”

Evan looked at the complacent Max, and suddenly realized where Harold got all his money from. Eagerly, he waited for Sir Brownlow to continue his story.

“Anyhow, Harold was still reasonably successful in blocking malevolent laws from being executed. Laws that were often in favor of the council, thus making him quite unpopular among his colleagues. I can only assume that certain unnamed council members had decided Harold needed to be eliminated to restore their old power vacuum.”

Evan was feeling anger inside. He cursed the council members that had Harold murdered for their old blood money. Also, he felt sorry for Gareth, that poor boy who was the victim of the power struggles going on. Soon, he asked: “Why did they designate Gareth as the murderer?”

“Who knows,” Max replied. “They probably just needed a scapegoat. Maybe they were also afraid he would succeed his father in the council. However, it doesn’t make sense that they are enforcing such a witch-hunt on all Arcanos sympathizers. Now that Harold is out of power, it shouldn’t be necessary.”

The violins solos were still filling the air of the room. They no longer calmed Evan, nothing could calm him at the moment. If he had the chance, he would cut the council’s throat by himself. Surely, the pacifist Harold would not agree, but he felt death was the proper punishment for the crimes committed on their behalf. He stood up, his fists balled: “We should kill them all!”

Max laughed at him now, not heartily but mockingly instead. “And how would you plan on doing that? Hire a mercenary army? For every councilmember you kill, a new one will take its place. What I am rather interested in is who is responsible for the killing. And I have just the idea to find out who it was..”

Gareth was lying on the cold, stone brick floor of the dungeon. His back was aching from sleeping on the stone, but it was still better than the horrible experience he had last night. The putrid rags that he used as a bed were infested with maggots, creeping up his chest while he lay there, their wriggling motions startling him. But worst were the maggot bites, which made his skin burn in harrowing pain. He would take a sore back over that torment any day.
Sitting up, he forced himself to gulp down the ice cold soup that the guards had left for him. It tasted horribly, but at least it eased his immediate hunger. His stomach was already grumbling. Hopefully they would bring some more soon.

Gareth had lost all sense of time in the dungeon. There was no such thing as day or night there, and the only hint he had of time was from the sunlight that came through the gaps in the complex door. He would sit against the slimy back wall of the cell and divert his mind from the situation he was in all day. Thinking of the people back home made him cry, but every tear he dropped was worth it. He longed for sleep, where he could escape in his dreams. There he would continue his epic journey. And so he waited, for sleep or a diversion, awaiting his fate.

As he was in thoughts about this, suddenly the complex door opened, making him cower beneath the sunlight cast upon him. The rays were blocked by a figure descending the steps until he came upon Gareth’s cell. He looked like a guard, but he didn’t bear the Republican crest like the two soldiers that captured him. Maybe he was the dungeon master. With a raspy voice, the man addressed him.

“You’re going with me to the courthouse for your trial. Don’t try anything stupid. I keep my sword close at hand.”

He unlocked the door and pulled Gareth out of the cell. As the dungeon keeper pushed Gareth forth in front of him, the pair was followed by the eyes of the other inmates, some bickering about the sunlight, others wishing him luck after which they cast out a sadistic laugh.

As they neared the exit of the jailhouse, the dungeon keeper grabbed a bucket filled with water. “Hold still” he commanded after which he emptied the bucket’s contents above Gareth’s head. “That should tidy you up.”

Going outside proved to be both delight and vexation for him. He inhaled the fresh outside air, clearing his lungs of the stench from below. At the same time, the cold breeze made him shiver in the cold. The water drops that slid past his cheek were crystallizing into tiny diamond-like aggregates. However, Gareth was most awed by the whole world that had gone white. Winter had definitely fallen over Arganoth.

Walking through the snow, they ultimately hit upon the courthouse. It truly was a marvelous building, Gareth thought as they entered, passing two grand stone pillars. As the two of them advanced into the building they entered a large entrance hall. The walls were covered with carpets, depicting the illustrious heroes of Arganoth’s history. Gareth recognized a few of them, such as Thula, titled Trollsbane for her part in the subjugation of the troll clans of the northern ranges. At the other wall he saw Argos, the hero who led the revolt against the monarchy hundreds of years ago and established the republic, which still bore his name after all these years. Gareth marveled at the craftsmanship of the carpets, and realized they must cost a fortune.

As they ascended the staircase, Gareth somehow knew that he was to expect the large court room that filled the second story of the building. Every step he advanced in the courthouse, his presumption grew that he had been here before. Maybe his father had taken him here as a little child, he thought.
At the entrance of the courtroom, the dungeon master was relieved by a large burly guard that was waiting there. Not quite as gentle as the dungeon master, the guard gave Gareth a kick to signal he was to go inside the court room.

The courtroom was even more opulent than the entrance hall. Gareth saw even more carpets hanging on the walls and the windows were cloaked by giant red, velvet curtains. The rest of the walls was abundantly filled up with paintings, mostly landscapes but also depictions of old men wearing a toga, which he presumed were the judges that had seated here. From the judge’s chair, such an old man was looking down upon him with small, wrathful eyes. Suddenly Gareth felt very small and inconsiderable.

Gareth was led to a chair in front of the judge, where he could not escape the penetrating gaze. The guard didn’t leave his side, probably to disallow him to escape the courthouse. As he heard the oaken doors slam shut behind him, he knew there was no way out.
Suddenly, the judge raised his voice, with a thundering quality that frightened Gareth.

“Gareth Richard Arcanos. You hereby stand accused of murder of your father, guardian and financial supporter Harold Arcanos, member of the Northern council, by mutilating him and leaving him bleeding to death. What are your defenses against this accusation?”

Gareth was dumbfounded, but as the guard patted his shoulder, he realized he was supposed to speak. He stood up, his legs wobbling and still trembling of the cold. He saw the spectators of the lawsuit stare at him, and he realized they saw a filthy, ragged clothed beggar in him right now. Still, if he didn’t say anything he would most certainly lose the case. With a trembling voice, he pleaded his case:

“Y-Your honor. I would never murder my beloved father like that. What are you basing your accusation upon?”

The judge’s eyes shone. “Well, we happen to have a witness. Would anyone be so kind to bring him in please?”

The oaken doors behind him opened up, and revealed two more guards accompanying a lone man in between. As they three of them neared Gareth, he could make out the witness’ face, which made his stomach turn.

It was Carrell.

That filthy traitor, Gareth thought. Carrell was looking around bashfully and met Gareth’s gaze, but was only answered by a look of pure hatred. Carrell looked smug, but in his eyes, Gareth thought he could see some fear too.

He was thrown back to reality by the booming voice of the judge.

“Carrell Vane, you have seen this boy’s despicable action. Would you describe what you’ve seen?”

Carrell seemed a bit reluctant but as the guard besides him gave him a nod, his smile broadened and he started the confession.

“Well, I was on my way to Harold Arcanos’ house, ye see, I had some business there. I repair and create coach metalworks, best in the land I might say, and I’d a customer that was ..”

“Skip to the relevant part” the judge snapped. Startled, Carrell continued his monologue.

“Well, er, so I came along the house of Harold and I see the premises all bloodied and I figured that was bad. I go inside and I see that little maniac slash at his poor father. He must’ve put up pretty much of a fight, cause the whole place was bloodied ‘n such. Harold screams mercy at his son, but he doesn’t fail to come up with new ways to torment the man. I had a hard time watchin’, but just wonder what that lad would’ve done to me had he spotted me.”

Gareth couldn’t believe the whole farce. Did they pay Carrell to testify, or did they extort him into doing so. He was wondering what happened to Evan. He hoped they didn’t kill him for not testifying against him. Still, he couldn’t stop being angry with Carrell, silently cursing him for his misfortune.

The judge raised his voice again: “The witness has spoken very convincingly. For such an act of evil is only one proper punishment. Does the defendant have anything to say to refute this severe accusation?”

Gareth had a hard time to think straight now. He envisioned himself strangling the blacksmith, a quite satisfying thought. If only his dad or Evan were here, they would know what to do, what to say, how to handle officials. Maybe he should’ve paid attention at his father’s lectures more.

“I deny every single ridiculous accusation this man throws at me,” he snarled at the judge, who seemed unimpressed. “The hunting company I am part of was on a venture while this so-called murder was committed. If you are guided by this mad man’s delusions I have little faith in our judicial system!”

He felt the cold touch of a blade between his ribs, snapping him out of his anger and concentration. Looking around, he noticed the crowd was captivated. The mayor’s spouse was gaping at him in fright and excitement, the head clerk’s glasses lay shattered at his feet, the scribe was cursing over his broken quill. But everyone was looking at his balled fist, his taunting stance, his heaving chest. Without realizing it, Gareth had taken a few steps towards the judge and had drawn close. He was weighing his options: One leap and a crushing blow would be enough, but was it worth it? Noticing the cold steel prying in his chest, he figured he would be bloody pulp before he could even reach over the judge’s cabinet. Still red from his burst of anger, he stepped back and was immediately flanked by his guard, who was reinforced by a second on Gareth’s other side.

The judge already seemed to have recovered from the situation, since he was already scraping his throat again. “Despite this unexpected .. insolence .. the defendant has failed to present any evidence of his innocence. Does anybody have anything to add on the matter?”

The public was silent, waiting for the judge to speak the words they knew would all come. Seemingly unaffected by this sentiment, the judge raised his hand.
“Gareth Richard Arcanos, I hereby convict you for the murder of Harold Arcanos, for which the penalty is death by hanging. You will be executed before the new moon. And be gone with you now!”

When the judge slammed his fist on the table, Gareth knew his fate was sealed. The rope, he never thought it would end that way. But the most painful was the betrayal of Carrell, who had also betrayed Evan’s trust by doing this. As a guard carried him away from the courtroom, he saw a sly smiling individual stand up from the crowd and walk towards Carrell and the judge. Discreetly, the man passed two little bags towards the two, and suddenly it all made sense to Gareth.
He was shuffling through the snow again, back to the dungeon. The cold didn’t bother him anymore; the only thought that was on his mind was his end. It would be upon him soon, and there were still so many things he wanted to do with his life. In his mind, he was kneeling in front of a fair lady asking her to marry him, embracing her, kissing her. Never in his life had he felt this lonely. Truth be told, he wouldn’t lose somebody like that now, but the sole fact of not having the chance to experience it made him feel abandoned, missing out. He was sad, very sad.

There was also relief somewhere deep inside him. He would be freed from the dungeon he hated so much, and would see his father and Maxwell in the afterlife again. That feeling kept him going as he felt the guard’s icy blade against his abdomen, pushing him forward in the right direction. With his tears frozen across his face, he was cast into the tiny cell again, where he sank down on the ground, mourning his fate in self-pity. As he was silently sobbing there, the other prisoners looked at him. Gareth somehow felt sorry for them. Some of them would stay in those degrading cells for their whole life. It had driven some of them completely insane. Death was a better option than that, Gareth thought.

With this in mind, he lay down on the cold stone, closed his eyes and drifted away..