To my readers,
First of all I think I should apologize to the people that started reading my story, and whom I left hanging. Although I have a good reason for not continuing the story back then, I should have given notice, and I'm sorry I did not.
When I resumed to the story I decided to revise the already submitted chapters, because to me some parts felt rushed, and I was of the opinion I could do better. This chapter I'm now submitting is a bundle of four of the five chapters already posted on this site. I tried to change the story as little as possible, and in the case you did read those earlier posted chapter you could skip this one. However there are changes, so to prevent confusion I do advise to read this one nonetheless.
My special thanks goes to Sofie and Jamie, my two editors, without whom this story would have been less enjoyable for you, the reader. I can ensure you that this little text, which I will submit unedited, is not representable for the following story.
Another thing I do ensure you of, is that I imagined all the following characters to be of an age necessary to legally act out their roles.
Now rests me no more than to wish you much pleasure in reading my work. So please enjoy!
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Little puffs of red dust were stirred up every time his boots hit the dry road. The sky refused to yield any rain, and the trees as well as the small bushes on either side of the road were bone-dry. The smallest spark could turn it in to a inferno. Dust of two days walking soiled his face, and his pouring sweat made him look as if he was melting away. His normally blond and curly hair was crusted into a reddish brown mass. Even if walking was sometimes essential in his line of work, he didn't have to like it. So he walked further west, cursing his luck and cursing the people that were responsible for him having to be there. Sometimes all of that cursing was interrupted by muttering, an indication that he thought about his black hunter, which he had to leave behind in the stables of Bramen Castle.
After an hour or two of walking, cursing and growling, he looked up to see the dense vegetation suddenly make way for grassland. The retreat of the trees made the blue sky clearly visible. Standing there on the edge of the forest, the young man who would introduce himself to others as Mathew, let out a string of curses that the trees behind him would frown upon, if they were capable of facial expressions. On the horizon, he could see the first sign of what was to come, the only thing he hated more than walking in the heat; walking in the rain. But before he had finished cursing, he spotted smoke rising behind the next hill top, so he abruptly stopped what he was doing and got on with walking.
The moment he reached the top of the hill, there was a little farm, nestled between the slopes, and a little bridge over the stream that crossed to the porch. 'Peaceful' was the first thing that popped into his mind and he chuckled at the thought. He had heard much about the hospitality of the people living in this area and hopefully the inhabitants of this little house would be as welcoming as their home suggested.
After carefully wrapping his bow, short sword and knives up in an oiled rag, he hid them under a hedge. He also deposited his leather vest in the little hiding place. Armed with only a long hand knife he made his way to the farmstead.
A woman, in the fall of her life, was tending to a flock of geese. She looked up when she heard the muffled sound of boots meeting the wooden bridge. Still bent over, her gaze fell upon the young and dusty wanderer. Her dark blond curls were bound together preventing them from falling in front of her face. Her face must have been called pretty, in a peasant kind of way, when she was in the prime of her youth, but the process of aging and years of hard work had left their marks.
"Greetings. My name is Mathew and I'm on my way to the monastery of Karligen," the youthful man said. "When I saw your lovely home from the top of the hill, I hoped that I could get some respite, from the road and shelter from the approaching storm."
"A good day to you to young man. Good folk always finds an open door, and you have the look of a good folk. My man will shortly be coming back from the fields, then you can join us for supper, " the farmer's wife answered in the local degeneration of the common tongue, pitching her voice on the most ridiculous moments and drawing vowels to insane lengths. "The tub is out back and there is a well. If you want warm water, you have to chop the wood logs stacked behind the barn."
The ax met the wood with forceful blows while Mathew was chopping it into easy, manageable pieces. The amount of chopped wood was already far more than he actually needed to warm his bath. He had been working his way through the pile of trunks while the water was being heated; suddenly Mathew stopped, because he heard a gasp.
There behind him stood the origin of the sound, a girl who could hardly be called a young woman. She was the mirror image of her mother, but a quarter of a century younger. Her blond curls were loosely bound together behind her head and her smooth face showed a tint of red as her gaze lingered on the young man's lean and muscular upper body.
Suddenly she was genuinely interested in the ground at her feet and with a soft voice, hardly more than a whisper she said, "I have some soap and clothes from our farmhand. You can wear them while yours dry, my Ma said."
Their eyes met briefly before the girl quickly turned around and hurried away. Stepping in the tub, Mathew had to admit that he had changed his opinion about his luck.
Freshly bathed and in clean clothes, he went into a neat little kitchen. Pots and kettles hung on one side, while the other was one big cabinet filled with a wide variation of herbs, pots and all the others things women use in the kitchen, next to this cabinet was a second door which presumably led to another room. The room was dominated by pine wood table that had been laid out for four; the farmer sat and waited for his evening meal, while his wife and daughter put some finishing touches on it.
"Ah, you must be Mathew. My wife told me you're on your way to the monastery, but you don't have the look of a boy suited for a life in the brotherhood of Luck," the farmer's accent was even worse than his wife's , but Mathew smiled and nodded, not wanting to offend the good man. "My name is Hilbert. This is my wife Francine and daughter Annika. Sit down, food will be served, lad."
"Thank you master Hilbert."
"I be no master. A simple farmer I am and just Hilbert. Women, give the boy a meal. So tell me, what is a young, strong lad like you doing on his way to the Monks?"
"My father is a merchant in Bramen and to get permission to trade in Karligen, he had to promise his second son to the order. Since I have an older and younger brother that would be me."
"That's a good thing you'd be doing. A child sure should obey his father," the farmer answered. "So you want to stay for the night? We are always willing to house a guest, but sure it wouldn't be too much asked if we let you do some chores. I've some wood that needs to be chopped and some fences that need to be looked at."
"Mathew already chopped most of the wood in the back," the girl said before she blushed into her plate.
The farmer frowned at her. "Okay, then he will have to do less tomorrow and can continue his journey earlier." Looking back to his guest he said, "You can sleep in the barn's loft. There is the bed where me farmhand used to sleep, most of the time."
"No problem, good man. Please tell me if you need help with something else, I'm very grateful for you letting me sleep under your roof."
Mathew was just getting ready to sleep when the storm he had predicted reached it fiercest point. Lying on his back he listened to the loud sweeps of thunder, something you only can enjoy with a roof above your head. Rain clashed down the roof, the splashing making a terrible sound much like the fabled waterfalls of Orneka in one of the childhood stories, his wet-nurse had told him time after time. A big hole in the roof on the left front side of the barn let the rain in freely. Just as the youngster wanted to turn onto his side and close his eyes, the lighting illuminated the night sky, and then he saw a silhouette crouched in the blazing storm. In reflex, he put his hand under his bag and grabbed the hilt of the knife he put there.
