One of the Few

The prostrate body fell forward with a dull thud at his feet, into a puddle of its own blood. Which, he mused, was really the only likely outcome since the blood covered the majority of the hilltop. Obviously, he hadn’t let any of it get on him, but nothing else in a wide range around the body was so lucky. Logan hadn’t needed to kill the man so violently – despite what some people might say, he really wasn’t a violent man by nature - but he only wanted to have to do this once, so he went for the lasting impression, and by the look of the others watching, he was pretty certain that he had gotten just that.

Looking down at the girl – he had not bothered to learn her name - he was not sure that he could blame the man. She was very attractive, maybe even beautiful, in a nice, country girl sort of way, enough so to have crossed his mind more than a few times since he had first seen her. But the fact was that the girl was not for him, not for the bloody mess of former man laying beside him, not for any of them. His instructions to them had been explicit. These prisoners belonged to their boss, and touching them was the same as stealing, and nobody stole anything from him.

He looked at the men standing around the rest of the prisoners. “I assume that I can trust the rest of you.” They all babbled a collective affirmative, and tried very hard to not meet his gaze.

He walked over to where the girl still knelt, her eyes a strange combination of fear and amazement. Those were the two emotions that one used to control lesser minds, or so he had been taught; thus he prided himself on being able to inspire those very things in others. His success here made him smile slightly as he approached the girl. His smile had a way of unnerving people, and he could only imagined how it looked now, in the forest canopied, quasi-twilight of this blood-stained hillside. Obvioulsy, whatever it looked like, it made farm girls turn away when you approach them.

Amazingly, she had missed most of the blood, only a few drops stained her dress, which fell in rags where it had been pulled away from her body, revealing the pale skin beneath. Her long chestnut hair was matted with dirt, and a blood ran from her right temple. Still, she was beatiful, if far too simple for his taste. He picked her up off the ground, and stared her in the eye. “Don’t think that this means I like you.” Her eyes were a striking blue color that almost shone in the darkness. He pulled her face very close. “You are still mine, your life is mine to take, just like that man up there.” He gestured vaguely behind his back. “Just remember that.” He flashed a smile at her again.

After he had placed her back with others, he looked at the rest of his men. They were all scared, as they should very well be, he was a scary man. One, probably not old enough to be considered a man yet, looked like he could not decide between pissing himself silly, and adding his dinner to the pile of refuse already on the hill. He would be perfect.

“You.” When Logan pointed to him, the boy looked like his decision was about to be made for him. “You will finish guard duty tonight. And I trust you will be more reliable than…” He let the ending hang out there. The boy looked about ready to fall over without the support of the unspoken words. Eventually he responded with something that to Logan was the verbal equivalent of soiling himself, but he had already stopped paying attention.

He walked along the line of prisoners, there were twenty-one of them from five different homesteads. Overall, it was a pretty good haul, they would fetch a lot of money at the market. Beside the one that had elicited so much excitement tonight, there were several other young girls that would fetch a lot of money as bedmates, a handful of working age boys, and a few younger ones that could still be trained for whatever you needed. The older ones would be harder to sell, but someone would buy them. Someone always did.

They were all on their knees, hands and feet shackled, looking at the ground as he passed to check the wards on all of them. When he was sure they were strong enough to last the night, he went back to his bedroll, without giving any more orders. Let them sort it out, none of them would be sleeping the rest of the night anyway.
He hated having to babysit these louts. They were cheap, expendable labor that had to be watched every second. A handful of grunt workers among thousands, doing what could be done by anyone; passably good at what they were explicitly trained to do, and that was it.

He had not been with them when they attacked any of the farmhouses - this type of mission was always led by men below his station - but they had never raided this far north before, and there could be trouble. So he had received orders to escort this party south while on his way back from a small village called Carian in the mountains. The captain hadn’t been too happy to give up his command to someone so obviously younger, but Logan could be very persuasive, so he had been leading them the last few days.

Their caution was obviously a good thing, for they were being followed. No more than a few riders, still over half a day back. With the incessant stopping that had been forced upon him, they were losing the large lead they had gained by riding through the night that first night Logan had joined them. But he wasn’t worried, two men would pose no threat, even if they managed to catch up in the next few days.

He could hear the sound of those around him shuffling uncomfortably in their blankets. There would be little sleep on the hilltop tonight for anyone; few were comfortable with a freshly killed body within eyesight, there was something they found unnerving about it. As he drifted off to sleep, Logan was once again thankful that he was one of the few.

The Price of Power - Part 1

“That is one of the many things that set freecasters and magi apart.” Cale had purchased a pack mule, of all things, in the last hamlet they passed through. He was rubbing its head now, and feeding the beast the last of their apples. Eirian knew that his attention was focused on her, even though his eyes were not.

“So we continue to use the words, the uh…incantations when we’re stoning, but we still need to learn the ruins silent use?” She thought she knew the why, but decided to wait and see if Cale would provide the answer.

“Yes, and if every superstition-prone commoner thinks the words are really needed, the better for us.”

Yes. That was her theory as well, “But why?”

“Imagine you are captured by a zealot, or a bigot, or…your choice of scum.” He turned from the mule, picked up the reigns and began walking. “It’s a small thing really, but one of the many ‘tricks’ we use.” He held a single finger up to signal that he was getting back to the story, “So now you have been knocked out by some brawler outside a tavern in Veilance. Since they are unenlightened of the higher nature of magic…” he said the word with laughter in his voice, “…they will bind and gag you, thinking themselves somewhat safe; your ability to ruincast now hampered if not thwarted.

“Now I’m not saying this would work in every instance. There are enough people that know the truth out there, that you may just be killed out of hand: If you’re caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“But it would be better to not be caught in the first place.”

Cale smiled then, eyes sparkling, and laughed, “That would be better for a certainty.” He sobered after a moment, “But there are many people in this world who, though their lives are bettered by the stones’ power, are jealous and suspicious of those who wield it.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that.” Eirian flushed in anger at a memory, and then flushed again in anger at herself for her loss of control.

Only three years ago now. It seemed half a lifetime removed.

Eirian had been shopping in the Khallak Distric; full of overpriced stalls, expensive stores, and pretentious merchants. But the bright colors, exotic smells, and amazing music always lured her there in spite of the prices. The market had the feel of a northern bazaar, especially at high summer. It happened that day that her parents were headed to that area, and she had jumped at the chance to go along.

She entered a small shop just inside an alley not far off of Rose. An odd assortment of curios, artifacts, books, dishes, and other unidentifiable objects cluttered the benches and shelves around the room. A tall man sat behind the counter, spectacles perched on the end of his bird-like nose. Eirian stifled a laugh at his disapproving look, and walked into the aisles.

Halfway through the maze she stopped. A fragment of rock, shattered and no bigger than her two hands together, was sheltered under a glass box. Strange symbols adorned the stone. They didn’t seem to be carved, but they also were not painted. For a moment she thought she recognized the strange letter and called over her shoulder to the owner.

“What is this?”

The voice came back, drooling with condescension, “That little girl, is the last fragment of the great Johrish Binding Stone.”

“Impossible…” She meant to say, but instead, “Ko-ha-ra” trickled out in a rushed whisper. The lamps in the shop flared to a sudden, heated brilliance, burning their oil in a second.


“So where are we headed?” Eirian asked, shaking her head to clear the memories.

As usual, Cale’s posture said that he was not going to answer her; at least not directly. After a few moments of silence he asked quietly, “Who is your father Eirian?”

Her mind whirled…… “You know the answer to that question, or you would not have asked it.”

His wry smile was back now, and it irritated her for the first time. Finally it seemed that the old man had worn down her patience. “I would not bring the subject up myself. You need to.”

“But you just did!” Yes her patience had definitely worn out.

“No, I’m just willing to trade information.”

If she was carrying anything, she would have thrown it at him in that moment.

Night in the Foothills

It was one of the most beautiful nights Caden could remember. A hot day had given way to one of those still, cool nights that you wished for through the long summer months. Thousands of stars shown above him, spreading from horizon to horizon in great bands of pure, undiminished light, across the cloudless sky. He stared up at them, and silently named off all of the constellations that he could remember.

He found the Hammer, the Hunter, and the Crow. To the left of Usirus’ Bow was the Horse. Above the mountains on the eastern horizon he saw the Hound. Only one of the Twins was visible now, the other already leaving its winter home, in search of skies far away. He found the Sister, and the Wanderer, the Hero would be visible in a few more weeks, and the others of the Seven would continue in their trek across the sky.

His father had taught him the names of all of them long ago, on nights not too much different than this. Calm, cool summer nights spent in the foothills. Later Frey had taught him the Nulori’s names for them all, and the story behind each, and had even gone so far as to teach him how the Sherilli fortune tellers will speak your future based on the alignments of each.

Now he looked up at them and wished. Wished for comfort from the Sister, and Strength from the Hero. He wished on the other of the Seven also, even if they weren’t in the sky right now. He would need whatever help they gave him in the days to come.

They had found the Adkin’s farm early two mornings ago. The raiders had made no attempt to cover their tracks. Frey had followed the trail easily out of the Evela foothills, southwest on a course roughly even with the mountains, which placed them, most definitely, in the lawless lands. It was clear that they were indeed heeded to Jicole, a thought that did not please him.

They had ridden hard every day, not even stopping to eat, and walking only to give the horses a rest. Sleeping briefly at night, only long after it was dark, and starting again at first light. They appeared to be gaining ground on the slavers, although he was doubtful they would ever catch them before they reached the city, where their problems would be increased a million-fold.

He did not look forward to entering Jicole. He did not look forward to another long day of riding. Nor did he look forward to confronting a band of slavers with only one other man, and not a scrap of a plan between the two of them. In fact, when he thought about it, there was very little that he had to look forward to.

His head hurt from the hot sun, and his stomach from all the worrying. His legs were sore, his hands cramped, and his feet sick of being crammed into boots all day. Now, he was more tired than he could ever remember being before, but somehow unable to sleep. So he lay on a cloudless night, in the darkness, knowing that dawn was just a little way off, and wishing to the Sister that it would never come.

Ruinlore

He called himself Caledonensis. Eirian didn’t know if that was his real name, but she didn’t much care. The name was a mouth full for truth, so she had taken to calling him Cale. She would have called him lord and master if he wanted; the gift of his company was easily worth that and more. For the month they had been traveling north, the old man taught her more runic lore than she had learned at university in two years.

Granted, the first years for everyone were hard, even if you had the Knack. Those without at least some natural predisposition to Stoning would be lucky to light a lamp or make a small breeze in a closed room. Useless skills, and rarely pursued. Eirian had skill. She assumed that was why Cale had chosen her from the class assembled in dome. How he had known that, since they had never met, she did not know.

The Head Master apparently knew Cale, though he did not enlighten her on his origins, motives, or temperament. So it was with barely time to collect her few belongings, that Eirian found herself walking the dusty ribbon of the Traveler’s Highway. Just a few hours into the journey, with no knowledge of their purpose or destination, struggling to keep pace with an old man, Cale had begun her lessons.

Quickly she learned that Cale was not traditional Magi, nor did he bare a great resemblance to the Freecasters she had known. They would wake on random mornings, and Cale would lead them off the Highway, and into a thick wood, or a swamp, or down a deep valley. Invariably there would be a Binding Stone at the end of the jaunt. Eirian had seen the university maps on the known stones. Even if university hid some from students (which it surely did) that would not account for all the stones they found in this manner.

Two days north of Couldor was the first of these rabbit trails. Buried in a tangle of vines against a steep cliff a mere half league from the road, was a pristine stone. Cale had moved the foliage away, careful not to disturb their roots. Then running a hand fondly over the cold surface, he turned to look at her.

His eyes, Eirian had noticed many times before, were a piercing blue. Never though, had the bore into her in this manner. The gaze was not angry, accusing, or disapproving. She felt as though he was rummaging through her head; looking for something specific. After a long, silent moment he spoke.

“I wondered if I choose wisely when I picked you from the class in Couldor.” He smiled then, tempering the gaze that had become increasingly uncomfortable, “But since I never make mistakes, it is clear you are the one.”

She would not take the bait.

In the last two days, he had questioned Eirian on her knowledge of the Runes. They never once though, discussed what Cale needed from her, and why it was her he needed.

His smile deepened, “There are ways to take measure of a caster.” He turned back to the stone and said almost in a whisper, “but that is another lesson, and far down the road.”

She waited as Cale continued to read the stone. He seemed on the verge of saying more, but changed topics as an unreadable look crossed his face.

“Can you read this rune here?” His ancient hand, steady as stone, pointed out the marking.

Eirian moved close and peered at the stone script. The symbols seemed to squirm under her gaze; moving every time she began to get a sense of their meaning. The old man laughed quietly.

“You are smart and quick, but there are many things that are far beyond you. I don’t say this to discourage you, but to warn you of the dangers of this knowledge.” He moved his hand further down the stone, “Here. This one should come easier to you.”

A quick moment was all she needed. Two of the symbols intertwining were known well to Eirian, and the third in location was easy enough to decipher. She spoke the words slowly; drawing them out, “yurish~so~della~meahs.” Her chest tightened briefly, and the vines that had once covered the Binding Stone began to grown and move as they snaked around once more to cover the monolith.

“Good.” Cale looked genuinely pleased, “But did you know what that last symbol would do to the ruin power?”

“Suspected only.” She answered quickly. It would not do to lie to this man.

He nodded, and there was his quick grin once more, “Now you will learn to use that ruin without the audible crutch you have.”

With that began a long day and longer night. Eirian worked the ruin in her head; over and over again. Attempting to hold its pattern and not speak seemed impossible. But sometime, long after the suns had set, with only the strange dancing light provided by Cale, she did it. Lines of power snaked from the stone, and Eirian nearly lost her concentration. But the ruin held, and the vines grew and she let out a cry as if she was still a small girl on her name day.

So every time they came to one of these lost stones, they would camp for a day. Cale would grill her all night on a single rune on the stone. He knew she was sharp, and so did Eirian. Even so, reading new runes was not easy. Add to the that, the fact that there were new runes every couple days. Her head constantly ached; she loved it.

The knowledge she gained was exhilarating. And there were other lessons. Secretly Eirian suspected that these were even more important to Cale than the rune readings. If they were important to the old man, they were important to her. He taught her the relation of the stones to the earth, and the balance of the Heaven and Earth. There were deep philosophical studies, and here, she thought, Cale had found a worthy opponent. Ethics, especially concerning Stoning, occupied their walking time, and her eyes were open to new ideas they did not teach at university.

News in the night

The assembled made a path for him through their midst. A strained silence hung over the whole room, interrupted by the occasional murmur reaching his ears. As he approached he looked his mother in the face, and did not like what he saw there. The others at the front showed the same. Anxiety, mingled with fear, masked so that villagers wouldn’t notice. But Caden noticed. He reached the small platform, taking his place between his mother and Master Lukhan. He gave her a brief smile, which she attempted to return, and collected himself before turning to face his audience. No one spoke yet, they all waited with eyes on him. He was the lord of Ruefort now, he must act like it. “What happened?” He asked his mother, with all of the confidence that he could muster.

As if his words were a signal, everyone in the crowded room began to talk at once. A hundred indistinguishable voices clamoring. He could barely hear his mother standing directly next to him. They were worried, anyone could tell that. And they all wanted to talk about it, they all wanted the ear of the lord of Ruefort. This must be what his father felt like on a regular basis. Master Lukahn stood there, his face showed that he was too tired to bring the crowd under control yet again. He was a great man, but not made to be in control of this many people at once.

“Silence!” Frey’s voice came out as half command, half guttural scream that ground the conversation to a halt. His blue-green eyes shown with an ethereal light. He could be very intimidating when he needed, and obviously now he felt the need. In the silence that followed Caden turned to his mother again, “What happened?”

He realized suddenly that she looked very old right now; far too old to be the mother that he remembered from just this morning. She also didn’t want to tell him something. The way she refused to look him in the eye made that very clear. “There was an attack, this afternoon,” she said slowly, still refusing to meet his gaze. She paused and looked around before continuing, “On the Adkins’ farm.”

Caden’s world spun. He looked for something to steady himself with as the walls shifted, and the torchlight danced before his eyes. The room seemed suddenly dark, and hot. Far too hot. Had he really thought it was a cool night? His worst fear had come true, an attack on his people. And at the Adkins farm on top of that. He looked down at his mother. She tried to continue but couldn’t, instead turning away from him and crying, her last bits of strength finally leaving her. He knew he would have to be strong for the both of them. He willed his world back into control, but it escaped him.

“We believe it was bandits.” Master Lukahn said, rubbing his hands together, nervously. He, too, looked very old, and tired. A lot fell on his shoulders when father was gone; as it did on Frey, although the elf rarely showed signs of the stress. “They came this afternoon. Took all of them prisoner. Only young Alec survived, he was outside when they came, and was able to ride away before they got him.” The spinning had slowed, but now he wanted to be sick, right up there in front if everybody. Rowena, in the hands of bandits, and her whole family captive. Who knows what was happening to them right now. At least the sickness would give him something to take his mind off of this. He had to will his eyes to stay open, and his knees to not buckle. He looked at the faces around him. They looked back, expectantly.

“What are we to do, my lord?” Someone said from the crowd, but he wasn’t sure who, for suddenly something new began to happen. Rage began to seep from the very core of his being. He was angry, in a way he had not ever been angry before. He saw the bandits dirty hands grabbing Rowena, and he felt the inescapable urge of breaking something, anything. He tightened his grip on the sheathed longsword at his side, as hundreds of eyes looked at him, all expecting something.

He looked at his mother, still sobbing. Her wet eyes looked up at him now. Master Lukhan, who had spanked him as a child, and made him write endless sentences for acting up in school, now looked up at him in a very different way. Benton, a man who had been old long before Caden was born, looked ready to fight to death at a word from him. Frey, ever impossible to read, stared back, waiting, and testing. He looked at the crowd, people that had been his elder’s: Master Colwell who taught him to fish, Ebin who had first taken him the mountains against his father’s will, and even Mistress Diore who had never liked him, calling him a spoiled, rich brat on many occasions.

They were all looking at him, expecting something. Every one of them in that room waited for his next order. It was true, he was the lord of Ruefort now. Somehow they all knew it, they all expected something from him. With his heart still pounding, and the fire burning still hotter in his chest, he spoke to himself as much as anyone else.

“We ride after them”

Men began to speak up now, all around the room. The braver ones wished to ride out with him. “I’ll go.” Sebel said from the front row. “And me,” from someone he couldn’t quite make out in the back. Tom spoke up from the right side of the room. “Me and my boys will ride with you, too.” Old Benton piped up on Caden’s right, “I can have the soldiers ready to ride by morning.” Now there were voices all over the room. Some volunteering, more making excuses for them not to ride, women pleading with their men not to go.

He silenced them all with a raise hand. “No.” He paused to let the last of the conversation die. “Frey and I,” he accentuated the names, “will ride after them.” He could see relief wash over all of them. Not even the brave ones truly wanted to go. “The rest of you are needed here, you have crops to grow and sheep to feed. Wives and children, and houses. You must stay here.” He looked at Benton. “And the guards must also stay here. Taking them away now would be asking for another attack.”
He looked at all of them, the crowd, the old priest, his mother. He was surprised how calm he was. The anger was still there, deep down inside, but he had covered it now, in a sense of resolve, and something new, that he could not describe.
“The two of us can ride faster than a large group, and maybe catch them quicker. The best thing the rest of you can do is go back to your homes. Anyone who wants to is welcome to spend the night inside the walls of Ruefort. The women and children can stay for as long as they want, we will make sure they are safe.” He guessed that they would all go home tomorrow anyway, but they needed to know that they would be safe here if they needed. “But going home is the best thing you can do now.”

********************************************

Caden personally oversaw the sleeping quarters for all that wished to stay inside the walls. Most had opted to go home, while a few with longer trips had decided to spend the night. It took a good deal of time to get them all settled, especially with everyone vying for his attention. He had to assure dozens of people that they would be still safe, listen to almost every man say how they wished they could ride with him, and endure a lecture from one of the local trappers on how to track down and kill bandits. The worst though were all those people assuring him Rowena was safe. How they knew that she was the one he worried about, he didn’t know. It couldn’t be that obvious. But all their well-wishing just served to make him think about her in the hands of bandits all the more. After all this, he just wanted to go to bed.

When he finally opened the door to his room, it was well into the morning hours, he would be riding on very little sleep, a thought that did not please him. To his surprise, Frey sat on the only chair in his room, waiting for him.

“What are you doing here?” He said closing the door behind him.

“I just thought you should know, that it wasn’t bandits who attacked the Adkins’
farm today.”

Caden eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

The elf’s face was almost indecipherable in the scant firelight of the room. “It was not something that bandits would do. Attack a farm, leave all the animals and crops, not even bother looting the house. And bandits don’t take prisoners. Except for the occasional young woman.” The look on Caden’s face slowed him for just a second. “Sorry.” He said when he realized what was going through Caden’s mind. He motioned the elf to continue.

“It’s more mouths to feed. Something they can scarce afford to do in these times. No, those were no bandits.” He looked around as if to convince himself no one was watching. “They were slavers.”

“Prepare yourself, Caden. In the morning we ride to Jicole.”

The Lord of Ruefort

By the time the messenger found them, they were almost to the village square of Ruel, within earshot of the walls of Ruefort itself. Tern, one of the village boys that would soon start training to be in the garrison, had been dispatched to find them. Looking at him now, perhaps he wasn’t a boy after all. Only a few years younger than Caden, he was tall and strong with a steely determination about him. He would make a good soldier one day, something they had far too few of. This is what Caden thought about as they flew through the night, trying to keep his thoughts off the matter at hand.

They had ridden hard the last league or so to Ruefort: a ten foot high wall of stone, surrounding a roughly square courtyard, inside of which stood the two-story manor house - larger than any other building in Ruel - and various other buildings: servants quarters, a guardhouse and a small abbey. It would be a mockery of a castle in any great city, but it was a veritable fortress in these parts.

Tern had not been able to tell them anything specific, only that he had been sent to bring them back immediately. As they had ridden through the gates of Ruefort, the first thing that he noticed was the number of horses and wagons inside the walls. It looked like the whole village was here, and most of the outlying farmers too. Whatever Tern couldn’t tell them, it was probably bad.

Upon entering the courtyard, Alder had taken their horse quickly and silently, his look unreadable in the torchlight. He stood in the middle of the courtyard with one of the other garrison soldiers, while three others paced the walls rhythmically, and two more stood at the entrance to the house, no one else was visible outside. Torches burned around the square, and along the rampart, lighting the fort and the land around for the soldiers to see, and casting their long shadows against the wall.
Aside from Frey and old Benton, who was getting too old even to hold a sword anymore, they were none of them professional soldiers. Most were farmer’s or craftsmen’s sons from the village, that had been trained to wield swords; a few were adventurers that had come to the hills for a hunt, or a bounty, and never left. When his father had left for the city several weeks ago, he had taken three of their finest soldiers with him, leaving their already inadequate forces depleted even more.

Which was a problem. Bandits were becoming more frequent, and more bold, with every passing day. As the great peace of ar’Turas spread south, it confined the brigands that once inhabited those lands to smaller and smaller hunting grounds. Like a cornered fox, they had begun to strike at anything and everything that looked like a possible prize, attacking things that a year ago would have been invariably safe. With fewer guards to protect them, and more than enough bandits to go around, an attack was always something that Caden feared.

As they approached the doors to the manor Frey spoke quietly. “Remember, you are the lord of Ruefort right now. Whatever has happened, these people need you to be confident. They need somewhere to place their trust. That has been your father for countless years, your grandfather before that, and right now, it is you. Whether you are up to it or not, you are the one that must solve whatever problem waits for us inside.” As he finished he placed his hand on one of the doors and slid it open, casting a long, yellow glow over the courtyard, and beckoned Caden in before him. As he walked past, the elf met his eyes. “Remember.” Caden gave him a quick nod and turned to enter.

The large entryway was filled with people - children mostly - those too young to understand what was going on. The spread out along the walls, and on the floors, even up the large banistered stairway to his right. Some of them appeared distraught to one degree or another, while others laughed and played in small circles. Many of them were huddled around the fireplace to his left, the night was starting to get a bit cold. Most were too tired to keep their eyes open. Roaming among them were many of the village girls. The ones too old to be considered children, but not yet married. Those that were not asleep, or too interested in their games, looked up as he entered.

He looked quickly for Rowena Adkins among them, as he seemed to do more and more often these days. He was slightly irritated to realize how disappointed he was at not finding her. Disappointment faded to fear as he started to realize what that could mean. He gave a quick assuring smile to everyone that was paying attention, before starting toward the banquet hall.

He could hear conversation from down the hall. Several voices standing out from a crowd of hundreds all speaking at once. A few of those voices he could pick out, but what they were saying was lost in the murmur. The hallway turned before entering the banquet hall. When they came around the corner, the doors were wide open. His mother stood on the dais, directly across the long room from the door, standing beside her was master Lukahn, the family abbot and the local schoolmaster, on her other side stood old Benton, the second in command of the Ruefort garrison. The three of them were desperately trying to bring order to the crowd.

The crowd itself was as big as any that Caden had ever seen gathered in this room. There must have been three hundred people all told. Men and women, boys not yet old enough to be called men, and those old enough to be his grandfather, mothers, grandmothers, farmers, hunters, trappers. He saw people from far enough away that they were hardly considered under his families jurisdiction anymore. The crowd was large, larger maybe than any Caden had ever seen before, spilling out into the hallway before him. Murmurs began passing through the crowd, as those in the hallway noticed him, and made way for him to pass.

Master Lukahn raised his hands to quiet the crowd, and opened his mouth to say something else, when he saw Caden. “Thank goodness you’re here,” was all that came out. A look of relief washing over the aging abbot’s face.

Caden stepped into the room, and all eyes turned to face the lord of Ruefort.

Evela

The foothills of Evela are a sparsely populated area north of the central mountains. Considered by some the southern borders of the lands of ar’Turas, and by others part of the Lawless Lands north of the Midlands. The area consists mostly of small farming villages spread throughout the fertile ground of the fringe. Farther into the hills, the land becomes less suited for farming, so the population eventually drops off to nothing.

Normally, minor nobles live in this area, keeping a small garrison of trained soldiers, and protecting villages in exchange for a small percentage of the crops grown in the area. Their manor houses are also the centers of education and culture. They normally hire schoolmasters as well as priests to educate their own children, and many times the peasant children also. Also, they are the sites of many of the feasts and festivals that happen throughout the year. Instead of being the strained serf to master relationship like in some areas, the relationship between the nobility and peasants in the foothills is much more relaxed. The lord is normally looked at as the first among equals, and, although treated with respect by the townspeople, is rarely paid obeisance to, or addressed with formal titles. The lord functions as more of a mayor than a true noble.

The foothills are often the destination of many sorts of adventurers: hunters, trappers, bards, historians and even treasure hunters frequent the hills. Many of the locals are able to make their living as guides for these types through the difficult-to-navigate terrain.

The namesake of these hills is the ancient city of Evela. Around campfires late at night it is said that Evela was the first and greatest stronghold of men in these lands. Great in might and culture, it is said that the deeds of golden Evela were sung throughout the lands. Nestled at the base of the great mountains, it was said to glitter in the sunlight, and shine brightly in darkness, able to be seen for miles. The minstrels of Evela composed some of the greatest songs among men and elves, and their Magi were among the best ever trained. Evela was home to one of the binding stones.

However, Evela could not last forever. Their pride overcame them, and their downfall was utter. It is said that the gods rained fire on the streets of Evela, and reared mountains to surround its gates. The walls were broken down, and The Pride of Evela was written in stone on its gates. So it sits in the mountains of the midlands, a broken reminder of the pride of men.

For generations fortune seekers and treasure hunters have sought there fame among the ruins of the once great city. A destination for only the most hardy of adventurers, its streets are the graves of countless misfortunates. Said to be the habitation of dark beast and deadly enchantments many fear to enter the shadow of the ancient Sun Tower, however not a few of the brave had made their fortunes in the chatacombs of Evela.

Although it has been ravaged for generations, the ruins of Evela are still said to hold limitless treasure in their deep holds, and caverns in the mountains, and the the fabled golden binding stone of Evela, the fate of which was never determined, has been the quest of many an adventurous young caster.


*I honestly have only a vague idea where this is going, so if anyone wants to jump on with some good ideas feel free.