prelude to Chapter 2

I don't think Chapter 1 is really finished yet, but it is time to move on to Chapter 2 anyway. I have been stuck on the end of C1, without really figuring out a way to do something else there, but I feel like it should be at least 10 pages even though it is currently 6.

I just need to move past that. Move on. Or I will be stuck forever. Just what I don't want to happen. I started C2, but I don't have enough to post yet, and - honestly - it's currently too much telling and not enough showing. I'd like to be able to do a little editing tomorrow, then move on with enough to post.

Thanks for the patience!

page 8

Suddenly, Kennit stopped still and staring. Jerem took a couple of steps forward before he noticed his brother's stillness. He looked at Kennit, his mouth open to speak to his brother, then turned to see what the older boy was looking at without speaking. Catta's gaze followed as well. Near a tree, where he had been looking at the camp, was a man, dressed in green and brown. His face wore much the same surprised expression that Kennit's did. In the moment it took to realize that the man was not someone they knew, he drew a short sword and charged Kennit.

It happened so fast, Catta thought afterward, she just acted without knowing what exactly she was going to do. Jerem swung his stick, and the man's feet tangled in it and he fell flat. The sword skittered out of his grasp. Catta jumped on his back, and grabbed a hand full of the man's hair, pulling his head back as she pulled her knife from her belt. Jerem dove to land on the man's legs so that he could not kick Catta off. She slit his throat before he could yell and the three of them watched the blood drain from the strange man in shocked silence.

“Who is he?” Kennit finally asked. “Who was he?”

“I don't know, but he didn't mean you any good.” She pointed with her chin at the blade that had fallen from the man's grip when he had sprawled to the ground. Kennit picked it up and looked at the blade, then back at the dead man.

Jerem stood beside his brother looking from Catta to Kennit, then towards camp. It seemed no one had heard the scuffle, because no one approached to see what had happened. “What do we do now?” He asked.

Catta stood as well, although her knees suddenly seemed weak. She still held her knife, now covered with blood. There was blood on her hand as well, and she could feel her hands wanting to shake. Get moving or fall down, she thought. “Lets go see if my pop is back in the camp.”

They entered camp near their own tents without so much as a “Hallo” from any of the watch. No wonder that stranger was so close to camp, Catta thought. She finally got a little shiver of fear, realizing they may have been watched for days. Her father and his men had not returned yet, so they approached the older who had organized the watch. He sent men with Kennit to check the trees where Catta pointed, then listened to her story.

That afternoon, checking and collecting snares was quick work, and under more and watchful eyes. The food was needed, but not at the cost of a younger. Kennit and Catta left Jerrem in the camp as they followed their morning trail. They moved quickly through the circuit this time, even with the small game they had managed to trap. The camp would eat well tonight, and be stronger for their move tomorrow.

Later, when her father returned, she told related the morning's events again, showing her father the blade the man had carried. Her father and his men looked over the youngers with an assessing eye, then checked the body and decided what to do with it. They did not share with Catta and the boys what their decisions were, or include them in the final disposition of the dead man. The sword, and the knife the man had carried, along with his bow and store of arrows were welcomed into their small armory, however.

page 7

Wallach and his men gathered their weapons and walked into the woods. Annie took a basket and walked upstream, the way they had come the day before. Catta organized the children into pairs, giving the youngest line and hooks, hoping for some trout from the stream. Others got lengths of line for snares and instructions not to wander too far. Catta and Kenit took snares as well, and set out through the trees with Jerem on their heels. Jerem had a rough bag slung over one shoulder. Catta raised an eyebrow wondering what he was going to put into the bag, but then decided it didn't much matter, almost anything could help.

They set off downstream. As the sounds of the camp faded, they listened to the forest. They moved as quietly as they could, discovering that they made more noise than they would have thought. They paused by likely brush to set a snare here and there. Jerem found some wild onion, which went into the bag he carried.

After a while they veered off from the stream, planning to circle around back towards the camp. The going got slower through the brush and evergreens without a clear trail to follow. They picked up anything they thought might be useful: a few straight sticks they though might be good for arrows, and some moss that Jerem thought Annie Blackpot would be able to use in her healing, although Catta wasn't sure he knew what he was talking about.

They peered from the woods into a clearing where a herd of deer were grazing. They watched the deer as they warned each other of intruders, then cautiously went back to grazing. Kenit wished for his father's bow, thinking how it would feel to bring a buck to camp for a feast of venison. All they had was Jerem's practice stick, and a couple of belt knives, though. Nothing that would get them a deer.

They moved away and back towards camp looking for landmarks that could lead them back to the clearing. Hoping that she hadn't lost her bearings totally, Catta urged the others on a heading toward the stream. When they got close enough to hear the sound of wood getting chopped and they worked their way towards camp, stopping once to collect a hare from one of the snares.

page 6 - the REAL page 6

Before the sun set, they had nearly everyone in camp, lined up in squads of ten, although the groups were scattered according to the sort of clear spaces surrounding their camp. The retired soldiers held steel, their charges held sticks, axes, wood pokers or even long knives, depending on age and availability.

Catta looked expectantly at her father, ready to begin. She had actually practiced some of the drills with her father. Next to her, Kenit, old enough to make a soldier, held an ax at ready. He had a decent stance, Wallach thought, perhaps he had been shown the drill as well. Beside his brother, the younger boy, Jerem, held his stick too tightly and had grim determination on his face. They went slowly through the first drill, and training began.

The next camp, the next evening, the next training drill. Wallach noticed the determined look was still on Jerem's face, and his grip was still too tight, but his stick had changed. Now, it had a crossguard, marking the delineation between “haft” and “blade.”

Wallach approached the boy seriously, moving his hands a bit and showing him the proper grip. The boy nodded, moving his stick around experimentally. “Now, remember to keep your knees bent just a little, and your feet beneath your shoulders, like Kenit.” The boy nodded again, and shifted his stance. Almost everyone in the second rank shuffled a bit as they changed their positions as well.

The next day, the smell of smoke was in the air, and the refugees were worried and restless. They decided the camp would stay put, while scouts went to check out what was happening. Wallach suggested to Kenit and Catta to set out some snares. Annie prepared to do a little foraging for some early herbs. Maybe find something to stretch the food stores a little as well.

Some of the olders set up a patrol around the camp, taking turns walking around armed with an ax. A couple of them had found lengths of wood suitable for staves, and worked on shaping and smoothing them. Jerem was working on his wooden sword, showing what he had done to another boy about the same size. The air of restless fear seemed to fade from around the tents and small firepits.

page 5

They moved slowly through the woods. Kelling rode Mangle ahead to look for dangers, then back to the group, thinking that with the noise they made, the raiders were sure to find them, but at least they would scare away the bears.

One old woman fussed at him as she had trouble keeping her footing near the stream. "We have no business walking through these woods! Are you going to carry me when I fall and break something?" He helped her cross, and found a branch for her to use as a walking stick. For a moment, he thought she might hit him with it.

Later that afternoon, after he had helped Catta set up the tent, then left her in the charge of Annie Blackpot, Wallach met with the other soldiers. Retired soldiers, he reminded himself. The routines of soldiering were easy to fall back on, so they could direct the others how to arrange the camp, and set up tents. There were always camp followers, so even the women and the children were not totally foriegn to the situation. There were some things, missing, though. Soldiers, for one. Men who had been training, and knew the enemy's strengths and weaknesses. These men didn't even have weapons to go around, but had to trade off swords and bows to the men standing guard.

"What are we going to do?" one of the older men asked, "Hand them all firewood?"

Another laughed, "Here, Junior, here's your stick, now you're a soldier."

Kelling wasn't smiling, he had talked it over with a man name Brinton earlier in the day. He and Brinton had served in the same squad, then both as Century in the same Legion. Now Brinton spoke up, "Yeah. That's pretty much what we do. Even the women can swing a stick. If the raiders attack us, we're done for unless everyone stands up to 'em. All of us."

"We could all do with a little drilling," Kelling added. "Remind our muscles what they used to know without thinking."

A couple of the men nodded their aggreement, while a couple others shook their heads, picturing the youngsters, sticks in hand, charging the raiders. Finally one said, quietly, "It's just not right."

"What is right about having your farmstead burned, and your family killed?" Brinton said. "What is right about those younglings having to have lived through that? We give 'em something to do, something to focus on, or they go over the cliff"

"Might as well," the other replied. "Maybe it will keep me from the edge of the cliff, too."

page 4

Catta sighed as he walked off. Kenit was strong and fair of face; tall and almost a man. In other days, he'd had his eye on her sister Lily, visiting their stead often. He had been oblivious to Catta's lingering looks and sighs, then. Now, she had no time for such foolishness. Now, he felt more like a brother than anything else, and she supposed she should go put on her own woolen tunic and help gather what he chopped, and bring it back to the wagon. The coffee had cooled quickly enough to drink down before she left. Porridge could wait until after the wood was collected. When the wood was stowed, there was time for breakfast, and more coffee. Then breaking down camp and packing their belongings carefully in the wagon.

Wallach Kelling left his young charges to that task without a word. The attacks on the farmsteads and Bobkin Village had left about 50 refugees, eight of whom, like him, had once been Baron Ahngrine's soldiers to earn their granted land on the frontier. The rest of the refugees were the elders and youngers of the men who had served together.

The men fell into the habits of those days easily, and one of the men who had been scouting since dawn, reported to his "Century," Kelling. " The main road to Maston is to the south, and it seems clear enough."

"Clear enough for an ambush," Kelling replied. "I think we should stick to the woods."

"It's slow going. The road would be faster," another said. "The faster we get there, the sooner we can warn them. Get news to the Baron."

"Which is why they will be watching the road."

There were nods around at that logic, and the first man continued his report, " To the southwest is a stream that we can follow. It will give us good water, and turns to the west about a mile north of Maston."

"That should do," Kelling said. "Let's get moving."

page 3

The next thing Catta knew, she was almost at the doorway, her father holding her back from entering the ruined house. He was sooty and smelled of smoke. "You must stay by the wagon," he said.

"Mam!" Catta wailed. "Lily! Wallach!"

She did not know in her panic that her father's eyes were streaming tears as he looked over her head at Annie Blackpot, shaking his head at her unspoken question.

That night had been the last time Catta had cried. She felt like she had cried herself dry. Dry of tears, and sometimes she felt dry of hope. She had changed that night. Grown up. Pop had changed too. He was quieter now, and never seemed to smile. Sometimes it seemed like he couldn't let Catta out of his sight while at the same time he couldn't bear to look at her. They were rarely far apart, like now, in the small tent.

The stirring of the camp around them, and the smell of coffee finally became too much for Catta to resist. Well, that and the even more insistent call of nature. She quietly sat up, pushed her feet into her boots and wrapped the blanket around her to answer the call. When she returned, Pop was sitting outside the tent on a wooden box, warming his hands with a cup of hot coffee.

Annie put a steaming cup in Catta's hands as well, and stirred the porridge before putting a lid on the pot, and lifting it away from the fire. Kenit came around the edge of the lean-to he shared with his brother, Jerem. He had a warm woolen tunic on over his heavy shirt for warmth. Even now, in the late spring, the mornings were cool in the wooded mountains they traveled through.

Kenit held an axe. "That fallen oak is dry and I aim to chop us some before its nothin' but twigs," he said as he stepped out of our camp. He hadn't gone two steps before the sounds of chopping came from about 50 feet west of them. Kenit wasn't the only one with an eye on good dry wood.