The Woad Rebellion

Prologue

The crunch of gravel underfoot was becoming tiresome.

Thankfully, looking up from the bleak grey stone Arik recognised the rolling green, forested Glenns of the Icanii Highlands

"Three days since Skelba, a long path but worth the scene" he mused.

Slumping his canvas sack to the ground next to a small stream, he pulled loose a goat wineskin and filled it. Once corked Arik returned the wineskin to his bag and ambled into a Pine copse a hundred or so yards from the path.

"Looks like another night in the cold" he mumbled aloud whilst gathering some kindling. Taking a tinder box from his leather hip satchel, he built his hearth. With the fire now fed and burning, he took a roll of wax paper from his sack and gently unravelled it. Inside was some dried ox meat and a slice of goats cheese. Biting into the jerky, he began to salivate. Too long had it been since he had a good meal. "Far too long" he chuckled thoughtfully.

Gazing now upon the copper hued reflection of the autumn sunset, radiating from Loch Grynn. Arik had a nervous realisation that he would soon be home, his childhood home. One more day and he would see the family that he left behind six years ago.

Twenty-two now and past his majority, he wondered what his father would think. After all, he had told him not to go. Arik couldn't bear the memory of the disapproving glare from across the table when he announced his intentions of duty and honour. Now, the young man finally understood, why his mother had shed tears when he gleefully said his farewells.

Finishing off his dried meat and cheese, he strode to the fire and fed it some more branches. In the distance he heard the howl of a wolf, then closer the call of an owl. The nocturnal animals had begun their chorus.

With a sense of nervous anticipation for the day ahead. The young man set himself down drawing his viridian green woollen cloak around himself. With what seemed the last slithers of the golden sunset slipping behind the western ridges, Arik rested his head on his left arm and faced the hearth. He took one last look at the flickering firelight closed his eyes and fell into an unusually deep sleep.

On a ridge overlooking the great lake a figure loomed.

Half silhouetted against the darkening sky. They were clad in a hooded cloak and carried an ornate gnarled-root staff. Which appeared to clasp a smooth crystal orb. Their face was shadowed and just a matted grey beard visible.

"Rest now, Child of the North. Soon you will be tested." Muttered the figure, only for the words to be carried away by the evening breeze.

With the gloom of night now cast over the lake, the shadowy figure began a slow purposeful descent. Weaving between the glacial boulders, his dirty bare feet gliding through the thick and coarse bracken barely making any audible noise. Closer and closer to a small pine copse they walked, until, into the darkness of a moonless night, the figure faded.

Eventide had passed without incident. The sun's rays now pierced the Pines of the copse and glared from the lakes surface. Appearing to bring life back to the valley from the clutches of obscurity. The highland birds could be heard, singing their morning praises and the trill of a hawk off in the distance circling, hoping to break its fast.No more were the sounds of the night.

Arik stirred abruptly from his deep slumber, a rustling, something large beyond some Furze bushes. A clumsy rustling though, loud and clearly inept. So obviously not wildlife. With lethargic morning muscles and a heavy head Arik took a knee next to the smouldering embers of his fire. Though still half asleep he was alert. With his hand on the carved antler hilt of his hunting dagger, he slowly rose. Scanning his surroundings for more movement, he concluded that whatever the trouble, there was only one of it and he drew in a breath.

"If you meant to rob me, you will be sorely dissa..." cut short as the rustling grew louder.

A small child shuffled into view from within the Furze. A boy, with tawny-brown hair and eyes that were as green as emeralds. Couldn't have been more than six full years and he was stood here alone bare footed and in rags. 'Dirty too', observed Arik relaxing his hand from the knife. The boy looked gaunt and fearful and Arik suspected he was looking for food.

"I didn know you wer awake m.mister." uttered the child. Then upon seeing Arik the child's eyes widened and he asked "y.y.you a s.soldyer?"

"Not anymore." Replied Arik hastily.

"B.but the a.armour" said the boy, pointing towards Ariks black leather cuirass.

"Do not fear. I am no longer a soldier. These routes are perilous and it is merely protection. You see, it is well made and leaves me with little reason to spend the coin on anything new." Insisted the young man. "My name is Arik."

The child's expression changed to contemplation and after a moment he appeared to pluck up some courage asking "Got any food m.mister?" Clearly still fearful.

Arik smiled and said "Well it is time to break fast I suppose", whilst pulling a linen bag of oats from his canvas sack along with a small copper pot. He glanced at the child straining to appear as non-threatening as he could.

"Porridge?" he asked throwing his shoulders into a half shrug with an awkward smile across his face. Eyes lighting up the child nodded. The emeralds sparkling now, almost iridescent. So, Arik set to work rebuilding the fire and cooking the 'morning gruel' as he remembered it being called. He chuckled. Some fond memories did remain.

After they had both eaten, Arik learned the child's name. It was Aern.

"Are you alone out here Aern?" asked Arik. The child nodded. "I'll have you walk with me then, can't leave you out here alone can I? Unless you happen to disagree?" Arik then extended his hand.

Aern, surprised at how easily he was offered assistance. Looked shyly toward the dying fire, agreed and took the hand. He smiled mischievously to himself as they prepared to leave and looked up at Arik. The man was young but broad of shoulder and lean. With hair a similar colour to his own, a tawny blonde. It was medium length and tied back, shaved to a line above the ears. Strapped to his shoulders a cloak of beautiful green. There was a long-jagged scar on the left arm that stretched from a leather bracer to bicep and he sported stubble on a defined jawline as if it had not seen blade for a week.

Other than the cold sapphire eyes, it was the armour that really stood out to Aern. The chest piece was black leather, it looked extremely hard and embossed with silver trim. In the centre a silver emblem with the head of a long tooth tiger. This for some reason made Aern nervous. The rest of the armour Aern recognised as greaves, black leather boots and a right shoulder pauldron to match the cuirass along with the left bracer, underlaid by short sleeved chainmail.

However, despite the look and weapons of a soldier. He saw no malice in Arik and felt reassured by that fact, deciding to privately call the man "The Tiger" due to the sinister emblem.

"The Tiger" had not understated the danger of these routes, not that he realised when saying so. Aern watched as Arik cleared the campsite and gathered his belongings. Looking back just once, Aern noticed shadows dancing along a treeline up the flank of the western hillside and a sullen look befell him.