Blood and Winter

Chapter 3: The War Begins

Chapter 3

Return to the present…

The cool wind woke Lon from his dreams in the past. The long march the men had to make home was draining them all.  They kept walking though. The one thing the men all wanted was to feel the warmth of their homes and the touches of their wives and children. The snow was falling deeper every day, and the men all knew that the winter had just begun, as well as the fights for their lives. They had defeated the largest of the Krog clans, but it was by far not the only one. Hundreds more Krog were biting at the bit to get a chance to run over the small Southern Village. Krogs, however, were not the only things that needed to be feared. Bandits would often raid, attacking their own man to get the things that they themselves were too lazy to work for. Bandits were the things Lon hated the most, and with good reason…

                “Give thanks men! For we are nearly home!” Yelled Lon trying to keep the morale up. The answers he received were ones not generally given to a commanding officer, but Lon was a brother to them all. He grew up in each one of their homes, ate at their tables, and slept in the same rooms. They all trusted him with their lives, and rightly so.

                Lon grimaced in pain as his eye raged up in pain. The healer had done his best, but his best could not save him for pain. Lon would forever be scarred.  Lon knew he had escaped luckily with his life, no matter the stories the men told. He was told the story of his singlehanded victory had already reached the Eastern Village, but he gave no matter. He just needed to get his men home. As many of them that he could.

The remnants of the army kept marching on in the cold. Then from the front of the line, a scout yelled out what they had all been waiting for “Our home is in sight sir! We have made it home!” The men broke out into a wild cheer and all eyes fell on Lon. Knowing what his brothers were thinking, he gave a simple nod and formation was broken. Like wild men they ran home into the loving arms of children and their woman. Lon had to hold back tears for these men, but the tears broke through for the woman and children he saw waiting for their husbands, and no man came to their house. No man came but Lon. He made it his mission to go to every man- less house, console the wife and tell the children how brave their father had been. Lon was growing tired of the fighting and the winter had only just begun.

Lon began the slow walk home. When he had turned 18, he decided that it was time to stop floating from house to house in the village. He decided it was time to return to his true home. It was overgrown with weeds, and the home had been weathered to a point near disaster. He had slowly built it up and returned it to its former standing. It was missing the one thing he could not build back with his hands, no matter how hard he worked. His family. He stirred the fire and sat alone in his home. He thought of the things he could have done different, he thought of his eye, and he thought of the fights to come. Help would be needed from the other villages. Their safety would be in danger if the Southern Village was overrun.  He began a letter requesting a battalion of reserve troops.  The East would send, for they knew the trouble the South had. They had their border attacked infrequently by Krog or raiders. The West and North however, knew not of the South’s troubles, or did not care. They lived in warm weather, with hardly an army together. Rich and clean, they thought themselves better than the South and East. They thought this even when the South was the reason their lives were so great.

The North and West Villages lived along the Great Ocean, and inhabited fertile lands. They grew without worry, or with the needs of walls, for they were safe. Krogs and bandits never made it to them, they never got past the South and East. They lived in safety, while the other villages died.

A week passed, the men were glad to be home. Food had been stored long before, so not much work was getting done. The work that was getting done was the work of warriors. They trained daily, under Lon’s command. Lon’s eye and face were healing to the point where the bandage was not needed. A long, knotty scar would form. The men looked at him with admonition, the children with awe.

That day, one of Lon’s most trusted scouts rode quickly into town. He said he had news from the East that was dire.

“Well speak up” said Lon “This news needs to be heard”

“Sire it is very….sensitive information.”  The scout said nervously.

“Be out with it boy!” Yelled Lon, not realizing how frustrated he was getting.

“Sir the East Village has been attacked. The survivors from the East are on their way here. They don’t have a home to return to!”

Lon could not believe what he was hearing. The Eastern village was powerful; they had never been routed before. Accommodations had to be made. “Scout, who did this? Krogs? Bandits?

“No sir it was neither. It was the North and the West. They have grouped together and attacked! A civil war is upon us sir!”

The look of astonishment and fear of the future obscured Lon’s face. HIs breath quickened and a new bead of sweet dripped down his face. The sweat, was not from exertion. He did not know what to do.