Clouds wrapped the sky, warped in twisted shapes. Denver could make out a half eaten apple. A thunder rumbled, it caught him off guard, sending shivers down his spine.
He shouldn't be alone. Especially at a time like this. He knew this.
It has just been a month since the war subdued.
'It's not the war which you should fear, it's the time after,' His Pa always says, who now is apparently nowhere to be seen. He's probably drinking at the brothel. He sighs, he'll have to make his own way to his home. He hadn't eaten anything since the meagre breakfast but that didn't made him fret. What made him fret was that the first errant of tomorrow's day would be to fetch his father from that godawful place himself.
Oh spinners.
He hated wars.
Who didn't? Kids abducted, women sold, silver plundered, villages raided, every atrocity was a commonplace.
It was beyond his ability to comprehend, why winning a war called for celebration, especially when wars were an everyday thing. Peace was a fragile thing in Orthos. Three nations, three bishops, all on the verge of collapse pitting against each other for control like stubborn toddlers.
Till this day, he couldn't believe that Narva was ruled by a kid who was just three years older than him. Young he was but, he couldn't be underestimated. He was sharp and hard as flint, ghoulishly pale and unflinchingly cruel. He managed to survive the council and even keep it on its toes.
Which was a novelty.
Some believed that he had traded his soul with the sinner. Denver knew it was hot air. He idolised bishop. They couldn't stomach the fact that a paper thin unremarkable boy was holding Narva from falling apart which even Zhillis failed to achieve.
Bishop wasn't a noble. It made the common folk including Denver support him more.
Aristocracy was no good, they took full advantage of their country's predicament. Pillaging their own. They banked money in the name of army from impoverished.
It angered him but now wasn't the time to sulk. Even thinking felt like a waste of time to him.
They had work to do. A livelihood to preserve. His father's fields were butchered. They had to sell most of their livestock lest they would had starved the winter. His father on the other couldn't care less. Denver really wanted to hit a rock on his head to rattle his addled senses. You couldn't blame him, his father had squandered most of the shillings on ale in honour of victory which wasn't even his. It was Bishop's. His alone.
'It's dark lad,' a man had suddenly materialized next to him. He was too well hooded for him to make out his features.
He froze. Strangers were never a good sign.
He let his eyes study him. The man was clad in red. It suprised him for a moment. Red was banished in Bishop's reign.
'How can I serve you, lord?'
'Oh, I'm no lord,' the man said with a laugh, turning towards him. He wasn't aware if he was imagining it, but light seemed to trickle out of his hood.
His laugh eased him and blatant sight of him, violating the Bishop's code amused him. Bishop was the most powerful man in Narva. He couldn't help but stare at him in fascination.
That,' he said pointing towards his robe, 'Is like shoving a stick up bishop's arse ,'
The man snickered, Denver couldn't tell if he loathed Bishop or he was vain enough to think that conventions didn't apply to him. Either reason was enough to get him killed, 'You shouldn't be here,'
Denver knows his intriguer is right. He should be at his home. His miserable ole home, which is nothing but a reminder of his hardship. He hated going to that damned place. Moreover, he wasn't done with his intriguer yet.
'Where are you from?' He asked out of genuine curiosity. He had never seen someone so exotic.
The man contemplates something, he isn't sure if the lad would believe him.
'The spinners send me,' the man utters, sounding fatigued.
He looks at him sharply. He hated children's tales, and, spinners are nothing but children's tales, 'You lie,'
The man doesn't defend himself. He wouldn't blame him, spinners are nothing but an illusion or so is what bishop says. Everybody knows that bishop never lies.
The man stands up to his full height, looking formidable as ever. He begins to walk away but turns around glancing one last time towards the boy.
His words waft through the air, 'Go home, child,'
