Sides of War

Chapter One: A Sack of Flour

 In the course of human history, it is inevitable that things become lost, and with those things, their affairs. One such vanished thing was beyond merely a missing artifact; an entire country disappeared. That country, settled by mostly English, was named Agradien and rested in between the borders of Scotland and England. Its borders disappeared from maps by the end of the Dark Ages, and it was wholly forgotten in not much time.

Though small in size, Agradien underwent the desolation of a civil war, waged between the Mauntell and Decaster families during the fourteenth century. Marsson, a Mauntell, murdered the Decaster king in a lust for power. He wasted no time in taking control of the country, and shortly thereafter Agradien was ruled by the Mauntell family. After he died, he was replaced by his heir, Tobran.

The last lord of the Decasters, Lord Blair, took up arms against his king shortly after his coronation. One of Lord Blair's vassals, Clovis, joined him in a full-scale rebellion against the Mauntell rule. Their revolt was a conquest to reclaim the throne for the Decaster family. The serfs lost count of the years of war that followed. Clovis, desperate to please his lord, began a draft of his serfs and recruited them into the Decaster army. The manors soon felt the strain of the extra burden of both the war and the enlistment of their sons.

"I can carry that for you, you know," said an adolescent boy to an older girl beside him, who was carrying a cumbersome bag of flour.

He had shaggy, sandy hair and soft eyes, and his feet dragged slightly, as he had just come from working in the fields. The girl halfway ignored him. Her skin was tan, her hands calloused, and her face far from dainty; her thick eyebrows always gave her a fierce visage.

"Asher," she said to the boy, "you know I can carry this myself." A faint smirk that would have gone unnoticed by most tugged at one side of her mouth.

Asher shrugged, well aware of it. He seemed glad not to have to carry added weight. The girl shifted the sack of flour to her other arm, pretending not to have trouble carrying it. The boots under her worn dress crunched on the dead leaves that were scattered over the path that ran through Auld Town, one of the serf villages of Decaster Manor. They both shivered as a chilly breeze swept up the leaves and made the trees sway. The wind carried with it the scent of approaching winter.

"You'd think that my uncle would help us out," the girl suddenly said as they continued down the path, the lowing of farm animals in the distance. "Life in Auld Town is far from

easy."

"Clovis?" asked Asher, referring to her uncle.

She nodded.

"He's too selfish, Jorlin," he sighed, suddenly seeming more tired. "Did you know that he raised the quota of crops already?"

Jorlin shook her head, and shifted the bag of flour to her other arm.

"Vassal indeed," she muttered. "I'm ashamed to be his niece. I'm glad I've never met him; he's so unfair to everyone. As if things couldn't be any worse, especially with the war..."

Asher didn't say anything for a few minutes, and they maintained their pace on the path. The trees rustled as the wind picked up again.

He began to say, "So, tomorrow, since it's my birthday-..."

"Ash, just don't," she cut him off, annoyance flaring up in her chest.

"Oh, come on," he retorted. "It's still a day away. It's not like they'll come looking for me. I'm just a serf. They probably don't even know I exist. So stop worrying."

Jorlin turned her line of sight to him, eyes blazing as she abruptly stopped in the road. He took a few more steps before he halted and turned around, obviously weary with her pursuit of the subject.