An Angel Called Eternity

The Field Rat's Banquet - Lykourgos XI: The Woodsroad

Lykourgos XI: The Woodsroad

The Forth Day of the Eleventh Moon, 872 AD.

The Woodsroad, Southern Teleytaios, Klironomea.

Rainclouds were gathering in the skies above him. They were patchy at the moment, but as the hours rolled past they only grew to cover more of the heavens above. The winds were picking up too, the temperature dropping.
Odd, the prince thought, it seems we've had a very short autumn.
It didn't bode particularly well for the harvest, that much he knew. Nothing major at the moment, but there were likely to be a more than a few gaunt faces come spring.
Ah well, any problems that arose from that would have to be dealt with as they came.
Either way, the war needed to be over before the worst of winter set in. There was still plenty of time, and so long as there was no disaster at the capital and there was little danger of the elements taking their toll on the kingdom.
There was perhaps a month, two months, until the temperature became low enough to be dangerous.
He shivered involuntarily.
"Cold, your Grace?"
The prince turned to his right, Ilias smiling cheekily at him.
"Nothing of the sort, rascal. Nothing to worry yourself about."
He ruffled his cupbearer's hair as the smaller boy swatted at his hands ineffectually. He smiled a moment, before becoming pensive. He seemed to be trying to find the right words for a good while before gathering his thoughts. His voice was almost a whisper when he spoke, as though he were worried of speaking out of turn.
"You're thinking of how short autumn was, aren't you?"
Lykourgos raised an eyebrow. Observant of him.
"Such thoughts may have entered my mind. The temperature has dropped quite sharply in recent days."
Ilias nodded.
"I... do you think it will be bad this year?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but then thought of the question. He was hardly one to know what a 'bad' winter was, after all, he'd never be stuck in the cold, but for some reason the question had made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.
Elikoidi would scoff at such superstition. Dreamwulf would call it a sixth sense. He gave a noncommittal shrug.
"I don't know. Tell me, do you remember the Sawdust Winter?"
Ilias shuddered a moment, his face becoming dark.
"All to well, your Grace. It was bad enough in the capital for the nobles while it was under siege from my understanding. But I'm not a noble. A drop or two of me might be, but that winter... the hunger didn't care about any of that. I know we call it the Sawdust Winter but truth be told we couldn't even get sawdust bread after the second month of winter siege. One of my friends, Haengen, used to smash apart every piece of wood he could find. He didn't care about the cold, didn't want to burn the wood for heat. We asked him why he was doing it one day, said he was looking for woodworms. Or woodlouse, or something, anything to eat. I watched a man snatch up a sparrow from a window and tear into it while it was still flapping it's wings. You don't exactly forget that. Ah, sorry, I'm woolgathering."
Lykourgos nodded in acknowledgement. The Sawdust Winter had been hard. He'd not known it's effects, not truly, despite the fact he was leading an army in the open elements. He was a prince, with all the luxury that entailed, even on the move. Besides, the sawdust winter had occurred at the end of the Twilight Rebellion, and he'd been so warmed by rage that his blood felt as though it had actually come to boil at times. But for the people left behind by the world, those left in the cold and blight...
"Worry not, I'm always interested to hear of my friends lives. Haengen, do you know what became of him?"
Ilias nodded.
"Cold took him halfway through the second month of the siege. We... I... there was a pot-shop on Gin-Drinker's Run. We... we told each other the stew was pork. We had to keep it down, or we'd starve."
A hard look passed across his face, and suddenly he seemed many years older than he truly was.
"It was pork. And we didn't starve."
Lykourgos nodded. He couldn't say he wasn't disgusted by what he'd heard, but he wouldn't judge someone for surviving.
The Ilias' friend had already died, after all.
"Pork it was then. I hesitate to say this given what you've just told me, but I believe it may be as cold this year as it was then. No fear of starvation though; last years harvest was bountiful indeed, and this years may be as good even with all these men marching instead of reaping."
Ilias gave a weak nod.
"Good. Thank you, your Grace. Would you like me to fetch anything for you? I hear that Lieutenants Ingfred and Isen have been arguing, something to do with the aforementioned marching."
The prince nodded. It seemed Ilias had a talent for knowing what others were up to. Useful.
"I see. In that case please inform them I would like to speak with them here at their earliest convenience."
The young boy gave a word of assent, then briskly walked off.
Angels, it seemed he had a penchant for picking out those stuck by loss. Dreamwulf and his farm, Ilias and the cold, Elikoidi and... well, the less said about that the better.
He shook his head and smiled. Now he was the one woolgathering.
Well, he had some business to sort out with two of his Lieutenants, it would seem. Best get on with it as soon as they arrived.