The Seeress

Prologue

Edgar is nearly finished collecting the crops and gold, just as he saw his friends disposing of the bodies. Once folk who have tried to turn this land into fertile has been lost to bandits. He took no pleasure in this, robbing his fellow Western brethren while burying them in the lands in these harsh lands. The harsh winters of the Nord indeed coerce men to do terrible things, even to their own. 

The air became thicker as the snow was a foot deeper than a week before. Even then, autumn in Nordlund was a mere prelude compared to its winter. Despite having only stayed here for two seasons, Edgar knew very well that many men and women will perish to these harsh winters, especially of Westhaven folk who have bathed in the comfort of their fertile homeland. Alas, it would seem that the King's promise of new lands would slowly turn into a nightmare.

         "Beorn, help me with this bastard" Rodrik held the shoulders of a limp body, with his huge beard covering his swollen face. Edgar saw his uncle disposing of them, throwing the bodies to a heap to be burned at sunset. "Damn them, to think they'll be so heavy before winter like this" Beorn gave a remark as he threw the man with a bloody spot on his back.  Edgar looked at the heap of bodies, comprised of men and women alike, wondering how many people could this outpost have fed. 

"Edgar!" his uncle shouted, as Edgar blinked hurriedly.

"What are you waiting for, Edgar?" Rodrik angrily said, too busy to even look at him in the eye. His voice was loud enough to startle him.  "Those sacks of grain won't come to us, get to the granary!" 

Even with his uncle shouting for him, his thoughts of punishment still lingered. He heard stories of how bandits like him having their heads laid bare in public. The sign 'banditry shall be severely punished' was what haunted him the most. 

"Alright, I'm going," Edgar replied softly. He took up his own sword, having been cleaned after a quick blow to an unfortunate guard. After such heavy fighting, he could only have enough energy to bring his legs to the granary. He could only hope there wasn't any left he had to kill. 

Edgar saw how large the granary was, and ironically how little there is to store. For all of its architecture, the absence of life made it useless. Nevertheless, its wooden texture somehow gave him warmth, after seeing nothing but snow for the past month. He made sure to take in the last rations that have been left there. Not that there is anyone left to share here. The governor was true then, that the granaries were already depleting out food. 

'Don't go out!'

A small thud was made, as he saw the bed underneath occupied by a child. Small mutterings were made as Edgar looked below. Sure enough, two girls, one big and small, lay hidden there. Their shivers were frequent enough to tell she's not dead. Edgar didn't know what to do with her; there were enough bodies to pile up. 

"Oh God, help us!" the woman cried out, hugging the girl as she looked at him. 

Once again, Edgar took no pleasure in robbing them. It was bad enough that the winter had slowly eaten their supply and their lives. He simply backed out, being as humanly quiet as possible, as the woman hugged the girl tearfully. As if his soul was about to be marked with bloody stains, Edgar shook his head fervently.

         Thunk!

         Edgar nearly dropped his grain, in shock at what he heard. It was as if it was from the outside. Were they already here? Edgar thought as he had a thousand questions on his mind, all of them fearing for his safety. He hurriedly came as he planted his eyes to the eyehole, only to see one of his friends lying on the floor. His blood slowly leaking into the snow. 

"Desmond!" Beorn yelled as he saw his friend crying out with a pierced arrow on his shoulder. Beorn was suddenly flanked by another intruder, without wasting time, the two men clashed in swords. The metallic clank was loud enough for him to bolt out. His uncle Rodrik promised that it would be short and sweet, and now what seems like a dozen riders scourged through the front.

         Edgar witnessed the whole commotion, seeing his comrades falling one by one from those interlopers. Edgar unsheathed his sword, his right arm shaking in response to the chaos. His mind shook with various options, run, fight, hide? He knew very well that if they watched him, the gallows will be his fate. The deaths of colonists are more than certain enough for the punishment. 

"No, no, no!" Edgar shook with fright, seeing as practically a war was happening in front of him. He knew he could not wait here any longer. He had to do something. 

Without a doubt, Edgar bolted out of the granary, hoping that no one would see him.

Edgar was nearly engulfed in the chaos, a couple of dozen men all clashing swords at each other. Edgar saw how the attackers did not wear the Western sigil, leading to nothing but confusion.  'Mercenaries' he thought. No wonder death was their first option. At least soldiers would merely take them to custody, but those men only knew the death of their enemies. Perhaps fitting that their fate will be death by their own kind.  

"Edgar" Rodrik cried out loud as his shield is nearly destroyed by the constant clash of the longsword. Rodrik's sword was aggressively parried, as Rodrik manages to cut his ankle, before giving a swift blow to his neck.

"Edgar, take the horse, go!" Rodrik yelled in the midst of battle. Surely enough, another thunk was heard, this time an arrow hitting his waist. Edgar cried out for Rodrik as he went to his side. His uncle's hands shook as he held Edgar's hands. "Take the horses, you must go. Run, boy!" Rodrik's uttered his last words as another arrow landed straight at his eye. True to his words, Edgar went for the horses, only for it to fail its master by running away.

Edgar's tears were a mix of fear and grief, seeing his escape gone before him. His mind was in a haze, both confusion and death clouding his mind. He forced himself to hide among the dead. He could only hope to escape, but for how long? As he made haste, Beorn's cry was loud enough for him to hear, followed by a sudden thrust to his chest. 

'I am the only one left...' Edgar thought, as the mercenaries scoured through the village. Edgar could barely make up what they look like, as except for two of them, they all had beards covering their mouths.

"You found anyone, Edwin?"

"How would I know," A voice said out as someone went outside of the granary. Out of the dozen that came in, Edgar counted eight left. With the sack of grain, he carefully brought it with him. 

Edgar crawled under the table, seeing how close the wooden pikes are. As if the light was there for him, he could not wait. His blood pumps out with excitement as the sack of grain fell from him. He latches on to the wall as his hands desperately thrust his body to the top. And then, a silent thunk was heard, this time, from his own body.

Edgar fell to the ground, but not the other side. He shook his body, and his voice muttered out for help. The dreaded men whom he has evaded now encircled him, their faces that of relief. 

"A fine shot, uncle," a faint voice could be heard. Edgar drowns in his own blood, gasping for his last breaths as he saw one of them aiming his sword at him. "Get it done, Harold," The voice muttered as Edgar could only stay on for a while.

His last thoughts were of his mother's voice, reciting a poem of his choosing. The memories struck him followed by brief interludes of pain.  His vision only comprised of the pitch white sky, and the sword aiming at his neck. Edgar, within the few seconds he had, made his own peace.

Breathe in, and no more pain, he thought. And within a moment, it was finally gone.