style="font-size:15px;"> “But,” countered Braxton, “it was my spear that incited it to veer for Kyra’s arrow.”
Kyra listened, her face reddening at their lies; her pig-headed brothers were already convincing themselves of their own story, and now they seemed to actually believe it. She already anticipated their boasting back in their father’s hall, telling everyone of their kill.
It was maddening. Yet she felt it was beneath her to correct them. She believed firmly in the wheels of justice, and she knew that, eventually, the truth always came out.
“You’re liars,” Aidan said, walking beside her, clearly still shaken from the event. “You know Kyra killed the boar.”
Brandon glanced over his shoulder derisively, as if Aidan were an insect.
“What would you know?” he asked Aidan. “You were too busy pissing your pants.”
They both laughed, as if hardening their story with each passing step.
“And you weren’t running scared?” Kyra asked, sticking up for Aidan, unable to stand it a second longer.
With that, they both fell silent. Kyra could have really let them have it – but she did not need to raise her voice. She walked happily, feeling good about herself, knowing within herself that she had saved her brother’s life; that was all the satisfaction she needed.
Kyra felt a small hand on her shoulder, and she looked over to see Aidan, smiling, consoling her, clearly grateful to be alive and in one piece. Kyra wondered if her older brothers also appreciated what she had done for them; after all, if she hadn’t appeared when she had they would have been killed, too.
Kyra watched the boar bounce before her with each step, and she grimaced; she wished her brothers had let it remain in the clearing, where it belonged. It was a cursed animal, not of Volis, and it didn’t belong here. It was a bad omen, especially coming from the Wood of Thorns, and especially on the eve of the Winter Moon. She recalled an old adage she had read: do not boast after being spared from death. Her brothers, she felt, were tempting the fates, bringing darkness back into their home. She could not help but feel it would herald bad things to come.
They crested a hill and as they did, the stronghold spread out before them, along with a sweeping view of the landscape. Despite the gust of wind and increasing snow, Kyra felt a great sense of relief at being home. Smoke rose from the chimneys that dotted the countryside and her father’s fort emitted a soft, cozy glow, all lit with fires, fending off the coming twilight. The road widened, better maintained as they neared the bridge, and they all increased their pace and walked briskly down the final stretch. The road was bustling with people, eager for the festival despite the weather and falling night.
Kyra was hardly surprised. The festival of the Winter Moon was one of the most important holidays of the year, and all were busy preparing for the feast to come. A great throng of people pressed over the drawbridge, rushing to get their wares from vendors, to join the fort’s feast – while an equal number of people rushed out of the gate, hurrying to get back to their homes to celebrate with their families. Oxen pulled carts and carried wares in both directions, while masons banged and chipped away at yet another new wall being built to ring the fort, the sound of their hammers steady in the air, punctuating the din of livestock and dogs. Kyra wondered how they always worked in this weather, how they kept their hands from going numb.
As they entered the bridge, merging with the masses, Kyra looked up ahead and her stomach tightened as she saw, standing near the gate, several of the Lord’s Men, soldiers for the local Lord Governor appointed by Pandesia, wearing their distinctive scarlet chain mail armor. She felt a flash of indignation at the sight, sharing the same resentment as all of her people. The presence of the Lord’s Men was oppressive at any time – but on the Winter Moon it was especially so, when they could surely only be here to demand whatever gleanings they could from her people. They were scavengers, in her mind, bullies and scavengers for the despicable aristocrats that had lodged themselves in power ever since the Pandesian invasion.
The weakness of their former King was to blame, having surrendered them all – but that did them little good now. Now, to their disgrace, they had to defer to these men. It filled Kyra with fury. It made her father and his great warriors – and all of her people – nothing better than elevated serfs; she desperately wanted them all to rise up, to fight for their freedom, to fight the war their former King had been afraid to. Yet she also knew that, if they were to rise up now, they would face the wrath of the Pandesian army. Perhaps they could have held them back if they had never let them in; but now that they were entrenched, they had few options.
They reached the bridge, merging with the mob, and as they passed, people stopped, stared, and pointed at the boar. Kyra took a small satisfaction in seeing that her brothers were sweating under the burden of it, huffing and puffing. As they went, heads turned and people gaped, commoners and warriors alike, all impressed by the massive beast. She also spotted a few superstitious looks, some of the people wondering, as she, if this were a bad omen.
All eyes, though, looked to her brothers with pride.
“A fine catch for the festival!” a farmer called out, leading his ox as he merged onto the street with them.
Brandon and Braxton beamed proudly.
“It shall feed half your father’s court!” called out a butcher.
“How did you manage it?” asked a saddler.
The two brothers exchanged a look, and Brandon finally grinned back at the man.
“A fine throw and a lack of fear,” he replied boldly.
“If you don’t venture to the wood,” Braxton added, “you don’t know what you’ll find.”
A few men cheered and clapped them on the back. Kyra, despite herself, held her tongue. She did not need these people’s approval; she knew what she had done.
“They did not kill the boar!” Aidan called out, indignant.
“You shut up,” Brandon turned and hissed. “Any more of that and I will tell them all that you pissed your pants when it charged.”
“But I did not!” Aidan protested.
“And they will believe you?” Braxton added.
Brandon and Braxton laughed, and Aidan looked to Kyra, as if wanting to know what to do.
She shook her head.
“Don’t waste your effort,” she said to him. “The truth always prevails.”
The throngs thickened as they crossed over the bridge, soon shoulder to shoulder with the masses as they passed over the moat. Kyra could feel the excitement in the air as twilight fell, torches lit up and down the bridge, the snowfall quickening. She looked up before her and her heart quickened, as always, to see the huge, arched stone gate to the fort, guarded by a dozen of her father’s men. At its top were the spikes of an iron portcullis, now raised, its sharpened points and thick bars strong enough to keep out any foe, ready to be closed at the mere sound of a horn. The gate rose thirty feet high, and at its top was a broad platform, spreading across the entire fort, wide stone battlements manned with lookouts, always keeping a vigilant eye. Volis was a fine stronghold, Kyra had always thought, taking pride in it. What gave her even more pride were the men inside it, her father’s men, many of Escalon’s finest warriors, slowly regrouping in Volis after being dispersed since the surrender of their King, drawn like a magnet to her father.
