The steady burst of snow fell upon the night, dusting the ruined and battered city of Julenia with a wash of white fury. The wind howled violently, as if crying out in rage against the Dragon Lord that tyrannied over the people of Ilantha. This night was one of many, in a feeling of hopelessness for many who slaved away under the mighty black wings of Lord Onythirad the Merciless. This hopelessness would not last forever, some felt. Among them was a family of six. A matured blonde woman dressed in rags that hardly kept out the cold lit a candle in the eerie night. Cradled in her thin arms was a young girl who she had hoped to keep warm in her frame. She looked up at her three sons who were packing and preparing to leave. Her oldest, Cyril, sword in hand, poked his head carefully out of the battered shutters and into the white void, listening. His two younger brothers, Suzon and Jourdain, were going over the list of goods packed.
"Two waterskins, three salted porks..." Suzon said, looking up at Cyril. "What else? Will we make it to Aveyron with this?"
"It will have to." Cyril replied curtly, paying no mind to his brothers for the time. "If not, I'll teach you how to hunt, 'Zon."
A hard lump formed in Suzon's throat at the thought of hunting in the middle of winter. It it came to that, their chances of survival were slim. It would be easier in the spring, but Nhmibaloth would give them this one chance with the blizzard- and their father counted on them to get out.
"Please be safe, my sons. Stay out of trouble, and remember if aught seems amiss, be patient and careful, and know when to act." Jourdain, the youngest, eagerly went to his mother and little sister to embrace them both.
"We need to move. Suzon- the pack." Cyril gestured and slid his sword into his belt to keep it tucked away. Quickly and without question, Suzon gathered the pack they had put together for the long trip out of Ilantha. His heart beat fast, and he could hear it in his ears. With a quick motion, they gave a look of goodbye to their mother, their sister, and their home, and fled into the storm. Covered in as much fur as their family could offer them, they marched out into the snow, Cyril taking the lead. The three brothers bound through the howling wind away from any light, holding on to one another's shoulders to keep moving. Suzon could only think of warmth, and how he missed such a luxury. with his hand on Jourdain's shoulders, he kept his head down and away from the flurry to press on ahead. Cyril stopped suddenly, and Suzon brought his head up to look. A faint light could be seen through the storm, it looked distant, but was much closer than it seemed. Through the wind, he could hear the huffing and puffing of worgs and the chattering of their goblin riders. The disgusting creatures were on patrol, and it seemed their presence was not detected. Suzon imagined the group pouncing on them- what could he do? He held only a knife- it was Cyril which had the sword. Before his fears were realized, the witless bunch moved on down the road. The brothers took that opportunity to dart past behind them, pressing their backs up against a ruined wall as they duck into an old trench on the side of the road. Suzon could feel his heart wanting to burst from his chest.
There was a long silence between them as Cyril listened for danger. None. He nodded and ventured past the other two, pulling them along. He had known this path out of town on the days he was sent by the dragon to hunt for it and his armies. For months, he planned put the exact path, and knew the best spots that would keep them out of sight and away from danger. It wasn't perfect, but it would work to get them out of Ilantha safely.
They had reached the edge of the city, and at the banks of the frozen Lake Sombre. This was the final stretch to leave the city and head for the Marching Road that would bring them all the way to Aveyron. It was like staring at freedom in the eyes, watching her open her embrace for just those three boys. In the moment of their gawking, a horrible squeal was heard ahead. Two women dashed across the lake as though their lived depended on it- and it did. Suzon instinctively moved to help them, and Cyril put his arm out to stop him. From out of view came the clattering of hooves. A small squad of hobgoblins had approached them, one on horseback and gaining. Without any mercy, one of the women was cut down with the vicious saber, causing the other to fall ungracefully with her onto the raw ice.
This wasn't just any woman, Suzon realized, this was Orienta and her sister Bietriz. Is that instant, he would fondly remember the summers she would talk about the mountains of Aveyron and the plains of the Ostian Republic.
"No! We can't!" Cyril demanded as he pushed Suzon away from the lake. All Suzon could see was poor Beatriz with her bleeding back against the ice, staring at the nocked arrow of the hobgoblin on the saddle of the black horse. With a sickening thump and the tortured cries of Orienta, Suzon forced his way past Cyril and ran onto the ice towards the Black Banner horseman. He drew his knife in an act of red-blooded vengeance and charged the hobgoblin. The horse, seeing Suzon emerge from the flurry, reared up in surprise and slid backwards on the ice, landing on top of its rider who let out a cry of pain. Taking his opportunity, Suzon dug the knife into the rider's throat and trembled at the feeling of flesh being pierced under his hand. The rider looked up in horror at what had just happened. The horse got to its feet and shook off the spook. Suzon could see the malice in the rider's eyes as he attempted to grasp at his saber. The malice was replaced by episodes of confusion and pain and fear as he could feel the breath leaving his lungs. The shout of goblins behind him woke Suzon from his stupor. He glanced at Orienta to help her off the body of her sister, only to find she had an arrow lodged in her neck already.
"Suzon!" He felt the sharp tug of Cyril pulling him away in his paralysis, just out of an arrow shot by goblins. Cyril had his sword drawn as the goblins attacked. With a snap, he took one down and another had jumped to attack him in the side. The flash of steel in the white flurry of snow painted the ice with hues of dark red. One lucky shot from a goblin arrow hit Cyric in the side and caused him to fall to a knee. Jourdain leapt into action deftly over the broken wall and grabbed the archer goblin to keep it from firing any more. With a gross snap, the goblin was no more in his arms.
Suzon rushed to Cyril's side, glaring at the arrow in his ribs. "Merde!" He exclaimed and Cyril tried to grab the arrow to break it, but he didn't have the strength or stomach for it. "We have to get to Valenca. More will come." Jourdain slid by to his brothers and helped Cyril to his feet.
"This is all your fault, Suzon! Cyril said not to move, and you did!" With a shove, Jourdain made distance between Suzon and Cyril. Suzon snapped, "I- I could not let Orentia die without..." He couldn't finish his sentence. It was useless. Despite everything, he watched Orentia die anyway- and now Cyril is wounded in the middle of a blizzard, and likely with a scouting party of hobgoblins behind them.
Suzon grabbed the sword father gave to Cyril and handed it to Jourdain. "The horse. You have to make it to Valenca. There will be a healer there, I am sure of it." Jourdain took the blade as though he were handling poison and gave Suzon a look. Turning around, Suzon said, "Go! Onto the horse!" They helped Cyril onto the horse first, and Jourdain took the reigns. There was no room left. "We will meet in Aveyron." Suzon declared. "From there, we make our plans."
The black horse rode deftly across the frozen lake, carrying the youngest of the three, and the wounded oldest. Suzon stayed behind, making his own pace. He grabbed the saber of the dead rider and took an icy breath that stung his lungs. He carried on to Valenca in the burning blizzard.
Suzon marched on even after the blizzard subsided, and the cold, frosty air of Ilantha cleared into a crisp morning. He wondered if his brothers had made it to Valenca. As the snow became tall, Suzon had to push through the weight and weave through sparse trees of the highland woods. The Marching Road was just south of here, and if he walked far enough, he could see it. But Suzon had stuck to the plan Cyril made, to stay in the trees and away from the road in case marching bands of hobgoblins came down the road to greet them with their steel.
In the distance, through the trees, Suzon could see a ruined village. Maybe there was some water he could find there, or some place for shelter. As he approached, the forest was eerily quiet. Carefully, he glanced about, looking between the battered houses for any signs of movement. When there was none, he approached the well in the center of town to dip his waterskin into it. As he turned around once again, he spotted a lone woman walking up to him. She was dressed head to toe in leathers, bolted and belted, armed with knives and shortswords. this mysterious woman was followed by a man and two others of their group- bandits.
"I am Suzon of Ilantha... I mean no trouble, only that I can get to Averyon to see my brothers. I have nothing..." He put his hands up, and the woman let out a callous laugh. "A refugee from Ilantha? The Black Banner would pay for your... safe return."
Suzon looked between them. He drew the saber quickly and darted backwards. The bandits seemed amused by his brazen stance and drew their own weapons. "Heads pay well enough, anyway." The bandit woman threatened.
With a speed that even Suzon was surprised with, he swatted away the blades of the bandits, and maneuvered himself away from being cornered. With a deft action, he drew his knife and readied himself. A thrust came his way, and the blade of the knife screeched along her shortsword and he clipped her arm with the blade of the saber, causing her to bolt backwards. another swing from a bandit made Suzon lean back, the axe of the nameless man getting caught in the wooden beam of the well. When his attempt to retrieve the axe failed, Suzon kicked him aside and stabbed his knife in the wood in order to grab the axe. The feeling of the weight of the axe gave him an idea. With one flurry, the bandit woman attempted to make quick work of Suzon, who instead Grabbed the well bucked and smashed it against her head. When the other came for his axe, Suzon shifted the wight of the axe in his hand and chucked it fiercely, getting caught in his chest.
"Back! Be gone with you all!" Suzon demanded, saber outstretched. When yet another bandit charged him, he turned to thrust the saber into his chest-- however, the saber was flat and wide, and failed to puncture even the leather armor of the bandit. The sudden force knocked the blade out of Suzon's hand, and forced the bandit to stop and check himself. Suzon threw his knife, which caught right in the bandit's temple, killing him instantly. The woman bandit stood up and spit onto the ground. "Enough! Go. You're too much trouble."
Hastened, Suzon grabbed another knife off of the bandit he had just killed and retrieved the saber. With an eerie silence between them all, Suzon crept backwards out of the village, and back onto the road towards Aveyron.
Another day on the road, and Suzon had run out of salted meats. Fatigue caught up with him, and the chill in his bones, he thought he would never get rid of for the rest of his life. Suzon could se his fingers turning blue and his breath froze in the air, even during the day. At any chance he could, Suzon would try to warm himself. As he walked along, pushing through the heavy snow, he felt his eyes grow heavy. With a start, he tried to stave off the feeling, but it simply wouldn't go away. Before he even knew what had happened, he saw the cold ground rising up to meet him.
As Suzon's eyes slowly drifted back open, he could feel the warmth of a fire nearby, and the soft sheets that jolted him awake as he attempted to make sense of where he was. His hand felt for his knife under his cloak and brandished it against the unfamiliar woman sat before him. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as Suzon breathed heavily, ready for whatever might come. A man in the other corner glanced backwards and spoke in a heavy accent Suzon had only heard a few times.
"Calm down, boy. You're among friends." He said.
Suzon, taking a few moments to get his bearings, dropped his blade when he saw there was no danger. "Where am I?" was his first question.
"This is my home. I am Frederic. This is my wife, Magali" He quickly introduced. "You're in Val d'Aquin."
Suzon shifted out of bed ever so slightly, rubbing his head. "Sabellian... is this Aveyron? Are we near Valenca?"
"No." Frederic replied. "Actually, you are still yet east of Valenca. In Nassurir." At these words, Frederic could see the panic set into Suzon's eyes. "Not to worry, son." He continued, "A few weeks ago, the King of Aveyron liberated our small village with his knights. you are in dragon lands no longer, Ilanthan."
Suzon began to grab his things. "Have you seen two other men pass through, one was wounded on a horse?"
Frederic nodded. "Yes. The village priest healed up the older one. In fact, by your question, I suspect you are the one they mentioned. In fact, they wanted to send a message to you. they spoke with an Aveyronian knight here in the village, and wished to be off to safer lands. They ride towards Port Demasi, to become Dragon Slayers."
Suzon took a long while to think, and nodded. He had mentioned this to Cyril, that he wanted to fight for his country. Suzon had made a pact with his father to fight with the Aveyronians to retake Ilantha, but perhaps it would be better with the Dragon Slayers.
That day, Suzon made a pact with himself, that he and his brothers would take Ilantha back from Lord Onythirad the Merciless. He remembered his mother, and the face of his sister. He remembered Orienta and her crying eyes, staring blankly into the snow. Never before was he so sure about his destiny. That day, Suzon was given a horse so that he would ride to Port Demasi and fight for his people.
"Father... I will be home again, one day."
