The warmth of a small fire is of some solace here in this deep and dry cave. This wicked winter keeps the land outside locked in its firm and cruel grip. Wildermore has always been a wilder land, the Balewood in particular, but there are strange matters afoot. No normal winter this, but some spell-cast nightmare that raises spires of ice, that freezes the blood of man and creature alike, that draws all energy, all will to live or take action from those close to it, that they become but hollow shells of themselves. Outside the hardiest of orcs and wargs still roam; the Frost Giant still wrecks devastation…..
...but in this cave I am safe, after a fashion.
I sleep alone on the hard floor, a pile of dried leaves and a large fur under me, that I try to wrap around myself to keep warm. I am cold still, though not with that numbing sensation that causes agony to every fibre of my being. I am thankful for that. Turning my head slightly I wonder if my ‘companion’ sleeps? The large form that now appears as a pile of barely breathing furs blocks the entrance to this old bear cave. I cannot get out undetected. Neither can any get in. It would be warmer to lie close, I know that, but it is not something I can do. At least not yet. It is nowhere near cold enough.
A damp and earthy smell surrounds me, the hint of sweet dried grass is not unpleasant. Even the smell of wood smoke does not distress me overly. Looking up, I can see the swirling smoke of the beechwood fire in the vaulted roof. It is too far above me to sting my eyes or cause me to cough. I move position to try and make myself more comfortable. The figure lying by the door stirs slightly, but does not rise. For that I am grateful. Yet there is no comfort to be had for me. I stretch out an arm, but he is not there. I have been taken from him, my love, my home, my Greybeard, and I know not what has happened to him, nor where he is. Oh, he is well able to take care of himself, and most likely he still has the hunter, Ofin with him. It should feel no worse than when he rode to do Lord Tuibar’s bidding, many months ago. But it is worse. Then he knew Ethel and I were safe in Aldburg. He cannot know what has happened to me since I was taken from Scylfig. And he will search for me… he will fear the worst…
If only I could tell him… but he is not here. I cannot stop the tears that dampen my cheeks.
Again there is movement from the one who watches over me, a raised head and deep searching eyes. “There is no need for tears. Sleep now.”
But I can’t. I long to be with him, with Ethel… his daughter… our daughter. How hard it was to ride away from her the day we left Bancross. She took it all in her stride, having watched her papa ride out on many occasions. ‘See you later, mama’ she had said. She had given me the staff she made me. ‘Big stick’ she had named it with her usual flair. It lay now on the far side of the cave, out of my reach. Ethel was the daughter I had always wanted. Save I had not given birth to her, nor raised and loved her in her early years, (and that, of course, is a great matter) we were now as mother and daughter that even Waelden recognised it… corrected himself from calling her his daughter alone. And I loved him all the more for it.
‘I will get back to you, dear one,’ I whispered softly. ‘I will get home, to you and your papa.’
My mind turned to recent events. We rode to Wildermore, Waelden and I, to spend some time improving my skills with staff and sword, and to pay a short visit to my friends of old. Things had not gone quite to plan. This fell winter, we had at first thought to be an aberration of a ‘normal’ winter. Soon enough we had learned otherwise. There were several orcs on the climb from Cliving. Easily dispatched of course by the seasoned soldier at my side, and also by myself. I found my confidence growing. Then there was Eidwig’s farm, once thriving, now deserted. We had halted to check there were none in need of aid, but the place had been deserted some time. That alone should have prepared us for what was to come.
The Forlaw I had known was the same in form, but it seemed the life and energy was being sucked from its inhabitants. They stood firm, as would any of our folk, but they were tired and afraid. The unwholesome spires of ice could be seen in many places. The stories went that few approached them and lived. Too cold, they were just too cold to endure. There were tales of orcs and wargs running loose and terrorising the farmers and their families. Many folk had abandoned their livelihood of generations to seek what safety could be found behind Forlaw’s stockades. Worse of all from my perspective, my old teacher, Trewgyfu, was found almost dead in the snow, having tried to offer her help to those in the outer farms. She lay in the infirmary under the best care, but no healer could say if she would live or die. Neither could I say what the outcome would be.
And we had ended up carrying a message to the Thane of Scylfig. We had ended up embroiled in the battle there. I ended up being taken. No - things had not gone quite to plan.
So here I rest, or try to, with my ‘companion’ guarding the way out… the way in. I am stuck in a disused bear cave, while an icy storm roars and rages outside, and who knows what enemies mount patrols. I have been forcibly taken from my man, and do not know how to tell him where to find me, save placing my hope in the treasured tokens I left along the way.
My ribs are sore from the wounds inflicted on me by the orc knife. Cleaned and bound, there is no sign of the expected poison ravaging through my veins. That, I do not understand, save a healing balm was applied which must have some great virtue. I would like to know more of what it contained!
And now, weariness threatens to take me, regardless of my restlessness. My thoughts collect into a plan. In my mind I ‘see’ myself covered in a green cloak, his cloak. It feels warmer to me than any amount of furs. I breathe slowly….shutting out all distractions...
‘Isa… help me now. Help me find Waelden.’
