The Windcaster [Fantasy/Adventure | Featured | Complete ]

Chapter 20: A History of Blood

They first heard of the ground-breaking news on their second night's rest on their way to Hume.

They were staying at another inn, this time owned by a short, smiley ex-traveller. He had a walking stick, like Lahmum the greedy inn owner back in Kiramone, and a love for all current reports in the outside world, due to his long history of journeying. Unfortunately wear-and-tear on his joints forced him to stop long-distance trips and he resorted to running accommodations for travellers, offering discounted beverages in return for accurate news.

"So what hearsay is afoot, brother?" The owner slid two tankards of ale towards the pair of men who had just descended the wooden stairs from their rooms.

"The same that has been circling for the past few days." The first man, a broad, unshaven man with huge, muscular arms, took a huge gulp from the container. He sighed with approval, setting it down.

"Aye, that Gwent is rebuilding their army and all," agreed the second man, slumping on his seat. The owner sat across the table from the two, a serious expression on his usually-smiling face. "History is repeating itself, mark my words."

"Hopefully they are merely training their men and not readying for war."

"Nobody could fathom the strength of the Gwentian army fifteen years ago, my friend."

"Nobody could fathom that Dernexes would survive that invasion either," the first man said with a sigh. "But thank the Graces that we did."

"I wonder if the Casters will involve themselves in the war again this time, should Gwent attack."

Mommu choked on his broth. Tia dropped the piece of hard bread she had been holding and it splashed into her bowl of soup.

"What?" she hissed across the table to nobody in particular. Enlil thumped the choking trainee. Tia's gaze was fixated across the tavern where the speakers sat. Her bread bobbed in the soup and began to sink.

"If they had not, the last time, we would have been long dead," the first man said matter-of-factly, downing his ale. "From the sound of it, if we do go into war with Gwent, all the people are expecting them to join. Not at the last minute as they had in the past, but with us from the beginning."

"Perhaps Elder Down would have stood had they decided to be part of the army from the start." There was a trace of disapproval in the companion's voice.

"Who knows? It is one of those questions that will never be answered. I am just glad Dernexes stood against Gwent," the innkeeper said, resting his elbows on the table. "Any news on whether Gwentian forces intend to fight?"

"No reliable sources yet. There is a possibility that it may be indeed training and Ptarmigan Fortress is just readying itself in return.  I do not think we can risk another war breaking out though. We barely survived last time... Grace save us all."

"And news from Capital?"

The first man belched loudly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"No news at all from Capital. It is very peculiar." The second man frowned, placing his emptied tankard in front of him. "It is almost as if nobody is aware what is going on outside. My sources think it ludicrous that Gwent may be on the brink of a fight again, but my sources at Ptarmigan Fortress and Elder Down state otherwise. I am more inclined to believe the outside sources."

"And from the king?"

"Nothing."

"We are not preparing the militia?" his tone held a trace of disbelief.

The first man shook his head. "Perhaps. It is difficult to gauge. For some reason, my sources in Capital have much less intelligence for me than those in the other cities. It is the same quietude as just before the last invasion... I cannot say for certain what our king has in mind. Perhaps my sources are overreacting... I cannot tell"