CHAPTER SIX: EDMUND
As of late, the Hunters’ Guild was often described by outsiders either as a guild of oafs or a guild of mercenaries. Edmund was not either, as it turned out, but he could not argue with the opinions that had formed over many years.
The former label had something to do with the Guild's apparent disinterest in the larger affairs of the Northlands and even more so, the affairs of the more distant realms. The Northlands were bordered to the west by an impenetrable forest, and then by the seas to the east. Therefore, like the majority of Northlanders, they viewed their geographic isolation from the rest of humankind as reason to pay little attention to anything outside their immediate domain.
Of the Northlanders, the hunters were an even more independent and isolationist sort. The first hunters who founded the guild were among the first humans to break away from small settlements in the loosely inhabited areas to the south and near the east coast. Many had come from the small coastal port of Capestown on the eastern shores.
However, once the cities across the seas had acquired a taste for the beautiful wood from the Northlands, Capestown shed its image of frontier town for a growing cosmopolitan city. As such, where there is money, the nobles and the vermin that circled around them, came. Those who had come to the Northlands to escape the outside world found themselves pushed west from the coast. Hunters, adventurers, families looking for opportunities -- they all walked past the hills and conifers that typified the Northland terrain and ignored the Wood elves who still inhabited parts of the eastern Northlands. They founded small villages along the way, including those that would later become Crossroads and Winchester.
The first incarnation of the guild came about during the last double eclipse, a period of great darkness in the Northlands. It was the intent of several forward thinking frontiersmen and adventurers to use a guild structure to help pool knowledge that would keep them and the small villages alive. These men carefully logged their collective knowledge and added to it. What they learned about the unusual rotation of the two moons in the sky, the migration patterns of animals in the region, and other tales and stories – they committed to paper and to their sons.
That said, the current hunters were nothing like their forebears. The initial guild members had all varied in origin and education and were men living on the edge of an unknown wilderness. The current generation consisted of men who had largely inherited their position from their own families and who had grown comfortable with their environment and profited handsomely in their dealings with the nobles who came to these areas to hunt.
Edmund, however, was one of the few not from that tradition. As the ward of a merchant, his entry to the guild differed.
As it were, most persons in Winchester tended to inherit the same roles or trade that their parents possessed. Edmund, however, had not wanted to continue in the trade business. Winchester had never been as robust as some of the villages to the east and south. With the exodus of younger folk from the area and few persons to replace them – Winchester was too small in population to sustain much trade. It was not pragmatic to own a shop in town that did most of its business in a few concentrated months during the year.
His elder siblings had realized this some time ago, leaving Winchester for busier towns.
Left behind, the youngest child took up the only other trade in town that would put food on the table and also not upset the harmony of its quiet existence. While there could only be one blacksmith, one teacher, or one preacher -- the number of hunters that could be accommodated in the Northlands was unlimited so long as there continued to be game to tap within the Northlands.
He realized that this choice was a disappointment to his family, who had taken him in and formally adopted him with the idea that he would help run their business. But his skills now were what kept them eating, even in the lean winter months. And as a guild member, the access to a repository of information, of maps, and of stories and illustrations about the land proved even more useful. He had begun to learn about creatures that could be hunted and eaten safely, and of those that should not. This was far more useful information than could be acquired sitting all day in an unpatronized storefront.
As Edmund left the Winchester’s home that morning, he was thinking deeply about the stores of information at the Guild Hall and whether there might be some clue as to the strange and almost mythical creatures that had followed Elanore the previous evening. He was certain that there was at least some information to be read and analyzed there on that subject.
However, on the subject of Elanore herself, he felt there would be nothing to be discovered. The secret to understanding Elanore could not be answered by a book.
The conversations this morning had made it clear. What existed between them was not understanding, but kinship based on shared childhood memories and a mutual love and respect for Elanore’s grandparents. But childhood experiences were not a certain foundation to indefinite friendship. He was not sure memories alone would be enough to sustain a bond now, as adults.
It was the question about Elanore that led him to drive his horse back to town, to his parents’ storefront and home. He had initially intended to go back to the Guild Hall, but he wanted to give his parents news of Elanore.
The Ormond home was located in the center of the small town. It was a modest one-floor affair; its only real luxury was the stained glass that lined the windows to the front of the building. Edmund went around back, not willing to drag his boots heavy with snow through that front room. (Such an action would cause his mother to immediately set to cleaning it). He eyed the woodpile, making sure it was filled, before he proceeded through the backdoor of the building.
Carefully, he kicked the snow off his boots before he opened the door.
“Did you find Miss Elanore, Edmund?” A short lady with impossibly brown hair peeked into the kitchen and greeted him warmly.
“Yes, mother,” Edmund responded, shutting the door behind him. He leaned down to give her a kiss on her upturned cheek, and handed her a small parcel. “She gave you and father her regards.”
Mrs. Ormond beamed. “Is she looking well, Edmund?”
“Ah yes,” he reddened slightly, betraying a bit too much of how he did perceive her.
Her eyes suddenly gleamed. “Yes, you haven’t seen her in quite a while Edmund. Elanore is quite a lady now.”
“I suppose, I mean—“ Edmund coughed, to avoid having to address that last statement. “Well, she would pay a call but her grandmother is feeling a bit poorly this morning. She will be by as soon as she can.”
“It’s well enough,” his mother was fluttering about in the disarray of the kitchen. “We hadn’t expected her yet. We thought the snows would keep her away for some time.”
“It almost did. But Elanore persisted in walking from that last town.”
“Oh my,” the woman chuckled to herself as she noted the frown on his face. “You seem to be troubled by such an action. I think Elanore has become like her mother in many respects.” Edmund noted that she was only half-listening to him now, apparently caught up in unwrapping the small parcel that had come from Elanore. “Elanore’s mother was a good girl, but too independent-minded for the likes of the lads here. And that’s why no one in Winchester would do for the good Mayor’s daughter. Oh, the troubles she caused when she refused that young man--”
“Troubles?” Edmund reached over to help her with unfolding the small packet of paper.
“Never mind that,” his mother looked up from the packet and patted his hand reassuringly. “Elanore did not have any trouble, I hope?”
Edmund paused, sensing that his mother had revealed something that she had not intended to. Cautiously, he continued. “She ran into an Unthing,”
“An Unthing!” Mrs. Ormand blinked rather owlishly. “I thought those were fairy tale creatures.”
“I’m not sure exactly what she ran into,” he answered. “I have never seen one myself, but the Hunters do talk about them from time to time. I’ll have to look more into this matter myself when I go to the Hall.”
“Ah, I’m sure they’ll know more about it,” she seemed unconcerned about the Unthings, likely distracted by the revelation of the packet’s contents. “Flower seeds! We’ll have to get started on planting these soon! There’s so little time.”
Edmund smiled at the obvious delight of his adopted mother, but did nothing to correct her statement as she continued to bustle about looking for a jar to place the seeds within. According to what he had read so far in the Guild’s stores of information, it would be some time before they would be able to till the earth again.
The darkness was coming, and winter would be long.
~o~
There was little to do in the winter months in Winchester or little reason to be out and about the small town, for that matter. But on a day such as this, with the cold air determined to bite at those who might try to defy the winter and go about their business, only the most stubborn or desperate would step outdoors.
And yet, Edmund left home after having taken his midday meal with his foster mother and father and paid the cold no heed. He did not feel it, as his mind was too focused on finding answers.
The wind had picked up since the morning, howling as it nipped at the heels of those few souls outside. He did not hear it, as he undertook the short walk to the Guild Hall, located at the outskirts of the town. Along the way, he saw only a few people lumbering about clumsily, most likely going between home and the pub. He gave these folk a wide berth, hoping to not be recognized by them. He had no interest in being petitioned to join them in drowning their boredom in drink.
He noticed the lack of tracks on the snow as he passed through the wooden gates of the guild compound and made his way to the main Guild Hall. The “Guild Hall” was a bit of a misnomer in that it did not consist of one building, but many. Originally, the Hall had been nothing more than a room, but in the last hundred years the original room had been expanded a few times over. The hall had become a much larger facility that would comfortably seat and serve meals to nearly a hundred men. But other buildings on the grounds housed other functions and services, including a forge, a stable, and an abattoir. Together, these buildings comprised the modern day “Hall.”
As Edmund crossed through the hall’s threshold, his grey eyes roved over the interior and, as expected, he found the place deserted save for the records-keeper, who was warming his hands by the fireplace. With the season being winter, the members did not spend much time here as there were no hunts to be planned, or much news to exchange.
Therefore, Edmund’s tendency to come to the Guild lodge and sit in quiet studies only went noticed by the records-keeper and the guildmaster, who made it his business to know everything about guild affairs. Guildmaster Wilhelm mistook Edmund’s regular presence at the Hall as a sign of the young’s man desire to be noticed.
Edmund was not the sort of man that aspired to be visible or praised by his peers. Rather, as befitting the name he had been given, he was driven by a desire to protect and provide for those under his care. It did not bother him when he found himself assigned to undertaking some of the less “desirable” tasks left for the novices to attend to upon his initiation. Patiently he read and created hand-written copies of the standard journals and maps that detailed good hunting grounds. He was well aware that these items were often sold for a pretty price to the recreational hunters and adventurers that frequented the area during the summer months .
The task of assisting the records-keeper with the mundane recopying, restoration, and cataloging of records proved even less popular with the guild novices. This undertaking vexed some of the other men, anxious to prove themselves through other more active means – but Edmund was pragmatic. This, too, was part of his overall learning. Moreover, his assistance gladdened the older records-keeper, who would otherwise labor on the archives alone. Unlike the others, he did not find this sort of menial work to be demeaning; it was not very different from the sort of work he might be asked to assist with at the shop.
During rainy days and winter months, he transcribed whatever was given to him by the records-keeper. But he also chose his own materials, adding to his own collection of notes and records. Through this rather unappreciated bit of labor, he had come to understand the depth of knowledge that sat unutilized in the guild’s books and ledgers.
Among the first items he had chosen to view were various maps that plotted patterns of animal migration according to the lunar cycles. This was how he knew of the long winter to come and the period of darkness that would begin with the new year. Then came the more obscure works that had little to do with hunting. These were notes and journals from the early guild members-- several of whom were not hunters, but rangers or explorers. They were intelligent men raised in the South, who were highly skilled at reading the stars and their positions.
These earliest documents were abandoned because they were deemed impractical to those who were interested in commercial gaming and serving as guides. And yet it was these sorts of records that might hold the key to what Elanore spoke of this morning. He was curious to see what, if any, records there might be hidden in the archives that spoke of the Unthings as well as the Wolfram family.
Edmund carefully dusted the snow off his boots before daring to approach the records-keeper, who would not welcome any water – solid or not – near his precious texts.
“Good afternoon, Gregory,” Edmund glanced down at the man, copying maps of some sort from one book to another.
Old Gregory’s eyes squinted at him from over a pair of humble spectacles. “Come here to read the lunar charts again?”
“Ah no, Gregory,” Edmund shook his head. “I’ll have to look through those tomorrow or next week. I was wondering what you might have that includes references to the Unthings.”
“Unthings!” Gregory nearly fell over from his stool. “What kind of fanciness is this, Ormond? You know how much the guildmaster hates it when we read up on all that fairy business.”
“There are stories circulating about the Unthings and a recent sighting,” he explained. “I wanted to see how common these claims happened to be.”
Gregory shrugged. “As far as I know, none actually proven and recorded since I’ve been the records-keeper here for about sixty years. Only stories I’ve heard have been from some of the folks who come through and use our services to hunt in these parts. They swear that they exist, but most of them are strange folk who hang around elves in the West. You never know if they’re really talking about Unthings or what. I mean every disappeared lad or lass can’t have been swallowed up without a trace. More than likely there’s a lot of confusion. Now if it’s black wolves or bears, I’ve got plenty of accounts-“
Edmund frowned slightly at the rambling train of thought. “Gregory, what of the older records or the older anthologies on creatures that were sitting on the back shelves? Perhaps I need to look more carefully at investigating creatures that could be easily mistaken for a “black shadow.”
“Hmm,” the old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If there’s going to be anything on wolves or bears or such things, it would be in some of the other texts.” He stood up from his stool and began dancing around the shelves, looking here and there. “The older things must do for something like this. Perhaps an elven text or two—“
The younger man blinked. “I thought those texts were lost from the archives.”
“Nothing is ever lost,” Gregory turned around and glared at Edmund. “Even if the Guildmaster doesn’t like the works of nonsense as he calls them, he has no right to destroy them. The things our founding fathers gave us belong to all of us to do with as we please.”
They were both well aware that it wasn’t as simple as that. Guildmaster Wilhelm was a man who trusted only what he could directly observe and see for himself. Accounts by men long gone he found irrelevant. Accounts by elves were considered worse; he viewed the elven works as suspect for a multitude of reasons. Wilhelm had little use for his men reading fanciful work and had made his viewpoint well understood.
“My mother might like the stories in such texts,”Edmund said hesitantly.
“Aye, there we go,” Gregory nodded in approval as he thrust several random books at him. “The ladies love those odd tales. Indulging them in some fanciful reading sounds like a proper reason to be using the archives.”
Edmund sighed, knowing full well, that it was a terrible excuse as such. His mother had no interest in such silly things, but he took the books anyways and wandered off to a corner of the hall where he would not be readily disturbed.
Quickly he glanced at the pile of books in hand and moved the obvious elven texts into his bag and then placed the bag on a chair next to him, with his coat draped across it for extra measure. He would have to look at these later. The rest of what was handed to him consisted of several random journals from the first guildmaster, Alvis Madden.
Madden was the first formally initiated guildmaster – appointed once the initial founders had begun to grow old and pass away. Madden was one of the first children born to this town. It was likely his father was one of the founding members of the guild.
Dutifully he skimmed through the books first, in order to gather some idea of what the older man had gathered for him. He glanced at the dates on covers of these books, determining that the earliest books appeared to have been written before the man had any knowledge of becoming a leader. As he returned his attention to the first journal, he glossed over a mix of sketches and annotations about common animals in the area. This information was well known and often repeated in other books. Not repeated, however, were the multiple references to elven settlements.
As the hours of study unfolded, Edmund proceeded further down the pile, he noted that the journals grew more organized. Whereas the early books were full of scattered thoughts, the journals had become true records, each beginning with several pages of “topics” and ending with “conclusions” that the man had apparently wanted to convey to the reader. In these front and back pages, the guildmaster had compiled a few high level points that would not have been noticed by someone unless they had read every detail front to back of all the journals.
There were mysteries that apparently the man had wished to have answers for, but never understood. The reasons for the disappearance of the elves troubled him, as evidenced by the questions that repeated itself at the end of each volume. From what Edmund could gather, Alvis Madden never found a satisfactory answer to that mystery.
The man’s obsession with wolves nearly equaled his obsession with the elves. But the reasons for such were more obvious. Edmund could tell that Madden was especially concerned about how these animals might impact the few livestock kept in town and so, over his lifetime, noted the date, and the years of sightings in the area. He noted that the guildmaster eventually determined that patterns of return of most game coincided with the lunar cycle. In addition, he made the observation that just as animal migration patterns changed with the lunar orbits, so did the migration patterns of people. The only hints as to the possible reasons why this was so took form of oblique references to the changes in the tidal flows impacting the fishing to the south.
There was only one reference to the Unthings in the journal summaries, as far as he could tell.
The elder Wolfram passed, leaving his estate to one of his heirs. Shortly after, the elves that saw the Unthings left the area.
At that, Edmund found himself rubbing his nose in frustration. He set the journals down, slouched in his chair and stared blankly at the wall. The entry was vaguely worded. Did the former guildmaster mean to acknowledge the existence of the mythical creatures? Or was he simply trying to qualify his description of the elves as “those who said they saw the Unthings”?
He reread the words again, this time frowning as he looked at the reference to the ‘elder Wolfram’. If Madden was from an old family, so apparently was the Count. If no answers were to be found in these journals or in Gregory’s research – he knew it made sense to try to appeal to the current Wolfram to shed some light on Guildmaster Madden’s notes. As to whether the man might cooperate, he did not know.
A voice rumbled from behind him. “What brings you here on a day like this, Ormond?”
So tired was Edmund by all this pointless reading that he failed to notice the man standing behind his chair. Edmund looked up from his book at a tall, burly man with a fiery mop of hair. He returned that last journal to a safe place in the middle of the pile of books he had with him. “Reading up on packs of wolves, Guildmaster.”
Guildmaster Wilhelm grinned. “Are you getting antsy for a bit of hunting?”
“Perhaps, although-- “Edmund thought about exactly what to say and how to say it. “Heard a bit of news from a traveler about a pack of dogs or wolves chasing them a few miles back. Seems that they survived because something else got in the way.”
“Really,” Wilhelm’s interest was certainly piqued. “What kind of creature could do that sort of damage?”
“That’s exactly what I was wondering,“ Edmund sighed. “The traveler made reference to a shadow monster of some sort—“
Wilhelm glared. “That nonsense again. Some foolish Crossroads tripe designed to keep people away from Winchester.”
“Nonetheless,” Edmund realized the danger in setting off the guildmaster. “I was thinking of going to look at the road more closely and seeing what I might observe for myself. See if there might be a possible explanation for it.”
Wilhelm gave him a keen look. “I’d like to see this as well. If anything, I’d like to see what brings animals this close to town. I have some time now, if you don’t mind humoring this old man.”
“Not at all, sir,” Edmund agreed, before realizing that the man meant to go right away. Wilhelm was already off somewhere fetching his coat.
In the ensuing flurry of activity, Edmund did not mention his brief and passing encounter with Count Wolfram. He quietly pocketed the last journal before returning the books to Gregory’s post and following his guild leader out the door.