Chapter 1

Youth

Summer 922 MC

ITwas a gorgeous, hot summer day, and a ten-year-old Gerald Matheson ran through the field with the energy of youth. Ahead, through the long grass, he could see Calum’s tail poking above the tall blades as he wandered left and right, hot on the trail of something. With the seeds planted, there was little else that needed to be done. He had taken their dog down to the stream at the far end of the woods to see if the fish were biting. The warm sun had soon caused him to drowse off, and now he must hurry back to the farm for dinner. He knew the woods would slow him down, so with youthful enthusiasm, he ran across the field that straddled the north end of the trees; the longer, but faster route back.

He stopped to catch his breath, recognizing he would soon be within sight of the farm. Once he rounded the edge of the woods, the rest of the journey was all downhill. He called out to Calum, but the beast was ahead of him barking, no doubt hot on the trail of a hare or field mouse. He drew a deep breath and continued on his way, confident the dog would manage to catch up with him, as he always did. He slowed his pace to conserve his strength, finally clearing the long grass. He could see his dog, ahead, standing in an open space and barking at something to the south. He slowed to a walking pace and began to look around cautiously. Was some creature lurking in the woods? Were there wolves about?

Hearing the whinny of a horse made him gather that the farm must have some visitors. No doubt a patrol from Bodden was in the area, checking up on them. He cleared the northern edge of the woods and turned south, toward the farm, catching a whiff of something in the air - smoke. He gazed off to the south, suddenly freezing, paralyzed by the sight that befell his eyes. Off in the distance, his family’s farm was engulfed in flames.

The thatched roof of the house was burning furiously, while a group of men overran the homestead. Two were holding torches, walking along the barn using them to s fire to the roof. A third man stood nearby holding the reigns of horses, while the fourth had his sword drawn, ready for action.

Gerald’s eyes went wild, for on the ground were two bodies, and he knew in an instant they were his parents. He was frozen with fear, watching in horror as the barn lit up in flames.

Calum growled, running forward towards the men, but Gerald, looking on with horror, could only watch as the dog bore down on the attackers. The man with the sword turned at the sound, waiting, while Calum closed the distance. He struck the beast down with a single swing. All Gerald heard was a sudden yelp, and then Calum too was among the dead. The man by the horses yelled, and suddenly Gerald was snapped out of his trance.

“Over there,” the man yelled, pointing at Gerald, “get him!”

The two men carrying the torches threw them into the barn on the way to their horses. The warrior with the sword started jogging directly towards the young lad.

Gerald turned and ran in panic. He could hear the sounds of horses behind him. Cursing, he changed direction, crashing into the woods. He knew the forest well, recognized all the paths and obstructions; using the forest for cover was his only chance to survive. Through the dense underbrush he went, feeling the sting of branches as they whipped across his face, but his fear drove him. In his haste to escape, he had not been paying attention, and now he found himself in an unfamiliar part of the woods. He cast his eyes about, looking for identifiable landmarks and found none.

Closing his eyes, he tried to fight the panic for the second time this day; this was no time to lose his head. He opened his eyes and looked about, his sight resting on a broken branch. “I must arm myself,” he thought. He had visions of fighting off his pursuers but quickly came to the conclusion that he would be severely outmatched.

He realized sprinting as fast as he could was not the solution. He struggled to steady his breath, to lessen his chance of detection. What should he do? Where should he go? He closed his eyes again and concentrated on taking controlled breaths. “Think it through,” he thought, “I’ve got raiders looking for me, they have to be from Norland. Where will I be safe? Bodden Keep, it’s my only chance.”

With his plan formulated, he plunged back into the undergrowth heading south towards Bodden, aware it would be a long journey, but he felt it was his only hope. He headed further south, no longer sure of the distance travelled. The light was beginning to fade, and he needed to find some shelter. The sounds of pursuit had long since faded, but he was aware he could not go back. Completely exhausted from his flight, he finally halted, confident that they would not find him; but now the challenge was to survive the night.

Off in the distance, he thought he could hear the faint sound of running water, so he made his way toward it. Sure enough, he came across a small stream, and he knelt, thankful for this small mercy. After drinking his fill, he sat down and surveyed the area. There was a large tree that had long ago fallen; its trunk supported on one end by its upturned roots, the other sprawled across the ground. Nearby, there were some smaller, younger trees, and he began to break off their branches. Laying these across the fallen tree’s trunk, he formed a small shelter. It wouldn’t keep him dry if it rained, but it just might hide him from wild animals. Walking around, picking up more branches from the ground, he spotted some mushrooms. He had always hated how his mother had made him help in the kitchen, but now, he thanked her, for he knew these mushrooms were safe to eat. Once washed off in the stream, he hun