Autumn's Return

 

Foredawn broke grey over a moody sky, and the fields were glistening with fog-covered dew when the watchers of Bree changed shifts. With the break of day died the last warmth of summer, and about the South Gate there swirled the first gold and russet leaves of autumn. 

The gate opened and out into the chill air stepped a guard with a lantern. 'Morning', he yawned to the nightwatchman, 'anything to report?'

'Nothing but the turn of stars.'

The guard nodded, 'I'll take it from here,' he said.

Stretching, the nightwatchman left his post and turned to face the hedge wall; he fumbled with his leggings, and a trickling noise followed soon after. 

The other guard set up his turn to watch and peered out toward the fog of dawn.

'So comes the first day of september,' he sighed, 'and I'll wager it will end up being as dull as the summer just passed.'

'Think yourself lucky,' said the nightwatchman, 'nothing ever happens on my shifts, no matter what time of year- this is about as exciting as it gets,' and he continued to relieve himself.

'Yes, well,' said the guard as he reclined in his chair, 'something exciting better happen with this latest shake-down of the watch; new captain, new members- it's all very well and good, but these days the calibre of crooks aren't what they used to be.'

'True that,' agreed the nightwatchman; 'lately it's all cut-throat devilry, or some drummed up cult from heaven's knows where. Makes you miss the good old outlaws of yesteryear, like that what's-his-name.'

The other guard squinted over at him.

'Who?'

'You know, short little fellow; red hair, big bow.'

'Oh him,' said the guard, and his expression soured, 'he's dead-  that or gone, and he ain't coming back.'

But no sooner had those words left his mouth did there come the sudden whistle of a shaft from out of the fog, and it smote the South Gate with a thud.

The guard stood up in his chair with alarm, and the nightwatchman jolted, causing a spill onto his own boots. 

'What the devil was that?' he cried whilst fumbling to do himself up.

In the lantern light the two peered up at the gate: there speared in to the wood was a single goose-fletched arrow.

The guards exchanged sideways looks.