Bree-Land, eight years ago…
A storm of the like none in Bree-Land had witnessed in years had struck. Torrents of rain fell in sheets accompanied by countless autumnal leaves that whipped through the air. The lamp upon the Matravers wagon swung in protest as two horses galloped ahead at great speed along the road. With limited vision, Theinryd urged them on; shouting out in encouragement as he pulled on their leather reins. “Quickly now!” shouted Langdon, his father who sat at the back of the wagon holding on to the side whilst steadying several buckets of water. “If we don’t reach them soon, they’ll be nothing left to save!”
Mud-splattered and tired, the steeds circled to a halt before an open field. At its end was the Corfe family farmstead, or rather what was left of it. Flames had engulfed the thatched roof and most of the eastern side was destroyed. A cacophony of screams and cries from both men and livestock alike sang in unison along with the crackling, relentless embers. Immediately Theinryd leaped from the wagon, briefly mesmerised by the flames that danced before him. “The water, Theinryd! Help me with the water!” shouted Langdon, slowly climbing down from the wagon. Between the pair of them they began to unload each bucket, doing their best not to spill a drop in the panic. Theinryd, being the strongest lifted two of the buckets and sprinted across the field, the rain beating against his face. As he reached the front porch of the farmstead, he squinted through the smoke in a vain attempt to locate the source of the screams. To his horror, he realised they came from within.
“Help us!” cried out the faint but unmistakable voice of Old Corfe himself, his voice hoarse. “Someone please! Help us!” Without hesitation Theinryd lowered one of the buckets and hurled water at the entrance. As the flames hissed and sizzled, a thick wooden beam lay between him and what remained of the hallway. There was little he could do for the livestock, but there were those within who could be saved.
“I’m here!” shouted Theinryd, wrapping both arms around the charred beam, attempting to lift it. After a great deal of effort, he managed to shift it to one side. There was still no sign of Old Corfe or his family.
“Wait!” shouted Langdon, who had just arrived; but it was too late. Theinryd raised an arm to his eyes and entered the building. He began to cough violently as smoke coiled around him, his eyes watering as he moved further down the hallway; blindly attempting to follow the sound of screaming. After a few seconds, he reached what appeared to be a small pantry that was locked. Naturally, there was no key in sight.
“Stand back!” called Theinryd, attempting to barge the door with his shoulder. It was a thick, wooden door which barely moved. More flames began to spread out into the hall causing Theinryd’s strength to wane. Taking a few steps back, he raised his right foot and began to kick the door inwards. Eventually it began to give, the impact of his final strike causing it to buckle. Within were Old Corfe, his wife and young niece huddled in the corner. “Can you stand? Is anyone hurt?” None of the three were fit to respond, to which Theinryd reached out and helped Old Corfe to his feet, guiding them out into the hall. As they moved at a brisk but cautious pace down the hall, flames burst from one of the rooms. Theinryd threw himself in front of Corfe’s niece to shield her from the fire. With his arm raised, the flames licked against his flesh causing him to cry out in agony. “Go! Keep going!” he urged the others as they ran towards the exit.
As they reached the outdoors, they were met by a cold voice. “That’s far enough!” It said, as Theinryd and the Corfe family fell to their knees gasping for air. As his eyes adjusted, Theinryd beheld five men, four of which were mounted whilst the other who spoke stood holding Langdon by the neck, a dagger drawn. “Very brave of you. Who would have thought that a mere farmer was capable of such heroics?” Theinryd attempted to climb to his feet. Pain spread through his wounded arm causing him to lose his balance and fall.
“You-” he spluttered “Let my father go, now!”
“You’re in no position to issue demands, lad. You see, this was a matter of business. Business, which was to be paid in full. Tonight.” The leader of the group pulled at Langdon’s hair causing him to reveal his throat, where he placed his blade. “Corfe here refused to pay what was owed. His reluctance cost him his land”.
“And the lives of his family? I saw how you locked them away, leaving them to be claimed by the flames. You are no men of business, but cold-blooded murderers!” said Theinryd.
“Steady!” said Langdon, a mixture of rain and sweat running down his face.
“Oh, no offence taken” said the brigand leader, “Your lad is not too far from the truth. We must leave a lasting impression on those who stand against us. Occasionally make an... example.” His lip curled as he pushed the blade closer to Langdon’s throat. “You’ve shown defiance this day, so allow us to reply. We consider our business here concluded; however, you are now indebted to us. In three days, we shall pay your farmstead a visit. We expect to be well compensated for your interference here. Failure to do so will incur our wrath.” The leader released Langdon and threw him down into the mud. Theinryd rushed to his father’s aid. By the time he glanced upwards, he saw the riders galloping across the field into the night. Their warning weighing heavily on his mind.
