IV.

IV

The hall was quaint, a few long tables and a lit hearth. The two boys who had survived the massacre of their village found their way into another family's hall. Where other heads of families gathered. All about them was just panicked rambling on about surrender or attack or hiding. It doesn't stop. The owner of the hall was an old but tough man stood from his high table. He scanned across the room. Not all had come, there were far more chairs than men. Twenty maybe less heads of families were there. Not all had come.

"Right then." He hoarsed aloud. "It seems no one else is coming. We'll begin." The room had hushed up, still there were lingering murmurs.

"I called in all of my neighboring families for a council. For the past month, these... pale men of the outside kingdoms have been raiding villages all across Nadar. Something must be done, we cannot continue to sit back and allowed this to happen."

A man from one of the tables rose up in what seemed to be a slightly angered fashion. "You call on us now. Only after you realize these raids are a threat to you, Maron." There goes the murmurs again, "You sat back comfortably in your hall while our villages were raided, I can see why. 'Why do something about it when these pale men can wipe out my rivals?'"

"Best to watch your tongue, Orin, before I cut it off! What have you done in the aids of others eh?" said another man.

"I've been keeping my farms from being salted, watched after my own, at the cost of my own hall when those invaders finally found us. Unlike you, I've managed to repel them. Now my wife and son sleep alongside the horses! Covering themselves in hay to keep warm from the cold nights! What good reason do I have to aid others?!"

"Enough!" Roared Maron, the old man banged on the table with his fist. "I admit it, I've chosen to do nothing about these raids. I admit that I feared for my own home and family. No village will think about another when they are under threat. That is something we must change. We have to band together in order to survive."

Orin looked like he had taken aback from that, his fists clenched and gave a deathly scowl toward Maron, "If you think an Orin will pledge to a Maron then you're terribly mistaken."

"I'm not asking for your bloody knees to bend, Orin. I'm asking for your help." The old man began stepping down from his high table, "This is a serious threat to us all. Not a single one of our families will survive if we don't band together. I ask you all, to consider an alliance. Without one, it's everyone for themselves... and we all die."

Men shifted in their tables, some went on to whisper and one even laughed. "Are you suggesting we fight back? You haven't seen them fight, how armoured and armed they are, what makes you think we can stand a chance?"

By now, Marok was on the floor along with the others, "This is our land. These men have never been here before and are unfamiliar to the hills, the streams and the forests. We do, and that will be our advantage."

"How do we know they won't let us surrender? Perhaps an armisti-" He was interrupted by the older brother, fourteen but trying his best to sound mature. "They won't."

He failed, his voice sounded high pitched, and a shudder at the end of his short response. Almost the entire room turned to look for the source of the voice, many men were staring at him.

"Who are you boy?" one of them spoke.

"I am the head of my family, Frey." after saying that, the whispers were louder as the older brother heard 'Frey' in everyone's words.

'That must mean...'

'Are they what's left of Frey...?'

'He's only a boy...'

'Gerall Frey is dead then...'

With as much strength as he can muster, he spoke again. "My brother and I are the last of Frey. Our village was attacked and we were the only ones to survive. The pale men, took no prisoners, I saw them as they set our homestead ablaze, cutting down villagers, women and children both...When my father tried to fight back, I was nearly blinded when I saw the true power of these men; streaks of power straight from their hands killed my father and his men. These invaders, they don't care about what we have. They killed our livestock, salted our fields, slaughtered our horses. They only want us dead."

Orin, who was stood across from the boy walked closer to him, he bent a knee to get to his level. "Is what you say true, child? This power they have? What they do to defenseless people?"

"Every word."

After a short silence, Orin stood up again "What is your first name?"

"Amaro" Orin looked at his younger brother, "And you?"

"K-Keyon..."

It was only until now that Amaro noticed the true look in Orin's face. He kept his composure, but Amaro saw in his eyes something similar he saw in his father's. A frozen fear, a fear that didn't seem to go away, stuck to his iris in such a way that made you think they were screaming internally. A scream encased in ice.

"With all thats happened... this storm of invaders coming to end us. What, would you do? Amaro Frey?"

Amaro looked around the room, different faces, unfamiliar ones. He was used to the faces he sees everyday when leaving his homestead in the morning. He doesn't see the blacksmith he always walks by, or the baker who often made him sweet bread without telling his father. He does not see his riding instructor or his swordmaster anywhere. Those faces are gone forever.

There is one face, however. That isn't gone forever. He remembers this face well, the face of the pale commander who personally slew his father right in front of him. His white-pink brow, his dull chin, emerald eyes and short cut hair of white. Yes he remembers him well. It made him angry that his face wasn't gone.

One more look around the room and suddenly all the faces he sees are familiar and made him feel safe. This is now his family, and he was not about to let these ones disappear. Only the pale ones.

"I would kill them all."