Chapter 1

The soft pattering of footsteps broke Rohwyn's concentration on the names and numbers before her. It was a skill her mother had taught her, and one most did not posses. Her mother was the daughter of an Earl in the desert lands of Xaxxo, far across the oceans to the south-east where three generations before, fair skinned invaders came, bringing with them death and proclamations of their divination. They spike salvation and peace, yet scoured the lands and took all the riches they could carry. All of this in the name of their god, Her father was one such Knighte, but came to love the land and her mother's people, acting on the promised words of their King and God.

"Muther," came a small and raspy voice.

Rohwyn set aside her writing quill and looked down upon her son, giving him a smile, asking, "What is it Wyatt?"

The small boy coughed and climbed into his mother's lap, resting his honey-brown curls on her bosom.  "I feel ill," he stated. 

Gently, Rohwyn petted her son's head and was glad that he could not see her worried gaze. All throughout Fairnway, many of the youth and elderly were coming down with a sickness. Common complaints were fever, coughing, red eyes, head cold, and more recently so, rashes that started on the face and spread across the body. Already there have been 10 deaths. On top of that, with King Maxamillion's absence in the God's War, his envious brother Prince Albert has assumed the throne and levied taxes on all towns in the Kingdom of Underlynd. Most could not pay what was demanded, and became impoverished or indebted to Prince Albert.

"What is wrong my luv?" Rohwyn asked, already in suspect to the answer.

"Meh head is cold, yet meh body be feeling as if I had laid too long in the sun. Meh throat feels all scratchy-like in the insides; where i swallow."

Rohwyn's dark brows furrowed and she said a silent prayer to her mother's gods;the old gods. She stood slowly and gathered Wyatt in her arms, making her way from the den to their living-space where they kept an additional hearth for light and fine cooking, and a giant cast iron stove for warmth. Arranging a pallet by the fire, Rohwyn set her sond down and pushed aside Wyatt's bangs. Peering into his dark green eyes, she was reminded of how much like his father he was. Indeed, Wyatt took all of his father's fair complexion. It was only in the line of his jaw and facial expressions that Wyatt bore any resemblance to her much darker complexion.

"Lie here Wyatt, whilst I make you a tea to sooth your throat," Rohwyn murmured, setting a small pot of water to boil on the fire.

This too, was a concept ill received, even laughable, to the people of Underlynd. Even the neighboring countries only partook in ales, mead, and wines. Rohwyn oftentimes wondered at their ignorance, attributing it to their religion and lack of public education. In her mother's lands, with their present gods, all free people were of equal worth. Only slaves were stripped of rights, but not opportunity. The Royalty and their favored held privilege over the rest, but answered to the free people.

A latch was opened, and there-after the door with it. Following the door came a man of slightly above average height with brad shoulders and a barrel chest. He removed his hat upon entry, revealing honey-brown hair that was tied back in a small ponytail. His green eyes looked across the room to Rohwyn's sky blue ones, asking questions she already knew answers to.

"Husband," Rohwyn said, pouring the now ready water into a cup with a mint leaf; a plant leaf imported from the Eastlynds of Marbia.

"Wife," came a low, solid voice. "Pour me one as well. My throat has been dry as the far reaches of Xaxxo."

Rohwyn complied, handing the older man his tea. Her husband Edgar Clydeson was also a Knighte of the God's War, working with his father who was a Knighte and friend to her father. After her parents had wed, they stayed in Xaxxo, moving to it's capitol in Nara, where they raised her in the King's Court. She was taught reading, writing, arithmetic, trade, commerce, art, music, philosophy, and even some politics; everything taught to the royal prince and princesses. Her father Rothbane designed the siege technology for the wars and was favored by the kings of both lands.

When her 14th birth-day had arrived, she was betrothed to Edgar Clydeson. Upon her 15th, they were married, and upon her 16th, they sailed back to Underlynd where they set up a Merchant's Trade Shoppe in Fairnway, close to port. They imported and exported goods, providing loans to banks and other businessmen. If business was slow, they fletched arrows until it picked back up. Edgar was illiterate, so Rohwyn ran the business, keeping a ledger of the monies, shipments and loans whilst her husband provided the brute strength. He also attended official meeting, since women were lawfully not able to own property, unless of a certain pedigree. Yet another reason Rohwyn cursed this country.

On her 17th birth-year, Edgar being 35, she gave birth to their son Wyatt. It was then that Rohwyn realized she would never love her husband. She had hoped the birth of their son would change things, but it had not. Her longing was for a gentler sex, but she did love her son with all her heart and soul.

Six years later, their business had grown successful, bringing prosperity to Fairnway and supporting most of the local businesses. Now, it was everything they could do to keep up with taxes and simultaneously provide for the folks growing behind in their collections. Many came to procure a loan, but because of the tax severity, no one was paying them back and there was not enough to give. Then, the sickness came, leaving many more unable to work or farm, bringing the market to a standstill. Prosperity was now fleeting into the greedy hands of Prince Albert and his tax collector Brandon de Hillshire, acting Sheriff of all Underlynd towns and lands.

"What new's of town?" Rohwyn asked, setting Edgar's tea down next to him.

Edgar scratched his beard, frowning before saying, "In poor standing. Half the Keepers wont have collected their sums before that mawk- brained b*****d comes to collect Albert's taxes."

Rohwyn smiled at Edgar's description of Brandon being maggot-brained. "And of the illness?" she inquired.

Edgar spat into the hearth and responded, "A pox on us, no doubt, by Prince Albert's greedy ambition. The One God is displeased with us. Many of the young and elderly are now breaking out in rashes. It's starting to infect the able-bodied now as well. I fear this town to be cursed."

"There are no other's with our same affliction?"

"Blitheton in the south, and Kambrshire in Hylynd."

"It appears to be effecting the Western coast. Do you suspect it to have come from across the Narrow Sea?"

"Ti's possible, but only The One God knows."

Mention of The One God always made Rohwyn upsettled on the inside. She did not enjoy her emotions to be marred with unseeded anger. The One God, as far as she could discern, took from the weak and poor, giving it all to the already rich, denying the common man pursuit of any interest in life except fear. You had to sacrifice all to receive nothing in this life, except the promise that in death you would rise again in God's Lands. Well as she saw it, they were already in God's lands, and it was forsaken and stripped of morality. She much rather preferred her mother's gods that let their presence be known in the world around them, and through acts of nature and man.

Edgar stood, going over to the table upon which they dined and poured himself a cup of ale, having finished his tea.

"Upon what do we dine, wife?" he asked, taking a swig.

Rohwyn rose, careful not to disturb Wyatt, who was now sleeping and said," I've a gymbr salted sitting in the water not half a cat's nap prior your return. If you wish, I could prepare it now. There should be some tuberous roots in the cellar as well."

"Gimmer, wife. Not gymbr. I know  you hold your mother's heritage, but folks here will only give you trouble for it."

"Might as well to call it mutton."

"Nay, we be not rich enough for that likes."
"Dear husband, no-one in all of Underlynd is."

They both thought of the one man rich enough, but neither said a word. Rohwyn proceeded to prepare the lamb, and Edgar went to the celler to fetch whatever root vegetables they had left. Rohwyn hummed a song her mother taught her as a child as she worked, neither of them speaking all the while. Upon completion, they woke Wyatt to eat and ate in silence. Wyatt, barely able to keep anything down, went back to sleep in front of the hearth. As Rohwyn was cleaning up, she looked at her son, then to her husband.

"I fear he may be victim to whatever pestilence is amongst us," she said in a hushed, fearful voice.

Edgar cupped her olive toned cheek in his sun-kissed hands and reassured her, "Wyatt will survive. He is strong, and a Clydeson. Our constitution is a gift from The One God. You shall see, sweet wife of mine."
Edgar pulled Rohwyn's face in close and placed a kiss upon her cheek. "Now come to bed," he ordered.

Rohwyn cast one last look at her son and followed her husband to bed, driving away the worried thoughts that captivated her mind. Her husband was right. Wyatt was a Clydeson. He would survive.

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As dawn broke over the horizon, Rohwyn awoke to find her husband in a feverish sweat. His eye's, which he could barely open, were blood-rimmed and fluids were dripping from his nose. He coughed with a severity that shook his entire body, barely giving notice to his wife as she slipped from their bed. Fearing the worst, Rohwyn rushed into the main room where Wyatt was sleeping. Stifling a gasp, Rohwyn looked on in horror at what had become of her son. His skin was covered in rashes, some bleeding from where he had scratched them. His coughing fits were also now more severe, and more frequent. 

Immediately, Rohwyn struck up a fire and put a pot of water over it, once it was hot enough to boil. She went to her son's side and was astonished at how hot his skin was. Wyatt opened one eye partially and looked at no-one. 

"Mu-muther," came his voice in a whisper.

"I am here my luv," Rohwyn answered, moving into his line of vision.

"I'm so thirsty muther."

"Soon my luv. I'm boiling water now."

The little boy gave a cough and closed his eye, seemingly falling back into slumber. His little chest was heaving with each breath, and Rohwyn wiped aside some of his bangs before tucking him in. She rose and went to check on her husband. He was drenched in sweat, and she reassured him she would return to quench his thirst. She took a few minutes to dress herself and went back to check on the water, grabbing some clean linens on the way.

In a separate pot, Rohwyn poured some hot water to cool, and in a second, she poured some to bathe her son and husband. She placed the original pot back on the fire and tore some linens into small strips. Quickly, she dipped them in one of the pots and rang it out, ignoring the burn of the water. She set to bathing Wyatt's body, leaving him to do the same for Edgar. Rohwyn was repulsed and shocked to find that both had succumbed to excreting watery stool. With cooled water, she helped them both drink some, and then afterwards, changed their bedding's, struggling some with Edgar. Once done, she took the sheets out back and burned them.

For the entire day, Rohwyn took care of her family. Once, she paused to make food and tried to feed the men in her lives. Wyatt struggled to keep any food down, and Edgar would have none.

Four days later, Wyatt passed away.

Three after that, so did Edgar.

For the rest of the week, Rohwyn wept, eating only twice, and never leaving the house, let alone her bed.