Tall mountains surrounded the village the Swineherd called home; they were far from the Alan and therefore the Lirsian heartland. The only notable thing they had going for them was that small coal mine. The village as a whole had barely been aware of the war with the easterners; probably the mine overseer, his guards and lord Filan were the only ones to show even the slightest bit of care. And then they arrived, a group of some eight knights bearing a banner of purple and gold. They introduced themselves as a part of the army of somebody by the name of Vypen and then proclaimed in their odd dialect of the Malanese language that the king had been slain, the capital had fallen; that they were occupiers.

The swineherd didn't know exactly what followed when they met the lord. He could neither guess what Filan’s reaction was like, nor what his thoughts were at that time, but rumor had that it that he quickly became more compliant after almost getting himself killed. He hadn't become disposed of, so some agreement had probably been reached. Overall, life had been strange for the locals. At least there had been no bloodshed. Nevertheless that didn’t help in dispersing the unease that was felt by everybody.

The swineherd sat on the grass after reaching a nice enough pasture for his pigs. He didn’t want to think about those men. It wasn't too far from Drerno where he was; if it wasn't for the mist he could see his house down there. The road to the mine was only some hundred meters from where he stood. Honestly, for a serf he was quite well off. Unlike the people working the lord’s fields he had enough free time to take care of his own matters. Upon finding a pasture he could usually rest without much of a problem, the only things he had to worry about were either a swine wandering slightly further away from the herd or a wild animal coming for a visit. For the latter case he had his knife. Actually this was the origin of some of his clothes.

 

This time, though, he’d use this tool of his for something more peaceful since he had promised his sister to carve some toy for her. It was shaping out to be a rather nice doll. As time passed and he started to doze off, lost in thought about the various parts of his daily life, from what he’d eat tonight all the way to attempts at jokes to tell in the future, his ears started to pick up a distant drum of hooves. He turned head his to see two of the knights on their way to the village. From time to time he had seen them either patrolling the streets of Drerno or in the inn. The leading rider was the man that was second in command within their ranks. He was bald, with burn marks across his head. Behind him was the woman one; the swineherd didn’t know much about her.

 

Just as the hope of them passing by without noticing him, the man slowed down.

“Hey, you!” He shouted. “What’s your name?”

“Lahan, sir.” The swineherd answered meekly.

“Raina, I am fed up with rations and peasant food. What do you think of mixing things up?” He had turned to his companion, who replied with a silent nod. “Very well, La’an. We’ll be taking one of these pigs of yours. It ought to make for a good meal.”

Lahan didn’t even think of noting the butchering of his name. The knight’s words were too worrying for that thought to even reach the swineherd. Couldn’t the knights understand that he and his work belonged to the lord? He’d be mad, were he to return with even one animal less. He didn't like bothering with listening to excuses.

“Sir, I am serf. I can’t just give you what is not mine. Please, the lord…”

“A serf…” The knight pondered with some visible contempt. Somehow he still managed to look noble. Maybe being on a horseback and possessing a sword was all one needed for that? “Then what is there to say? I advise you not to bring up that petty lord of yours. I can’t even fathom why we even acknowledge him. Don’t rely on such a pathetic man for anything. It is just plain cruel. Now hurry with our food.”

Lahan pleaded yet again.

 

“I told you to step aside.” The knight pushed him with the blunt side of his sword.

The blade wasn’t drawn, so it didn’t hurt much; he just lost balance. He slipped with knife in the hand. What followed was a mistake. The knight’s horse was stabbed in the chest, near the heart. The animal started to jolt violently around, throwing the knight off his saddle before it collapsed onto him.

 “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Forgive me.” Lahan shouted, realizing what had happened.

“Stand still!” The woman hissed an order as she dismounted, drawing her sword. “…can’t believe I’m the one who has to deal with such things. Stupid man.”

It wasn’t certain if the woman was addressing him or her companion, but she didn’t appear to be in a good mood. What mattered now was the blade pointed at Lahan.

It was a curved one, a bit less than a meter in length, and quite simply terrifying.

He barely dodged her first strike, jumping to his right.

 

Lahan didn't know what to do. Running away didn't sound wise as it would be just an easy way to get stabbed in the back. One thing he knew from when facing wolves was to never turn his back on them.

Could he overpower her? Overall she was smaller and shorter than him, not overly muscular. And yet of the two of them, only one was used to wearing the heavy armour of a soldier. It was not Lahan. Also that sword pointing at him heavily discouraged that idea.

“A feisty one, eh? I suppose you, people, need to be taught manners in a violent way.” She shrugged her shoulders, threatening him.

A quick step forward, a flick of her wrist and she had hit Lahan. A sting was felt across his body as she cut his shoulder. Lahan gritted his teeth as he was struggling not to drop his knife.

 

First thought. The only positive thing to pass through his head was that she either had a faulty aim or didn't intend on outright killing him. The shoulder after all was awfully close to both the neck and the head, which he presumed to be easier targets.

Second thought. It was a natural offspring of the last part of the previous one. He had been close to death. That led to multiple less pleasant ideas generally concerned with terror, dread and visions of his demise.

The third was anger at the fact that he felt powerless. A burst of craziness followed.

Who knew? She was awfully close right now. The proverb went: "Fortuna loves only the mad ones.", didn't it?

 

He charged blindly, looking more at the weapon pointed at him rather than any specific target.

He pushed her as hard he could and when the blade was no longer pointing at him he quickly slashed her throat with his knife. The wound was a shallow one and yet the blood didn’t stop pouring. The woman gasped for breath as she made a step forward. She didn’t make a second one, collapsing in a struggle for air instead.

 

Lahan took a heavy breath as the realization of what had transpired slowly dawned upon him, of the murder he had committed. Murder? He kneeled to see. Yes, it was so. There was no heartbeat. For that he knew there would be consequences. There were always consequences. He held no illusions of what would happen when her comrades learned of her fate. Beating or even execution was a likely punishment for many of the transgressions of a serf could commit when the lord ruled. Lahan didn’t believe that foreigners would be more merciful.

 

A grunt from behind grabbed his attention. The other knight; he was still alive and was currently trying to drag himself from under the horse. It wasn’t working out too well for him.

Lahan leaned over him. He doubted that the knights would be merciful, were they to learn what had happened. He had no intention of letting that happen. At the end he chose to stab the knight in the head. The dead couldn't speak, could they?

 

He then dragged the bodies into the forest for nobody but the animals to see.