The council fires burned low.
They filled the crude wooden hall with a flickering and sullen light. This suited Belgarix, he still struggled to control his feelings, this was the first time he had been invited to attend the folkmoot and he knew that this would be the most important one if he lived to be a hundred.
Telobastes had been beloved of all his people. A larger-than-life figure whose warriors stood in the shieldwall not for fear of shame or greed for gold, but for love of their chief. He had been the rarest of men, one who could inspire such loyalty in even the most hardened of man. In him Belgarix had seen what the kings of old had been, and his heart ached because he knew he would never meet another like him.
The details were still sketchy, the only thing the assembled chiefs and elders knew for certain was that Telobastes had gone across to parley with the imperials and he had been brutally slain. The first inkling was the keening howl of his hearth warriors. They had been stripped of their weapons and forced to wait by the rivers edge for their lords return. When he came back a corpse they had rose up as one and fell upon their captors with a fury only whispered of in ancient tails. They had failed their lord and were doubly shamed as they had not even been been allowed to be present at his demise. So to expunge this dishonor they had lashed out at the hated imperials and dragged as many down with rocks and barehands as they could.
The hearthguards were some of the best warriors left among the people, but even so they had been no match for the armed and armored imperials. Thirty-one bodies had been consigned to the river, while thirty-thousand stood on the far bank and watched in mute anguish.
"We must leave this hateful place." This from Gorantes, an old man who had seen all of his children and grandchildren die on the march. "There is nothing for us here, we must go north until we find a place that no one will want to take from us. Only then will we know peace."
"Peace! I don't want PEACE, I want retribution!" A younger man who had not lost nearly so much raged from the back of the council space. "These imperials think that we are broken, but I say they are not invincible." As he spoke he stepped forward into the light to show that he was still covered in blood, after the debacle at the riverside, those imperials present in the Harudish camp had been hunted down and slaughtered. Over a hundred of the dogs had been rounded up, they had been torn limb from limb by the maddened crowd and their bodies thrown into the river, although this had ellicited no response from the imperial side.
"Belgarix knew he needed to speak now. He had inherited his uncle's position and some degree of the respect he held had been transferred to him, and he knew what Telobastes would say. "I know brother, I know, but how can we cross the river?"
At this, the assembled elders muttered amongst themselves. "I want nothing more than to feel the blood of the one who perpetrated this villainy to run down my sword, but we must look to to the larger problem; we have no boats, no bridge, and the river is too deep to ford."
"We could fashion rafts." Came someone from outside the ring of firelight.
"With what tools, we have nothing left to us, and our remaining warriors are too sick and hungry to work. No, as much as it galls me, we are too weak to exact our revenge now. We must look elsewhere, if we should attempt the crossing and fail, that would be the end of our people."
"Your people have already ended." Croaked an unfamiliar voice from the entrance way.
All eyes turned towards the newcomer, standing in the entranceway was a shadowy figure silhouetted by the bright winter moon. The howl of the wind blew in frigid air from outside and those closest shivered, though from cold or unease none could say.
"Who are you?" asked Belgarix.
"I am the voice of the darkest night, the call of wolves on the hunt. I am the Herald of Stiggan and will brook no insolence from a pup like you."
"There hasn't been a Herald in over a hundred years." Shouted Gorantes, I remember when I was a boy my grandfather told me of when he saw the last one."
The stranger stepped into the council, a chill seemed to follow him and the fire visibly dimmed as he approached the center of the gathering.
"You have fallen from the true path. You were led astray by fools who lusted after tainted gold and soft living. Your people were born in winter, you are sons of the bear and the wolf."
His listeners leaned forward, each of them had at one time or another been paid in imperial gold, now they each felt a secret shame, and as the stranger continued their desire to wipe it away grew into a burning need.
"It is time that these perfumed southerners felt the true power of the north, you must gather your warriors, the attack will begin before dawn."
Belgarix found himself on his knees without remembering how. "But...how will we cross the river?"
"If you have faith, you won't need to."
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