xithen

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The fall of Xithen . . .

Black smoke lifted into the sky like a dark beast. Broad, tall figures marched into the night, carrying axes and torches, leaving with burning houses in villages behind them. On some, sacks full of stolen goods were tied to their backs.

In the Imperial City terror rang and lights of flame along the castle towers alerted everyone in view. Archers lined the walls, showering down arrows upon the raiders.

Xithen warriors drew their swords and shouting war cries plunged into the sea of death. Unharmed villagers fled, knowing that their luck would run out sooner than later.

Chaos reined.

Scavengers and thieves ransacked houses, grabbed what ever they could find and ran. The cling and clang of metal went on through out the night, slurred with screams and shouts. Survivors took refuge in the forests, where once they reached the safety of other villages, told and retold there stories.

Of the final raid.

Everyone who's rang with the tale of death struck with the horrible realization.

The fall of Xithen...

Prologue

The town of Isburro slumped miserable in the rain. It was winter, but not yet cold enough for snow, and gloom announced itself on every door step. The sound of hoofs hitting the ground along with the rain echoed down the street. Five horses stopped at the only bar in the village, and five soldiers dismounted from them.

Trudging into the bar, they wiped off their wet armour, and then sat down at a table. Villagers were in the bar, most of them sheltering them self's from the rain. Without a word the bartender placed five mugs on the table, and the soldiers drank while they talked. They looked around a few times, and then left without paying. The last sniggered and let his mug crash to the ground. A little boy from behind the counter rushed over and picked up the broken pieces. After throwing them outside, he scurried back.

'You never speak to the like Xirron, do you hear me?' the tender muttered to the boy.

'I know, I,'

'You'd better, now get a move on boy.' Glumly, Xirron moped towards the door. He walked out into the rainy street. He trotted across it to a wider building which read the sign 'Isburro Inn.' The inn had been Xirron?s home for as long as he could remember. As he entered the inn, he shook himself as dry as he could. The entry way was small, but warm. There was a fire place to the far left with two big chairs and a couch, and next to it in the back was a desk. A flight of stairs and a door were to the right of the desk, and at it an old man was sleeping.

'Trycob!' Xirron jumped up and hugged him. He startled awake.

'I ask you not to do that.'

'Sorry,' Xirron got back down, and the old man smiled.

'It's all right Xirron,' He got up and started up the flight of stairs. Xirron followed him closely.

'Why is Brent always so grumpy?' he asked, still close behind Trycob.

'With Brent's job you meet many people, and some of them are not always kind.' Xirron thought about it for a while, as they reached the end of the stairs.

'I was watching him serve some people when these soldiers came into the bar. They broke a mug, and didn't even pay for the drink. Why were those soldiers like that? I had to touch the glass to get it out of the way so others wouldn't step on it.'

Trycob paused, and then opened the door to their quarters.

'Not all people are like that Xirron, but Cathar is...'

Xirron had ran into the room and jumped into Trycob's easy chair. Trycob sighed.

'Listen to me. It's not a good idea to be around them Xirron, in fact, it is a very bad idea. Stay clear of the Catharian soldiers. Now, why don't you get ready to go to bed.'

Xirron crossed his arms. 'But it's still in the evening.'

Trycob looked outside and squinted.

'On rainy days it always seems later. Humph, I'm tiring quicker in my old age. But none of the less, get ready for bed. We will be able to read a while if you hurry up.' Xirron's face lightened a bit, and he quickly scampered away. Trycob stepped to the window again and stroked his beard.

'Hard times,' he muttered to himself. 'Hard times.'

Winter had finally come. It was colder, and snow came down now instead of rain. The little inn was packed with people that needed shelter from the weather. In the main room many people were gathered around the fireplace with mugs of beer or some kind of warm drink. The small room was loud, all full of talking. Xirron was listening to Trycob talk with some other men.

'Word of raids you know,' one of them named Azcthar said.

'Raids? Not down here, I wouldn't think,' another stated. Trycob looked down at his own mug.

'One never knows...'

Xirron looked at him hard. There was worry in his voice, and it startled him.

'Might just be rumor,' said Azcthar, 'but then again it might not. We have been informed to take the utmost precaution.'

Trycob looked over and nodded to someone behind Xirron, and he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Brent the bartender.

'Xirron, would'ya like to come help me serve drinks? You've always found an interest in it before.'

Xirron turned to face Trycob. Trycob nodded sternly, and so he left, wondering about what Azcthar meant about the raids.

More rumors buzzed in Isburro, about places further past their town, more northern turmoil hummed. Raiders were taking there food and goods and the government of Cathar would do nothing except ask for more money for taxes.

'Ask to to put it lightly,' one man said. 'Why I wouldn't be surprised if the raiders were under the kings liege. King, bach, can't believe I said it. With him, the title is meaningless.'

Unfortunately, the people of Cathar could do nothing. Nothing until, as Azcthar put it, some villagers in Tothsberg had enough.

'It was just a little while back in early summer,' he told all who listened, Xirron one of them. 'The raiders numbers usually grow in number during summer. It was quiet in Tothsberg. Though it was hot, no one was outside. Yells and and battle cries could be heard from in the forest of The town. The raiders rampaged through, breaking windows with the butts of torches, and destroying whatever they could find, and then on the quiet count of three...

Stronger, different battles cries came from the tops of houses, branches of stranded trees in the town, or any high place. Men and women with bows cast arrows down upon the attackers, to be rewarded with the sound of their voices crying in anguish. That stalled them for the others to advance on the ground with short swords and knives. The quick surprise attack took the raiders off guard, but they soon began to fight back. The villagers weak weapons were no match for the raider's weponds, and more fighters were lost on the ground than their archers. Older men or older women, young boys and girls, and those who couldn?t fight were led off into the forest in the other direction for shelter. They waited and worried, until they heard the last cry, and footsteps heading out of Tothsberg. Slowly and causously they advanced on the town to find many dead, wounded, or tiered. A depressing sight, but they had won. It was only a small amount of raiders, nothing of great perposhin, but a start...'

Days after they celebrated the begging of a new. News spread, and there was hope. Thin hope it is, but hope nonetheless...

For more of the 'Rising Raiders: The second Cataraid' e-mail me for it, or to tell me to post more. In the meen time I will post chapter one...

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