The Fickle Winds of Autumn

Aldwyn strained and adjusted his bleary eyes to the darkness through the window; he really must get the boy to clean them properly - it was almost impossible to make anything out through the grimy glass.

Probably the noises were nothing - just the careless fancy of his elderly imagination.

He rubbed at the pane with his sleeve and lent his nose in close.

A huge splintering crash shattered the calm night silence; the cottage shook to its foundations; Aldwyn jumped back in startled terror; the front door smashed into the room, clear off its hinges, narrowly missing his shoulder; it slammed to the floor, scattering debris and noise across the darkened space.

His shocked breath jolted; his tired thoughts scrambled and whirled; a large burly man stormed into the cottage and shoved him violently in the chest; he was propelled across the room and pinned to the far wall, next to the mezzanine ladders; a rough pressure on his chest held him fast; the steel of a long dagger glinted cold and menacing in the pale glow of the hearth’s embers; its ugly aggression pressed deep into the vulnerable folds of his throat.

A second man clattered in through the vacant doorway; a night-lamp dazzled out from his hand; he was shorter and thinner than the first, but his hostile attitude was just as vicious and threatening.

He scoured the lamp around the room and dashed over to the girl; he clasped a sturdy hand tightly around her throat and wrestled her to her feet; she choked and gargled and fought to breathe.

She was his guest - he must help her.

He tried to push back against his assailant; the shrill point of the knife paralysed his resistance.

The man leant in closer; his breath stank of cheap ale; a red scar twitched down the side of his face.

“This girl is mine, see?” he snarled. “And I’m a-taking her back, understand?”

The adrenaline thudded through Aldwyn’s ears; the abrasive weight of his attacker’s strength wedged his drowsy, confused, terrified senses hard to the wall; the vivid gleaming blade taunted his pounding flesh.

The burly intruder scanned the room.

“Now - where’s that young boy of yours? There’s a lesson I need to be a-teaching him too!”

Aldwyn forced his traumatised eyes to stare blankly ahead; he must not glance up; he must not betray his young votary’s sleeping place. Surely all this racket had woken the boy by now? But then sometimes the lad could sleep on through the loudest cock-crow.

A pottery water jug hurtled down and smashed into his attacker’s head. Fragments of clayware scattered in all directions; the burly man slumped to his knees and collapsed unconscious to the floor without even the chance to utter a surprised cry.

The second man spun round and glared up at the boy.

“You again, you worthless little runt!” he shouted.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

The sharp threat of the blade was gone from his throat; this was his chance to help the girl; he started towards the thin intruder.

The girl wriggled and grasped a large earthenware pot from the worktable; she swung it hard at the man’s head. Aldwyn winced and tried to look away; the jug thudded squarely against the intruder’s skull; he crumpled to an ungainly heap, across the empty doorway; the dark blood trickled and pooled next to him.

His lamp crashed to the floor and rolled under the table; the room suddenly plunged into the dim blackness of night.

Were his friends unharmed?

Did they need treatment?

Should they run?

Aldwyn opened his mouth, but before the words had come, a third huge bulking mass of muscle charged into the cottage.

“Boss! Boss! What’s going…” he shouted, as he careered into the dark confusion of the room.

Aldwyn span around; his palpitating senses urged him to confront this new danger; the large man tripped and stumbled over his thin colleague; his weight and momentum dragged him forward; he tumbled to a juddering halt and thumped his forehead off the edge of the table.

The huge man groaned and staggered back to his feet; he clutched at his head.

Aldwyn dashed at him and kicked the intruder’s hindquarters as hard as his old bones would allow; the muscled man lurched across the room and tripped on the hearthstone; he thudded down, face first, into the glowing embers of the fire.

His howling screams rent the air in two; the cottage filled with the acrid stench of his melting beard. He stood bolt upright and clawed desperately at his cheeks; he stumbled and charged back out through the gap where the front door had been.

Aldwyn dashed to the doorway.

Perhaps there were more ruffians out there?

His eyes strained in the darkness; they traced the large man staggering in the direction of the tarn, but he could see no sign of any others.

The busy adrenaline still thudded through his ears.

“Is that the last of them?” he asked the girl.

“Yes - there were just the three of them,” she replied.

Ellis climbed down from his bed.

“Quickly then!” Aldwyn urged. “Get dressed and grab some food! These two won’t be out for long. We can’t stay here now - they know where we live - best make ourselves scarce for a while.”

He rushed to dress himself; his shocked, anxious fingers trembled and struggled with the fastenings.

The youngsters bustled around the room.

“Ready then?” Ellis asked.

They hurried out through the gap which had once been the front door.

The damp chill of the autumn night wrapped itself around his weary bones; he should not be flitting in the dark at his age.

He shuddered and turned to look at his cottage.

It had been a good home to him.

A nagging regretful doubt gnawed deep in his belly - would he ever see its cosy interior again?

He had just got the room how he liked it.

Bah! The advancing years had made a sentimental fool of him.

“Quickly!” he urged in a low voice. “We’ll head up through the woods - there’s no path that way, so they won’t be able to track us so easily.”

His reluctant feet trudged north.

The dismal uncertainties of the cold, muddy night nipped at his thoughts.

Hadn’t he got out of bed to do something?

Wasn’t there a book he wanted to read?

All this unwelcome excitement - how was he expected to remember anything?

No doubt it would come back to his mind again, if it was really that important.