Chapter Eight of "The North"

Chapter Eight – A voice in the Shadow
His uncle and Talar had left the room but Peter had decided to stay. He looked out at the window and wondered if the snow would fall much longer, on the sill it looked very thin and rather watery. It wasn’t setting to his relief. Peter leaned against the wall heavily, the window faced south looking over the town but more importantly back home. It struck him then just how young he was. Seventeen years and here he was riding to war with such renowned fighters. Sure he was a fine swordsmen, of course he was being taught by the best his father and two of the first knights. Yet still he felt senseless, somewhat awkward while on this quest. He let out a long sigh turning from the window to the room. He walked to the table and, even though he was the heir to the entire land, he felt it respectful to at least leave the room in a somewhat tidier manner. He picked up a few glasses and began collecting them under his arm. That was when he heard it.
It was quiet, very quiet but Peter heard it. Small breaths being drawn in and slowly released. And dark eyes staring at his back. Peter slowly put the glasses down, noiselessly trying to pinpoint the breathing. Goosebumps prickled on his skin as he slowly rotated his head to his left, then right. Nothing. He reached for his sword and drew it.
‘Who’s there?’ he asked quietly, eyes scanning the room. ‘Show yourself’ Peter was beginning to question his sanity, nearly so close as to forget the whole situation and call it on the too much wine when a voice finally spoke. Harsh and sinister, and mocking.
‘Isn’t it past your bed time, boy?’ Peter thought he was going insane. He held his sword high and pivoted around the room in slow steps.
‘Who are you? Where are you?’ he commanded. He could see nobody in the room, and at that for it was a fairly empty room. A few bookshelves stood at the side of the walls and a few short tables outstretched from the walls. Peter frowned in frustration but did not break his guard. He slowly walked to the window, eyes peeled, and slowly popped his head out of the room into the cold air, he looked up, then down quickly. Nothing, so he returned to face the room again.
‘Tell me, Peter’ began the sardonic bloodcurdling voice. ‘How old are you?’ Peter hesitated before speaking to the body-less voice.
‘Seventeen’ he said proudly. A small snigger was heard, presumably at Peter’s young age. Peter then, again, attempted to find the man. The shadows on the walls were very thin and shallow from the torches. There were many torches lit and lit the entire room. The roof was reinforced by oaken beams that stretched horizontally. It hit him like a sudden chilled and icy piercing wind. The roof. He dared not look up. Not yet.
‘Have you found me yet, Peter?’ asked the man, looking down at Peter down his nose in two different ways. Peter summoned his courage and swung his head and eyes sky-ward that is where he saw him. Lurking in the shadows in the roof supports crouched a hooded man all in black, the only flesh showing being his upper-half of his face while his mouth and nose hid under a wrapped cloth. Even from down at the floor Peter could tell the man was a southerner, of course he was. He was tanned unlike the pale northmen and he bestowed copper coloured hair which slightly could be seen hanging from his hood parted over his shoulders. Suddenly he fell, or moreover jumped to the ground. He had little to no time to prepare, he stepped quickly to the right as the man landed where Peter had stood seconds. ‘Good foot work, Peter’ the man sounded threatening yet at the same time addressed him with manners which only heightened Peter’s guard and suspicions. ‘That was a lovely tale about the Great War’ he trailed, swinging his sword in his hand incredibly calmly and confident. Peter held his high and pointing directly at the man as he approached, step by step.
‘Who are you’ asked Peter coldly. Even at seventeen he stood taller than his opponent.
‘Now that would be telling’ he mused. ‘But dare-I-say I know yours, Peter. Everybody does in the south. I presume you have worked that much out. And I speak the truth when I say many want you and your family dead’ Peter stiffened at the thought nevertheless keeping his distance. Then the man said something that shocked the Northman. ‘But I am not one of them’. The man through his sword on the ground releasing a piercing twang. Peter eyes him carefully. The two of them stopped.
‘So, why are you here?’
‘I come out of pity’ the southman began ‘Kill me if you wish but let me finish and heed my warning. I tell you, it truly was a task getting across the Diver. It took a fair bit of sneaking and planning. But anyway now that I’m here I feel it high time I should tell you. We in the south have many sources and we know even more than you do. More about your very neighbours than you’ Peter looked at him over the hilt of his sword.
‘What do you mean’ Peter asked confused.
‘The Wildmen have many leaks in their knowledge. There are few in the south that have concerns about the north and most of them are not positive. I am one of the few who cares about you, Peter. I care about your family; and the north’
Peter lowered his sword, taken aback. ‘Truly’ said the southman. ‘I have travelled very far to find you, my lord’ he fell to one knee and Peter looked astonished in the turn of events. ‘By your command I will become one of your sworn protectors, in defiance of the friction between our two lands’ Peter lowered his sword, and thankfully, the man did not dive for his own. He remained on one knee looking at the heir of the north. Peter inspected the man.
‘How can I trust you?’ asked Peter suspiciously.
‘If I wanted to kill you, Peter, I would have done it by now. You have lowered your sword and I carry a dagger. Not to mention you linger with too much drink for your own good’ he let a dagger slip from his sleeve and caught it in his hand. He held it up before throwing it to the side. ‘I brought it only in case I ran into trouble. Bandits or our mutual friends the clansmen’
‘Why didn’t you come down earlier?’
‘And have your uncle slaughter me before I could explain myself?’ said the man. ‘I don’t think so, I needed to speak to you in private’ Peter looked at him for a short while.
‘Rise’ he spoke. The man did so ‘What is your name?’
‘Irlos, my lord’
‘You are no knight?’ asked Peter.
‘Of course not, if I was why would I abandon my lands to come to foreign lands?’ Peter somehow reluctantly sheaved his sword.
‘I don’t know what it is about you, Irlos. Pity perhaps. Probably the wine. But I believe you. You may ride with us. But I cannot say my friends will enjoy your company’
‘Quite understandable, Peter’ Irlos began. ‘I wouldn’t expect them to. Now you should go get yourself some sleep. Lock your door behind you. You are more careless than you may think, not noticing me for far too long, and these are dark times’ Peter made for the door and found that Irlos was not following.
‘Where are you to sleep?’
‘Don’t worry yourself in such matters, Peter. I’ll find somewhere but as for you have a long march ahead tomorrow and over uneasy ground’ Peter smirked.
‘As do you’ he said as he left the room and made his way to his room at the highest floor, ever cautious and checking the roof above.