First Part:
Haika looked at Horig over his eyeglasses. “I have never told you about Jan the blacksmith, and Ephias the Strong.”
Age settled around him, he shrank in as if cold, needing to withdraw to a warm core. He seemed far away traveled as his eyes swept around the workroom, seeking the past.
“This place, Yoe, is old. Sandplaice downriver is old. Many years ago it was old, you can see it in the stones and the bricks of the buildings and the streets. Can you imagine paving streets for a village this size, or a town the size of Sandplaice? There are a couple thousand people in Sandplaice, but it's not a big town as they are south, and have you not ever wondered why the streets there and even here in little Yoe are paved with stone? With a fine stone Hall, a stone and brick militia tower? The same built in Sand, and a dungeon? This was a different place, more serious place years ago. Before your father, grandfather, or even his grandfather. But no one alive knows why all that was built here.”
Haika looked down as he polished his eyeglasses hard. Horig saw it as taking angry care.

A different voice spoke next as if broadcast from parts unknown.
Raiders harried us in the north here. Long times past. Can you imagine? Seems crazy, like something from ancient times. Over the small sea in the east they came. Coming to steal, not conquer, not in that sense of large armies. These were sorties by pirates come ashore. Come for the sport of bullying, come to steal.
But always in winter were people taken instead of food or plunder.
Always the taken were young of course, male or female, always the tallest for their age, the most fine, whether just fledged, downey, the ones showing strong promise in adolescence, or merely fine children, weaned.
When they came for plunder they would ring one side of the village or town, even, and sweep in without worry, using weight of arms and the courage of disdain for our ability to resist. But when they came to steal our young they crept upon us at dawn when our children were just up for chores, finding them when absorbed with solitary rounds, fetching water, feeding stock, heading out to fish, or to field, planting before high sun, the like.
One or two would sweep a victim off his feet to bind in a large sack. They took care not to harm the kidnapped, or not much, lest the resistance was vigorous. Knocked them down or grabbed them around the arms and body, lifting them up and turning them upside while another would run the sack up and knot it.”

“Who did this? Why did they do this?”
“The Varingen. Sworn Men. Men with heavy edge weapons from way north. Big men. A head taller than the people here. Men the size of Kob. In armor, some. And the body strength to carry it and more. This was before gunpowder would have made a little difference. But I daresay life in Yoe is not much different now. A band of fifty or even thirty armed with swords the same way could sneak on us now and do the same. At dawn a mob like that would overcome us with fear alone for long enough to kidnap a few people off the streets or out of the fields in half an hour, and be off in the country away to the coast and gone, before we could muster much to slow it. Or catch them. These were fearsome brutes but smart. Strong, fast. They would come ashore in their long boats above the river, sometimes well above the river, depending on the activity on the coast. And there's virtually none. For all their size they knew how to move quietly in the land, through forest or field, and mark their way back to their boats. They are cunning, and always seem knowing of movements onshore somehow.” Introspection crossed the old man's brow.
“Some may have traded with them and gave information in exchange for stolen goods or weapons or being left unharmed, or entered into other evil contract.” The old man's face lowered, he spoke to the floor.
“The thought of that has caused some strife, and driven some beyond patience with their fellows. Long vague sour memory lives on between some families still. Bad chance arises bad sentiment, even if rumor is groundless. As to why, it's not for you to know until you are grown, nor will I give you speculation while you are too young to hear it. It's enough to know there are such abroad that perpetrate gross evil, with gross disregard for peaceful beings. People willing others with favor for silence, or a share. It's for you to learn watchfulness and defense against them.”
Haika regained his schoolteacher strength with this homily and admonition, and Horig was reassured by his gruffness.
“You say they are cunning, are they out there still? What are they called? Why haven't I heard about them?”
Haika upturned wide eyes to Horig for the first time since starting this story. He rose and found his pipe, knocking the spent leaf onto a dish, rummaging for tools and leather pouch. Finding all and filling the bowl, he found a mug and filled it from a kettle warming on a swivel hook near the fire.
There was an herbic scent of strong cider. Haika lit his weed using a spill from the box over the hearth, leaving the spill on the mantel to briefly weave blue mystery strands up to the gloomy beamed ceiling, then go out.
He settled opposite the youth in a leather slung chair with wide arms of black time-rubbed wood. Crossed a leg over the other. Horig had never seen him in that posture.

“The town downriver, in the delta-”
“Sandplaice.”
“Indeed. It was known only as Sand, Sand-on-River, or Sandtown long ago. Truly a harbortown once. but small. It has gradually retreated upriver as the land has carried down in the river over the years, and the need to use the ocean was never great, beyond fishing. So fishing village has always since been known as fishing village, slowly moving down the delta, and the harbor as Sandplaice, even though most of Sandplaice isn't actually there on the sea anymore. How a town moves inland, regresses and retreats from the world I don't understand, but there it is. As you know, people that come here from the sea come in past the village to the stone harbor and hire a wagon to come up river. What they make of that fine small harbor silted in, and that squat guntower guarding it with hardly any town I don't know.”
“Lots come in here over the road.”
“If you call it lots. But yes, trade and people mostly come overland on the road to Yoe, and then go on down to Sandplaice, just because it's larger, and not merely a farming village like Yoe.” He smoked in silence for a bit while Horig fidgeted and pondered.
Haika began again.

“The raiders came to Yoe once long ago, it was in late winter, or early spring. A between season when nothing had budded yet in the land, but the worst of the cold weather was past. The Varingen were making off with a few young. Not many older were up and about. The blacksmith at the time was a fellow named Jan, making barrel hoops or wagon wheels or something they needed a lot of then. He was working with another called Ephias, another big man, up from Sandtown to help with the job.
When the raiders entered the village early that day Jan was still abed, Ephias was off by the stream to fetch water, meditating first in the silence just before dawn. Cold bothered him not. Perhaps he had been unable to reach peace in his mind. Perhaps the approach of the Varingen disturbed him from afar. Ephias was a warrior in times of unrest, a man bred to know violence, whether it's happening, not happening, about to happen. He worked as a smith when there's no cause for his other skill. Mercifully. He knew when war was likely or not. But he was distracted by distraction this morn, and was startled when two raiders emerged from the brush above the bank, escaping with a youth in their grasp, themselves distracted by their captive's struggles.
Ephias crouched and let them stumble down to the dry stone by the stream. He rushed them from behind, brained one to death immediately with a rock and yanked the other's jerkin down by the collar with one hand, trapping the man's arms. The youth pulled free at that, as Ephias threw his other arm 'round the raider's neck. The expansion of his bicep alone was enough. Long years at the anvil, and swinging weapons and hammers for weeks or months at a time had turned him into a virtual machine. The pirate's mastoid, splenius, and trapezius muscles all stretched, the top few bones of the vertebral column separated, the vital cord too. Ephias let the man drop, as motionless as his dead companion, but this one still alive. In the raider's final moments Ephias held the former warrior's head close, hands on either side over the ears as if to press the location of the boats out through his face, directly into his own. The Varingen's grimace was sly at first even then, but the jaw tightened, the eyes slid up back into the head as the lips worked in rolling quivers, the brows large flexing hairy leeches. Ephias seemed to be drawing the last unwilling thoughts up from the dying puppet head, sucking his brain before death.
The youth he saved watched all this between spasms and retches, strangled grunts and weeping, falling to all fours, then pulling himself back up on a tree trunk, wiping drool with either arm.”
If Haika thought this was a too grim account for young Horig he took no notice of how the boy followed the account, and continued.

“Ephias took hold of the flailing youngster, clasped him to his chest, cradled the boy with concern, eyes raking the treeline for more raiders. He held the boy's head as he had the raider's, yet carefully, speaking firmly to gain attention and calm. Quieted, the young man was led to a large downed tree that lay along the bank and into the streambed. A huge mass of uproot where it had toppled in a hard rain some weeks before. Ephias tucked him under the the trunk close to the bank and against the roots and clod.
Seeing him hidden, Ephias loped for the beach, heading to a spot above the arcing point of land that shielded the fishing village harbor from the north.
He ran silently. He ran unconcerned across open ground but when he passed into the woods Ephias thought he heard what might be others thrashing in the undergrowth, thick enough here and there even in the bare seasons to reduce visibility to a few yards, and close around him. He stopped when he thought he might be hearing pursuit. Stopped to listen; echoes of wind in the branches? He urged himself on, breathing steadily now and wishing for a weapon.
When he finally cleared the trees out into the broad morning glaring gorgeous over the ocean he saw four square sails dingey against the day, rocking in mockery away from him, Ephias, small on the shore. Watched them bob and splash away for a long time.

He quartered back to the village, listening and watching for sign of passage through the wood and across meadow, perhaps an abandoned captive, escaped or killed and left, finding no sign. Checked at the downed tree for the youth, but he was gone back home, recovered.
Arriving in the square, grief walked all about him, and none marked him. Ephias was not well known, hadn't been guest there long enough for anyone to rouse themselves from sorrow and strain, to extend him any notice at this time. He made his way to the smithy, scanning townsfolk for any anomaly in the grim faces. At the forge Jan was pounding a dull cherry blade. He spared Ephias a sideways look and grunt. Ephias nodded, turned in circles of thought. Came to a decision, and rummaged for weapons. He joined Jan at the forge and they worked into evening. Sometime after the sun was down they slept for a time. Around midnight they waked to commotion at the main square, and they made their way there after splashing in some clean water. The village councilpersons were assembled in the main hall, and vigorous debate was in progress.
Ephias and Jan edged along the wall. Sad and sweaty villagers wrought with their fear rubbed red eyes and hugged their anxiety tight, ringing the councillors, perhaps hearing through their grief, perhaps only there because sleep was not to come. Impassive Ephias moved as a dreadnought slow and halting, around and between restless villagers, working to the edge of the vocal knot at the middle of the room.
Jan leaned on the wall. Two principal sides had formed, headed in turn by the Master of arms, and the Mayor of the town.

The Master was an old army major of the Greater Island, of which all Yoe residents were citizens.
No outlanders had been in the village to anyone's knowledge for quite some time, at least not up from fishing village at the harbor for a year or more at that time, so everyone present knew all the others in the great room.
The Mayor had been mayor for many years, as elections were more or less held in parliamentary style, a loss of confidence had to be put forward in a vote, and then someone put forward as alternative to the sitting officeholder. A general procedure of order followed, and a referendum would be held. Cool heads prevailed always, as the council was taken seriously. A certain low level of contention was the general state of the village, like an undercurrent of gossip. It was not anything like animosity, more a state of busybodiness, as it pleased virtually everyone to be in a continual attitude of opinion on everything. It engendered concern for others rather than any sort of envy, or elbowing ahead over anyone else's part. Folk were mostly anxious that everyone got a fair shake, so that one's own interest would not be ignored either. It was much like today, by minding other's business, yours is looked after good naturedly too.”
“I know that all too well, I feel unable to breathe sometimes, Mom or someone is only too happy to do my breathing for me.” Horig looked down.

Haika sipped from his mug, watching his pupil. Then resumed.
“The mayor was trying to calm the Master. The Master of Arms was quite prepared to give chase over the sea, urging it. He had his uniform service coat on. A man of action and rectitude, this raid was the first known in decades. No one could remember the last one anywhere near. It had been years since a raid had been talked of, or reported for leagues in any direction. Of course it was pointed out that a raid was only likely to the north anyway. Had any happened anywhere south, the Greater Island would mobilize from the Capital, as the town was only barely on the farthest edge of importance, it was a hundred miles north, and a hundred fifty miles northwest of another town of real significance. Any number of things could befall someone on the road south or west and no one would know of it maybe for months. It would take that long for someone to be missed, tracked to wherever it had happened, and then for someone to come to Yoe or Sandplaice and ask questions. If the missing party had never arrived, no one in Yoe or Sandplaice would be able to say anything about it. It happened this way from time to time. Not that anyone was in danger on the road from anyone specific, it is just a wide world, and people stray from the road and come to misadventure from wild beasts sometimes, or fall off overlooks, but not afoul of brigands usually. But that was not unknown. Not everyone abroad was of the compassionate nature of the regular townspeople sprinkled across the Greater Island.
“We're going to have to set out, and set out now. We're not all farmers and fishers only, we've a good two 'undred able men in Yoe, more in Sand, and all with good skill of arms, more in the hills about, and we 'ave the boats. We can send word south and raise some more help to follow. Planting is several weeks off. We 'ave time to get some satisfaction, give accounting of ourselves whist we can find 'em, make 'em pay and get our own back. We've got complacent. They should' na 'ave a taste again of us here, not that sweet taste, a wicked bitter taste.”
There was loud agreement with that. But the mayor nodded with shut face and crossed arms, as if he'd thought of it all already. He said, “And what use is it to cross and land there wherever? To be virtually raiders ourselves on their land, on their terms where we don't know where we're going? How many and who will we lose in that strange land? We will only compound our loss. Sure it hurts bad now, but that will compound the hurt far worse, goin' over there to who-knows-what. We're not invaders. We've been caught sore napping yes, as this hasn't happened in a long time, but we haven't got the real means to send anything like the army needed to go and wrest anything back from a foreign land. What you suggest takes a real navy, carrying a real army, we're nowhere near up to that.”
But the Master said, “We've got good surprise if we set out in a day or even two. We're just as fast, faster than them in our unladen smaller boats, and we have much greater numbers than that party of theirs that did this. Sure, they're bigger, man to man, but no tougher, and they never figure we would do it.”
There was much assent to that line of reasoning, if reasoning rather than passion it was.
Back and forth it went in that vein, words to the same effect of those positions, and the louder found their voice on the Master's side. But a quiet stricken majority, just barely, backed the Mayor, when it came to a raw vote on the motion that evening.
As it was, action was decided on the next day.

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