It may or may not have happened just so, but this is how the story is told.
In times of war and times of peace, there are ordinary people, fine people, who live their lives without being heroes or villains, whose stories are not often told. But there are some who, by unusual circumstance, live remarkable lives.
Amid years of conflict, there are days of joy. One such spring day saw the birth of twin sons Winestra and Swithra to Estful and her husband Gleaw. The wake-robins were in bloom, and Estful applied her skill to embroidering the dark red flower on a blanket for each son. The infants were so identical, she made one blanket with the flower on the left and the other on the right so she could keep them straight. As the next spring found the boys beginning to walk, the parents found it hopeless to keep them straight. "Soon enough they will learn their own names," laughed Estful.
Gleaw worked their farm some distance from the village. He was handy and people would seek him out for advice on building or repairing things. When he saw the lone soldier approaching that day, he did not think it unusual, except for the speed of the rider. The messenger dismounted, bowed politely, and began to speak in earnest.
Orcs!
They were moving into the area in larger numbers than before. Many of them rode wargs, which meant they could range farther from the main force. No farm in the area was too remote to be at risk. The thane was organizing a caravan to the north where people might be better protected. The rider spoke directly, but it was not a command. Gleaw glanced at Estful, and saw her looking with concern at the two napping toddlers. "We will join," he said.
The soldier made a brief note on a parchment. He would repeat those words many more times that day. Gleaw raised his hand to delay the soldier as he turned to leave. Estful had already grabbed a water skin and wrapped some bread, dried meat and cheese to give to the rider. "It's more than we can take with us," she tried to smile. The man accepted it with a grateful bow and was swiftly on his way.
Two weeks later, the hundred men, women, and children were only half-way to the relative safety of the town of Fiffaerweg when they were set upon by a small group of mounted orcs. Although most of the orcs and wargs were killed, the caravan leader knew that if any survived, they would soon return with more. Gleaw joined the group who rode off in pursuit. Several people had been killed and Estful was wounded by an orc arrow. The poison had already begun its work when the women arrived to tell Estful where her husband had gone.
Desperate times require desperate actions. Seeing an abandoned house not far off, Estful insisted that she be left there, but that others would take her two sons to safety. Grim faces saw no other choice, knowing that even if the poison did not take her, in her condition the rough journey ahead would. They left a damaged cart with enough provisions and curatives. She might survive the fever and be overlooked by orcs, but she and they all knew she was saying her final goodbyes.
The caravan pressed on. Whether the orcs that attacked a few days later were a different group or related to the first, no one knew. None of those that chased the orcs had returned. There were more casualties and things seemed hopeless when a soldier saw a glint of light to the north. Searching the horizon, there were soon more glints to be seen. The soldier recognized the sun's reflection from shields and let loose with a blast on his horn that temporarily silenced the acrid cries of the orcs.
Drawing the orcs attention, he bravely stood in plain sight pointing to the north. The orcs also saw the signs of the approaching military force, and heard the distant horn blasts answering the soldier's call. Although enjoying the opportunity to attack a group of refugees, the orc commander was not inclined to take on well-armed cavalry. He screeched to his minions to retreat.
The rapid departure of the orcs gave the caravan some time to begin tending to the wounded and the dead before the horsemen arrived. The soldier tersely gave his report to the captain, who immediately gave the order for a squad to escort the caravan the rest of the way to safety, while he and the rest pursued the orcs southward.
The caravan arrived at the town of Fiffaerweg, which was teeming with the fruits of other such caravans. Although they brought what goods they could, they knew they couldn't stay there for long. So many in one town could not make it through the winter.
Every day, more soldiers passed through on their way south. Lunalla, one of the women who had taken care of Winestra and Swithra, had asked several of them to look for signs of Estful and Gleaw and send word back. Neither had been seen and the farmhouse where they left Estful had been destroyed. Such is war. Lunalla's husband was eager to continue north-east to his sister's home in the mountains before the snow came. Solawyn, who had also cared for the twins, received a message from her brother who lived in the north-west. All was calm there, and she and family were welcome. The departure of young men to fight meant the harvest would need more hands.
Knowing they must go, yet each having a brood of her own to tend, Lunalla and Solawyn decided they would each take one twin. Both shared the same experience at the end of the first day they departed Fiffaerweg. With amused smiles, they realized that, since Winestra and Swithra had always been together, they had not known which twin was which. Each called her new child Winestra.
In such times, the lives of parents and children are fragile, and families are formed from those who survive. The separated twins came to know only their new parents and siblings. They grew up as the war subsided. Both foster mothers kept secret the memories of those times and the true origin of their sons named Winestra. Soldiers fight wars, but the many ordinary people must just find a way to live. Neither family wanted to return to the south. Nor did they choose to try to discover what finally happened to father, mother, or sibling. They were busy with living the lives fate had given them, and had no need to look for what would surely be more sorrow.
Each boy grew into manhood, strong of body, heart, and character. Winestra of the mountains was a hunter and craftsman, inheriting his father's skills. Winestra of the valley was a farmer and tailor, more like his mother. Yet in appearance, voice, and manner, they were so alike.
The wake-robin is a flower that few appreciate. Although delicate and deep red in colour, its smell is intended to attract the flies that pollinate it. It appears only briefly in the spring. Perhaps its imperfect ordinary beauty is what had inspired Estful to stitch it onto her twins' blankets. Each mother saved that as a memorial to the parents who had sacrificed so much for their sons.
The orcs came again.
They had never gone away completely, but for years their attacks had been sporadic and repelled by the local forces throughout the kingdom. This time, there were more of them, more organized, and better armed than in many years. The king issued a call to arms for those able to fight.
Winestra kissed his wife Wealdwyn and assured her that she and his father would be able to manage without him. Indeed, Wealdwyn was as good a hunter as he, and just as artful with wood and metal. Wealdwyn smiled bravely, never having faced the reality of war, but her mother-in-law wept silently as her son left. When he picked up his quiver, Winestra saw that Lunalla had sewn a needlepoint of a wake-robin onto it. "For luck," she said, remembering how it had been with him as he had survived against the odds in that earlier dark time.
He rode south-west to Fiffaerweg. From there he would head west to where the troops were mustering. He was only half a day's ride from the town when he noticed a group of men in the distance. They were looking out of a small clump of trees on a hill to the left as the road curved behind it. Perhaps there was some threat ahead, he thought. He left the road, circling far to the left around the small hill. As the road came into view again, he could see several carts moving in the direction from which he came. The situation soon became clear as six men descended from the trees, running toward the carts.
Drawing long knives they confronted the travelling merchants. Winestra spurred his mount up the hill to the spot where the men had been hiding. There was no one there, so he raced down to where the bandits were doing their work. Two thieves held the victims at knifepoint by the side of the road, one merchant trying to stop the bleeding from another's arm. Two were ransacking the goods, looking for what would be best to take, while the other two unhooked the horses, apparently planning to use them to escape with whatever they could carry.
None were looking toward their ambush spot, so they were taken by surprise when two arrows from that direction felled the men guarding the merchants. The leader of the thieves had ducked behind a cart and drew a sabre from his belt. Not having a clear shot, Winestra rode toward him and with a flash his sword dealt a fatal blow. The merchants had retrieved the long knives from their dead captors and made quick work of the fourth bandit.
The two by the horses knew it was time to go and mounted up, riding off in terror. "It's bad enough that we have orcs attacking us, now men are preying on men!" exclaimed the merchant who seemed to be leading the group. He gave orders to tend to the wounds and reload the carts. "My uncle is thane of Fiffaerweg, and he has been unable to find where they are hiding."
Winestra surveyed the situation. "I will pursue them from a distance and see where they go," he said. "Those two are too young and scared to be careful to cover their retreat." The merchant nodded, but raised a finger to keep him a moment. He took a piece of parchment and wrote a quick note, telling him to show it to the city guard. They would take him straight to his uncle, who would be grateful for any information he could provide. With that, Winestra was back on his steed and rode off in the direction the thieves had fled. As he rode, he could hear the merchants arguing whether they should continue their journey or turn back.
The bandit camp was indeed well hidden, and any approaching force would easily be seen in advance. The entrance to the canyon was obscured by trees, and the shape of the hill told him it curved sharply, making a frontal assault difficult. Assuming the leader of the bandits was wily, though, he knew there must be an escape route back up through the hills. Leaving his horse, he scouted around to the north, guessing they would prefer to flee in that direction. Indeed, there was a path marked by trees notched on the uphill side.
As the sun set, he silently reached the ridge line where he could see into the camp. When darkness descended, they dared to light small fires to cook food. The bandits ate in shifts, first the leader and his lieutenants, then the bulk of the group. Finally, half a dozen men went off to relieve the lookouts who came and ate what was left. About fifty men all together, four less than last night he thought.
Winestra ate some of his rations, and slept where he hid. He had spent many nights in such spots; hiding from game was harder than hiding from men. As dawn broke, he slipped back down the hill, not walking on their escape path but noting exactly where it went. His well-rested steed came at his whistle and took him swiftly to Fiffaerweg.
He explained to the city guard that he was answering the king's call, but also showed him the note he was given. The guard recognized the name on the parchment and called for an officer to take him to Gemanric, the thane. Word had come of how Winestra had saved his nephew. He called his captain and had Winestra describe the location and layout of the bandit camp.
"I am surprised there are so many," Gemanric said worriedly, "Bad times seem to create more outlaws. We must put a stop to it." The captain agreed they did not have the force needed to take the camp. "Many of our able men have answered the king's call," mused Gemanric. "Perhaps we will borrow a few of his men for a bit."
The thane ordered that none of the recruits in town be allowed to continue their journey west and all must report to the barracks. For the next days as preparations were made, any new arrivals on their way to the king we also welcomed into the barracks, but not permitted to leave.
There were now about fifty men, half "borrowed" from the king and the rest the town guard. Gemanric addressed the group in the evening, explaining the plan. "Tomorrow night, we will have dinner with the bandits," he joked. "I and a small force of city guard will move visibly toward the canyon opening, but stay out of bow range. We will begin to set up defences as if we are to lay siege to the camp."
"Meanwhile, Winestra will guide the larger force into positions along their escape path. Your horses and all that we can spare from town will be taken by the stable-master and others. When the sun passes behind the hill, I will signal and the horses with or without riders will head towards the canyon entrance, making a din as if the king himself had arrived. The outlaws won't be able to see clearly in the twilight, and many will panic and seek to escape. Those farther up the path will allow the bandits to pass so we trap as many as possible."
The plan worked. In the dark and confusion, the few bandits that put up a fight were quickly defeated. As Winestra later identified them, the leader and his lieutenants were among the first to flee and were cut down when the trap was sprung. When dawn broke, leaderless and with no hope of escape, the remainder of the camp surrendered to the city guard.
"After a cold night in the woods, tonight we feast, and then we return you to your duty to the king!" announced Gemanric as they returned to Fiffaerweg.
Winestra kissed his mother and assured her that his younger brother was old enough to assume more responsibility on the farm. Although his father was still able to tend the animals and work the fields, he would be of more use there than on a battlefield. Solawyn's pride in her son could not completely mask the fear and sadness in her heart as he left to answer the king's call. When he picked up his shield, Winestra saw that she had painted a wake-robin on it. "For luck," she explained, not wanting to give the details of when that symbol seemed to have protected him years ago.
Heading south-east, he met a couple other recruits on the road. They treated their mission as an adventure and a chance to see more of the world than the villages in which they were born. When the three arrived at Fiffaerweg, they could see there was some great commotion. "I don't know where you'll be able to stay," said the city guard. "The barracks are overflowing, the inns are full, even the stables have no empty stalls."
Unexpectedly, a young woman passing nearby approached. "I didn't mean to be overhearing you," she said somewhat awkwardly, "but I think we can accommodate you three."
"We have been sleeping outdoors, and will be doing so again, so we will pay well for a night in a bed and some hot food," Winestra said. She named a price, which seemed high to his fellow-travellers, but the guard nodded that it was fair given the circumstances. She led them to an old house in a dark corner of town. They followed her around back to a small stable and settled the horses for the night.
She took them through a rear door into the house. Down a dimly lit corridor, she opened a door to a room with several beds. "We don't often have overnight guests," she explained the apparent disuse of the room.
"It will be a pleasant change from the damp hard ground," Winestra smiled.
The corridor ended in a larger room, cheerier than they expected with a warm fire and a handful of locals drinking and talking. They became silent when they saw the strangers. "These men are answering the king's call," she spoke by way of introduction.
"How many bandits did you get today?" one asked and the others turned to hear the answer.
Winestra looked confused, so the girl spoke up, "These men just arrived. That's why they're here and not feasting with the thane." She gestured to an open table and they sat down as a tall thin man, apparently the proprietor, set mugs of ale before them.
"Name is Tunwirth, and that's my daughter Lacia," he said as she left the room. She returned shortly with bowls of stew, fresh bread, cheese and fruit. Winestra and his comrades ate heartily as the locals discussed what they had heard about the attack on the bandits. Each retelling seemed to increase the number of thieves killed and captured and the gruesomeness of the battle.
"To the king's recruits!" one raised his mug, and the others joined in, toasting the three of them in proxy for those who had actually fought the night before. As the evening wore on, the ale raised everyone's spirits. Lacia sat with them, eager to hear where they had come from and what they expected from the coming war. The locals drifted back to their homes and the proprietor retired to his room.
"That is fine work," Winestra admired a locket Lacia wore. It bore the needlepoint image of a wake-robin. "My fingers aren't meant for such delicate stitching," he said showing his strong, callused hand.
Lacia blushed. "I saw the wake-robin on your shield," she confessed. "When I heard you needed a place to stay, it seemed you were meant to find me." There seemed to be more to her story, so Winestra waited as she took a slow draught of her ale and decided to continue. "After my mother died, the thane's wife Willawyn took an interest in me. Her seamstress taught me her art, and this was one of her lessons. Her praise of it meant a lot to me."
"I see them every year when planting," said Winestra. "Their scent makes them unwelcome indoors, but amid the other smells of the fields, they are at home. Soil is always turning the old and dying into the new and living."
Lacia seemed to hang on every word Winestra spoke. The hour grew late. Dollic, one of his companions, seemed taken by the ale as he stood up. He staggered as he reached to grab her arm, saying "Come wench, let's warm up my bed." He jerked her to her feet before Winestra could stop him, but in a flash the drunken man found his own arm pinned painfully behind his back.
Angry and mortified by his coarse fellow, Winestra ordered him to apologize. He mumbled something, hoping to reduce the pressure on his twisted arm. "I regret we have so abused your generous hospitality," Winestra said, bowing as best he could without releasing his captive. "I think it best we sleep with our mounts tonight. We leave at dawn."
Winestra drove Dollic out the back door, pushing him roughly to the ground. The third member of their party looked longingly at the beds as they went past the room, and grumbled that he didn't do anything wrong, but the look on Winestra's face told him no appeal would change the situation.
As the other two recruits headed to the stable, Winestra gently tapped on the door. Lacia opened the door a crack, then wider when she saw it was him. "Here is the price we agreed on," he said, handing her the coins. "We are grateful for the comity and respite you offered. I regret that he spoiled a most enjoyable evening."
Despite the recent drama, Lacia offered a smile. "He was not the first man to grab my arm so," she grinned. "My father has broken some of them."
"I dared not break an arm that the king has called to service," he replied, her mood lightening his own. With a proper bow this time, he bid her goodnight and goodbye, reminding her that they would be gone at first light.
Winestra woke before the other two, and was splashing trough water on his face when he heard the back door open. A hand beckoned, and he walked quietly to see Lacia standing in her bedclothes, an anxious look on her face. "I cannot explain it," she whispered, "but when I saw the wake-robin on your shield, I felt a connection." She held out her locket. "I want you to take this with you."
Winestra began to protest but she insisted. "It is a loan, not a gift, and you must return it to me when you come back."
He could not turn down her heartfelt request. "I promise to return it safely to you," he cradled it gently in his hand, then drew it over his head and around his neck.
Her hand pressed it against his chest. "By that promise, you too will be safe."
With the dawn, Fiffaerweg sent its many recruits on their way. There was a chance that the two named Winestra would meet, or encounter someone who knew the other, but it did not happen. One left early, the other was detained by the thane.
"I know you answer the king's call," Gemanric spoke to the hunter privately, "but your service to me must be repaid. There is nothing adequate that I can offer before you leave, but when you return, I will find a reward worthy of your cunning and bravery." And so a second Winestra headed west.
War is a cruel and arbitrary enterprise. Why does one live and another die? The multitude that rose to the defence of the kingdom made it unlikely that brother would meet brother. Yet fate is capricious.
One day in the tumult of battle, an orc arrow did pierce the armour of the farmer. Desperately trying to avoid the poison, he ripped off his breastplate, tossing it and the arrow aside. As he was trained, he encouraged a stream of blood to flow to flush out the poison before it could do its worst, but he still found himself growing weak. Days later, he awoke from the fever where they had taken him. When he was able to return to duty, they had retrieved his shield and sword. He asked, but no one had seen the locket. It was quite understandable. One unexpectedly still alive does not question the circumstances.
The progress of war goes forward and back. On another day in another battle on the same spot, another orc arrow flew. This one, however, missed its mark. It thudded into a tree trunk where, moments earlier, its path would have been blocked by the hunter's chest. He had bent to see something on the ground. Having avoided the deadly arrow, almost in reflex he instantly returned two to the orc, ending that threat. He bent again to pick up the object that had likely saved his life. It was a locket with a needlepoint of a wake-robin carefully stitched onto it. The similarity to the one sewn on his quiver by his mother was surprising. He took it as an omen, and proudly wore it around his neck.
War changes with the seasons. Winter slows movements and makes attacks more difficult and less frequent. When the next year's spring and summer saw no major influx of orcs and allowed the king's men to slay or chase the remnants far to the south, there was hope that the orcs would remain there for a while. No one assumed they would never return, but when another winter passed and spring and summer brought only minor sightings, the king allowed the bulk of the force to return to their homes.
The hunter was the first to return to Fiffaerweg. A city guard recognized him and on Winestra's word that the thane would expect him, called for an officer to conduct him to the mead hall.
"Winestra!" A young woman cried as she ran toward him. He stopped and turned to her, surprised to hear his name. As she drew near, he did not recognize her. She and the officer exchanged glances of mutual suspicion, but she smiled at Winestra. "It is good to see you again."
He strained his memory, since he had met so many people when he was last here, and did not want to be impolite. He bowed and said "It is good to be on my way home."
Lacia began to reflect the confused look on his face, but seeing that he wore her locket so plainly, she knew he must remember her. "Have you come to return my locket?" she prompted. She had thought of him often in the intervening three years. Since he wore it, surely he must have thought of her.
His hand reached to his good-luck charm. "The locket you say is yours saved my life," he answered, "and I will not so easily part with it." Given where and how he found it, he could imagine no way for it to have come from her.
Lacia did not know what to think or say. It was so unexpected to see him, and he seemed changed by the war. If the locket had saved his life, that was good, yet it was important to her as well.
"We have business with the thane," the officer interrupted both sets of thoughts. Lacia tried to speak but found no useful words, and the officer was used to disregarding the wishes of people such as her. Winestra was discomforted by the encounter, but not knowing her or the situation, he bowed curtly and followed the officer apace.
Gemanric was ebullient. The end of the war saw things improving in the town, as more traders than soldiers were on the roads. "Don't think I forgot my promise to you," he said when they were alone. "There is a special boon I can grant you, if you choose to avail yourself of it."
"There is a craftsman of unparalleled art who chooses to live alone in the hills. Long ago, he and I made a bargain. I will keep his location a secret, and in exchange he will on occasion make things for me." He gestured to the superb sword and shield that hung on the wall. "He mines his ore and cuts his wood from places known only to him, and his work exceeds the best of the king's smiths -- but don't tell the king that!" he chuckled.
"Your bow shows the wear of battle, yet you will have continued use for one when you return home." Winestra nodded. Gemanric took a parchment and began to write. "I will ask him to make you a bow. You will find your range and accuracy substantially improved."
The next day, the thane had one of his guards escort him half a day's ride into the woods to a small pond. From there, the thane had trusted only him to know the path up the hill. He found the small clearing and the tree stump marked as the thane had described. He set up camp, knowing he might need to stay a few days before the hermit craftsman found him, and some time more if he agreed to make the bow.
"Who are you?" a voice called out of the darkness that surrounded the small fire he had built on his second night at that spot.
"I have a message from Gemanric," he replied, "He said you might make a bow for me."
There was a long pause. "Put your bow and the note on the stump." It was outside the glow of the fire, but he managed to find it and did as he was told. Returning to the fire, he sat and continued eating his trail supper. Despite trying to see or hear any movement, he detected none. When the fire died to coals, he went to sleep. In the morning, the stump was empty.
It was with mixed feelings that Winestra drew near to Fiffaerweg. He wanted to see Lacia again, but the loss of the locket weighed on him. Of course, if he had died, she would have seen neither him nor the locket again. Were he to slip through the town and return to his farm, that is surely what she would believe, and that did not seem right. Yet recalling how she gave him the token, so sure of its power, it would certainly be a disappointment for him to return without it. Would she think he discarded it lightly?
So it was that he made his way to the old tavern in the dark corner of town. On entering the door, he expected at least to have the ordinary cheer accorded patrons. But Tunwirth gave him a hard look. "So have you finished your business with the thane?"
Winestra tried to understand what was meant by the tone and the words he heard. They seemed to have drawn Lacia from the other room, as she came through the doorway then stopped, looking him up and down. "I came to see you," he smiled. "I thought of you often through these times."
"Yet not so much as to remember the locket I gave you," her voice cracked with emotion.
"I lost it in battle," he began, thinking back to the orc arrow and unsure how many of the details he wanted to tell her.
"Do you think me mad?" her voice rose. "I saw you with it just three days ago. You denied it was mine and treated me most rudely!"
For a moment Winestra wondered if there could be some other meaning to her words. "But I have arrived in Fiffaerweg just this day, and came straight here to see you."
Tunwirth took two steps towards him. "Go now," he said firmly. "If you have any decency, you will return the locket to my daughter and torment her no further." The others in the tavern stared at him with silent hostility, and he had no course but to leave.
He walked slowly in a daze back towards where he had stabled his horse, trying to decide if it would be best just to continue back home. He recalled Lacia's story of how she had made the locket, and thought perhaps the seamstress could replace it. A poor plan, he knew, but he struggled to find another idea.
Knowing no one else in the town, he went towards the thane's house, thinking he might inquire about the seamstress. He stood at the door, trying to find the right words, when he heard his name.
"Winestra, I heard you had returned," a woman trailed by three others walked toward him. One of them stepped quickly to open the door for the group. "Come in," said the woman. By her dress and carriage, he knew this must be the thane's wife.
He was confused that she seemed to know him by sight, but managed to recall his mission. "Lady, I have need of a seamstress, and I have heard yours has great skill," he stammered.
"Indeed she does," she smiled, intrigued by the request.
Seeking to extract himself from the awkward situation, he blurted out "It is a pressing matter."
"I see," she nodded, all the more curious, but seeing Winestra's distraught expression, she gestured to her youngest attendant. "My daughter will take you to her. Later, you can tell me all about it." Her speech and expression told of a familiarity that he could not fathom, but he didn't hesitate to follow the girl as she led him out the door and to a cottage a short distance away.
The seamstress was a thin pale woman, with bright eyes that forswore her apparent age. "My mother said you might help this man," the girl said, and quickly left.
"Madam," he bowed, trying to find a way to make sense of recent events, "I have an odd request." The manner of his arrival had already made that apparent to her. "A student of yours gave me a locket you taught her to sew, and I am afraid I lost it in the war. I will pay well for a replacement."
She did not know what to make of the man or the words he spoke, but felt sympathy for his obvious anguish. Winestra looked down and shook his head. "Lacia was so upset. I lost it the day I nearly lost my life to an orc arrow, yet she seemed to want to see the locket more than to see me!"
His averted eyes missed the woman's startled expression when she heard Lacia's name. "So you would have me create a forgery?" she asked, trying to get a sense of the man.
"I don't know," he sighed, "I was so taken aback when I met her today after being away so long, I am desperate for anything to make things right between us."
"Lacia, you say," she hid her intense interest, "I remember teaching her. She was a sweet girl."
"She was most kind to me when I travelled through here answering the king's call, and I thought of her often while I was away. That is why I feel I must try to make up for this loss." He hoped his words might convince her, or indeed himself, of the rightness of this solution.
"I cannot promise you it will satisfy her, but I can replace the locket." Winestra was stunned as she took an almost identical locket from around her own neck. "Do this," she instructed with a conspiratorial smile, "Tell her you found it and present this as the missing locket. If she accuses you, then confess to her who gave it to you. Perhaps that will mend the rift."
"Thank you, dear lady!" Winestra bowed deeply, a smile daring to return to his face. Perhaps things might work out.
Waiting until the patrons had left the small tavern, Winestra dared to enter and face Lacia again. He spoke her name softly. As she turned, he could see the fire return to her eyes.
"I found your locket," he stammered, holding it out to her. "I am sorry I lost it."
Lacia snatched it from his hand, happy to have it returned, but still upset by the previous encounter and his strange behaviour. As she looked at it, she suddenly erupted. "How dare you! You know this is not mine! How did you come by it? Father!" She didn't need to call him, since he had strode into the room at her raised voice.
"Please! Wait! Listen!" Winestra pleaded, almost in tears. "The seamstress gave me this and told me to tell you it was yours! She must have known you would spot the deception, for she told me to confess all if you did." He recounted how he had remembered Lacia's tale of how she made the original, how he spoke with the thane's wife to find the seamstress and begged her to help him replace the locket.
As the story spilled out, Lacia recognized her teacher's hand in the plan, much as she had easily seen her superior needlework in the replacement locket. "I will keep this locket and return it to her tomorrow," she said. "I acknowledge your effort to return that which is mine, but I cannot forget how you treated me on Monday. Tomorrow, if you cannot explain yourself, go back to your farm and trouble me no more." With that, Tunwirth showed him out the door.
Winestra made his way back toward the stable where he left his steed. An unfamiliar voice called him by name. "Hey there! Winestra! What are you doing back here?" He stared at the city guard officer confronting him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. "Gemanric will want to know about this. Come with me." Winestra recognized the name of the thane, but the rest of his words made no sense. He went with the officer, who seemed prepared to prevent him from fleeing, up towards the mead hall.
There had been no occasion for him to meet the thane before, but his manner and the deference of those around him marked him as the officer guided him into the room with a firm hand on his sword. "Pardon the interruption," he said with a sharp salute, "but I encountered him in town."
The thane nodded grimly and dismissed all but Stollen, the captain of the guard. "We will continue this later." The soldier closed the door, leaving just the four of them in the room. "My wife told me she saw you this afternoon. How is it that you have returned so soon? Did you decide to reject my gift? Explain yourself." Without raising his voice, his sternness compelled Winestra to answer.
"I do not understand these questions," he said. "I returned to Fiffaerweg today after three years fighting orcs. Someone I knew spoke to me most strangely. This officer, who I do not know, knows my name. You, who I have just now met, speak of a gift I know nothing about."
Anger rose in the thane. "You dare to say such things to my face! I know not what purpose you have in such deception. I gave you my trust. If you have abused it, if any harm has come of it, you will pay a severe penalty."
The officer's left hand grabbed Winestra's right arm, his right hand ready at his sword. "Put him in the north cell. Spread the word to listen for anyone inquiring after him. There may be others involved."
Winestra said no more as he was taken through empty halls and stairways to the basement and locked in a cell. As he sat on the rough wooden bench, he tried unsuccessfully to decipher the confusing events of the day.
Stollen returned to the thane to report that his orders had been carried out. "I cannot go myself. You know where to find my friend," Gemanric sounded worried. "I hope I did not make a grievous error trusting that man."
In times of war and times of peace, there are ordinary people, fine people, who live their lives without being heroes or villains, whose stories are not often told. But there are some who, by unusual circumstance, live remarkable lives.
Amid years of conflict, there are days of joy. One such spring day saw the birth of twin sons Winestra and Swithra to Estful and her husband Gleaw. The wake-robins were in bloom, and Estful applied her skill to embroidering the dark red flower on a blanket for each son. The infants were so identical, she made one blanket with the flower on the left and the other on the right so she could keep them straight. As the next spring found the boys beginning to walk, the parents found it hopeless to keep them straight. "Soon enough they will learn their own names," laughed Estful.
Gleaw worked their farm some distance from the village. He was handy and people would seek him out for advice on building or repairing things. When he saw the lone soldier approaching that day, he did not think it unusual, except for the speed of the rider. The messenger dismounted, bowed politely, and began to speak in earnest.
Orcs!
They were moving into the area in larger numbers than before. Many of them rode wargs, which meant they could range farther from the main force. No farm in the area was too remote to be at risk. The thane was organizing a caravan to the north where people might be better protected. The rider spoke directly, but it was not a command. Gleaw glanced at Estful, and saw her looking with concern at the two napping toddlers. "We will join," he said.
The soldier made a brief note on a parchment. He would repeat those words many more times that day. Gleaw raised his hand to delay the soldier as he turned to leave. Estful had already grabbed a water skin and wrapped some bread, dried meat and cheese to give to the rider. "It's more than we can take with us," she tried to smile. The man accepted it with a grateful bow and was swiftly on his way.
Two weeks later, the hundred men, women, and children were only half-way to the relative safety of the town of Fiffaerweg when they were set upon by a small group of mounted orcs. Although most of the orcs and wargs were killed, the caravan leader knew that if any survived, they would soon return with more. Gleaw joined the group who rode off in pursuit. Several people had been killed and Estful was wounded by an orc arrow. The poison had already begun its work when the women arrived to tell Estful where her husband had gone.
Desperate times require desperate actions. Seeing an abandoned house not far off, Estful insisted that she be left there, but that others would take her two sons to safety. Grim faces saw no other choice, knowing that even if the poison did not take her, in her condition the rough journey ahead would. They left a damaged cart with enough provisions and curatives. She might survive the fever and be overlooked by orcs, but she and they all knew she was saying her final goodbyes.
The caravan pressed on. Whether the orcs that attacked a few days later were a different group or related to the first, no one knew. None of those that chased the orcs had returned. There were more casualties and things seemed hopeless when a soldier saw a glint of light to the north. Searching the horizon, there were soon more glints to be seen. The soldier recognized the sun's reflection from shields and let loose with a blast on his horn that temporarily silenced the acrid cries of the orcs.
Drawing the orcs attention, he bravely stood in plain sight pointing to the north. The orcs also saw the signs of the approaching military force, and heard the distant horn blasts answering the soldier's call. Although enjoying the opportunity to attack a group of refugees, the orc commander was not inclined to take on well-armed cavalry. He screeched to his minions to retreat.
The rapid departure of the orcs gave the caravan some time to begin tending to the wounded and the dead before the horsemen arrived. The soldier tersely gave his report to the captain, who immediately gave the order for a squad to escort the caravan the rest of the way to safety, while he and the rest pursued the orcs southward.
The caravan arrived at the town of Fiffaerweg, which was teeming with the fruits of other such caravans. Although they brought what goods they could, they knew they couldn't stay there for long. So many in one town could not make it through the winter.
Every day, more soldiers passed through on their way south. Lunalla, one of the women who had taken care of Winestra and Swithra, had asked several of them to look for signs of Estful and Gleaw and send word back. Neither had been seen and the farmhouse where they left Estful had been destroyed. Such is war. Lunalla's husband was eager to continue north-east to his sister's home in the mountains before the snow came. Solawyn, who had also cared for the twins, received a message from her brother who lived in the north-west. All was calm there, and she and family were welcome. The departure of young men to fight meant the harvest would need more hands.
Knowing they must go, yet each having a brood of her own to tend, Lunalla and Solawyn decided they would each take one twin. Both shared the same experience at the end of the first day they departed Fiffaerweg. With amused smiles, they realized that, since Winestra and Swithra had always been together, they had not known which twin was which. Each called her new child Winestra.
In such times, the lives of parents and children are fragile, and families are formed from those who survive. The separated twins came to know only their new parents and siblings. They grew up as the war subsided. Both foster mothers kept secret the memories of those times and the true origin of their sons named Winestra. Soldiers fight wars, but the many ordinary people must just find a way to live. Neither family wanted to return to the south. Nor did they choose to try to discover what finally happened to father, mother, or sibling. They were busy with living the lives fate had given them, and had no need to look for what would surely be more sorrow.
Each boy grew into manhood, strong of body, heart, and character. Winestra of the mountains was a hunter and craftsman, inheriting his father's skills. Winestra of the valley was a farmer and tailor, more like his mother. Yet in appearance, voice, and manner, they were so alike.
The wake-robin is a flower that few appreciate. Although delicate and deep red in colour, its smell is intended to attract the flies that pollinate it. It appears only briefly in the spring. Perhaps its imperfect ordinary beauty is what had inspired Estful to stitch it onto her twins' blankets. Each mother saved that as a memorial to the parents who had sacrificed so much for their sons.
The orcs came again.
They had never gone away completely, but for years their attacks had been sporadic and repelled by the local forces throughout the kingdom. This time, there were more of them, more organized, and better armed than in many years. The king issued a call to arms for those able to fight.
Winestra kissed his wife Wealdwyn and assured her that she and his father would be able to manage without him. Indeed, Wealdwyn was as good a hunter as he, and just as artful with wood and metal. Wealdwyn smiled bravely, never having faced the reality of war, but her mother-in-law wept silently as her son left. When he picked up his quiver, Winestra saw that Lunalla had sewn a needlepoint of a wake-robin onto it. "For luck," she said, remembering how it had been with him as he had survived against the odds in that earlier dark time.
He rode south-west to Fiffaerweg. From there he would head west to where the troops were mustering. He was only half a day's ride from the town when he noticed a group of men in the distance. They were looking out of a small clump of trees on a hill to the left as the road curved behind it. Perhaps there was some threat ahead, he thought. He left the road, circling far to the left around the small hill. As the road came into view again, he could see several carts moving in the direction from which he came. The situation soon became clear as six men descended from the trees, running toward the carts.
Drawing long knives they confronted the travelling merchants. Winestra spurred his mount up the hill to the spot where the men had been hiding. There was no one there, so he raced down to where the bandits were doing their work. Two thieves held the victims at knifepoint by the side of the road, one merchant trying to stop the bleeding from another's arm. Two were ransacking the goods, looking for what would be best to take, while the other two unhooked the horses, apparently planning to use them to escape with whatever they could carry.
None were looking toward their ambush spot, so they were taken by surprise when two arrows from that direction felled the men guarding the merchants. The leader of the thieves had ducked behind a cart and drew a sabre from his belt. Not having a clear shot, Winestra rode toward him and with a flash his sword dealt a fatal blow. The merchants had retrieved the long knives from their dead captors and made quick work of the fourth bandit.
The two by the horses knew it was time to go and mounted up, riding off in terror. "It's bad enough that we have orcs attacking us, now men are preying on men!" exclaimed the merchant who seemed to be leading the group. He gave orders to tend to the wounds and reload the carts. "My uncle is thane of Fiffaerweg, and he has been unable to find where they are hiding."
Winestra surveyed the situation. "I will pursue them from a distance and see where they go," he said. "Those two are too young and scared to be careful to cover their retreat." The merchant nodded, but raised a finger to keep him a moment. He took a piece of parchment and wrote a quick note, telling him to show it to the city guard. They would take him straight to his uncle, who would be grateful for any information he could provide. With that, Winestra was back on his steed and rode off in the direction the thieves had fled. As he rode, he could hear the merchants arguing whether they should continue their journey or turn back.
The bandit camp was indeed well hidden, and any approaching force would easily be seen in advance. The entrance to the canyon was obscured by trees, and the shape of the hill told him it curved sharply, making a frontal assault difficult. Assuming the leader of the bandits was wily, though, he knew there must be an escape route back up through the hills. Leaving his horse, he scouted around to the north, guessing they would prefer to flee in that direction. Indeed, there was a path marked by trees notched on the uphill side.
As the sun set, he silently reached the ridge line where he could see into the camp. When darkness descended, they dared to light small fires to cook food. The bandits ate in shifts, first the leader and his lieutenants, then the bulk of the group. Finally, half a dozen men went off to relieve the lookouts who came and ate what was left. About fifty men all together, four less than last night he thought.
Winestra ate some of his rations, and slept where he hid. He had spent many nights in such spots; hiding from game was harder than hiding from men. As dawn broke, he slipped back down the hill, not walking on their escape path but noting exactly where it went. His well-rested steed came at his whistle and took him swiftly to Fiffaerweg.
He explained to the city guard that he was answering the king's call, but also showed him the note he was given. The guard recognized the name on the parchment and called for an officer to take him to Gemanric, the thane. Word had come of how Winestra had saved his nephew. He called his captain and had Winestra describe the location and layout of the bandit camp.
"I am surprised there are so many," Gemanric said worriedly, "Bad times seem to create more outlaws. We must put a stop to it." The captain agreed they did not have the force needed to take the camp. "Many of our able men have answered the king's call," mused Gemanric. "Perhaps we will borrow a few of his men for a bit."
The thane ordered that none of the recruits in town be allowed to continue their journey west and all must report to the barracks. For the next days as preparations were made, any new arrivals on their way to the king we also welcomed into the barracks, but not permitted to leave.
There were now about fifty men, half "borrowed" from the king and the rest the town guard. Gemanric addressed the group in the evening, explaining the plan. "Tomorrow night, we will have dinner with the bandits," he joked. "I and a small force of city guard will move visibly toward the canyon opening, but stay out of bow range. We will begin to set up defences as if we are to lay siege to the camp."
"Meanwhile, Winestra will guide the larger force into positions along their escape path. Your horses and all that we can spare from town will be taken by the stable-master and others. When the sun passes behind the hill, I will signal and the horses with or without riders will head towards the canyon entrance, making a din as if the king himself had arrived. The outlaws won't be able to see clearly in the twilight, and many will panic and seek to escape. Those farther up the path will allow the bandits to pass so we trap as many as possible."
The plan worked. In the dark and confusion, the few bandits that put up a fight were quickly defeated. As Winestra later identified them, the leader and his lieutenants were among the first to flee and were cut down when the trap was sprung. When dawn broke, leaderless and with no hope of escape, the remainder of the camp surrendered to the city guard.
"After a cold night in the woods, tonight we feast, and then we return you to your duty to the king!" announced Gemanric as they returned to Fiffaerweg.
Winestra kissed his mother and assured her that his younger brother was old enough to assume more responsibility on the farm. Although his father was still able to tend the animals and work the fields, he would be of more use there than on a battlefield. Solawyn's pride in her son could not completely mask the fear and sadness in her heart as he left to answer the king's call. When he picked up his shield, Winestra saw that she had painted a wake-robin on it. "For luck," she explained, not wanting to give the details of when that symbol seemed to have protected him years ago.
Heading south-east, he met a couple other recruits on the road. They treated their mission as an adventure and a chance to see more of the world than the villages in which they were born. When the three arrived at Fiffaerweg, they could see there was some great commotion. "I don't know where you'll be able to stay," said the city guard. "The barracks are overflowing, the inns are full, even the stables have no empty stalls."
Unexpectedly, a young woman passing nearby approached. "I didn't mean to be overhearing you," she said somewhat awkwardly, "but I think we can accommodate you three."
"We have been sleeping outdoors, and will be doing so again, so we will pay well for a night in a bed and some hot food," Winestra said. She named a price, which seemed high to his fellow-travellers, but the guard nodded that it was fair given the circumstances. She led them to an old house in a dark corner of town. They followed her around back to a small stable and settled the horses for the night.
She took them through a rear door into the house. Down a dimly lit corridor, she opened a door to a room with several beds. "We don't often have overnight guests," she explained the apparent disuse of the room.
"It will be a pleasant change from the damp hard ground," Winestra smiled.
The corridor ended in a larger room, cheerier than they expected with a warm fire and a handful of locals drinking and talking. They became silent when they saw the strangers. "These men are answering the king's call," she spoke by way of introduction.
"How many bandits did you get today?" one asked and the others turned to hear the answer.
Winestra looked confused, so the girl spoke up, "These men just arrived. That's why they're here and not feasting with the thane." She gestured to an open table and they sat down as a tall thin man, apparently the proprietor, set mugs of ale before them.
"Name is Tunwirth, and that's my daughter Lacia," he said as she left the room. She returned shortly with bowls of stew, fresh bread, cheese and fruit. Winestra and his comrades ate heartily as the locals discussed what they had heard about the attack on the bandits. Each retelling seemed to increase the number of thieves killed and captured and the gruesomeness of the battle.
"To the king's recruits!" one raised his mug, and the others joined in, toasting the three of them in proxy for those who had actually fought the night before. As the evening wore on, the ale raised everyone's spirits. Lacia sat with them, eager to hear where they had come from and what they expected from the coming war. The locals drifted back to their homes and the proprietor retired to his room.
"That is fine work," Winestra admired a locket Lacia wore. It bore the needlepoint image of a wake-robin. "My fingers aren't meant for such delicate stitching," he said showing his strong, callused hand.
Lacia blushed. "I saw the wake-robin on your shield," she confessed. "When I heard you needed a place to stay, it seemed you were meant to find me." There seemed to be more to her story, so Winestra waited as she took a slow draught of her ale and decided to continue. "After my mother died, the thane's wife Willawyn took an interest in me. Her seamstress taught me her art, and this was one of her lessons. Her praise of it meant a lot to me."
"I see them every year when planting," said Winestra. "Their scent makes them unwelcome indoors, but amid the other smells of the fields, they are at home. Soil is always turning the old and dying into the new and living."
Lacia seemed to hang on every word Winestra spoke. The hour grew late. Dollic, one of his companions, seemed taken by the ale as he stood up. He staggered as he reached to grab her arm, saying "Come wench, let's warm up my bed." He jerked her to her feet before Winestra could stop him, but in a flash the drunken man found his own arm pinned painfully behind his back.
Angry and mortified by his coarse fellow, Winestra ordered him to apologize. He mumbled something, hoping to reduce the pressure on his twisted arm. "I regret we have so abused your generous hospitality," Winestra said, bowing as best he could without releasing his captive. "I think it best we sleep with our mounts tonight. We leave at dawn."
Winestra drove Dollic out the back door, pushing him roughly to the ground. The third member of their party looked longingly at the beds as they went past the room, and grumbled that he didn't do anything wrong, but the look on Winestra's face told him no appeal would change the situation.
As the other two recruits headed to the stable, Winestra gently tapped on the door. Lacia opened the door a crack, then wider when she saw it was him. "Here is the price we agreed on," he said, handing her the coins. "We are grateful for the comity and respite you offered. I regret that he spoiled a most enjoyable evening."
Despite the recent drama, Lacia offered a smile. "He was not the first man to grab my arm so," she grinned. "My father has broken some of them."
"I dared not break an arm that the king has called to service," he replied, her mood lightening his own. With a proper bow this time, he bid her goodnight and goodbye, reminding her that they would be gone at first light.
Winestra woke before the other two, and was splashing trough water on his face when he heard the back door open. A hand beckoned, and he walked quietly to see Lacia standing in her bedclothes, an anxious look on her face. "I cannot explain it," she whispered, "but when I saw the wake-robin on your shield, I felt a connection." She held out her locket. "I want you to take this with you."
Winestra began to protest but she insisted. "It is a loan, not a gift, and you must return it to me when you come back."
He could not turn down her heartfelt request. "I promise to return it safely to you," he cradled it gently in his hand, then drew it over his head and around his neck.
Her hand pressed it against his chest. "By that promise, you too will be safe."
With the dawn, Fiffaerweg sent its many recruits on their way. There was a chance that the two named Winestra would meet, or encounter someone who knew the other, but it did not happen. One left early, the other was detained by the thane.
"I know you answer the king's call," Gemanric spoke to the hunter privately, "but your service to me must be repaid. There is nothing adequate that I can offer before you leave, but when you return, I will find a reward worthy of your cunning and bravery." And so a second Winestra headed west.
War is a cruel and arbitrary enterprise. Why does one live and another die? The multitude that rose to the defence of the kingdom made it unlikely that brother would meet brother. Yet fate is capricious.
One day in the tumult of battle, an orc arrow did pierce the armour of the farmer. Desperately trying to avoid the poison, he ripped off his breastplate, tossing it and the arrow aside. As he was trained, he encouraged a stream of blood to flow to flush out the poison before it could do its worst, but he still found himself growing weak. Days later, he awoke from the fever where they had taken him. When he was able to return to duty, they had retrieved his shield and sword. He asked, but no one had seen the locket. It was quite understandable. One unexpectedly still alive does not question the circumstances.
The progress of war goes forward and back. On another day in another battle on the same spot, another orc arrow flew. This one, however, missed its mark. It thudded into a tree trunk where, moments earlier, its path would have been blocked by the hunter's chest. He had bent to see something on the ground. Having avoided the deadly arrow, almost in reflex he instantly returned two to the orc, ending that threat. He bent again to pick up the object that had likely saved his life. It was a locket with a needlepoint of a wake-robin carefully stitched onto it. The similarity to the one sewn on his quiver by his mother was surprising. He took it as an omen, and proudly wore it around his neck.
War changes with the seasons. Winter slows movements and makes attacks more difficult and less frequent. When the next year's spring and summer saw no major influx of orcs and allowed the king's men to slay or chase the remnants far to the south, there was hope that the orcs would remain there for a while. No one assumed they would never return, but when another winter passed and spring and summer brought only minor sightings, the king allowed the bulk of the force to return to their homes.
The hunter was the first to return to Fiffaerweg. A city guard recognized him and on Winestra's word that the thane would expect him, called for an officer to conduct him to the mead hall.
"Winestra!" A young woman cried as she ran toward him. He stopped and turned to her, surprised to hear his name. As she drew near, he did not recognize her. She and the officer exchanged glances of mutual suspicion, but she smiled at Winestra. "It is good to see you again."
He strained his memory, since he had met so many people when he was last here, and did not want to be impolite. He bowed and said "It is good to be on my way home."
Lacia began to reflect the confused look on his face, but seeing that he wore her locket so plainly, she knew he must remember her. "Have you come to return my locket?" she prompted. She had thought of him often in the intervening three years. Since he wore it, surely he must have thought of her.
His hand reached to his good-luck charm. "The locket you say is yours saved my life," he answered, "and I will not so easily part with it." Given where and how he found it, he could imagine no way for it to have come from her.
Lacia did not know what to think or say. It was so unexpected to see him, and he seemed changed by the war. If the locket had saved his life, that was good, yet it was important to her as well.
"We have business with the thane," the officer interrupted both sets of thoughts. Lacia tried to speak but found no useful words, and the officer was used to disregarding the wishes of people such as her. Winestra was discomforted by the encounter, but not knowing her or the situation, he bowed curtly and followed the officer apace.
Gemanric was ebullient. The end of the war saw things improving in the town, as more traders than soldiers were on the roads. "Don't think I forgot my promise to you," he said when they were alone. "There is a special boon I can grant you, if you choose to avail yourself of it."
"There is a craftsman of unparalleled art who chooses to live alone in the hills. Long ago, he and I made a bargain. I will keep his location a secret, and in exchange he will on occasion make things for me." He gestured to the superb sword and shield that hung on the wall. "He mines his ore and cuts his wood from places known only to him, and his work exceeds the best of the king's smiths -- but don't tell the king that!" he chuckled.
"Your bow shows the wear of battle, yet you will have continued use for one when you return home." Winestra nodded. Gemanric took a parchment and began to write. "I will ask him to make you a bow. You will find your range and accuracy substantially improved."
The next day, the thane had one of his guards escort him half a day's ride into the woods to a small pond. From there, the thane had trusted only him to know the path up the hill. He found the small clearing and the tree stump marked as the thane had described. He set up camp, knowing he might need to stay a few days before the hermit craftsman found him, and some time more if he agreed to make the bow.
"Who are you?" a voice called out of the darkness that surrounded the small fire he had built on his second night at that spot.
"I have a message from Gemanric," he replied, "He said you might make a bow for me."
There was a long pause. "Put your bow and the note on the stump." It was outside the glow of the fire, but he managed to find it and did as he was told. Returning to the fire, he sat and continued eating his trail supper. Despite trying to see or hear any movement, he detected none. When the fire died to coals, he went to sleep. In the morning, the stump was empty.
It was with mixed feelings that Winestra drew near to Fiffaerweg. He wanted to see Lacia again, but the loss of the locket weighed on him. Of course, if he had died, she would have seen neither him nor the locket again. Were he to slip through the town and return to his farm, that is surely what she would believe, and that did not seem right. Yet recalling how she gave him the token, so sure of its power, it would certainly be a disappointment for him to return without it. Would she think he discarded it lightly?
So it was that he made his way to the old tavern in the dark corner of town. On entering the door, he expected at least to have the ordinary cheer accorded patrons. But Tunwirth gave him a hard look. "So have you finished your business with the thane?"
Winestra tried to understand what was meant by the tone and the words he heard. They seemed to have drawn Lacia from the other room, as she came through the doorway then stopped, looking him up and down. "I came to see you," he smiled. "I thought of you often through these times."
"Yet not so much as to remember the locket I gave you," her voice cracked with emotion.
"I lost it in battle," he began, thinking back to the orc arrow and unsure how many of the details he wanted to tell her.
"Do you think me mad?" her voice rose. "I saw you with it just three days ago. You denied it was mine and treated me most rudely!"
For a moment Winestra wondered if there could be some other meaning to her words. "But I have arrived in Fiffaerweg just this day, and came straight here to see you."
Tunwirth took two steps towards him. "Go now," he said firmly. "If you have any decency, you will return the locket to my daughter and torment her no further." The others in the tavern stared at him with silent hostility, and he had no course but to leave.
He walked slowly in a daze back towards where he had stabled his horse, trying to decide if it would be best just to continue back home. He recalled Lacia's story of how she had made the locket, and thought perhaps the seamstress could replace it. A poor plan, he knew, but he struggled to find another idea.
Knowing no one else in the town, he went towards the thane's house, thinking he might inquire about the seamstress. He stood at the door, trying to find the right words, when he heard his name.
"Winestra, I heard you had returned," a woman trailed by three others walked toward him. One of them stepped quickly to open the door for the group. "Come in," said the woman. By her dress and carriage, he knew this must be the thane's wife.
He was confused that she seemed to know him by sight, but managed to recall his mission. "Lady, I have need of a seamstress, and I have heard yours has great skill," he stammered.
"Indeed she does," she smiled, intrigued by the request.
Seeking to extract himself from the awkward situation, he blurted out "It is a pressing matter."
"I see," she nodded, all the more curious, but seeing Winestra's distraught expression, she gestured to her youngest attendant. "My daughter will take you to her. Later, you can tell me all about it." Her speech and expression told of a familiarity that he could not fathom, but he didn't hesitate to follow the girl as she led him out the door and to a cottage a short distance away.
The seamstress was a thin pale woman, with bright eyes that forswore her apparent age. "My mother said you might help this man," the girl said, and quickly left.
"Madam," he bowed, trying to find a way to make sense of recent events, "I have an odd request." The manner of his arrival had already made that apparent to her. "A student of yours gave me a locket you taught her to sew, and I am afraid I lost it in the war. I will pay well for a replacement."
She did not know what to make of the man or the words he spoke, but felt sympathy for his obvious anguish. Winestra looked down and shook his head. "Lacia was so upset. I lost it the day I nearly lost my life to an orc arrow, yet she seemed to want to see the locket more than to see me!"
His averted eyes missed the woman's startled expression when she heard Lacia's name. "So you would have me create a forgery?" she asked, trying to get a sense of the man.
"I don't know," he sighed, "I was so taken aback when I met her today after being away so long, I am desperate for anything to make things right between us."
"Lacia, you say," she hid her intense interest, "I remember teaching her. She was a sweet girl."
"She was most kind to me when I travelled through here answering the king's call, and I thought of her often while I was away. That is why I feel I must try to make up for this loss." He hoped his words might convince her, or indeed himself, of the rightness of this solution.
"I cannot promise you it will satisfy her, but I can replace the locket." Winestra was stunned as she took an almost identical locket from around her own neck. "Do this," she instructed with a conspiratorial smile, "Tell her you found it and present this as the missing locket. If she accuses you, then confess to her who gave it to you. Perhaps that will mend the rift."
"Thank you, dear lady!" Winestra bowed deeply, a smile daring to return to his face. Perhaps things might work out.
Waiting until the patrons had left the small tavern, Winestra dared to enter and face Lacia again. He spoke her name softly. As she turned, he could see the fire return to her eyes.
"I found your locket," he stammered, holding it out to her. "I am sorry I lost it."
Lacia snatched it from his hand, happy to have it returned, but still upset by the previous encounter and his strange behaviour. As she looked at it, she suddenly erupted. "How dare you! You know this is not mine! How did you come by it? Father!" She didn't need to call him, since he had strode into the room at her raised voice.
"Please! Wait! Listen!" Winestra pleaded, almost in tears. "The seamstress gave me this and told me to tell you it was yours! She must have known you would spot the deception, for she told me to confess all if you did." He recounted how he had remembered Lacia's tale of how she made the original, how he spoke with the thane's wife to find the seamstress and begged her to help him replace the locket.
As the story spilled out, Lacia recognized her teacher's hand in the plan, much as she had easily seen her superior needlework in the replacement locket. "I will keep this locket and return it to her tomorrow," she said. "I acknowledge your effort to return that which is mine, but I cannot forget how you treated me on Monday. Tomorrow, if you cannot explain yourself, go back to your farm and trouble me no more." With that, Tunwirth showed him out the door.
Winestra made his way back toward the stable where he left his steed. An unfamiliar voice called him by name. "Hey there! Winestra! What are you doing back here?" He stared at the city guard officer confronting him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. "Gemanric will want to know about this. Come with me." Winestra recognized the name of the thane, but the rest of his words made no sense. He went with the officer, who seemed prepared to prevent him from fleeing, up towards the mead hall.
There had been no occasion for him to meet the thane before, but his manner and the deference of those around him marked him as the officer guided him into the room with a firm hand on his sword. "Pardon the interruption," he said with a sharp salute, "but I encountered him in town."
The thane nodded grimly and dismissed all but Stollen, the captain of the guard. "We will continue this later." The soldier closed the door, leaving just the four of them in the room. "My wife told me she saw you this afternoon. How is it that you have returned so soon? Did you decide to reject my gift? Explain yourself." Without raising his voice, his sternness compelled Winestra to answer.
"I do not understand these questions," he said. "I returned to Fiffaerweg today after three years fighting orcs. Someone I knew spoke to me most strangely. This officer, who I do not know, knows my name. You, who I have just now met, speak of a gift I know nothing about."
Anger rose in the thane. "You dare to say such things to my face! I know not what purpose you have in such deception. I gave you my trust. If you have abused it, if any harm has come of it, you will pay a severe penalty."
The officer's left hand grabbed Winestra's right arm, his right hand ready at his sword. "Put him in the north cell. Spread the word to listen for anyone inquiring after him. There may be others involved."
Winestra said no more as he was taken through empty halls and stairways to the basement and locked in a cell. As he sat on the rough wooden bench, he tried unsuccessfully to decipher the confusing events of the day.
Stollen returned to the thane to report that his orders had been carried out. "I cannot go myself. You know where to find my friend," Gemanric sounded worried. "I hope I did not make a grievous error trusting that man."
In the morning, the city guard captain was unhappy that it was up to him to track down the hermit. Seeing Winestra in town had been a surprise. The thane cared much for the craftsman. Only a trusted few knew of him or how to contact him. He rode to the pond, then climbed the hill to the clearing. From the cover of brush, he saw the figure of Winestra, bent over scraping a hide of some recent kill.
Although he tried to creep closer before confronting him, Winestra's hunting skills were the better and he turned and called out. "You might as well come out! I have no bow."
The captain stood and approached, his hand on his sword. "Stollen, well met!" Winestra spoke as he recognized the officer. "What brings you here? I am waiting as Gemanric instructed."
"How did you escape?" demanded Stollen. "I left you locked in a cell last night!" He drew his sword. The evidence of a used campsite and the animal he was working on seemed impossible if he had spent the night in a cell. Stollen looked around for any others who might have helped him escape.
Winestra made no aggressive move, gesturing to his campsite. "I slept here last night, and for the previous three, waiting for the man to make me a bow. I know nothing else."
"Winestra don't lie to me," Stollen shouted. "I saw you yesterday in Fiffaerweg and locked you in the cell myself!"
"I have done nothing wrong," Winestra protested. "I will return with you to the thane and we will sort this out. Bind me if you wish, but I will not try to escape."
"You have escaped once already today," Stollen huffed. "I won't give you a second chance." With that, he tied Winestra's arms to his body. His attention occupied, he never heard the man approach behind him.
The craftsman stood with an arrow ready in the fine new bow. "What name did I hear?" he asked.
Recognizing the craftsman, Stollen spoke up "I am Stollen, captain of the guard in Fiffaerweg. Gemanric sends his regards." He bowed in respect. "The thane asked you to do a favour for this man, but it now appears he is not to be trusted. He sent me to make sure of your safety."
"I have not seen you in many years, but know your name and uniform," the craftsman lowered the bow. "But I heard another name that I have not heard," the words came slowly and painfully "in many years."
"I am Winestra," the hunter said gently. "Not a common name, but one that once earned the trust of the thane, although matters are confusing at the moment."
"You bring memories of a time long past, sad and best forgotten. I had a son … I lost them all." Tears flowed as the man moved to sit on the log near the remains of the campfire. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then something caught his eye.
He rose to his feet and cried to the sky "Why do you torment me so!" He had seen the wake-robin locket dangling on Winestra's chest. He grabbed it and inspected it. "How can this be?" he moaned. "Where is your brother Swithra? Where is your mother Estful? Can you be alive after all these years? After all that I searched for you?"
"I am sorry, I have no brother named Swithra," Winestra tried to console the man. "My mother is Lunalla."
Although he tried to creep closer before confronting him, Winestra's hunting skills were the better and he turned and called out. "You might as well come out! I have no bow."
The captain stood and approached, his hand on his sword. "Stollen, well met!" Winestra spoke as he recognized the officer. "What brings you here? I am waiting as Gemanric instructed."
"How did you escape?" demanded Stollen. "I left you locked in a cell last night!" He drew his sword. The evidence of a used campsite and the animal he was working on seemed impossible if he had spent the night in a cell. Stollen looked around for any others who might have helped him escape.
Winestra made no aggressive move, gesturing to his campsite. "I slept here last night, and for the previous three, waiting for the man to make me a bow. I know nothing else."
"Winestra don't lie to me," Stollen shouted. "I saw you yesterday in Fiffaerweg and locked you in the cell myself!"
"I have done nothing wrong," Winestra protested. "I will return with you to the thane and we will sort this out. Bind me if you wish, but I will not try to escape."
"You have escaped once already today," Stollen huffed. "I won't give you a second chance." With that, he tied Winestra's arms to his body. His attention occupied, he never heard the man approach behind him.
The craftsman stood with an arrow ready in the fine new bow. "What name did I hear?" he asked.
Recognizing the craftsman, Stollen spoke up "I am Stollen, captain of the guard in Fiffaerweg. Gemanric sends his regards." He bowed in respect. "The thane asked you to do a favour for this man, but it now appears he is not to be trusted. He sent me to make sure of your safety."
"I have not seen you in many years, but know your name and uniform," the craftsman lowered the bow. "But I heard another name that I have not heard," the words came slowly and painfully "in many years."
"I am Winestra," the hunter said gently. "Not a common name, but one that once earned the trust of the thane, although matters are confusing at the moment."
"You bring memories of a time long past, sad and best forgotten. I had a son … I lost them all." Tears flowed as the man moved to sit on the log near the remains of the campfire. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then something caught his eye.
He rose to his feet and cried to the sky "Why do you torment me so!" He had seen the wake-robin locket dangling on Winestra's chest. He grabbed it and inspected it. "How can this be?" he moaned. "Where is your brother Swithra? Where is your mother Estful? Can you be alive after all these years? After all that I searched for you?"
"I am sorry, I have no brother named Swithra," Winestra tried to console the man. "My mother is Lunalla."
"But look," the man seemed to get hold of himself and he fumbled in his pocket for a token. "Look!" he said, showing the worn and stained needlepoint emblem. It was a wake-robin, much like the one in the locket.
Each of the three had his own reason for thinking the others were mad, or that perhaps that he himself was. Stollen was the first to regain his composure. "I have no explanations," he addressed the craftsman, "but the thane ordered me to assure you were safe. This man was my prisoner and is once again. I must take him back to Fiffaerweg. If you wish to accompany us, you are welcome. If you want to stay, you have the thane's gratitude and protection no matter who this really is."
The craftsman looked Winestra up and down, wondering if this could indeed be a son he lost so long ago. Could he risk reopening those old wounds, or should he return to his solitary life? "I will learn the truth of this man," he said with a sense of purpose.
At the hermit's whistle, a sturdy pony approached. Sure-footed, he bore the hunter's belongings as Stollen led the bound man down the trail. At the pond, they redistributed things to the two waiting horses, so all three could ride back to town.
It was after dark when they arrived, so few saw the captain lead the bound former hero of the town to the jail behind the mead hall. The guard at the door was startled to see the captain with the prisoner that was supposed to be inside.
"I want the guards who let him escape to report to my office immediately!" Stollen barked.
"But captain," the guard started to say, but Stollen's stare left room for no response besides "Yes sir!"
As he led Winestra back to his cell, sudden exclamations arose from many throats. For there in the cell was indeed Winestra, yet here he was standing outside it. The craftsman moaned and collapsed in emotion, one guard moving to assist him. Each Winestra stared at the other, mouths open, not knowing what to say. Stollen stared back and forth between them still perplexed, but seeing the glint of an explanation for recent events. "You say you are Winestra?" the man in the cell nodded. "And you?" he looked at his second prisoner, who also found no words.
"Call the thane!" his voice rousing the stunned lieutenant, who turned and ran to do as ordered. "I don't know what is going on here, but you are both prisoners until Gemanric says otherwise. He pushed his Winestra into the adjacent cell.
Gemanric arrived just as the craftsman was able to sit up and drink some offered wine. His words started to make some sense. "I had two sons … twins! … the orcs! … so young … my wife … ambushed … on foot … by the time … searched everywhere … so many dead … so many orcs … no sign … no hope ...."
The thane looked at the men in the two cells, blinking his eyes to try to see the difference between them.
"You know me," the bound hunter addressed the thane. "You sent me to get a new bow from this honoured craftsman, as reward for service to you three years ago. As to this other, I know him not. Though he wears my face, I have never seen him before now."
"I am not known to you, but I am known to some in this town," spoke the farmer. He considered whether or not Lacia or her father would have anything good to say about him. "Although I may have caused them some dismay, I do not think I have caused them any harm. You may know Tunwirth and his daughter Lacia. They offered me hospitality when I was answering the king's call three years ago."
"The two you name are known to me, and we will hear what they have to say." Gemanric gestured to the lieutenant, adding "Wake them gently if need be, for this is no offense of theirs."
The thane began to see part of the solution. "Untie Winestra," he ordered. "I see now how my senses and others were misled by the appearance of this other Winestra. If he had not appeared, you would have received your bow and been on your way with well-deserved thanks."
Turning to the other Winestra, he said "I do not know what to say about you. Did you pose as Winestra to gain favour earned by the man I know? Is this some strange coincidence? We will hear what your friends have to say." The farmer hoped the word friend might yet apply.
Lacia stormed into the jail, trailed by the lieutenant and her father. "So," she snarled at the hunter, who was standing next to the thane, "is this the business you have with the thane? Have you dragged me from bed for more humiliation?"
Her eyes fixed on the locket the hunter still wore around his neck. "I see you found another locket! Is this one mine?" Before anyone could react, she had yanked it from him, breaking the string. Inspecting it, she confirmed. "It is indeed my handiwork. How cruel of you to deny it and keep it from me!"
"Lacia!" a familiar voice came from the wrong direction. She turned to see the farmer still locked in the cell. She met the pleading eyes she had seen the day before. "It wasn't … I didn't … he … I lost it … he must have found it!" This piece of the puzzle seemed finally to fit.
"She gave it to me, and I lost it when I almost died from an orc arrow," said the farmer.
"And it saved my life from an orc arrow when I found it," exclaimed the hunter, seeing the truth of it.
Lacia now realized her error. The first Winestra she saw was an impostor, who had her locket by unlikely turn of fate. "Oh, Winestra!" she cried to the man in the cell. "You told the truth, and I treated you so harshly."
"I believe this man has done no wrong," Tunwirth spoke up to the thane. "My daughter mistook the other for him and took offense at him.
"My sons … twins … Winestra and Swithra" the craftsman had been repeating quietly, staring back and forth between them while this drama unfolded.
And so we are nearly at the end of the tale. With the late hour, the thane invited the reunited father and sons to his home, asking Lacia and Tunwirth to return in the morning.
Over a hearty breakfast, with clearer heads, the father explained that they were in fact named differently, but at this point, there was no way to decide who should be Swithra. They laughed at the mistaken encounters of the preceding week, and discovered that three years earlier, both brothers had been in Fiffaerweg at the same time.
And yet another piece of the puzzle remained. For the craftsman sighed "If only your mother Estful could see the men you have become. She would be so proud."
At the mention of that name, several mouths dropped open in surprise, for the thane and his wife well knew the seamstress, as did Lacia and Tunwirth. Willawyn excused herself and quickly stole from the house, taking her eldest daughter. Estful greeted them warmly when she knocked on the door. The thane's wife, knowing the frailty of the seamstress, had her sit before she carefully broached the subject.
"I do not wish to bring up old nightmares," she said quietly, "but I must. You were very ill when I first met you, and for a long time after."
"Yes," Estful said, her face growing dark at the painful memory.
"We did not want to cause you more anguish, so we did not inquire about the details. But there is something that might be important." The thane's wife spoke calmly, and took her hand, holding it to brace her for the question. "Did you have a son named Winestra?"
Estful recoiled as if stabbed in the heart. She stared blankly at the smile that spread across Willawyn's face. From her reaction, the thane's wife knew the truth of it, and her heart leapt in her chest.
"Estful my dear friend," she tried to reassure her, "your pain tells me there is now great joy for you." The seamstress tried to understand what she was saying and why.
"You had twin sons, Winestra and Swithra, and they are alive! They are here, and so is your husband Gleaw!"
She gasped and sobbed, as old memories of terror and death came back to her. The daughter applied a damp cloth to Estful's face, as the mother hugged and comforted her. "Yes, it's true," she cooed. "By strange events, your two sons were unknown to each other until last night when they met here. And your husband has been known to mine for many years, but we did not know that he and you were husband and wife."
Estful, still stunned, accepted the smiles and tears of Willawyn and her daughter as reasons enough to regain her composure. But the dark veil that covered those memories would not so easily be lifted.
After the daughter made tea, her mother sent her to fetch the others. "Be sure Lacia and Tunwirth come, too."
When the group arrived, the thane held the door to the small cottage open for the craftsman to enter first. "Estful my love, can it be you?" he cried as his eyes found her. Her own shriek of happiness belied her small stature. The two kissed and held each other in tearful reunion. It was different when the two sons stepped into the room. These were not the parents they knew, and the twins in turn looked strange to their true parents, whose images of them were as toddlers not as men.
"This is Winestra," the father gestured to the hunter and then hesitated before saying "and this one also is Winestra!" Estful was puzzled, but Gleaw explained. "You remember how we couldn't tell them apart. When they were separated, both families thought they had Winestra!" Estful finally got the joke and laughed with her husband until they were both in tears.
And so our story ends with the family happily restored. When the sons took the news to their foster families, there was more joy to spread. Both had lived as Winestra so long, neither saw need to change his name, and the twins with the same name became a family joke for generations.
You may wonder what of the farmer and Lacia; did they live happily ever after? Well, there is a bit more to the story you should know. We started this tale pointing out that days of joy can happen amid years of conflict. Estful, near death in the abandoned farmhouse was found by other refugees who took shelter there for the night. Unlike her caravan, theirs had travelled without incident. Their wagons were newer and larger, so they were able to take her with them in relative comfort. Their planned route was through Fiffaerweg and to the east.
Over the next few weeks, Estful recovered from the orc poison. In a town along the way, a healer examined her and discovered she was pregnant. Her advice was to stay there until the baby was born, and so Estful did. The pregnancy and birth were difficult, but somehow she found enough vitality to survive them, and Lacia was born.
When she regained strength enough to travel, Estful headed west back to Fiffaerweg, hoping to find her husband and sons. Of course, by the time she got there, all trace and memory of them had faded into the tide of so many families with similar stories. The journey back took its toll on her, and a fever again attacked the weakened woman.
With her at death's door with a suckling infant, those caring for Estful sought the help of the thane's wife. Willawyn knew that Tunwirth and his wife had recently lost an infant, and so asked them to foster Lacia. As she recuperated, Estful kept busy with needle and thread. By the time she was strong enough to care for her child, Lacia was walking and talking. With no husband and her own health so often precarious, Estful agreed it was best for Tunwirth and his wife to raise her. Yet ten years later, it was Tunwirth's wife who succumbed to a pox. Tunwirth asked Estful to play a larger role in Lacia's life, helping her through adolescence while choosing to keep secret her true relationship.
So that day of reunion was completed with the last revelation to husband and sons that there was a daughter and sister, and to daughter that the one she honoured was in fact her mother and the ones her locket had protected were her brothers.
The years passed. The farmer returned home to start a family of his own. The hunter found much peaceful use for the excellent bow. Estful and Gleaw stayed in Fiffaerweg, working for the thane and his wife. Lacia married the thane's cleverest son.
It is said that the two Winestras, the hunter in the mountains and the farmer in the valley, had sons born on the same spring day a year after they returned to their homes. And that separately each chose to name his firstborn son Swithra!
It may or may not have happened just so, but that is how the story is told.
Over a hearty breakfast, with clearer heads, the father explained that they were in fact named differently, but at this point, there was no way to decide who should be Swithra. They laughed at the mistaken encounters of the preceding week, and discovered that three years earlier, both brothers had been in Fiffaerweg at the same time.
And yet another piece of the puzzle remained. For the craftsman sighed "If only your mother Estful could see the men you have become. She would be so proud."
At the mention of that name, several mouths dropped open in surprise, for the thane and his wife well knew the seamstress, as did Lacia and Tunwirth. Willawyn excused herself and quickly stole from the house, taking her eldest daughter. Estful greeted them warmly when she knocked on the door. The thane's wife, knowing the frailty of the seamstress, had her sit before she carefully broached the subject.
"I do not wish to bring up old nightmares," she said quietly, "but I must. You were very ill when I first met you, and for a long time after."
"Yes," Estful said, her face growing dark at the painful memory.
"We did not want to cause you more anguish, so we did not inquire about the details. But there is something that might be important." The thane's wife spoke calmly, and took her hand, holding it to brace her for the question. "Did you have a son named Winestra?"
Estful recoiled as if stabbed in the heart. She stared blankly at the smile that spread across Willawyn's face. From her reaction, the thane's wife knew the truth of it, and her heart leapt in her chest.
"Estful my dear friend," she tried to reassure her, "your pain tells me there is now great joy for you." The seamstress tried to understand what she was saying and why.
"You had twin sons, Winestra and Swithra, and they are alive! They are here, and so is your husband Gleaw!"
She gasped and sobbed, as old memories of terror and death came back to her. The daughter applied a damp cloth to Estful's face, as the mother hugged and comforted her. "Yes, it's true," she cooed. "By strange events, your two sons were unknown to each other until last night when they met here. And your husband has been known to mine for many years, but we did not know that he and you were husband and wife."
Estful, still stunned, accepted the smiles and tears of Willawyn and her daughter as reasons enough to regain her composure. But the dark veil that covered those memories would not so easily be lifted.
After the daughter made tea, her mother sent her to fetch the others. "Be sure Lacia and Tunwirth come, too."
When the group arrived, the thane held the door to the small cottage open for the craftsman to enter first. "Estful my love, can it be you?" he cried as his eyes found her. Her own shriek of happiness belied her small stature. The two kissed and held each other in tearful reunion. It was different when the two sons stepped into the room. These were not the parents they knew, and the twins in turn looked strange to their true parents, whose images of them were as toddlers not as men.
"This is Winestra," the father gestured to the hunter and then hesitated before saying "and this one also is Winestra!" Estful was puzzled, but Gleaw explained. "You remember how we couldn't tell them apart. When they were separated, both families thought they had Winestra!" Estful finally got the joke and laughed with her husband until they were both in tears.
And so our story ends with the family happily restored. When the sons took the news to their foster families, there was more joy to spread. Both had lived as Winestra so long, neither saw need to change his name, and the twins with the same name became a family joke for generations.
You may wonder what of the farmer and Lacia; did they live happily ever after? Well, there is a bit more to the story you should know. We started this tale pointing out that days of joy can happen amid years of conflict. Estful, near death in the abandoned farmhouse was found by other refugees who took shelter there for the night. Unlike her caravan, theirs had travelled without incident. Their wagons were newer and larger, so they were able to take her with them in relative comfort. Their planned route was through Fiffaerweg and to the east.
Over the next few weeks, Estful recovered from the orc poison. In a town along the way, a healer examined her and discovered she was pregnant. Her advice was to stay there until the baby was born, and so Estful did. The pregnancy and birth were difficult, but somehow she found enough vitality to survive them, and Lacia was born.
When she regained strength enough to travel, Estful headed west back to Fiffaerweg, hoping to find her husband and sons. Of course, by the time she got there, all trace and memory of them had faded into the tide of so many families with similar stories. The journey back took its toll on her, and a fever again attacked the weakened woman.
With her at death's door with a suckling infant, those caring for Estful sought the help of the thane's wife. Willawyn knew that Tunwirth and his wife had recently lost an infant, and so asked them to foster Lacia. As she recuperated, Estful kept busy with needle and thread. By the time she was strong enough to care for her child, Lacia was walking and talking. With no husband and her own health so often precarious, Estful agreed it was best for Tunwirth and his wife to raise her. Yet ten years later, it was Tunwirth's wife who succumbed to a pox. Tunwirth asked Estful to play a larger role in Lacia's life, helping her through adolescence while choosing to keep secret her true relationship.
So that day of reunion was completed with the last revelation to husband and sons that there was a daughter and sister, and to daughter that the one she honoured was in fact her mother and the ones her locket had protected were her brothers.
The years passed. The farmer returned home to start a family of his own. The hunter found much peaceful use for the excellent bow. Estful and Gleaw stayed in Fiffaerweg, working for the thane and his wife. Lacia married the thane's cleverest son.
It is said that the two Winestras, the hunter in the mountains and the farmer in the valley, had sons born on the same spring day a year after they returned to their homes. And that separately each chose to name his firstborn son Swithra!
It may or may not have happened just so, but that is how the story is told.
