[Arry]

Wulfham

‘Let’s get some use out of this net while we talk, eh?’ Brand pointed to a fair sized eddy pool just upriver. ‘My grandfather taught me this. He’d been down to The River’s bay, and saw some of the lesser folk fishing in this way.’ He held up the round net with its little iron weight-pieces tied all about the edge. It was nearly his height, its weighted edge just off the ground above his bare feet.

Athwen had crept to the pools edge and noted where the school of trout lay in the slow moving currents. Brand looped the retriever cord about his right wrist and gathered up half the net in practiced folds. With a smooth motion he threw the net out towards the water, aiming for the place Athwen had indicated. They both watched as it hung in the air for the briefest of moments then dropped to the river’s bed.

‘Here! Catch hold of the line!’ He motioned her nearer and showed her where to place her hands, near his. They pulled the retrieval cord steadily and were soon rewarded with a goodly number of fish.

‘Now, to answer your question . . .’ He crouched down opening the net to retrieve the wriggling trout. ‘We are bound for Edoras, to the King’s Hall, actually.' His dark blue eyes regarded her gravely. ‘Our March-warden, Lord Aldwulf of Wulfham, received news that bands of Orcs and Easterlings were raiding closer and closer in toward the borders. We four are sent to the King with letters asking that he send some Riders out to secure our village as we make the slow march toward Edoras and safety.’ He shook his head, looking out over the broad width of the river. ‘Lord Aldwulf did not know the foe had already passed the borders.’ His face was a mixture of great sadness and banked anger. ‘Your own village . . . its fate at the hands of the Orcs . . . has brought this fact, what was only grim words in tales told us, all too much to reality for us. The flames of war lick at our heels now, it seems. Once we have replenished our foods; then we must ride hard toward the Golden Hall.’

Brand looked up at her, his gaze taking in her slender frame, noting how young she looked. He wondered how well she would do on the ride. In the end, though, it made no difference, he supposed. She and Leod could not be left to fend for themselves. We men of the Mark cannot leave our own people behind.

He snorted quietly, his eyes narrowing. Now look at you Brand, son of Aidan . . . what’s come over you? Man of the Mark,eh? ‘Twill be some larger boots to fill. He gave a half smile, thinking perhaps this new thought might soon feel comfortable enough.

‘Best we stow these fish in the pack here before they flop themselves back to the water,’ he said aloud, grabbing for the wriggling forms.