We rode hard to get to Frigga’s Tavern and arrived as quickly as the denser parts of the forest would allow. Due to the full trees overhead, we could no longer see the smoke to act as our guide; we had to rely on Jonah’s superior navigation to get us to where we needed to go.

As we neared our destination, Jonah raised a gloved fist for us to stop. Each of us guided our steeds to a stop beside each other and dismounted on the thin trail. I grabbed the traces of my horse and brought them to the front, preparing to leave them for Tarik to take care of while we go the rest of the way to Frigga’s.

As Roy handed his traces over to Tarik, he gave him some parting instructions. “If you need us, give two long blasts on your horn”. Tarik seemed hesitant for a moment , then seemed to steel himself and asked “Can I use your horn, mine might have a...a crack in it.” I smiled as Roy frowned and thought, his hand wandering to the horn at his side. It was a relatively small horn, no longer than my forearm, but it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. The rim of the horn was a bronze band, decorated with small hieroglyphs. Its body was the color of moonlight with an elaborate bronze mouthpiece.

It was a Guild Horn. There were only a handful of horns ever created by the Smith of the Ancient Ones. The Ancient Ones aided the Founders in the formation of the Guild over a hundred season cycles ago. Though The Guild has morphed over time to best serve the people of this country, the values of the Ancient Ones remain. Each horn is held by various descendants of the Guild Founders; a group of merchants, sellswords, and farmers lead by a lord who dreamed of a better life. Roy was one such descendant, he was born into the Chiefs family like Jonah, instead of adopted in like me.

“Your own horn will do fine, if you really need another one, you can use mine” I said, stepping forward with both my horn and traces at the ready to give to Tarik. As I came forward, I stepped close enough to give my orders without having them projected to the others.

“I want you to stay safe and out of the way. We don’t know if what did this is nearby and I won’t have you caught up in a fight.” I handed over my traces. “Tie the horses up and fly high in a tree nearby. If you see something, take note of it and we will investigate when we return.” He nodded in agreement.

“Be safe Miss Stone,” Tarik responded fondly as I walked away.

Jonah didn’t have anything to say to the boy, so he simply handed over the traces and gave Tarik a nod.

“Flyer,” Jonah said in goodbye.

Jonah jogged up to catch up to where Roy and I were starting to walk. “You couldn’t have waited a moment for me?” He fell into step with Roy and I but huffed out a heavy breath every few steps. “You can’t go far without your navigator. With your sense of direction, You could be going the wrong way.” Jonah said in mock protested.

“Are we?” I patronized. Still walking but noting Jonah’s mock exhaustion and slowing a touch.

“Well, No.” He stalled. “ Frigga’s Tavern is in a meadow just ahead.” He pointed in the direction Roy and I were already walking in.

“Looks like we were able to manage,” I retorted. Roy huffed a single laugh and I laughed for a moment as Jonah walked alongside us.

“Don’t worry, Brother,” I bumped his side, “we would never leave you behind.”

Jonah tossed his arm across the back of my shoulders and pulled me into a side hug. I leaned into the embrace, appreciating the breach in traditional Bastard behavior for a moment. Him being almost a whole head higher than me always made me feel small. But the embrace made me feel safe… home.

Jonah and I being siblings within the same sect of Bastards isn’t unheard of; however, our reasonings are certainly unique. We were the younger two of the three children of Chief Eurus Stone. Our elder brother Torin was the fourth member of my sect of Bastards since its inception. However, one day he decided that being a Bastard wasn’t what he wanted to do anymore. Now, he works closely with Father back at The Tavern.

Jonah withdrew his familial embrace after a few moments. It was back to the task at hand.

As if through a silent message, each Bastard synchronized in their pace and demeanor. Each of us looking for any sign of what happened; our hands close to our weapons, in case of danger as we approach the clearing.

We could see Frigga’s Tavern sitting in the center of the meadow. Frigga’s was a tan, two-tiered Manor with a small stoned yard off the back kitchens. There was a stable built alongside the right corner of the tavern. Close enough for patrons to leave their horses and go straight it for a pint. But it was empty of horses.

When we broke through the treeline, the first thing I noted was how silent the meadow was. At this time of day, one would hear the chirping of birds or small creatures rustling through the underbrush. However, the only thing I could hear is my pulse in my ears and the thuds of our steps. As if the creatures fled and the air stood still in order to preserve the horror we found.

The ground was a muddy mess from the recent rain, leaving behind imprints of a massacre. Dark streaks of blood mixed with the mud through drag marks that went in every which direction. One such drag mark started near where I stood and could be seen leading through the treeline a short distance away from where we entered.

Multiple splashes of blood could be seen along the building’s side, with a river of blood under the wall. It was as if people were pushed against the building’s side and then torn apart. The river of blood was all that remained of their plight.

My eyes wandered through the bloody mud and traveled down the tavern’s main pathway that led to the nearby settlement. There were various small abandoned items littering the path from the tavern’s door to as far as I could see through the forest. Various items of personal importance or protection that one would grab in terror and flight. My eyes were particularly drawn to a cloth doll stained with mud and blood, smiling back to me.

Children weren’t even spared.

I looked around to note the number of blood puddles surrounding Frigga’s. Looking back to the path, I noted that the puddles stretch on down the path, just as far as the drag marks and abandoned heirlooms do. There were at least a couple of dozen deaths marked by these pools of muddy blood.

What happened here?

I turned back to see similar looks of shocked inquiry on Jonah and Roy’s faces.

“Any ideas where everyone is?” Jonah asked no one in particular, breaking the silence.

“By the looks of things? They aren’t alive, where ever they are.” Roy stated. The emotion was completely absent from his voice as he took in the ground before him.

“Can you make sense of things?” I asked Roy.

“I can try. The mud and blood will help tell the story.” He pointed to some of the large puddles of blood. “Death marks can say a lot too.”

“Can you start with where they took the bodies? Maybe who did the dragging? ” I suggested.

“Probably,” Roy responded with a slight shrug of one shoulder. He pointed with a knife he had pulled during his walk across the meadow. “Some of these drag marks lead together and go off back into the woods. I’ll need to see if it leads anywhere.” He started to move towards the drag marks without further comment.

Jonah came to stand beside me to my right, knowing what my next move would be. I turned and began walking towards the main doors of Frigga’s. I did my best to not disturb the ground, not wanting to disturb the picture that Roy was trying to put together. “Meet us inside when you can,” I said over my shoulder to Roy, who was halfway to the bushes.

Jonah and I approached the main double doors into Frigga’s. The doors of Frigga’s were sad remnants of their former selves. The wood of the doors had been splintered apart as if those who attacked the tavern had a battering ram with them. Long claw marks could be seen where something attempted to pry the doors apart, causing the wood planks to bust apart.

Okay, so not broken by a ram, but with something’s bare hands?

Upon closer examination, I was able to see flecks of a black substance along the claw marks. Blood. Black blood.

With the doors serving as a pathetic barrier, Jonah and I were able to enter the tavern with ease. Inside we found a battleground.

It was a large single room with a loft above the bar. From where I stood, I could see the tips of abandoned bows peaking over the ledge. Looking at the wall behind us, I saw arrows sticking out. Archers must have shot from the loft.

Smart. But something was still able to get them, even from their perch.

Where the tables would typically be spread about the room to accommodate groups of people, instead they were lined up in rows throughout the room. Tables were flipped on their sides, with table tops pointed towards the door in what used to be three rows of barriers. Freyda was smart and fortified the tavern against enemies coming through the main door.

Well, tried to. Each row of upturned tables was disheveled; tables slightly turned, with just enough space for something to get through every few tables.

Behind the barriers of tables was the bar, with three large ale barrels laying on their sides on a raised wall, spout out for easy pouring. They were left undamaged by the attack but displayed a bloody splatter of death. Cups and tankards were scattered about on the floor of the bar area, with one lone tankard actually still upright and half full of ale.

Jonah and I walked through the tavern in tandem with one another, him just a step behind me to my right. We were able to make our way through in the same manner as the attackers did. Both of us looked down the rows of upturned tables, looking for someone, anyone. But nothing. Only the sight of drying blood smears and abandoned tableware. With each passing step, the floorboards creaked louder. Almost to highlight the lack of anything here.

Wait. The floorboards?

I stopped at the final of the three rows of upturned tables, just before the bar. I turned to Jonah. “Where is the Guild’s Hole in this tavern?”

“In the kitchen behind the bar if I remember correctly”

So it’s beneath us. Freyda would have put survivors in the Guild’s Hole. Unless there was no one for her to save. Or worse yet, she saved people and whatever did this found them.

We walked with a bit more purpose back in our step as we approached the bartop and kitchen entrance. As we made our way to the kitchen, Jonah turned and went behind the bar. He reached down to a block on one of the shelves and turned it.

Click.

Jonah and I walked through to the kitchen, which was only separated from the tavern hall by the wall the large barrels rested on. On the raised wall, beneath the farthest barrel, a small latch was protruding. I walked over to the latch and turned it to the left one-quarter turn, then to the right two, finally back one left turn and pushing the latch back into the wall.

A panel popped out to the left of us, revealing itself to be a small door.

Jonah backed into a squat with his short sword drawn as I reached to open the door.

“Hello?” I said to the yawning emptiness before me.

There was a slight rustling. Whispers could be heard from within; however, no answer was given to my question. Something was down there. Is it whatever did this?

I looked to Jonah to see if he heard anything. He nodded, then proceeded to point to himself and then me and then pointed down. I nodded.

Whatever is down there we will take it on together.