“What are they doing down there?” said Falt, staring down at the village from a rock a way back.

“Looks like they’re gathering for some sort of council”, said Stiel, and patted his restless horse. He saw that well enough from the horseback. “What do you reckon?”

“I don’t know”, said Falt slowly, “but I’d like to find out. I’ll go down first and see what’s going on.”

Stiel raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. He’d come to trust the man, he was harmless, and this little trip to the village of Qaiel had assured him that Falt had indeed been a victim of the circumstances during the ambush at his Stand.

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll be back before sundown”, said Falt, dropped from the rock, and skidded down the slope towards the village.

Stiel dismounted, gave his horse a friendly pat, and then sat down with his back against one of those supposedly remains of that great mountain of giants. He sighed, looked at the sky and guessed that there were just over three hours worth of day left, then the darkness would start to sneak in. Plenty of time for Falt to get down and back.

He had a feeling, a disturbing feeling that something was wrong. Maybe he was wrong about Falt, or maybe it was something else.

Perhaps I’m just worried, he thought, about the Stand. Time is running out, a steady stream of hours and days, pouring away from me.

Sitting by the big moss-covered rock, almost nodding off, the glory of the Moranian Knights felt very far away.

***

Day turned to dusk, and Stiel was nearing Qaiel. Falt hadn’t returned, and the green-haired knight didn’t want to wait any longer. Besides, he still had that bad feeling, a growing one in his stomach. It was shared by his horse, who snorted and felt skittish.

Qaiel was a modest village, he knew that from his travels to the lowlands and the Windy Bridge that was his Stand, but now it seemed almost deserted. It was really just one dusty street, and some scattered one-story buildings. Simple dwellings for simple people, he thought, as he entered the small village.

“There he is!” a man screamed from a distance. The dusk was making it hard to see him, but he was a way in front of him, perhaps lurking in a doorway.

“Get him!” another man bellowed.

From the houses, five men emerged, all bearing pitchforks and clubs, advancing menacingly from the front.

“What is this nonsense?” snarled Stiel, and laid his hand on his sword.

“It’s payback time!” came a voice from behind, and Stiel knew who it was before he turned his head.

The burly thug from the other day stood there, spiked club in hand, and with him his companion.

“You killed my mate”, the thug bellowed, “and you killed poor Falt in cold blood, who just wanted to trade with you!” The thug then seemed to address his fellow villagers rather than him: “And all we wanted was to trade! Not fight! This so-called knight takes his rites too seriously! Will you kill a curious child next?”

“Liar!” roared Stiel, but he knew he was talking to deaf ears on this one. They may be gullible farmers and hunters, but they were outnumbering him, with five closing in on him, and another two behind him.

Still, vengeance was at hand, so Stiel violently turned his mount and thundered towards the two thugs, who barely got out of the way, cursing.

The thoughts were racing through the green-haired man’s head, as he galloped out of the village, chased only by taunts and curses from the villagers. Had they killed Falt? He still didn’t believe the poor man had been in on it, if he had he’d been in the ambush. So where was he? Dead or alive?

Alive seemed the more likely choice. There was no reason to really kill him, the thugs could scare him to silence for sure, they obviously had a strong hold on both him and the village.

Stiel made up his mind. “I’m a knight”, he whispered to the twilight, slowed down his horse and dropped from its back.

With his sword in his hand, and the shield on his back, Stiel darted from cover to cover, back towards Qaiel.

If nothing else, vengeance would be at hand.

“Well, Falt the Challenger”, Stiel said, looking down on the injured farmer. He had just about stopped the bleeding, and now he sat there, looking very miserable.

“I didn’t mean to…” Falt sobbed, unable to continue. “They made me…”

Stiel held up his hand. He believed the poor man. “Indeed they did”, he said, and shook his head. “And now one of them is dead and the other two running for their lives, I’d reckon.”

Falt quietly sobbed at this.

“Did you know them?”

“They are local men. Hunters and trappers.”

Stiel nodded. Dawn was upon them.

“They stole my mule”, Falt said sullenly.

“That they did.”

***

After they had buried the body, unceremonially, and shared food by the fire, Stiel bade Falt to tell him a little bit about himself. He came from Qaiel, where he had a few sheep and a little patch of dreary land. Food was scarce and he lived a simple life, alone, although he wasn’t shied by the other villagers or anything like that.

“It’s a dull place”, he explained, “where people come to hide or just because they have to be somewhere.”

The lowlands were a harsh place to settle, none of the great stone roads leading here, with little trade with the rest of the kingdom.

“Sometimes the plains people come to trade with us”, Falt said, “but mostly they stay out of Qaiel, and our way. We don’t bother each other much.”

Stiel nodded to that, a much preferred arrangement to the wars that had shaken Morania’s core boundaries barely a century ago, before the plains people and their speakers of the wind had been subdued, forced to peace. There were still tensions, he’d heard at the Academy.

“You know, they have a story about all these rocks and boulders”, Falt said, eager to break the silence. “The plains people that is.”

“Do tell it.”

“They say that the lowlands were once all a great slope around an enormous mountain. On this mountain, the giants of cold and warmth lived, a fearsome bunch it would seem since they used all mankind as slaves and wenches.”

Stiel nodded and poked the fire. It was growing dark.

“One day an old woman, all leathery and thin, came across the plains and approached the mountain. She asked the giants to leave her people, the plains people of course, alone. Naturally, the giants laughed. They had their way with her, in spite of her being ugly, and then ripped her limbs off.”

“Harsh”, Stiel commented.

“Yes. They were in for a surprise though. A great shrieking wind erupted from where the old hag’s arms and legs had been, and this wind flew up, formed a great fist, and slammed down on the giant’s mountain, punching it to small bits and pieces!” Falt said, and stifled a yawn. “These bits and pieces are the rocks and boulders that scatter the lowlands.”

“Is there a mountain, or a trace of one?”

“No. But the plains people have a shrill warcry, and are calling themselves Shrieks, so there’s something in the story I belive.”

Stiel nodded. “Usually, there is.”

They sat silent for a while, staring into the dark. Stiel thought of all the big rocks and boulders he’d seen while entering the lowlands, sometimes covered in moss, other times just standing over the plains grass, a mystery in itself. It was an explanation as any, he guessed, when thinking of Falt’s story, and no more ubelievable than the one of the First King of Morania, Conquerer of the West.

“Tomorrow we’ll ride into Qaiel and restock, your so-called friends got away with most of my supplies”, he finally said, coming back from his contemplations.

Falt yawned and nodded, looking at ease. His nose was broken, and the flickering firelight made his whole face look distorted. Stiel silently promised himself to settle the score with the thugs, should he run into them. After all, right was right, and he was sworn to do the right thing as a knight.

“We’ll sleep now”, he said, but looking at Falt he saw that the man, obviously exhausted, had already laid down his head.