Icebound - Chapter 3
#5 of Icebound
Chapter 3 of Icebound
Shadowdale, 1372 DR. 7th day of Highsun.
Aiden awoke with a splitting headache and an aching chest. As he lay there, eyes closed, it all came back to him in a flash, and he turned to his side. A shooting pain in his chest made him stop immediately with a sharp gasp. He felt someone push his hair back and gently rest their hand on the side of his head. He knew without looking that it was his mother. She'd always taken care of both him and his brother when they'd hurt themselves either playing in the woods or roughhousing around the house.
"Don't move, dear. You have several broken ribs and a concussion," he heard his mother say. He wondered for a moment and vaguely remembered a bandit hitting him with a morningstar in the chest, falling over, and then seeing a boot come towards his head. Aiden thought he'd felt most of his side crumple under the blow that the bearded marauder had dealt him, but that could have just been his imagination.
He lay on his side for a second, chest contracting painfully as he thought of his brother, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. A minute or so later he reached up with one hand and rubbed his face, then opened his eyes. His mother, Leda, sat on a chair next to the bed he was lying on.
Her eyes were puffy and nose swollen from crying, her arm outstretched to hold him. As usual she was wearing various shades of deep green. Even while crying, his mother was beautiful. She didn't look much older than perhaps twenty, though he knew that she was nearly twice that age.
Aiden heard footsteps and floorboards creaking and his father came into view, still wearing a bloodstained chainmail shirt, an expression of sorrow on his father's lined and weathered face, a bandage wrapped around his head. His father stared down at Aiden, a dark scrap of cloth held in his hands.
"Norin...there was a mage in the sky...his voice," Aiden choked out.
"I know. Your brother's dead." His father, said his voice clipped as if trying to hold back a great deal of emotion. Bran tossed the dark piece of cloth down onto the bed next to Aiden and said "It was a Zhentarim wizard. Filthy whores' sons have been trying to take over this area for years. Luckily they're only competent enough to hold the area around the Moonsea though. The wizard's dead."
Aiden slowly reached out and pulled the scrap of dark grey cloth over. Embroidered on it was a black dragon clutching a golden disc. A black staff stood in the middle of the yellow circle. Aiden gripped it with both hands, tempted to rip it apart, then looked up at his father.
"Norin and I saw the mage, and we both shot at him. Then I heard his voice. He commanded me and I..."
Aiden began to cry, tears streaming down his cheeks to fall onto the pillow behind him. He heard his father swear and hear several loud thumps. Aiden blinked heavily to see his father pounding his fist into the wall in anger.
"I couldn't stop it!" Aiden yelled, his voice breaking. He was afraid, in tears over killing his brother Norin, and bewildered over how the sorcerer had forced him to to do so.
"He enchanted you," his mother said in her soft and mellow voice, betraying none of the grief that she obviously felt. "He used a spell of Domination. Wizards and sorcerers can take control of your body and mind with it, making you do as they command. Only those of incredibly strong will can keep themselves from doing what the mage wants."
His father stopped punching the wall and put his face in his hands, leaning his forehead against the wall. Aiden stared at his mother, wondering how she knew that. It seemed she knew everything.
A whine distracted him as their dog, Scruff, nuzzled his hands and licked them. The great big grey dog must have been at least three quarters wolf, though his mother denied it, saying that the dog was a mutt. He didn't care. Scruff had always accompanied him and his brother whenever they went out into the woods when they were younger, though at home Scruff was always near his mother.
Leda never told anyone about her past, though many times he'd asked. His father on the other hand, was very much open about his past. Bran was once a First Sword of the Purple Knights of Cormyr. He'd retired some twenty years ago, after skirmish with bandits left him with a bad leg. He'd moved up toward Daggerdale to retire, preferring the colder weather of the north. Eventually he'd reached Shadowdale.
The town, with its many other retired soldiers and adventurers, had proved more than welcome and Bran decided to stay. Bran had been injured defending his new home in the First Battle of Shadowdale, and was nursed back to health by Leda, who had been tending the wounded.
Bran fell in love with her, wooed her and within the year, married her. Just before the second battle of Shadowdale, Leda had her first son, Aiden. A year later she had a second son, Norin.
Bran had raised his sons as any retired knight would, teaching them to wield sword and bow nearly from the time they could walk. He also educated them reading, writing, figuring, and courtly manners. He was stern with their training, but forgiving of most other things. When told of their pranks or other mischief, Bran would laugh and wave it off, saying "Boys will be boys."
While their father took the part of a stern teacher and drill instructor most mornings, in the afternoons Leda would take the boys for walks in the forest, teaching them of medicine and nature. She spent her evenings telling the boys tales and stories, and in the process teaching them more of history than any book could.
As they grew up, the boys were left more and more to their own devices, provided they took Scruff along. The dog was fanatically loyal, attacking other predators or driving them off. Once, while wandering the woods east of town, the boys had heard the flick of arrow embedding itself into a tree near them. Scruff had taken off running. They quickly followed, just in time to see a Drow desperately trying to fend off the wolfdog with its bow and failing.
Aiden spent far more time wandering the woods with Scruff than his brother had. Where he preferred to spend his time climbing trees and hunting game, his brother would take home pieces of wood, and spend hours cutting and chiseling them, transforming them into beautifully carved pieces of artwork, figurines, bows, instruments, and anything else he could think of.
Aiden had loved to watch his younger brother whittling away, a small smile hinting at the edges of Norin's mouth. Norin had apprenticed with Hammerhand Bucko, the local carpenter, earlier that year. Thinking of Norin, a tear rolled down his cheek. He looked down at the scrap of cloth still held tight in his hands.
The Zhentarim mage had been behind the raid, he was certain of that much. Why though, he didn't know. There weren't great riches to be found in the small town. Shadowdale was a farming community, not a commercial mecca like the cities to the south and east. The reasons didn't matter, really. The Zhents had caused enough trouble and needed to be stopped, somehow. He swore to himself to that if he found any other Zhentarim wizards, he would kill them on sight.
His father wept, quiet sobs rocking his frame as he leaned his head against the sanded wood planks of the wall. It was the first time he had ever seen his father cry. Leda ran her hand over Aiden's forehead, softly pushing back his hair. She bent over him and kissed him before she stood up and walked over to Bran, gently taking him by the shoulders and leading him out of Aiden's room.