The Winter That Follows

Chapter One: RebuildingIona sat down heavily and pushed her hair back from her face. She did not remember ever being this tired. Everything she had done before, the travelling, the fighting, the 'entertaining', none of it had ever left her exhausted like this did. She heard the door slide open behind her and she turned quicker than she ought, in case he was back. Her head swam as she tried to focus on the figure in the doorway. It wasn't Pringle she knew that whatever she might hope, even though she sat at his desk in the Guild Master's office, which no-one had yet had the heart to clear. The man cleared his throat and said softly, “You sent for me Mrs Pringle,” Derek was wondering exactly how he had ended up in this position. He had left his home and family on their pig farm to seek adventure possibly with a side order of fame and fortune, but he couldn't have picked a stranger time to arrive in the Adventurers Guild. The Summer of Fire had destroyed more than just a few temples. But he had had the good sense to stick around to see what would come afterwards, and as he had walked back from Tartaria he started to realise the enormity of his decision. The Guild, the City, the whole world really needed to be rebuilt, and here he was in the heart of Aberddu with the chance to add his hand to this time of historic change. When Iona Pringle had turned up looking for extra hands to rebuild the Poor Quarter he had volunteered thinking that he might find himself on the business end of a shovel or a wheelbarrow. Rebuilding a couple of hovels couldn't be much different to sorting out a pig shed or two, surely? It hadn't even crossed his mind that Iona was planning on rebuilding more than a few of the houses. That had been a month ago, and whilst he had in that time found himself with both a shovel and a wheelbarrow in hand, he had more often than not found himself with a list of plans and a group of eager-looking peasant waiting for instructions. There must have been more than a thousand of them all told, and somehow Iona had bought the land they lived on and sold them a tale of a better life - once they had rebuilt it. They worked day and night, racing against the turning autumn weather. Derek was 'overseeing' - a job he had always thought was specifically reserved for those who were too old, deaf and fat to do anything useful. He was in charge of the construction of ten rows of houses, a school room and nearly five hundred workers. Once he had got over his initial shock, he found it to be no different in essence to farming. Things needed doing in a certain order, on a certain time scale and if one thing didn't happen on time it meant everything else was put out. The main ingredient was sweat and there was no chance of opting out because of bad weather. He was actually starting to quite enjoy it. The peasants were willing workers and easy company and progress was on the whole good. In fact, the thing that troubled him most about it all was that they kept calling him Mr Peterson. Iona looked at Derek for a moment, fighting the fog in her brain. She remembered sending for him, but she couldn't think why. “Oh, yeah, hello Derek,” she said, trying to cover her confusion, “come in, take a seat and for Gods' sake call me Iona.” Derek nodded, kicked the worst of the mud off his boots and dutifully sat down. It was not in Iona's nature to hesitate for long and luckily she now remembered why she had sent for Derek. “How's work going?” she said, as an opening. “Good, good,” said Derek, unsure why he had been hauled into the office to answer questions like this. “We've nearly finished the first seven streets and foundations, just digging the drainage now actually.” “How do you feel it's going in general?” she asked, with what Derek considered to be a suspiciously feline expression. “Well, I think,” said Derek guardedly, he knew Iona well enough to be wary but not quite well enough to confront her. She already knew the answers to these questions surely, and small-talk was a waste of time during business hours. “Really?” she asked, more emphatically that Derek had expected. “Mm,” he confirmed, and finally the shoe dropped. She had been waiting for her way in, and his non-committal answer was exactly what she was looking for. “You don't seem convinced,” she said, “What's the problem?” “Oh,” said Derek confused by her tone; it wasn't accusatory at all. It was at this point Derek actually took in the expression on Iona's face. It wasn't that of a distance boss questioning the foreman of the works, it was one adventurer to another. She wanted a proper answer from a trusted colleague. “Well,” he started, unsure where to begin. “Come on Derek, I want to know. You've been down there, and the workers talk to you, they trust you. What do they want? There's no point in my building a quarter for these people and leaving out the things they want.” “Well, er,” he started, “for one thing they were hoping for a bigger school building.” He looked up expecting to see at least a look of displeasure on Iona's face only to find she was taking notes. “What else?” she demanded. “Are the houses big enough?” “Yes,” said Derek emphatically, “but if possible could we cobble the main roads? The mud really gets people down. Also, they were hoping for a factory or something. Some form of livelihood.” Iona was nodding and scribbling away furiously when Derek looked at her again. “Right,” she said after a moment, “what el…” Instead of finishing the word else, Iona let out a cry of anguish, and doubled forward in pain. Involuntary tears were falling from her eyes, as she slid from her chair to the floor, clutching her abdomen, her mouth open with silent screams. Derek roared with anger and sprang to his feet, to an observe this would have seemed like a very strange sight, even out of the context. Derek had the very essence of mild manner about him. He leapt over Iona's desk, and having no weapon to hand, began to set about her prone body with his feet. He drove the toe of his boot into her shoulder, then he stamped on her nose so that it shattered, spraying blood across her face. At this, she let slip a pathetic whimper. He then kicked her several times in the head. And then, as quickly as it had arrived, the rage and pain vanished and Derek was left standing over the body of his friend in horror and disgust at what he had done. This was the fourth or fifth time tonight they had been gripped by a demonic wave that pulsed out over the city. It filled those of pure human blood with a hateful rage against those who were not, who at the same time were ignominiously struck down in blinding agony and unable to defend themselves. It was magic the Frisians used on their borders, but now it seemed they were letting pulse out through the surrounding country side. Iona was motionless and bleeding from the nose and ears. Tears streaming down his face, Derek opened the office door and called for a healer. He didn't pause to take in the devastation in the main guild hall, he was too busy trying to find someone to deal with Iona. Seeing his distress, a Life Priestess called Saran came forward, bustling through the destruction in her green habit. She was so new to the Guild that she thought of Derek as an old hand. Standing numbly in the doorway of the office, Derek could do little but point at the sorrowful sight on the other side of the desk. Saran understood, she had seen this look of shame in the eyes of so many pure bloods in the last month. It was nearly as painful as seeing the other races cry out in helpless agony. She didn't stop to question Derek, she just got on with the task in hand - a skill she had had learnt fast since joining the guild. If you stopped to make a fuss about how people had got injured in the first place, they died. She lay hands on Iona's head and started praying immediately. The soft white light that Derek associated with a Life Priestess' healing poured out and over Iona. Derek stood in the doorway, desperate to make sure Iona was okay but not willing to get any closer. He watched intently as, eyes closed, Saran ran her hands over Iona's whole body, her face serene. If he had been a religious man, he would have been praying too that she could fix all the damage. When she got to Iona's kidneys however, her eyes sprang open and her brow furrowed. “What?” demanded Derek, his heart stopping for a moment. “Nothing,” replied Saran quickly, “It's fine,” leaving Derek unconvinced. “Is she going to be okay?” he persisted, determined to hear the worst as soon as possible. Saran looked up at his panicked expression and nodded slowly. “She's going to be fine. I just need a moment in private with her when she comes round.” Derek's face fell. He clearly didn't believe Saran, he just nodded stoically and left the room pulling the door to after himself. Iona let out a pained moan and opened her eyes. She could taste blood in her mouth and her limbs and head ached. The new priestess was kneeling by her head looking troubled. Iona forced a smile, and the other woman helped her to sit up. “Thanks for that,” said Iona casually, stretching her arms and trying to assess the remaining damage. Saran nodded but did not relax. Her expression concerned Iona. It was certainly troubling to see on the face of someone who had just healed you. “What's wrong?” she asked, hoping it was nothing more than piety or over-protection. “I don't know how to say this,” whispered the priestess not daring to look Iona in the eye. “but did you know you were pregnant?” Iona just stared at her.