The World of Frem

The villagers of Ux relaxed after the season of harvest. They enjoyed many blessings, and, for those, they were thankful. It had been a good year. There was grain enough for winter with some left for seed, there were a few extra animals for meat, the cottages were dry and in good repair. Winters were neither hard nor long and most villagers were looking forward to an early planting and an even better year next year. But not all. Fearful eyes swept the edge of the nearby forest. A village not strong enough to defend what it owned was almost certain to lose it. Some forgot this lesson from the past, but others did not. Secret bins, known only to a few and with no man knowing of more than one or two were filled quietly and sealed. A few animals, not many, drifted away and disappeared. Old cellars, almost forgotten, were readied for those who were quick enough—or lucky enough—to hide. It had been five years, but the raiders would remember. The villagers did what was needed to survive. Far away Cajjh prepared to give the village reason to thank those with the foresight to expect his visit. He stared into the fire as he honed a keener edge on his great sword, and he dreamed of battles won and battles not yet fought, of prizes taken and lost, of women long turned to dust. It had been a good year, and Cajjh was proud of his success. Men feared to whisper his name for the best of reasons. He had left a great path of death and destruction behind, and no one cared to call Cajjh’s attention to the fact that anyone had escaped his sword. But now, problems. The countryside was aroused, and four kings had banded together to hunt him down. Cajjh’s force was no match for the combined armies closing behind him and there would be no mercy if they met.