It was early.
The sun had not yet appeared above the mountains in the East, and the valley was covered in shadow. Nestled deep within between the mountains, a cluster of houses made up the village of Karvaby. It was still dark, and the residents were sound asleep in their beds.
Five riders galloped down the mountainside, clad in armor, their faces concealed behind black cloaks. The first rider kicked his horse with spurred boots, stained bloody from the horse’s sides. The animal ran faster. The sound of hooves thundered against the ground. Heavy breathing from the horses pierced the clear, cool morning air.
In the small village, a man turned on a petroleum lamp. Already fully dressed, he sipped a steaming hot drink at his kitchen table. The unhealthy colour of his skin and the black circles under his eyes didn’t match the vigilant energy emanating from his blue eyes.
Outside, a weak rosa glow blossomed behind the mountains. The villager sighed and sipped again, holding his cup with both hands. The petroleum lamp bathed the room in a flickering light.
The cloaked riders thundered down the slope towards the little village. They kicked their horses again to make them gallop faster.
‘Hurry!’ the leader shouted. He pulled his sword. The first genuine ray of sunlight broke through, casting its light upon the mountain peaks.
‘It’s that house over there!’ the rider shouted and pointed with his sword. He broke the lock to the door with his sword.
The villager jumped to his feet, as a long, grey sword split his door and a man clad in black armor kicked in the last few beams. His spurs rattled as he walked through the tiny kitchen. The four other riders followed right behind him, their swords raised.
‘You won’t find what you seek here,’ the villager said. He put the mug down on the kitchen counter, then backed slowly towards the back door, but instead of escaping through it, he shut it and turned the key in the lock. He grabbed a sword from its sheath by the wall and swung it at the nearest rider. The rider blocked the blow, but the villager attacked again and knocked the weapon out of the rider’s hand. The other riders attacked. The small kitchen did not allow them to encroach on the villager at the same time, giving him an advantage. The villager deftly kicked the dropped sword up with his foot and into his hand, now dual-wielding his own sword and the rider’s blade. While parrying the attacks of three riders on his left, he counterattacked the fourth on his right. The leader, disarmed of his sword, crawled around the skirmish. The villager saw the chance he had been waiting for. With a swift motion of his right hand, he swung his sword and struck one of the riders across the chest. The man slumped to the floor, letting out a sigh. The villager watched the bleeding man for a second too long. The swordless leader grabbed an axe by the wood stove and hit him on the head with the blunt end.
