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FLTL Ch. 334. Remembrance
🕑 Added 2025-10-09 14:30:02 +0000 UTCJoin up as the Duke of Tiranat to read more than 450 pages ahead!
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The drizzle which had started sometime in the night had turned steadier by the time morning settled in, with a thin grey mist hanging over the hills east of the village. Kivamus stood under his cloak near the freshly dug mound of earth, the smell of wet soil heavy in the air. The guards were finishing the shoveling of dirt over the new grave which had been dug on a small hill, their boots sinking into the soft ground, but the weather hadn't deterred the villagers from gathering here. The continuously falling drizzle blurred the line between grief and the sky’s own tears, and he was quietly thankful for it.
Earlier in the morning, Kivamus had learned that the man who had lost his life at the hands of bandits was one of their new recruits, taken into service just before winter despite his wife’s pleading for him to stay a laborer. That thought had settled heavily in his chest. Even one death felt too large a price, but it was a price they had to pay to keep Tiranat safe from all who wished her harm.
In the morning, Duvas had proclaimed their total victory over the bandits to the gathered villagers in front of the manor, and their victorious cheers had resonated loudly throughout the village. But the majordomo also had to announce the death of the guard, which had made the mood somber. However, it meant most of the villagers had walked to the hills together to pay respects to the fallen guard, and he was glad for that.
Back in the present, Father Edric’s voice carried over the patter of rain, calm and steady as he said a prayer for the fallen guard. Near him, the young widow was weeping quietly, clutching her little girl to her chest. Every so often, the child’s faint wail rose above the priest’s words, only to be hushed by a trembling hand. The current weather matched the mood of the village, and the rain helped to hide the tears in many eyes.
When the last clod of earth fell and the priest concluded his prayer, Kivamus stepped onto a broad rock near the grave. The guards straightened instinctively, water dripping from their hair and leather armor. He took a moment to look over the gathered guards and the villagers—faces streaked with rain and exhaustion, yet unbroken.
“This man,” he began, his voice carrying clearly through the rain, “was braver than an adzee protecting its pup last night. When a comrade’s life was in danger, he stepped forward and took the blade meant for another. He held the bandits back until his strength gave out, and because of that, the rest of the guards returned home safely. Tiranat is proud of him and we will forever be grateful that a man like him served our village.”
He paused. For a moment there was only the sound of the drizzle against the leaves of the nearby trees, and then Hudan clapped once—firm and loud. The rest of the guards joined him, then the villagers, the sound rolling through the wet air until it faded back into quiet after a long time.
Madam Helga was already by the widow’s side, one arm around her shoulders. A few steps away, Lucem and Clarisa were crouched beside the little girl, murmuring something soft enough to draw a small, uncertain smile from her as she wiped her eyes with her sleeves.
Kivamus reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out the medal—a round piece of iron, larger and more ornate than any other medal they had crafted. Rain glimmered on its surface as he held it up.
“This,” he said, “is the first Medal of Valor ever given in Tiranat. It belongs to him, for his courage and sacrifice. May he rest in peace.”
The widow came forward slowly at Madam Helga's behest, her steps uneven. When Kivamus placed the decorated piece of iron in her hands, she bowed her head over it, sobbing openly with the medal clenched tightly in her hands, before Madam Helga was back at her side to prevent her falling to the ground.
“His family will not be forgotten,” Kivamus continued, once the widow looked a little calmer. “We will see that they are cared for - for however long they need it. As soon as we can, they will receive a year’s worth of his wages as compensation. It's nothing compared to what he gave to the village, but it's a small gesture of appreciation for his sacrifice.”
Duvas nodded nearby, rain running through his white beard.
“And,” Kivamus added, “this hill will not remain bare. A memorial stone will be placed here to honor every man or woman who gives their life for this village. Madam Nerida has promised to cultivate a flower garden here, so that those who visit the departed will leave with peace in their hearts instead of sorrow.”
He stepped down from the rock, feeling the pull of sorrow deep in his bones. He wished he could have done more. Even after what he had promised, he knew that the life of the widow and her child wouldn't be easy from now on. But before the moment could fade, one of the villagers stepped forward—a middle-aged man with mud up to his knees.
“My family will make sure they always have warm food on their table,” he said, glancing toward the widow. "It's the least we can do."
A woman's voice rose from the crowd. “And I’ll help with their house work. Chores, repairs, whatever they need—until they’re ready to manage again.”
Then another spoke, and another, until several had offered something—tools, labor, company, support. The widow began to cry harder, overwhelmed, clutching her child close as the villagers surrounded her with quiet nods and murmurs of comfort.
Kivamus felt the weight in his chest shift, not lifting, but still getting a little lighter. Pride, sorrow, and something steadier than either. These were his people—their strength wasn’t just in swords or walls, but in this camaraderie. He felt proud that the villagers understood and respected the risk that the guards were taking every time they went out of the village to defend Tiranat, whether from bandits or from beasts.
Eventually, the crowd began to drift away, walking down the slope of the hill, with the sound of boots and bare feet squelching in the mud. The widow was gently helped toward her home - a bunk in the second longhouse block - by two other women, the little child walking between them.
Kivamus stayed a moment longer, watching the rain patter against the new mound of earth. “Rest well,” he murmured under his breath.
He turned around, mud clinging to the edge of his boots. With the villagers leaving slowly, only the guards were left behind, who were patting the mound flatter and placing stones around the edge to mark it properly. The rain had slowed to a fine mist now, hanging in the air like smoke, as he turned back to his advisors.
Hudan, Feroy, Duvas, and Gorsazo were waiting nearby. The captain gave a nod as Kivamus joined them.
“It is hardly a consolation for losing a man, but at least we got a decent haul from the bandits,” Hudan said. “Thirty-six swords—though none worth showing off—and about the same number of leather armors. Not a single coin on any of them, though.”
Kivamus gave a nod. “It’s still something. Give the swords to Cedoron. He can forge them into new iron parts for the scorpion. It will be symbolic in a way. The bandits' own iron will protect us from them in the future. Leah will take all the leather armor. Have her repair what she can so we can equip the six recent recruits and keep an extra stack ready for when we hire more guards in the future. We'll need them for sure...”
Feroy adjusted the strap of his sheath, the motion slow from fatigue. “I went with Joric to look at the bodies before the guards had gone to clear them up, to see if Torhan was amongst them. As I expected, Joric confirmed that the bandit chief wasn't amongst the dead. I also took a few men to search the southern forests again, to see if we could track down the ones who had escaped, but the rain had washed away everything. Not a trace of 'em.”
“It’s fine, I guess,” Kivamus sighed. “Even if a few slipped away, we severely reduced that bandit group's power. Torhan may still be alive, but even if he had another compound to call up bandits from, he's not coming back any time soon—not with his numbers gutted like this. It’ll take him months to gather enough men again - if he even can. So we are safe for now.”
He exhaled, watching the mist swirl in the breeze. “I’d like nothing more than to hit his compound and stop any chance of him returning for revenge again, but we just don't have the strength for that right now. Not yet... But one day we'll get our payback.”
Gorsazo’s tone was gentler as he spoke after a while. “Now that the siege and the bandit threat is over, I’ll send the kids back to gather sawdust from today. Still, I wish I could keep teaching them in the mornings too.”
“It won’t be long until then,” Kivamus said. “Once we have made the new sawmill near the dam and the majority of carpentry work and the sawdust press move there, the kids won’t have to haul anything. You’ll get your classroom mornings back.”
Duvas had been silent until then, his hands folded behind him. “You should also think about sending a caravan to Cinran, my lord. If not this evening, then tomorrow for certain. We have no choice but to use some of the reserved seed grain as food anyway, but Pinoto said we shouldn't delay the sowing too much.”
“Do it,” Kivamus said, “but only mark half the seed as rations. That gives us another four days to find a way to feed everyone. By then, some of the hunters should be back. The rest of the seed can go to the fields once Pinoto says the ground’s ready to sow again after this rain.”
He looked toward Hudan. “Tell the clay diggers to restart work on the trench surrounding the village walls. You should keep planting sharpened branches in the already dug trenches with the help of the spare guards. Now that the bandit threat’s gone, we don't have to keep everyone on alert all the time.”
"Of course," Hudan agreed. “For today, I’ve only posted the older villagers on the watchtowers to give some rest to the female guards who were on duty last night. By evening, I’ll have one crossbow woman on each tower again, but we can't spare any more eyes on the towers if we want to send more men for hunting."
"I know," Kivamus nodded. "Are the hunters ready to leave?"
"Two groups are ready—they just wanted to attend the burial first."
“Good,” Kivamus said. “Send them out as soon as you can. We’ll need whatever meat they bring in. Hopefully, one of the earlier three hunting groups will return soon.”
The advisors exchanged brief nods, the kind that carried both relief and exhaustion. Then, wordlessly, they started down the slope together toward the manor. The mist still hung in the air, but the clouds were beginning to break apart, and a faint stripe of blue showed above the hills in the east.
Kivamus smiled. The clouds hanging over Tiranat had passed - both literally and figuratively. For now.
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Next chapter: FLTL Ch. 335. Moving On
Comments
Danail Kazakov
I would love a chapter from torhans pov
Jeff
They need to look into chainmail and/or padded armor.
Johan Timmers
tftc
Dillon Good
That was great, thanks!
