Bastle House
“Bastle House.” The cry of the scout carried on the biting wind, across the heath to the party of riders.
Alva looked up at the skies, the clouds heavy with rain or snow, she was not keen to wait around to find out which.
“Iyes, Duncan. Check it.” Bastle houses were built to protect, if there were people in there then they would be armed.
Iyes, the while haired warrior, gave a foreign grunt to urge her black stallion towards the fortified homestead, drawing her sword, Duncan following after. They had not come across an inhabited home for miles, deserted farms, other Bastles, all had been empty.
The pair of them circled the house slowly, looking for signs of life. Bastle Houses were built with thick walls, small windows and living space on the top floors to protect those living within. The boarders were wild and godless, people couldn’t take any chances. As they rounded the front of the house Iyes spotted the ladder on the floor, it looked as though it hadn’t been used in a long time, covered in grass and weeds, this land was not being grazed.
Iyes sheathed her sword and slid off her large horse, landing on the frozen ground with a thud.
“Seems empty to me.” Duncan remarked, dismounting his own horse and crouching to prise the ladder off the ground. Iyes glanced around the deserted land around the fortified house. It was a bleak place, not much of anything for as far as the eye could see. Her eyes fell on a large rock, probably fallen from one of the walls. She picked it up, hoping it would be heavy enough. The door to the house was on the upper floor, with a grunt of effort she launched the rock at it. The rotten wood splintered, the party paused a moment, waiting for a reaction. None came, not even spooked animals.
“I agree, still, proceed with caution.”
They brought the rotten ladder up to the door, it did not look particularly stable or safe.
Alva watched them with a frown. “Iain, climb it.” She commanded one of their younger members. he was the smallest and hopefully the lightest. They watched the boy as he did as commanded and waited.
“Four bodies.” He called out from the top of the ladder. “It stinks of death.”
“We camp here tonight.” Alva declared, “get the bodies out and light a hearth. “
Iyes watched them move into the house and drew her sword once more. As they carefully climbed the ladder she walked through the open door that stood at ground level. The dead people would have kept their animals there once. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light. It was empty, no sign of recent occupation. Above her she could hear the others moving, A thud on the ground outside and the crunch of bones as the first body was expelled.
Iyes frowned and muttered a prayer in her native language, sheathing her sword as she did so.
It had been five years since she had been found by the Hrith clan washed up on a beach with the debris of a ship wreck. After they had plundered the wreckage for anything of use, the Hriths decided to investigate her. After realising she was alive they took her for a slave. They named her Iyes, Ice in their dialect or North Woman. She had survived icy waters and her pale skin and hair lent to the nickname. They quickly discovered that she could fight and that earned her a promotion from servant to battle fodder. Not that the Hrith fought true battles, they were petty thieves and rustlers. Iyes took her time learning their language and proving herself as a skilled fighter, more skilled than any of them. That made her valuable. To them she was a barbarian from the northern isles, to her they were common, crude and lacking in honour. Still, she was not stupid enough to bite the hands that fed her. In the dark space under the house she began to collect up the dry wood.
“We will burn them.” She declared as she exited the building. These people, the dead were not soldiers, knights or enemies. Just people attempting to survive.
“If you wish.” Alva’s voice came from above, the red haired young woman stood in the doorway, looking down at the bodies with indifference. The weather was closing in, flakes of snow had begun to fall and her only concern was staying alive.
“Get the horses inside, cover the door if you can. Iain, Kate, Ash you’ll stay down with the horses.” She gave one last glance to Iyes building her pyre and turned back into the one room home. There were ten in their party, the dwelling would be just about big enough, its occupants had been dead a while. Dust and dirt covered all the surfaces, the furniture rotten from the damp weather. The whole place stank of rot and death, though it was a welcome alternative to being dead themselves. The only way for a clan member to die was fighting, anything less was dishonourable. They believed that a death in ‘battle’ was the only route to the realm of Regniana, the goddess who would welcome them to their hearth.
Avla dumped her pack on the floor and crouched to open it up, preparing herself for a long night.
