Perrin stepped outside into the cold morning air.
Mist still clung to the fields beyond the village.
The sun had only just begun to rise over the plains, painting the distant grasslands in pale gold.
Their village was already awake.
People moved through the narrow dirt roads between homes and sheds.
Farmers carried baskets of vegetables.
Women hung clothes from lines stretched between houses.
Children chased each other between carts until angry parents shouted for them to stop getting underfoot.
The smell of smoke, livestock, damp earth, and fresh bread mixed together beneath the pale morning sun.
Their village was not large.
Only a few dozen homes stood surrounded by low wooden fences, fields, and patches of grazing land.
Most of the houses looked old.
The roofs were drooping and walls were sagged.
The wood darkened from years of rain and cold.
Some homes had cracked stone foundations.
Others sat directly on packed earth.
The people were no different.
Tired faces, bent backs and calloused hands.
But despite its size, the village was important.
It stood near one of the few safe roads that connected the smaller plains villages to the nearest city.
More importantly, it sat at the edge of the Great Forest.
The Great Forest stretched for miles beyond the eastern horizon.
Its outer edges provided lumber, herbs, game, and furs.
Its deeper reaches held monsters, ruins, strange plants, and things people preferred not to name after sunset.
Because of that, merchants, hunters, woodcutters, trappers, and even adventurers often passed through Perrin's village before heading deeper toward the forest.
The village had become a place of rest.
A place to buy supplies.
A place to repair wagons.
A place to hire guards.
It was not rich but it was useful.
The daily life of the villagers was simple.
People woke before dawn because there was always work to do.
Farmers tended wheat fields, vegetable patches, and animals.
Shepherds brought sheep and goats out to graze.
Woodcutters hauled timber from the edge of the forest.
Women baked bread, mended clothes, churned butter, salted meat, and prepared food for the day.
Children fetched water, gathered firewood, fed chickens, and helped with chores.
The blacksmith repaired farming tools, wagon wheels, nails, and horseshoes.
The village healer treated cuts, fevers, and infected wounds when she had medicine available.
Nobody had much free time.
In the village, laziness was treated like a sickness.
If people did not work, they did not eat.
Not working was asking to be taken away by the officials.
The surrounding villages were even poorer.
Most of them were little more than farming settlements.
One village raised cattle.
Another specialized in sheep and wool.
A smaller settlement near the hills produced rough iron from a shallow mine.
Others harvested timber, fish, or clay.
Each village produced something different.
But none of them had enough wealth to stand alone.
Everything eventually flowed toward the city.
The villages sent grain, livestock, leather, lumber, wool, dried meat, herbs, and iron.
In return, the city merchants sold them tools, salt, medicine, cloth, lantern oil, iron nails, and the occasional luxury.
Books, sugar or whatever things they deemed was unnecessary for them but expensive for us.
Things most villagers could never afford.
The city held power over the villages.
It decided the taxes and controlled the trade roads.
At the end of every month, tax collectors came from the city.
They arrived with guards, ledgers, and the arrogance of a dragon.
They estimated a villager's worth and directly asked for more then half of what they had.
The villagers paid because they had no choice.
No one wanted trouble with the city.
But the end of the week was different.
That was when the merchants arrived.
Every seventh day, caravans rolled into the village with wagons full of goods and purses ready to pay for labour.
For a short while, the village felt alive.
Busy with the trade and hopeful for the money.
Perrin pulled his worn shirt tighter around himself and started down the road.
He already knew where he was going.
Whenever traders arrived, there was always work.
Perrin did not own farmland.
His family had no fields.
Other than his grandmother, there was no one else he could call family.
The only thing he truly owned was his own strength.
So when the merchants came, Perrin worked.
Lifting sacks, carrying barrels, loading wagons, unloading crates, moving grain, stacking salt and rolling casks of ale.
Hauling leather, wool, dried meat, tools, and lamp oil from one wagon to another.
It was hard work.
A sack of grain could weigh almost as much as Perrin himself.
Barrels were awkward and difficult to move.
Crates splintered if they were handled carelessly.
Merchants demanded compensation for the broken goods.
Thankfully he hadn't gotten into trouble or debt yet.
Hard work still put food on the table.
A full day of labour could earn Perrin a few copper coins.
Enough for bread.
Enough for meat if he was lucky.
As Perrin approached the entrance of the village, the noise grew louder.
Several wagons stood lined up beside the road.
Large horses stamped their hooves impatiently in the dirt.
Men moved back and forth carrying sacks of grain, crates of dried meat, barrels of ale, and bundles of leather.
Nearby, someone argued loudly over prices.
Another man cursed after dropping a crate on his foot.
Perrin spotted Tobin almost immediately.
The older man stood beside one of the wagons with his arms crossed.
He looked to be around forty years old, though the deep lines on his face made him seem older.
He was broad shouldered and heavyset, with a short brown beard flecked with gray.
A sword hung at his side.
An old scar cut across his chin.
Unlike most villagers, Tobin wore hardened leather armor reinforced with bits of metal across the chest and shoulders.
Tobin worked as a contracted guard leader.
Whenever merchants needed protection between villages, the city, or the roads leading toward the Great Forest, they hired Tobin and his small group.
Bandits often attacked caravans carrying grain, coin, and livestock.
Wild animals sometimes wandered too close to the roads.
And sometimes creatures from the Great Forest came farther out than they should have.
That was why mercenary work was profitable in the plains.
Tobin's team only had four people including himself.
But people said the group was worth twice their number.
The first was Caelan.
Caelan was the ranger and pathfinder.
He was tall, lean, and quiet.
A green cloak covered most of his body.
A bow rested across his back, with a short sword hanging at his side.
His job was to ride ahead of the caravan, search for safe paths, watch for tracks, and make sure no bandits or beasts waited nearby.
Caelan barely spoke.
He spent most of his time staring toward the horizon or the tree line as if he expected danger to appear at any moment.
The second was Bram.
Bram was a huge man with arms like tree trunks.
He carried a mountain shield so large it looked more like a door than a shield.
Iron bands ran across the front of it.
The wood was scarred from old battles.
Bram stayed near the wagons and rarely spoke.
He simply stood there with his shield beside him, watching the road with heavy eyes.
The third was Brother Hale.
Brother Hale was a monk dressed in plain robes.
A wooden staff rested in his hands.
He spent most of his time quietly praying beneath his breath.
A string of wooden prayer beads hung around one wrist.
The monk seemed calm no matter how much noise surrounded him.
Perrin had once seen him crack a thief across the face with that wooden staff hard enough to send the man into the mud.
Tobin noticed Perrin approaching.
The older man grunted.
"Perrin kid. You're up early."
"Grandmother says sleeping late is a luxury for rich people," Perrin replied.
That earned a rough laugh from Tobin.
"Your grandmother is a smart woman."
Perrin glanced toward the wagons.
"Do you have any work for me today, Sir Tobin?"
Tobin rubbed his beard for a moment.
Then he jerked his thumb toward one of the caravans.
"We've still got half the goods left to load. Grain in the sacks and salt in the crates. Try not to break anything this time."
Perrin evaded his gaze slightly.
"I did not break the glass completely."
"The glass was cracked, kiddo. It would have cost you a fortune if it had been real."
"I said I was sorry."
Tobin snorted.
"You can apologize by working faster."
Perrin nodded once.
"Yes, Sir Tobin."
Then he moved toward the wagons.
The sacks looked heavy.
The work would tire him faster.
But years of experience has made him durable.
Perrin bent down, lifted the first sack of grain onto his shoulder, and carried it toward the caravan beneath the rising morning sun.