The day was fading, the light of the afternoon stretching lazily across the rolling Welsh hills as Ieuan and his men took a break after hours of cutting at the elder oak tree. Their axes had struck with rhythmic precision, and the air was heavy with the scent of wood and sweat. The men leaned on their tools, wiping their brows and taking long swigs of water from their leather skins.
Ieuan stood apart from the group, his eyes locked on the massive oak that stood before him. The tree's bark was gnarled and twisted, its limbs reaching up like the fingers of some ancient giant. He observed it carefully, his thoughts swirling, To see an oak this size in the northern parts. It's always cold here, the land less fertile than the southern stretches. This tree should never have thrived.
His hand brushed against the rough bark, feeling the weight of centuries beneath his fingertips. He turned his gaze toward the surrounding patch of land. Other trees had struggled to grow nearby, their roots weak, their leaves sparse. This old tree took everything, he thought bitterly. A greedy thing. He smirked at the thought of the oak's dominance. It had no mercy, just like the land it stood on. The tree's twisted, sharp branches seemed to reflect the same harshness, taking and taking without regard for the land that could no longer provide for anything else.
Gawain, one of the men, eyed him for a moment before speaking, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "That bastard, looks right comfortable with that tree, don't he?" His voice was a bit too loud, drawing a chuckle from the others.
Caradoc, leaning on his axe, scoffed. "Well that bastard has the silver we need."
Gawain raised an eyebrow. "Coins, coins, that's all you care about, eh, Caradoc?" he teased. "Bet you'd sell your own family if someone offered you enough silver."
Caradoc chuckled, a dark glint in his eye. "Aye, I would. What's family worth anyway, eh? Nothing compared to what a man can get with enough coin."
Ieuan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. "Enough talk, we've work to do," he said firmly, setting his shoulders and turning his attention back to the tree. The men murmured in agreement and returned to their tasks, the sound of axes ringing out once more.
Hours passed, and as the sun began to dip lower, casting long shadows across the land, Caradoc halted the work. He motioned to Ieuan, the silver in his pouch weighing heavil. "This one's on you, young lord," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm but an air of respect underlined it. "Finish it."
Gawain grinned, nudging Caradoc with a sharp elbow. "What!? Our lord wouldn't dirty his hands with such work."
Ieuan's gaze hardened, his eyes burning with determination. He walked over to the tree, the massive trunk now cracked and weakened by the repeated strikes. He gripped the axe tightly, the weight of it familiar but daunting.
With a deep breath, Ieuan raised the axe. He swung it at the base of the tree with a grunt, but it didn't bite deep enough. Sweat beaded on his brow as he swung again, this time harder. The men stood back, watching with varying degrees of amusement and quiet respect. Caradoc stepped forward to assist, but Gawain held him back, his eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and disbelief.
"Let the bastard do it," Gawain said with a grin, his voice low enough that only Caradoc could hear.
Ieuan gritted his teeth, his muscles straining as he brought the axe down again. His breath was labored now, each strike leaving him more winded. The men watched silently, some with faint grins, others unsure about what they were witnessing. But as the axe came down for the last time, the sound of a sharp crack filled the air, echoing across the hills. The tree shuddered, and with a final groan, it began to topple, the earth trembling beneath its weight.
Ieuan's chest heaved as the tree came crashing to the ground with a thunderous roar. The men looked at one another in uneasy silence, each knowing that what they had just done—cutting down an ancient tree revered by many—was no small matter. The deed was done, but something else lingered in the air.
Caradoc gave a low grunt of approval, crossing his arms. "Well, it's done now, ain't it? But look there—what's that at the base of the tree!?"
The men gathered around the spot where the oak had fallen, curiosity piqued. There, nestled in the tree, was a small cocoon-like object, covered in grey leaves. The sight made the men uneasy, and one of them stepped back, muttering a prayer under his breath.
Gawain leaned in, a gleam of greed in his eyes. "What's this, then? A treasure?" he said, reaching for the cocoon.
"Don't touch it!" another man hissed, pulling his arm back. "It might be cursed!"
The men hesitated, a sense of dread creeping over them. But Ieuan, with a sneer on his face, strode forward. he muttered. "Grown man, scared of superstitions."
With a quick, decisive motion, he unsheathed his dagger, cutting the cocoon open. The leaves crumpled and fell away, revealing a strange metallic object inside. The men recoiled at the sight of it—a smooth, silvery object, gleaming in the dim light.
Ieuan stared at it, his mouth dry. "This…" he murmured, almost to himself. "It must be a relic..." His fingers trembled as he picked it up, the silver cool to the touch. "What in God's name is this?"
The men fell silent, unsure of what to make of the strange, metallic object. They exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale, their minds racing with possibilities—was it some kind of ancient artifact? Or was it something far sinister?
Ieuan looked up, his eyes narrowing.
Caradoc was the first to speak, his voice low and gruff. "But what if it's cursed, eh, lord? You sure you want to carry that with you?"
Ieuan turned to him, his expression hard. "I'm already cursed Caradoc, worry not."
Ieuan rode with the men through the narrow, winding paths that led back to Harlech Castle, the soft light of the setting sun casting long shadows over the land. His thoughts were preoccupied with the relic he had taken from the base of the elder oak tree, now securely tucked inside his coat. He smirked to himself, the adrenaline from his defiance still buzzing in his veins.
The old man would know about his venture and he'd be furious when he saw the massive oak felled. But for Ieuan, it didn't matter. His mind spun with excitement at the thought of the consequences. Would his father punish him? The anticipation thrilled him.
His horse's hooves clopped steadily against the earth, and his men rode close behind him. The winds had grown cooler as dusk descended, but the weight of his actions kept Ieuan warm inside. His fingers rested lightly on the pocket where the relic lay.
Suddenly, the sharp crack of an arrow slicing through the air echoed through the quiet evening. Before he could react, the man riding next to him let out a strangled cry, his body jerking as an arrow struck him in his neck. The horse reared, and the man collapsed to the ground in a heap.
Ieuan's heart lurched. He barely had time to process what was happening before another two arrows found their marks, hitting Gawain and the men behind him. The sound of hooves turned to chaos as the remaining men scrambled to draw their weapons, their horses whinnying in panic.
Ieuan pulled hard on the reins, urging his horse to turn, but it was too late. Another arrow flew, embedding itself in the chest of the Caradoc. Blood sprayed across the ground, and the man slumped forward in the saddle.
His stomach churned, but before he could react, another arrow was whistling toward him—
And then everything went dark.