Chapter 17: Echoes of the Past

The morning mist clung to the air as the warband broke camp. The river that had once reflected the warmth of their campfires now shimmered coldly in the early light. Dikun Silver rode at the front, his sharp gaze sweeping across the landscape. Lindell was less than a day's march away, but the sense of unease weighed heavily on him.

"Captain," Revan called, riding up beside him. "The scouts returned. They say the road ahead is clear."

Dikun nodded, though the tension didn't ease. "Good. But we'll keep our guard up. Jorvik's men don't often leave paths unguarded."

Revan's lips curled in grim agreement. "Aye. If they're not on the road, they're waiting elsewhere."

Behind them, the warband moved in disciplined ranks. Shields rested against their sides, spears slung over shoulders. The rhythmic march of boots against dirt was a steady reminder of how far they had come. No longer did they stumble in formation. They moved like soldiers.

But Dikun knew that soldiers could still die.

---

A Conversation Along the Road

As the march continued, Dikun rode alongside Tova. The shieldmaiden's usual stoic expression was softened, though her hand never strayed far from the axe at her side.

"Strange to think of Lindell," she said, breaking the silence. "It was once just a name on a map. Now it's a battlefield waiting to happen."

Dikun glanced at her. "Every village is a battlefield when the lords turn their backs on their people."

Tova's eyes darkened. "And Jorvik thrives in their neglect."

"He preys on the weak," Dikun agreed. "But that weakness isn't the fault of the people. It's the fault of those who were meant to protect them."

She nodded, but the weight of her own memories was evident. "I fought for a lord once. Thought I was protecting something greater. But when the village I came from was burned... that same lord did nothing."

Dikun's jaw tightened. "And now?"

"Now I fight for the ones who can't fight for themselves," she said firmly. "And I follow a captain who does the same."

Her words struck something within Dikun — a reminder of why he led this warband. Not for gold, nor for titles. But for the people.

"We'll make sure Lindell doesn't suffer the same fate," he said, his voice low.

Tova nodded. "Aye, Captain. We will."

---

Lindell in Sight

By midday, the village of Lindell emerged through the thinning mist. Smoke curled lazily from thatched rooftops, and the distant chatter of farmers echoed through the fields. But even from a distance, Dikun could see the signs of fear.

Makeshift barricades lined the edges of the village. Farmers clutched worn spears, their expressions a mix of determination and dread. Women gathered their children close, their eyes darting toward the road as the warband approached.

"We don't look much better than the bandits they fear," Luthar muttered with a grin. "Armed to the teeth, banners flying."

"But we wear no skulls or stolen crests," Dikun said firmly. "And that will make all the difference."

As they neared, the villagers stood their ground. One man, clearly the elder, stepped forward. His trembling hands gripped a rusted sword.

"Halt!" the elder barked, though his voice betrayed his fear. "We've no coin for mercenaries. Whatever you want, take it and be gone!"

Dikun dismounted slowly, his hands held out to show no threat. "We're not here to take anything," he said calmly. "We're here to protect Lindell."

The elder blinked, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Protect us? From what?"

"Jorvik's men," Dikun said. "Your letter reached us. You asked for aid. And we answered."

Murmurs rippled through the villagers. Some still eyed the warband warily, but others dared to hope.

"I'm Dikun Silver," he continued. "My men and I don't serve lords who abandon their people. We fight for those left behind."

The elder's gaze searched Dikun's face, as if weighing his words. Finally, the sword lowered. "If you speak the truth, then you have our gratitude."

---

Establishing Command

The warband set to work immediately. Revan and Edric led patrols along the outskirts of the village, ensuring no signs of Jorvik's raiders remained. Tova organized the villagers, teaching them how to form rudimentary shield walls and thrust with spears.

Dikun observed from the center of the village, offering guidance when needed. Every decision was a calculated step — fortifying weak points, assigning watchmen, and rationing supplies.

As the sun dipped lower, Harlon approached. "The villagers trust us now," he said, his arms crossed. "But trust alone won't hold a shield wall."

"They'll hold," Dikun replied. "When people fight for their homes, they fight harder than any lord's soldier."

"And your men?"

"They'll fight because they know what's at stake," Dikun said. "And because they believe in what we stand for."

Harlon gave a small, approving nod. "Then let's hope that belief is enough."

---

Nightfall and Reflection

That evening, the village square became a gathering place. Fires crackled, casting long shadows against the worn stone walls. The villagers, though weary, found moments of laughter as they sat beside the warband.

Dikun remained at the edge of the gathering, watching the scene unfold.

"Strange sight, isn't it?" Luthar approached, his flask in hand. "Fighters and farmers, sharing stories instead of swinging swords."

"It's a reminder," Dikun said quietly. "Of what we fight for."

Luthar took a swig, then handed the flask to Dikun. "To the Silver's Warband, then. And to the bastards who'll regret crossing us."

Dikun smirked, raising the flask. "To the warband."

The warmth of the drink burned down his throat, but it was a comforting burn. For now, they had earned a brief peace. But the road ahead would not remain calm for long.

And when Jorvik's men came, they would find not frightened villagers — but warriors ready to stand.

To be continued...