Dobroslav looked up from his field. Even though the sun had not had time to rise, he was already working. The summer had been short and now he had to save what little crops his field had yielded. He had been startled by a sound in the distance. The sound of several horses.
Bandits, Dobroslav thought. While bandits were bad, he hoped it would only be bandits. There were other, worse things that could have come to the village.
Dobroslavl ran on the edge of the field towards the village. He was a newcomer, arriving only this spring with his family, so his field was the one farthest away from the houses. Still, he was grateful. The villagers had accepted him as one of their own, even though he was from another province, and the whole village had helped him rebuild one of the abandoned houses and sow the field.
As he reached the village, he ran to the temple and rang the temple bell. The people gathered, maybe 20 grown men and women all in all. The war had taken a heavy toll on the population. Dobroslav tried to convince them to take their families and hide in the great forest. They could not fend away bandits, much less marauding soldiers.
However, the elder of the village would have no such thing: we are Drevnedubians, she said. We stand our ground!
From the temple shields and helmets were brought out, and the villagers brought out spears, axes and bows from their houses. Whatever would come to the village, they were ready…