by Matt Rogers
Chapter 19: The Past Has Consequences
The Journey (Lawlessness)
The Midglings stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths open watching the impossible. The two men exploded into view and two Trolls lost their heads immediately. Four remained. Two on one, two groups. It should’ve been a massacre. It was.
He’d been raised in Lawlessness, his mother a slave, his father a butcher. He knew nothing but fear during his formidable years for while she loved him, he did not. His father killed his mother when she displeased him and would’ve done the same to Savage if not for a lone man, another villain in life, his future employer; Renegade.
Renegade was a brute, an enormous man with large aspirations and infinite cruelty. He led a band of criminals and raided lawful lands in search of prizes. The women he sold fetched a high price which furthered his gain. He became powerful, acquired land and ruled a kingdom of his own. It required soldiers. Young boys eventually grew to manhood. Savage was spared to protect Renegade’s wealth.
He was taught the ways of combat, all combat, nothing held back and everything employed. He was six when he first took a man’s life. The man was a thief, nothing special in Renegade’s army but he took the forbidden and was sentenced to death.
“You would dare steal from me!”
“I’m sorry, My Lord, but I’d had nothing to drink for two days.”
The well was life, water held value and Renegade charged for the privilege.
“Take his head!”
He was still a youth but already a warrior. Cruelty was rewarded, encouraged, applauded. It took one slash and the thief was gone, replaced by a killer.
He grew into manhood under the eyes of criminals. He was strong, smart and lethal. Renegade took notice.
“Who is your master?”
“You, My Lord.”
He was ever present for Renegade demanded it so. A bodyguard to a slave-dealer, a protector of evil.
“Take the girls down to the cellar and chain them to the walls.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
She was but a child, maybe ten or so. Dirty, grimy, unkempt during the forced march. She said nothing. It surprised him. All begged for escape.
“Please! My people will give you anything! Just let me go!”
He’d been forged in Hell, raised by evil and taught by murderers. He rarely spoke more than three words.
“Bring the girls to the bidding block!”
“Yes, My Lord.”
They were brought forward and evaluated by others. Their lives were over, altered for another’s pleasure.
“I bid three gold pieces!”
“Sold! Bring up the next one!”
She stood on the dais, skinny, freckled, alone. The initial price had been set and agreed upon.
“I bid one gold piece!”
She was nothing much to look at, a waif with little value. The buyer smiled in anticipation, awaiting his property.
“I bid two.”
His voice never rose, his demeanor the same. The bidder took notice and glanced at the other’s master.
“You would have her?” Renegade asked.
“Yes, My Lord.”
The bidder backed down and the girl smiled wide. She walked down the stairs to meet the man who saved her life. As she stood before him her neck was severed.
“You have nothing which I do not provide!”
Renegade’s sword was in his hand, bloody, defiled with the youth’s blood.
“Who is your master?” he screamed, his voice loud with authority.
“No one.”
And Renegade’s reign ended when a blade wielded by one who could not be tamed split him open, leaving entrails on the floor. He didn’t die quickly. All in the room watched as the slave became master, standing guard, watching another suffer, keeping help at bay.
“I heard Renegade died.”
“Yes, it’s true, I was there.”
“What was it like?”
“Savage.”
The Trolls facing him knew not what he was. They believed him merely Human, an easy prey to slaughter. He skewered them before they realized the truth.
“Stu?”
“Yes, Wort?”
“Am I seeing things?”
“Thank God! I thought I was the only one!”
The barbarian was brute strength, indefensible, unstoppable. The Trolls he faced unaware of their fate. He moved with a speed impossible for his size. He’d acquired it in his youth, implemented to survive.
“I am sorry, but your wife did not make it.”
“What about the baby?”
“It’s a boy.”
The Northern Waste was hard, cold and brutal.
“What will you name him?”
“Brutus.”
He lived the life all did; fishing, raiding, warring. His people were hardy, strong and weathered. They had to be. They were ever under siege.
“To arms!”
He was raised by a clan, tutored by all. The land was harsh and unforgiving. Their bodies adapted accordingly and they thrived. So did others.
“Invaders!”
They came in a swarm. Five times their strength. His people fought hard but were outnumbered and succumbed. He alone survived, the last of his kind. The others who attacked spared his life for at his feet lay ten of their own, unable to stand against a man barely out of teens.
“Attack!”
“Attack? Are you crazy? That kid’s killed everyone he’s faced!”
He left and headed south into the unknown. Innocent in the ways of others, he was quickly beset upon.
“Your gold or your life!”
“I believe I’ll keep both.”
Rumors spread of a barbarian who could not be beaten. He was approached by a man who saw wealth in his future.
“In this corner we have the nomad from the north, the scourge of the south, the enemy of the east, the waste of the west, the brutal barbarian…”
Pausing for effect was ever encouraged.
“… Brutus!”
He wiped the floor with everyone he met. He was unbeaten, unchallenged and unsatisfied.
“I’m done.”
“But we’re making money.”
“I can make money elsewhere.”
And so he became a mercenary, signed on with a moronic Prince, met Savage, fled the siege of Castle Nirvana and faced two Trolls in the Land of Lawlessness.
“I will enjoy eating you” one of them hissed.
He answered by removing the other one’s head.
“You will die for that” it hissed again.
He didn’t, of course, because a single Troll was an afternoon delight to one of Brutus’ skill. He didn’t toy with the creature, though, because while he was a barbarian he was not an animal so after removing both the Troll’s arms he erased its head with a single swing from the enormous sword he wielded.
“Um, Stu?”
“I know, Wort.”
“They’re coming this way!”
“I can see that!”
What occurred next was the first meeting between the greatest trio of warriors the world had ever known and two Midglings entrusted with Mother Nature’s gift.
“Did they just faint?”
And three became five.