by King, DB
Runa and Raymond glanced at one another, as if trying to determine what sort of warrior they’d just loosed on their world.
“Almost certainly,” Runa said.
Logan set down his wine and rose, a battle-ready smirk on his face.
“Good. Then I’ll need an axe.”
Chapter 4: Logan
Logan held the double bit axe in his hand, admiring the craftsmanship. It was well balanced, the caramel-colored wood smooth against his rough skin. The two heads at the end were made of a metal he’d never seen before, veins of red running through the steel. He raised it slightly, bringing it down in a quick, close arc, the steel singing as it whooshed through the air.
He grinned. He imagined the blade splitting open the skull of a foul orc, blood and brains spraying across his forearm. He wanted ale, he wanted women. But more than anything, he wanted revenge.
And he knew he’d be leaving piles of bodies in his wake as he sought it.
“A fine choice,” spoke a deep, resonant voice from the doorway.
Logan glanced up from his seat on a wooden chair facing the doorway. Raymond, the captain of the guard, stood leaning against the door to the armory, his arms crossed over his chest. He still wore his plate of polished armor, but his helmet was gone.
“I’d tell you to feel free to look around,” Raymond said. “But I see that Runa already sent you that message.”
“She did,” Logan replied. “Trusting the ranger who died two thousand years ago. A bold move.”
Raymond pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the armory. “I take it you like what you see?”
Logan looked around, the room filled with rack after rack of weapons. There were swords and axes of all kinds, along with armor stands loaded with armor of leather and steel and chainmail. He could have spent all day in there deciding what he wanted to wield.
“Some fine pieces in here,” Logan said. “Nothing that comes close to what the Elderwood Ranger forges are capable of, to be sure. But fine nonetheless.”
Raymond chuckled as he idly picked up a nearby short sword. First, he held it to test the weight. He began flourishing it in an impressive display of twirls, slowly at first, facing away from Logan. The twirls grew faster and faster, and when he finally turned, the blade was a blur in front of him. There was no doubt the captain of the guard was a skilled warrior. When he was done with his display, Raymond deftly sheathed the sword, handing it to Logan hilt first. Logan took the sword, slipping the blade out and giving it a once over.
“Normally I’d take umbrage at such an insult to our craftsmen,” Raymond said. “But… you’re not wrong. Elderwood forging techniques are legendary. And those grand, curved blades your warriors wielded—”
“Me’nayr blades,” Logan said, his heart swelling with pride at the mere mention of this pinnacle of Elderwood crafting.
“Yes,” Raymond said. “A few still exist.”
“Where?” Logan asked, desperate to get his hands on one.
“Here and there—mostly in the personal collections of wealthy merchants or in the private armories of nobles.”
Logan’s hand ached as he wished he could hold a Me’nayr blade. Before his death, he’d still needed a few years more training before he was allowed to forge one of his own, but he was eager to wield one should he have the chance.
“And let me guess,” Logan said. “The secrets of how to forge them have been lost.”
“A good guess,” Raymond said. “And a correct one. Although we do still have some knowledge of the Elderwood Rangers and their War Wizards. You should feel fortunate that your peoples’ scribes were so diligent in preserving the records of your kind. Otherwise, the Elderwood Rangers would have been banished to the swirling dark of history like so many others.”
Logan set down the axe, his eyes tracking along the racks of weapons. It would take time for him to decide on what he wanted to wield. During his years of training in the spirit realm, he’d grown proficient with any number of weapons. It was simply a matter of choosing which he wanted to wield.
“You drop in to make sure I was getting my footing?” Logan asked with a wry smirk. “Or did you simply miss me?”
Raymond chuckled as he made a slow circle through the room. Logan kept his eyes on the guard captain as he moved.
“Nothing so cordial,” Raymond said. “I merely wished to keep an eye on you. Runa may be over the moon that the stone worked, and ready to trust you simply by dint of you being among us. I, however, don’t extend that same courtesy. Not to mention you seemed a bit… prickly about being brought back into the word of the living.”
Logan sighed. “You spend a pair of millennia wandering the scoured remains of your homeland and see how chipper you are.”
“Point taken,” Raymond said. “But I wanted to remind you to not get too comfortable. Runa may look fondly upon your presence, but I’m paid to be not so trusting.”
“Then it’s a matter of business?” Logan asked with a raised eyebrow as he leaned back against a rack of kite shields.
“I’m also not paid to tell strangers what goes on in my head.”
Raymond crossed his arms once again, giving Logan another appraising up-and-down. Logan didn’t appreciate in the slightest the treatment he was being given. But at the same time, he didn’t see the wisdom in arousing further skepticism.
Before the conversation could continue, a servant girl clad in robes of red and purple, her face a white oval among all the cloth, popped her head into the room. When she noticed Raymond’s presence, her bright eyes flashed with surprise.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Guard Captain Raymond,” the servant girl said. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Raymond replied. He rested his hand on the hilt of his blade and flicked his eyes to Logan one more time. “I believe I’ve sent my message.”
With that, Raymond strolled out of the armory, casting one last glance at Logan as he left.
Logan snorted before turning his attention back to the servant girl. “Yes?”
“Mistress Runa sent me,” she said, the words delivered in a breathless tone. “I’m one of her personal handmaidens. She said your quarters were ready, and I’m to lead you to them.”
“Good,” he said, his body crying out for a bath and change of clothes. “Take me to them.”
She smiled and nodded before gesturing for Logan to come. The lower servant girls were all youthful and pretty, but in their heavy clothes, they reminded him of the women of convents. This servant, on the other hand, was dressed far more elegantly—likely due to her rank as one of Runa’s personal handmaidens.
Still, he yearned for a woman’s touch, but he wanted to pace himself now that he was back in the world of the living. Some rest and recovery, and perhaps a bit more wine, would do him well before getting to the business of finding out where he was, and what the hells had happened to him.
Logan followed the servant girl, who held open the fabric door of the armory caravan for him to step out. The glare of the sun nearly blinded him as he exited. He used his palm as a visor against the brightness. It would take him time to acclimate to the open sky and endless dunes of the desert after a lifetime of the cool shade of Elderwood Forest.
The servant hurried along, gesturing excitedly for him to follow. The air was hot as an oven, a sheen of sweat forming on his skin within seconds of being under the endless blue above. He was surprised at how little his short robe kept him cool. At first, he’d been confused by the heavy robes of the servants and guards. But he considered that they might be more effective at protecting against the sun than dressing lightly.
The caravan was a massive affair, a dozen huge wagons linked at each front and end by wooden walkways. Scores of guards flanked the wagons, all riding exotic beasts of burden, bizarre creatures that were a combination of elephants and camels. The caravan was more like a moving village than a simple trade expedition. From where Logan stood, he couldn’t even see the front of the convoy to know wh
at was pulling them.
Logan went on, following the girl over the walkways that wrapped around the top floors of the caravan wagons. Eventually, they reached a caravan near the middle of the procession, the servant girl opening the door for him. The interior of the wagon was vast, portioned into several rooms via fabric walls. The girl led him to one of them.
“This room will be yours, ranger,” she said. “We hope it is to your satisfaction.”
Logan stepped inside and looked around. The room was large, the floor dark wood, a large arched window at the back looking out over the endless dunes. It was well appointed with a bed and dresser and large truck for his belongings—if he’d had them.
But what he was most interested in was the large wooden tub in the middle of the room, the water clear and steaming.
“Is this ready for me?” Logan asked, already able to feel the warmth against his skin.
“Yes, though we—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. He undid the sash of his robe and shucked it off, letting it fall to the floor. The servant girl’s eyes went wide with surprise as her attention went straight to his manhood.
“Oh… oh my,” she said.
Logan laughed. “Never seen a naked man before?”
“I… Well, I have. But none quite like…”
She trailed off, and he smirked as he realized the girl was in a little over her head. He decided to make it easier for her, dropping into the water and hiding the lower half of his body underneath the foamy surface of the water.
“Gods…” The word poured out of his mouth as he sank into the water. The water was pure bliss on his skin, his muscles loosening by the second.
The servant girl cleared her throat, as if trying to focus on the task she’d been given. “Um, alright. Well, there are towels here, and on the ground you’ll find soaps and sponges. And…” She paused, clearly still nervous about the whole thing. “I… I can offer a sponge bath, if that’s something you’d like.”
The idea appealed to Logan. But the girl was already flustered enough by what was happening—he didn’t need her fainting on him.
“Wine,” he said. “Have any wine for me?”
“Of course,” she said, seeming relieved that she’d have a moment to step out and collect herself. “Let me just…”
He waved her away, eager to enjoy the warm water on his muscles. He grabbed a nearby towel and dipped it below the water, setting it over his eyes. When he heard the door open, he stuck out his hand, the servant girl placing the bottle into it.
“Wouldn’t you rather drink from a glass?” she asked.
“Bottle’s fine. Less to fuss about.”
Logan removed the cloth from his face and turned his attention to the bottle.
“Here,” she said, grabbing a nearby sponge. “Let me give you a wa—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish. Her nervous hands let go of the sponge, which flew through the air and into the bath.
“Oh no,” she said, her face turning a deep shade of red. “Let me… let me get that.”
“No,” Logan said, sitting up. “That’s fine.”
But she didn’t listen, instead rushing over and plunging her hand into the water to grab the sponge.
“Ah!” she said as she grasped the sponge. “I’ve got it!”
“Got what, exactly?” a familiar voice asked.
The girl looked up with wide eyes to see who had spoken.
It was Runa.
“Mistress Runa!” shouted the girl as she yanked her hand out of the water, splashing Logan’s face in the process. However red her face was before, the appearance of her Mistress deepened her shade.
“I see you didn’t waste any time making yourself comfortable,” Runa said with a smirk as she quickly put together what was happening.
“It’s… it’s not what it looks like!” the servant girl exclaimed.
She stood up straight and said nothing, as if waiting for her punishment.
“No activities with the ranger until after I’ve had my time with him,” Runa said. “Run along.”
“But!” The girl sighed, as if realizing it wouldn’t do her any good to dispute Runa. She hurried out of the room, flashing one last frazzled look over her face before leaving.
“You certainly didn’t waste any time making yourself comfortable, ranger.” Runa leaned against the nearby dresser, an amused look on her face.
Logan laughed. “I suppose it looked that way. But the girl spoke the truth—she was merely taking the sponge out of the bath.”
Runa chuckled, as if finding the whole thing amusing. “Well, whatever it was, you’ll have plenty of time for your wine and women.”
“Then you came in to make sure I was bathed properly?” he asked. “The girl was just getting started.” He picked up the sponge she’d dropped, which had been floating on the surface of the water. “Here. You can start with the arms. And scrape hard—being stuck in the spirit world really leaves a man feeling out of sorts.”
Runa chuckled. “Bathe yourself, ranger. I’ve got more important matters in mind.”
“Then let’s hear them,” he said as he took the sponge. He was pleased that she’d come in for a purpose. “You going to tell me what in the hells has been going on in the world over these last two thousand years.”
“That’s precisely the matter,” she said, sitting down. “I hope you’re in a listening mood.”
Logan’s expression darkened. He knew that part of this history would involve the extermination of his people. He sat up in the tub and draped his arms atop the rim, then let his legs hang over the front of the basin.
“Tell me. And hold nothing back.”
Runa glanced aside, considering the matter, as if trying to determine the best entry point.
“What’s the last thing you remember, Logan?”
He closed his eyes and focused. “Elderwoods. I remember being in the Elderwoods with my ranger brothers. I remember trees as tall as towers, their shade so dark that the world under them was in an eternal dusk. I remember… a hunt.”
“A hunt? What sort of hunt?”
He smirked as memories of hunts past flooded his mind. “Part of the duty of Elderwood Rangers was to hunt, to go out with his fellow rangers and cleanse the forest. Hunts were necessary to keep our lands safe. But more than that, they were opportunities for younger rangers to learn how to kill.”
This answer pleased Runa. He pulled his legs back into the tub and sat up.
“But the final hunt… it was different. And not only because it was the one that claimed me. Our typical prey were stragglers, random packs of orcs who’d trailed off from their armies and wandered too far. This time, however…” He flexed and tensed his hands at the memory, anger running through him. “There weren’t just stragglers—it was the forerunner of an invasion.”
Runa, now seated in a wooden chair with plush, velvet cushions, nodded in understanding. “It was the Shadespear Invasion.”
Logan leaned forward in the tub, his narrowed eyes fixed on the elf woman. “What happened? Tell me what you know.”
“The Southern Empire,” she said solemnly. “What you and the rest of your rangers encountered in the forest was the culmination of years of preparation. The Southern Empire had been gathering their forces, preparing an invasion like no one had ever seen.”
The Elderwood Rangers prided in being apart from society, separate from the comings and goings of nations that existed outside of the forest. Logan had heard of the Southern Empire; there were always rumors of a malevolent power that occupied the southern reaches of the continent, Varsyth. The empire’s reputation was brutal, known for slavery and extermination of their foes.
Logan folded his arms on his knees and listened as Runa continued.
“The Southern Empire broke through the Shadespear Pass with an army of hundreds of thousands, murdering whoever was in their way. From there, once they reached the Elderwood Forest and eliminated the rangers who dwelled
there, they solidified their control over the region, using the resources of the area to build their army.”
Flashes of memory filled Logan’s mind, of orcs and trolls and goblins tearing down his beloved woods and feeding them into great machines.
“I remember this,” he said. “They tore down every last tree, ruined the woods.”
“The Scouring of the Elderwoods,” she said, nodding in recognition. “When the armies of the Southern Empire reached the territory of your people, they fed the woods into their war machine. First, they killed the people. Then, they hunted whatever animals they could find to extinction. Then, they pulled every last tree from its roots and used them to fuel their armies. The Elderwoods were destroyed, rendered into nothing more than weapons of war for the Southern Empire’s ambitions of conquest.”
Hearing this filled Logan with a rage he hadn’t known since before his death. Suddenly, a bath no longer seemed appealing. He snatched a towel from the rack nearby and rose, water cascading from his body. He wrapped it around his waist and stepped from the tub.
He grabbed a soft, silken robe from a nearby rack and threw it on his body.
“Tell me more,” he said.
She nodded and went on. “The Southern Empire encountered resistance once the forests had been destroyed. Their advantage had been in speed and overwhelming numbers. But when they’d taken the time to regroup and replenish by using the resources of their newly conquered lands, the rest of the continent of Varsyth had prepared as well.”
“They allied,” he said.
“That’s right.”
Logan let out an amused snort. “The scattered kingdoms of the west had always been at each other’s throats, blind to how much more powerful they’d be united. Figured they’d finally get the hint when death was on their doorstep.”
“It wasn’t enough. The Southern Empire had replenished their numbers and used the Elderwoods to craft massive siege weapons. The western kingdoms fought with all they had, but they were soon overrun, the Southern Empire leaving nothing but blood in their wake.”
She glanced down before she continued. “Once the Empire had conquered the west, they traveled east. Whatever scattered kingdoms were left were obliterated. But something strange had happened during the chaos—the remaining armies of the west, now smaller and more nimble, managed to reach the east ahead of the Empire. They warned the eastern kingdoms, told them to prepare them for what was to come.”