A Warden Born

by Paul Summerhayes

  After a few miles, Finn dropped his packs and stretched out beneath a young oak tree on the edge of a wood. He was exhausted. He gulped down water and quenched his thirst, but it did not relieve the tiredness he felt in every part of his body. He had fought two bandits tonight and won, but he could not fight off sleep. Moments after he put down his flask, he was fast asleep.

  Chapter 14

  The whole world was on fire and he recoiled from its heat. His vision was full of fiery demons that leapt from great crevasses in the ground to dance in the flames. Dark shapes slowly surrounded him and pressed in, restricting his breathing. Their long, clawed hands reached out for him, and he knew they wanted his blood. They were so close that their sulphur breath burned his nostrils and throat.

  In a wild panic, he came to the realisation that this was the end of his short life. Every cell in his body fought against the demons to no avail. His body was ripped apart and consumed by the creatures and he was powerless to stop it. A single blood-curdling scream broke the hellish silence.

  Finn awoke covered in sweat, with the remnant of a scream still on his lips.

  What?

  He looked around, expecting to see demons, but the wood was quiet. It was still dark, but he could see the sun’s glow behind the mountains in the east.

  He stood and stretched his arms, working the kinks out of his shoulders. He was unsure of how long he had slept, but he felt a little more refreshed. He ate bread and cheese for his breakfast, courtesy of the bandits, and threw the packs onto his back and started his journey again.

  The cool morning air was refreshing and helped wake him up. Even his ankle was not as sore.

  He scanned his surroundings as he walked. A herd of cows grazed on a field of spring grass and flowers, but he paid them little attention. If he wasn’t chasing down the bandits, he would have enjoyed that pleasant spring day. The weather, however, was far from his thoughts.

  The nightmare had left him heavy with a foreboding feeling and he feared for his friend’s life.

  What could they possibly want or gain from Anna? His hand subconsciously strayed to the hilt of the sword. I will make each one of them pay!

  The sun rose high in the sky and the morning wore on. By mid-morning, he had made it to the Kalteberg Road, and he looked in both directions. There was no traffic. Like most of this country, the road was deserted. At this point, the road was little more than a dirt track. It was not maintained and was overgrown with grass and small shrubs. He bent down to examine its surface and could see that a wagon had passed recently. It was being pulled by a small horse—or mule. There were also a few boot prints visible, but none looked small enough to be Anna’s. He realized she would be riding in the wagon.

  At midday, he stopped on the side of the road and sat on a rock. He ate some trail rations and drank water. The mountains loomed in the east and snow still covered many of their peaks, even though it was now spring. Up north, in Finn’s homeland, the mountain peaks were snow-covered all year round.

  I wonder if there are dragons in these mountains. Probably not—too many orcs.

  After his short break, Finn continued his journey east along the road. He was deep in thought when a voice woke him from his daydream.

  “Good day, friend.”

  Finn stopped and looked up from his thoughts. Twenty yards ahead, in the middle of the road, was a scruffy-looking man. He wore a simple leather vest, a faded blue shirt, and had an old sword tucked into his belt. His smiled, but it looked forced.

  Finn felt uneasy and looked around. The road and countryside was empty.

  “Where you travelling to?” asked the man.

  “To yonder mountains,” Finn indicated with a nod.

  “The mountains? Have you got family there?”

  “Yes, and I’m, in a bit of a hurry. So, if you would let me pass, please.”

  “Why, certainly, young sir,” said the man, who stood aside to let Finn pass. Finn walked forward, but when he got closer to the man, he noticed his lip twitch. Finn's hand dropped to his sword.

  “No need for that sword, young sir. I mean you no harm.” The man raised his hands.

  Finn kept his eyes on him as he passed, but the man did not move or go for his weapon. He just kept smiling his odd little smile.

  Maybe he means me no harm. I am too jumpy.

  Several yards past the man, Finn realized that he was now walking on timber beams. He was standing on a short wooden bridge spanning a rocky gully. The rough-looking man had followed him a few yards and stood at one end of the bridge, looking smug. Finn glanced to the other end of the bridge to see another man standing there—with a battle axe in his hands. He was trapped.

  “Now, young sir, if you would drop all your possessions, including that beautiful sword, you can go on your way,” said the first man, “unharmed.”

  Finn responded by drawing the black sword. Its fine edge shone in the sunlight, it felt warm in his hand. The first man’s eyes widened as he reassessed the situation, this traveller no longer looked so harmless. This young pup had teeth and seemed prepared to use them. The first man drew his own sword.

  “Come on, just drop your stuff and go. No blood needs to be spilled today.” The second man started to walk across the bridge toward Finn.

  They plan to hem me in. I don’t think so!

  Not waiting for an axe in the back, Finn moved toward the swordsman, who reacted by lunging forward with his weapon. It was a sloppy attack and was easily parried. The black blade rang out a long note as it contacted the inferior steel.

  I have no time for this!

  The swordsman swung his weapon in a downward strike, which Finn easily sidestepped. The man then stepped forward to deliver a horizontal strike, and he narrowly missed the eldon, as Finn jumped back, out of range.

  I must end this fast, before the axeman joins in.

  The swordsman swung a backhand strike, which Finn block downward, creating an opening. He stepped inside the swordsman’s guard and drove his blade into his opponent’s gut and out through his back. Finn withdrew his sword quickly and turned to face the axeman. The surprised swordsman crumpled to the ground in stunned silence.

  The axeman came in fast, swinging wildly. It forced Finn to back-pedal out of the axe’s reach. He almost stumbled over the dead swordsman’s body, but quickly regained his footing. Again, he dodged the axe as it swung through the air in a wide arc.

  This is no warrior!

  Finn swung his sword in a downward strike and the axeman used his weapon to block the blow. Without slowing, the black blade severed the axe shaft and continued through to the axeman’s skull. Blood and brains splashed onto the ground. For a brief second, the axeman remained standing, until Finn withdrew his sword and allowed the corpse to fall backward.

  Finn’s heart raced. He didn’t enjoy killing and he had no beef with these highwaymen.

  Why must the world’s problems be solved with violence?

  The sword hilt was warm. He looked at the black blade and could see the blood slowly evaporating from—or being absorbed into—the dark metal. Faint runes could be seen along its length.

  This sword feels strange! Why is it warm? Does it drink blood? Is this sword fighting, or is all me?

  There was no one else in sight, as Finn dragged both bodies and their weapons off the bridge and into the bushes beside the road.

  It won’t take long before the flies feast on these two. Even though they’d tried to kill him, he couldn’t help, but feel sorry for them. They would have family, somewhere.

  Just then, the faint smell of smoke caught his attention. Finn looked over the side of the bridge and down at the gently sloped gully below. A small stream flowed through it. Not far from the road, on the gully’s bank, smoke drifted into to the air. It was partially obscured by a clump of thick bushes.

  The eldon made his way along a small track on the eastern bank of the gully. There, he found a small campfire, and, nearby, a sheet of canvas was tied between
two trees. Two bedrolls were laid out under the makeshift shelter, along with a bag of food and several empty bottles of cheap wine. It looked like the highwaymen had been drinking while they waited for their victims to come along. A small bag which contained a few coins, two rings, a necklace, and other low-quality valuables was hidden under one of the bedrolls.

  It looks like the pickings have been slim. Finn placed the coin bag in his pocket.

  A snort alerted him to two mountain ponies tied to a tree not far away. They were short, solid-looking beasts but looked underfed. They had little feed and water and it was evident that they had not been properly cared for. The ponies snorted and shook their heads as he approached, but they quickly calmed down when he spoke to them and patted their necks. He untied their reins and led them to a grassy area beside the road to graze. He did not tie them but let them wander where they wanted.

  If they run, they run. They deserve freedom more than most.

  Suddenly, Finn wondered if this was the help Mordan spoke of. He returned to where the ponies had been tethered to retrieve their saddles and then he returned to the road. Finn dropped the saddles beside the road and sat down in the shade of a tree to drink from his flask. He guessed that the highwaymen had let Tharr and his bandits pass, knowing they were no match for them. They probably hadn’t even shown themselves.

  After his brief rest, Finn selected the brown pony and saddled it. He then put his and Anna’s packs over the saddle and strapped them on. The white and brown pony was a little friskier and walked away as he approached.

  “Come on, Patch. Let’s not make this difficult.”

  After a little coaxing, he caught and saddled the white and brown pony and led it back to where the brown one waited patiently.

  “Well, Patch and Brownie, we have some distance to travel before nightfall.” Finn mounted Patch and turned east. The small pony moved into a trot without any encouragement and Brownie, tied to Patch’s saddle, followed behind.

  By late afternoon, the road had started to rise. It didn’t slow the ponies’ progress, though. Being bred for rocky and hilly terrain, they took the sloping road in stride and never complained. In fact, they almost appeared to be happy to be back in the hills.

  Just before nightfall, Finn reached the rocky foothills of the Cold Heart Mountains. There had been no other traffic on the road that day, and even nature appeared unusually absent. He felt a little uneasy.

  The daylight faded fast and Finn shivered, pulling his coat around his shoulders. The night’s first stars brought back memories of when he and Garm hunted deer in the high woods by moonlight. With the absence of a father, their grandfather had taught the two boys how to survive off the land. By twelve, they had been able to hunt almost any woodland animal with a bow and spear. Many in their village felt sure that the brothers would turn out to be half-wild, due to their love of hunting.

  Finn had decided to stop for the night, when a small light in the hills above him attracted his attention. It was hard to judge the distance, as the road ahead wove in and out of the rocks, but he didn’t think it was too far away.

  As he got closer, Finn saw the light was from a small building ahead. It looked like an inn made from stone and yellow light from its windows spilled out onto the narrow road.

  What I wouldn’t give for a hot meal and a warm bed!

  The ponies must have sensed civilisation as they picked up their pace without encouragement.

  “Okay, Patch,” he said, and patted the pony’s neck. “Do you want oats for your supper?” The brown and white pony neighed in response.

  Near the inn, Finn reined in the ponies and looked at the structure. It was a small, one-story, sturdy looking building. It reminded Finn of a small castle he had once seen in a story book about knights and dragons.

  The inn was quiet, and, if it wasn’t for the lights, Finn would have thought it was deserted. He wondered if they would have news of Anna or the bandits. With a gentle nudge, he encouraged Patch forward, and the pony walked on without complaint. He stopped at a hitching rail at the side of the building, tied both ponies to it, and checked that the packs were secure.

  When Finn walked around to the front of the building, he was hit by a cold breeze blowing down the road. A hanging sign that swayed back and forth stated that this was the High Top Inn. He pulled his coat hood on and covered the black sword, not wanting to draw too much attention. The mountain road was deserted, as he opened the front door and stepped inside.

  Finn’s eyes adjusted quickly to the inn’s light. He was surprised to see that it had several patrons. They sat at two long, rectangular tables, which took up most of the small taproom, and they were of various races. All drank from wooden steins.

  The cosy room had a low ceiling and a roaring stone fireplace at one end of the room. A small wooden bar was located opposite the front door, and it had a heavily-muscled dwarf behind it, who smoked from a long-stemmed pipe. Grey smoke rose from the barman and several of his patrons, creating a haze below the ceiling. Coming from the crisp fresh air into smoky room took Finn’s breath away and he coughed.

  The room went silent. All eyes turned to the newcomer at the front door.

  “Come in and close the door. You’re letting the heat out,” the barman said gruffly.

  The young eldon obeyed and closed the door, but he kept his hood low and avoided eye contact as he walked to the bar. He spoke quietly to the bearded barman and asked for a beer.

  “Are you old enough, sonny?” said the dwarf, with a mouth full of pipe. “Not that I care, so long as you pay.” He filled a wooden cup with foamy, dark liquid and pushed it across the bar to Finn. “That’s four pennies.”

  He paid and turned to survey the room from under his hood, using the cup to hide his face as he sipped the beer, which wasn’t much better than dirty water.

  The patrons lost interested in the newcomer quickly and turned back to their drinks. A few curious people watched him a little longer, including a grey-skinned eldon. Finn suddenly realized that it was Tharr. Wolfgang and the other bandits were also seated at the bandit leader’s table.

  Anna must be close!

  They turned back to their drinks and Tharr resumed telling a story to the other ruffians. A dwarf and three humans listened to his tale and laughed loudly. Finn watched. Wolfgang was the only one who didn’t laugh at his leader’s jokes. Instead, he drank his beer and openly stared at Finn leaning against the bar. He didn’t hide his interest and this made Finn nervous.

  Does he recognise me? I hope not—I can’t fight six men, even with this sword.

  Finn turned his back to the bandits and pretended to drink his beer. He had been so intent on finding the bandits that he wasn’t sure of what he should do next. He decided to wait and see how it played out.

  Wolfgang finished his beer and placed his wooden mug on the table. Finn could feel that his eyes had never left his back. The bandit walked to the bar with his empty mug.

  “Can I buy you a drink, stranger?”

  “No, thank you,” replied Finn. He hoped his voice was calm.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Northern Tarmia.”

  “You’re taking a big risk, travelling by yourself on these roads. It’s not safe.”

  “I’ll be alright,” said Finn. “Thanks for your concern.”

  The barman refilled Wolfgang’s mug. “No problem, stranger.” Wolfgang turned to join his friends, but had a thought and turned back to Finn. “Are you by any chance looking for a girl called Anna?”

  “What?” Finn turned and looked into Wolfgang’s smiling face.

  “Look, boys. It’s the girl’s husband,” he said over his shoulder to his friends. Tharr and the other bandits stood from their table, chairs screeching on the floor.

  Finn reached for his sword, but Wolfgang’s hand grabbed his forearm with an iron grip. “Don’t make any fatal mistakes, boy,” he threatened.

  “Hey!” shouted the barman. “I don’t want any trouble
in here. Take it outside!”

  “Come on, lover boy, let's go for a walk outside.” Wolfgang didn’t release his grip on Finn and forced him toward the front door. “Tharr, this is only going to take a minute.”

  “Are you putting on some entertainment, Wolfie?” asked Tharr. “I don’t want to miss that.”

  The bandits followed Wolfgang and Finn to the front door. The bandit kicked open the door and threw Finn outside, onto the road. He hit the ground hard and lay, sprawled, in the light from the inn. The bandits followed Wolfgang outside and laughed at the young eldon lying in the dirt.

  Finn tried to stand, but Wolfgang kicked him hard in the stomach, which drove him to the ground, again. Winded, he fought for air. His breath finally came and he coughed, creating small dust from the dirt.

  Mordan, where are you? I need you!

  “Just kill him, Wolfie,” said one of the bandits.

  “Make him suffer,” said another.

  Finn tried to stand, but Wolfgang’s boot forced him to the ground, again. The bandits laughed.

  “Let the boy up,” said a steady voice from the inn.

  The bandits’ banter quieted and in unison, they turned to see a short figure silhouetted in the inn’s doorway. Finn raised his head and looked at the small shape.

  “Piss off, gnome! This doesn’t concern you,” shouted Wolfgang. The air became tense, as the bandits faced off against the gnome.

  “Youngster, for some reason, these gentlemen appear to want you dead. I don’t know why, and it’s none of my business,” said the gnome. “If you don’t want to fight all six of these gentlemen, I suggest you challenge for leadership of their gang.” He turned to go back inside and paused. “That way, you only need to fight one—and win, of course.” He vanished inside the inn.

  Wolfgang turned his attention back to Finn. “Now, where was I?”

  “Stop!” cried Finn from the ground. He raised one hand. “I challenge for leadership.”