Soron's Quest

by Robyn Wideman

  When dinner ended and the majority of the people had returned to their homes for the night, Soron went and sat beside his father.

  In silence they sat there, watching the servants clean the other tables. Theron knew his son had something on his mind and would speak when ready, there was no point pushing him.

  “When this battle is over, I am leaving the north,” proclaimed Soron.

  Theron looked at his son, he knew how all the bloodshed affected the lad, and perhaps he was right to want to leave. The reality was neither one of them would survive the coming battle so arguing about Soron’s future beyond that seemed pointless. “If that is what you wish. Where will you go?”

  “South to the lands below the Applomean Mountains, I shall trade and wander. Perhaps I shall find something that interests me there.”

  Soron, one of the greatest northern warriors alive, living in the south among the farmers and berry pickers? The idea seemed preposterous to Theron at first but the more he thought about it the more it made sense. Perhaps among the more civilized and tame lands he son could find peace. “Okay, when this is done you head south,” replied the king. He doubted his words had any meaning but was glad to give his son some small piece of mind before they died.

  Having told his father of his plans, Soron left the hall and returned to his room. He would need his sleep. He hoped Holti’s boast of full health by morning was going to hold up. He would need to be at his best in the next few days.

  When Soron woke, he felt refreshed and better than he had in months. Holti had been true to his word. Soron looked carefully at his armor; he had grown weary of the well-worn leather and what it represented. With a sigh, he once more dressed for battle, wrapping himself in his form fitting leathers with his gauntlets and steel reinforced boots. His weapons of choice for battle were of his own design. Forged by his own hand, they were as fine of weapons as seen in the northern lands. His skills as a blacksmith were only surpassed by his accomplishments in battle. The dull black color of the blades was a byproduct of the unique northern steel, a productive only those with giant’s blood heritage could produce. The strength needed to forge the hardened metal beyond that of normal men.

  Soron placed his smaller sword breaker dagger in its sheath, tucked along his backside then place his larger weapon, his trusted sword in its carrier between his shoulder blades. Now armed and ready for what was to come, Soron slipped off to the kitchen for a quick breakfast and a small sack of supplies.

  When Soron reached the kitchen Rurik was waiting for him. Rurik always awake before everyone else to prepare the days meals was used to Soron sneaking in early. “I suspected you might be here this morning. Going off to challenge the mighty Magnus are you? Well good luck boy, if anyone can defeat him and save us from the blood shed it is you,” said Rurik as he handed Soron his morning meal and supplies.

  Soron’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Rurik might be the cook, but he was also one of the wisest men Soron knew, that he had guessed Soron’s intent should not have come as a shock. Soron confided in the man often, readily seeking his opinion. “Do you think it is the right course of action? Challenging Magnus? Or should I stand at my father’s side and help meet the enemy at our defenses.”

  Rurik scoffed, “You know as well as I that our defenses are pathetic, this town was built for commerce and growth not defense. Our men are valiant warriors, but so too are the army of Magnus. Sheer numbers alone assure us of defeat. While our warriors might find death on the battle field a good death, I prefer living any day. If you are able to defeat Magnus, perhaps his army will retreat; at the very least it would take away their best weapon: fear. Without the dreaded Magnus Kollrson on the battlefield our warriors will at least believe they have a chance of winning, which could be all it takes to change the course of battle. No son, I believe you must go out and challenge Magnus for us to have any chance of surviving the next few days.”

  Soron nodded. The cook’s words echoed his own thoughts, that victory could only be achieved by removing the enemy’s vaunted leader. Without Magnus, the outcome of this battle was uncertain. If Magnus survived they would fall to the greater numbers of the far northern tribal warriors.

  “Thank you Rurik, for the food and the council. You are pretty wise for a cook,” said Soron with a wink and a smile.

  Rurik gave a hearty laugh. “Careful boy, this cook was killing men when you were still a baby. You are not the first northern warrior to grow weary of taking lives, and to seek out a new path that doesn’t involve a sword. Becoming a cook gave me a way to put my sword away. I am proud to be called cook.”

  Soron had not known this about Rurik, it did not surprise him though. Rurik carried himself like a warrior, even when in the kitchen. “Perhaps I could join you in the kitchens when this is all over,” mused Soron.

  Rurik shook his head, “Boy, you are perhaps the best blacksmith in all the north already. I have seen some of the jewelry you make, your talents don’t lie in a kitchen.”

  Soron smiled softly, “Jewelry is not the work of a northern blacksmith,” he repeated his father’s often spoken opinion on the subject.

  Rurik nodded, “That much is true, so become just a blacksmith. You cannot tell me you have not given thought to leaving the north for less battle filled lands.”

  “Actually I already told father that I would be leaving. He gave his consent, but it was halfhearted, he believes we will be dying soon so he said it to appease me,” said Soron.

  “Then do what needs to be done, face Magnus in combat and either go to the gods as a fallen warrior or defeat the great warrior and then leave without returning. Don’t give your father the opportunity to recant his consent. We northerners are not ones for goodbyes so no one will judge you. If you defeat the enemy and leave I will spread word of our conversation, nothing your father can do then.”

  Soron thought it over, Rurik was right. He had no reason to return, he would either die trying to defend his people or live and move on. It was time to start a new life, one not build with a blooded blade. “You better add a bit more food to my supplies friend; I plan on going on a journey.”

  Rurik lifted a second sack already filled and placed it beside the first, “Already packed boy, now off you go.”

  Soron shook his head, Rurik was a cagey one. He clasped the man’s arm in a farewell gesture then took up his sacks and slipped out of the great hall before the rest of the men started to awake. Soron took one last look at the Great Hall as he left. He wondered if he would ever be there again.

  As the morning sun slipped over the eastern horizon Soron swiftly moved north.

  3

  The magnificent Magnus

  TWO DAYS LATER, Soron found the first signs of the advancing northern tribe. The advance scouts of the army were working their way south, traveling ahead of the main war party. Soron stood in a thick grow of aspen, he had anticipated that this was the valley the war party would follow down to Amradin. The valley floor was wide and level, easy traveling for large numbers. From his hiding spot deep in the trees along the side of the valley Soron was able to watch the scouts make their way past him on their way south.

  Within hours of seeing the advance scouts Soron heard the dull thumping, the sound of five thousand warriors marching together. Soon he could see the men as they made their way south through the valley. He had never seen so many men at once. It was an awe inspiring sight.

  Waiting until the men were within a few hundred yards of his position, Soron dropped his packs and walked out into the middle of the valley. He stood in the way of the oncoming army. As the men grew closer he mentally prepared himself for combat. His muscles warm from the mornings walk needed no stretching, he was ready.

  A voice rang out and the army’s forward progress halted, with the exception of three warriors that came forward to meet Soron. Without doubt the one in the middle was the mighty Magnus Kollrson. As tall as Soron, the warrior was thick, burly with bulging forearms. Magnus’ face was a map of
scars that marked his numerous conquests.

  “You stand in the way boy. Are you here to join the army?” said the mighty warrior in a deep throaty voice.

  “I seek the mighty Magnus Kollrson. Rumor has it that he travels this way,” replied Soron.

  The man grunted in amusement, “You have found him, and who might you be boy?”

  “Soron Stoneblood,” said Soron.

  “Ah, the son of the-would-be king,” said Magnus.

  Soron nodded, “my father is chieftain of the local clans and some have called him king for unifying the regions under his leadership, the word king means nothing to me, he is a good leader and cares for his people.”

  “Chieftain or king, it matters not. This region is rich in minerals and your father’s mines hold the iron I need. I will control the area, being able to kill a king would only be a bonus. So why are you here boy, you pleading for mercy? Come to beg for your father’s life?”

  Soron shook his head, “I have come to challenge you to combat.”

  Magnus laughed, “You think you can stop the invasion by defeating me? Do you know who I am? I have killed more men than the plague. I defeat legions single handed. I am the greatest fighter in the far north, feared by all. What makes you think you have a chance boy?” said Magnus Kollrson in a mocking and arrogant tone. Most men tremble in fear at the mere sight of him, the fact his impudent boy would actually challenge him was almost too much to fathom.

  One of Magnus’s two companions spoke out, “this boy is known to us sir. He is an accomplished warrior, perhaps it would be best to just kill him and not accept his challenge.”

  Magnus gave his companion a deathly cold stare, “are you suggesting I can’t handle this young one? Say another word like that and I will cut your tongue out.” Magnus turned back to Soron, “challenge accepted.”

  Man to man combat was an important ritual in Solotine. Now that Magnus had formally accepted Soron’s challenge it became an honor fight. It meant that no one would interfere and if Soron did win he would be given safe passage after the battle. They might try track him, hunt him down and murder him tomorrow, but for today at least he would be safe from reprisal if he proved victorious. If he did not win, it would not matter. Magnus did not leave fallen enemies alive.

  Magnus spoke to his companions, “give the order to stop the march. We shall take a break, eat some lunch, give the men a show then continue on our way.”

  Soron had to give the man credit; he certainly knew how to maximize his reputation. If Magnus defeated Soron here, his men would have fresh blood lust and pride to channel into their attack on Amradin.

  “Come boy, join me for lunch and then we shall give the men a show,” invited Magnus.

  “Thank you, a bit of lunch would be most pleasing,” replied Soron. To show any fear or nervousness in front of Magnus would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Soron would show no fear today.

  While Magnus and Soron walked back towards the army, a small tent and tables were quickly set up for their lunch. Magnus liked to be treated like royalty Soron noted. It was no wonder he took offense to another northern being called king. Magnus had delusions of his own splendor.

  It was truly was impressive how quickly their lunch was organized. Soron supposed that when you were constantly raiding and attacking, you became incredibly efficient at organizing large groups of people, how to feed them and in this case be able to rapidly respond to the whims of your leader.

  Magnus sat down at the table and motioned for Soron to join him. “So king’s son, let me give you one last good meal before sending you off to the worlds of the gods.”

  Soron sat down across from Magnus. If nothing else the man was interesting, his thirst for power and insatiable bloodlust were traits that Soron found less than appealing but sitting here talking with the greatest warrior known to the north was a curious experience. Soron could not help but get the feeling Magnus was attempting to lull Soron into a less aware state of mind before their combat. Manipulating your opponent’s moods could have very effective results. Soron would not rise to any bait. He simply smiled, and accepted the meal placed in front of him. The assortment of meats and cheeses was as tasty as Magnus had promised.

  Having finished their meal, Magnus stood, grabbed a pitcher of mead and took a big swig. He slammed the container onto the table and gave Soron a steely glare. “By now the men should be rested and ready for a little entertainment. Shall we begin?”

  Soron simply rose and nodded.

  While they had been eating the army had been positioned around a large low spot where the all the men would have a good view of the fight. The low spot was flat and a circle had been marked. The circle meant nothing but it gave the soldiers a ring to stay back of. Plenty of room for combat without interruption.

  Soron walked to the middle of the circle. He did not wait for Magnus. Who he expected would want to make an entrance… build up his men’s excitement before the fight. Sure enough, as soon as Soron stood in the middle, one of Magnus’ lieutenants came to stand beside Soron in the ring.

  With a loud bark the lieutenant quieted the massive circle of men watching the fight. “Brothers, this is Soron Stoneblood, one of the finest warriors in the land. He is the son of the- would- be king and has challenged one of our own to combat. The one he has challenged is known to you all. He is your leader; he is the greatest warrior ever to walk these lands. He is Magnus Kollrson,” yelled the lieutenant. Bring the crowd to a frenzy.

  A low chant started at the back of the crowd and soon the entire army was chanting ‘Magnus Magnus Magnus’. When the might warrior finally made his way to the circle the crowd was boisterous, almost frantic.

  Soron had seen the effects of bloodlust on troops before. It dulled them to the plight of the enemy, strengthened their resolve and ultimately reduced a warrior’s respect for life. Moments like this, where five thousands men stood cheering and crying for one man to kill another were why Soron hated the north. Dead should not be celebrated like this.

  Pulling his sword out its protective sheath, Soron readied himself.

  Soon Magnus entered the circle, walking through the crowd of cheering warriors. Soron could see Magnus was carrying a large battle axe. Even in the thickly muscled arms of Magnus the heavy weapon looked heavy and unyielding, but Soron knew from experience how dangerous the double bladed weapon could be.

  Magnus walked to the center of the circle, arms raised, yelling at the crowd. In response to their leaders roars, the crowd grew even louder. Magnus turned to Soron, giving him a toothy grin then a scowl and a deathly stare.

  Soron knew this was all tactical, from the hyping of crowd right down to the stare he was receiving now. Magnus had stalled and stalled, acted almost friendly, then created a hostile environment to intimidate Soron. The five thousand screaming warriors should have been enough to frighten a demon, and more than enough to send any normal man into a fright fill stated which would give the large northern warrior a great advantage.

  Magnus had failed to read his opponent properly today. When he saw Soron he saw a young warrior, and had assumed Soron was like most young warriors. Even when his lieutenant warned him that Soron was as dangerous of opponent as he had ever faced, he scoffed. A baby faced warrior, not yet out of his teens, a danger to him, the mighty Magnus Kollrson? No, Magnus has discarded his lieutenants’ advice as the squawking of old women. He would bring the boy into camp, feed him and be friendly before terrifying him with the screams of his frenzied warriors. Then Magnus would slice him down like a scared rabbit. It had worked a hundred times before and would again- had been Magnus’ faulty logic.

  Still not yet realizing his own error in judgment, Magnus attacked. With a roar he spun, bringing his heavy battle axe around in a swinging arc. The heavy bladed weapon sliced through the air intending to crush his opponent in one slice.

  When Soron’s sword blade blocked his axe’s advance Magnus was shocked. Rare was the man who could withstand even one o
f his mighty swings. Giving another loud battle yell, Magnus launched into a series of slashing cuts; if power did not defeat his enemy Magnus would use speed to slice his enemy to bits.

  Soron knew he was in trouble. The first strike of Magnus had been an incredibly powerful blow. It took everything Soron had to block the blow. Now Magnus was coming forward, using the heavy axe like a one handed sword, attacking with terrifying speed. Magnus might be guilty of using mental warfare to give himself an advantage, but when it came to actually fighting, Magnus was all the legends said he was. The man was powerful, fast and used his axe in ways Soron had never seen in battle.

  Soron parried, deflected the blows and survived the onslaught. The crowd roared its approval as the two giant warriors moved in concert. Blades constantly moving, sparks flying as the two weapons constantly crashed into each other. Magnus pushing forward constantly attacking while Soron parried and blocked, moving back away from the onslaught.

  Magnus was impressed, so often his opponents fell to his first swing. This young boy had survived and was thwarting his attacks, but the boy was constantly retreating. Magnus knew his frenzied attacks would eventually wear down any opponent. He could feel the excitement of the crowd. It was a unique experience for the army to see Magnus actually have to give effort to defeat an enemy. They were enjoying the spectacle. Magnus decided to prolong the battle for a moment or two. He slowed his attack, letting Soron step back out of range for a second. Magnus raised his axe to the sky and yelled to the crowd, letting them bask in his magnificence.