The Warlock's Fortune: Act One Read online

  My room is bright with sunlight. Morning already? I drag myself from the bed, trying to gain some vision. My head is throbbing and poison stirs in my stomach. Over the course of the evening, I’d shared many a drink with the locals who came to my table, eager to hear of a grand adventure. My adventures aren’t so glorious, nor are they paved with much coin, but I tell the farmers their grand tales anyway. I never spoke of the Warlock or the scroll though, I doubt any of them would have believed the tale if I had shared. I hardly believe it myself. They're stories for naughty kids, told under the cover of darkness, and yet I had killed one. Nothing else could wield magic like that.

  “I must be a great swordsman,” I laugh to myself. As my laughter leaves the room quiet, I feel a great unease deep in my stomach, there is trouble about. Dismissing the worry as part of the aftermath of last night, I move to my feet and stretch out a bit. My muscles are stiff and my bones brittle. I’ll feel better once I get moving.

  With my shirt and armour pieces back on, I sit at the small table placed right in the centre of my room. For the few spare aldar this room costs, it is easily sufficient. Many an inn charges entire bags of coins to use their rooms. The candle on top the desk has completely melted, solid wax sits dripped over the edges of the Avium holder. I take out the scroll once again. The symbols and marking grow slowly more understandable. They describe places, and an order in which to visit them, like a trail. Seems to be, I need to go to these places before I can get my treasure. Before any treasures can be found though, I’ll need to know what this map shows. I roll the flimsy scroll back up, strap my sword to my belt and walk out of the room.

  There is not a soul in the communal room, where Rohtar usually sits and checks his books, so I make my way around to the well beside the inn. I draw a bucket of water, still waking from my slumber. As I'm leaning against the well, filling my water sack, I stare into the cloudy sky. A cool wind blows gently and the town is alive with chatter. I'm still in need of supplies for the journey to Risna, some dried meat and bread should do. Once the bucket is again tied up, I make my way over to The Giant Slayer, whistling as I go.

  A short walk through town and I’m yet again arriving at the Giant Slayer, so fittingly named due to the potency of its ale. I pass through the wide doorway and into the largest room of the building. Sigren, bent over a table and with washcloth in hand, greets me kindly, as she always does. The tavern is a ghost of last night, only a handful of farmers come and go. Sigren and I spend the morning talking about trivial things, she tells me of the festivals, I tell her of my time hunting.

  “In all of your adventures, have you ever been to the Capital?” she asks, wide eyed.

  “No, I’ve spent most of my time through the south-east.”

  “I’ve heard wondrous stories of it. Travelers say you can do anything in the city.”

  I'm quick to tell her, “the life you have here is good, don’t waste that.”

  Our conversation fades and it’s clear she’s been avoiding work to talk with me.

  “I’d best be heading off, though I think I’ll return tonight, just one last time.” Her face fills with sorrow then joy as I speak. While walking out of The Giant Slayer, I realize, it's almost midday and I’m yet to visit the map maker whose shop is on the other side of town. I hadn’t bought any food for the road to Risna either, I’d better remember tonight.

  A small stone building, weathered over time, is where the stubborn old man does business. With two large wooden doors, held open during trading hours, and a large sign swaying in the breeze, nobody could mistake this building for anything but what it is. I had visited it when I first arrived at Halvar, needing to replace some of my broken supplies and obtain a map of the region. The map maker sells various tools, maps, water-skins, cloaks and sleeping rolls here, essentials for a wanderer.

  I walk in through the open doors and see him hanging thick leather cloaks on his displays, in preparation for the rain of the new season. His store seems bare without many cloaks hanging on the racks.

  “Good morning, I would like you to look at a map for me.” He looks over his shoulder, noticing he has a customer. I wonder to myself if he had heard me or not.

  “Morning, what can I do for you?” he asks.

  “I've got a map for you,” I say louder, hoping he hears me. The old man gestures to a counter at the side of the store. I walk over to it and place the scroll in front of him.

  “You know, it is good luck to buy something on the first day of a new season,” he says trying to convince me to hand over some coins. He takes the scroll into his wrinkled hands and begins to unroll it. I ignore his sale pitch and continue to glance around at his wares. Folk like to keep their coats in a good condition, in fear of another storm like the one that decimated the south a few seasons ago.

  “Now let’s see what you have here,” he continues. “Oh my, this is, this map was crafted by very skilled hands,” he says as he seems to focus properly. “See, we are somewhere here, and that is the Capital,” he tells me as he points towards two different spots.

  “So, what are these?” I ask him as I point to the other detailed shapes.

  “Each is a realm, separated from ours by great bodies of water. Osmond, Allvaldr, Haldor, Sigurd. You should know some of those names?”

  “I’ve heard of the warmongering Osmondian Empire, and savages the roam the lands of Haldor.”

  “What is this writing? I’ve not seen something like this before. Where did you get this map boy?” He asks as he looks up to me.

  “I found it.”

  “Dangerous thing, this map could be. Take care in what you do with it,” he urges like he speaks from experience.

  “Kind advice. How much will your words lighten my coin pouch?”

  “None.” He shakes his head, “just leave me out of it, I’ve no plans to bring your trouble here.” I take my scroll and leave, waving to the old businessman. As I walk away from the shop, the dirt of the path once again crunching below my boots, I gaze at the scroll in my hand and wonder how much trouble it's going to cause.

  It's darker again than each night past, with clouds gathering around the moon to hide its light. Although dusk has already set in, the street lamps remain unlit. The air is thick and cold, I’ll be much happier once I'm inside the warmth of The Giant Slayers walls. For the last time, I walk the dark stone road listening to the town, passing sparse farmers concluding their business for the day. My work only grows more dangerous, and lonely. I’ve yet to gather why Rettr left me for dead in Brayer, was it for coins or survival or to simply abandon her prodigy. I’ll likely never be sure. Times pass, and it was almost too long ago to recall. Wounds heal, as does a burned heart.

  There’re no crowds to be found tonight at The Giant Slayer, thus I happily claim the same table I'd sat at during the night before. Cheap wooden furnishings fill the tavern and candles hang on the walls. Ondray the bard is playing a soft tune on his lute, strumming away to a slow rhythm. I look around thinking fondly of past nights of fun and excitement, though tonight it's peaceful. My talk with Sigren goes as usual, I order my food, a plate of honey roast venison, and something to drink. Some nights, when I’ve had one too many a mug of ale, her features bend and I see Rettr. Sigren’s personality is as fiery as her hair. She does resemble my vanished mentor, in all but face. As good as the food is here, I know she’s the real reason I’ve returned so often.

  “Sigren, tomorrow I make for Risna,” I say as she returns with my meal, “I’ll likely not be back for a while.”

  Her face scrunches and simply stares at me for a moment, “and you didn’t have the guts to tell me before now?”

  “Be glad I told you at all.”

  “Must you really leave; couldn’t the Army give you work as a soldier? This place would not be the same without you?” she asks me with downcast eyes.

  “I’m no soldier,” I say. “I’ll head towards the Capital eventually, maybe even send you something.”

  She smiles fo
r a moment and leans over the table, “bring it back yourself.” I nod, without words to use. She lets out a smile which turns to a laugh, as do I.

  I’ve just eaten the last of my meal when a man appears beside my table. He wipes his brown hair behind an ear, before some of it falls free again. Plates of metal, painted black and silver, wrap around his body with the left shoulder covered in short blunt spikes. His colors seem familiar, maybe I’ve come across him before. I let my hand fall onto the grip of my sword, wary of this warrior.

  “Are you that bounty hunter,” he says in a blur of words, “you know that one who always kills the, guys, that’s you right?” It's now I see the empty bottle in his hand and the sway through his torso.

  “Sit down friend, you need some water,” I say, taking the bottle from him. Below his metal coating, he would be a smaller man than myself. “Sigren. Can you bring us some water?”

  “Ale is the elixir of gods, wooing woes and healing all,” he utters like it’s an old song.

  “Yes, but it can also be the scourge of good men, the evil hides within the pleasure.”

  While staring into the bumpy wooden table, he speaks again, “you are the bounty hunter though?”

  “Yeah that's me, you are?” I ask him as Sigren hands him the water mug.

  “Ein,” he states bluntly, scowling at the water. “Eindride of the Dragonfire’s if you want to be formal.”

  “Fruulo not graced you much lately Ein,” I query after swallowing another mouthful of my drink.

  “The god of luck hasn't watched over me in a long time,” he says, as a smile seems to appear through his scruffy beard. “Are you a local?” He asks, turning my questions away from his troubles.

  “A traveller. In fact, I'm on my way out tomorrow morning.”

  “Which direction?”

  “West, through Risna then towards the Capital,” I clarify.

  “Are you hunting someone?” he asks.

  “Not yet. Though if a job appears on my way, I’m never one to miss a chance for a few extra coins.”

  “Don’t most hunters work in groups?” Ein asks.

  “Most do.”

  “I’m going the same way as you Fenrir and I need coins,” he says bidding to find new work.

  “Sell your armour if you need coins. Most men aren’t built to work bounties.”

  “Most men haven’t spent years in a battle school nor earned armour such as mine.” Ein says, gesturing to the shield and spear held at his back.

  “Why should I trust my life to you in the thick of a fight?”

  “A single man can be the difference between triumph, and death. I’ll hold your back, as you will mine.”

  “I’ll be following the western road at first light. If you’re there, we will make for Risna together.”

  The sun can barely be seen over the horizon as I reach the edge of town. To my surprise, Ein's already there and waiting.

  “Morning Ein, I see you're ready,” I say, glancing at his bag.

  “Let’s get underway, it’s freezing out here.”

  “We need to pass through the Army camp outside town first,” I tell him as I continue walking.

  “The Army, why?” he asks as he matches pace beside me.

  “The Captain shall send an eagle, with news of our approach, to the camp in Prek, the town past Risna,” I explain to him. “So that they can prepare any bounty sheets they have.” He agrees and we keep walking towards the camp a short distance outside of town.

  “What do you mean there's no work for a sell-sword here, there should at least be a bounty or two!” I hear a deep voice shout from within the camp.

  “Who is with you Fenrir?” demands the guard in front of the gate.

  “Just a companion, no cause for trouble.”

  “Right. You can go in but the Captain’s busy with another merc’. Your friend stays here though.”

  “Thanks, I'll put in a good word for you with Arvid,” I say to the guard as he opens the large wooden gate.

  I walk the usual way toward Arvid's tent but as I pass the third row of smaller tents, I turn the corner to see the Captain arguing with a heavy built man with a double handed axe bound to his back. A drakine arm guard and shoulder piece sit eager for battle and shine a cloudy red in the sunlight as he waves his hands about.

  “This is the last time I’ll tell you, we’ve had a bounty hunter living here and he takes all of the work!” Arvid shouts angrily, “and even if he didn't live here, there is still nothing we need right now!”

  “Oh, to hell with you then,” the large man says as he turns to walk out of the camp.

  The brown hair slicked behind his ears, falling past his shoulders and many days’ stubble almost hide it but the moment I see his face I realize who it is, “Ulfmaer?” I say shocked, “is that you?”

  Ulfmaer stops for a moment, his face taut, “aye it's me,” he says furiously, “and you brother, why are you here! Have you come to be sorry, or have you come to just mock me!” he barks.

  “Hold on Ulfmaer.”

  “That's just like you to not understand, to not realize the things you cause,” Ulfmaer says a little calmer, “then why are you here, if not for me?”

  “He happens to be the bounty hunter living here,” Arvid adds.

  “Leaving here Arvid,” I correct him, “I’d just come to ask an eagle be sent to the camp in Prek, warning them of my approach.”

  “So, that's it. You’re just leaving again,” Ulfmaer says as he turns towards a tent.

  “I need to get moving Ulfmaer, we're heading west” I say to him, “will you join me?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I'm still your brother,” I tell him. Ulfmaer just stares into the tent.

  “We are going to rest in Risna first, will you meet us there?” I ask. He glances at me for a moment then continues his silence. “We will wait in the Soken Tavern for three nights. If you meet us there, I’ll buy your drinks,” I say to my brother as I turn away and begin to walk out.

  “Don't bother, you won't see me again,” Ulfmaer states in a deep angry growl.

  “Let's go Ein, there is no use staying here,” I tell Ein as I pass him on the way out. “And Ulfmaer there was still one job, hunting wolves outside town.” We leave the camp and begin our journey towards Risna.

  We walk along the main road to Risna in the shade of the forest.

  “So, Ein, we have lots of walking ahead of us, care to tell me why you’re heading west?”

  Ein doesn’t answer quickly, considering his words carefully, “you know of the Grey Castle?”

  “A little.” I’d been past the grey castle some time ago, it sits in the centre of a chunk of dark forestry and fishing villages.

  “Gildr Venor is the Barron of the Grey Castle and controls a large portion of the south-east, I was part of his personal guard.” Ein lets out a tired old smile as he looks at me for a moment.

  “No longer?”

  “When Gildr had a daughter, a beautiful baby girl, he assigned me to be her guard. I was to protect young Lady Gmenni night and day.” There was a young noble girl killed recently, was Ein involved?

  “She snuck out, as I slept, to see the baker’s son one night. She’d been begging me for days to let her go see him, claimed she was in love.” Ein casts his eyes towards his boots. “Poor girl didn’t know what love was. I thought she would have had more sense and I waited for her to return. I waited until dawn,” he stops to take a deep breath. “Dawn came. She hadn’t returned. If I left the matter any longer I could be tried for stupidity.”

  “And when you found her?”

  “We didn’t find Gmenni. We found a corpse with torn clothes and a raped and beaten body.” His eyes grow foggy and his voice strained by the lump in his throat, “I couldn't punch that vile cunt hard enough. I cannot recall how long I spent hitting the dog. I beat him with my sword hilt and then my fists. As I came to my senses, I was being dragged away from a dribbling pool of blood. The Barre
n stripped me of my knighthood and exiled me from his lands.”

  “Don’t dwell on it or you’ll go mad. Eyes on the horizon,” I say trying to lighten his despair.

  “I’d failed Lady Gmenni and the Venor family, I’ll carry that for all of my days.”

  Chapter 2: Dogs of War

  ~Jormungand~

  Rain pounds the fabric of my tent like an army of drummers on parade. The soggy spray saturates the air, swaying about like icy waves. How many nights since I last slept well, since I last slept through the dreams. Every night it’s the same scene. Father charges with the front line, as I stand and watch, helpless. He rides into the tide of metal and men, falling only moments later. In this cold, restless slumber, I wait once again. An echo of a whisper hangs on the wind, almost a cry of pain?

  A voice takes shape, “We're under attack!”

  I snap to my feet and rush forward. I’ll not need my armour to slay whatever half-witted bandits have woken my men. Dirt has turned to sludge with the rain, and my toes squelch into the soil as I burst through the tent’s canvas door. Only a handful of my company remain within sight, where are the rest? The few men left defending our camp are outnumbered almost three to one. Despite the bravery of each of my men, the band of warrior’s tramples through the moonlit camp, slaughtering them.

  “To arms men. Formations!” I shout to any man able to heed my command.

  Nearest to myself, a pair of swords clash as two men do battle. I quickly charge into the foe, knocking him into the mud, with my shield. In a single motion, my sword follows him to the ground and pierces through his gambeson. I slide my blade free of his flesh, as it drips blood. These men are not bandits. No, through the thick blanket of rain, I see the crest of Sigurd. Once an ally, the swine Hilmir has betrayed us. I’ll send his men to Vithar’s grasp, and then the treacherous king will face retribution. Beside the dying Sigurdian lays my soldier, Gull. I reach a hand out to him before I see clearly. Soaked in blood and mud, his eyes have rolled back into his skull and he doesn’t draw breath.