Loose Ends

The sound of birds chirping pulled me out of the darkness.

I was alone, lying in the dim light of the breaking day on the meadow, still wrapped in my blanket.

Back at the gate of Swarehurst’s fortified side, there was a bit of a commotion going on.

A group of poorly armed villagers had gathered, and Gilgand seemed to be trying to calm them down.

Neither Baduith, Carver nor the carriage driver were to be seen—neither among the crowd nor by the carriage.

I approached the unruly rabble.

“There! He should lead the charge! Look at his sword, his chainmail!”

“We gave them shelter, after all! He is a thane, isn’t he?!”

“We cannot tolerate this!”

“No, no, no! This is our land, our road!”

“Calm down, everyone! We’ve already been rewarded for sheltering these travelers for just one night. This year’s dues to Lord Tatleth have been reduced by a quarter!” the hundredman said, trying to calm them down.

“Good people of Swarehurst! Last night I scouted out these bandits' camp and took care of two of them in the dead of night. There aren't even two dozen left of them!”

“Two dozen?!”

“But they're well-equipped! Much better than we are! And now they're definitely out for blood!”

“Do not be afraid! Of course I will stand by you in your time of need. You just have to follow my words. But first, tell me where my young companion is?”

“The boy?!”

“Gilgand! Where is the boy?!”

“Don't worry, Lord Thane. The boy is having breakfast in the hall with your other companions.”

I went over to the carriage and searched it for the scrolls, found my sword there, too.

“Look at these scrolls. The runes are drawn in the wizards' red ink! These are the symbols of fire!”

“Fire?!”

“What does it mean?!”

“All you have to do is touch it, commit the symbol to memory, and think about its meaning! Who among you does not fear the fire?! Who truly wants to defend his village?!”

Only a haggard, aging man and a boy, barely older than Carver, stepped forward.

“Is that all?! Two more! Are you letting your elders and boys fight your battles for you?!”

“On my honor!” Gilgand exclaimed, and he, too, stepped forward.

A man in his late twenties, who appeared to be accompanied by his wife and two children, brought up the rear.

I handed each of the four a scroll.

“Don't touch the ink for now! The fire will follow your hand, and you will throw it like a stone you want to make skip across the surface of the water.”

I demonstrated the movement.

“You four will be given the most important task! You will scatter those bandits and rain flames down on their camp! The remaining men capable of bearing arms will surround the camp and do everything they can to stop anyone from escaping!”

“We're supposed to fight?! In the woods?!”

“Whom do these woods belong to?! Whose land is this?! What were you just talking about?! I'll lead the charge! You'll just take care of the stragglers! I see nearly fifty men here! Our enemies aren't even half that number! Who’s with me?!”

“We'll follow you, lord thane!” shouted a chubby man swinging a club.

Others joined in as well, including the hundredman; they were ready for my move.

My allies should eat in peace. I would finish this before we set out. After all, I was the one who had gotten us into this mess.

Together with this bloodthirsty mob, I made my way back to the trail that split from the road and motioned for them to wait.

I assigned a quarter of the remaining men to each of the four fire-starters and demonstrated the movement one last time.

So we marched toward them, with me in the lead. This time, there were a total of four sentries lurking in the woods. But as soon as they saw us, they all rushed straight back to their camp.

I instructed two of the groups to encircle the camp on the left and two on the right.

“Fire!”

The old man was overwhelmed by the sudden burst of runic fire at his hand and fell to the ground, his flame expiring. The father who had stepped forward last immediately did as he was told and unleashed a blaze upon the camp, where chaos already reigned.

Gilgand and the boy followed, adding more flames to tents, supplies and men alike.

I strode forward into the inferno, slaying overwhelmed bandits left and right, until I finally found him—their leader, the man with the two short swords who had escaped my wrath in Pixthed.

“The Swordsman in Red!” shouted one of his henchmen, and lunged at me from the left with his single-edged blade.

I simply cut off the clumsy man's sword hand and kicked him to the ground.

“Let's finish this, last one of the Golden!”

The leader—what was his name again? He just glared at me, didn't attack, didn't back away, and pulled out a pouch.

I saw red powder that he was pouring into his hand. That was it! The red salt they had made for the lord of the Trolls. I tried to intervene, but I was still too far away from him. He snorted what was in his hand.

My first attempt came to nothing; the leader of the remaining Golden had backed away after all, veins bulging, his eyes suddenly bloodshot, drool dripping from his mouth.

With a scream of pure agony, he lunged forward, whirling his two blades around and around; I could barely keep up, parrying with my dagger and my sword, dodging, stepping back. Fire danced all around us. Were there any others of the Dozen left? Apparently not.

Our dance continued; I couldn't mount a counterattack, so I studied his moves, knocked over a barrel, rolled it toward him, and created some distance between us.

The villagers now gathered around us, forming a crowd. Like a cornered animal, our last opponent looked around. But with a wave of my hand, I signaled my allies to hold back and not interfere in our fight.

I put my dagger away, pointed the tip of my sword at him, inviting him to make one last attack. I would end it with a single stroke.

“Bermur!” he shouted with all his might, his head as red as the blood shed by his comrades; he took off running, leaped onto the barrel between us, and, just as he had done at the Gommond estate, attempted an attack from above.

This time, though, I wasn't exhausted—I was ready, swung from the left with both hands and plunged my blade into his torso almost to the center of his body, using his own momentum against him.

I let go of my sword and the man crashed to the ground to my right.

“Bermur!” he croaked, actually trying to get up again. “Bermur.”

I understood, wouldn't find any answers here. They had both fought hard. I took my dagger and plunged it into his heart. It was over in very few moments, and I closed his eyes.

The villagers just stood there. They didn't know whether to act joyful or somber. At least they looked relieved. How nice for them.

“You should bury them so that their souls can rest and no sinister elves makes use of their bodies.”

Gilgand and some of the others nodded.

“Farewell, and thank you for your hospitality.”

While most of the men set to work, the hundredman accompanied me back to the carriage.

Baduith and the driver were already waiting there.

“What happened, Inomar?”

“We can move on. Where’re Carver and Fion?”

“Fion, huh? The boy is still washing himself in the river, and the witch is eating —that woman has the appetite of a starving wolf.”

I went down to the river to wash up as well and told Carver about the fight, while he listened with wide eyes and got a little angry that I hadn't brought him along.

The farewell was brief and a little while later, we were on our way again.

Our witch, however, didn't want to get in the carriage and sat down on a narrow wooden ledge at the back, muttering what were presumably curses against everything and everyone under her breath.

I knew we'd probably soon come across the wigh Baduith had mentioned, but what would come after that? What had our journey to Frone in store for us?

Our journey? Yes. Our. That word felt quite comforting.