“Right, I’ll say it again: I still think it’s a daft idea to do this without your gear, but if you truly believe it’s better than drawing all the attention – I’ll make sure the ship’s here when you return. Just be quick about it. The orcs will spot the ship sooner rather than later, if they haven’t already. Or the gods know what else might be lurking out there. And if you need reinforcements, have one of your lads give us a smoke signal or something of the sort from the coast.”
“Don’t worry so much, Lee. We’ll be back.”
Lee gave his liberator – the man who had freed him from his lifelong prison and the shackles of the king – one last nod before lowering the Esmeralda’s small lifeboat down on two ropes. In that little boat sat the liberator’s closest companions – the mage Milten, the former novice of the Sleeper Lester, the one-time Shadow Diego, and Lee’s adviser Gorn. They slowly rowed towards the coastal beach of the fishing village Ardea.
“General – all right?” a voice sounded behind Lee as he stared at the many plumes of smoke rising from the mainland, and the newly formed dome around Vengard in the distance. “How do you feel?” asked the Water Mage Vatras as he stepped beside Lee and followed his gaze – hands folded in the sleeves of his robe.
“All those years in the Barrier – then Irdorath – now this sea voyage, and now I stand here AGAIN before a barrier.” Lee drew a deep breath. “What do you reckon, mage? How do I feel?”
“I would rather not presume,” the mage replied with a faint, knowing smile. “But do not despair. Not even the last barrier held you back. Perhaps this is a sign that your path is meant to be another.”
“Another path?”
“What if the ones whose blood you seek to spill are already dead? The ones responsible for your sentence? Or what if you cannot reach them at all?”
“They won’t all be dead. Besides, I must first learn WHO among them carries responsibility. Don’t try to talk me out of it, Vatras. I’ve waited far too long. I want to know who bears what blame – and THEN… I decide.” Lee’s reply was cold.
“The realm stands on the brink of upheaval. Even if the king somehow manages to win this war by a miracle – things will never be as they once were. That much is certain.” Vatras turned to Lee. “It could be the best opportunity to—”
“ALARM!” a loud cry rang across the deck. Lee spun around, hand on the grip of his two-hander – but when he drew it, it was already too late.
Part of the crew lay unconscious on the ground, and a dozen weapons were already pointed at the rest.
Pirates.
“Weapons down, landlubbers! An’ the magic as well, old man!” barked one of the pirates.
Some days later:
“From imprisonment among pirates straight into a village jail. And hardly anyone here ISN’T drugged.” Lee shook his head as he rested his chin on his fist and cast a disgruntled glance at Vatras, who sat cross-legged opposite him, his robe torn in several places.
He grumbled while small clouds of smoke drifted through the doorway again and again – the smell all too familiar. Swampweed.
“Well – consider it a blessing in disguise, my son,” Vatras answered calmly. To Lee, he seemed almost too calm regarding their situation.
“A blessing? What sort of blessing do you see here?”
“We were taken by assassins and thrown into a single-room prison in a village where swampweed is grown. I am a Water Mage. To them, I am worth far more alive. And you, as my ‘companion’, as well,” the old mage said with a wry smile.
“Worth more alive? How so?”
“Well – we Water Mages here in Varant once led our people through the desert, before King Rhobar ordered us to create the magical barrier around the Valley of Mines.”
“Your people?”
“The people of the Nomads, my son.” Vatras smiled.
“And where exactly is the blessing in all this?” Lee snorted mockingly.
“As you said yourself – the people have so much swampweed that they are hardly attentive. Nor are the guards,” Vatras remarked with a meaningful smirk. “They’re supposed to interrogate us, by any means necessary. But as you can see, we merely sit here in this cell, get a bite to eat now and then, and occasionally our friend Fabio comes in to ask a few questions before leaving us to the ‘attentive’ guards.”
“So how do we get out?”
“By waiting.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“The Brothers.”
“You’re speaking in riddles, Vatras, what—” A muffled bang outside the dungeon interrupted Lee’s question. In the next moment the door was flung open as a wounded assassin stumbled in and collapsed groaning onto the floor. Lee leapt up and dared a look outside. Slaves were fleeing in all directions as the assassins were caught in combat with desert dwellers entirely unfamiliar to him. Lee turned back to Vatras: “On your feet, master, we have to get out!”
Vatras smiled. “No, this is your way out. Mine will keep me here until the time is right.”
Lee stared at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. Vatras, come with me, now!”
But the Water Mage merely shook his head. “No – you go, General. Go and follow your destiny. My time will come. And a mutual friend of ours will aid me.”
Lee frowned. For a brief moment, amid the chaos, he wondered about the dragonslayer. Had he been captured too? Killed? Vatras seemed certain he still lived. So perhaps there was still a chance…
With a simple nod, Lee stormed out and carved his way through the chaotic skirmish towards the fishing jetty.
Three days later:
The midday sun burned hot upon the hills of Myrtana as Lee halted on the dusty road towards Montera. Before him lay a small encampment surrounded by low palisades and shade-giving trees. The weight of his armour and the sword on his back seemed to trouble him little. But in his eyes burned a flame that had nothing to do with the heat of the day – the flame of a man who had lost everything and was determined to reclaim it.
“Lee?”
A familiar, rough voice sounded behind him. Lee turned to see Gorn approaching – the burly warrior with a broad grin on his face. His two-handed axe rested casually on his shoulder, and his sheer presence seemed like a bulwark against the unrest plaguing the land.
“Gorn,” Lee replied curtly, allowing the faintest of smiles. “I should’ve known you’d be skulking around here.”
“I could say the same about you. So, you’ve decided to play soldier again? Or still looking to cause trouble for the king?”
Lee folded his arms, eyeing Gorn sharply. “My decision was made long ago. My vengeance waits for no man. His courtiers will pay for what was taken from me.”
Gorn sighed and let the axe drop into the soil. “Lee, I know what they did to you. But is it worth risking everything? The king’s in Vengard, and the path there is paved not only with orcs, but with the blood of innocents. And who knows if the men you’re hunting are even still alive?” He shook his head. “People here need help.”
“The people here…” Lee gestured dismissively. “They’ve always been left to fend for themselves. I’m no saviour, Gorn. I’m a man who finishes what was begun. But… I could use your help.”
“Oh?” Gorn asked, his tone suddenly serious. “Let’s hear it, then…”
Lee stepped closer and spoke quietly, as if the woods might be listening. “There must be another way into Vengard. A magical one. Maybe a teleport stone or something similar. Gotha lies near Montera – the stronghold of the paladins. Try to find out whether anything like that’s there.”
“Mmh.” Gorn pondered. “I’ve heard something dreadful happened in Gotha. But I was heading that way anyhow. Who knows what’s true anymore? What will you do in the meantime?”
Lee nodded approvingly. “I will likely travel to the monastery in Nordmar. Their library must hold something that can help me – with my search, but also with Vengard.”
Gorn scowled. “You’re not seriously planning to take on ALL the orcs up there? That’s suicide, mate. They’ve sealed the pass at Faring, from what I’ve heard. Not to mention all the hot-headed half-grown warriors lurking in Nordmar.”
Lee stepped closer, his voice cold and resolute. “I’ve looked death in the eyes more than once, Gorn. And I still live. If it brings me closer to the king, I’ll find a way through the orcs’ ranks.”
Gorn nodded slowly, resignation in his expression. “Then I’ll accompany you for a bit. Best we head towards the pass near Silden. Someone needs to look after your thick skull.”
Lee gave a thin smile. “You’ve always been good at that, old friend.”
They turned towards the forest path. In the silence between them lingered an unspoken bond – the loyalty of warriors who had fought side by side. Yet the shadows of their past and the weight of their choices followed them with every step.
Their path was set. Vengeance would come – and with it the fate they both sought.
Some days later:
The cold wind of Nordmar bit through even the thickest furs, and the white peaks of the mountains seemed to pierce the heavens. Lee pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he approached the Fire Clan’s camp. The roaring of flames and the dull clanging of smiths’ hammers greeted him like a harsh welcome in this unforgiving wilderness.
A Nordmarian clad in heavy furs stepped in his way, a giant axe slung over his shoulder. His face was marked by scars, and his voice boomed like thunder through the camp.
“Another flatlander… What do you want in the Fire Clan, stranger? Who are you?”
Lee halted and raised his hand in greeting. “An old friend. I seek Wiglaf.”
The Nordmarian’s eyes widened slightly as he studied Lee, making sure he truly was who he claimed to be. Finally, he nodded. “Wiglaf will receive you. Follow me.”
Lee was led into a large hut deep within the clan, its massive wooden beams reflecting the simple way of life of the Nordmarians. At a table near the hearth sat a muscular man with long grey hair and a beard dusted with frost. His eyes gleamed sharply as Lee entered.
“Lee.” Wiglaf’s voice was deep, laden with old memories. He rose and stepped toward his old comrade. “It has been long since our paths crossed. I thought you dead – or worse.”
Lee offered his hand, but Wiglaf pulled him into a firm embrace. “I still live. Despite everything.”
They sat, and a jug of hot mead and steaming cuts of meat were placed before them.
“You are not here without reason,” Wiglaf said after taking a hearty gulp. “Tell me, what brings you to Nordmar?”
Lee stared into the flames, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve made my decision, Wiglaf. My revenge on the king is all that matters. But the path is riddled with obstacles. I need your help, old friend.”
Wiglaf leaned back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “You seek my help to bring down the king’s lackeys? Back then, when they betrayed you, I’d have helped without hesitation. But now…”
“Now what?” Lee held his gaze.
“The world has changed, Lee. Nordmar is fractured. The orcs attack our villages, and the clans quarrel amongst themselves. And yet…” Wiglaf paused, his expression softening. “I owe you my life. You freed me from the enemy’s hands back in the army days. Without you, I wouldn’t be here.”
Lee nodded, but refused to indulge sentiment. “Then help me. A place to stay – that’s all I need for now.”
Wiglaf was silent for a while before nodding slowly. “Of course. That will be no trouble. Since my wife passed, I’ve a spare bed anyway. Make yourself at home.”
He lifted his jug and clinked it against Lee’s. “May the gods watch over us – or at the very least, not abandon us.”
Lee smiled – truly smiled – for the first time in a long while. In the rough warmth of the Fire Clan and the loyalty of an old comrade, he found not only refuge, but the next step on his path to vengeance.
More days passed, in which Lee tried to find his bearings and prepare his path to the monastery of the Fire Mages. Yet he never stayed long during his visits, for the danger of being recognised was great.
Deep in thought, sharpening his old, faithful axe on a grindstone, he was brought back to the present when he heard footsteps approaching – and recognised the man they belonged to. A man whose appearance was hardly surprising.
Lee merely smirked.
“You here? I swear there’s no place where you don’t turn up.”
Author: Gregox