Valor: Chapter 3

            “I can’t say I’m fond of this, Elias.”

            “Hush,” came the other voice. “I’m giving you ten gold at the end of this, the least you can do is quit complaining.”

            The second elf merely frowned. “We’re not even near the northwestern edge of the swamp!”

            “I know,” Elias hissed. “We can’t go directly there, and you know why. Bloody orcs are hunting in that area, we’d be caught in a heartbeat.”

            “We can turn invisible Elias,” his comrade hissed. “They can’t kill what they can’t see.”

            “Their hounds could track us all night though, and didn’t I tell you to be silent Ildun?”

            Ildun sighed, pressing his head against the tree behind him, pushing the dark green cowl over his eyes, but sitting in the crook of a swamp tree, there wasn’t much to look at.

            Elias knew that as well, but he kept his eyes open. He had thought bringing a ranger such as Ildun along would be greatly beneficial, but it had been anything but. He was clearly used to dealing with far dumber game than orcs. He was a crack shot, Elias wouldn’t deny that, but he suffered from an overzealous sense of invincibility that he’d noticed in many of his kind.

            “You’re as flighty as a human,” Ildun grumbled, shifting the cowl from his eyes and glancing around. They were able to see fairly well in the swamp’s pre-dawn darkness, but that was relative to a human, who wouldn’t be able to see at all. As it was, Elias could make out where various shadows were, but he wouldn’t have been able to read a sign if it were but five feet away. What starlight filtered into the swamp was intermittent thanks to the thick foliage.

            Such comparisons to humans occurred to Elias often, and applied just as much. That Ildun was comparing him to them now was nothing new. “Good. The last thing this swamp needs is more elven bones.”

            This simply provoked an indignant mutter from Ildun. Elias smirked to himself, but continued scanning the nearby stagnant waters from above. “We may want to wait until daylight” Elias said after a moment’s thought. “The orcs will be less active then.”

            “You say that,” Ildun countered, “but we almost got caught by several orc patrols during the day.”

            Elias opened his mouth, and then closed it. It wasn’t something he’d forgotten, but he hadn’t truly made the connection. “That… is true. The swamp is dark enough, even during daylight, that the sun doesn’t bother them.”

            “Do the damned things ever sleep?” Ildun said, looking around. “Are we sure they aren’t undead, shambling around eternally?”

            Elias shivered. He’d been scouting these swamps for what felt like weeks now, and he’d run across some of the undead. “Trust me, I’d prefer the orcs.”

            “I’d prefer your comrades, human though they may be.” Ildun sighed, and gestured towards a sinuous ‘clearing’ of water, a stream snaking through the swamp. “I say we make our way through there. The water may hide our scent, should the orcs get too close, and it seems to lead to the northwest.”

            “We don’t know for how long, though,” Elias countered.

            “Who is the woodsman here?”

            Elias admitted that with his silence. Having spent more of his time in cities and studying magical books than he had in forests, he wasn’t as skilled a woodsman as many elves. It was the reason he had hired Ildun. Half of the time he had spent in the swamps of Taskurr had been simply trying to find his way back out, something he didn’t care to repeat.

            “Then let’s go,” Ildun said, beginning to climb down the tree. After a moment’s hesitation, Elias followed. He didn’t doubt Ildun’s experience, but the swamps of Taskurr were a violent place. Not only were their orcs and undead, but he could sense residual magic here and there, speaking to other beings lurking within. Ildun was older than Elias, perhaps by twenty years or so, but he’d spent much of that as a guard, not a ranger.

            In his own way, Elias felt them of equal experience, in their respective fields.

            They crouched down by the stream and moved swiftly but softly down its length. They kept low, in case of those watching, and never strayed far. Elias focused more on following Ildun’s path than anything else.

            Ildun held up a hand, and Elias froze. He felt his ears twitch slightly, and heard the sounds of movements, and the guttural speech of the orcs. Ildun pointed to the stream, and they moved into it, trying to wade in slowly, so as to not cause too much noise.

            The stream deepened in the middle, and then, taking deep breaths, they both dove under. The water was almost impossible to see through; even if it was clearer than the normal swamp water, it was still thick with silt. Elias closed his eyes and tried to follow Ildun by the feel of the water, occasionally feeling the muddy sides of the stream.

            After a minute or two, he finally moved towards the surface. He covered his mouth as he came up, so to better mask the instinctive gasp. Not a moment later, Ildun followed suit, though with a more practiced ascent.

            Once the sounds of their breathing and heartbeats faded from their ears, they listened to the sounds of the swamp. Elias could still hear the orcs, but they had passed them by, and were becoming more distant.

            “Good,” Ildun whispered, and they waded out of the water. Their clothing was drenched, but it would hardly be the first time since they had entered Taskurr.

            Several minutes more travel, and once the dawn sun peaked over the horizon, they tried to make the most of it, picking across the landscape with a bit more haste than they had been. Elias didn’t know about Ildun, but he was looking every direction he could. The feeling of danger was omnipresent, and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand.

            And then, both of them heard something that made them freeze. Steel striking steel, and sudden screaming.

            “What is that?” Ildun yelled, drawing his saber.

            Elias listened a moment longer. The yelling was in orcish… “Ukshya,” he said bitterly.

            “Ukshya” Ildun repeated, thinking for a moment. “… Undead?”

            Elias nodded, but then looked to his right. Yes… the sounds were coming closer. Ildun noticed too. Neither were too concerned with being quiet this time, instead just aiming to get into the water. They had come near what passed for a lake, and dove into it.

            Elias, curious, made for the tall grasses at the edges and poked his head out of the water, just enough to see and hear. He saw the orc hunting group, perhaps three strong men, all armed, but lightly armored. He then saw the undead. Completely denuded of flesh to the bone, but the iron armor, though rusted at the edges and worn, still hung to their frames. They outnumbered the orcs as well, at least two to one.

            The orcs were more or less retreating, though being orcs, they weren’t good at running away. It was more they continuously allowed themselves to be beaten back, trying to strike at a distance. The skeletons had no such reservations, charging forward mindlessly. If Elias felt a pang of kinship with the orcs, it was only because in regards to the undead, everyone who drew breath was a brother.

            Of course, in this case, they were brothers he didn’t exactly like. He looked around and saw Ildun nearby, also watching the spectacle. He thought he saw the same thoughts filtering through his eyes. Helping the orcs wouldn’t happen though. Their reward for such generosity would be a quick death. Better to let the two groups eliminate each other, or…

            He brought his mouth above the water’s surface. “We’d be no better off with one group than the other. I think we should break for the northwest. I think they’d be too busy fighting each other to go after both of us.”

            Ildun looked over to the skirmish. The orcs certainly had muscle and intelligence on their side, but the skeletons had persistence and the relative invulnerability of undeath. Ildun pulled himself up onto the bank, saying “let’s go” in a harsh whisper.

            Elias followed, pulling a cleaver-like dagger only a second behind Ildun pulled his saber. Neither wanted to get into a fight, but what one wanted wasn’t always what one got, and neither wanted to be caught unprepared.

            “I don’t think any are behind us!” Ildun said after a minute of running, pausing to catching his breath and look through the swamp. Elias followed suit. Both were in good shape, but Ildun was more used to prolonged activity than Elias was. Any rest he could get would be appreciated.

            Elias peered into the swamp. All Elves had an inherent connection to nature and, by extension, the arcane. As his arcane connection was stronger than Ildun’s, his senses, particularly his eyesight, were that much stronger.

            “No,” he said, and began to cast a spell. “I think there are…”

            His eyes glowed for a moment as the spell took effect, and sure enough, he could see the auras of evil and undeath pursuing them. Only a couple had turned to attack the elves, however…

            “Let’s keep going,” Elias said, urging them on.

            “How many?” Ildun asked, not hesitating to follow.

            “Two, perhaps three? This swamp’s too thick to tell.”

            Ildun did hesitate now. “Is that all? Surely we can handle them.”

            “Move, Ildun,” Elias said with as much authority as he could muster. “We have no idea if more will follow their brethren. The more distance, the better.”

Ildun, for a wonder, didn’t argue the point, and they continued on. Hopefully they would come out near Gustav’s camp. Because otherwise… well, the elves would tire eventually. The undead would not.

The last watch was shared between William and Gustav. Michael had ended up with the first watch, which he had shared with one of the workers, and Tresbos and another worker with the second.

William was tired, and found that he had somewhat less patience for Gustav right now than he would otherwise. He seemed to complain from the moment he woke up. “I’m not quite used to ‘roughing it’ either, Gus, but by the Light, you act as though the ground has offended you.”

“It’s offended my spine, certainly,” Gustav said, which prompted William to roll his eyes and get some space. He sipped out of a tin cup which had a chicory coffee within. It was somewhat bitter, but it would help him get started. He wasn’t fond of coffee, but he couldn’t afford himself the time he needed to properly wake, not if he was on watch. Gustav, meanwhile, was fussing over getting some tea made.

William shook his head. This would be a long trip if Gustav insisted on the comforts of ‘home.’ Perhaps he’d spent too much time at Aurosimmar’s academy, as it had transformed him into someone who had more in common with Michael’s family than either William or Michael.

He glanced to the right, hearing some kind of rustling. It wouldn’t be the first time, of course. Wildlife tended to explode from the swamp, usually a deer or two bounding across the fields to graze. Nothing had bothered them, at any rate.

His vision strained against the low morning light, but he thought… those weren’t deer. “Gus, can you make out what’s going on over there?” he called.

Gustav stood up and shuffled over, squinting. For reasons no one really understood, those with arcane powers seemed to see better in the dark than those without, and at a time like this, it was certainly useful.

“Why… God alive, that’s Elias! And another elf! Elias!” he called out, waving a hand.

The two elves, having been running out of the wood, turned, but didn’t slow down. They yelled something, but Gustav and William simply glanced at each other. Neither had understood it. “What?!” Gustav yelled back.

“What’s going on?” said a perturbed sounding Tresbos, who had clearly been woken by the commotion. Glancing back, William saw Michael and the rest of the camp stirring as well.

“It’s my Elven friend, and he’s… wait,” Gustav leaned forward. “They’re being pursued! That’s what they’re yelling about. Three figures just burst from the trees.”

“What are they?” Tresbos asked, irritation in his voice at being unable to see them clearly.

“I’m not sure, they wear a man’s armor, but they’re running…  oddly.”

William’s breath caught, and he clasped the cross from his necklace and said a quiet prayer. Within moments, his vision changed, the same warmth he spoke of to Gustav the previous day. When it finished, he saw what amounted to a bilious smoke rising from the pursuers, as if they were constantly burning. It was black, but seemed to glow with a sickly orange light against the fading darkness around them.

“They’re undead,” William said in a distant voice. He felt his heart quicken in his chest. He pulled his mace, released his cross, and charged forward.

“Will, wait!” Gustav called after him, but William was deaf to it. This was part of the reason he had come to this swamp.

He met with the Elves quickly, one of whom was panting by the time they stopped. The other ran a few more feet before stopping. “They’ve been following us for at least ten minutes,” the panting one said. “We’d hoped we would lose them, but…”

“The undead are tireless in their hatred of the living,” William said bluntly. He glanced back at the other one. “Are either of you hurt?”

“Knicks and scratches from the brush,” the fair-haired one, the one who seemed less tired, said. “Nothing of concern.”

“Good,” William said, and didn’t say anything else before the rattling skeletons before him closed in.

Gripping his mace in both hands, when the first skeleton closed with him he swung at the creature’s shoulder. The mace came down and knocked the arm completely off, staggering it. Before it could do anything else, he shoulder checked it, knocking it backwards into another one.

A third skeleton charged and swung its glaive, but the darker-haired elf caught the wooden shaft with his blade, a brutal looking cleaver that was different from any knife William had ever seen.

William took the opportunity to close in, getting low under the spear’s length and swinging his mace to crush the creature’s knee. It buckled, but did not break.

“Keep them busy!” he yelled, and with a growl the other elf broke in, swinging his saber at the skeleton’s torso. The unfortunate truth was the light, precise weapons of the elves were poor against the fleshless nature of these undead.

The other realized this, and put his blade away, pulling a quarterstaff from his back. William doubted it would do much damage in this case, but it would better occupy them than a saber.

William clutched his cross again, and yanked, causing the cord holding it to his neck to come undone. “By God and his divine light,” he began, and a white light started to emit from his eyes and mouth, “I cast thee to thy eternal rest! Begone!”

The last word seemed to explode from his mouth, a wave of light bursting from him. It enveloped the elves and undead both, and everything seemed to freeze for a moment, at least from William’s perspective, as the light clung to the undead. Then, they dissolved, rapidly crumbling into powdered bone, and their equipment fracturing and crumpling, as if it were paper suddenly exposed to flame.

The three breathed heavily. William’s heart was pounding in his ears. William, after a few moments, closed his eyes and brought the cross to his chest. Thank you, he thought silently.

“William! Elias!” Gustav yelled, finally catching up with William. Tresbos beat him by a few steps, holding his spear at the ready. “Are you alright?” Gustav asked, concern etched on his face.

“We’ll live Gus,” the dark-haired elf said, laughing slightly. He straightened his stance, and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Is this your friend, ah, William?”

“Does it matter?” the other elf asked, and stuck out a hand in William’s direction. “You helped us out there, friend. Ildun Naes, and you have my gratitude regardless of your name.”

The other elf, clearly Elias at this point, laughed. “Of course, forgive me.” He’d shake William’s hand next. “Elias Lyttler.”

Michael and another worker wandered over now, armed with sword and shovel respectively. Gustav quickly made the introductions, and was introduced himself to Ildun. William, admittedly, was only half there through the proceedings, and as Elias and Ildun filled Gustav in on what they’d found, he stepped away.

Michael followed rather quickly. “Are you alright, Will?” he asked, setting a hand on William’s shoulder.

William smiled, nodding and looking back. “I’m fine, Michael, it’s just… I’ve never felt that before.”

There was a beat before Michael understood what he meant, saying “oh, the, um, turning of the skeletons?”

“Somewhat.” William glanced down and away, not sure how to put his feelings into words. “For a brief moment, I felt their spirits. I felt the burdens they carried, and how time twisted them for evil.” He tilted his head upwards, and looked towards the rising sun. “They were… bound, and I freed them, Michael. Despite all else, I don’t think I realized that, under the rage and misery, the undead are still trapped souls.”

William didn’t blame Michael for the silence that followed. Michael, though devout, never felt God in the way William did… and William was realizing that there was more to those feelings than mere faith.

They had allowed the Elves a few hours of rest as the sun came up. Michael had expressed some concerns to Gustav that they would be too tired to be useful once they got into the swamp proper.

“It shouldn’t be much of a problem,” Gustav said, closing the book he’d been reading. “Elias has told me before that elves don’t need as much sleep as we do. I guess they occasionally go into some sort of hibernation trance every year or so, for a few days, but… they can control that. They should be fine within a few hours.”

It seemed alien to Michael, but it would probably help for future night watches, if the elves needed less sleep. “What do you think of the other one?” Michael asked quietly. “Ildun, I believe he said?”

“Hmm,” Gustav grumbled to himself, fingers idly tapping the book. “Elias says he’s a ranger he’s worked with, knows his way around a forest and what not. I feel like there’s something more there, but he’s not talking.”

“Something bad?” Michael asked, concern furrowing his brow. He didn’t like the idea of looking over his shoulder anymore than he had to.

“Bad?” Gustav repeated, and shook his head. “No, not bad. Will would’ve seen signs of evil on him when they were approaching, I asked him. I don’t doubt his intent, more hisss…” Gustav dragged the word out as he looked for the right word, “capability.”

Michael decided to change the subject, asking Gustav his opinion on the map. It wasn’t that he didn’t value Gustav’s opinion of Ildun, but he’d also noticed Gustav’s opinion on someone’s ‘capability’ seemed proportional to how magical they were. Michael was somewhat suspicious of both elves anyway (perhaps more of his upbringing clinging to him than he’d like), but Elias had been vouched for rather heavily by Gustav.

Ildun? Hmm.

The map was rather well made. It had a leather backing to help prevent water-damage, and even a small clasp to make sure it stayed rolled when it wasn’t needed. It was a bit large and cumbersome, more like a military planning map than that Michael had pictured in stories of pirates and treasure hunters, but it also was well-designed.

“Traveling the road would get us as close as we can as fast as possible,” Michael said, bringing his finger down the road.

“Didn’t Tresbos say the road looked washed out?”

Michael winced. He hadn’t thought of that, but tried to recover. “Yes, but I imagine the road will still be clearer and in better condition than much of the land around it. We certainly can’t bring the mules and horses into the thicker mire of the swamp.”

“True,” Gustav said, which Michael took as a small victory.

Tresbos had come over at hearing his name. He quipped in here, saying “I spoke briefly with Elven ranger, before they went to sleep, and asked about that… it’s much the same as the forests around Yewmark, sir.”

Michael frowned. Where was his head in all this? “Ah, yes… it’s clearer going, but we’ll be visible.”

“Aye,” Tresbos said with a nod, “and we’re expecting far worse than bandits and boars.”

Michael thought for a moment, studying the map. Perhaps if they really moved, they could reach the site of… he looked at the map, and frowned. “What was the name of the fort again?”

“Hmm?” Gustav looked at him quizzically, and then looked back to the map. As Michael had seen, there was no name listed.

“I’m not sure.” He’d reach into his robes, pulling out the letter Elias had sent him before, and skimmed over it. “Mmm… ah, here it is. The locals call it Tagen Rynns. If I’m right, it means something like ‘Gold Bottom’ in Elven, though with a, ah, negative twist?”

Michael gave an unsatisfied grunt. “So we don’t know what the fort was originally called?”

Gustav checked over the letter again. “Um, Elias didn’t say, at any rate. Does it matter?”

Michael frowned, and he saw Tresbos give him a hard look. Gustav and Tresbos seemed to get along like oil and water. He decided not to answer Gustav. “Perhaps Elias can shed some light on it when he awakens.”

He tried to get back to thinking about the actual plan. Though they could make it to ‘Goldbottom’ in one full day’s travel, it would mean traveling at night. From what the elves had said and shown, though, the swamps were far more active at night.

“It looks like there’s a small settlement here,” Michael said, tapping at a spot off the road dotted with small buildings. “I say we make for that, rest there for the night, and then leave for Goldbottom the next day.”

Despite their disagreements, both Gustav and Tresbos seemed concerned by that. Michael questioned that with a mere raise of an eyebrow. Tresbos cleared his throat and looked away, saying nothing. Gustav, of course, felt no compunctions towards silence. “The map is an amalgam of smaller maps, and somewhat old Michael. If mere error hasn’t made it somewhat off, time may have done the job for us.”

Michael frowned. “Of course I know that,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and casting a sour gaze over them both. “I’m not foolish. I understand we may find nothing but rotted swamps there, but it gives us a goal, and at least then we’d see whether the village stands or not.”

The two nodded, with Tresbos muttering a quick apology under his breath. Gustav, however, did not. Though Michael knew that Gustav had no reason to treat Michael any better than anyone else, he had just accused him of ignorance. But even with Michael’s glare resting on Gustav for a moment longer, Gustav simply nodded again, and walked away, opening his book again before he had even sat down.

Michael gave an exasperated sigh. “Get some rest Perry,” he said, glancing over at Tresbos. “I have a feeling this may be a long trip.”

Valor: Chapter 2

Michael looked himself over in a mirror. His armor was polished, and he had new gauntlets as well. His sword was polished to a shine and razor sharp, and just as new as the gauntlets. He’d spent part of the morning learning its balance, and practicing.

He also now had a shield, which was something he hadn’t much experience with. It had the crest of the Niels house on it, matching his tabard; an amber-tinted yellow with a black lion, reared up and facing to the left.

“How goes the planning?” came a voice from the door, and he saw his mother standing there. He smiled lightly… how diminutive she looked now, her years weighing her down. At the same time, since his father died, although she had mourned more than anyone, she seemed… almost refreshed. Released, perhaps, was a better term.

After all, she was no longer matron of the estate; that fell to Solomon’s wife, Phillipine. So his mother was left to spend her remaining days relaxing, only having real power over her unmarried daughters, of which two remained.

“It goes well,” Michael said, moving to sit at small table within his chambers. “Solomon has offered to assist with some funds.” He laughed slightly. “I imagine the idea of me being out of his hair for good is combating heavily with his sense of, ah, frugality?” It was a far nicer word than ‘greed.’

His mother smiled. “You know that Solomon does love you, yes? He just followed in your father’s footsteps rather directly, and it hurts him to see you stepping out of them.”

“I suppose,” Michael said, rolling his shoulders. “And you, mother?”

“And me?” she repeated, thinking for a moment… “I think you are too young to remember your grandfather, but you remind me of him very much. Believe it or not, for a brief time, your father wasn’t much different… don’t give me such a look! Your mother doesn’t lie to you. The problem was at the time, this family was not rich enough to afford their only son taking off for his ideals.”

Michael gave a quick snort, adjusting in his seat. “Forgive me mother, but it’s hard to see father in that light.”

“He had to grow up quickly,” she said calmly, “and he always had the best for his children at heart.”

“And no one else.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Michael realized a moment later than he should have that he had overstepped himself. His mother walked over and, as if he wasn’t a grown man wearing platemail armor, slapped him across the face.

“Michael Niels, you won’t speak ill of your dead father, not while I still draw breath. Your father was not a kind man at times, I’ll afford you that, but he did what he could with what he could, and when you made clear your devotion to Yewmark,” she gestured sharply towards the window, “I assure you it wasn’t the stunt that almost cost Solomon his hand that convinced him to do it. As I said, the same fire that burns within you once burned within him. If you are to be a Lord, though, you’d do well to learn to temper it.”

“Forgive me mother,” Michael said, keeping his gaze on the carpet. In truth, he did regret saying what he had. “It was just a moment of… youthful arrogance.”

“Well you are not young anymore, Michael,” she said, and with a wag of her finger made him feel just as much guilt and shame as she had when he had been in shortpants. “You’ve been on this earth for twenty-four years. Old enough to be above such boyish rebellion.”

She shook her head, making a ‘tsk tsk’ sound, and then tilted his chin up. After leveling a disapproving glare into his eyes, she smiled and then pat his cheek. “You are a good boy Michael, and your father would be proud of the man you’ve become. He was proud, even if he never said it. Of you and Solomon both.”

“I truly am sorry mum,” he said, and then moved to stand and hug her. It was somewhat awkward in the armor, but he managed regardless. “I suppose the preparations are just… taxing me.”

“Well, leave some to William and Gustav!” she said after breaking the hug, patting him on the chest. “They are both smart boys. If you are truly worried about finances, I will even convince Solomon to help, or perhaps Stephanie? It’s unbefitting for a lady to worry herself with math, but your sister has always taken to it.”

The thought of asking his second youngest sister for help did not strike him as a good one, even if she was probably better at it than he. “I’ll be fine mother, I promise.”

“You had better be,” she said, and then turned and left the room. Hardly the visit Michael had expected from his mother, but perhaps just the visit he had needed.

“What was your name again?” Gustav asked, somewhat perturbed.

“Perry Tresbos, sir.”

“And… why?” Gustav asked, looking back to Michael, quizzically.

A slight frown crossed Tresbos’ face, and William flushed somewhat, while Michael reddened. “Perry is a bowman who has rode with the Yewmark guard for the last four years, and he’s a hell of a shot, even on horseback.”

“That doesn’t quite answer my question,” Gustav stated rather simply, not really sure why Michael was getting upset.

And yet, he was. “Gus, agh… look, we’ve discussed this. I know you are against bringing more people than we have to, but Perry has volunteered to assist us for no more than his usual salary, no more than 30 silver a day.”

Gustav grunted, and looked at Tresbos again. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Mister Tresbos,” Gustav added, which prompted a (promptly ignored) mutter from Michael, “I just suppose I don’t see much purpose for a cavalry archer in a swamp.”

“I can fight off of my horse as well, sir,” the man said as respectfully as he could.

“Gustav,” William interjected before Michael could start in again, “as I understand it, Mister Tresbos will also be acting a sort of guard captain while we three, and your friend Elias, go into the dungeon. After all, we won’t be able to bring all of our supplies into it.”

Gustav’s face contorted, and he grumbled, but nodded. “Very well! Welcome aboard Mister Tresbos.”

It was already more people than Gustav wanted. Not only was Tresbos joining them, but so were a few workers from House Niels and a couple of villagers from Yewmark, the latter two only assisting so far as helping to bring supplies to the swamp’s edge.

            At the very least, they were finally leaving. Although Gustav had known some preparation would be needed, he had clearly underestimated how meticulous Michael was in such manners. To finally be leaving Yewmark, and heading south to the Taskurr… as far as he was concerned, it was a godsend.

            Sensing Michael’s hostility, though, he rode a few strides ahead. Michael was riding upon a well-kept red horse he called Perimor, the most impressive looking beast of the bunch. Two mules pulled a cart with their supplies, while Tresbos rode a fast-looking black horse, leaner than Perimor, but just as experienced seeming.

            William’s horse was light gray and one that he had purchased from the Niels stables, while Gustav’s was a dark gray horse on loan from the Royal Academy. His was, in a way, the least experienced to such long travel there… but they weren’t aiming for a rapid pace regardless, having to let the mules keep up.

            Riding up alongside him, William leaned over. “Gus, perhaps you shouldn’t be so hard on Michael’s hires…”

            “Hrrm!” Gustav snorted. “It simply seems needless to me. I’ll admit this to being my plan, but we’ve yet to even look over the land ourselves, or clear the dungeon. What good are all these supplies if we are overrun immediately?”

            William cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve seemed rather confident about this, and I feel Michael shares your confidence.”

            Gustav merely grunted.

            “Do you believe we’ll fail?” William pressed.

            “Of course not,” Gustav said, his voice rising above a whisper, and drawing a glance from Michael and Tresbos behind them. He cleared his throat before lowering his voice again. “No, I don’t. But we don’t know what to expect, and some of these are barely more than peasants with any experience in dealing with petty thieves, let alone orcish raiders.”

            “And I suppose you have experience?” William inquired somewhat bitterly.

            Gustav shot him an irritated look. “No, but I can shoot fire from my hands, amongst other things.”

            “There is only so much magic within a mortal frame, Gus.”

            “I know that, William. I do have… some basic training, mostly in using a knife.”

            William seemed somewhat surprised at that, and then remembered… “aah, huh. Kept up on that, did you?”

            Gustav cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

            William shook his head. “Bladed weapons in general are frowned upon by most Clerical Orders except in the most extreme of circumstances.” He reached down and gripped the handle of his mace. “This should handle any problems I come across that God and the Light cannot assist me with.”

            Glancing down at the heavy, flanged mace, Gustav couldn’t say he saw how that was any less violent, and said as much to William. William merely smirked. “It is far easier to survive a broken bone than a severed limb.”

            “Given what we are going after, I’m not sure we want them to survive.”

            “Perhaps not,” William admitted, “but God doesn’t allow for such distinctions, and small though the chance may be, if an orc has an opportunity to change his ways, I must at least give him the option.”

            “I hope you won’t mind that I wouldn’t do the same,” Gustav said uneasily. The idea of beating a creature as fierce and violent as an orc, then allowing it to live, to one day strike back at you… it seemed like madness to him.

            “If they surrendered, would you accept their surrender?”

            “Of course,” Gustav lied. He’d found, in recent days, that was becoming easier and easier to do. In some ways, he missed the old William. Gustav was no criminal, but he considered himself realistic. If someone would kill him, or if he felt they would not accept his surrender were the positions reversed, he’d kill them. End of story.

            If there was one thing he’d learned, being both different and a bit of a runt, if you were getting into a fight; hit first, and hit last. William used to be of a similar line of thought, though that was clearly not the case any longer.

            William’s gaze said that he wasn’t sure whether Gustav was lying or not… and Gustav was okay with that. “Reluctant, of course. Suspicious, certainly. But I’m not an animal William.”

            That seemed to be enough to sate William… and it wasn’t a lie, either. Gustav supposed he could accept surrender from an orc, if only because it was so unlikely, if it did happen, he would be curious to see how it turned out.

            As they rode on, Gustav supposed he had been somewhat harsh on the man who was only trying to help. He was so used to the relative seclusion of his lab, and his only other encounters being with those of other mages, that he found himself gravitating away from most normal, non-magical folk. Michael and William being exceptions, of course, though William wasn’t non-magicial, to be fair. In fact…

            They had been riding for several hours. William had never come this far south before, and even though the sun was starting to sink in the sky, the temperature seemed to be a bit warmer than it had earlier. The very air seemed to taste different, it felt. Were they closer to the sea? He imagined they must be.

            “Will, a question?”

            William jumped slightly, provoking a laugh from Gustav. “Sorry, lost in your thoughts?”

            “Aye,” William laughed. “What can I help you with Gus?”

            “A personal curiosity, though… one I will understand if you don’t wish to answer.”

            “I can only try,” William responded, smiling.

            “What’s it like, casting magic, for you?”

            William blinked, and then, after a moment, realized what Gustav meant. Although William was not as skilled in magic as Gustav was, he used Divine Magic, drawn from the heavens, while Gustav drew from his own energy, or that of the world around him.

            “What’s it like? How do you mean?”

            Gustav shifted in his saddle. “I mean, I suppose… what do you feel? What goes through your mind, your soul, your body?”

            William’s brow furrowed. “Per… haps if you say what you feel with yours, I can better answer.”

            Gustav laughed. “Fair enough. Let me think…” he paused, picking his words. “It varies from spell to spell, of course, but in general… after I’ve cast the spell, mind you, my body feels somewhat cold. As if a cold wind is cutting across me, ignoring my robes. It seems to chill my very spirit. But… my fingertips, my eyes, my tongue, and my mind, they all seem electrified. I feel such a heat within them. My mind whirls for a moment, and then whatever I’m hoping to focus on, I see it, hear it, sense it with such steel-like focus…” he took a breath, shaking his head. “It’s, admittedly, almost addictive. We’re taught early on not to feed off that, because the chill we feel is fairly literal… the magic drains us, but because all that energy seems shift to our mind, we don’t feel it as deeply.”

            Though Gustav spoke of it rather casually, almost excitedly, it honestly sounded somewhat horrible to William. The Asarian Church, or at least, St. Lennin’s Monastery, had never given a firm stance on how to handle the arcane. The impression William had gotten, however, was that though a holy man should never dabble in it, for fear of compromising a spirit that rightfully belonged to the Lord, an arcane mage could still be a good man.

            “I think I see what you’re saying,” William said, and thought for a moment. He laughed slightly. “I’ll do my best to explain, though I fear I’ve never really given it much thought. It’s very… flowing, I suppose. Almost as if a wave of liquid warmth is filling my center. I feel more conscious of all things around me. In a way I’m not sure I understand, I feel both lighter and heavier… as if my body is slowing down my spirit.”

            “Fascinating,” Gustav said.

            “It is?”

            “Oh yes,” Gustav nodded excitedly. “I’ve never studied it exclusively, but there are some who are very interested in the difference between Arcane and Divine magic. Especially when you think of long ago days, where there were more gods than ours… there are theories that Arcane magic only became prominent due to the ‘spill-off’ of the death of the old gods.”

            William’s eyes widened. “I’d never heard that before.”

            “Theories, of course,” Gustav added quickly. “I mean no offense, but as you may imagine, higher church officials don’t wish to delve too deeply into the connection between our respective magics.”

            “I suppose I can see that,” William said, and started to say something else, but stopped himself. It was the sort of thing he wasn’t supposed to talk about.

            Gustav saw that, and nodded. “It does raise some questions about Void magic, I’ll give you that,” he said, before taking his horse a few steps away, leaving William to stew.

            Void magic… drawing from the literal voids left from the death of the old gods. It wasn’t evil, per se, but many saw it as… unholy. Even if the old gods were enemies of the One True God, they were still beings of great power, and worthy of respect, even in death. To essentially draw power from their divine corpses seemed wrong. It didn’t help William that Asarianists believed that, with time and devotion of their followers, even the old gods could be absorbed into the Holy Triune.

            He shuddered, and put a hand to his cross, and looked down at it. The wooden cross he was now holding in his hand, a sign of not only his graduation, but his faith, was intricately carved, and dyed red, same as the cross embroidered onto his tabard. By His holy power, I will protect His sovereignty over the Earth, his thumb moved over the horizontal bar of the cross, and from the Heavens above, his thumb slid to the top of the cross, to the depths below, it then slid down the length of the cross, hallowed will be His name.

            He took a deep breath, and whispered “amen.” But as he looked at the cross, he wondered… where did the void of the old gods fit into all that? Were they merely left to be as meat for the vultures of the mortal realm to pick clean? How did they fit into God’s plan?

            A dangerous question, William thought, and decided to think of it no more. Unlike Gustav, unraveling the mysteries of the universe didn’t seem exciting to William, but induced a feeling more akin to dread… and he felt he’d have quite enough of that in the days to come.

            “Truly, we’d assist you further sir…”

            “But the idea of entering these swamps is terrifying.”

            Michael laughed heartily. “No worries, men, I understand.” Scanning the area, Michael pointed to one spot at the base of a broken oak tree, and another near a large stone. “My last request is if you can help us hide some of the supplies until we’ll need them. An extra thirty silver to you both regardless,” and without hesitation he dug into his coinpurse and doled out the coins.

            The two men nodded in appreciation. “We’ll do our best m’lord!”

            “Yes we will. Best of luck on your quest, sir.”

            “Thank you both, and may you get home safely.”

            The two men set out, along with the other three workers, to begin burying parts of their cache. Tresbos came riding up, having scouted the swamp’s edge.

            “Master Michael,” he said, offering a small salute. “I see a stonework path leading into the swamp, but at your order I didn’t follow it in. From what I can see, though, it’s rather shoddy.”

            Michael nodded. “I imagine stonework in a swamp would need frequent maintenance. Anything else?”

            “Nothing I could see,” he said. “Swamps are quite thick, and though I saw what may be a few other paths into them, they still looked somewhat overgrown.”

            “Thank you Perry,” Michael said, smiling. Gripping Perimor’s reigns, he rode over to the small, makeshift camp that had been set up in the last hour, glancing down at Gustav.

            “Do you know when your friend will be here?” Michael asked, somewhat concerned. “The longer we spend out here, the more time our enemies will have to see us.”

            Gustav grumbled something Michael couldn’t catch, but said “I don’t, no. I sent another letter to him two days before we left, saying when we planned on being here, but I have no way of knowing if he received it.”

            Michael sighed, and nodded. He knew why Gustav was irritated. He had wanted to leave as soon as possible, to try and catch his Elven friend while he was still patrolling the swamp. He surely wouldn’t have spent the last week and three days milling about in the swamp.

            “Very well,” he said, already forgetting he had shown he had understood, and rode back over to the cart. Gustav and William had been bonding somewhat over the trip, and though he supposed that was understandable, it made him feel… put out. But then again, William barely knew Tresbos and the others, and Gustav didn’t know them. Meanwhile, they all knew Michael rather well, and seeing as how he wasn’t as quiet as William nor as… grumpy as Gustav, he supposed they were all more at ease speaking to him.

            He slid off his saddle and then tied Perimor to the cart. He trusted Perimor to not run off for any reason, but he wasn’t so foolish to forget he was dealing with an animal. Indeed, he’d thought about bringing dogs along as well, but was convinced they’d be more trouble than they were worth. If we send for a second group, perhaps then.

            Tresbos dismounted his own horse. “The mage didn’t give a good answer, I take it?”

            Michael frowned slightly. “No, not particularly. Not an unexpected one, though.”

            Tresbos sighed. “What’s the plan if this elf doesn’t show?”

            Michael looked towards the swamp. The trees quickly began to thicken, and the whole thing just began to look that much more foreboding as the sun went down. They were sitting on a slight rise now, and you could see where pockets of trees seemed thinned out in the distances. Remains of old forts? More recent camps? Or simply open water?

            “I’m tempted to make a go of it anyways,” Michael said bluntly. Tresbos opened his mouth to speak, but Michael brought up a hand. “Tempted, and not foolhardily. We’d move slow, and not go too deep. But we have the supplies to at least stage some raids into the swamp, and could perhaps carry off some sort of bounty, or assist some locals we may find.”

            “Supposing they want it,” Tresbos said. “The mage says that elves live in these swamps, yes? Hardly seems like they’d want help from a bunch of a short-lived humans.”

            “Desperation can make for strange bedfellows Perry” Michael said with a grin, provoking a startled laugh from the cavalryman.

            “Too true, sir. Any instructions?”

            “We’ll set up camp nearby,” Michael started, motioning to the clearing where Gustav and William were already setting up, “once we bury the bulk of the supplies. Sean and Rigby will be heading back to Yewmark. After that, I suppose we’ll take watch in shifts, perhaps two to a shift? I’d want either you, I, or William during each of those shifts.”

            “Of course sir,” Tresbos said with a nod. “Shall I take the second watch? I’ve done so before, and I’m used to splitting my sleep.”

            “The second is yours, Perry,” Michael said with a grin.

“Very good. As for now… should we help the workers bury the supplies?”

            Michael paused, and then looked over. While the peasants were making good progress, another pair of hands couldn’t hurt. He grabbed another shovel from the cart. “I’ll help them out Perry. You keep an eye on the forest, hmm?”

            “Yes sir,” Tresbos said, saluting once more and then getting back onto his horse, bow at the ready. As Michael went to assist, he found himself appreciating the cavalry archer’s presence more and more. Sure, it was more of an expense, but the man was clearly worth it.

Valor: Chapter 1

            Although it was broad daylight outside, black curtains blocked the sun from the laboratory of Gustav Nogaspo. Technically, he supposed, it was a laboratory shared between him and several others, but they rarely made use of it, and he frankly didn’t like them.

            He murmured to himself quietly as he read over books. He was a true Mage by the standards of the Royal Academy of Aurosimmar, and though he wouldn’t be considered for a teaching position for his lack of mastery, he was beyond that of what many considered to be a “student.” He had been so for two years now, and he had made little progress up from that. He frowned as he came to the same spot on the same spell that continued to give him trouble. He’d heard that many aspiring Mages rarely broke past the stage he had reached, what many called the “Iron Window.” The reason being that though you now possessed the knowledge to see and understand what was ahead of you, you couldn’t reach it. To a layman, they’d compared it to the barred windows of prison.

            But to a mage, no… it was literally as if a transparent wall of iron was in front of him, and he couldn’t move past it no matter how he tried. Not that it stopped Gustav from trying, of course.

            “Worthless,” he said to no one, and moved onto another project. He rubbed at his eyes. He’d been awake for far too long. Still, until he made progress, he would not sleep. Sighing, he looked over this second project. He was working on enchanting a gauntlet. A basic enchantment to simply make it more durable, more capable of resisting sword strikes and hammer blows. A minor procedure in the grand scheme of things, but another common hurdle at his stage. Enchantment was a far different beast than conventional spellcasting. There were some magic-users who devoted their whole lives to it. Gustav didn’t intend on being such a person, but he would like to know the basics.

            He looked back to the open book that lay next to the iron gauntlet, and shook his head. “I need a drink,” he thought, and moved to the door, stepping out of the lab and beginning to walk down the stone staircase. Yes, some tea, perhaps fortified with something stronger (he wasn’t sure whether alcohol or magic would be the best option) would keep him up a few hours more.

            As he came to the bottom step, however, he saw a courier waiting for him. “Mage Nogaspo?” the boy asked, clutching a bound scroll in hand.

            “Um, yes. What?” he asked, somewhat gruffly. He didn’t have the time to deal with anything but his magic.

            “I have a letter for you from a, ah,” he looked to a small card, “Elias Lyttler?”

            Gustav smiled. Of the few people who could distract him from his work, Elias was one of them. “Elias, wonderful! How much do I owe you?”

            “Mister Lyttler paid for the delivery, so you don’t actually owe me anything.”

            Gustav took the letter, and then eyed the young man, who didn’t seem quick to move. After a moment, Gustav rolled his eyes and reached into a pocket, fishing out a handful of coins, handing them to the young man. The man nodded and then strode off quickly, sated. Greedy bugger.

            “Now, let’s see,” Gustav said, sitting on the bottom step and unraveling the scroll. Elias had been a close friend through their academy years, though a family emergency had taken him back to the Elven Borderlands for their last year of schooling. The last he had heard, Elias had taken up a position as a “battlemage” for a guard unit for some town called Unte Vas or something… ‘Northtree’ if translated into Toremen quite literally.

            As he skimmed the contents of the message, however, his eyes lit up, and he gained a devilish grin. Him and Elias had constantly spoken of the lack of freedoms they had within the Academy, but any position either could merit, at their skill level, would see a dramatic drop in resources.

            And it seemed that Elias had a plan that could change all that, though there were some pieces he was unsure of. Luckily, Gustav knew just how to do it…

            “William!” Michael called out, waving a hand. He wasn’t sure William would be there, but he had expected him. Judging from the lack of surprise on William’s face, the same could be said for him.

            “So you also got a letter from Gustav?” William asked as Michael sat down. They were at the Green Blood Tavern, located on the outskirts of Yewmark. Michael wasn’t surprised to see that William had coffee.

When a barmaid walked by, Michael himself wasn’t afraid to order an Orc-Heart, the signature drink of the tavern. “Aye. Was quite surprised… haven’t heard from him for a few years.”

“Longer for me,” William said, frowning slightly.

Michael smiled softly. “Don’t be too put off Will, you know how Gus was. Always a little distant even when he was right next door.”

William nodded. “I suppose that’s true. Did he say specifically what he wanted, in your letter? He was rather vague with mine, only that he had some of plan we could help with.”

Michael shifted in his seat. “He mostly said the same to me, though…” he scratched at his cheek. “He did mention that it could put my position, or lack thereof, to use.”

William nodded, motioning his hand over the cross on his tunic briefly. Michael appreciated that. Not long after William had returned to Yewmark, Michael’s father had passed on, making Solomon the new Lord of the Niels Estate. This had not undone any of the work Michael had accomplished, but now that his brother held the title of Lord, the powers that Michael previously held were now moved to his young nephews. Technically, by all rights, Michael should be a lord… but he didn’t have the land to make use of the title.

“He did mention my profession could be of use as well,” William said, removing his hand from the cross as he did so. “Which honestly makes me somewhat hesitant. After all, Gustav was never… particularly devout.”

The barmaid chose just then to return, setting down the stein and taking Michael’s silver before walking away. Michael followed her gait for a moment, and though he’d never admit it, he was certain William did as well. He looked back to William, nodding as if she’d never intruded. “I know what you mean, and though he’d never been as blatant as you were, when younger, he had no love for my nobility, even when his father suddenly found himself rich.”

William drank his coffee to try and hide his embarrassment. Michael hardly noticed as he took a swig from the Orc-Heart. It was a thick, dry stout with a hint of apple flavor, and a greenish tint to it. He’d heard it had a story behind it, that it used to be brewed with Orc’s Blood long ago, but no one put much faith in that nowadays.

“Old money versus new money, I suppose,” William admitted, wiping at his beard.

Before Michael could say anything in response, he saw William look up and behind him, grinning. Michael turned, and then stood, laughing. “Gustav!”

If there was a difference between the tanned, bald-headed Michael and the long-haired redhead that was William, Gustav was different again by far. He was a head shorter than either, and probably half of Michael’s weight. He was wearing a blue-green robe that made his brilliant green eyes all that more apparent, and when he clasped hands with Michael, he made Michael look as fair as William by comparison.

“It’s been a long time friends!” Gustav said, embracing Michael and then, even more strongly, William. William seemed surprised by the gesture, and as Gustav sat down, he frowned slightly. “I apologize I haven’t written more. I won’t lie, I tend to get so involved in my work at the academy I forget the world outside my lab exists.”

He reached into his robes and pulled out his coinpurse, taking out several silver coins. “I know I asked you to meet me here for a reason, but it’s been years, so I hope you won’t mind indulging me in your lives since then!”

Michael laughed, bringing his drink up. “I’ll drink to that, what say you Will?”

Will couldn’t help but laugh himself. “I suppose a few rounds won’t hurt!”

“Splendid!” Gustav said, grinning the same familiar, devilish grin Michael remembered from their youth. It was infectious, and without hesitation Michael drank most of his Orc-Heart in one go. He was more than willing to have a few drinks with old friends.

“So Gus,” Michael said at last, several drinks and a few hours later, “why did you ask to meet us here? Your letter was one of a man with a plan!”

Michael laughed at his rhyme, and William caught himself laughing as well, though not for the same reason. William had not drank as much as either Gustav or Michael, and Gustav seemed surprisingly resilient to the effects… either that or the Orc-Heart that Michael had been drinking like water was stronger than Michael had expected.

Either way, William had to admit his curiosity was piqued. “Yes, you seemed quite excited in your letter.”

Gustav’s eyes gained a conspiring look, and he fished a scroll out of his robes. Holding it before him, still rolled, he said “I have a friend I made in my early days at the academy, an Elf named Elias Lyttler. Compared to the usual westerners, both of us were out of place. I say this so you know that I trust this man as I would either of you.”

Both William and Michael nodded, though William’s was somewhat more hesitant. Why wouldn’t they trust him? Gustav was always of somewhat paranoid nature, he supposed, and perhaps becoming a mage hadn’t helped in that regard.

“He was pulled out of academy due to a family emergency, back in the Elven Borderlands. Even after the emergency passed, he remained there as a battlemage for the town guard for a bit.”

“Sounds like a man after my own heart!” Michael said, putting a fist to his chest. William nodded. Even though he had taken up position as a Priest for Yewmark, he had undertaken martial training at the Monastery, and had rode with Michael and the guards a few times to help keep the peace.

Gustav tilted his head to the side, squinting slightly. “Weeell, he didn’t remain a guard there. According to his letter, he found it somewhat too passive. He began to act as a sword-for-hire, a mercenary, though,” he was quick to add, “He stresses to me that he took only fair jobs, ones that were not of a wicked sort.”

That was somewhat shadier, but William didn’t see it as his place to judge. “Fair enough, but…”

Gustav held up a hand, and continued. “Well, he’s becoming quite well-known in the local courts, and he had recently found out about a transaction between the Elven Border General and King Peter. You’ve heard of the Taskurr Swamps?”

“Vaguely,” Michael nodded. “I could tell you where they were, roughly, on a map… and some sort of battle happened there?”

“Aye,” William nodded, “the last Elven War, something like… close to two hundred years ago? It had been the weak point for Torem, as we couldn’t build strong walls through the swamp, and the Elves overran it. It’s the northernmost tip of the Elven Borderlands.”

“Was,” Gustav said with a grin. “It’s been kept somewhat quiet, but aside from a few settlements here and there, the Elves have never really had much of a presence there. I guess the Elves have had some internal troubles, so they offered to sell it back to King Peter for a relatively small amount. Taskurr is in Toremen hands once more.”

“Though good news,” Michael said, “what does this matter to us?”

William thought he saw where Gustav was heading, and said “the land is open, isn’t it? There’s no lord!”

“Exactly!” Gustav said, clasping his hands together. “The only man with a legitimate claim to Taskurr, descended from the lord of centuries ago, has been rotting in prison for years. As it is, the King has yet to award anyone with the title… as, well, most don’t want it.”

“It is a swamp,” Michael said, shaking his head. “As eager as I am to make use of my nobility… which I assume is your plan,” he said, to which Gustav nodded, “I’m reluctant to simply sit on the land.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you,” Gustav continued, “as it’s not the best even beyond the swamp. From what I understand, the old border fortifications, those that still stand, are home to bandits and orcs… and some are even still patrolled by the Border Guards that still perform their mortal duty through, even after death.”

William placed a hand to his heart for a moment. “Do you mean undead walk those swamps?”

“According to my friend?” Gustav said, holding up the scroll. “Yes. It’s been a living hell for those who have tried to eke out a living on the land there, trying to live on the cheap. The Elves at least tried to keep the peace, but now that they’ve pulled out, it falls to the Empire… and, well, I’m sure you can imagine why Royal Troops won’t start patrolling the swamp.”

Michael looked as conflicted as William felt, and William was sure the reverse was true. The idea of innocent people, even if they were Elves, at the mercy of the undead, amongst all the threats of living world… William wanted to help. But how much could they do?

“Gus… I’m not sure how we could help with that.” William admitted. “Even with your friend, we’d only be four men. We’ve not the fortune, even with Michael’s help, to hire an army to clean out a swamp.”

“And is there even a place a lord would sit?” Michael asked. “I don’t ask for an ivory tower, old friend, but I doubt anyone would even accept a lord who sat in a wooden house on stilts.”

Gustav brought up both hands, warding off his friends. “There’s more, don’t worry. I wouldn’t bother you with such things if I didn’t think it possible, even if it is… somewhat risky. What if I told you that one of the border forts, at least in part, still stood?”

“I’d ask what lives there now,” William countered.

Gustav grinned sheepishly. “Err, a hodge-podge of things, from what I’m told. You see… shortly after the Elves took hold of the place, a mercenary army was hired to try and clean up the swamp. They made a base of operations out of one fort in particular, one built upon a rather stable ‘island’ in the swamp. It had doubled as a prison, with a dungeon that went down rather deep. They supposedly dug even deeper, and would end up stowing a sizeable hoard there.

“It was a good plan, but they were eventually driven from their hoard by the forces of the swamp, and it’s been fought over by the various groups ever since.”

“So it’s treasure you seek!” Michael said, a hint of accusation to his tone.

Gustav waggled a finger at him. “Don’t be so quick to judge, old friend, for I don’t seek it for me.” Michael silenced, Gustav continued. “If we were to clean out this fort, not only would we have the treasure, but we’d also have the foundation to build our own encampment on. The King would surely offer a loan to get us started, and coupled with the treasure, and what your House could provide,” he said, motioning to Michael, “I feel we stand a good chance at bringing some semblance of civilization to that swamp.”

“Your friend knows where this fort is?” William asked.

“Aye,” Gustav responded, and finally unfurled the scroll for both Michael and William to see. “He says he has a map that he had found during his travels. It’s second-hand, but he believes it to be legit. He’s scouted the area in question, and it’s indeed hotly contested by the forces that be. Orcs, Undead, Hobgoblins...”

Michael read over the list with far more learned eyes than William could muster. William was, at least as far as letters, better at reading Achdrammen than he was the more common Toremen nowadays. Michael’s eyes widened. “It says there is nearly two hundred pounds of gold there!”

“An estimate,” Gustav admitted. “The stories vary, but the more feasible say something like two and a half, but he admits his estimate is erring on the side of caution.”

Michael leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath, as William continued reading down the scroll. “How many people live in the swamp? Good people, I mean. Innocents.”

“Hard to tell,” Gustav admitted. “Elias didn’t say, but I did little homework… at its height, before the last Elven War, perhaps two hundred people lived in Taskurr. I’d be surprised if more than one hundred did now.”

“But they do live there.”

“Oh yes,” Gustav said. “They try to, anyways. Small villages or just lone houses. Usually poorer families that couldn’t handle the taxes of the Elven border colonies.”

William looked over to Michael somewhat pleadingly. “How does this seem to you, Michael? It seems… difficult, but I’ll admit, if there is even a chance to help the living and lay the undead to rest…”

“It seems dangerous as well,” Michael admitted, taking a drink. “Even mounting such an expedition would be costly, if we wanted to ensure our safety.”

“Ah!” Gustav interjected, “I forgot, yes, don’t worry about that. I can afford to provide for armor, weaponry, and supplies, and travel to the swamp for us three.” He glanced at Michael, saying “if we’ll be wanting more than the basics, however, it’ll fall to you, Michael.”

Michael nodded, looking at the scroll once more. As Michael continued to stew over the proposal, William said “so is the plan to install Michael as the Lord of Taskurr with the money involved, while also cleansing the swamp.”

“More or less,” Gustav said. “I’ll be honest; Elias and I have intentions beyond that. Elias and I have also wanted a place to conduct magical experiments in peace. Nothing illegal, mind, but the academy is damnably confining in their rigmarole and bureaucracy.” Gustav took an angry drink, shaking his head. “However, any Lords willing to hire mages of such… little experience... most likely won’t have the resources for our research.”

“Ah,” Michael said, “so you’d want to be my court mage? What of this Elias?”

Gustav laughed. “For the record, I’d assume we’ll be part of your court! William would be the territorial Vicar, while Elias, should you accept him, could act as an advisor. After all, much of the territory’s populace are elves. Having an elf on staff would certainly assist.”

William had to admit, he wasn’t sure what to make of the exchange. Michael was approaching this rather pragmatically now, it seemed, while Gustav seemed to have thought of everything.

“What of the gold?” Michael asked, suspicion tinting his voice. “I understand that, in such events as these, we’re expected to split it…”

“Well, typically? Yes.” Gustav looked over at William, and then back to Michael. “I was under the assumption that, in exchange for service in your court, we’d devote our shares to erecting a proper stronghold. I haven’t spoken to Elias about it, but I’m sure he would as well.”

“Are you?” William asked.

“Fairly sure,” Gustav admitted sheepishly.

“Why?” Michael joined in.

“Elias seemed… most interested in a set of armor purported to remain in the dungeon,” Gustav said, pointing to the part of the scroll in question. “It’s said to be enchanted.”

William looked over that section again. He’d read it before, but reading it a second time, he did realize how excited the writer was about the armor. He also read something else of note. “It says he believes there are other magical items down there, possibly of interest to you?”

“Yes, well… yes.” Gustav cleared his throat. “I’ve hit a bit of a block in my studies, particularly revolving around enchanting. There’s rumor of some magical texts and items down there that could assist me.”

He looked to Michael, eyes pleading. “Please, Michael, at least think it over. I know it seems a long shot, but remember when we were boys? We talked about becoming princes, doing good throughout the land.” He’d tap on the scroll. “Here, Michael, is where that even has a chance of starting.”

Michael still looked unconvinced. William was also somewhat at odds, but he knew at least one thing needed doing. “Michael… I almost feel it my duty to help. My clerical training involved the banishment of the undead, and while I love Yewmark… especially in these last few years, Yewmark has become relatively safe. I’ve never even heard of the undead rising in this area.

“I’m not sure how I feel about even applying to become a vicar while so inexperienced, but the least we can do is cleanse this place.”

Michael sat in silence, staring at the paper for a moment before saying “I make no promises, but since my brother has taken over the estate,” he started, prompting William to lay his hand on his heart again, “my powers over policy have waned. But because of what I’ve done, Yewmark is also safe… perhaps it does not need me any longer.”

Gustav reached over, setting a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Though it may not help my case, but I imagine Yewmark could always use you, friend.” His free hand set upon the scroll, he said “but imagine how much this place could benefit from you? From all of us?”

Michael grinned. “It’s an ambitious plan.”

“But not a bad one, hmm?” Gustav said, smiling.

“No,” Michael said, sitting up straight. “Not a bad one.” He called out to the barmaid, beckoning her over. “A round of Orc-Heart, Nancy!”

Having already served him several times tonight, she was able to rather quickly bring over three steins of Orc-Heart. Michael held his in the air, and said “to the liberation and cleansing of Taskurr!”

William grinned, and he and Gustav thrust their drinks into the air. “To Taskurr!”

As William went to down the brew he had avoided all night, he thought of the old story of it being made with orc’s blood… and as it slid down his throat, he wondered how much orc’s blood he’d be seeing in his future.

God protect me.

Valor: Prologue

            Three young boys run about, playing among a well-cultivated yard and garden. All three had wooden toy swords, quickly dashing back and forth, fighting imaginary beasts and each other.

            “We should play a game where we’re all knights!” one said, raising the sword. “We could become princes, and marry princesses!”

            One of his friends scoffed at that. His wooden sword was a little shabbier, little more than a plank of wood made to look, vaguely, like a sword, and his clothes had a more worn appearance compared to his friends. “Who wants to marry a princess?”

He gained a devious smile, his face framed by stringy red hair. “I say we be highwaymen!”

His friend looked mortified. “I don’t want to be a bad guy Will!”

“Who says we’d be bad?” Will shot back, brow furrowed. “We’d take from those who have too much, give to those who had nothing!”

“We’d be stealing!”

“I have an idea Mike,” the third child said. He was a little younger than the other two, and a little smaller. He was also far darker in skin, and his dress still borrowing heavily from his homeland to the east. “What if Will was a bandit, and you were the knight trying to stop him,” he’d raise his hands and wiggle his fingers, “but you had to work together to stop the evil wizard!”

Mike’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!” he’d look at Will, all smiles. “And wizards have a ton of money! We’d be able to give it back to the people, yeah?”

That got Will’s attention, and he nodded eagerly, but then looked confused. “Who will you be Gus?” he’d ask, waving his sword at him.

Gus turned his sword around, clutching the blade like it was a handle, and would throw his arms to the side. “The wizard!” he said, and then made fire and thunder sound effects with his mouth, “casting spells” from his sword-turned wand. The other two boys yelped and ran for cover, but would quickly run to try and defeat their “evil” friend.

It could’ve been the same day, or any number of days that came after. Sitting around their dinner table, Michael sat in silence as his older brother spoke of his day to their parents. His younger sisters likewise sat quietly, the only noises being the sounds of their dining.

“Very nice Solomon,” their father said, dabbing away the juices of a chunk of beef he had just eaten. “What about you, Michael?”

Michael gulped. His father intimidated him. He glanced up and said “I practiced the piano some, and also studied my Holy Texts. I, uh, I also worked on Arithmetic with Cinnaeus, and he said I was improving.”

There was a slight pause. His brother, sneering, then said “he also spent at least two hours playing games with his peasant friends from town.”

“Sol!” Michael hissed, but it was too late. His father’s gaze locked with his. “Why must you continue to play with foreigners and thieves, Michael?”

“B-but father,” he stammered, “Gus is just from the eastern provinces! He’s not foreign.”

“Close enough!” his father said, waving a hand dismissively. “God is merely a curiosity to his kind, not a devotion like ours. And the other one… that Morund boy again?”

“Yes father,” Michael said quietly, looking down at his plate.

“If you mingle with trash, son, you’ll be trash.”

Michael’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing. His mother looked at her father with reproach, but said nothing more than a light “Cyrus.”

His brother, of course, had plenty to say. “Doesn’t being a Niels mean anything to you?”

Before his father could back Solomon up, Michael said “oh stuff it! I saw you leading a village girl into the woods.”

Solomon said nothing, but his face turned crimson, and their sisters giggled fitfully. Cyrus Niels fumed, and turned his ire towards Solomon, though they had to leave the table as it was a discussion, as his mother put, “unfit for dinner conversation.”

When Michael left the table, he just shook his head at his father’s thoughts. Will and Gus weren’t bad! They were his friends. Why did it matter where they came from, or how they lived?

Gustav walked up the long road from Yewmark proper to the Niels Estate. He’d walked it many times in the past ten years, and he walked it now with the somber reflection of a young man whose world was rapidly changing.

“Hey Mike,” Gustav said as he walked up, taking up position beside him by the fence.

Michael seemed a little startled, and brushed a stray blonde lock from his face. “Hey Gus,” he responded, before looking at the field again. Gustav could clearly hear the depression, or perhaps frustration, in Michael’s voice.

Sighing, he said “really sucks what happened to Will.”

“Yeah, yeah it does,” Michael agreed, leaning down and setting his chin on the fence.

A silence stretched between them. “But,” Michael said after a moment, “I guess we both knew he’d be caught some day, huh?”

Gustav laughed slightly. “Yeah, I suppose. Maybe the Church will do him some good?”

Gustav had tried to hide the skeptical tone in his voice. Michael nodded instinctively, but then leaned back up, looking at the sky. Gustav figured he had managed it, up until Michael suddenly said “you don’t really follow any of the Holy Texts, do you?”

After looking around for a moment, nervously, Gustav took a gulp and said “well… no. I mean, me and my parents go on occasion, but… I don’t know, they just never took it seriously. I don’t remember ever even going to church until we moved here.”

Michael pursed his lips in thought, and then sighed. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Dangerous to wonder,” Gustav answered, plucking a piece of tall grass from the ground and sticking it in his mouth. Michael didn’t understand that he and his family essentially had to go to Church now, or be branded heretics. Foreigners were one sort who couldn’t question God. Nobles were the other.

Michael continued as if Gustav had said nothing. “Well, what’s His plan for someone like Will, ya know? My dad’s always had money. Your dad struck big with that mining stuff, and even you’ll probably move to Aurosimmar soon.” Gustav winced, but didn’t interrupt as Michael kept going. After all, he was right; there was simply more opportunity there, especially for an Easterner like Gustav. “But Will? His father worked day in, day out, until he dies. His mother works just enough to stop them from starving… and well, who can blame Will for wanting a little more money?”

“Well, I don’t,” Gustav said, which provoked a surprised look from Michael. Gustav shook his head, and with an exasperated smile, looked at Michael saying “Come on Mike… I’m not saying Will was right for stealing, but no one would hire him. Your dad never even called him Will.” Gustav puffed out his chest, and tried to put on a haughty voice befitting the Lord Cyrus. “That Morund boy.”

Michael’s face flushed. “I… okay, yeah, I know. My dad…” he sighed. “I know.”

“So,” Gustav continued, plucking the grass from his lips and holding it idly in his hand, “Will stole what no one would miss. And I imagine, despite what you say? You do blame him for it.”

Michael’s face flushed even more, but after a moment, nodded numbly. Gustav gave a somewhat victorious smile, but the reality of the situation sank back in quickly enough. Will was gone, and within a few weeks, Gustav would be too.

The two boys stared out over the field, watching the horses graze.

“What in blazes are we to do with you, Morund?”

“You could kick me out of here,” Will volunteered all too eagerly. The rector frowned, and shook his head. William figured that would be too easy. What was this man to do with him, anyhow? With long, scraggly red hair, the wisps of a mustache, and bruises darkening his fair skin, he hardly looked like the proper student of Saint Lennin’s Monastery. He didn’t mind keeping it that way, either.

“And that’s exactly what you want,” said Rector Koumann. Leaning over his desk, and having pegged William’s hope so precisely, he then said “so I’ll be doing no such thing.”

The young man gave an exasperated, exaggerated sigh, and then glared at the rector. “Then get used to seeing me. I’ll not put up with anything, from you, the students, or the teachers.” A challenge he was hoping Koumann would rise to.

“Content with being a brigand, hm?” the rector growled, shaking his white-capped head.

“Content!” William yelled, laughing harshly. “I am anything but content!” He stood from his seat, tossing it to the side. “I haven’t lived in your oaken halls and in God’s grace! My life has not been blessed! So why, then, should I listen to the drivel of a preacher telling me how blessed I am?”

For a moment, the rector looked stunned, and William enjoyed that. He wanted this man to fear him, fear what he’d been forced to become. But then William’s eyes met the rector’s, and he felt him looking into them, not just at them. It almost froze William.

“Hmm.” The rector leaned back in his seat, and opened his desk. William’s brow furrowed, and his shoulders slumped. Why wasn’t this man rising to the challenge?

“Are you familiar with the story of King Belgaias?” Koumann said suddenly.

“Um,” William thought, and then shook his head. “No.”

“Well, you’ve heard of the Holy City of Belgammar, yes?”

William reached up and shifted some hair from his face. After a moment, he recalled the city and nodded. He’d heard that it existed and was holy, at any rate.

“Alright then, well, it’s named after him. It was more or less the center of his kingdom, long before the first Church was formed. Well.” He paused. “First Church of the Triune, anyways. His stories are rarely spoken of, due to their rather… violent nature.”

William found himself listening, though not yet moving to sit down. Still… some of the fight was fading from him. “He was believed to be of divine blood, at least half, if not more. He was known not only for his great strength and fighting prowess, but his strategic mind and, most importantly, his faith.”

William reached over and set the chair he had tossed to rights. Sitting down, he scoffed, saying “well, the last is hardly surprising. If he was of divine blood, would he not be blessed? And as you said, he was king.”

The rector shook his head. “There is more to life than the material, young Morund, and these were early days. Days when our God was newly honed into the Triune, and unable to proclaim his sovereignty over Heaven and Earth. Being one of divine blood, his kingdom was targeted by all those hoping to strike at our still-weakened holy father, and though he lived as a king, he also bore all the burdens of a king, one whose kingdom was constantly under siege.

“Many times he set out to vanquish his foes, razing them to the earth in the name of God. Still, he suffered with every man, woman, and child who met their end at the hands of those striking at him to strike at his father.” He paused. “What would you have done here?”

“I…” William paused. His face contorted as he struggled with the question. Leading him on, the rector asked “Who would you have blamed? Yourself?”

“No!” William yelped, his voice cracking slightly. He tried to swallow it down, and regaining his composure, said “I… it sounds like he was doing all he could. He was striking at his foes, not merely sitting back and letting them strike at him.”

“So who would you blame?... God?”

William’s eyes widened. “Blame… God?”

“Yes,” the rector asked more fervently. “Would you blame God? When the weight of all of your foes weigh upon you SOLELY because of your connection to the Lord, our High Master, he who protects us and shelters us, but who would do nothing to strike at them, would you blame him?”

“No!” William shouted back. “No, I would not! It’s… my father,” he said, choking slightly. Swallowing, he specified “my father, my dad… he always taught me that a man’s sins, a man’s troubles, were his own. To blame just anyone you could made you less.”

The rector’s response was swift. “So, if you would not blame God for the weight of a thousand foes, why would you blame him for your problems now?”

“I… don’t,” William said. He hardly felt like he believed it, though. Nor did his voice sound as if he did.

“Nor did King Belgaias,” the rector continued. “He struggled, but he instead prayed, waiting and asking for his father’s help. Finally, so desperate for his teachings, he locked himself in his castle, and fastened himself down in the city. The gates were locked tight, and the enemies fell upon his lands in droves.”

William sat, rapt. The story had him entangled, and when the rector didn’t continue, William blurted out “and then what? Please sir, tell me! What did Belgaias do?”

“Nothing,” the rector said, shaking his head softly. “The enemies would, in return for his own attacks, ravage his lands, and lay siege upon the mighty walls of his kingdom… and then they were gone.”

“Gone?” William asked in disbelief. “Gone how? Did God do it?”

The rector laughed, his knowing tone irritating William slightly. “Perhaps? Some say God did it, some say it simply happened, but the worst famine to strike the Belgaias’ kingdom in many years struck as the siege went on. The stores within the castle were full, while the farms outside, already ravaged, were completely dead. Drought dried up lakes and rivers. What wasn’t killed by drought was eaten by locusts. His enemies broke the siege to retreat to their greener kingdoms, considering the land damned. Many of them died in the resulting trek back to their lands.”

William sat stunned. “I… don’t understand. Was Belgaias to be happy his kingdom was starved, destroyed, left in shambles? He was the king of a desert, from what it sounds!”

The rector raised a finger, and it silenced William. “His lands were indeed ravaged… and no longer a target. It took decades to restore his kingdom to its former glory. In that time, though, none attacked him, considering the land not worth taking. His foes were without faith, and even if killing Belgaias would strike against the Lord, they would not do it for nothing. They instead turned on each other, and by the time the kingdom of Belgaias was thriving again, all around him was weakened by warfare.”

William sat, trying to digest what he was being told. “And this is all… true.”

The rector took a small book from his desk, sliding it across the table. It seemed very plain, and William frowned. “I… I can’t read Achdrammen. I can only read Toremen.” Even then, William didn’t know that too well either.

“This is a translated copy,” the rector said, “and rather barebones. I want you to read it, on your own terms, and come to your own conclusions, not those fed to you by preachers speaking to a flock.”

“I still don’t understand,” William said, finding himself growing frustrated once more. “What was Belgaias to learn from that? Did God help him? Was he to be rewarded for inaction?”

“I can only tell you what I got from it,” the rector said calmly, and leaned onto his elbows, his hands clasped together. “I learned that, from adversity, we can gain strength. And that, like looking into the stores in his castle, we can sometimes find our greatest strength not from looking upward,” he looked up, spreading his hands, before folding them back to his heart, “but inward. For God’s grace and blessing may not fall upon us all evenly…”

He’d point at William, and his next words sent chills from William’s spine all the way down to his neck. “But you, as all, are part of his plan. How, though, is up for you to find.”

William looked at the book, still set between them on the desk… and reached forward, taking it and staring at it…

Being an elf in a human city was difficult. Particularly the regional capital of Aurosimmar. Although he was in his twenties, he still looked closer to seventeen. He blended in rather well, though… he was tall for an elf, which put him about the same height as the humans “his age.” His hair, though green, was very dark, and commonly mistaken for black. Really, it was just his ears that drew attention.

For several weeks he’d been at this academy, trying to do his best to avoid drawing any more ire than he had to. His affinity for magic made that more difficult, as his less skilled classmates saw him as a threat. He could (and had) defended himself when he needed to, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

Today, he heard those all too familiar jeers and taunts, but he hadn’t even entered the main hall… it sounded as though someone else was the target. He entered and looked around carefully.

He saw two students of his class picking on, judging by his uniform, a new student. He was a little shorter, and didn’t look to be very old. He was also darker than anyone he’d ever seen!

“Whoever heard of a desert-dwelling wizard?” one of the older boys jeered, pushing at the kids shoulder.

The young boy’s green eyes blazed back. “Knock it off, I’m serious!”

“Oh really?” said the other boy, putting his hands on his hips, and leaning in. “Go ahead, take a shot.” He’d stick his chin out.

His other friend pat his fists together, eager. “Yeah, go ahead. You hit him, then I’ll hit you. Then we’ll pound you back into the dirt where you belong, lowborn!”

The young man’s fists clenched, but he didn’t strike. Finally, the elven boy came up from behind, saying “hey, knock it off.”

One of them barely glanced back. “What do you want, sap-sucker?”

“For you to take a long walk down a thin branch,” he retorted.

“Huh?”

Humans. “If you want a fight, you can consider it evened up,” he said.

“What,” one of them said, jerking a thumb at the dark-skinned boy, “don’t feel like a little purification?”

The elven boy’s cheeks burned, and he took a step closer, eyes blazing at what had been said. “If I did, I’d start with you.”

That got their attention, and though they started to look as though they’d back off, the boy they’d been antagonizing would kick forward, hitting one of them in their most sensitive area. Although slightly stunned, the elven boy jumped on the other, not wanting to waste the advantage. The fight that ensued was only broken apart when another few older students pulled them apart, and then teachers hauled them off separately.

Later, while cleaning the western hall (their opponents were stuck cleaning the east), the other young man went over to the elf. “Hey, thanks for your help… you didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t have to, but they’d been picking on me for weeks. I could’ve left them to get on you, but that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

The young man just looked at him, almost in awe, and then grinned. “Ha, I guess not. I’m Gustav Nogaspo… just moved here from Yewmark. My friends there called me Gus.”

The elf grinned. “I’m Elias, ah, Elias Lyttler. Pleasure to meet you Gustav.”

“Please,” Gus said with a sly grin. “Call me Gus.”

Michael gave a relieved and relaxed sigh as he came back from town. He always enjoyed riding with the guards, and though today his sword hadn’t tasted blood, they had still managed to catch some bandits to the south. Michael was well-liked in town for his efforts in assisting the guards.

Of course, outside of town, back on the lands his father owned…

As he approached the stables, his father and his brother both rode up to them. The difference between them was obvious, right down to their horses. The horses of his family were all well-groomed riding horses, barely a hair out of place, with intricate saddles, taped tails, and the physique of the show horses they were.

Michael’s horse, Perimor, was a tougher breed, a work horse he had bought to assist him on his sojourns. Knicks and cuts marred its muscular frame, and the saddle was one of functionality, not display. Michael wasn’t much better, with a few scars here and there, dents and knicks on the chest-piece he wore.

Likewise, while both his father and brother kept their hair longer and pinned, long hair was bothersome to Michael, and he regularly shaved his head. So he was very much opposite his family as they approached. “Having fun with the commoners?” Solomon called, and meant every word as an insult.

“It’s not about fun, Sol,” Michael responded as his horse walked over to theirs. Perimor was tired, but dutiful, and he patted him on the head. Just a bit longer boy.

“It is unbefitting for a Niels to engage in such activities,” his father said, sniffing as if he caught a whiff of something foul. “That you continue to do so is embarrassing.”

Michael frowned, but was not surprised. His father had often said such things. It was, unfortunately, nothing new.

“One wonders why you even stay here,” Solomon quipped, laughing nastily afterwards. “You’re far more at home amidst the mud and dirt than the market.”

“I figure I will leave such… intellectual pursuits to you, Sol,” Michael said evenly. Michael was no great mathematician, but he had helped his father at market when Solomon had been ill one winter, and it was one of the few times Michael had received praise. He noticed a twitch on his father’s face now, remembering that, but doing nothing to turn Solomon’s ire.

“All the better,” Solomon said, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing at what Michael imagined was the barest thread of sweat forming at his brow. “You’d most likely scare off the people at market anyways.”

That provoked a more serious frown from Michael. “The people in town seem to enjoy my presence, and I have gone to market quite often.”

“Yes, the market of beggars.” Solomon responded immediately.

Their father broke in here, saying “I would certainly prefer you follow the family trade, son. It is, after all, your heritage.”

“Only because grandfather was awarded this land for his service to the King,” Michael snapped, beginning to grow angry.

“Is that what you’re about?” Solomon said, laughing a loud, bird-like squawk. “As if you playing guard makes you a warrior.”

“Solomon,” their father started, but Michael urged Perimor forward, getting closer to Solomon.

“You think I’m playing out there?” Michael said coolly.

Solomon had looked to their father, and upon looking back to Michael, clearly missed the tone of Michael’s voice. “Of course. Why, I’m surprised you even know how to ride. You’re no better than the rest of the rubes and provincials.”

Michael’s teeth ground together, and his father was starting to quietly murmur for Solomon to cease. But no, not this time. Clenching the reigns, Michael kept himself as even as possible, saying “is that what you think? Fine, then. I challenge you to a duel.”

“Michael!” his father yelped, while Solomon’s eyes merely widened. “You will not challenge your brother to a-”

Michael put a hand to his hilt, and Perimor instinctively backed up, snorting in frustration. “Be silent father!”

It was a strange moment, as Lord Cyrus, perhaps for the first time, did as his son told him. And when he did, Solomon’s eyes widened even more, and his face went the color of snow. “Father, this is… he is being childish, he cannot be allowed to-”

“I will not allow further insult to my deeds and the people who support you!” he said, drawing his sword. The iron blade was kept polished and sharp, and glinted in the light of the late afternoon. “If you feel you are so superior, sitting across the hall from the women and counting coins, sipping on teas and ending each night fallen by a mere glass of wine, then prove it!”

“You can’t be serious!” Solomon yelled.

“I am issuing you a gentleman’s challenge, brother! One to the blood!” Michael said, though he was beginning to grow louder. “If you try to refuse it, I swear I will ride to the nearest court and have you stripped of your nobility for cowardice!”

“Michael!” his father gasped, now almost as pale as his brother.

“No more!” Michael roared again, raising his sword and pulling on the reigns. Perimor reared. “I will no longer be mocked by womanish cowards! You will accept my challenge, brother, or I swear you will find yourself penniless on the day we dread, when the inheritance falls to our father’s children!”

Finally, Solomon seemed to be rising to it, if somewhat. Color rose back to his face, blotching it with red. “I accept your challenge! Sabers! A-at dawn, as is customary, yes?” he stammered, looking to his father for confirmation.

Michael thrust his sword back into its scabbard, glaring at Solomon. “So be it! Sabers to the blood, at dawn, three days from now!”

“Why so long brother? Fr-frightened?”

“Nay,” Michael said evenly, “but tomorrow I will ride to find a neutral party that will bear witness, and should you decide to hide under our mother’s dress when the time comes,” Michael leaned in, his mouth showing all teeth in a smile that was far from reassuring, “I will strip you of the life you don’t deserve, so help me God.”

Michael let out a loud “hyah!” before riding Perimor away from his father and brother, leaving them both sitting there in stunned silence. All at once, both now found the power stripped from their hands… and were completely broken because of it.

It had been a while since William had been back to Yewmark. He’d come back a couple of times in the winter to help his mother, but he’d never stuck around long, nor had he bothered seeing Michael.

It was just all… too much, at the time. Even five years later, he only felt he was just getting over what he’d been in Yewmark. It had been easy to forget and put it past him at St. Lennin’s, but whenever he came back, the same anger had always started to seep in.

He was hoping that wouldn’t happen this time. He walked the familiar road to the Niels Estate, reliving some of his better memories. Him, Mike, and Gus… they’d been thick as thieves, though only William had truly earned the title. Gus had never minded sharing the spoils, though.

Michael… William frowned. Him and Michael, despite being friends, had always been so different. Michael had been good, faithful, and slow to anger. William had been a heathen. Gus, a year younger and smaller than them both, made a rather poor moderator. How many times had him and Mike scrapped? And how many times had Mike won over him?

The estate looked the same as it always had, at least to his mind. Were some of the trees new? Were the stables larger? It was so hard to tell. Even before his time at the monastery, he had spent less and less time here, as Michael more frequently went into the village to play with them instead of the other way around, if only to escape the eyes of his aristocratic, judgmental father.

William took a breath, closed his eyes, and stopped walking for a moment. He had long forgiven his friend’s father. Just as God had placed adversities such as Lord Cyrus before him, God had surely placed adversities before Lord Cyrus. It was a common man, a man such as Lord Cyrus, who could not rise above such adversities not just in business, but in spirit as well.

At the main gate, one of the Niels Guards stood ready. He wore the yellow tabard with the familiar black lion on it. Though he tensed for a moment upon seeing William, he seemed to relax visibly upon seeing William’s clerical garb. In stark contrast to the Niels tabard, his own was white with blue trimmings, and the purple cross over his heart.

“Hail Cleric!” the guard said, raising a hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What brings you to the Niels Estate?”

William heard the suspicion in the man’s voice, but didn’t blame him. He also tried to judge the man’s age… older than he was, certainly, but not enough that he expected the man to have been working here while William had visited, long ago.

“I am Acolyte Morund, with the given name William. I come on, aah, a personal matter. I was friends with one of the sons of Lord Cyrus, uh, Master Michael?”

“Morund,” the guard sounded, “why, are you the son of Margita Morund?”

“I am,” William said levelly, and fought to stop the instinctive clenching of his fists. Please make nothing of it, he thought, both to himself and the other man.

The man simply shook his head. “I was a stable-hand at the local cotton fields, and I knew your father. A good, hardworking man he was.”

William gave a relieved smile. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that,” William said, gesturing towards the heavens.

The guard grinned sheepishly, glancing upwards, and then nodded. “I’ll inform one of the Niels or their servants, please wait here.”

“Of course,” William replied, nodding and turning to look out over the fields. He saw several horses in them, though if any were the same from his youth, they’d surely be near their end.

William wasn’t sure who he expected to greet him, but with the guard came one of those he certainly did not expect; Solomon Niels.

“Faith above, it is William Morund, I’d recognize that hair anywhere.”

William cast a sideways glance to his prominent red hair, which he was glad to have long once more. His time at the monastery had dictated short hair, and he’d never seen the purpose in it. Out from under the yoke, he intended to set that to right.

He bowed respectfully. “Master Solomon, it’s good to see you again.”

Solomon waved his hand. He was almost ten years older than he or Michael, and certainly seemed older. Though he wasn’t fat, he certainly wasn’t muscled either, and his face was somewhat drawn. “Dispense with the formalities, please, come in. Michael isn’t here right now, I’m afraid, but he should be back within an hour or so.”

“Oh,” William said, pausing, “I would hate to intrude.”

“Nonsense!” Solomon said, and after insisting upon William’s entrance, William finally relented, walking through the front gate.

Solomon and he made small talk on the state of Yewmark as they walked into the Estate’s main hall. “The cotton fields have been particularly poor as of late. Each harvest seems less productive than the last.”

“Distressing,” William said, his thoughts of two minds about it. “Has your family been able to come through fairly?”

“Oh yes,” Solomon said without hesitation. “After all, we trade in all manner of material, not just cotton. We’ve hired more hands to tend to more horses, which are always in high demand, and the Nogaspo Mines provide a steady supply of both stone and tin for us to sell.”

“Good to hear,” William said, and Solomon motioned for him to sit at a coffee table. William nodded and did so, pausing to remove his mace from his belt and set it on the carpet. He saw Solomon eye it nervously, but didn’t bring it up.

“What of the state of Yewmark itself? I admit to coming here almost immediately.”

“The town?” Solomon asked, pouring two cups of tea. William didn’t know where the tea had come from, only that it had been here before them. “The town fares well enough. Most of them are enamored with my brother, in fact.”

“Oh?” That was the first thing of great interest Solomon had said.

Solomon nodded, sipping at the tea. “Mm, yes. Initially it was the work he took upon himself, assisting the guards with their patrols. After a discussion with father and I, we began to fund the guards for better equipment and increased numbers. Since there was less crime, the tax money was able to be used on more domestic matters, many of which were spear-headed by my brother.”

William stared at Solomon for a moment. Although that all sounded like Michael, he found it impossible that Lord Cyrus could be swayed to offer a tuppence to Yewmark, let alone funding the guard.

“Ha, I… that’s amazing. I’m sure the Lord will look favorably upon your generosity.”

Solomon paused, stewing that over, and then smiling, said “I suppose He will, hmm? Hardly why we did it, of course.” He cleared his throat. “We did it to… assist the town, you know? After all, a healthy town is a wealthy town.”

There was clearly more to that than William knew, but he nodded, and continued their conversation. William directed the conversation towards horses in particular, asking about their stock. The monastery had possessed some particularly miserable, overworked beasts, and he made mention they would probably pay well for a few handsome, strong beasts. William himself had learned to ride on a nag barely fit to pull a cart.

After a short while one of the house servants stood at the doorway, clearing his throat to gain Solomon’s attention. “Yes Leander?”

“Master Michael is returning, sir.”

“Splendid!” Solomon said, clapping his hands together, and then pressing them to the table to help him stand. As William stood, he noticed then that ring finger on Solomon’s right hand was… very short. He realized he was looking at a fake nail of some sort at the end, and it seemed to have been cut off at the tip. He quickly pulled his gaze away, and followed Solomon to the stables.

Once there, William was somewhat flabbergasted by what his friend had become. With a clean bald head, arms marred by scars, and a frame fitting for one of the warrior raiders of the north, Michael was almost twice his size. William supposed he had thought… perhaps, and he hated to admit it, hoped… that he would now be Michael’s match, physically. One look at him was enough to convince him otherwise.

Upon seeing him, even as Solomon spoke to introduce him, Michael’s face opened into a grin and ran over, giving William a bear hug. “William Morund, by God it’s good to see you!”

Michael’s laughing was infectious, and William found himself laughing and hugging Michael back. When they separated, William grabbed Michael’s hand and shook it. “Solomon’s been telling me some of your exploits, old friend, well done! If God has ever blessed Yewmark, he’s blessed it with you!”

Michael laughed, smiling sheepishly. “You do me too much honor Will!”

Solomon interjected, saying “I’ll leave you two to catch up, I’m sure father could use my assistance.”

There was a brief exchange of looks there, one of concern. William didn’t need to ask about what. Lord Cyrus was entering his sixth decade, and though he’d always been healthy, even the well-off aristocrats rarely saw their seventieth year.

“Give him my best,” Michael said, nodding to Solomon. William echoed the sentiment a moment later, and Solomon was off.

Once he was gone, Michael’s face regained its pleased smile, and he said “come, let’s walk! I’ve always enjoyed walking outdoors more than sitting over some tea.”

William smirked. “I’m guessing you know what Solomon prefers, then?”

Michael laughed. “How was the tea?”

“Very good, actually… I’m just not much of a tea-drinker.”

Michael laughed again, loudly. “Nor am I, old friend.”

They stopped walking by one of the paddocks and a large horse with a deep red coat strode over. It was a warhorse, by William’s standards; muscular, and with old scars here and there. Michael set a hand upon it. “This is Perimor, my horse. He joins me on most of the sojourns Solomon spoke of.”

“It sounds as though you’ve fought battles against more than bandits and goblins, hmm?” William asked. When Michael sent him an inquisitive look, William said “Solomon told me that you convinced he and your father to be somewhat more generous towards the town guard.”

“Ah that,” Michael said, frowning slightly. “I’ll admit, I probably could’ve handled it better, to be honest. My grasp over my brother and father is merely one of physical presence, I’m afraid.”

“… You?” William asked, almost stunned. Although Michael was certainly intimidating, William never saw him as a violent man, not towards those undeserving, and as checkered as his past with Cyrus and Solomon Niels was, they hardly deserved assault.

“I challenged my brother to a duel some years back, and… well, to keep a story short, I won.” He pat the side of the horse’s head and it trotted off. Michael gave a sad smile to William. “I’m afraid my father and brother don’t listen to much more than threats of one kind or another.”

“I’m surprised Solomon accepted!” William exclaimed, and after a moment, he began to fit some pieces together. “… I suppose he’d prefer his nobility over his ring finger, hmm?”

Michael paled. “That was an accident, I assure you. The fool tried to block a blow with his hilt, fingers out. I managed to stop from hurting him too badly, but the local pastor could do little.”

William set a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mike. It doesn’t seem as though your brother holds it against you.”

“Ha, I suppose not.” Michael shook his head, and smiling, looked at William. “But enough of the past! What brings you back to Yewmark, and the Niels Estate?”

“One can’t just want to visit an old friend?”

“We haven’t seen each other in years Will,” Michael said, wagging a finger at him, “and don’t pretend you haven’t been back in town since.”

Will felt a twinge of guilt, but nodded sheepishly. “Aye, I suppose that’s true. I’ll admit, I do have more reason for coming, though… to make clear, I didn’t enjoy coming back to Yewmark at all, Mike.” Will frowned, and looked down at the dirt. “I regretted what I had become, and coming back to Yewmark, and seeing the squalor in-town, always made me feel that same anger.”

Now Michael placed his hand on William’s shoulder, patting it slightly. “There there friend, I understand. Although I was always sorry to see you go, it’s good to see that you’ve embraced the church.”

“That’s the other reason I’m here,” William said, looking Michael square in the eyes. “I’m at the end of my training at Saint Lennin’s, and desire to become an Adept of the Light. However, due to my… unusual circumstances, the rector has asked for me to have a character witness, one who is faithful and of good heart, but more to the point, honest.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You mean ME?”

“Of course I do!” William said, laughing slightly. “Mike, especially hearing of your activities in recent years, I’d say you’re one of the people the Light shines not only onto, but from. Perhaps you solve some problems by blade, but I know you… I hope I know you, anyhow… well enough that you don’t do so without reason.

“And more importantly, you knew me from before. When I was little more than a petulant, rebellious thief. Little better than a bandit… and let us be honest, without the Church, I probably would be a bandit now.”

“Will!” Michael said in shock. “I will admit, you were going down a bad road, but to full-on banditry? You were never bad Will, you were just… desperate.”

“However you’d like,” William said, shaking his head slightly. “But I came here to ask for your support, and your testimony. Not only for my sake, but perhaps for-”

“Will, let me stop you there,” Michael said firmly, grasping William’s shoulder. “We may have grown apart in years, but if you ask this of me, I will do it solely as your friend. No other reason is needed.”

William smiled, nodding and then bowing slightly. “Thank you, Michael. All I ask of you is to be honest, painfully so if need be.”

“In this case, I’ll rake you over the coals if I have to,” Michael said with a devilish grin, which provoked a surprised laugh from William.

“Well now, don’t go making up stories!”

“Who, William?” Michael said, stepping away from the fence, and addressing an unknown audience. “Even from a young age, he was a deviant! Why, I’m not positive of this, but let us say that more of the village girls gave birth to red-heads than not, hmm?”

William laughed heartily, face reddening. You didn’t hear jokes like that at the monastery. “You’d have me stripped of the cross, Mike!”

“Yes, William was a card for certain,” Michael said, moving back over to William and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, leading him back towards the house. “Women, wine, and fond of the bawdiest songs and tales you’d ever heard. Why, I remember one story he told of a dwarf with an unholy affection for sheep and goats.”

William laughed again. “That was Gus’ story, you sod!”

“Gus? Nonsense, a saint he was! Not like that bewitched William Morund!”

William jabbed Michael in the ribs slightly. “You keep this up and you’ll owe me a few drinks, Master Michael!”

Michael grinned. “Then let us drink and be merry! Tomorrow we will ride for your church, but tonight? Let us celebrate our friendship!”

“I’ll drink to that!” William said, all too eager to get to know his old friend all over again.