morning, Urith found a polished piece of
steel and used it to look at his wounded face.
He knew the jagged blackened line which ran a cross his cheek, along with the sneer it
created, would eventually form into a permanent reminder of his
battle against a great warrior. It was something to be proud of; he told himself. However, the thought
could not convince him. As he reflected on the wound, he decided it appeared to be healing properly, and
he had no strange, fever-induced dreams during the night. For that
he was thankful.
Leaving the tavern where he had taken a room, Urith
retrieved his ossane from the stable then met the skalds as they
readied themselves for their journey. In the trading of stories and
general talk of the previous night, the skalds had learned they
planned to travel the same road to Eran as Urith. It was still
quite early when they met up with him outside the stables, then
leading their mounts to the road to begin the day's ride. Their
long night of drinking and conversation left the giant warrior
tired and bleary eyed. Yet, the men he traveled with appeared
unaffected as they rambled on about the great heroes like Heptarc.
He quietly listened with some fascination at their uncanny talent
to remember significant details of ancient
battles and warriors.
As they rode along, Urith listened as the tall, thin
man, who called himself Arvim , played the flute to the beat of the ossane’s cloven
hoofs. The young man with auburn hair had no beard, unlike
his comrades. As they drank around the fire the night before, Arvim’s keen interest in Urith's battles and
the killing of the Clovel had struck the young warrior as curious.
This morning, the young man played tunes which mimicked the singing
of the birds as they guided this mounts along the road. The sounds
lifted Urith’s spirits.
The sun began falling to end the day, and Urith grew quiet, weary from the long journey.
The group came upon a line of trees where a narrow bridge crossed a
stream. When they reached the bridge, they saw men on ossanes
filling the road on the other side. Out of the forest on the skalds, flank came others, men wielding spears
and swords. They wore dark robes of brown and gray with little
armor, most of them sporting leather helmets. It was evident they were bandits, leftovers of the Aberffraw
army who had been joined by thugs and ruffians.
Across the river, the leader rode up to the bridge.
Several of the bandits followed behind him, dragging along bound
women and children along using ropes around their necks. Slaves to
be used or sold. One blonde woman who struggled to keep up with the
ossane reminded him of Earmis. An ember of hate flashed inside the
Esterblud when he saw this.
“ You skalds will have a new tale
to add to your stories.” A stone-faced man who
had stopped at the end of the bridge ahead of the others spoke in a challenging tone. The leader of the
bandits wore armor and the helmet of the Aberffraw. “My men rule
over this forest. Do you have koinons to assure your passage
through my land?”
“ I would take care with such
boasts,” stated Urith. “King Penhda controls this land.”
“ And who are you, little giant?
The boy servant to this king?” The bandits laughed at the man
mocking Urith for his green tunic. “Well, we will relieve you of
your ossanes and weapons. You must pay a toll when you enter our
forests.”
Urith pulled his Clovel Sword, his anger rising.
“You will learn to kiss the feet of Caruun, little man.”
The man laughed. “You are outnumbered, and your friends don’t look so willing to
fight.”
Arvim and Narslac suddenly pushed up next to Urith.
“I don’t believe you know the skalds of Esterblud very well. We
like the idea of Haligulf.” Narslac grunted his agreement, saying
he would enjoy singing for the sky gods.
The bandit nodded to his men, “Then, prepare for a
slow death.”
Immediately, spears were thrown, and the warriors clashed with bandits.
Urith charged at
steel and used it to look at his wounded face.
He knew the jagged blackened line which ran a cross his cheek, along with the sneer it
created, would eventually form into a permanent reminder of his
battle against a great warrior. It was something to be proud of; he told himself. However, the thought
could not convince him. As he reflected on the wound, he decided it appeared to be healing properly, and
he had no strange, fever-induced dreams during the night. For that
he was thankful.
Leaving the tavern where he had taken a room, Urith
retrieved his ossane from the stable then met the skalds as they
readied themselves for their journey. In the trading of stories and
general talk of the previous night, the skalds had learned they
planned to travel the same road to Eran as Urith. It was still
quite early when they met up with him outside the stables, then
leading their mounts to the road to begin the day's ride. Their
long night of drinking and conversation left the giant warrior
tired and bleary eyed. Yet, the men he traveled with appeared
unaffected as they rambled on about the great heroes like Heptarc.
He quietly listened with some fascination at their uncanny talent
to remember significant details of ancient
battles and warriors.
As they rode along, Urith listened as the tall, thin
man, who called himself Arvim , played the flute to the beat of the ossane’s cloven
hoofs. The young man with auburn hair had no beard, unlike
his comrades. As they drank around the fire the night before, Arvim’s keen interest in Urith's battles and
the killing of the Clovel had struck the young warrior as curious.
This morning, the young man played tunes which mimicked the singing
of the birds as they guided this mounts along the road. The sounds
lifted Urith’s spirits.
The sun began falling to end the day, and Urith grew quiet, weary from the long journey.
The group came upon a line of trees where a narrow bridge crossed a
stream. When they reached the bridge, they saw men on ossanes
filling the road on the other side. Out of the forest on the skalds, flank came others, men wielding spears
and swords. They wore dark robes of brown and gray with little
armor, most of them sporting leather helmets. It was evident they were bandits, leftovers of the Aberffraw
army who had been joined by thugs and ruffians.
Across the river, the leader rode up to the bridge.
Several of the bandits followed behind him, dragging along bound
women and children along using ropes around their necks. Slaves to
be used or sold. One blonde woman who struggled to keep up with the
ossane reminded him of Earmis. An ember of hate flashed inside the
Esterblud when he saw this.
“ You skalds will have a new tale
to add to your stories.” A stone-faced man who
had stopped at the end of the bridge ahead of the others spoke in a challenging tone. The leader of the
bandits wore armor and the helmet of the Aberffraw. “My men rule
over this forest. Do you have koinons to assure your passage
through my land?”
“ I would take care with such
boasts,” stated Urith. “King Penhda controls this land.”
“ And who are you, little giant?
The boy servant to this king?” The bandits laughed at the man
mocking Urith for his green tunic. “Well, we will relieve you of
your ossanes and weapons. You must pay a toll when you enter our
forests.”
Urith pulled his Clovel Sword, his anger rising.
“You will learn to kiss the feet of Caruun, little man.”
The man laughed. “You are outnumbered, and your friends don’t look so willing to
fight.”
Arvim and Narslac suddenly pushed up next to Urith.
“I don’t believe you know the skalds of Esterblud very well. We
like the idea of Haligulf.” Narslac grunted his agreement, saying
he would enjoy singing for the sky gods.
The bandit nodded to his men, “Then, prepare for a
slow death.”
Immediately, spears were thrown, and the warriors clashed with bandits.
Urith charged at
Similar Books
