Fifthwind Sample Chapters

8/3/2019 Fifthwind Sample Chapters

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/fifthwind-sample-chapters 1/54

F I F T H W I N DKen Kiser

Copyright © 2012 Ken Kiser

All rights reserved.

Arlemon Press



CHAPTER ONE

hint of smoke gathered with the scent of forest pine ona crisp mountain breeze. Strange, Ben thought, how thefirst signs of autumn always managed to conjure up

whispering images of a far away place and a better time. He allowedhimself a brief, pensive moment. Then, with a measure of resolve,pushed the thought aside and reminded himself that some memorieswere better left in the past.AHe leaned against the rough, weathered bark of a grandfather

elm, relieved to have finally reached the edge of the forest. He calledback to his lagging companion, “Mason, I think we're here.”

Despite late afternoon shadows that draped like a somber shroudover the thickets, Ben could see a small village tucked into the valley

below. The partially walled town was nestled snugly between thedense trees the North Torn forest and the rugged, snow-capped

mountains of the Kreggorian range. Smoke billowed from hard-working chimneys and scrawled wispy, gray plumes high into the

evening sky, signaling the change of season. And from nearly everydirection, well-traveled roads cut across the hills and meandered

through grassy meadows, lending character to the landscape likelines on an aging face.

Mason struggled to race up the steep ridge as the path of loosesoil and pine needles shifted uncooperatively under the burly man'sweight. With each hard-earned step forward he slid a step back.Opting for a steadier hand and toe approach, he eventually made it to

Ben's side. Between heavy breaths, he panted, “Finally—”

He stopped in mid-thought and a scowl of despondency creptover his face as he looked down at the small town. After anexaggerated pause, he said, “This can't be right. We must have made

a wrong turn.”Ben chuckled and shook his head. “I'm afraid not. We're two

days north of Deagon's Bluff, and we've stayed west of the river,” hesaid, reciting the simple directions they had been given. “There can'tbe another village for miles. Besides, any farther and we'd run into

those mountains. This has to be it.”“I don't know,” Mason sighed, unconvinced. He removed his

pack and let it fall to the ground. Rubbing the stiffness from hisshoulder, he added, “I really thought there'd be more to it. TheCaptain made it sound... rougher.”



Ben made no attempt to hide his own dissatisfaction.“Appearances aren't everything, but it looks like a place for old

women and retired swords.”Mason puffed out his chest defensively and smirked. “And

what's wrong with old swords? This one has kept you alive morethan once.”

Ben grinned. “Still, you've got to admit, it doesn't look likemuch.”

“Maybe not,” Mason agreed, then elbowed Ben playfully, “butthe Captain says it's got a nasty temper.”

Ben raised an wry eyebrow and smiled. “He'd better be right. Ididn't come all this way to sit and listen to exaggerated war stories

from old soldiers with failing memories.”

“I don't think we're going to have to worry about that. Onething's certain, these woods are as active as the Captain said. It mightseem quiet out here, but we've been followed since last night. This

forest is crawling with eyes... and they're close by.”“I know, I feel it too. Either we are losing our touch, or they're

fiercely skilled. It takes a talented man to go unseen by your eye. Weshould have spotted them by now.”

Mason chuckled and reshouldered his pack. He turned back

toward the forest and bellowed, “You're awfully good, I'll give youthat! But, we'll be dealing with you and your friends soon enough!That much I promise!”

Ben grinned. “There's not a subtle bone in your body, is there?”“Fair warning seems...fair,” Mason laughed. “So, do you think

we'll see the Captain tonight?”“Maybe.” Ben looked out over the valley and chose his next

words carefully. He said, “Mason, the war has been over for twoyears. Tad Haddaway isn't your Captain anymore.”

Mason replied without hesitation and quite matter-of-factly, “Aslong as I'm taking my orders from him, he's the Captain.”

Ben threw up his hands in mock-surrender. He knew better thanto get between a stubborn, old soldier and his principles. “You'venever been short on loyalty, but we might have a lot of work to do.Simple road patrols might sound easy enough, but it wouldn't be the

first time Tad has tackled something bigger than himself.”Mason shrugged. “A little lawlessness is normal in places like

this. A simple infestation of woodland raiders is nothing that can't befixed; me and the captain have dealt with worse. If you ask me, he's a

genius. This is the busiest trade route in the east, and a lot of wealthymerchants come through here. A small fee in exchange for keeping



the roads safe is not much to ask of a rich man. If things go well, I just might be able to retire after all.”

Ben sighed. “The only thing that bothers me is that a lot of thosethieving along these roads must be soldiers displaced from the war.Not all that long ago, we would have called them friends... brotherseven. I can't really blame them for trying to survive in difficult times.

”“I can!” Mason rebutted. “A man always has choices. Sure, times

have been tough, but it doesn't mean a man has to compromise hishonor. There are always two sides to a fight, and if they chose the

wrong side, then so be it.”“Can't say that I disagree, but it's still a shame what war can do

to a land even long after the fighting has ended,” said Ben.

“Things will get better. It'll just take time... and a littlepersuasion,” Mason said, patting the sword on his belt.“Just try to stay out of trouble. There's no point marching down

there and drawing unwanted attention. We'll want to blend in, at leastuntil we know what we're up against.”

Ben paused to consider his own appearance and almost laughed.Mismatched boots, a weathered cloak of some long-forgotten color,clothing in desperate need of repair, and a liberal slathering of road

grime was hardly the image of an imposing figure.His short stature, ill-cropped brown hair and somewhat blunt

features were not the least bit threatening. In fact, he looked perfectly

harmless, perhaps even destitute.He smiled. It was exactly the kind of first impression he hoped to

present. He looked altogether benign, the one quality that might helphim go unnoticed; anything else would likely get him killed. Only

the sword hanging from his belt could be mistrusted, but he did notintend to discard the one thing that defined him.

Mason, on the other hand, could not help but draw attention.Simply put, he was a big man. He was a full two heads taller thanBen and at least half again his girth. His chest was wide and hisarms, strong.

Mason was a soldier and, at heart, always had been. Though thewar with the Tanian Empire was over, he still wore the blue tabard of

Kreggoria with pride. It was faded and torn, but the emblemdepicting a falcon over crossed spears was still visible. He was aproud man who believed in honor, righteousness, and the traditionsof great heroes who had fought and died on the fields of courage. He

believed that honor and integrity were matters of personal pride. Tohim, nobility was a virtue attainable by any man, and not a birthright

reserved only for those of a haughty lineage.



Despite his rough exterior, Mason had friendly, brown eyesframed by shoulder-length dark hair and a bushy mustache that half

concealed a perpetual smile. At forty-five, the old soldier was twiceBen's age and possessed a hard-learned wisdom. He understood thevalue of kindness and never failed to befriend even the most wary.

“It'll be good to see the Captain again,” Mason said. “Just like

old times.”Ben breathed deeply of the crisp mountain air, cherishing the

moment before releasing it with a sigh of satisfaction. The breathwas sweet and so much lighter than the salty sea breezes of the

western coast that could sometimes feel heavy and stale. After amonth of travel with sore feet and an aching back, the town ushered

in a feeling of homecoming, an odd familiarity that comforted him.

He soon found himself thinking of old friends, a warm meal and asoft bed.He gripped Mason's shoulder and gave him a confident nod. “It'll

be dark soon. Let's get down there and get something to eat.”The dense evergreen trees of the forest soon gave way to the

bright, gold and red canopy of a leafy hillside grove whicheventually thinned to an open glade as they made their way down awinding path into the valley. Perched atop the foothills on the far

side of the small vale, the town now looked bigger than it had fromabove.

Stone ramparts circled the town but offered little real protection

as the bulwarks were old and in disrepair, revealing large gaps whereage or assault had crumbled the walls. Yet, in spite of its failings, the

town was a welcomed breath of civilization in the wilderness.Clearly visible, even in the retreating light, was a tall tower that

stood in bold silhouette over the town like a dark guardian in quietrepose. Outside the once protective walls, was a sparse community

of homes and shops, many of which were little more than shacks.Twenty-five years of war had clearly left wounds that would take alifetime to heal. Especially in the Eastern Realm, far removed fromthe protective hand of the king.

“Kishell Springs,” Mason boomed with contrived flamboyance.With one hand on his chest like a bad actor, he recited, “The

crossroads of the east. Nothing gets bought, sold, or smuggled,without coming through here.”

Ben chuckled at Mason's attempt at sarcasm. It was almost anexact quote of what the innkeeper in Deagon's Bluff had said three

days earlier. Apparently, the locals held this place in high regard. Henodded in appreciation, but said, “They can say what they want, but

it still doesn't look like much.”



The failing light played with Ben's eyes and made the snow onthe distant peaks look purple. It had been many years since he had

last seen snow, and the clouds accumulating lower on the mountain

reminded him that winter would quickly find this valley. There was

much to do before the first storms came.

The two travelers followed a small creek as it snaked through

tall, yellow grass like a serpentine ribbon of silver on a field of gold.They walked at a pace that would put them in town before dark, or atleast not much after. The meadow was paralleled to the east by aroad that would easily have gone unnoticed if not for a line of carts

that were slowly rolling into town.“Looks like we're not the only ones arriving late in the day,” Ben

said and altered his course to intercept the group of merchants.

Mason said, “I'm not sure we'll be welcomed. If the roads are asdangerous as the Captain says, then they'll surely have their guardup.” Mason pointed at the lead wagon. “That's probably some rich

merchant from the eastern port cities, and by the looks of things, he'sgot more than a few good swords guarding his wares.”

“It's still a few miles to town and it's getting dark. If they won'tlet us walk with them, then we'll at least walk in the shadow of theirprotection. Besides, they've got nothing to fear from us. We lookmore like beggars than thieves.”

The sun dipped below the jagged peaks and voracious shadowsbegan to crawl over the valley, feeding on the last morsels of

daylight. Almost immediately, the orange glow of watch fires lit upthe town in the distance, springing to life one by one from west to

east along the perimeter wall. It was a rehearsed evening ritual thattook only a few minutes to complete.

In the changing light, a slight movement caught Ben's eye and hereflexively stopped.

“What's wrong?” asked Mason.Ben turned to Mason, cocked his head to the side and pointed

with his eyes. “It seems our stalker decided to show himself afterall.”

Mason made a show of casually straightening his pack andpeered over Ben's shoulder. He scanned the meadow for a moment,then shrugged. “I don't see anyone.”

Ben had only caught a fleeting glimpse, but in that brief moment,

he had felt a sickening pang in his gut. There was something unusualabout the figure he had seen. Something unnatural.

“Look again,” Ben said. “At the edge of the meadow, under thatbig oak... just inside the shadows.”



Mason looked again but shook his head. “It's getting dark.Maybe it was just a woodsman or a hunter returning to town.

Whoever it was, they're gone now.”Ben slowly turned and glanced back. The figure was still there,

plainly visible, waist-deep in the tall grass at the edge of themeadow, no more than fifty paces behind.

“Don't play games with me, Mason. You spent the better part ofthe war on night watch. No one has a keener set of eyes, not by along shot,” said Ben. “Something doesn't feel right about this.”

Mason squinted his eyes, rubbed his chin thoughtfully and

sighed, “I'm sorry, Ben. I really don't see anything. The Captain willhave this forest cleared of its rats soon enough, but there will be

plenty of time for that later. Let's go. I'm hungry.”

Ben reached out and gripped Mason by the arm. Without sayinga word, he locked his eyes with Mason's until he was satisfied thatthe old soldier clearly understood the seriousness of the moment.

Mason had spent too many years in the King's army to mistake thatkind of message.

Mason froze in place and eased his hand to his sword. He did notturn, but instead kept his eyes on Ben for instructions. He noddedonce and whispered, “Just tell me what to do.”

Ben glanced back and his heart lurched into his throat causing amomentary bout of dizziness that grayed his vision. The figure hadsomehow covered half the distance across the meadow and now

stood uncomfortably close in the swaying grass.The figure seemed to shimmer as if the dull wind was enough to

disturb its tenuous presence. The stranger's features were elusive,somehow shrouded by an area of moving shadows as if it were

hiding within a cloak of swirling and churning smoke. Ben tried tofocus on the figure's face, but the harder he tried, the more intangible

it became.He had already taken a step backward, when the cloaked stranger

began to float effortlessly forward through the tall grass, leaving nota single bent stalk in its wake. Then, without warning, the figurelifted up above the grass and rushed forward.

Ben needed no further coaxing.

“Run!” Ben shouted and pulled hard on Mason's sleeve as heturned to flee.

In an instant, he was running headlong through the grass. He didnot pause to look back as he struggled to keep moving, stumbling

more than once and scrambling back to his feet each time to resumehis getaway.



His ears roared with his own gasps and the sound of his legscrashing through the thick grass, but despite his best efforts, he

planted his foot unevenly on a stone and fell forward with anexplosive loss of breath. He tried once to get to his feet but slippedon uneven ground and fell again. Surrendering to the inevitable, herolled onto his back to face his pursuer.

A large figure moved toward him with outstretched arms. Hescrambled backward on elbows and heels until his strength gave out.In a moment of horror, the silhouette closed the short distance in ablur. Out of options and with nowhere left to run, Ben reached for his

sword. But a powerful hand grabbed his wrist.“Open your eyes!” yelled Mason. “It's me!”

As if he had been slapped awake, Ben snapped opened his eyes

and saw Mason standing over him. His heart still pounding in fear,he blinked and looked about in confusion.Nothing. The shadowy apparition was gone.

He was on his back in the middle of the road; in his excitement,he had covered the distance to the edge of the meadow quickly. Hewas still shaking, and his eyes darted back and forth, wide and alertin search of what he had seen. When he realized the danger hadsomehow passed, he calmed himself and got to his feet.

“My old legs don't move as fast as they used to!” Mason gasped,dusted himself off. “You'd better have a good reason for that.”

“I'll tell you later.”

“You'll tell me now!”“It's going to have to wait, Mason.”

“Why?”“It looks I've attracted some unwanted attention,” Ben said,

indicating the large man on horseback approaching with his sworddrawn. The small caravan of trade wagons had stopped a short

distance away and all eyes were on Ben, who had just burst out ofthe roadside weeds screaming like a madman.

The traders amounted to four teamsters, two stately-looking men,a young woman and about ten caravan guards. The young womanspoke briefly to the older of the two men and pointed angrily at Ben.A moment later, three more guards broke away from the group and

moved forward.The approaching mounted soldier looked eager to deal with the

problem that had just appeared in the road. His mount was not of theworking breed, but rather a heavy charger, armored and trained for

combat. This man was not a simple hired sword, but a veteran whowas well-equipped in both blade and armor. Apparently, his line of



work paid well. Unfortunately for Ben, his line of work was thedispatching of unwanted riffraff from the path.

Mason sighed and dutifully stepped toward the approachinghorseman, putting himself in front of Ben and in direct line with anypotential danger. The old soldier glanced back at Ben and broke thetension, as he always did, with a crooked grin.

He said, “In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you runfrom anything. So, in case I'm about to live my last day, at least tellme what you saw back there.”

Ben looked back over his shoulder as if staring straight into the

eyes of the watcher in the dark reaches of the trees. He had noexplanation for what had happened, but he was absolutely sure he

had not imagined the encounter. He also knew without asking, that

Mason had genuinely seen nothing.“I'm not sure...”



CHAPTER TWO

lear the road!” the rider commanded as hedismounted and stepped aggressively toward Ben.He was a large, muscular man who held an oversize

broadsword with a firm grip, the heavy weapon conceding to thedominance of his powerful arm. He moved confidently and with an

impatient purpose in his stride. He was not as big as Mason, but hewas younger, probably stronger, and lacked any hint of compassion.

This man intended to deal with the situation before him quickly andwithout the burden of explanation.

“C

Ben immediately recognized the man's accent as that of aBorderman, a clansman from the northern disputed lands between

The Whip and the Tanian Empire. Regarded as fierce fighters withunwavering loyalty to the purse that paid them, they set the standard

for personal protection.During the war, the Bordermen were viewed as emotionless

killers who followed orders without question. They could be trustedto carry out tasks that weighed heavily on the hearts of less dedicatedsoldiers, so they were often chosen for the most heinous of missions.Their absolute loyalty and refusal to question the judgment of justly

appointed officers had earned them the unfair nickname of Dog

Soldiers.Mason raised a calm hand and said, “I've no intention of fighting

you, friend.”

The Borderman stopped a few feet short of Mason, lookeddevilishly at his blade and smiled, “Good, that'll make this go faster.”

“The war is over, friend. Why so eager to spill blood?”“I've got a wounded man back there who needs attention and I've

got cargo itching to get off this road. The sooner I deal with you, the

sooner I can be on my way.”Ben was impressed. Mason had hurdled the first barrier and had

gotten the man to speak. Not only that, but the man had attempted to justify his actions. Whether the Borderman knew it or not, that was asign of doubt and indecision. A weakness that Mason would exploit.

The Borderman was a stocky man with wide shoulders. He hadshort, brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard that framed a stern



face. A pale scar ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth. Itwas not an ugly feature, but noticeable nonetheless. He was

menacing, intimidating and outright frightening. The man was awalking cliché of impending brutality.

He wore a light chain shirt over a dark umber jerkin, whichrevealed the blue and yellow sleeves of a standard kingdom uniform

tucked under heavy, black gloves. A moss-gray wool cloak hungfreely from one shoulder leaving his sword arm unencumbered. Thesimple, yet functional attire indicated experience. He was no strangerto combat.

Ben noticed something shining on the neck of the Borderman'scloak. There, several campaign badges were pinned, one of which

caught Ben's eye. A large, silver badge circled by a gold wreath. It

was unmistakable. Ben considered pointing it out to Mason, butknew that the veteran soldier had likely already noticed.Campaign badges were a matter of pride. Usually fashioned of

wood or bronze, they were a way for a soldier to show off hisexperience and longevity. Most were not officially recognized by theCrown, but the silver and gold badge this man wore was the only oneever awarded by King Erlich himself. Ben had only ever seen twoothers like it.

The Borderman dismounted, squared his stance and sneered,“You look a bit old to be running around with a boy in thewilderness.”

Mason drew his sword. “And you look a bit young to havefought at Kruegan's Throat.” Mason nodded toward the badge.

“When was that? Fifteen years ago? That badge isn't a trinket to beworn as decoration by someone who doesn't know how to respect it.

A lot of good men died at The Throat.”Ben nervously interrupted, “Mason, I don't think this is the time

to–”Both men abruptly turned to Ben and growled in unison,

“Quiet!”The Borderman turned his attention back to Mason. “What do

you know of Kruegan's Throat?”“I was there.”

“Not likely.” An angry finger was pointing at Mason. “If you'regoing to tell stories, you should first study your history.”

“I know enough.”“Nearly two-thousand men entered that accursed canyon. Only

twenty-four of us managed to escape. I'd remember if you were oneof us.”



Mason grinned. “Twenty-four may have survived the retreat.” Hesheathed his sword and straightened his tabard. “Of those brave

enough to press forward, eight of us made it through to the northernside.”

The Borderman frowned at the apparent insult. “You're going tohave to do better than that to convince me. Everyone has heard the

stories that a handful of men made it through. Haddaway's companywas said to have–”

“That's Captain Haddaway!” Mason corrected.The Borderman took a step back and cautiously lowered his

blade. “That's a gallant boast you make old man.” He sheathed hisblade and crossed his arms arrogantly. “You claim to be one of

Haddaway's men, but what evidence have you?”

“Men of honor don't question men of honor.” Mason gripped thehilt of the sword on his belt, “And if you insist on calling me an oldman, you could find yourself schooled on how to use one of these

things.”The Borderman chuckled, but Ben detected a nervous edge to the

laugh. It took a long, uncomfortable moment for the man to composehimself. “I don't believe you. I need proof.”

“Proof?” Mason spat, “Most have heard how Knight-

Commander Balzor was killed while bravely pushing through thepass, but if you were there, then you know he was killed in the firsthours of the assault by his own men.” Mason glared at the younger

man. “I guarantee you won't hear that in any history lesson.”There followed an awkward silence when the Borderman melted

in the realization of Mason's words. Finally, he uttered, “You werethere.”

Mason said, “I've already said as much.”“The mission was doomed from the beginning. Balzor was an

incompetent son of a wealthy nobleman and possessed no real fieldexperience. What those men did was wrong, but he wouldn't havesurvived anyway... none in his company did.”

Mason stiffened. “That may be true, but he was a kingdomofficer. Those men should have hung for their treason.”

“Agreed,” the Borderman conceded. “Provided any of them had

survived to face the gallows, I'd have noosed them myself. Lucky forthem, they fell instead on enemy pikes.”

“They got off easy,” Mason grumbled.The Borderman stepped forward and offered his hand to Mason.

“You can call me Gordo.”Ben relaxed. If there was one thing that would ensure a peaceful

resolution to the standoff, it was common ground. These two soldiers



had fought together in the bloodiest ambush of the war, and thatnearly made them brothers. There would be no fighting between

them.Gordo said, “You still have some explaining to do. This isn't the

place to be running up on my column like crazed men. It's a goodway to get yourself killed.” He looked at Ben quizzically and asked,

“What were you thinking?”It was Mason who answered, “We just wanted to walk among

your numbers for these last few miles. We're aware of the dangers onthese roads, in fact, you might say it is our very purpose for coming

here. We'd be better equipped, but our horses and supplies werestolen back in Deagon's Bluff. So, we've come the rest of the way by

foot and cross-country.”

Ben almost interrupted, feeling that Mason was giving too muchinformation. Their purpose for coming to Kishell Springs was theirown concern, and the fact that they had owned horses could be cause

for suspicion; only the most wealthy could afford such luxuries. Hetrusted Mason's judgment but he did not need to be questioned abouthis means by a man who killed for a living.

“Then you are crazy,” Gordo said, apparently uninterested in theparticulars Mason had offered. “What if you were caught alone out

there in the wild? These woods are crawling with thieves and maybethings worse.”

The words suddenly reminded Ben of his encounter with the

shadowy figure. He still could not explain what he had seen, but byhis estimation, it clearly fell under the proposed description of 'things

worse' and he wondered if Gordo might know something more. Heglanced back toward the forest almost involuntarily, nervously

searching for any sign of movement in that dark concealment. Hedecided it was best to keep his questions to himself, so he shook off

the thought and turned his mind back to the present.Ben said, “It'd be no different than if we were caught alone on

the road. Except that the road is being watched by those we'd like toavoid.” He thumbed back toward the trees, “Out there, we at leaststood a chance.”

Gordo acknowledged the logic with a nod and turned to leave,

motioning for Mason to follow. “Come with me, I've wasted toomuch time already. Horace will want to hear for himself theexplanation for your roadside foolery. You gave his daughter quite ascare and he's not very forgiving when it comes to her safety and

comfort. Then, we need to get moving if my injured man is to get theattention he needs.”



As the two men turned to depart, the three caravan guards, whohad been dispatched to the scene, stepped up to receive their

instructions. The men appeared to be both anxious to please andnervous of the consequences around the hardened Borderman whowas obviously not the most pleasant man to work for.

Gordo pointed back at Ben and barked, “Watch him.”

Mason and Gordo moved away toward the wagons and left Bento face the three hired swords. These men were not veterans, in fact,they appeared to have very little experience even holding weapons.They shuffled their feet nervously and moved around Ben in a rough

circle. They kept their sword points lifted in Ben's general direction,but they were constantly looking to one another for reassurance.

Ben recognized the type. He had trained more than his share of

new recruits and was always amazed at the low level of proficiencyexhibited by inexperienced men. As a gifted young swordsmanhimself, he was almost disgusted by the lack of available talent. But

as a former officer in the King's service, he understood the process oftraining, and never blamed a new man for lacking skill. Soldieringwas a learnable craft and the first step was finding one's confidence.

Ben turned his attention to the first of the three guards, a youngman with a mop of blond hair hanging over his face. His uniform

was ill-fitted and he squirmed uncomfortably under his mail shirtthat was also too big and drooped off of one shoulder. He did notmeet Ben's stare and kept his eyes on the other two men in the hope

for some guidance.“You,” Ben said. “Who are you watching, me or them? Keep

your eyes on the threat. Widen that stance and lower your chin.”“The prisoner will hold his tongue!” the novice guard shouted,

but then reacted immediately to Ben's command and did as he wastold.

Ben nodded his approval and turned to the next guard who stoodtrembling with both hands grasping his weapon. He was no morethan seventeen years of age and was having trouble managing theheavy blade; the tip of the sword dipped downward toward Ben'sfeet. Perhaps to an untrained eye, he appeared to demonstrate acasual readiness, a confidence that there was no reason at this point

to bring the weapon to the ready.Ben knew better. He stared into the young guard's eyes and then

stepped forward onto the tip of the blade that was scant inches off ofthe ground and drove it out of the young man's hands. The subtle

move was unexpected and left the poor boy defenseless.“It doesn't matter how big your sword is if you can't manage it.”

Ben reached down, retrieved the blade and handed it back to the red-



faced young man. “Promise me you'll trade this in for something abit lighter.”

“Yes sir,” the young guard said, then tried his best to hold thesword a little higher.

Ben smiled. “That's better. Once you're stronger, it'll get easier.”The third guard widened his stance, lifted his sword in a

confident, almost threatening manner and kept his eyes planted onBen with an unwaivering glower. Ben turned to him and grinned.

“You pay attention... that's good.” Ben looked him over from toeto head and nodded appreciatively. “I can tell you've trained hard.

You hold your sword with a confidence not often seen in someone soyoung. I'd wager you saw some action toward the end of the war.”

Ben moved to walk around the guard, but the man raised his blade

and blocked Ben's path.Ben turned to the other two guards and said, “Did you see howhe didn't trust my movement? How he's keeping me front and center

where he can keep an eye on me? It shows he won't be caughtunprepared. You two could learn a lot from him.”

“And I'm not going to fall for your tricks,” the guard said. “Talkall you want, but you should know, that when the stakes are life ordeath... I've never lost a fight!”

Ben chuckled, “That's about the most ridiculous thing I've everheard, soldier. Any breathing man can claim the same.” He turned tothe young mop-haired guard at his right. “Have you ever had to kill a

man?”“Yes sir, once.”

“Have you ever been killed?”A perplexed look crossed the young soldier's face. “Sir?”

Ben repeated, “It's a simple question. Have you ever been killedin battle?”

“Well, no... of course not.”Ben returned his attention back to the guard before him. “And

neither has any other man still alive enough to carry a sword. Whenthe stakes are life and death, there are two kinds of men: The deadones and the rest of us. Your boast means nothing.” He looked overthe man once more and let his eyes linger on the weapon before him.

“Who taught you to hold a sword like that?”At first, the young soldier did not answer, but then he rebutted,

“I'm strong enough to handle my weapon. Stand back!”“Oh, you're strong enough alright, it's just that you're going to

lose your grip holding it that way.”



The soldier looked at his hands and twisted the blade back andforth examining his tight grip. “I don't see anything wrong with my

grip. It's no different than anyone else's.”“Relax, it's a common mistake and nothing to be ashamed of...let

me see it, I'll show you what I mean.”The guard reluctantly handed Ben the sword and said, “but it's

not too heavy–”Ben accepted the weapon and immediately turned it on the guard,

pressing the point into the tender area just below the collarbone. Theguard looked up at Ben in helpless humiliation.

“I'm disappointed in you,” Ben said, shaking his head, and thenturned to face the other two men. He waited a moment to gauge their

reaction but saw only surprise, confusion and a blatant reluctance to

do anything.“What's worse is that your friends aren't going to help you. Ishould be dead by now, but I'm not.” Ben quickly reversed the blade

and returned it to the embarrassed guard. He then reached to his beltand drew his own sword. The eyes of the three guards widened insurprise. But instead of attacking, Ben threw it to the ground.

“Always... always disarm a prisoner,” Ben said pointedly. “It'sthe first thing you should do.”

Ben took a moment to make eye contact with each of the threeyoung men. “Soldiering is not glamorous; it's a tough life. Likeanything else, it requires practice and dedication. If you are to

survive, you'll have to hone your skills and learn to trust another withyour life. You've only got each other. No one else will be there to

save you when things turn ugly.”The four trade carts creaked into motion as the drivers urged

their teams forward. Gordo had remounted and called for all men toresume their places; the three young guards ran back to join the

others. Mason walked alongside the lead wagon and waved for Bento join him. Any lingering suspicions had apparently been resolvedand even the merchant's daughter was smiling as she spoke withMason.

Ben bent down, picked up his blade, and took a moment to turnhis attention back toward the forest. The mountains were in black

silhouette against a dark blue sky and it would take at least anotherhour to reach town. By then, it would be night. Soon, the lead wagonwas upon him and he stepped up to join Mason.



CHAPTER THREE

ou gave us cause for concern Lieutenant,” themerchant said. He was a well-dressed man, whospoke in an educated, almost aristocratic manner.

“After last night's attack, I think you can understand our reluctanceto trust strangers.”

“YAt the mention of his rank, Ben gave Mason a sidelong glance ofdisapproval.

Mason said, “Ben, this is Mr. Horace Hoff, his son Kasper, andhis lovely daughter, Megan.”

Ben gave a slight bow to each introduction and to Megan headded, “I sincerely apologize if my antics startled you.”

Horace smiled. “It amounts to no more than a momentary delay.Though, one of our men is in need of a healer and we cannot linger

too long.” He indicated a man lying in the cart.Ben moved to the back to examine the injured man. A space had

been cleared on one side to accommodate him. The other side of thecart held an impressive amount of bagged spices. Sennith andcinnamon were readily apparent by smell alone. If the other threecarts held an equal load, then this merchant carried a small fortune.

Spices, especially the more rare, could easily equal their weight in

silver. The rarest, like Sennith, could even exceed the value of gold.Ben turned his attention to the wounded guard. It was clear from

the blood-soaked bandages that he was badly hurt. The man was

asleep but his breathing was labored. He had several long, clean cutsrunning along his chest downward toward his waist and his right leg

appeared to have three deep puncture wounds. His shoulder andlower neck had been seriously ravaged. Ben quickly checked thebandages and was satisfied with the quality of the bindings.

He returned to the side of Horace, walking briskly to keep pacewith the rolling cart. “What happened?”

The merchant grimaced. “We're not exactly sure. Last night, heand another man had fallen back a way behind the wagons. We heardscreams, and by the time we got to them, one was dead and this one

was in pretty bad shape.”“The attacker?”



“We never saw, but before he lost consciousness, he kept sayingsomething about yellow eyes. We think it might have been a bear.”

Gordo quickly added, “My men are capable, though I may needto recruit more experienced men in the future. The roads in and outof Kishell Springs are getting worse of late.”

Horace nodded and pointed to the town before them. “I can

remember when a trader could come through here unprotected.”Ben looked toward town and could now make out activity on the

outskirts. Like any trade town, there would be an active open marketlate into the night.

Mason asked, “Is Kishell Springs really that dangerous?”“Not at all,” said Horace. “The town itself is quite safe. It's the

forests for miles around that pose the danger. Thieves, wild animals

and–”“Sorry to interrupt,” Gordo said, “but it's time that I cut thisconversation short. You two are welcome to walk with us, but I must

ask that you move to the front where I can keep an eye on you.”Horace gave an understanding nod. “I'm sorry, but when it comes

to security matters, I must follow Gordo's insights. He has provenhimself a wiser man than I in these areas.”

Megan addressed Ben, “Wait, before you go, is it true that you're

a Royal Guardsman, a Lieutenant in the King's service?”Ben leveled his gaze at Mason and wondered again how much he

had told them. Mason gave a slight shrug and looked away

innocently. Ben didn't want to appear rude, but also did not want todiscuss personal matters with strangers. He decided to keep his

answer short and simple.“Once, but not anymore.”

Gordo turned and said, “You'll find that life out here isn't ascomfortable as what you're used to in Arden City. King Erlich's arm

doesn't reach as far as it once did. You might have to pull out thatpretty, polished sword of yours and actually learn how to use it.”

Mason grinned. “That's what he's got me for. I get to do the dirtywork while he stands around and looks important.”

Mason quickly moved to the front.Ben smiled at the jest and moved to join him. “You could have at

least tried to spare my pride.”Mason said, “You're a better swordsman than any of us, but they

don't need to know that. Let them think what they want.”Ben faced his friend and said, “Did you see that man's wounds?

No bear did that.”



“I know, I've never seen anything like it. Those cuts are cleanfrom sharp steel, but he also has some nasty bite marks on his

shoulder. Unless bears have taken up knives lately...”“Gordo knows something more but isn't talking.”“I think you're right,” Mason said. “But if he's keeping quiet,

then there's no use questioning him. Dogs like him are a stubborn

bunch.”“Thoughts?”“It wasn't a bear,” Mason said cynically, “that much is certain.

And I've never met a man that can leave teeth marks like that. I don't

like the looks of it at all.”The small group of travelers came upon the first structures

outside of town as they made their way along the road. They moved

cautiously through the half-tents and stalls of the improvised openmarket. The sprawling market district outside the walled townappeared completely abandoned though it showed all the signs of

recent activity, from still-smoldering fires to some forgotten wares.A dog tied to the side post of an empty stall growled as the smallgroup moved by.

“Where is everyone?” Ben turned to ask Gordo who rode not farbehind.

Gordo reined in closer, his horse kicking up dust in swirls aroundits massive hooves. “They are quick to move into town after dark. It'snot safe out here at night.”

The gates of Kishell Springs were an ineffective formality. Thewall on one side had fallen and the entrance was wide and unguarded

allowing them to enter unnoticed. And when they did, the transitionfrom the quiet countryside was abrupt.

Kishell Springs seethed with activity despite the late hour. Menloitered in the street, drinks in hand, with songs and fists equally at

the ready. Many of the key structures on the main thoroughfare werelarge inns complete with stables and gated stockyards. It wasinstantly apparent that size was not the measure of this town. It wassmall, but it was no sleepy mountain village.

“This is where we part company,” Gordo said. “Good luck toyou Mason, I hope you can make a place for yourself here.”

Horace nodded slightly and added, “It was a pleasure meetingyou Lieutenant. If you're looking for work, I'd suggest starting at thetwo largest inns. You can't miss them.”

The trade wagons pulled away and Ben and Mason found

themselves alone in the middle of a bustling town. If there had beenany doubt about the liveliness of the place, it had eroded since their

arrival. Perhaps their initial assessment had been wrong after all.



The streets bore deep grooves, scars caused by ages of wear fromladen wagons. Merchants who had just arrived were putting up their

teams and gear for the night while rugged, well-armed men watchedover the goods in the stockyards. The brutes were toughened killers,sure to be loyal to employers who understood the value of well-paidprotection. It was unlikely that any thief would be able to afford the

cost of buying their eyes shut.A variety of workshops were scattered throughout the main

district. Everything from weapons and armor to fabrics and finerywere readily available, as well as other establishments that provided

for the more immediate leisure needs of the men. Most impressivewere the inns that seemed capable of housing scores of travelers. A

number of these structures lined the street on either side. Each had a

stockyard with ample room to store several trade wagons, and stablesto care for horses.The evening's focus centered on the taverns that made up the

ground level of the larger inns. Mercenaries and teamsters enjoyedthe relaxing atmosphere after a long day on the road while merchantsand trade brokers appreciated the opportunity to plan theirengagements. The new day would present another long andtreacherous road and the men had earned their relaxation.

The whirlwind of sights, sounds and smells overpowered thesenses, but two things immediately caught Ben's attention. First, nouniformed soldiers or city guards patrolled the street. Next, and more

importantly, was the heavenly smell of roasting meat.“I'm hungry,” said Ben.

Mason seemed distant, immersed in his own thoughts, his senseson high alert. The well-lit street was not a concern, but the alleys

between the buildings led into a murky darkness and the fields andforest beyond concealed the unknown.

He grunted agreement, and then added, “Rough folk here, watchyour back.” He studied the crowd for signs of danger. Armed menmilled about in great numbers. Youngsters, begging or thieving ranabout untethered, and ladies of the street mingled among the menlooking for those with heavy pockets and a lonely heart. Mason wasnot lonely... or stupid.

The faintest hint of a smile touched the corners of Mason'smouth. “I think I might like it here after all,” he chuckled. His sternface had melted away revealing boyish excitement. “It reminds me ofhome.”

“You must've been born in a snake's den,” replied Ben.They moved past a forge with three iron smiths still hard at

work. The oven glowed white and the smell of burnt iron permeated



the air with each rhythmic stroke of hammer against anvil. An arrayof weapons and armor hung in display along the front of the

workshop, but the current task was more mundane. Two of theworkers were engaged in shaping bands for a cart's wheel while thethird prepared the rivets.

Ben scanned the street and picked out a large inn that seemed a

little less popular and a bit worn down. It had three levels of rooms,and a stone-paved veranda that ran the entire length of the front andalong one side. The inn was sturdy and clearly well built, but told atale of incessant occupation and abuse. The building looked just

plain tired.A dozen or so men were outside, laughing loudly and as Ben got

closer, he heard the recognizable last lines of a story about the

misfortunes of a man in a brothel. The tale could be told in manyways, with many outcomes and was an old favorite among drinkingmen. This most recent rendition met with the howling approval of an

audience comprised of fat-bellied old soldiers who exchangedfriendly slaps as they belched forth their laughter.

Servers moved through the crowd with astounding expertise,delivering an endless supply of food, which consisted of a basic fareof roasted meat and potatoes. Hardened young women soon

followed, serving trays of ale in impressive quantities to men whobehaved like animals, and likely smelled worse.

Tables and chairs had been moved outside in the open air, which

was undoubtedly more refreshing than the stale interior. In fact, asBen approached, he could see very little activity within the inn's

common room.The sign above the door read: The Masked Pig.



CHAPTER FOUR

old!” said a large man whose breath reeked ofcheese and ale. He pointed to the sword at Ben'sside. “No weapons are allowed inside. You can

keep a knife, but I'll have to hold that pig-sticker for you.”

“HBen pulled a parchment from a small pocket on the back of his

glove, unfolded it and presented it to the man. “My name is BennickKarr, and I'm here at the personal request of Taddus Haddaway.” He

thumbed toward his companion, “This is Mr. Mason Corde. He'swith me.”

The man promptly folded the paper without looking at it andgave it back to Ben. “Sorry, but the rules are for everyone.” He

leaned in close and quietly added, “Tad doesn't carry much weightaround here anymore. Between you and me, I wouldn't try that

again.”Ben had expected a warmer welcome, and didn't quite know how

to react. He found himself stumbling over his tongue, searching for arebuttal, “But, we–”

The doorkeeper swatted Ben playfully on the shoulder. “In thisden of dogs, nobody cares who you are. Now, hand over those

swords.”

Ben looked at the barrel next to the entrance that held dozens ofweapons, from broad-headed axes, to light rapiers and at least onemenacing looking flail. He glanced back at the door guard who

looked all too eager to punish those who rejected the rules –and judging by his build, there was little doubt that he could do a lot of

damage in short order. Ben was not normally one to put materialpossessions above his own safety, but his sword was one of a kindand of uncommon value.

“Is there another option? It's valuable to me.” He pulled the bladefrom its scabbard so the doorkeeper could examine it, but kept hishand over the seal of the Royal Kreggorian Guard that was on thepommel.

The man looked over the polished, two-edged longsword and

nodded. “Nice piece of work. Take it inside to Old Jimmy and he'll



hold it for you. But if I find out you didn't...” the door guard crackedhis knuckles, “I'll be seeing you again.”

Mason dropped his sword in the barrel, shrugged his shouldersand said, “My pig-sticker is just a sharp piece of metal. You can keepit if you want.”

The same worn-out look that vitiated the exterior of the old

establishment, lent character and appeal to the inside. Ancient beamsarched high overhead while smooth wood floors covered the expansefrom wall to wall. Two huge hearths faced the room from oppositesides, filling the space with warmth and a radiant orange glow. An

entire history of weapons and shields covered the walls along with ahodgepodge of trophies, ornaments, and artwork. There was a heavy

oak sign hanging above the stairway that led to the upper levels.

“Welcome to Holton House,” Mason read aloud.Ben looked back toward the main door and said, “I thought thiswas The Masked Pig.”

A serving girl, carrying a tray loaded with tankards of ale,pushed by him on her way to a table in the back corner. “The tavernis the Masked Pig. The inn is Holton House. If there is anything I canget you boys, my name is Kyla.” She scurried away as quickly as shehad come.

“Thank you,” Mason said too late, but watched appreciativelythe sway of her dress as she hipped her way through the maze ofmen, tables, and chairs. “Nice girl.”

A middle-aged man wearing a simple green robe stood from anearby table and approached Ben. He looked different than the other

guests of the tavern; he was older and clearly not a soldier, thoughBen thought he could possibly be a merchant or trade broker. He was

shorter than Ben and heavyset to the point of being round in the gut.Not the image of a man who had seen combat in years, if ever.

He cleared his throat and said, “The world is changing. Are youprepared to choose your path?”

“What?” Ben stammered.“When the days grow dark with distrust, it is important to know

who your friends are.” The man pulled his hood from his head toreveal a friendly round face. He had curly brown hair and clear blue

eyes. He seemed nice enough, but his good-natured image wascontrived and overemphasized. Like a merchant forcing his wares onan unprepared passerby, he offered his hand. “My name is WilliamBabbitt.”

“Can I help you?” Ben asked, not immediately accepting theproffered hand.



“If you are weak of spirit or in need of a greater understanding ofyour place in this world, then the Divine House of Babbitt is at your

service.”“The Divine House of Babbitt?” Ben almost laughed. “You

named a faith after yourself?”“I offer only wisdom and solace to those who choose the path of

conflict.”“A field missioner,” Mason interrupted. “Brother Babbitt are you

familiar with the Battle-prayers of the Watonbie sand tribes? They

carried me through some tough times during the desert raids of

Farhaven.” He stepped in front of Ben and gave the holy man his fullattention, but more importantly, creating a chance for Ben to escapethe unwanted conversation.

Ben made a mental note to thank Mason later. He was well awareof the various wartime philosophies practiced by even the mostseasoned swordsmen. Words of wisdom could ease the burden ofunfortunate deeds committed in the course of war. Battlefield horrors

can haunt a man's dreams, and even a soldier needed to sleep atnight.

Ben took the opportunity to step away. He spotted a longcounter situated between two doors that apparently led back into the

kitchen. An elderly man sat behind the counter, which served doubleduty as a staging area for the servers and a check-in for the inn. The

man was barking out orders to servants who noticeably needed noinstruction and went about their assigned tasks as if he wasn't there.

When Ben approached the counter, the old man sat up straight,dusted off his shirt with one hand, and combed back his wispy whitehair with the other.

“Welcome to Holton House,” he beamed with a broad, butclearly faked smile. “The name's James Holton, but you can call meOld Jimmy like the rest. What can I do for you?”

Now closer, Ben could see that Old Jimmy was not as old as hehad first appeared. Like the tavern itself, he had lived a harsh life that

showed in the lines of his face. Easily sixty years old, but far lessthan the eighty or ninety Ben had originally suspected.

Displayed on the wall behind Jimmy was a pair of crossedTanian War-Cleaves, the preferred weapon of the Empire. The two-

headed axes were quite large and undoubtedly heavy. Benconsidered the massive weapons for a moment, and couldn't imaginewho could have wielded them in life. With such an imposingbackdrop, Old Jimmy looked like a judge doling out executions...and Ben was next in line.



Ben unbuckled his scabbard and placed his sheathed sword onthe counter. “I was told that you'd hold this for me.”

Jimmy's eyes went wide. “That's a kingdom sword, officer bladeof the Royal Kreggorian Guard if I'm not mistaken.” He stroked thehilt admiring the emblem. “How did you come by this?”

“It's mine,” Ben said, and immediately regretted the fumble.

Jimmy paused, looked around the room, and then whispered.“You're far from home, young man. If anyone else asks, just tellthem you killed some poor, overweight bastard and took it. The kindof men we get around here won't be impressed. Nice blade or not, I

doubt you can use it half good enough to save your skin.”Ben knew he had made a mistake. No doubt, many men here

were once Kingdom soldiers. There was no shame in that, times were

hard and soldiers who knew little else needed work, but some mightquestion the intentions of an officer who choose to leave thecomforts of the West. In principle, the Eastern Realm was still part

of Kreggoria, but the Kingdom simply had not yet recovered fromthe war enough to resume the responsibility of protecting all of itsformer lands. Over time, the East had become lawless and not aplace where his rank would be respected.

A loud argument erupted on the veranda just beyond the door.

Jimmy visibly wilted and muttered, “Just keep it outside.”Ben reached for his sword perplexed. “What?”Jimmy looked exhausted. “No, not you. It's those savages

outside. Every night, same time. You'd think I'd get use to it after allthese years.” He moved Ben's sword to the edge of the counter. He

let out a heavy sigh and added, “Just one more winter, then I canretire.”

The exterior doors exploded inward and two large men crashedto the floor. More men flowed into the room cheering madly as the

two ruffians stood and squared off.“Take it outside!” Jimmy yelled angrily at the group.They did not hear him or, more accurately, did not want to. The

smaller of the combatants was a fierce, muscular man with dark skinnamed 'Kurth', according to the men chanting in his honor. The otherwas a large fat man with a braided beard that reached mid-chest. He

had obviously been drinking heavily, so pound for pound, the fightlooked evenly matched.

The fat man charged forward. He grabbed his opponent and aftera brief struggle, hurled him into a nearby table. He immediately

followed behind, lifted the smaller man off the floor and beganstriking him repeatedly in the face. The mass of onlookers cheered

appreciatively at the show of brutality.



The crowd grew in size and some quickly cleared tables andchairs to make more room for the two fighting men. Between flurries

of fists, the spectators exchanged promises of coin against the hopeof their preferred man being victorious. Wagering was popularamong the soldiers, and was likely the cause of the fight to beginwith.

As the combatants tired, the fighting gave way to wrestling, butthe crowd continued to cheer encouragement as each man struggledfor an upper hand. The two men rolled back and forth on the floorexchanging blows and each time one managed to get to his feet the

other would tackle him and the beating would continue. Both werebleeding from the nose and mouth and yet both seemed to be

enjoying the bout. However, Ben knew from experience, the fun

would end soon enough.On cue, the man named Kurth drove his foot squarely into thelarger man's chest and pushed him off. He rolled nimbly to one side

and scampered to his feet with fists ready. He saw an immediateopportunity, and muscled a ferocious uppercut under the fat man'sclenched fists and connected with his jaw. The audible crack of boneagainst bone echoed through the room and everyone collectivelywinced.

Dazed, the big man stumbled backward toward Ben who steppedaside instinctively, letting the man crash instead into the counter.Ben's sword announced itself with a clamor when it fell to the floor,

but before Ben could do anything, the stunned man reached for it.He stood on shaky legs and, with sword in hand, charged his

opponent. There was no mistaking the sheer rage in his eyes. Kurthhad already pulled a dagger from his boot and when the fat man did

not slow, he threw the knife. In the quiet space between heartbeats,an irreversible course of events had been set into motion.

Anticipating the inevitable, Ben had already reacted. He jumpedforward, rolled over his right shoulder and came to rest on one knee,almost instantly positioned in the path of the charging man. He thenquickly sprung up and caught the dagger in mid-flight, and in asingle, seamless movement, pulled his own knife from his belt withhis left hand. With one man still charging forward and the other

holding ground, the space that he occupied between them wasrapidly diminishing. The momentum of the maneuver had propelledhim up and spinning, but in the tightening space, he landed firmlywith both blades at arms length, only inches from each man's neck.

All motion abruptly halted.“No one dies tonight!” He glared at the two men. “No one!”



The man who held his sword swallowed hard and dropped it. Heraised his hands innocently, smiled a near toothless grin and took a

step back. The other stepped forward.“Little man!” he snarled as he stepped forward again, driving

Ben's knife into the base of his own neck. Blood began to trickledown the man's chest, but Ben held his ground. He had no desire to

inflict harm on him, but was in no position to lower the weapon. Itwas a standoff.

They stared at each other in deadlock, neither willing to forfeitan inch. The room was silent, and many of the bystanders started to

quietly make their way back outside. A good natured brawl was onething, but impending death was another. Tension was building as

rapidly as the sweat on Kurth's brow and Ben knew that at any

moment, the next phase of this confrontation would begin.Suddenly, Kurth stumbled back, with a look of surprise on hisface.

Mason held the man by the nape and yanked him back as if hewas pulling away a disobedient dog. He slapped him firmly on thechest and said, “That was some fight! Let me buy you a drink.” Hewrapped his arm around the thug's neck and half walked, halfdragged the man out the door. Once outside, another fight instantly

erupted.Ben made for the door, but a hand restrained him.Jimmy laughed, “That's some friend you've got there. Don't

worry about him though, the boys just like to have fun and it lookslike he can take care of himself. As can you, it seems.” He bent down

and retrieved Ben's sword. “I've never seen anyone move that fast.”The compliment came and went quickly.

Within minutes, the sound of fighting changed to laughter andsinging. Ben arranged for lodging and paid Jimmy in advance for

three days, including meals. He found himself a table in a quietcorner of the room and flagged down a girl on her way back to thekitchen. Soon, his table was set with bread, cheese, roasted chickenand ale.

The inn was now calm. Only a few men remained inside, and bytheir looks, they were merchants not mercenaries. Quiet mumblings

over business matters were the prevailing sounds. The older, morerefined gentlemen of trade would give an occasional disapprovingglance in Ben's direction, as if he did not belong in the presence oftheir company.

Patience he thought. With a little luck and if things went asplanned, how these men regarded him would change.



In the opposite corner, at a table situated in a recess beneath thestairs, William Babbitt caught his eyes and hoisted a cup with a smile

and a nod. Ben briefly acknowledged the gesture, and then turnedback to his own thoughts, only to be interrupted again.

“Whatever Horace is paying you, I'll double it.”Ben opened his eyes to a man who had seated himself at his

table. He was well-dressed in a black leather coat with gray fur trimon the collar and cuffs. His face was pale, and his lips were thin, hiseyebrows were bushy and his jowls flabby. He was the image of aman who had spent much of his life in luxury. The man had

apparently seen him arrive and drawn the conclusion that he was inthe employment of the Hoff Trading Company. The middle-aged

merchant drummed his fingers on the table as he awaited an answer.

“I don't work for Horace,” Ben answered, but the offer of twicethe nothing he was being paid intrigued him.“In that case, name your price. I just saw how you handle

yourself. I'd say you're worth it.”“Before I answer, tell me why you're willing to pay so much.”The merchant answered flatly, “They don't even bother to attack

if you've got enough talent with you. It's like they can tell a man'sskill just by looking.”

“Who?”The merchant looked up surprised and said without hesitation,

“The forest demons–”

Ben interrupted the man before he could continue, “You meanthe thieves that are controlling the roads.”

The merchant huffed, “There hasn't been a thief in those woodsfor months. They've all been killed or have run away.”

“So, I take it you've seen these demons?”“Well, no. Not personally, but I've seen their handiwork. There's

not a team that comes through here that hasn't seen the bodies on theroadside. It's always the smaller companies that had too few men ornot enough talent that end up dead.”

Ben said, “I'm sorry to have taken up your time, but my sword isnot for hire. I've come here for other reasons.”

The merchant pushed away from the table and stood with a glare.

“I should have known you were a coward like the rest.”Ben watched as the man moved to a table on the other side of the

room and sat with another merchant. The two men took turns castingburning stares in Ben's direction. He had not intended for the

conversation to end so abruptly, but it was apparent that tensionswere running high and emotions were the ruling behavior. He

decided to ignore the two and return to his meal.



A moment later Mason joined him, dirty and bruised, but inbetter shape than expected. It had been almost an hour since the

fights had ended. In that time, Mason had remained outside in thecompany of the soldiers, mercenaries and private caravan guards.The rough cut of men outside were more to his liking than the morerefined men inside.

“I see you made a new friend,” Ben said, “and thanks.”“It's been a long time. I haven't had that much fun since the

patrols at Farhaven. In fact, a few of those men outside were there onthe mountain two years ago when the Empire pushed through the

pass.” Mason had a far off look on his face and he sat up a littlestraighter with a proud smile. “Those Tanian dogs didn't even know

we were waiting...”

“I was talking about His Holiness, William Babbitt.” Ben saidglancing toward the chubby missioner in the corner. He quicklyreached for the bread to hide his amusement.

Mason kept a straight face. “Brother Babbitt is a good man, andharmless. Most of the men here only understand the hand of fate.They believe battlefield prayers go unheard by gods who opposeviolence. Brother Babbitt wants to change that and bring a higherfaith to these men.”

“Faith in the Great Babbitt?” Ben asked.“No, not at all. That's just the way of a field missioner. He has to

win their respect first.” He placed his hand over his heart theatrically,

“He must join them in the sour tragedy of a life behind the sword andshow that he understands the plight of their condemned souls.”

Ben saw the logic in what he was hearing, but couldn't believe itwas coming from the mouth of the man sitting before him. “I've

never heard you talk this way before. I had no idea you were aspiritual man.”

“Not really. I don't need to justify the things I have done. I haveno inner demons,” Mason leaned back in his chair and crossed hisarms and looked back over his shoulder toward the door and the menoutside, “but the same is not true for most of them.”

Ben said, “I guess it's not a bad idea to bring a sense of peace tomen who have known nothing but war.”

“Babbitt says he's a Celebrant of the Two Sisters. That big towernorth of town is his temple.”

“The Two Sisters?” Ben asked. “I don't think I'm familiar withit.”

“Me either. He says it is a little known order representing a basicrespect for all living things. It's perfect for men who have known

nothing but hatred and death for most of their lives.”



“Men like you?” Ben jabbed.Mason stuck out his lower lip in his best impression of a pouting

child. “I've never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it.” He winked atBen. “And you should know that better than anyone.”

Ben nodded. He had been through much with Mason and it wasan honor to call the old soldier friend. “It must feel good to be back,”

he said. “I mean among these men, the kind of people you can relateto.”

Mason downed a tankard of ale in two short gulps and wiped hismouth with the back of his sleeve. “I wouldn't hold the rough-

housing against them. They're just restless. In the morning they won'teven remember it.”

“The merchants are wound up too, willing to pay just about any

price if it will ease their passage on these roads. Fear and superstitionare running high.”“There's definitely something going on around here,” Mason

agreed. “Rumors are running rampant with the men.”“What did you learn outside?”“There's been too much death. Too many teams are failing to get

safely through the pass to the Western Realm.” Mason reached forsome bread. “Do you think it might have something to do with what

Gordo's man encountered? Or maybe whatever it was that you sawout in the meadow...”

It was clear that Mason had not seen the same shadowy figure

that had confronted Ben, but the old soldier would never show doubt.Ben appreciated Mason's complete trust and loyalty. For the

moment, however, Ben dodged the question. “We already know thatthieves are patrolling the trade routes around here. The men should

know that, it's why most of them are here to begin with. They makegood money protecting the caravans, so some risk is to be expected.”

Mason nodded. “But this is different. It's not brigands. They saythey don't even take the wagons or the goods. They just kill for thesake of killing. What kind of thief would kill a dozen men, only toleave the goods in the wagons untouched on the roadside?”

“Any suspects?” Ben asked.“The leading rumor among the men is that the Empire is behind

it. Some think they're trying to soften the area before attacking.Others say it's a haunting by the angry ghosts of those who diedprotecting these lands. And then there's the local lore monger outthere preaching about monsters.”

“What does your gut tell you?”“One thing's for sure. It's not the Empire. Those Tanian dogs are

as tired of war as we are. It's got to be more localized than that. If I



had to make a guess right now, I'd say someone's not playing fair,probably trying to get an upper hand on the trade routes. I bet there's

at least one merchant that gets through untouched every time. Findthat man, and you've likely found who's behind it all.”

“What if it's not thieves at all. What if it's something... else.” Bendidn't see a need to go into any detail about what he had heard from

the merchant. He couldn't even imagine himself repeating suchfoolishness. It would be a sad day if he ever lowered himself tobelieving in demons.

Mason leaned back in his chair, satisfied with his own reasoning.

“As far as the other explanations go, I don't believe in children'sstories.”

“The ghosts or the monsters?” Ben jabbed.

“There's no such thing as monsters.”Ben kept his humor hidden. Like most soldiers, Mason was verysuperstitious. Ghosts were a very real thing to his kind, and given the

recent events, Ben was beginning to question even his own beliefs onthe matter.

He weighed the thought for a moment, then shrugged it off andsaid, “Maybe Tad will know something.”

“What about what you saw in the meadow?” Mason tried again.

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as if thethought gave him a headache. “Just do me a favor and be careful.Something doesn't feel right. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

Mason nodded and took the opportunity to change the mood witha lighter subject. “It's been a long time since we last saw the Captain.

It'll be good to see him again.”“Apparently there are some who don't appreciate Tad's presence

here. I don't know what has been going on, but just try to blend inuntil we have a chance to talk with him.”

Mason leaned in close. “By the way, you showing off like thatbefore complicates things. There's going to be eyes on you now forsure.”

Ben shrugged. “I can't change who I am. Maybe no one noticed.”Mason laughed, “What happened to blending in? Or were you

just talking about me?”

A young woman delivered a bowl of fruit and two more drinks.“Compliments of Jimmy, he appreciated what you did to end thatfight earlier. The men can get out of hand sometimes, but youprobably saved someone's life and everyone is already talking about

it. No one has ever seen anything quite like it. Anyway, Jimmy sendshis thanks, and so do I.”

Ben stopped her before she could step away. “Kyla, right?”



“Yes, is there something else I can get you?”“No, I have everything I need. I was just wondering if the inn is

always this busy.”Kyla said, “For a few more weeks maybe, at least until the snow

comes, then traffic slows. It doesn't help that the merchants aretraveling with three or four times the normal amount of armed men.”

Mason asked, “Do thieves really run in big enough packs towarrant that much protection? I know the roads are dangerous, butthese traders are traveling with a lot of extra men.”

“Who said anything about thieves?” She looked up across the

room and acknowledged someone with a nod. “I'm sorry but I'mneeded elsewhere.”



CHAPTER FIVE

he morning sun warmed the cold stones of KishellSprings. All evidence of the prior night's activity hadvanished when the caravans packed up and moved out in

the early morning hours. A forceful silence rode in on the heels ofthe retreating clamor and the weary town slipped back into a state of

rest.

TBen had risen early to witness the spectacle of a dance rehearsed

for years. Men, horses, and carts moved in perfect harmony in thepracticed ritual of life on the road. It had only taken an hour for the

entire town to awaken and depart. In the resulting void, a gentlebreeze disturbed the fallen leaves of autumn while the distant echo of

a barking dog resonated like a mournful song. The trade wagons hadonly just departed and already the town felt abandoned. Lonely.

He sat on the veranda of Holton House with his feet propped upon the railing, sipping from a cup of warm, sweetened goat's milk.The rising sun bathed him in warmth, though the morning air carriedthe unmistakable chill of a coming winter. After months on the road,he was earnestly enjoying the opportunity to just sit and think.

He found himself admiring the rugged construction of the many

inns and realized that the builders of these massive structures had

reinforced them to withstand more than the mere assault of time. Itoccurred to Ben as he examined the layout of the town that perhapsthese were once the barracks of an old garrison. It was conceivable

that the town had at one time been a stronghold.The valley was secluded, hidden in the cradle of the majestic

Kreggorian peaks. To the east was the endless green of the greatNorth Torn forest and in the embrace of its ancient branches, hismind easily drifted into serene oblivion.

“Good morning.”The distant voice came to him as a whisper carried on the wind, a

tender voice that swept him up and carried him deeper into thesolitary corners of his own mind.

“Sir?” The voice repeated. “Good morning.”

He opened his eyes and squinted against the morning sun. Heraised his hand to block the glare and saw a young woman leaning



against the railing in front of him. She had long pale-brown hair anda soft, innocent face. Her eyes were the color of spring cabbage, an

icy green that seemed unnatural but at the same time hauntinglybeautiful. She wore a flowing yellow dress and no shoes, anunexpected gem of fragility in such a harsh place. He realized he wasstaring, and scrambled for words.

“Yes, it is.” He said, “I mean, the morning...it is a good one.” Heremembered his manners and stood, “Ben Karr, at your service.”

The young woman blushed, “No one has ever been at my servicebefore. I'm flattered, Mr. Karr.”

“Please, call me Ben.”She spun gracefully on one heel and turned away to admire the

sunrise. The flowing movement of her dress caught Ben's attention

as he regarded her thin waist and long legs. She was youthful andvibrant and probably only a few years younger than Ben's twenty-two years. He wondered how such an exquisite beauty came to be

jailed away in such a remote place.The melody of her voice sang, “My name is Kyla.”“I remember. You work at the inn.”“Not really, I just help out Jimmy on the busier nights. He and

my father are friends.”

“It must be hard, subjecting yourself to that madness, in thename of friendship.”

She twirled a long tress nervously around her finger. She made

only momentary eye contact then looked away again. She wasobviously flirting with him, but Ben didn't mind. In fact, he was

enjoying her company and the subtlety of her game.Ben stretched away his morning stiffness and stepped up to the

railing beside her. He was torn between a compliment on her hair ormaybe the color of her dress when a commotion inside the Masked

Pig distracted him.He heard a chorus of laughter as a voice rang out, “...the

loathsome creatures of the forest will not show you mercy! Laydown your doubts, lest we all be destroyed!”

A gruff voice replied, “We need answers! Not childish tales ofmonsters in the woods!”

“You will see!” The first voice continued, “You will all see...”A man emerged from the tavern with a look of disgust on his

face as he shook a clenched fist back toward the door. He kicked at achair that was in his way and paced nervously biting on a fingernail.

Ben nodded toward the man and said, “That must be the townfool that I've heard so much about. Does he actually believe those

things he says?”



The man looked up and smiled. “Oh, there you are Kyla.” Helooked back at the tavern and shook his head. “What do I have to do?

Don't they understand lives are at stake here!”Kyla nudged Ben and whispered, “My father.”Ben tripped over his tongue.Kyla smiled. “It's alright, he just gets a little wound up

sometimes, but he's not crazy.”The man was small, and had a tanned face with friendly lines

that radiated from the corners of bright eyes. He was almostcompletely bald except for a thin ring of dark hair just above the

ears. It was difficult to gauge the age of the man but he carriedhimself well and was clearly in good health. He strolled purposefully

toward Ben and immediately offered his hand. “I hope you are being

a gentleman with my daughter.”“Of course, sir,” Ben said, “she is a wonderful girl.”“Full of wonder,” he nodded. “Yes, you could say that.” The

man eyed Ben for a moment as if appraising him, then seemingsatisfied, he said, “I'm Vincent Woodlock. This is my daughterKyla...but of course, you already know that.”

“It's a pleasure sir. My name is Ben.”Vincent eyed him with a flicker of recognition. “You're new in

town, I saw you and your friend come in last night. What brings youto Kishell Springs?”

“I didn't know my arrival would draw so much attention.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean any harm. There are extraordinary thingshappening around here. The kind of things that may attract unusual

visitors, so I try to make note of any new faces I see.”“What manner of things?”

Vincent leaned in close, looked both ways and said in a lowsecretive tone, “There's an evil brewing, these hills are crawling with

an unnatural presence.”Kyla interjected, “Father, I have only just met him. Don't scare

him away.”Vincent turned to Kyla with a longing expression and she gave

him a reluctant nod to continue. He turned back to Ben and said,“Tell me Ben, do you believe in monsters?”

“I guess that depends on what you mean by monsters,” Ben said,trying his best to sound sincere. Even though he thought Vincent wascrazy, he decided he would humor the man –if only for Kyla's sake.

Vincent walked to the other side of Ben and joined him against

the handrail which he gripped tightly and then looked out toward theNorth Torn. “When you were a child, what stories frightened you the

most?”



Ben considered the question carefully before answering. Thetelling of stories was an important part of Kreggorian culture. As a

child, he had heard stories from the master story weavers of thefamed traveling Wordsmiths. Many great memories sprang to mind.

“The Ghost of Edgehill Manor,” he finally said, rememberinghow that story had kept him up at night. As a child, he had been

terrified of the dark and fearfully believed in ghosts.“Anything else?”“There was a story about an evil sorcerer who wanted to take

over the world. I don't remember what the story was called but it was

pretty scary I guess.”Vincent raised an eyebrow and glanced toward Kyla pleadingly,

but she seemed miles away, occupied with tracing patterns in the

dust on the top of a nearby table. She didn't seem interested in theexchange going on between the two men. Vincent was gettingimpatient and was starting to wring the railing with white knuckles.

“Any others? Think harder. How about a story with terrifyingcreatures?”

“Terrifying creatures?” Ben stroked his chin thoughtfully. Hecould tell Vincent was baiting him, so he decided to have some funwith the old kook.

“Clowns,” Ben said. “I was always afraid of stories withclowns...”

Vincent let out a sigh of resignation and gazed out toward the

distant forest, his voice softened in his surrender. “Clowns...” hesaid. “I've always hated them too... dreadful things... and quite

scary.”Kyla moved to Ben's side and elbowed him harshly, “But you

can hardly call them terrible creatures.”Ben strained to keep a straight face, but he was growing weary of

playing 'Guess the Monster'. He knew that Vincent had a specificstory in mind and this was going to go on all day if he didn't find theanswer soon.

He became aware of a lilting voice humming a hopeful tune, andhe looked up at Kyla who pointed innocently with her eyes to thepattern she had traced on the tabletop. He casually leaned to the side

and peered down. There, embedded in the artwork that adorned herdusty canvas, were the letters M-U-R-G. Ben instantly recognizedthe letters for what they were.

Vincent was getting more agitated by the moment, staring off

into the distance and mumbling something about clowns under hisbreath while he drummed his fingers against the railing of the

veranda. Kyla caught Ben's eyes again with a pleading look that



seemed to say 'Help him'. Ben knew that he was not the first to mockher father, but he was now regretting the way he had treated him.

He snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “The Murg! The creatureswho steal children in the night. Those were some of the scarieststories of all!”

The pot that was Vincent had been removed from the fire and the

steam of his angst finally cooled. The drumming of fingers and themumbling ceased in unison as satisfaction settled over his face. Theanswer he had so desperately sought had been given, and he turnedto Ben with a smile.

As if he had been waiting for this moment for a lifetime, helowered his voice to a harsh whisper and said, “It's more than just a

story. A doorway has been opened, and the foul ones have come

through...The Murg are in our midst!”“The Murg?” Ben rolled his eyes, regretting now that he hadoffered the answer. “Those are just stories, created by parents to

make children behave. 'Do as your father tells you, or the Murg willtake you away'. You can't possibly think they're real.”

Vincent waved away the comment as insignificant. “I know whatyou think. At first, I didn't want to believe it myself... until I sawthem.” He raised a finger to emphasize his point. “Make no mistake

about it Ben. The Murg are real.”Ben said nothing. He just shook his head in disbelief and turned

away.

Vincent wilted in frustration. “Now, you must understand–”Kyla playfully scolded her father, “That's enough for now, don't

badger him.”“But Kyla, they're real... people must be told.”

“Father, people will come to believe at their own pace. Ben hasnot ridiculed you like the others, give him a chance.”

Vincent flinched. “Yes, Kyla, you're right. I'm sorry Ben, Iabused your trust on our first meeting.”

Ben was quick to downplay the apology. “No offense taken, Ishould apologize for mocking you. I understand it's been stressfulwith the killings on the roads and all. Sometimes we grasp atsuperstition to explain what we don't understand.”

Vincent welled up angrily, prepared to spit forth a rebuttal, butKyla spoke first. “Please forgive my father's overzealous manner. Hecan be too forceful at times.”

Ben saw the hurt on Kyla's face and changed his tone, “I'll try to

keep an open mind.”She smiled sincerely, “That is more than I can ask for now. You

are a kind man to give my father your time.”



A figure approached from the road. His long shadow precededhim as the silhouette ambled toward the inn. Ben looked more

closely and recognized the familiar shuffle of heavy feet. Masoncarried a large sack over his shoulder like a desperate peddler insearch of someone to relieve him of his wares. He sported a fresh setof clothing but, beneath a recognizable dirty tabard, it was almost for

naught. He climbed the steps up to the veranda and dropped the sackin front of Ben. “I was thinking that some new clothes would beappropriate.”

“I thought you were still sleeping,” Ben grinned. He was

surprised to see his friend not only awake, but washed and shaved.Even his normally bushy mustache had been trimmed and tamed.

“Me? No, not at all. I've been up for hours. I even rode with one

of the teams out toward the North Torn.” He pointed over hisshoulder toward the distant trees. “It looks closer than it really is.”Kyla said, “The road east is getting too dangerous. Did they have

enough men?”Mason shook his head, “They were a few men short when they

left this morning. It seems desertions are not uncommon these days,so I rode with them for a while to see the manner of the men. Theywere a bit scared, but they'll be alright I think.”

Vincent said, “When are these people going to learn? The roadsare not safe, especially at night when the Murg come out of theshadows to hunt.”

Ben halted Mason's inevitable comment with a forceful stare andkept the conversation where it belonged. “Looks like you found a

nice way to spend your morning.”“The countryside is pleasant enough,” Mason agreed, “but the

roads are damned rough.”Vincent mumbled, “They get even rougher at night...”

Ben turned to Vincent and tried to keep his tone in check.“There's nothing to be gained from wild speculations. I'm sure thereis a perfectly natural explanation for what has been happening.”

Vincent lowered his voice to a near whisper and grumbled,“...says the man with unnatural talents.”

Ben had intended to ignore the ramblings of the man, but stopped

short, “What?”Vincent said, “I saw what you did last night. Everyone is talking

about it. How did you learn to fight like that?”“I've always been good with my hands. There is nothing

unnatural about it.”Mason huffed, “I wouldn't go so far as to call it unnatural, but

I've always thought your speed was uncanny.”



“No!” Vincent stubbornly shook his head. “That feat requiredmore than simple skill with your hands. I never saw anyone who

could catch a knife right out of the air. And to do it blind–”“Blind?” Ben asked.Vincent gave him a blank look. “Yes, blind. You know... with

your eyes closed.”

Mason erupted into a deep laugh. He swatted Ben on his backand said, “That's a good way to get yourself killed, but I'd pay goodcoin to see you try.”

Ben also laughed. “You're obviously mistaken, maybe the poor

lighting affected what you think you saw.”Ben saw a wounded concern on Kyla's face, so he quickly

elbowed Mason to stop laughing. He thought it best to end the

conversation before he tread too heavily on emotions. He offered ahalf-lie to Vincent, “I've enjoyed some of your views, Sir. I'm sorry,but the morning is getting late, and we have things to do. It was a

pleasure meeting both of you.”Vincent managed a congenial smile. “Will you be staying in

town long? Maybe we can talk again sometime.”Kyla said, “Father and I have enjoyed your company this

morning.”

Ben said, “I'm sure we'll speak again at length. If things go well,Mason and I will be in town for quite some time. In fact, you mightbe able to help us.”

“Anything at all,” Vincent offered. “Just ask.”“Would you happen to know where we might find a man by the

name of Tad Haddaway?”Vincent took a visible step backward. He looked confused, as if

it was the last thing he expected to hear. “That one has made nofriends around here. You'd be better off keeping your distance.”

“Why?” Mason asked sternly.“Don't you know?” he said showing genuine concern.“Know what?” Ben asked.Kyla moved forward and said, “Everyone around him eventually

ends up dead. Things seem to have gotten worse since his arrival.”Mason welled up defensively. “Captain Haddaway is trying to

help! He will make these roads safe again. You should be thankfulthat someone has stepped forward to try!”

Vincent reprimanded Mason, “There is no need to raise yourvoice to my daughter, she speaks the truth. Death surrounds that

man. I know nothing of Mr. Haddaway or what you say he is tryingto do. If it is true that he is attempting to make the roads safer, then I

applaud him for the effort.”



Then under his breath, he mumbled, “but I don't see how he canhelp, hiding away like he is.”

He met Mason's disapproving glare and rebounded, “I only knowwhat others say.”

Kyla silenced her father with a light hand on his arm. “I need toget to my studies, it was nice meeting both of you. Haddaway stays

in a cottage against a small grove on the edge of town, just a fewminutes walk past Babbitt's temple. Please be careful, he might notbe as you remember him.”

“Heed my warnings, Ben. In time you'll thank me.” Vincent took

his daughter's arm and hurried off down the street.Ben's eyes followed the girl until she vanished around the corner.

“Have you ever seen more beauty all in one face?”

“She may be a rare flower, but her father is a weed that steals hersunshine.” Mason sat down and put his feet up. “I told you he wascrazy.”

“Aside from Mr. Woodlock, when was the last time you heardsomeone talk about the Murg?”

“Those old campfire stories?” Mason scoffed, “Not since I was akid. My mother told me those stories to frighten me into eatingcarrots.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I still can't

stand the taste of them.”Mason was right, it was ridiculous to entertain such thoughts, but

something in the sincerity of Vincent Woodlock's observations

bothered Ben. “I hope Tad can explain what's going on around here.”He bent down for the sack of clothing Mason had procured and

paused when he saw the faintest hint of a grin breaking over the oldsoldier's face.

“What did you do?”“I'll not stand by and watch you be disrespected by these people.

So far, blending in hasn't worked out so well, so I thought thatmaybe it was time you made a statement instead.”



CHAPTER SIX

fter changing his clothes, Ben had to admit that helooked impressive, though he would never admit asmuch in public. He wore a white linen shirt with

brushed suede long-cuffs laced high to the elbows to allow freemovement of the arms; Mason was well aware that billowy fabrics

were not a swordsman's best friend. On top of that, he wore a softleather vest, light brown and studded on the chest and shoulders with

shiny rivets. The armored studs were mostly for decoration, butprotective to some degree. His trousers were a heavy, dark fabric of

the finest quality and his feet reveled in the luxury of a new pair ofboots. Mason must have spent a small fortune. It was an outfit suited

for one of wealth and power.

A

But then, of course, there was the hat.

It was a wide-brimmed, purple disaster where ridiculous designcollided with dysfunctional purpose. The puffy crown collapsedunder the weight of the heavy velvety material, and the exceedinglywide brim drooped downward at the edges, necessitating that he tilthis head backward to be able to see. In this position, he would appearto be looking down his nose at everyone he encountered, which was

possibly the entire point of its design. Adding insult to injury, the

abomination sported a long, fluffy white feather that sprouted from abright green silken hat band.

No self-respecting man of the sword would be caught dead

wearing it. Although, he considered the distinct possibility that hemight end up that way for wearing it.

With the hat in hand, Ben left his room and made his way downthe stairs and into the awaiting stares of an assembled jury. Mason,along with Jimmy and a half dozen young women sat patiently at the

base of the stairway in anticipation. Ben wasted no time tossing thehat to his companion.

Mason sat smugly with his feet propped up on a table and caughtthe hat with ease as it sailed through the air like a floppy toy. “Isthere something wrong?”

The collection of serving girls laughed at the show and promptlyscattered to get back to their chores. Jimmy stepped forward with a



smile and offered Ben his sword belt. He watched as Ben buckled itaround his waist and then took a step back and rubbed his chin

appraisingly. “Not bad. Now you look more the nobleman and lessthe waif.”

Mason got to his feet and agreed. “It's a look that demandsrespect. All pride, no weakness. A man to be reckoned with.”

Ben crossed his arms. “And the hat?”Mason chuckled, “What? Don't you like it?”“The rest looks terribly garish,” he exaggerated, “but at least it's

functional.” He drew his sword and flexed his knees showing the

range of movement the clothing allowed. He pointed the tip of hissword at the hat. “But what possible use is that?”

Mason casually placed the hat atop his own head and looked at

Jimmy who burst into laughter. He then turned back to Ben andgrinned. “It could serve as a distraction... who can fight when they'relaughing that hard?”

“Clever.”Mason took off the hat and pulled the feather from the band. He

studied it for a moment and then threw the hat aside and took athreatening stance with the feather out before him as if it were adeadly weapon.

In response, Ben crossed his sword with the drooping quill andwinked. “Somehow, I don't think that'll be effective.”

Mason inched forward with a jabbing motion. “If I were to shove

this up your nose, you would lose all will to fight.”Ben reached for his throat and rasped out a dry cough. “That's

enough to make me gag just thinking about it.”Mason tossed the feather on the table, retrieved the hat and

squared it snuggly on his head. “I got it at no cost when I bought therest. Apparently, it was deemed unsaleable years ago, and I was

fortunate enough to become its new owner.”“You're not actually going to wear that thing are you?”“I might.” His defensive tone was convincing enough that Ben

decided it was best to not risk offending him.***

After a quick lunch, Ben and Mason made their way north

toward their long-awaited reunion with an old friend. The inns werereturning to life, and the streets were beginning to fill with people. Ayoung boy ducked between Ben and an ivy covered wall as he randown an alley carrying a package that evidently needed to be

somewhere very fast. As the boy disappeared around the corner, Benheard him call back, “Excuse me, M'Lord!”



Mason said, “See, I told you the clothes would make astatement.”

Ben was feeling more at ease, now that his sword was once againat his side, but he made an exaggerated show of irritation andwiggled uncomfortably under the vest.

“I feel like a court squire on Coronation Day. I must look

ridiculous,” he said, peering sideways at his friend to see if the liehad worked. Mason only smiled.

On the streets, the hard work of readying for the next wave ofmerchants was underway. Men unloaded wagons of supplies and

rolled kegs of ale into the taverns in preparation for another night'sassault by thirsty travelers. Young women pushed small handcarts

brimming with fresh bread, eggs and milk to replenish the waning

stores of the busy pantries. In the backyard kitchens of the manyinns, fire pits had been brought up to temperature and were alreadyroasting meat, filling the air with an inviting aroma.

Everyone moved about efficiently, completing the necessarychores as they did everyday. It was a never-ending cycle ofprosperity and torment for these people. They lived a life ofextremes, perpetually swinging between calm and chaos, never quitefinding a balance.

As the two men walked farther north, the town began to change.Inns, taverns, workshops –and the occasional brothel, gave way tothe tiny shops of bakers, tailors, shoemakers, and more. Here, the

activity was different, but no less intense, as the shopkeepersscrambled to move exhibits of their wares to the front of their stores.

Canopied carts, designed to display goods, flanked the doorways ofevery storefront. The hope of a large sale or a good buy flowed like

gold through the veins of the merchants. Their very existencedepended on their ability to impress a stingy buyer.

Temporary lean-tents lined the road at every open lot, and therainbow of multicolored, fabric roofs reminded Ben of the nomadiccarnivals that would sometimes visit the western port cities and hewondered if perhaps they originated from a place like this. The eagerband of vendors bought, sold, or traded everything imaginable andsome items that were beyond even the strangest of imaginations.

They passed one hastily constructed booth that boasted anunusual collection of vials containing, according to the droopy-eyedpeddler, the juice of a magical something-or-other fruit that wouldguarantee both health and wealth to the drinker. Ben couldn't help

but think that if the pale-skinned merchant had but sampled his ownpotions, he would perhaps have a more alluring color and not be

operating his business out of a rented stall.



Although it was not far, it took awhile for them to reach the edgeof town. The crowds were thick and the fact that Mason had stopped

to look at several of the displays had slowed them considerably.Mason owned little, but was always on the lookout for a new bauble,something to add weight to his pocket. Small, manageablepossessions were important to men who had spent most of their lives

without a proper home.The busy road eventually gave way to grassy hummocks that

climbed slowly toward the more formidable foothills, above whichloomed the cold, dark peaks of the Kreggorian range. Beyond those

peaks sprawled the vast Empire of Tania, the mountains providing anample barrier between the two lands. Ben concluded that even if the

Empire had set its sights on renewing the war, it almost certainly

would not happen here; there were easier targets along the borderthat would not require a dangerous march over rough terrain. Masonwas right, the Tanians were not behind the recent killings... but

somehow, that simple realization did not make Ben feel any better.Tiny farmhouses littered the hillside, each with small gardens of

seasonal vegetables lining the paths that lead to friendly doors. Someof the homes were disheveled, abandoned long ago and falling apartfrom years of rot and neglect, but most were in good repair and

carried a lively charm. The community seemed happy and healthy.Children ran about in the afternoon sun and made a game of trying tocatch goats and chickens that ran loose in the grassy fields.

They passed by another group of youngsters quietly sitting underthe shady arms of a huge, ancestral oak, captivated by the theatrical

telling of a classic tale. Three traveling Wordsmiths utilized puppetsto bring to life the long-beloved story of a brave King and his trusty

stallion. The story had been Ben's favorite as a child, and he resistedan overwhelming urge to stop and listen. Unfortunately, there was no

time to waste with nostalgic entertainment.Before long, they had left behind the town entirely and walked

on a path just scarcely recognizable as a line in the trampled grass.Dark clouds bunched up menacingly behind the barrier peaks and itwas only a matter of time before they breached that wall and tumbledinto the valley, bringing rain.

They had spent more time than they had intended browsingthrough the market, and only now noticed that it was late in the day.Though still a few hours from dusk, the sun had dropped behind thepeaks and instantly brought the valley into a late afternoon gloom

somewhere between daylight and shadow. Ben instinctively scannedthe darkening trees on either side of the field. He could not shake



from his mind the things that Vincent had told him. Kyla's fathermight indeed have been crazy but his words echoed in his ears.

‘The roads are not safe at night '.His own experience the night before, in a similar meadow, also

replayed in his mind. The swirling image of the shadowy apparitionwould not let go of his thoughts, and he fought off a shiver that

danced on his spine. There was still plenty of time before nightfall,but he increased his pace nevertheless.

“We'd better hurry,” Mason said, apparently reading Ben'sthoughts. “It'll be dark sooner than I thought, and those clouds don't

look too friendly.”They hurried their way to the top of the next hill, to a crumbling

tower flying a yellow banner. The structure looked bleak and

uninhabitable, not the inviting image one would expect of a temple.Mason said what was on both of their minds, “It's all fallingapart. Who'd want to come and pray here?”

Once they got nearer, recent repairs were evident in the cleanmortar of the wall joints, and it appeared that someone had begun theprocess of clearing weeds on one side of the tower's courtyard; theovergrown brambles had been fought back and replaced with leafyshrubbery, and fruit trees. If the rest of the untamed verge received

equal attention, the enclosed garden would someday be a pleasantretreat.

The tower itself was in ruin, but the base structure and

surrounding buildings would make for a sizable compound that evenincluded a small stable. In time, and with work, it would make for a

fine temple.“William must have just started the renovations,” said Ben, “but

that tower still looks unsafe.”Mason pointed down the other side of the hill at a dense patch of

trees. “Kyla said the Captain's place should be somewhere near thatthicket.”

Ben spotted a thin column of smoke rising from the edge of thegrove, and on closer inspection, saw a rooftop with an activechimney just narrowly visible as it jutted out from the trees. Theredid not seem to be a direct path leading to the cottage, other than one

that ran through a small, gated cemetery, in the center of whichworked a caretaker.

Only the man's head was visible as he stood shoulder deep in thegrave he was digging. By the looks of him, and by two other

completed holes, he had been busy at the task all day. Nearby, on aflat-cart were the unfortunate owners of the new quarters, partially



covered by canvas except for their lifeless feet. There were threepairs of them so the caretaker's digging was near complete.

“It's sad work, breaking your back in such hard ground.” Masonsaid, as they approached the caretaker.

The man flinched, “Oh! Blood and dust, don't scare me likethat!” The man placed a hand over his chest and swallowed hard. He

tossed his shovel out of the hole and then pulled himself up anddusted himself off. “Only three today, so I gave my assistant the dayoff.”

Ben looked back at the cart and the three bodies. “You usually

bury more in a day?”“Not everyday, but there have been over twenty this week so far.

Some days are worse than others.” He pointed to the next row in the

cemetery where several freshly covered plots were lined.Ben and Mason exchanged glances. They had not expected theproblem to be so severe. Ben shook his head, “Those responsible will

pay soon enough.”The caretaker cackled an unimpressed laugh. “Who's going to

make them? Last I checked, demons pretty much do what they like.Unquestioned and unpunished.”

Mason moved over to the cart and tossed back the canvas

covering. There lay three men all bearing the familiar savage woundsthat they had seen on Gordo's man. Cuts of clean steel and toothybite marks. “It's the same as before, Ben.”

“These... demons,” Ben asked. “They've killed twenty men thisweek?”

“More than that. But only twenty that were complete enough to justify a burial. The rest are scattered across the fields outside of

town or farther out on the roads where they met their fates. Thereusually isn't much left afterwards. What pieces we can find we give

to the pyre.”Mason bowed his head and muttered, “Helm, gloves and boots.”It was a long held tradition, that only an intact body was laid to

rest in burial. No man should ever be sent into the next life with partsmissing. A dead man must still have his head, hands and feet to beput into the ground, hence the saying ' Helm, gloves and boots'.

Otherwise, the remains were always respectfully given over to theflame so that a new body might be received on the next turn of thewheel.

It was getting late, and there were many questions Ben would

like to have asked the caretaker, but he was sure that Tad would havethe answers he sought. “Does that cottage down there in the trees

belong to Tad Haddaway?”



The caretaker pulled the first of the three bodies off of the cart bythe ankles, the body striking the ground with a grunt. “That's right.

You going to pay him a visit?”“We've got business with him. Sorry for interrupting your work.”

Ben grabbed Mason by the arm and tugged him away from the scene.Once they were out of earshot, he said, “Tad had better have some

answers.”Without a prescribed path, it took a while for them to get down

the hill, and across the meadow to the grove that concealed thelonely cottage. The sky was starting to drizzle when they finally

arrived.The house was small, but the pitched roof boasted two chimneys,

one of which was in use. A patch of unruly vegetable vines grew in

the front, and a tangle of ivy had completely overtaken the entirewest wall of the house. If not for the active chimney, they wouldhave thought the home was deserted. Even the windows had been

boarded up.Mason frowned at the run-down residence and said, “Maybe he's

been too busy to do any work on the place.”Ben looked again at the smoke billowing from the chimney.

“Well, I suppose we should go say hello.”



CHAPTER SEVEN

ason marched up to the door, and banged on it twicewith his fist. He paused to give Ben a devilish smilethen bellowed, “Captain, the enemy is closing in!

Lieutenant Karr has wet himself and all the men have run away.”

MBen laughed aloud. He had always enjoyed the special

relationship that exists between a Sergeant and his Captain. Tad andMason had served together from the beginning of the war, fighting

side by side for years in places far removed from the comforts ofhome. Others had come and gone, but Mason and Tad remained as a

permanent testimony of steadfast commitment. No battle was too bigand no assignment was too small. The two men were utterly loyal to

one another and it had pained them both to separate after the war.They heard a quick scuffling sound from within, followed by

silence. Ben put his ear to the door, and spoke in a friendly tone.“Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Tad Haddaway.”

He knocked on the door again. “Hello?”Mason frowned. “I know I heard someone inside.”The door creaked open and someone peered through the crack.

Only an eye attached to half a face could be seen through the small

opening. “Mason, is that you?”

“Yes Sir!”The door opened wider, but slowly, cautiously. The man behind

the door put a hesitant foot forward. He was thin but tall, with a

chiseled, angular face. He had shoulder-length black hair streakedwith gray. A handsome man of wiry strength and a courtly manner

stood before them. He moved his eyes back and forth betweenMason and Ben in disbelief.

Finally, his voice found words, “It is you... both of you!”

Ben said, “It's good to see you Tad. I'm sorry we're late, but ittook a while for me to track down Mason once I received yourmessage.”

“But that was almost a year ago,” Tad said, “I thought youweren't coming.”

“Of course we were coming,” Mason beamed. “We'd never letyou down.”



Tad stared in wonder at the two men standing before him thenrealized they were still at the door. “Please, excuse my manners,

come inside.”The interior of the cottage was modest. Scantily furnished and

desperately lacking any sign of homelike comforts. It was essentiallyone large room with alcoves that set apart the different areas of the

home. The one working fireplace lit the room well enough to seethroughout the space; the other had been boarded-up from the inside.The minimalistic arrangement showed that the owner had spent toomany years sleeping under the stars; it had all the charm of a field

tent.There was a simple table near the fire and a single chair. Tad

motioned for them to sit, dragging a nearby footlocker across the

floor to provide a second seat. He poured them both a cup of teafrom a kettle hanging above the fire. He rummaged through a pile ofpots on the floor and found a small cup, which he blew the dust out

of and rubbed clean on the front of his shirt before pouring himself adrink.

“Don't worry, I've something a little stronger for our next round,”he said, rolling a small keg closer to the table and taking a seat atopit. “I can't believe you're actually here.”

“It's good to see you Captain,” said Mason.Tad gripped Mason's arm affectionately. “I'm not your Captain

anymore Mason. We're just two men who happen to share a good bit

of history. Call me Tad.”Mason shook his head defiantly, “No sir.”

Ben said, “You're wasting your breath. He'll never change.”Tad looked at Ben. “It seems like only yesterday you were a

fresh new recruit running around my camp like a scared puppy,trying to do anything you could to keep Mason happy.”

Ben grinned, “Sergeant Corde had the reputation of a hard-nosedbastard who ate new men for breakfast. I like to think of my effortsto please him as mere survival.”

Ben recalled the day he had first arrived under the command ofCaptain Haddaway. He had heard there was a stubborn old Sergeantwho was virtually impossible to please. This had proven to be true

and he had spent most of his first few months frightened of the oldsoldier. Everything he did fell short of the Mason's approval. Therewas just no pleasing him.

Mason laughed, “But, in the end, you managed to outscore us

all.”Mason had been very watchful over his men; it was his job to

prepare them as well as he could and to keep them alive. Despite his



outward ill temper, he truly cared about them all. He had noticed agenuine skill in Ben that exceeded anything he had ever seen before.

Not only was Ben the best swordsman Mason had ever encountered,but Ben also possessed an unusual feel for his surroundings. Somuch so, that Mason brought the young soldier to the attention of hisCaptain.

Tad had agreed that Ben was something of a prodigy and hadused his influence to persuade a member of the Royal Court tosponsor Ben to train under the Royal Swordmasters. Ben excelled inhis training and quickly became the youngest officer in the history of

the Royal Kreggorian Guard. He owed it all to the kind eye of a bad-tempered Sergeant and a Captain who put his men above himself.

Caught up in good memories, Ben had to remind himself of his

shameful discharge from that elite corps. The Royal Guard was aburning wound in his heart. A past he would thankfully forget if hewere able.

A slight movement in the corner of the small room caught Ben'seye. He turned and saw a man in a gray robe standing casually in thecorner. So casually, in fact, that Ben almost thought nothing of it andturned his attention back to his friends only to think twice andquickly look back. The corner was empty; the three men were alone.

Ben scanned the room to confirm that there was no one else present.“Did either of you see that?” Ben said half to himself.“What?” asked Tad, looking around the room.

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.“Nothing, I'm probably just tired.”

Ben sat silently and listened as Mason and Tad reminisced. Thetwo men were fond of each other's company and almost forgot about

Ben altogether. He did not mind at all and excused himself from thetable to let the men catch up. The stories would continue all night

and he would not deny Mason the opportunity to relive thosememories with the man he admired most in all the world. He quietlymade his way to the door and stepped outside.

It was now dusk and the rain was coming down light but steady.A weak yellow glow over the hill signaled that the watch-fires hadbeen lit and an evening of chaos had begun once more. Ben moved

to the edge of the house and stood close to the wall under the eavesto keep dry. The woods behind the house seemed alive with therhythmic tapping of rain on leaves, and the creaking of limbsbending in the increasing wind.

He was almost enjoying the evening shower, when he suddenlyfelt that he was being watched. In the gloomy darkness of the forest,

just beyond the limits of his vision, he was sure a pair of unseen eyes



penetrated him. He strained his sight into the shadows and for afleeting moment thought he saw the outline of a man standing in the

midst of the trees. The loose, gray cloak of the figure moved gentlyin the breeze, no face could be seen beneath the watcher's sagginghood. Ben could hear his pulse in his own ears as he backed awaytoward the door and in a near panic, he fell backward through it.

Finding himself back inside, he got to his feet and latched the door,then slid the brace into place.

His entrance had gone unnoticed. Mason and Tad were stilltalking, only it was now evident that they had moved on to stronger

drink. Each man held a frothy brew and laughed loudly about somestory of days gone by. Ben moved to the fire and warmed his hands

over the flames, taking the time to calm himself. Perhaps it was only

his nerves from so many weeks on the road, surely there was noreason to be alarmed. Even if there was a man standing in the trees,there was likely a simple explanation. After all, night had only just

fallen, and there were others who lived in the area.He didn't want to interrupt, but he was getting a little impatient,

there were too many urgent questions that needed answering. Hewaited for an opening in the conversation and decided it was time toget down to business.

“How has the operation been going? It looks like the roadsaround here are as dangerous as ever. Any progress yet?”

Tad said, “Not too bad, I've had a few setbacks, but things are

going well. When I set out to toll the merchants in exchange forguaranteed safe passage on the east-west road, I had no idea what I

was getting myself into.”“We've heard that you've experienced a lot of losses,” said

Mason. “Nothing that more time and more men can't handle.”Tad stood and shrugged his shoulders, “I've lost a few. Any loss

is unfortunate, but you can't keep them from leaving if they want togo.”

Ben pressed, “Left? We heard they've been killed.”Tad nodded, “There were those who wouldn't follow orders and

were over anxious.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That kind ofsoldier won't last long. Isn't that right Mason?”

Mason agreed, “I know the type.”Ben moved to the wall beside the fireside and looked over a pack

that appeared to have been crumpled there for months and the bladeleaning against the hearth had spider webs hanging from it. “So...

everything is going well...that's good to hear. Mason and I are readyto help in any way we can.”



Tad straightened. “As it turns out, I won't be needing your helpafter all. We have things well under control.”

Ben spun on his heel and addressed Tad harshly, “Well undercontrol? People are still dying out there. The townsfolk are scared,and no one around here seems to trust you!”

Mason interrupted, “Ben, if he says things are fine, then let it

rest.”Tad forced a smile through clenched teeth. “You have no idea

what it's been like out here, Ben. This isn't the soft, proper-manneredworld you have grown accustomed to–” Tad stopped and looked at

him. “Why are you all wet?”Ben indicated the door, “I stepped outside for some air.”

Tad bolted up from his chair rushed to the door, nervously

double-checking the latch and brace. He then moved in a hasty blurto the windows to ensure the shutters and boards were intact. Whenhe was finished, he turned and faced the odd stares of his two guests.

He opened his mouth and faltered, “Can't be too careful...” he tried.“As you said, there are those who don't like me.”

“Tad,” Ben said with a raised, skeptical eyebrow. “Where areyour men?”

Tad looked around the empty room, and then blankly thumbed

over his shoulder. “I let them go into town.”“All of them?” Mason asked, also with a tinge of suspicion

lingering on his voice. “If you've made enemies, then who's guarding

the house?” He cocked his head to one side and scratched behind hisear. “It's not exactly the move I'd have made.”

Tad's patience was clearly wearing thin, “That's why I'm theCaptain and the one who makes the decisions around here,

Sergeant!” Immediately regretting his outburst, he corrected, “It'sbeen a hard week, the men have earned some relaxation.”

Ben looked around the room and noticed again the obvious lackof furnishings. There was a fine layer of dust on almost every surfaceand there was no indication that more than one person had everoccupied the space.

Ben asked, “How many men did you say you have?”Tad shrugged, “I don't know, maybe a dozen or so...”

“Or so?” Mason scolded his old friend, “I don't know what hashappened here Captain, but you leave the house unprotected, youhave no idea how many men you have, and...” Mason swept anaccusing finger across the room, “by the looks of it, I'd say you have

no men at all!”“What has happened, Tad?” Ben stepped up closer to the man he

had once respected.



Tad lowered his eyes and muttered, “Things have become alittle... complicated.”

“Complicated?” Mason asked. “You're just securing a road. It's just like in the old days when we would secure a supply route to thefront lines. You've done this a hundred times. Besides, you're noteven up against an army, just a handful of thieves.”

“It's not the task that has become complicated, Mason.” Tadmoved back to the table and drank long and deep from his brew. “Itis the nature of the enemy that has made that task impossible.”

“And the men?” Mason pried.

Tad visibly snapped. “Alright! There aren't any men! Most ofthem were killed and the others left. The operation was a complete

failure, and in the process I've made some powerful enemies!” He

threw his cup against the wall and spat, “You have no idea what I'vebeen up against. This damn place is crawling with...” he trailed off.“What?” Ben asked. “You've faced impossible odds before.

Many times. The Captain Haddaway we know would never give upand lock himself away.”

Mason held his chin high, “So the enemy is stronger thananticipated, the woods are crawling with the scumbags. So, we'll getmore men and we'll fight harder! Those thieves will have to find

somewhere else to make their living.”Tad turned slowly and shamefully did his best to meet his

friend's eyes. “I know you mean well, but you don't understand. The

enemy is not what you think.”“Tell us, what has happened,” Ben pleaded.

“I can't speak of it... you must understand.”Mason admonished, “I can't accept that you've buckled!”

Tad slammed a fist into his open hand and turned to Mason,“This is not a game Mason! We face no ordinary foe.”

Ben prodded, “What do you mean Tad? Who are they?”Beads of sweat sprouted on Tad's forehead and in the flickering

firelight, he began to shake. “I can't say anymore. They'll hear–”Mason slammed both fists down on the table violently. “Captain!

If you don't want my help then order me away! But, don't ever actlike a coward!”

Tad averted his eyes once more. “I'm sorry Mason, I have failedyou. I've failed us all.”

Ben stood before Tad and gripped his arms, shaking himanxiously. “You said they will hear. Who? Who will hear?”

“Maybe...” Tad started, but then jerked his eyes toward theshuttered window as if he had heard something outside. His face was

a twisted mask of fear and regret.



“They're here.”“Who!” Ben shouted.

The door rattled as something tried to force it open. The entirehouse seemed to vibrate as an unseen force pummeled the windowsand doors. Tad went rigid with terror and cried, “It's too late... I'm sosorry.”

Documents

Fifthwind Sample Chapters