Rising Thunder (Dynasty of Storms Book 1) Page 8

  Elias paused in his examination of the sword. “Why is that? What sort of man would need a sword like this? Not that I’m complaining, not at all…” he swung the sword in a few arcs, the edge cutting the air with a satisfying hiss.

  “He never gave me his name, but I was pretty sure to remember him. Big man, bigger even than you. Ugly as a bag of sinners. Had to have some ogre’s blood in him somewhere. Huge hands, he could barely fit them on the handle, even as big I made it, skin kinda green or yellow, I couldn’t tell. Provided half of the iron and the leather too… that iron was wicked hard to melt. Had t’ fire the forge hotter than I ever have since.” Darby shook his head. “The day he was to come give me what he owed on it, he was lynched and hung. They said he killed and ate a man raw with his bare hands.“ The blacksmith shuddered. “If he’d have had this sword, I don’t know that they would have gotten him. As it were, he put two men in their graves and another dozen to the healers.“

  Elias paused. “Darby, this sword is worth more than you’re charging me for it. I can’t take it knowing that I’m not paying for it.”

  Darby scoffed. “D’ya think I’m in the charity business? That sword was all but paid for, all but fifteen lions. Those fifteen coins in your purse will finish that off. Besides… who else am I going to sell it to? It’s yours, lad. All ya gotta do is buy it.“ He held the sheath upright like a walking stick, the top of it well over the short man’s head.

  “What d’ya say? Do we have a deal?”

  Elias took the scabbard and sheathed the enormous blade. “How much for a belt to wear this on my back while I'm traveling? I don’t think my belt will work for this.”

  Darby offered his meaty, calloused hand. “Throw in an extra silver, and I've got one that’ll work for it well enough.“

  Elias took the smith's hand. “Then we have a deal.”

  Chapter Seven

  14th Waning Flower Moon, Year 4368

  Elias stood near the well in the town square, leaning against one of the hewn wooden beams that supported the roof covering it. He was used to feeling like he stood out, but now, with a shiny new gigantic sword strapped to his back, it felt even more pronounced. For a moment, he regretted his decision, but that was fleeting. The weight of it on his back was reassuring, even if he knew he’d need to become accustomed to it. It was almost time to meet his employer.

  Jonas was thankfully present, even if he still looked a bit rough and smelled slightly of beer. He was sitting on a crate in the shade of the well house, having a lively chat with Martin. It seemed strange to Elias that a single night of celebration would work to erase so much of the melancholy that had haunted the group after the loss of six of their members, but almost everyone was in better spirits.

  Jonas looked up at Elias, grinning from behind his unkempt whiskers. “So you bought it then? Just had to have the great huge sword, eh?”

  Elias frowned slightly. “After being attacked on the road, then battling the orcs, it proved to me that a longsword isn't nearly long enough.”

  There was a slight snickering from some of the gathered sellswords. Jonas grinned again, mischief in his eyes. “Boy, it’s not about the size of your weapon, it’s all in how you use it!” The men about laughed openly now, with a few whistles and catcalls. “Though I can understand wanting to know what it’s like to be able to fit both hands around something at the same time. Never lacked for that knowledge, myself.”

  Amidst the peals of laughter from the more seasoned men, Elias felt himself getting irritated. During his time with the Northmen, he was never openly picked on, though he had been excluded often enough. Quiet discrimination he was used to, even from his own kind, but this was more than most people had dared to do since he was a child.

  “Maybe I should wrap both of my hands around your neck, old man, ” he said, pushing off of the beam and taking a step towards Jonas. “Perhaps that’s a satisfaction I should discover.”

  Jonas laughed again, reaching up to clap Elias on the shoulder. “Oh come on, you moody little shit, I’m just tuggin’ your rope. If I didn’t prick you every now and again, you’d think I didn’t like you. Besides, you can’t kill me yet, I haven’t gotten your pay from our esteemed employer. It’d be a shame to have to try to stay fed on the wages you’ve had as yet, especially for a big bastard like yourself.“

  Elias’s irritation evaporated, leaving him feeling foolish. He almost let his pride get the better of him. This was just how Jonas was around his men, teasing and joshing them. There were no tongues held here, and the crew seemed to be more or less loyal to each other and to him, especially since their battle in the hills. He was new, low in the pecking order, and subject to hazing, now that he was formally a member of the group.

  He set his jaw. Nowhere was it written that he had to like it.

  Jonas glanced down the road from the south, and snapped his gloved fingers to the rest of his men, turning on his heel. “Form up. Our gilded benefactor approaches.“ He stepped into the already hot sun as a carriage came up the road from the south.

  On either side of the carriage were two mounted riders, while one wizened old man sat in the driver's seat, the reins in hand. The carriage was pulled by oxen, while the riders were on rather unremarkable horses. Elias himself hadn't ridden a horse since the elves had taken him north; there was no reason for it when he lived mostly within the walls of the city, and he quickly outgrew most of the steeds the Northmen raised.

  The carriage drew up to the well house and one of the riders dismounted, opening the door on the near side. A small, thin, bald head stuck out of the opening, from behind a black velvet curtain. Elias tried not to stare, but he swore that the man’s nose was so long, he could probably smell Elias from across the square.

  Jonas went into an elaborate, flourishing bow. “At your service, m’lord Woodsetter. I’ve assembled the finest caravan guardsmen on this side of the Gray Sea”

  Beady, birdlike eyes darted about. “This is all of your men?” The man didn’t even bother to greet Jonas. “I count nine, yourself included. Your message said fifteen.”

  Jonas stood, looking around at the assembled men. “It did? Aye, it did, well, eh, these nine swords more than make up for the difference! Each man here has half again the strength of your standard escort, and twice the skill!”

  “I still only count nine. This will damage your pay, Master Jonas.”

  Jonas stiffened slightly. “If the cargo arrives unharmed, what is the difference if I do it with nine men, or ninety? Some of the lads had purses bigger than what was offered.” He took a step back, turning slightly away as Elias quirked a brow at him, wondering about the mistruth. “If they aren’t to your liking, m’lord, we could always allow you to go on your way unsullied by our presence.“ He gestured with his chin towards the chained and locked cargo on the back of the carriage. “I’m sure whoever is waiting for that will understand the delay needed to find a new escort.“

  The scrawny man made a sour face and snarled. “Fine! So be it! If one hair on my head or one sliver of wood from those chests is harmed, you'll get not one lion from me!“

  Jonas turned back, a wide grin on his face. “Excellent! When do we depart?”

  “As soon as my manservant arrives with the supplies I sent him out for. I expect him to be at the front gate within an hour, and I will expect you there as well.” With no further ceremony, the old man pulled his head back behind the velvet curtain, and the rider shut and bolted the door.

  Jonas turned back to the assembled mercenaries. “You heard the man, to the city gates! If he’s waiting, we’re waiting. The job starts now! If a brigand or churl so much as lays a finger on that cart, it’ll come out of your hide!”

  The men fell in around the cart, ranging out to give a decent perimeter; Jonas near the door and Elias taking up the rear. Martin and Geoff took the front flanks, near Jonas. The more he saw of them, the more he understood the hierarchy of the mercenaries. While they had traveled quite informally to this
point, it made sense that there would be a stricter structure once they were on the job, as it were.

  The townsfolk made way for them as they proceeded along the sandy cobblestone road towards the north end of town. The tall, sturdy palisade and earth wall marked the north boundary. As he passed through the opening, Elias noted the construction of the gate. An enormous redwood log had been sawn in half, and laid with the flat side on the bottom, supported by the earth and palisades on either side. The edges, near the outside of the log, were a dirty white, but the heartwood was a deep, rich red color, hence the name the trees were given.

  The cart moved to the left side of the road, just past the gate, and pulled up. The oxen were fed, and the horses were tied while they waited for Lord Woodsetter’s manservant. Before too long, a stooped, hurried, anxious looking man jogged into sight, carrying a few burlap wrapped satchels that were bound with twine. They smelled strongly of lavender, mint, and other, headier scents. He clambered to the top of the pile of chests, knocked twice, and held on to the ropes there. Elias wondered what kind of man their employer was that his men were so anxious and quiet, when compared to the boisterousness of the mercenaries. He felt somewhat uneasy with the sharpness of the man's tone when speaking to Jonas, but the pay seemed good, and the road was short.

  It was just three days journey back to Pine River. Just about a week on the road, assuming no delays, and they would be back in Jetty. Maybe their employer was just an especially cranky healer, which would explain the herbs and the rush.

  Elias fell into the rhythm of the march, keeping a solid pace, feeling lucky that he was tall enough to miss most of the dust coming from behind the cart. Some of the men were laughing and joking as they marched, marking the miles with the stories and boasts he had become used to. While he didn’t have many stories to tell himself, he enjoyed hearing the tales of the others, even if he had heard some of them more than once over a fire on the roadside.

  There was the time that Jonas had been a young man tracking a pair of escaped orc fugitives, following them through the trees and mountains to the east, to the edge of the burning sands. When he found them, they had run themselves near to death, and their green skin was so blistered and sunburned that it had turned blue.

  “What did you do when you caught them?” one of the men asked.

  “The bounty was to be proven by bringing back the right ear of each orc. I made a deal with ‘em. They give me the gold they stole and their right ears, and I give them their lives. It took a little bit of convincing, but they agreed to it, though the bigger one had to be convinced by the smaller one and myself.“

  “Why didn’t you kill ‘em?”

  “Because all I needed was their ears. Besides, they had plenty of life in them to earn another bounty, and it's a lot easier to ask about for a one-eared orc than it is to ask about an orc that looks like every other orc. Better to claim two bounties off of one head than just one.“

  “But they were orcs! Best to just stick ‘em good and fast when you come across ‘em.”

  Jonas shook his head. “Orcs are orcs, elves are elves, dwarves are dwarves, and men are men. I’ve got nothing against them just for being what they were born to be. You don’t kick a dog when he licks his balls, do ya? No, you wait until he humps your leg, then you kick the hell out of him.“

  That elicited a number of laughs from around the cart, and the stories resumed for the rest of the day's march. As the sun settled towards the sea, they struck camp on a clearing surrounded by brush oaks, juniper, and eucalyptus. The lingering scent of juniper berries hot from the sun filled the grassy space, carried with the slightly fishy breeze of low tide. This stopped the vast majority of the wind, and kept them out of sight of the road. Three of Jonas's men took the first watch, while the rest gathered firewood, pitched tents, and sat about the fire, cooking their dinner and settling in for the night. Woodsetter's men were to take the second watch, so they set up their master's tent and retired early.

  Elias sat on the ground, his legs crossed, his sleeping roll and pack against the small of his back, the giant sword on the ground next to him. Hard, dry bread and jerky were his meal for the evening, washed down with water from a nearby spring. He wondered how water so close to the sea could be fresh, when sea water ran through sand so easily. He resolved to figure it out some day.

  The sun was sinking below the waves behind the trees, and darkness was setting in, shrouding the trees in their blue-black curtain. Even his eyes couldn’t pierce that veil, but the only sounds coming from the darkness were rustling birds and small animals.

  Martin returned from a hunt, having killed a rabbit, and roasted it over the fire. The rest of Jonas's men were sitting about in various other positions, chatting or rolling over to sleep. Some of the men were sharing stories of this battle or that fight or this adventure or that job, a continuation of their conversations during the day. Geoff turned to Jonas, and asked around a mouthful of jerky, “Hey Jonas, how old were you when you killed your first man?”

  Jonas swallowed a mouthful of salted mutton. “Mmm. Fifteen. And he was more of a boy than a man, as I was. Took a job guarding a priest from brigands on the road from Lonwick to Fairhaven. Weren’t many bandits on the roads those days, so I figured it’d be easy money. Bastard crept up on us in the night, kicked me in the head while I was sleeping. Guess he thought he’d knocked me out. He was in the middle of beating the friar’s gold out of him when I put my sword through his back.“ He scoffed slightly. “Was too nervous, too scared. I stabbed too hard and stuck the friar in the shoulder. He died of an infection a week later.“

  Geoff nodded. “I was seventeen.”

  Martin spoke up, interrupting. “You mean last month?”

  Geoff threw a boot at the other man, amidst laughter from the mercenaries that were still away. “Piss off, Martin. It was four years ago. He tried to break into a store room I was guarding in Rockhill. Wasn’t quiet about it either, the idiot. Kept scraping and prying with a crowbar right up to when my axe split his shoulders in half. Guess he thought the gold was worth his life.“ He turned towards Elias. “What about you, Redwood? When did you first kill a man?”

  Elias shook his head. “I’ve never killed a man.”

  Martin scoffed, his thick frame shaking from the motion. “Never killed a man? Are you saying the orc was the first thing you've ever killed? I didn't know you were completely unblooded.“

  Elias tossed a branch onto the small campfire. “I didn’t say I was unblooded. I said I’d never killed a man.“

  Jonas gnawed on a mutton bone. “Come on then, share with us. How big was the lass, and did you at least bed her first, you murderous dog?” The rest of the men laughed as Elias took a bite of his jerky, and stared into the fire for a moment.

  “I was one hundred and four. I lived in Silva Aestas, and it was customary for all the boys to learn how to fight with a longsword. Training started after your first century, and carried through for eighty years. There was a boy, an elf, fifty years my senior, and he was to train me on the basics. For four years he did as little as he could to get by… he resented having to teach the 'monstrous oaf', as he called me. During a training accident, I put a waster though his chest.“

  Martin looked up from his meal, quirking one reddish eyebrow, his chubby mouth following suit. “You accidentally put a waster though his chest, ” he repeated, the doubt evident on his face.

  Elias stirred the fire with a branch, sparks and cinders floating lazily into the night sky. “I didn’t just pop up to this size overnight, I’ve always been very large, very strong. While we were training, my sword broke and I didn’t notice, because I had lost my temper and I wasn’t paying as close of attention as I should have been. I took a solid blow to the head just as it happened.”

  Jonas spoke up from around a mouthful of mutton. “So you don’t remember killing the boy?”

  Elias shook his head. “When I regained my senses, Ayluin was dead. When my waster broke, it had broke
n to a sharp point, and, not knowing my own strength, I had driven it clean through him.”

  Geoff whistled. “Damn, that's rough. Is that why you were living in the north?”

  Elias nodded. “The magistrates convened, found me to be a danger to the city, and so they banished me to live amongst the northern tribes of men.“ Elias frowned, tossing the branch onto the coals. “It was thought that their culture, barbaric and warlike, would better suit me than the finesse and skill of my own kind.”

  The men around him were silent. Geoff tossed a branch onto the fire as well, stirring the flames up again. “You said you were a hundred years old? I mean, I know elves live a lot longer than normal people do… how does that compare to us?”

  Elias bristled slightly at the 'normal people' comment. After all, the nearest organized kingdom was ruled by his people, and there were at least as many elves in this area as there were men. “I was one hundred and four. Every ten years for us is as one year for you. Roughly. That’s why we don’t often mix with your kind. Your lives are barely a blink to us.”

  Martin spoke up from his bedroll. “How old are you now?”

  Elias frowned and settled back, adjusting his pack to act as a pillow. He was getting uncomfortable with this line of questioning about himself and his past. “One hundred and sixty-eight.“

  Jonas quirked a brow. “You spent sixty-four years with the barbarian lords of the Northlands, and you only just got yourself a greatsword this morning?“

  Elias shrugged. “They didn’t want an elf fighting how they fought, so they gave me no formal training, and had their women teach me how to handle a longsword so that I wouldn’t be useless in a fight. They never took me on raids, since I didn’t have their blood in my veins… Aside from the people who lived at the foot of the great mountain, the nobles didn’t trust me to have their backs when steel was drawn.”

  He shifted against his pack, settling down into a more comfortable position. “The king's sons, however, would spar with me when they had time or will to do so. I'm not completely ignorant in the use of a greatsword.”