By the time they reached the village the sun was beginning to go down in the west. The sky was a brilliant orange and the clear sky promised a cool evening. Meric led the way towards the village’s largest stone building; already sounds of revelry were emanating from within. A wooden sign flapped gently in the breeze, adorned on its surface was the image of a rabbit looking worse for wear. Beneath were the words ‘The Worthless Rabbit Inn’.

“I’ve not been here in a long time,’ Meric said almost reverently as they stood outside, ‘does Bess still make those beef stews?”

Thorn nodded. “Yep, still the best stews in the Weald. I’m pretty sure that’s why the pilgrims really come out this way.”

Meric turned to Nix and rubbed his hands together. “Well, sister of mine you’re in for a treat!”

Thorn pushed open the solid oak door and stepped inside. The tavern had two floors with the ground floor acting as the bar and serving area and the top being where the bedrooms were located. A large fireplace made of granite stood along the left wall and an assortment of mahogany tables and chairs filled much of the remaining space. Thorn licked his lips at the smells wafting in from the kitchens. A rowdy bunch of pilgrims were sitting at a table near the back of the main room and were downing pints of ale at an impressive rate. Aside from the travellers, a few of the locals were seated in armchairs next to the fire, an ongoing game of chess between them. At the bar and staring into the bottom of an empty pint glass was Beric. His huge bulk looked comedic sitting on the tiny stool. Thorn waved to him and made his way over to the bar.

“By the gods is that Meric?” the big man said as he recognised Thorn’s companions.

“Tis indeed I, you big bugger. It’s been a long time.” Meric beamed as he embraced a surprised Beric. Meric introduced Nix and it wasn’t long before they were all drinking ales and bitching about their lot in life. As the evening progressed more villagers entered the inn and the atmosphere grew loud and merry. Thorn and the others moved to one of the tables at the back of the room, all were more than a little inebriated.

“So, to sum up my day, I’ve been disowned by my drunk of a father and now know not what to do with my life. I blame that bitch of a stepmother of mine for this!” Thorn slurred.

Beric clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it's not as bad as all that. At least you don’t get spoken to like you’re an idiot all day everyday like me. It’s- not fair!”

“Pah! Your complaints are rubbish – hic- compared to mine. I had a great opportunity to make it as a mage and I pissed it all away because I’m too bloody smart for my own good,” sobbed Meric.

Nix sat back and rolled her eyes.

“You lot are pathetic. At least you are men; do you know what it's like being a woman in this kingdom? Because I’ve not got myself a husband at nineteen I’m seen as a spinster by the other women! I like archery and swords, which makes me even more of a freak!” Nix muttered angrily.

Further moans were stopped as suddenly the tavern’s door opened with a bang. In walked five men all dressed in the attire of professional mercenaries. Chainmail shirts were under mantles bearing the insignia of a red lion. On their hips were castle forged swords and three of them carried shields strapped to their backs. The tavern fell silent as the newcomers walked over to the bar.

“Bannermen?” Meric whispered.

“I heard that a Bannerlord was heading this way. I guess they’ve arrived,” said Thorn.

Beric downed his pint and wiped his lips.

“The Red Lion is the banner of Lord Raron, a legendary Bannerlord. It was he and his men that bested the Giant Ercrom and defeated the Bandit Kings terrorising the Vindon Valley.”

“I hear that they fought and bested ten times their number in that battle,” cooed Nix who had leaned forward to get a better look at the men.

The lead mercenary was tall and lean with hair as black as night and a smartly trimmed beard to match. An eyepatch covered his right eye and a faded scar was on his chin. He glanced around the inn in amusement.

“Every inn in every village is the same,” he said to his companions with a chuckle. “Barkeep. Pour a pint of your finest ale for everyone! Let these good folks know the generosity of our Lord Raron.”

The patrons all cheered his words and noise returned to the tavern as the locals chatted excitedly amongst themselves. Thorn sat back in admiration of the mercenaries.

“Now that’s how to live. A life of adventure, wealth and respect,” Beric said in awe. “I’m going to go talk with them.”

Before they could stop him, Beric slid from his stall and staggered over to the mercenaries who were now singing a rowdy song about monster killing. Thorn sighed heavily and turned back to his drink. His mood was dark as his father’s words kept going around his head. Meric clapped him on the shoulder.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

“We’re all a bunch of misfits and we all disappoint our fathers. Heck, our pappy threw me out after the mages cast me out. And then he married some shrew witch from Arbargon and forced Nix out too.”

Nix scowled as her brother recounted their sorry tale.

“I was homeless without a coin to my name, so I sought out Meric and together we decided to head back to our childhood home. Only thing is, childhood memories are often rose-tinted. Linden seemed a lot nicer when I was a kid,” she added disappointedly.

“Yeah well, back in the day it probably was. My father wasn’t a total drunk back then. He actually had some pride and still carried his sword instead of it hanging above a cold hearth in a crumbling keep,” Thorn replied. He rubbed a hand over his face and stood.

“I’d best get going. Hopefully, father has calmed down a bit and I can apologise. Maybe it's not as bad as I’m thinking it is. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Meric nodded and finished his pint.

“Aye. We’ll be where you found us today. We’ve set up a campsite there until we can get enough coin to rent a shack somewhere. Don’t worry about Beric, we will keep an eye on him,” the magician said with a wink.

Thorn said his goodbyes and then staggered out of the tavern. He gave the cheery mercenaries a last envious look as he went. The cool night air hit him causing the world to spin as his drink-addled brain tried to process the change in temperature and lighting. It was now night time and judging by the height of the two moons it was close to midnight. Walking out of the village he crossed the stream and ascended the hill to his father’s keep. As usual, the useless sot Kip was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s the point of having a guard if he doesn’t work at night?” he muttered to himself. A feeling of doubt entered his gut as he walked into the keep’s courtyard. What was he going to say to his father? Would he even listen, or would he be unconscious as a result of another drinking session? Taking a deep breath, Thorn stepped inside the keep. He paused, he could hear voices coming from the upper floor. Curious, he crept up the spiral stairs and pressed himself against the cool stone wall. Peaking around the corner he gasped. The door to his father’s chamber was wide open and standing over the bed was his step-mother Delera and Kip. His eyes widened as he spotted the blood-soaked dagger in the guardsman’s hand.

“Oh, that is a relief. It’s a shame we didn’t kill the wretch sooner. I wouldn’t have had to endure his moods for as long as I did,” Delera said jovially.

“Are you sure about this mistress? I don’t wanna be hanged for this,” Kip grumbled as he wiped his dagger on his tunic.

Thorn’s mind raced. Delera moved across the room revealing the bed and the blood-soaked man in it. Thorn clasped his hands over his mouth to prevent himself from crying out. The wound to his father’s throat suggested that Kip had slashed him from ear to ear. Blood covered the bedclothes and his body lay in a wide-eyed death stare.

“Do not worry Kip. Lord Broadbane has assured me that there will be no repercussions for this. In fact, he will pay us very nicely for doing his dirty work for him. Oh, how I long to leave this wretched place, I do wonder what Broadbane sees in the place and why he believed this old fool to be such a threat to his plans,” Delera responded nonchalantly. “There is another task we still need to do. Kill that little bastard, Thorn. With him, out of the way, the land will be made forfeit and then Broadbane can swoop in, buy it and expand his territory.”

Thorn couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. His father was dead and now his own life was in grave danger. Panic overwhelmed him causing him to flee, but in his inebriated state he stumbled and tumbled down the steps loudly. He crashed face first onto the floor at the bottom of the staircase, cutting his chin in the process. Dazed he stood on wobbly legs and made for the exit. Behind him, he could hear Kip and Delera rushing down the stairs after him.

“Don’t let him get away, Kip! He has to die!” screamed Delera.

Thorn was outside now, his heart pounding. He ran as fast as he could into the nearby woods. Kip was hot on his heels, his dagger held in front of him ready for the kill.

Thorn pushed his way through the undergrowth, the murderous guard close behind. The world swam as the concussion and alcohol took turns trying to trip him. It was a tree root that succeeded. He crashed to the soft forest floor, getting covered in mud and leaves in the process.

“Aha, I’ve got you now you little shit!” Kip cackled.

The man leapt onto Thorn pinning his head into the mud. Thorn struggled desperately to escape Kip’s clutches, but the man’s weight pinned him down. His hands clawed the ground, desperate to find anything that could be used as a weapon. His fingers brushed something, it was a branch. He gripped it and swung the heavy piece of wood with all his strength. Kip grunted as the branch connected with the side of his face. The weight on Thorn’s body eased just enough to allow him to clamber out from underneath his attacker. Staggering to his feet and gasping for air he looked around to try and get his bearings. Behind him were the fast-flowing waters of the Rewbeck River.

Kip spat blood from his now split lip and smiled menacingly at Thorn.

“You always did talk to me like I was a simpleton. I tell you, it was a pleasure killing that fool of a father of yours, but gutting you is going to be fun.”

With a roar, Kip charged. Thorn ducked to the side narrowly avoiding the tip of the dagger. He lashed out his open palm slapping Kip across the face.

“A slap? What sort of man slaps?” Kip chuckled humorlessly.

“Leave me alone!” Thorn shouted before he turned and sprinted towards the sound of the river.

“Where are you going?” Kip shouted angrily. “Stay still and die like a man you snivelling little coward!”

Thorn ran in a blind panic, ignoring the branches that tore at his clothes and face. Suddenly, he tripped and fell headfirst through a bush and tumbled down the sodden river bank. He bounced several times before hitting the water in a painful splash. Bubbles of air raced upward as he thrashed about and the world went eerily silent as water filled his ears. Looking up he could see Kip standing at the edge of the riverbank staring into the water. Thorn moved his arms to go deeper. The inky depths of the Rewbeck hid him from view but already the current was washing him away. Kip’s form quickly vanished from sight. He had escaped. For now.

***