Oracus sat in the corner of his bedroom with a sword in one hand and a whetstone in the other. It was mid-morning, and bright sunlight shone through the open window and bounced off the sword’s silver blade. There was a loud ring with each rub of stone on metal, and the sword would vibrate in Oracus’s hand, while the green emerald forged into the hilt appeared to glow brighter with every touch on the blade. The sword had belonged to Oracus’s father, but had been passed to Oracus when he first started sword practise with the village trainer a year or so ago. Since then, he had kept the sword pristine; both polishing and sharpening it almost every day.
When Oracus was satisfied with how the sword looked and felt, he placed it on the bed and rose. He stood still for a moment and listened to the gentle hum of bees in the flowers outside his window and the soft creak of his father’s rocking chair coming from beyond his bedroom door. Then he turned to face the room and swept his blonde hair out of his face. He was nineteen years old, with green eyes that matched the emerald in the hilt of his sword and skin as smooth as glass. He was tall and slim, but with toned muscles from all his time spent hunting in the forest and hammering at the blacksmith’s forge. Today he was wearing his training clothes in readiness for sword practise; a black leather gilet over a white shirt, black shorts, and his lightest pair of leather boots. The air in the village was often hot and dry at this time of year, so he wanted to be as cool and comfortable as possible during what he expected to be a very gruelling morning of training.
Returning to his bed, Oracus grabbed his sword from upon it and pulled the sheet and blanket neatly into place. He propped the sword against the foot of the bed along with a wooden shield and several other swords he had crafted at the blacksmith’s workshop, and then moved his birch bow and quiver of arrows away from the sharp blades and leaned them gently in the corner.
Above the bed was an untidy collection of books on a shelf which Oracus read during the long hours at night when he couldn’t sleep. He would regularly read by lamplight under the covers of his bed, or scan the drawings on the pages. Some of the books were guides or manuals to help him with sword-making, hunting, farming, and so forth. But his favourites were the myths and fairytales. In particular, The Beasts of Legend, the tallest, thinnest book on the shelf. With his focus upon it, he pulled the book free of the others and eagerly flicked through the pages, of which each one had a drawing of a terrifying creature. But on the very last page, where a beast of legend should have been drawn, there was only a large question-mark and a small block of text.
Oracus smiled and read the words:
The Bandor
There is talk of a creature of such depravity that it strikes fear into the heart of all mankind. The Bandor.
Silent and undetectable, the Bandor only ever reveals itself when its teeth are clamped securely around its victim's throat.
This creature’s appearance is unknown; there have been no recorded sightings. Over hundreds of years, thousands of men have died attempting to discover this beast. Its inconceivable deception makes it difficult to find and impossible to capture.
The Bandor is the predator of all predators, so if you are unfortunate enough to encounter it, then may you rest in peace.
With another smile, Oracus closed the book and slotted it neatly back on the shelf. Then he left the bedroom and proceeded to the sitting room, where his father was still rocking in his chair, pipe in hand and blowing rings of smoke towards the ceiling. Oracus was of the same height and build as his father, but his father had dark hair and a beard. His skin was well-worn too, unlike Oracus’s, but his eyes were the same dazzling green.
“Morning, son,” he uttered calmly between exhales of smoke. “Are you training today?”
“Morning,” Oracus replied. “I’ll be leaving as soon as I’ve eaten.” He walked through to the kitchen and poured some oats into a bowl. Then he returned to the sitting room and began to eat. “And I’m meeting Garrin at the inn tonight too. We’re having a drink together before he leaves tomorrow.”
Garrin was Oracus’s best friend and had been since they were children. Recently, Garrin had become a tradesman, one of only a handful of men to ever travel beyond the village border. And whenever he returned home, Oracus would always question him about the land outside, but Garrin was never willing to answer. It was a village law that tradesmen must keep their dealings private; neither talk of the village to outsiders, nor talk of outsiders to the village.
“Leaving Thessley again already, eh?” Oracus’s father sighed. “How long for this time?”
“A month he says. But what could he possibly be trading that will mean he can’t return for a whole month?”
Oracus’s father shrugged, “That’s not for us to know, son.”
The truth was that Oracus was desperate to know, and he intended to quiz Garrin about it again when they met at the inn in the evening. All Oracus knew was that Thessley was surrounded by the Raspian Forest, and it sat somewhere to the north of the land, known as Pharia. And even that was knowing too much, apparently.
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When he had finished eating, Oracus grabbed his sword and shield from his bedroom and left for the village centre, where sword practise was always held. Outside the house, a dozen identical thatched houses lined the street. One way, the street opened wide and meandered towards the village centre. In the other direction, trees of the Raspian Forest stood patient and foreboding.
Oracus took the path away from the forest and walked beneath blue sky and a scorching summer sun whilst listening to the tranquil calls of the birds above. He thought only of the forest’s calming aroma mixed with the stench of the farm before he reached the centre of the village, and then a rumble of noise washed over him. Suddenly, villagers were everywhere and all things peaceful were pushed from his mind.
The village centre was a circular plaza of shops and stalls with a fenced training area in the middle. There was a carpentry workshop, a village hall, a clothing stall, and the blacksmith’s workshop where Oracus worked. There was also a grocery stall with an abundance of root vegetables and ripe fruits, a jewellery stall with gold and silver chains and gems of a thousand different colours, and a florist’s stall with many pots full of shrubs and flowers. Across from Oracus was the entrance to the farmyard which Oracus’s father owned and used to breed livestock, and beside it was a butcher’s shop with pheasants and rabbits hanging in the window. Outside the butcher’s shop, a porky man named Broid stood watchfully, wearing an apron covered in blood. Then lastly to catch Oracus’s eye was the Old Mill Inn, with its blockwork covered from top to bottom in dark green ivy.
With both sword and shield in hand, Oracus approached the training area to where a small crowd of men and women of varying ages were waiting to start practise. Oracus could see that all the usual villagers had turned up, and there were no new faces. Except one – Garrin.
“Surprise!” Garrin proclaimed as he saw Oracus walking towards him.
“What are you doing here?” Oracus responded.
“It’s my last day before I set off travelling so I thought I’d come and have some fun.” He offered Oracus a toothy grin.
When Oracus and Garrin had been young children, many of the villagers had mistaken them for brothers. They had always looked similar and spent so much time together causing mischief on the farm that it would have been odd for people to have thought any different. They shared the same blonde hair, shape of face, and smile, but Garrin was slightly taller than Oracus, and Oracus was perhaps the more handsome of the pair, or so he liked to think.
“The last time you trained with me you said it was boring, not fun,” Oracus mentioned.
“That’s true. But I think it’s wise to brush up on my sword-handling. I might need it where I’m going.”
“And where are you going?” Oracus enquired hopefully.
Fortunately for Garrin, who was always dodging Oracus’s questions, he was saved from answering by the arrival of their fight trainer. The trainer’s name was Karvan, and he was a broad, powerful man who liked to wear only his black shorts wherever he went. His bare chest was the shade of brown leather and covered with matted black hair. The hair on his head and face was also black and wild, and his brown eyes were sheltered safely under a pair of bushy eyebrows that met at the base of his forehead. His long, muscular arms were as hairy as his chest, and his large hands were clamped around the biggest sword Oracus had ever seen.
“Find a partner!” he boomed as he opened the gate to the training area. “Today we’ll be sparring. I want you all to practise your movement. Make sure you follow my instructions and concentrate throughout. I don’t want any injuries!”
Oracus and Garrin immediately paired themselves together and followed the other fighters through the open gate.
“I want you to take it easy on me today, Oracus,” Garrin protested. “I don’t want to be bruised for the journey.”
Oracus raised his eyebrows, “You know that’s not how I train. Come on, get ready.”
“Has everybody got a partner?” Karvan bellowed over everyone’s muttering. “Okay, get yourselves into your fighting stance and face each other.”
Oracus moved swiftly into his fighting stance and held his shield in front of his body. Peering over the top of the shield, he crouched slightly and lifted his sword into position.
“To start with,” Karvan continued, “I want you to practise your blocking and countering. Remember that your shield is as valuable to you as your sword. Make sure to push away your opponent's sword with it and then respond with a swift attack of your own. Begin when you’re ready.”
Feeling the excitement of battle engulf him, Oracus focused his eyes and began circling Garrin, challenging him to step forwards. He feigned to attack and Garrin reacted with a powerful swing of his own. Oracus stepped to the side and pushed the attack away with his shield before retaliating with a strike towards Garrin’s ribs. Garrin staggered backwards but came again with another powerful blow, forcing Oracus’s wooden shield to creak and protest against the assault.
For several minutes the fighting continued until Oracus’s shoulders and lungs were aching and his hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead. Both Oracus and Garrin were breathing heavily and neither of them were fighting with the same vigour they had started with.
Eventually, Karvan’s voice boomed over their heads, “Stop!” and Oracus dropped his sword and shield to the floor and put his hands on his hips.
Everybody in the training area halted and turned to face Karvan. Under the summer sun, they all looked as hot and flustered as Oracus, and some even sat on the dusty floor to take the weight off their feet.
“Well done, well done!” Karvan praised loudly. “Now have a break and a take a drink before we begin practising our footwork. I’ll demonstrate while you recover.”
Oracus and Garrin grabbed a flask of water each and stood at the edge of the training area to watch Karvan. During the whole practise, the group observed the trainer’s demonstrations and repeated them with their partner. Throughout the morning, the group touched on many different techniques, and by the end of the session, Oracus was pleased with his progress. He was tired, but he felt as though his balance and positioning had improved, and he was sure Garrin could no longer keep up with him.
“I don’t know how you maintain your speed,” Garrin grumbled unhappily as they gulped water from their flasks and left the training area through the gate.
“That was nothing. I took it easy on you,” Oracus said with a grin. “You’ll have to train while you’re away so we can fight again when you return.”
“I’ll make sure I do,” Garrin assured. “I don’t want you beating me by more than you already are.”
They began to push their way through the many villagers who had come to inspect the merchandise being sold in the shops and stalls. Everywhere, there were people calling to one another, either shopkeepers shouting their prices or mothers disciplining their children. To Oracus’s left, the sound of weapons being shaped left the open doors of the blacksmith, and to his right, he spotted his father chatting with Broid the butcher.
Oracus turned back to Garrin. “Are we still meeting tonight?”
“Does the inn at sunset suit you?” Garrin replied.
“Only if you can prove you’re better at drinking than fighting.”
Garrin laughed. “Then I will see you there.”
At the edge of the village centre they parted company. Garrin took the path back to his home and Oracus doubled back and made a beeline for his father and Broid. No doubt his father would appreciate some help on the farm for the afternoon.
With a smile on his face, Oracus cut through the crowds of people and thought about how much he had enjoyed training with Garrin. And it wouldn’t be long before sunset arrived and he could enjoy his company some more.
It was usually quite tough to find excitement in such a tiny village, but as far as days in Thessley go, Oracus considered today to have been a good day.