Arturo rested against a tree, with his sword leaning against his chest. He had learned the hard way that keeping his sword too far away could lead to trouble. Killing the guards had caused far more problems than he had expected. A couple of days after leaving Urantis, a group of men had attacked him in the night.

His sword had been out of his reach. Arturo was lucky to be alive. The arrow that should have killed him hit his armor, just inches below his throat. He could never thank his father enough for giving him the Verian armor. The dark gray and black armor was the last gift his father had given him. Once he realized what was going on, he made it to his sword and killed the attackers, questioning one first and finding out they were hired to kill him.

Only one other attack had happened since then. Arturo hoped that was the last one. If not, how many would it take before one of the groups got him? He couldn’t stay awake every minute of the day and there was nobody else around to keep watch.

The fire crackled and he threw on another log. His stomach rumbled. He munched on the bread in his bag. Hunting for food was difficult, though the snow had melted and spring was finally here. He was thankful for the lack of snow; it was much easier to ride now.

Arturo finished his meal and leaned his head back. If only there had been a way to escape without killing those guards. “What a mess,” he whispered angrily. Why couldn’t the guards have left him alone when he told them his accomplishments? Fools! Despite the time since that event, he was still angry about it. The one time he had spoken of what he had done, and the guards didn’t believe him. But when he didn’t want to discuss his achievements, random people would ask if he had killed fifty people by himself or some ridiculous number like a thousand.

The sun was shining brightly now. It was time to go. Arturo got up, put out the fire, and donned his cloak. He needed a new cloak; this one was threadbare after all the fighting he’d done lately. He got on Sheila, rode out of the forest, and returned to the road.

A festival or some event must be happening as he had seen a lot of folks traveling over the past week. He wished another tournament was going on. He had fought in a couple over the past couple of years and won, but now it was wishful thinking. Even if there was a tournament, he couldn’t fight in one, at least not in Eshil Domain.

Day turned to night and he found another spot to camp for the night. His stomach rumbled as he started a fire and felt the warmth spread across his body. Spring might be here but the nights were still cold. Arturo reached into his bag to take the last of his food: a piece of bread and some cheese.

Luckily, he was near a town where he could restock. He had plenty of money and wouldn’t have to worry about going broke anytime soon. Hunting was something he didn’t have the patience for. He had learned that shortly after leaving the Crystal Syndicate.

Movement to his right caused Arturo to grab his sword. A group of people passed by, riding on a carriage and they stopped at his fire. An older man looked over at him and smiled. “Hello there. Do you mind if we stay the night with you?”

“Who are you?” Arturo asked. He wouldn’t put it past anyone to disguise themselves as travelers only to try killing him once they thought he was asleep.

“I’m a traveler. Skippy Vandoom is my name,” the old man said, eyeing Arturo’s sword with curiosity. “We’re not fighters and mean you no harm.”

Arturo let go of his sword. There were ten people: six women, four men. No children, with the youngest being about his age. Only one of them carried a sword, and he didn’t look like much of a warrior. Their accents gave them away as people from Vandalor. What were they doing so far from home?

“Do as you wish,” he finally said.

“Excellent,” Skippy said and climbed down from his horse. They left the carriage where it was and started bringing supplies to the fire. “We got some deer that we’ve been dying to eat all day. Can we cook on your fire? We’ll share it with you.”

Arturo’s stomach rumbled in response. Venison would be amazing. “Sounds like a fair trade to me,” he said and almost smiled. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t trying to kill him or wanted something from him. He hadn’t conversed with many people for long since leaving the Crystal Syndicate.

“Jordan, Sarah, cook the deer for us!” Skippy said and took a seat next to Arturo. “Where are you headed?”

“Not sure,” Arturo said carefully and watched the venison being prepared. It had been far too long since he’d eaten venison. The last time he had eaten venison was with his family. Despite his death being over two years ago, he still felt the pang of loss. He shook his head slightly to force the thought away. The young man with the sword sat across from him, eyed Arturo’s weapon and then looked at his own.

“Ah,” Skippy laughed. “To wander aimlessly. I did that plenty when I was younger. I hope you find what you seek.”

“Me too,” Arturo replied.

Jordan and Sarah cooked the meat, while the others chatted among themselves. Skippy was content watching the others and laughing when he heard something funny. It wasn’t long before the young man with the sword got his attention.

“This is my grandson, Pierson Vandoom. He’s been practicing with a sword,” Skippy said. Pierson blushed but said nothing. “He’s a shy one. I’m sure he’ll talk more in a bit.”

Arturo nodded and said nothing. There wasn’t much to say.

After a while, Sarah announced the meat was cooked and handed round portions. Arturo was the first to be served, but he waited until everyone got a piece before taking a bite. The last thing he wanted to do was offend them by eating first. It was delicious. The juices from the meat were amazing. He wanted to savor every bite and ate as slowly as he could.

This was a happy family, joking and playing games with one another. They invited Arturo to play but he refused. Games weren’t fun to him anymore, except for gambling occasionally. They played a game called stone in a hole, where people would grab five stones and try to throw them in a hole. Whoever made the most won.

Seeing Skippy and his family made Arturo a bit jealous. It felt like a lifetime ago when he had been with his family. A couple of hours later, everyone went to bed except for Pierson, who remained at the fire with Arturo. He didn’t say anything but stared into the flames. Arturo could tell Pierson wanted to talk.

“You keep eyeing my sword,” Arturo said at last.

“Yeah,” Pierson said sheepishly. “Can you… can you really swing that?”

“I can.”

Pierson looked away for a moment and gathered up the courage to continue. “The others don’t know. But I heard a man with a giant sword had killed some guards.”

“Are you scared?” Arturo asked. It was a wonder the others didn’t know. Why would Pierson keep it a secret?”

Pierson shook his head. “If you wanted to kill us, you would have done so already.”

“True.” Arturo looked over at the carriage. A family traveling by themselves. They were lucky no bandits had attacked them yet. This area could be dangerous since there were no large towns nearby.

“Why did you do it?”

“Kill the guards?” Arturo asked, and Pierson nodded. “To protect someone.” It wasn’t a lie. He had protected the innkeeper and whatever woman the guards wanted to go after.

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Pierson became more confident the more they talked. He asked little things at first. How long had Arturo fought for; where he came from. He asked for tips on how to improve with a sword, which Arturo didn’t have other than finding someone who could train him.

“I’ve heard stories of a man with a giant sword who killed fifty soldiers by himself. They call him the Fifty-Man Slayer. You match the description almost perfectly. Some say the Fifty-Man Slayer is ten feet tall while others say he’s six feet. You’re tall and carry that sword.”

“I haven’t heard that story,” Arturo said. He didn’t want to confirm or deny the story either way. The less attention he drew the better. “I’m sure someone has done that. Either way, I’m going to get some sleep.”

“All right,” Pierson said and got up. “Have a good night.”

Arturo watched him go toward the carriage and lay down. Stories of his deeds had spread too far. Pierson believed he was the Fifty-Man Slayer. Hopefully, he wouldn’t tell too many people he’d met him. Rolling onto his side, Arturo fell asleep and had an oddly peaceful night, with good dreams for once.

Morning came quickly and Arturo nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the others moving about. His heart was racing and it took him a moment to calm down. From a quick glance, he could see the others were getting ready to leave. That was good. While they were nice people, he didn’t want to travel with them.

Arturo gathered his things and prepared his horse to leave. He put on his cloak and noticed Skippy coming toward him.

“Well, we’re off. Looks like you are too,” Skippy said.

“Yes. Good luck,” Arturo said.

“Before you go,” Skippy said, “you look lost. Much like me when I was younger.”

“I’m not—”

Skippy raised his hand. “You won’t admit it to an old man like me, I understand. But, before I depart, I want you to take this advice. Cherish the good that comes your way. You may feel like nothing good will happen, but I promise it will, and sooner than you expect. Take advantage of the opportunities provided to you. That’s all I want you to know. Good luck.”

Arturo watched the old man walk toward his carriage, get on one of the horses and they were off, leaving him alone. Old men and their advice. Shaking his head, he got on Sheila and took off.

Despite trying to ignore what Skippy had said, he did find himself thinking about the words. Not for the future—regardless of what the old man said, Arturo knew his destiny. He would avenge his family and most likely die in battle against the invaders. But Skippy’s words about cherishing the good things in life did stick with him. He wished he had cherished the time with his family more. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of his sister, parents, and brothers.

For so many years, all he had thought about was leaving Arindall and going on his adventure to become a legend. He would trade every accomplishment to go back to how things were. What was the point in being a great warrior when you had nothing left?

He had made friends in the Crystal Syndicate but now he hoped to never see them again. In a way, they were the closest thing he had to family, but he couldn’t trust them with secrets like the provenance of his armor. Only Tarmon knew, and that was because he had tried using the power on him.

Today was cloudy; Arturo hoped it wouldn’t rain. It was too warm for snow. There was a town nearby, Langdale, that he could reach by nightfall if he took a shortcut through a forest.

He entered the forest, which was so dense that it was dark there and noticeably colder, the sun not penetrating through the trees. Still, it was warmer than the last couple of weeks.

A nearby branch cracked and then there was silence. Arturo stopped his horse and looked around. Someone was watching him. Bandits? He jumped off Sheila and tied her to a nearby tree. Whoever had made that sound was being awfully quiet now. Arturo drew his sword and headed deeper into the forest. He didn’t want to be too far away from his horse, just far enough away to spring whatever trap he was walking into and keep Sheila alive.

Fifteen steps in and all he could hear was the chirping of birds. “I know you’re out there. Come out and get this over with,” Arturo said impatiently.

For a moment, there was no response. Then people started coming out of the trees. In a few short seconds, Arturo was surrounded by ten people, five women and five men. They don’t look like bandits, he thought. None of them was dressed alike, wearing different armor and equipped with all sorts of weapons. One was carrying a long spear, but had no armor. Another was wearing fancy gold armor, with a big hammer. But all of them wore an insignia of what looked like wavy silver lines, with a faded person behind them.

“Who are you?” Arturo asked, watching each of them closely. They didn’t look like amateurs.

The one in front of him took another step forward. He was a handsome man, with dirty blond hair and green eyes. His armor was dark silver and in his hands was a quarterstaff. “We are the Whispering Mists. You may also know us as the guardians of Aidris.”

Arturo had heard that name before; his father had told him about them. They worked in the shadows to help keep the peace and assist nations in need, along with helping ordinary people. Unlike mercenaries, they only took donations and didn’t require payment to help, unless someone wanted them to do a mission, like hunting down a dangerous criminal. Only a select few could join the group as they were all specialized warriors. Each person had to offer something special, whether it was a skill, fighting, or healing ability. Rumors had spread when he was in Vandalor that the Whispering Mists were defending a town against the rebels.

“What do you want?” Arturo said. Nobody moved. Were they trying to recruit him? No. The others were preparing to fight. Had they been following him since this morning or longer?

“You have been charged with killing twelve guards at Urantis.”

Arturo said nothing, which made the leader’s smile grow. “I thought so. You are to come with us and talk to our leader. Your fate will be decided there.”

“And if I refuse?” Arturo smiled at them, trying to seem as confident as possible. The Whispering Mists had a reputation he couldn’t take lightly. This fight would be much harder than the one against the guards.

“We’ll try to take you alive, though there’s a good chance you’ll die.”

Would this be where he died? Arturo couldn’t surrender, that would be a death sentence.

“Very well.”

The moment the words left his lips, the attacks began. First, someone threw a spear at him. Arturo moved quickly, trying to close the distance on the leader. The spear landed to the side and within seconds he was swinging his sword at the leader.

If the quarterstaffer was surprised, he didn’t show it. He knocked Arturo’s sword aside, redirecting the blade. Everything became chaotic as the other fighters engaged him. All he could do was block. An axe came close to hitting him, while a swordsmen tried to cut off his leg. Each move was precise, trying to keep him off balance.

Two of the women prodded at his sides with their spears, never getting close and backing off before he could counter. Arturo blocked a quarterstaff and dodged a few other attacks before finding some weaknesses.

He blocked and dodged a couple more strikes and then launched his counterattack. When both spears were coming at him, Arturo swung with all his might and cut the tips off the spears. Continuing the momentum, he swung again and broke past the guard of one of the spears, lightly cutting the woman in the chest.

Putting more strength into his attacks, Arturo shattered the axe head with his swing, causing the warrior to gasp in shock as his weapon was rendered useless. Smiling, he went in for the kill but was intercepted by the leader, who knocked aside his sword.

“Pull back, Wiltmar, we’ve got this,” the leader said and began attacking Arturo like crazy.

Each attack was forcing Arturo back and the other fighters weren’t letting up. Somehow, he had avoided being hit, though some attacks were getting awfully close. He blocked an attack, then reached out with his left hand and grabbed the quarterstaff, and yanked. The leader tumbled forward and Arturo headbutted him, breaking the cartilage of his nose.

“Gazan!” one of the warriors yelled behind and broke formation.

Arturo ducked a sword swing and kicked the swordsman in the chest. He split apart another staff and forced the other warriors to step back. He attacked one warrior with a large hammer and cut him deeply in the leg.

Despite how well the fight was going, Arturo couldn’t help being cautious. A few attacks had almost hurt him. These people were skilled and the fight was far from over.

The other fighters were looking less certain of themselves and Gazan was still on the ground, dazed, with blood pouring out of his nose. Arturo turned toward the leader and swung, ignoring the screaming behind him. Before his blade could come down, a woman with dark red hair intercepted his attack with two short swords, redirecting his blade to hit the ground instead, mere inches away from Gazan’s shoulder.

It’s over. Arturo waited for the attack that would end his life but she hesitated, giving him a chance to recover and block her counterattack. She was fast. Her sword strikes were blurs, yet she wasn’t perfect. If he waited another few seconds, he could split her guts open.

He was about to do so but found himself hesitating. There was something familiar about her; something in her dark brown eyes, yet he hadn’t known any women with red hair before.

Their fight went on for a few more seconds, then the women jumped back and adopted a neutral stance. She was smiling at him. “What? Don’t you recognize me?” she asked. The smile never left her face and she lowered her weapons. “Brother?”

The world stopped. It can’t be. Arturo felt hope blossoming in him. She was dead, burned alive in Arindall!

“Jen?” he asked. It was her. Her smile, her face, and the way she looked at him. There was no doubt that this was Jen. How?

Before she could respond, Gazan was on his feet, holding his nose with his right hand. “Retreat!” he yelled and grabbed Jen’s shoulder, turning her away.

“Don’t follow me,” Jen said, taking one last look at Arturo before disappearing into the woods.

Arturo wanted to follow but heeded her command. He couldn’t believe it. His sister was alive! Before he could fully comprehend this fact, the others were gone, leaving him to stand there by himself.

Jen’s alive! He thought over and over again. For the first time since the attack on Arindall, he felt something other than anger. Now he had to figure out how to talk with her, alone.