Chapter 2

Duren breathed deep and hoisted the bag onto his shoulders, the sun was setting and he was already quite a distance away from the old man's home and well into the woods. He had set out as soon as he and the old man had eaten and he had been able to pack the essentials, things like food, clothes, a medium-sized sack of coins, and of course his whetstone and oil. Duren looked around at the surroundings and found a good spot for camping for the night sheltered against a cluster of boulders that provided a sort of windbreak. Setting his pack against the rocks he went about gathering small branches for a fire.

It was an interesting feeling, being truly on his own like this. He didn't remember the time before, before the old man had found and rescued him from bandits, a fact that when he had said it to him when he was younger the old man had laughed off, after all, no babe remembered its youngest days. It had always seemed odd to him, thinking that the old man wasn't his father, simply someone that had taken him in, but he had been adamant about not being called father, though he did refer to himself that way, and refer to Duren as his son. He had once said something about not being Duren's father, but simply his old man, which now that Duren thought about it probably was when he had stopped calling him Holviti, and had rather started calling him The Old Man.

In truth, the old man wasn't that old, in his early-fifties or so, but with the build of a man in his third decade not his fifth. No doubt a result of the vigorous regimen that he had put himself through, as well as, Duren from the tinder age of four years old. He smiled as a memory of the first wooden sword he had been given, he had been five years old, and the small wooden stick that had been whittled to roughly resemble a sword his size had made him so proud. He still had a piece of the wood that had formed that first blade, a small bead polished round from rubbing hands and strung around his neck with a leather thong.

He had made sure to visit the graves of his parents before he had left, unmarked as it was, the two mounds had become overgrown with grass and native flowers. The feelings inside confused him as he stood over the graves of the people who brought him into the world. He had never really known what to feel when he visited them, after all he had no memory of them, vague or otherwise. In fact, the only emotions he really could associate with the people that had given him life was one of approval, approval of the actions they had taken. According to the old man his father had stood there with a shortsword in an attempt to hold off the bandits while his wife fled with Duren in her arms. And as for his mother, she had apparently shielded his small form from arrows as she ran, holding on long enough for Holviti to get to her.

They had been brave, and had sacrificed for him who could not defend himself. Duren only hoped he could live up to such examples of heroism.

It didn't take long to find a fallen pine that had been there for at least a year or more if the rot was anything to go by. Using a knife he cut off several dry branches and was even able to hack apart a small rotten section of the tree and get a few larger pieces of wood about as thick as his wrist.

It was autumn, meaning it had yet to truly drop down into the bitter days of winter, that didn't mean the nights were pleasant, which was why Duren wanted the fire. He looked at the pile of twigs and leaves that he had piled in a small pyramid and nodded in satisfaction. Before taking out his fire striker which he had stowed in his leather pack and making sure it was ready to be used. The striker consisted of a small horseshoe of steel that he could fit two fingers in, but where a horseshoe would be open in a U shape, the ends of the striker were bent together so that they touched. A small chert stone about the size of his thumb also played a crucial role in the process but the real important piece was the small leather sack that held the reedmace seeds.

Reedmace was a tall plant that grew in the swampy areas and near rivers and streams, it had a brown tuft at the top of it that when it went to seed would break apart and reveal a soft fluff that was perfect for fire-starting when fully dried.

Wrapping a wad of the seed around the chert stone he struck the edge of it with the steel striker. A few sparks flew but did not catch, it took a few more strikes before he had the reedmace holding an ember. Leaning over carefully, he laid it in the center of the small pyramid of small sticks, dried grass, and leaves. Within about a minute or two he had a decent-sized fire going after feeding it dry rotted wood before adding old seasoned sticks of wood slightly larger than what he had used to start the fire. He leaned back against the rocks, pulling a section of salted sausage out of his bag that he had set down next to the stump of a small tree with some bright yellow moss growing on the north side, he heated it over the fire and ate it with a few slices of bread and some watered wine. Fully fed, he smiled to himself as he straightened his gambeson and used his pack as a pillow, laying down between the fire and the boulders. Watching the flame dance and pop, consuming the wood. From where he was right now it was only two days of good marching to get to the nearest proper city.

From there, who knew where he would go? The prospects were positively intoxicating, and it took quite some time for him to fall asleep...

***

There it was again.

Duren closed his eyes and listened, the sound was distant, distant but distinct at the same time. If he had to put his finger on it, it sounded like the clash of metal on metal, but it didn't have the same sort of ring as when he dueled with the old man, there was no cadence, no rhythm, it was just chaotic, and beyond that if he listened closely he could make out the sounds of voices raised in what could either be exhilaration, fear or perhaps rage. It was hard to tell at this distance. He was perhaps a day out from the city, meaning it wasn't out of the question for there to be people out and about,. But if he had to guess this sounded like a battle of some sort.

He contemplated for a moment whether or not he should go investigate. The old man had told him time and time again about lords and ladies attempting to force him into their conflicts, who after all wouldn't want the legendary swordsman on their side?

In the end the sounds of screams drew him closer, after all, he could look, and if it was two groups of troops duking it out or something then all he had to do was slip back out and go around. It might not be people fighting, the old man had said Bel’vyru had become increasingly aggressive over the past few months, and if someone needed his help...

It took another two or three minutes to pinpoint the location and to make his way there. Duren was quick, but this was after all unfamiliar terrain to him, so he was slightly slowed. The first thing he was able to make out of the battle was a smashed wagon. It looked like no one had been in the way of the blow, in fact it looked like the horse's leads had been cut untethering the beast from its burden. The steel axles that had supported the heavy wooden frame were bent in the middle, a result of some form of impact on the top of the wagon which had smashed open crates and spilled bolts of fine-looking fabrics and pelts everywhere. The wooden spoked and iron-shod wheels were twisted and deformed, and flung every which direction.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Very few things could have caused such damage to this cart, and seeing as Duren couldn't see any trees that had fallen, the most likely option was an ogre, a troll, or a cyclops. All three of which were known to wander the wooded areas not too far south of here. Duren glanced around making sure that there were no goblins in sight, then quickly dropped his pack by the ruined wagon’s left rear wheel, pulled his blade free of the scabbard, and resting the bare blade on his right shoulder he rushed forward.

It didn't take long for him to start making out the true first area of battle. The small humanoid forms of goblins littered the ground, perhaps five or six that he could see. They were emaciated looking creatures, grey-skinned and large-headed, with a twisted ugly child's face and spindly arms and legs that looked like they would have trouble holding up anything, let alone the rusty looted weapons they seemed to prefer, as Duren had never seen them with a maintained weapon before. Their small forms lay in pools of their own crimson, clothed in bones, fur, and bits of stolen armor, stinking like death itself, though that was likely how they had smelled even when they had been living.

He bounded over them, paying them no mind and going around the bend in the road, there he found the battle propper. There had to be twenty of the little grey bastards jumping in and out of combat, rushing around and growling and grunting in their guttural language. And there at the center of their numbers, likely in the role of leader, as that was the way of these things, was a cyclops.

Cyclops aren't known for their intelligence, or their good looks, that much was for sure. Rather they were known for their tough stone-like bluish-grey skin, their massive twenty-foot size, the sheer strength they possessed, which was more than enough to rip a decent sized tree out of the ground and to use it as a basic club, and of course that one massive eye that took up the majority of their face. They also had a series of tusks that thrust out of the corners of their mouths, giving them the look of a mocking permanent grin that twisted their face.

The goblins and their cyclopean master had a group of humans on the run, or rather they had a group of humans who had been attempting to run up to the point that one of the wheels had broken off, causing the carriage to stop in its tracks. A group of large men were lifting the cart up as another attempted to slide a new wheel on. The wagon itself looked like it had a few too many horses tied to the front, likely they had sacrificed the cart Duren had found and had taken the horses that had pulled that load in order to attach them to the more valuable of the carts and allowing them all to flee with more speed. At least in theory that is, to Duren it looked like the weight of two carts worth of people along with the contents of the wagon had been more than the wheel could handle.

In order to give the men the time required to fix the wheel three people were fighting a losing battle against the forces arrayed against them. Unlike the large men fixing the wagon all threes of these were dressed in what could only be described as a uniform of sorts. They were mostly white with sky-blue highlights and trim as well as what looked like a steel breastplate . It was hard to see exactly but from what Duren could make out it was a full body suit, well fitting but not tight, covering them from the tips of their feet to the tips of their fingers, and all the way up to their necks. There was also a sort of cape or cloak that was pinned on one shoulder and another section of loose cloth around the waist, split to allow freedom of movement, for both males and females, It seemed the only real armor they wore was a small breastplate that only covered their upper chest section, leaving the entire stomach section covered only by the suit underneath.

All three of them had thrown themselves into combat with skill and enthusiasm, or at least that was what it looked like to Duren. As he rushed forward, closing the distance as quickly as his legs would carry him they dodged and weaved through the crude blades of the goblins, dealing death and maiming with each movement. They were wisely staying out of the reach of the cyclops and his club, which looked to have at one time been a medium sized tree that had the branches removed, at least they were keeping out of the way for the time being.

As Duren watched the lumbering beast lost interest in the three of them and started to make his way through them towards the stuck wagon, in response one of the men and the woman rushed the Cyclops from both its right and left. This however was exactly what the creature wanted, they might not be smart in the same way a person was, but they weren't stupid. It swung its massive club at them, the guy was able to dance back, but the woman, being the one on the right side and thus closer to the attack with less time to react caught the blow mid chest with such force she was thrown back twenty feet where she landed and lay still.

Everything seemed to freeze at that moment, the goblins, the two still standing fighters, the people working on the wagon, everything but the cyclops that was. With speed that such a creature should not be able to achieve, it reached forward and grabbed the man on its left with a bare hand, lifting him up like he was a small toy. He screamed as the cyclops squeezed, though the screaming stopped with a series of disturbing snaps. The man's eyes rolled back into his head and pink froth bubbled from his mouth. Bringing the fighter up to its single massive eye the Cyclops roared at him, and receiving no response simply cast the broken body aside.

The last remaining fighter screamed in outrage and pain, and looked like he was going to rush the beast, which would have no doubt been certain death. Fortunately for him Duren was there, and giving off his own scream, though his was more of a battle cry he crashed into the last ranks of goblins between him and the last standing fighter.

The goblins hadn't been expecting an attack from behind and he was able to scythe through them. He ran one through from behind, the blade breaking through the creatures small grey sternum, and pulling the blade free he lashed out to his right side, cutting off another's head, and the forearm of a third, who had seen the blow coming and raised his arm in a vain attempt to block. It only took a few more swings and they were scattering before him, screaming and running in any and every direction.

Goblins weren't known for their bravery, that much was for sure.

The cyclops turned to see what had its minions in such a panic and was quite incensed by the man rushing it, turning away from its old prey it swung its club horizontal, sweeping it parallel to the ground in an attempt to sweep away Duren. Seeing this move coming Duren slid feet first under the blow, using his forward momentum on the loose-packed dirt of the road. It passed overhead and he contracted his stomach muscles, explosively kicking himself up off of the ground and back on his feet. Now within ten feet of the thing, he rushed forward towards it.

The cyclops used the momentum of its swing to bring the club up over its shoulder on the right side, and grabbing it in both hands swung downward with all its might. Smiling to himself in grim satisfaction Duren rushed forward, diving between the massive monster's legs in a roll. He stopped his slide with his feet and one hand, holding the blade off to the side to make sure as to not stab himself or lose his grip on it. The ground bounced under him as the massive club hit the ground. In the split second the creature was crouched over, its back still bent from the blow he sprang forward, leaping up and scrambling up its back. With a roar the creature tried to straighten up, and reach back in an attempt to either grab Duren or throw him off. Duren however was already up and was much faster, placing both feet on the cyclops's shoulders he tensed and pushed off straight up as hard as he could, leaping into the air.

The cyclops looked up, its singular eye wide in surprise, and as Duren fell he inverted the blade, pointing it down towards the creature. His momentum drove it straight through the pupil as gravity reasserted its dominance over him. The long blade of his sword, specifically designed for thrusting, easily slid through the soft watery flesh until it was buried crossguard, deep. He landed on its shoulder again and grabbing the pommel he started stirring the blade around, working it back and forth as the creature shuddered. It started to tip forward, dead on its feet and Duren pulled the blade free before leaping off to the side, and rolling to dissipate the force of his impact. The ground shuddered, almost as much as the way it had when the club had hit.

Duren stood to his feet and swung the blade one-handed, the pinkish liquid splattering everywhere in front of him. The few remaining goblins looked at him for a second, and those that hadn't fled before quickly joined their brethren as they made mad dashes towards the forest.