Svorbald and the stranger, whose name Svorbald had been told three times and forgotten three times, sat beneath a sweeping oak as the rain hammered the ground around them.

“Some adventure this,” Svorbald muttered.

“Wouldn’t be adventure without the odd setback!” his companion declared merrily, taking a swig from a leather flask.

Svorbald considered setting this annoying man back. Setting him back about thirty feet below the nearby river! He chuckled at his own joke and then eyed the man’s flask. “Are you going to share?”

He caught the thrown flask and took a deep swig. A moment later he was spitting the contents all over the forest floor. “What in Tenatun’s arse is this?”

“Water,” the man said with a shrug.

“Water? Water!” Svorbald swore. “There better be ale in one of your other flasks!”

“I don’t have any other flasks. Or any ale. You drank it all before we left.”

Svorbald narrowed his eyes. “Then we go. Now!” he declared, pushing himself to his feet and striding out into the pouring rain.

“Wait!” The little man yelled, running to keep up. “Where are you going?” The heavy rain took the volume from his words.

“To Fairmount village. Where your stupid beast is. There will be an inn there, and I intend to drink!”

“Fairmount village is a day's walk at least,” the little man yelled.

Svorbald stopped. Rain beat against his brow and matted his long hair to his scalp. “What? Well, why didn’t you say! We have no provisions. No bed rolls. No food. No drink!”

“Not true. I have a bed roll. And provisions. Food and drink.” The man patted the lump beneath his heavy cloak.

“Well, I don’t.”

The stranger shrugged again.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Svorbald growled.

"I did. You were too busy asking about princesses to listen.”

Svorbad closed his eyes. Inhaled noisily, and exhaled even more so. He reminded himself of the princess he would buy with the gold torc. Or the ale. Whichever was easier. Probably the ale. “Then what are we going to do?” he asked through a clenched jaw. The little man’s cloak had a hood, for which Svrobald was supremely jealous. He would have taken it, if the thing hadn’t looked like it would barely fit a child.

“I suggest we make camp.”

Overhead, the evening sky began to darken as the sun gave up its feeble attempt to penetrate the clouds, and made way for the moon.

“Where?”

“Well, I thought beneath that fine oak might be a good choice.” The man pointed to the tree they had been sheltering under moments ago. Svorbald was sure he could see a smile on his pale lips.

Fortunately for Svorbald, sleep had never been hard to find. Shivering, hungry, and more than a little furious, he wrapped his thick arms around his body and was, within moments, snoring. Angrily.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He awoke, still angry, but less so than he had been. Somewhere nearby came the smell of roasting meat. His body ached and groaned as he moved into a sitting position. His clothes were still damp and mud-stained.

“Good morning.” The Stranger threw his eyes to the sun high in the sky. “Just about.”

Svorbald hawked. “Meat?”

“Rabbit,” the man said happily.

“You had a rabbit?”

“I caught a rabbit.”

“With what?”

The stranger pulled forth a small sling from his cloak.

“Huh.” And Svorbald said no more, for he already had a piece of cooked leg in his mouth. He tore into it sloppily. It was burned and tough and quite horrendous. With breakfast done, Svorbald’s good mood returned. The sun was undisturbed by clouds. Its heat dried his clothes and warmed his bones.

They pushed on through the day and the afternoon, Svorbald found himself drifting into a lazy peace. His legs were long and strong and he felt he could cross the whole world and not tire. Around him, the trees gave way to long stretches of yellowed farmland. The birdsong was replaced by the chirps of insects and, despite the road they travelled being well used, there was nobody else to be seen.

Svorbald found a fallen branch, almost as tall as he, and stuck it in the ground before him as he walked. He felt it added to the scene. To an outsider, it would make him look like a daring man of the woods.

“Do you know there are ants all over that thing?” the stranger's question ruined Svorbald's peace.

“What?” Svrobald grunted. He glanced down at his hand that grasped the branch. Dozens of small black ants scurried around his knuckles. He yelled and threw the stick into the dirt. The stranger chuckled. Svorbald fought the urge to punch him.

“Pick it up. You’ll need it, I’d wager.”

“You pick it up.”

“Oh for Tenatun’s sake.” The stranger flicked the ants from the makeshift staff and hefted it, waving it at Svorbald. “There!”

“Why do you say I will need it?” Svorbald asked, taking back his staff.

“We’re here. There is the village.” The older man waved a finger at the horizon.

Svorbald shielded his eyes from the sun with one hand. Sitting beneath the skyline was a row of grey-brown bumps. He raised his tree branch and grinned. “Finally! Ale! Come.”

Svorbald ran across the open fields, and was quite surprised when he reached the palisade gate to find the stranger had kept pace beside him.

“Who are you?” Grunted a rough-looking man in a rough-looking uniform. He stood in the mouth of the gate, lazily leaning one shoulder on a wooden post.

“We’re here for an ass,” Svorbald grunted.

The guard arched an eyebrow.

“Are you deaf, man? Move!” Svorbald could feel his anger rising.

“Deaf am I?” The guard said, pushing himself to his full height.

Beside him, Svorbald's companion sighed.

Svorbald’s eyes narrowed. “Let us aside little man,” he said, tossing the staff from one hand to the other, ignoring the fact the guard was as tall as he.

The guard chuckled. “‘Ere! Lucian. Egg. Randall. This man here isn’t being very nice.” From a guardhouse Svorbald hand’t previously noticed, three equally rough-looking men stepped out. They all wore the same rusted-grey tunics, but there any similarities in their dress ended. Some had bronze armour pieces — one on his arm, another his leg. One even had a breastplate, though it was more dent than armour. All had weapons though, slung loosely around their waists.

“Are we gonna have to fight our way in?” Svorbald growled.

“I reckon you are,” the first guard smiled. The other three matched his grin and spread out in a semi-circle.

“Fine!” Svorbald spat. He turned to his companion, “you take the two on the left, I’ll take the two on the right.” Then Svorbald charged! He took the first guard by surprise, hammering a thunderous blow into the man’s chin. The second stumbled back, just as Svorbald swung his lump of wood at the guard’s jaw. It caught him cleanly and sent him tumbling. In an instant, his two guards were down. Svorbald filled his lungs and let out a victory bellow.

And then he blinked. His companion hadn’t moved. Instead, he looked at Svorbald with a look of disbelief, threw out his hands and shrugged his shoulders. Before Svorbald could say anything, one of the two remaining guards thumped him in the head with the hilt of a sword. Svorbald’s knees buckled. He swung a fist wildly, but another blow sent him tumbling to the floor. He kept just enough consciousness to feel himself being lifted from the ground. Someone had hold of his boots, someone else his shoulders.

“Pasht, I’ve lifted oxen that weighed less than this one!” He heard a guard hiss. Then their grips fell away and Svorbald was tumbled into a ditch. A moment later, something heavy landed on top of him. It was his companion, he realised, just as his own tree branch rushed towards his face and everything went black.