Horace waited within the bandit camp for the remaining members to return. Caressing the medallion he’d found. Polished gold and silver reflecting the light of the campfire.
Saphyr had long since left. Choosing not to risk the bandits getting the drop on the two of them. Taking what she needed from those they had killed to prove the job was done. Enough to get her reward, one that was likely not to be shared with Horace after his rash decision to stay behind.
Not that it mattered to him. Answers would only come to him if he discovered who owned this medallion and why they had joined in with a group of bandits. With any luck, there would be a survivor from Keep Ankaa arriving to camp to greet the living son of Andreas.
Father. He couldn’t lie. Part of him hoped that somehow it had been his parents that lived. Hiding as common thieves as they tried to avenge their home. But he wouldn’t let such dreams weigh on his heart. Knowing the crushing weight of disappointment that would wash over him if he allowed himself to believe it possible. Letting himself think rationally, he would only allow himself to believe a knight of the Keep would greet him. Though he would need to find a way to talk to the bandits before they attacked, or he had to kill them over their fallen comrades. That would be the tricky part in all of this.
Sunset was upon him when he heard the heavy shuffling of footfalls approaching from the north end of camp. Before long, a lone bandit came into view. His golden hair disheveled; bloodstains covered his furs, his left eye cried crimson as he kept it shut, what appeared to be claw marks racing down that half of his face. A splintered polearm was all that remained of his weapon; the man using it as a support as one leg had gone lame from his previous encounter.
Whoever this man was, he had been in a fierce battle recently. Unfamiliar with the local wildlife, Horace was unable to guess what had attacked him but based on the injuries it was large and powerful. The man barely escaped with his life.
And then the man spotted Horace by the fire. Barely clinging to life, the man attempted to position himself into a combat stance. Succumbing to his wounds and crashing to the dirt. “Just kill me,” the man groaned. Face-down in the dirt, tired of holding on. “I’ve lost everything, might as well show me mercy.”
“There would be no honor in killing you,” Horace answered. Keeping his distance in case the man was trying to lull him into a trap. The likeliness of such a thing was low, but he couldn’t be too careful in moments like this.
Clutching the medallion, he continued. “I have some questions for you. First off, are you the leader of this bandit group?”
The man sneered. “No, if I was they would all still be alive. I assume you weren’t alone when you killed these men. No matter how skilled you were, you could not have pulled that off. Next question.”
Horace came close to denying the claim that he could have taken all those left at camp on his own. Proud of both his skill and heritage, he wished to let the man know who he was addressing. After catching himself, Horace went on. “Next, I found a medallion with the crest of the phoenix. Is this yours? Or did it belong to one who has already lost their life?”
Mention of the medallion caused the man to raise his head. Dead eyes looked to Horace. Pleading for the sweet release of death. “It’s mine,” he finally answered. “Or, it was. A long time ago, but I’m no longer the man who wore that with pride. No longer worthy of the praise that trinket represents.”
“You were a knight of Keep Ankaa? What is your name?”
“What’s it to you? The Vickery family has died. There’s nothing left of my old life.”
“What is your name?”
“Callum,” the man said. “But when I wore that sigil I went by another name, Leon. Leon Stonebrand.”
“Stonebrand?” Horace gasped. “You’re Stonebrand?!”
“So, you’ve heard of me?” there was both pride and pity in the man’s voice. “Well, I’m not the legend you’ve heard about, now am I? No, I’m nothing more than a broken man for you to insult and mistreat. Go on, get your jeers in.”
“I would never,” Horace bellowed. Making his way over to the fallen man. “I could never speak ill of the man who trained me. The man my father trusted to look after me as I traveled to tournaments in my youth.” As he approached Leon—or Callum as he had adopted—Horace could see life returning to the weathered soldier’s gaze.
“Boy? Is that you?”
Horace nodded.
“I must have died, for I’m seeing a ghost.”
“No ghost, Leon. I’m alive. It’s me, Horace.”
Callum used what energy he had left to force out a wheeze of a cough. “I can’t believe my eyes. I thought I was the only one.”
Gently as he could, Horace helped his old teacher back to his feet. Being his support as they marched to the campfire. Nestling the wounded man by the flames, Horace went to fetch some food and ale for the old man. “How did you end up out here? Working with bandits?”
“When Ankaa was attacked,” Callum spoke. Voice grave, each word held back tears. The stubborn old fool too prideful to let his student see him in a vulnerable state. “Your father tasked me with protecting your mother and baby brother. I begged him to let me fight by his side. But he said those two were more important than himself. Knowing your old man, he was right.”
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Horace arrived with some old bread and a canteen of ale. Handing them over to his teacher, he sat himself on the other side of the campfire. Listening patiently.
“When I found your mother, she was just as stubborn as your father. No wonder the two fell in love. She insisted I leave her behind as well. I tried to argue, I did. Tell her what old Andreas had told me. But she used that infernal power of hers. Silenced me. Then handed me the baby and told me to run. Couldn’t much fight with that bundle of blankets in my hands, so I listened.”
“Is Danish alive?” Horace interrupted. Exploding to his feet. “You got away with him, right? Left him somewhere safe? Where?”
“I left him nowhere,” answered the wounded man between mouthfuls of bread. “I was stuck down. Barely conscious. They must have thought my wound fatal, as did I, seeing as they didn’t see fit to finish me off then. Someone took your brother and carried him off. I do not know if the boy lives or not.”
Horace’s mood fell. For a moment, he had let himself hope. He knew better. It had just felt good to let himself hope, even for a moment. Regret now took that emotion’s place.
“But you live. This is great news.”
“What do you mean?”
“With you being alive, it means we can rebuild. I bet any lord worth his position would gladly let you wed their daughters. We can go to the king. He loved your father as a brother. We can get his help in restoring our home. Restore the Vickery bloodline. You as the new progenitor.”
Horace looked to the campfire, then to the medallion he held. Watching the flames dance in their reflection upon his family crest.
The phoenix: beast of myth, the eternal bird that rose from the ashes. Callum’s words rang true with his family. Never surrendering, always rising to the occasion.
He shook his head. “I can’t, not yet. Not while my family’s killers are still out there.”
Callum sighed. “Boy, no one knows who attacked your family. If they were hired by someone else, anything. Chasing them is just chasing the sun. You’ll only wind up exactly where you are now. Do not waste your life on revenge.”
“I can find them,” Horace snapped.
Callum glared at the boy. Even with only one eye and a battered and broken body, he was able to shut the boy down. “I never finished my story, Boy. Now listen well. I too dedicated my life to revenge. I can’t tell you the number of men I hunted down. The sheer number of dead men behind my blade, the blood that stained my hands. But I was never satisfied. Because I could never find the ones who took away my home.
“Then one day, when I was exhausted from prolonged hunts with little rest and meals, I lost. The bandits had every right to kill me. Every right to end my miserable existence. But the leader gave me a choice. The same one I’m giving you now. To die, or to build a new life. I cast aside my old self, and became the man I am today. A criminal of the land, but I’m alive because of it.”
“What we lost isn’t the same,” argued Horace. “I lost my home, my family, everything!”
“And you think I lost less? Boy, my wife, my daughter, your folks: the people I swore to defend. Look beyond yourself and think. Keep Ankaa was more than just a military power. A home for soldiers. Think of the town within its walls. The innocent lives who dwelled under your father’s rule. Or do they not matter compared to your privileged life?”
Horace went to speak. Hanging his head in shame as no words came to mind to fight against what he had just heard. Callum was right. “Leon, I’m—”
“Callum,” corrected the fallen knight.
“Callum, I’m sorry if it felt as though I was belittling the lives lost during the raid. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”
“Be glad you were away that night, Boy. Otherwise, we might not be having this talk.”
“But if I was there I—”
“Would have been told to run. As I’m sure Vincent was instructed to do. Though, why he was not asked to take your brother with him would be a mystery. Though, there’s the chance he was slain before he could try and run. The boy was never all that skilled with weapons. Hell, I bet the boy never even realized the Keep was under assault. With his nose in a book, the world was dead to him most days. He probably died before he finished his read, too. Never knowing how it ended because he was ended.”
Horace did not enjoy the way the knight was talking about his brother. There was no point in arguing about it, as he was completely right about how Vincent would have been. But it didn’t make it any better to listen to. Instead, he took the conversation in a different direction. “Now what will you do? Your bandit group has been … dismantled. And your leg, do you think you’ll ever walk on it again?”
Callum contemplated for a while. “What I’ll do, I can’t say. I could always open a school to teach the blade to the next generation. If I haven’t ruined my reputation too harshly these last few years. Or, I might join you in what endeavors you pursue. I am, after all, in service to your family. Which means I am sworn to be by your side and follow your orders.
“As for the leg,” he sounded less sure. “I have heard of miracle healers that live not far from here.” He pointed out into the distance.
Just visible above the trees one could see the peak of Kane’s Refuge, the tallest caldera in Caembra. “Legends speak of three sisters who can heal any wound. For the right price. We could wait and see if nature wants me to continue on, or brave our way there and pray the legends to be true. What is your choice, my liege?”
“Don’t call me that,” ordered Horace. “You are my teacher, and an old friend. You may address me by my name. Titles are too formal for the bond we have formed.”
Callum laughed.
“Is there something wrong with what I’ve said?”
“No. You just truly are Andreas’ child. I’m glad to see you inherited not only his looks, and skills, but also his flame. You would make him proud if he saw you now.”
Horace tried to hide the fact his face flushed red. If he was successful or not, he was unsure. And he was not about to ask. Instead, he turned back to the barely visible peak. It’s only a legend. And that trip would take days to make on foot alone. If I had to help him hobble, we might never get there.
“We’ll head to a nearby town first,” Horace decided. “Have a doctor look at that leg of yours. Make sure it won’t heal on its own before we surrender ourselves to an old legend.”
“Yes, I agree. And if our hope lies in a legend, then at least in town we can buy ourselves means for easier travel.”
For once, Horace felt like the leader his father had been. Is that the call you would have made? Little time to ponder these things, he turned back to Callum. “We should rest here for the night. I’ll get to dressing your wounds. Things are bad enough without infections.”
“Rest does sound inviting,” agreed Callum. He finished off his drink before letting Horace escort him to a tent.
In time, the two would be on their way. Tonight, though it would be minor, the two would celebrate. No longer the final survivor of Keep Ankaa. The world seemed a better place if only for a moment. There was something there they had both missed. Something they could never have replaced no matter how far and wide they traveled. Home.