The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall

by Jason McWhirter

  She glanced over at Brant as he sat on one of the empty stools, and the first thing he noticed was her large green almond shaped eyes. Her straight hair, black as night, was cut just above her shoulders and framed her round sun tanned face. Her face was wide and flat, not terribly attractive, but her astonishing eyes and wide smile made up for those features. Simple clothes adorned her stocky frame, a long brown skirt of coarse wool, and a long sleeved muslin blouse, gathered loosely at her wrists, all of which was covered by a dirty apron stained with food and drink.

  She gave Brant a wide smile. “Welcome traveler, what can I do for ya?”

  Hungry and parched, Brant answered quickly, “Some reasonably priced food and drink. And would you know of anyone who needs any extra help? I’m looking for work.”

  She looked him up and down, seemingly appraising him. “Well, I can help with the food and drink, but Anders here will have to help with the latter.”

  As if on cue, the gray haired bartender turned around and set the large jug of ale on her tray. “Go on with your task, Kaylin, I will help the newcomer,” he said, not unkindly.

  Kaylin flashed her smile one more time before departing, bringing her tray to a table near the fire. Anders was short and stocky, with a build similar to Kaylin’s. His skin, too, was browned by the sun, though more weathered than Kaylin’s, with fine lines etched around his eyes and mouth. His silver gray hair hung to the base of his neck. Brant had heard of the Schulg, a nomadic warrior tribe living deep in the steppes, and he wondered if perhaps Anders and Kaylin had some Schulg blood in them. They certainly were not Dy’ainian and they looked similar to Schulg descriptions he had heard from his father.

  “We have a warm mutton pie or, if you prefer, a platter of dried meats, cheeses, and fresh bread and butter. I brew all the ale here myself, but we also have wine or water,” Anders said matter-of-factly, his demeanor brisk and businesslike, the complete opposite of the smiling serving girl.

  “How much for the meat pie? And I’ll just have water,” Brant replied, the warm food sounded wonderful.

  “Two tiggs.”

  “That’s reasonable. I’ll have a serving of that.”

  “Very good,” Anders said, departing through the door behind him.

  Brant eyed the barrels behind the bar and sure enough each one had a placard revealing the name of the brew. One was labeled Boar Piss, and another Kaylin’s Delight. A third was named Felina’s Tears. Brant figured they must be Argonians, as were most of the people in Dy’ain. In fact, if there were any who still followed the old gods they were well advised to keep it secret, for they were often persecuted, beaten or even killed. Brant had not been brought up to believe in any one faith, but his father had always advised him that if anyone asked, to just say he was Argonian. It wasn’t that Brant didn’t necessarily believe in Argon or Felina, it was just that he had not been raised in a religious environment. He did not know much about the beliefs or doctrines of any of the religions; therefore he had no basis on which to build a foundation of faith.

  Anders moved through the door and set a tray down in front of him containing a steaming meat pie, and a large cup of water. Then he turned around without a word and filled up a clay mug from the barrel labeled ‘Boar Piss’. Brant dug into the food with relish, looking up momentarily as Anders set the mug down next to him.

  “I didn’t…”

  “It’s on the house. Let me know what you think,” Ander’s said. Brant gave the man a guarded look, not quite knowing how to respond. “Thank you would be the proper response,” he added solemnly.

  Brant was not accustomed to people giving him anything so he was immediately wary. “Thank you.”

  Anders grunted acknowledgment and began to wipe clean a tray of mugs. “So you’re looking for work?”

  “I am.”

  “Where you coming from?”

  “The mines,” Brant mumbled through a mouthful of mutton. The pie was warm and delicious, with a rich and savory meat filling wrapped in a flaky thick pastry. He reached over and took a long drink of the ale. He wasn’t sure what to expect with a name like ‘Boar Piss’, and though he had never had the occasion to sample boar piss, he was certain that this did not taste like it. The ale was floral, with a smooth nutty flavor. There was just enough bitterness, countered with something sweet, maybe honey or something fruity. It was delicious. Brant took another swallow, paused, and looked at Anders appreciatively, a smile beginning to form on his face. Anders continued wiping down the mugs, seemingly unconcerned, but he was looking straight at Brant, patiently waiting for a response. The barkeep smiled back, showing his first sign of emotion.

  “Good isn’t it?”

  “It’s the best ale I’ve ever had.” Brant wasn’t lying. Although he hadn’t sampled many ales, this was the best he had tasted.

  “I know someone, a man named Kaan with a farm half a day’s walk north. His wife died recently and he may need help. He’s raising two kids and trying to run a farm. I don’t know what he can offer you, but if anyone around town needs help, it’s him.”

  “I’ll go see him tomorrow. How much for a room tonight and breakfast in the morning?” Brant asked.

  “I can give you a room and breakfast for a silver. If you’d like I can have a bath drawn for an extra tigg.”

  Brant thought about it. The price was fair, and the bath, although a luxury, sounded amazing, and a tigg was not a huge expense. “That sounds fair. And I’ll take you up on the bath.”

  Ander’s nodded. “Enjoy the food and ale. I’ll let you know when the bath is ready.” The barkeep left again through the door, leaving Brant to enjoy his meal.

  Brant departed first thing in the morning after a warm meal of smoked ham, eggs, and a large biscuit lathered in creamed butter and honey. He had never felt so content. His belly was full of delicious food, and the long hot bath had cleaned his body and soothed his mind. And hopefully he would have work soon enough.

  Anders had been correct in his estimation. Brant reached the small farm in less than half a day following a rough cart trail along Bygon Creek. It was a nice spot to build a home. The farm sat in a clearing in the center of a copse of trees, one of the few Brant had seen along the road that paralleled the creek. The walls of the small square farmhouse were built of stone, forming a square base on which logs rested on the top connected together at the peak of the thatched roof. Trees were relatively scarce on the steppe, and most of the structures in this region were built of stone. Some settlers, however, chose to live in bilts, making it easy to pick up and leave if necessary. The stone farmhouse had several shuttered windows and one main door, the wood planks connected by black iron bands. The structure looked strong, built for protection and practicality, not luxury. Brant also saw a large barn made of wood and surrounded by a fence, which at the time seemed to house several cows and pigs. The owner must have traveled far, harvesting the few trees that grew along the creek to get enough wood to build the barn.

  The path led away from the creek to the edge of the property, where Brant stopped, not wanting to startle anyone. He looked around but didn’t see anyone. “Hello! Is anyone home?!” he shouted.

  A few moments later the door opened slowly and a young dark haired girl peeked out. She looked to be about thirteen, and her face and apron were covered with white dust. She must be baking he thought.

  “Stay inside, Jana,” a voice came from Brant’s right, from the barn. Brant looked and saw a man approach, holding a crossbow aimed at his chest. “Who are you?”

  Brant’s heart began to pound as he quickly tried to assess the situation, wondering if he could reach the man before he fired the weapon. But his initial defensive reaction dissipated quickly as the logical part of his mind realized the man was just protecting his family and home from a possible intruder. “My name is Brant,” he said, lifting his hands harmlessly. “I’m just a traveler looking for work. The barkeep in town, Anders, mentioned that you might need some help.”

  Kaan
lowered the crossbow but continued to eye Brant with suspicion. He was shorter than Brant, but older, probably in his forties. Out of habit from his fights, Brant always sized men up, and Kaan, despite the fact that he was almost a head shorter than Brant, looked as if he could handle himself. His shirtsleeves were rolled up at his elbows, and Brant noticed his strong forearms, heavily muscled and adorned with several scars. His curly brown hair was long, cut at the base of his neck, his headband, damp with sweat, kept the curly locks off his face, which was covered with fresh stubble. He wore the clothes of a simple farmer, and at a casual glance would have looked completely unassuming, minus the crossbow of course. But it was his eyes that drew Brant’s attention. They were hard, suspicious, and Brant had no doubt that this man had seen violence before. “Where you coming from?” he asked gruffly.

  “The Kul-brite mines northwest of here.”

  “Why did you leave?” he asked, stepping closer but keeping the crossbow at the ready. Kaan swept his dark eyes over Brant, appraising the newcomer just as Brant had assessed him.

  “My father died,” Brant said, shrugging matter-of-factly. “There was no place for me at the camp. And I did not want to live out my life in the mines.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  Kaan finally seemed to relax. He stepped closer and raised his hand in greeting. But his eyes continued to convey the message that he was not to be trifled with. “My name is Kaan.” They shook hands. “You look strong, and Anders is right. I could use some help. But I cannot pay you. All I can offer is a roof to sleep under and food to fill your belly. And if you don’t mind that that roof I’m speaking of is the barn, then I’d be obliged to have you for the planting season. Keep in mind, I fought in the king’s army. I don’t know you, and trust comes with time, so rest assured that if you mean us harm, you will wish you hadn’t come to my door.”

  Brant nodded his head silently, convinced that the farmer was not boasting. He glanced at the barn. It looked sturdy enough. “The barn looks fine. I’ll be honest with you. I do not know anything about farming or raising animals. But I’m strong and a hard worker. And you need not fear my intentions.”

  “Fair enough. Most of what we do is manual labor, and I can teach you the rest.” Kaan walked back toward the barn. “I’ll show you where you can sleep in the barn. You can drop your possessions there and come inside and meet my children.”

  The first few weeks with Kaan went by quickly. Work started at sunrise and didn’t stop until sunset. Brant was used to hard work, and he found that he enjoyed the change of pace from swinging a pick and hammer, although those practiced movements came in handy when chopping wood, one of his many chores. Brant learned to take care of the animals first and foremost. Kaan had three cows, a bull, two horses, four pigs, and ten chickens. They all needed to be fed and their stalls needed to be cleaned. On top of that Brant was required to keep their wood supply full. That meant he had to hike a considerable distance to find suitable trees, chop them down, limb them, quarter them, and bring the wood back. He used a wheeled cart pulled by one of the horses to haul the wood long distances.

  After three weeks of getting accustomed to performing the household chores, Kaan brought Brant into the fields to teach him the basics of farming. They were well into spring and it was time to start plowing the fields. Brant learned that they grew potatoes, corn, and wheat. Kaan also had a small personal garden near the house where they grew a larger variety of foods, including onions, tomatoes, and turnips. In addition to running the farm, they had to harvest the vast fields of grass that covered the steppes to provide hay for the animals during the winter. The hay was stored in the loft in the barn. The horses were used to pull the plow, which cut into the soil, turning it and getting it ready for seed. It was often backbreaking labor, but there was something about the monotony of it that Brant enjoyed. It gave him time to think. He knew he could not stay at the farm forever, yet he needed to have a plan before venturing further.

  It didn’t take long for him to develop a relationship with Kaan and his family. His daughter, Jana, was kind and hardworking, taking care of most of the house chores and cooking. Tobias, Kaan’s ten year old son was full of energy. Kaan spent a lot of time with Tobias, teaching him, as well as Brant, the skills of a farmer. And one evening, while he was teaching his son the basics of sword play, Brant learned that Kaan had not exaggerated about his ability to defend himself.

  It was near dark. Jana was preparing a meal of grilled tulkick with fried onions and potatoes. Brant learned early on that whenever he left the farm to tend the crops or find wood to always take a crossbow, just in case he were to come across any wild game. The steppes were full of plump rabbits and tulkicks, a small ungulate that roamed the steppes feeding on the plentiful grasses. Brant was not great with the crossbow, but he was learning, and on several occasions had managed to shoot some rabbit and even a kip, a small wild chicken. They were bony, but Brant was proud nonetheless.

  One could not always depend on a consistent supply of wild game, but this night they were going to eat well. Kaan had shot a tulkick that day and everyone was excited about having fresh meat for dinner. However, this was the time of day, just before dark, when Kaan spent a little time teaching his son the basics of sword fighting. Kaan had two blades racked by the door, one his infantry long sword from his days in the Dy’ainian Legion, and the other a lighter blade that he had purchased for his late wife.

  Brant was leaning against the fence that housed the cows, watching the two move through the basic formations that they had been working on.

  “Dad, this sword is too heavy,” Tobias complained.

  “That is good. It will build muscle. A swordsman must be strong to wield a blade. Now, try it again,” Kaan instructed.

  Tobias gritted his teeth and lifted the blade with both hands. Brant had to admit that the blade looked way too big for him. But he also knew from his days swinging a hammer that Kaan was right. He remembered his first days at the mines, and how heavy the hammer felt. But after a while it began to seem lighter, and he could swing it with more agility and force. He had gotten stronger, and the same would happen to Tobias if he continued to swing the heavy weapon. Kaan came at Tobias swinging his blade in a slow arc. He was trying to teach Tobias to not react naturally by backing away from the strike, and to counter the swing with an offensive move of his own. Tobias lifted the blade straight up, stepping forward just a touch. Their blades hit with a clang and Tobias grunted, pushing his father’s blade down and away from him.

  Brant grinned as Kaan stepped back, smiling at his boy. “Good. Now look what you did. When you stepped into my swing, blocking it, it allowed you to get close enough to attack me. You could kick me, shoulder charge me, or, if you were fast enough, reverse direction with your blade and cut me across my stomach. Good job, Son.”

  Tobias flashed a smile, but it disappeared quickly. “But, Father, I’m not fast or strong enough to do any of those things,” he said with a frown.

  Kaan walked over to his son and ruffled his curly hair. “Not now, but you will be. I have no doubt.”

  Tobias smiled and ran over to Brant. “Brant, did you see that?”

  “I did. It took strength to block that swing. Well done.”

  “Why don’t you give it a try?” Tobias said, handing Brant the heavy blade.

  Brant gripped the leather handle and lifted the blade with one hand. The blade was heavy, but it was nothing compared to the hammers he had swung in the mines. He had to admit that the sword felt good in his hand, although he knew nothing about sword fighting.

  “That is a good idea. Have you used a blade before?” Kaan asked, motioning for Brant to enter the dirt area they were using as a practice yard.

  “No, never.”

  “Let’s start slow, with you following my lead so you can get used to the weight and movement,” Kaan instructed. Brant nodded his head, lifting the blade before him.

  Kaan started by swi
nging his sword down slowly and Brant met the attack by bringing his own sword to bear to block it. He then attacked Brant from the other direction, keeping his movements slow so Brant could follow him. They moved across the dirt as they slowly traded blow for blow, their blades meeting high, low, to the side, and directly in front of them. The sword was getting heavier, but Brant’s strength allowed him to keep up so far with no problem. Even the vibration he felt when their swords clanged together did not hinder him much, accustomed as he was to the far stronger impact and heavy blows of pick and hammer on unyielding stone. Brant now realized how Kaan had developed such strong muscular forearms. Gradually Kaan increased the speed of his movements until both of them were sweating profusely. Finally he stopped and lowered his blade.

  “Very good, Brant. I can see that working the mines has given you great arm strength. That will benefit you greatly if you ever want to be a swordsman.”

  Brant hadn’t ever given serious thought to being a swordsman. Of course, most boys admired warriors and dreamed of becoming one. They imagined the feel of a long sword dangling from their belt and beautiful maidens swooning over them. He had to admit that when he had watched the wardens back at the mines, he had definitely been envious of their position and status. And he’d never really believed that he too could possibly become a swordsman. He chuckled softly. Just a few months ago he never would have thought he would be anywhere other than the mines. Now he was free from them. Maybe it was possible.

  “Can you teach me?”

  “We can start the process at least. Now, I want you to attack me. The blades are sharp, so use the flat of the blade for any sure strike. Don’t hold anything back. Just do what feels natural.”