by Justin Wayne
***
“So you are telling me, that some fat merchant, not only managed to steal Darkbane from our treasury but had it stolen from him in turn?” the Warrior bellowed. “How have you learned this? Speak quickly for my time is valuable.”
The guard before him nodded and bumbled his way through an apology. “Of course, Chief Dunawar, of course. I heard it straight from the captain. He was talking to the man.”
Dunawar jumped to his feet, his full seven feet of height towering over the informant. “You mean the thief. What is his name?”
“The captain? Roba—“
“No, you little fool! The thieving merchant!”
The guard backed away as he noticed the Warrior’s features beginning to angle downward in a rage. The rage of the Warrior was legendary, but the Heavywinter Clan was renowned for their temper being excessive even by that standard. “I don’t know, the captain didn’t tell, said it was to be kept secret for his protection.” He was heading for the door now; he knew it was just a few feet behind him.
“You bring me this news without the name of the perpetrator! How dare you be so bold?” The Warrior reached out, covering the room in two strides, and lifted the guard off his feet with a single hand. Eye to eye he stared him down until he was shaking.
“And so the ant was crushed before the mountain’s wake.”
And with that, the gargantuan chief spun on his heel, blond hair spinning around his broad shoulders, and hurled the man through the wall from the top story of his tower.
“Good riddance.”
In the ensuing silence his son entered the room. Tall and powerfully built, Dradewen was the spitting image of his father with a strong jaw and broad face. However his raven hair and eyes differentiated him from the blond chief, and every other member of the clan for that matter.
It had been the bane of his existence.
“Father, we’ve found..” He trailed off as he noticed the hole in the wall then quickly recovered. The sight was nothing new. “We’ve found someone with news of the blade.” He stepped aside and a frail woman wearing rags entered. The smell of poverty followed.
“Speak, wench, and only the truth or I will have your tongue.” Dunawar growled, the vein in his neck still bulging. She eyed his immense size and bear-sized body of muscles fearfully.
“Yes, lord. I be beggin’ that day as is usual an’ came to the market for it was busy it was.” Dradewen nodded encouragingly as she faltered. “An’ I’s is walkin’ ’round when I hears some’un a screamin’. I follows it and sees this little fella’ run off with a knife!”
Dunawar stepped forward eagerly and she instinctively flinched. But the chief was intrigued and tilted her face up from the floor with both hands gingerly. “Little fellow?” He asked with trepidation.
“A hobbit.” she stammered beneath his light grip. “Dark hair and no taller than me waist.”
Her eyes bulged as her skull was slowly crushed between his hands. Dradewen pulled him away from her but the damage was done. She collapsed lifelessly, twitching. Dradewen looked into his father’s eyes but saw they were focused elsewhere.
“Father! Are you alright?” Concern, usually repressed and forgotten, filled his voice. Dunawar pushed his son’s hands away then froze as he noticed the gore on his own. His eyes flicked from his crimson fingers to the crumpled form on the floor.
“What happened?” The young Warrior asked. “You just froze and squeezed her in a daze.”
Dunawar shook his head and turned his back to the room, leaning on the table with hands far apart and remained stationary for a minute before slamming his fist down and sending both sides of the table up to meet in the shattered middle.
“Thomulus. His name is Thomulus.”
