A Warrior's Redemption (The Warrior Kind)

by Stanton III, Guy

  “He was the son of one of the most influential Valley Lander families ever, heir to a great estate and even a castle. He was poised to take over control from his father, when attempts were made to assassinate his wife, which nearly succeeded. One morning just after the last incident to take his wife’s life, he disappeared with his wife and newborn son never to be heard from again. His father searched for years until he found where he had been living in the Hills of Ernor under the maiden name of his wife, but it was too late. They found the bodies of your father and his wife and that of a son born later on. It was rumored that the oldest son was taken south and sold as a slave to a fighting school.”

  The knowledge that my mother and younger brother were dead too, hit me hard. My sacrifice for them had been in vain. They were all dead! Gone was the vague illusive dream of a reunion, with the remnants of my family one day.

  “You didn’t know about them all dying did you? I’m sorry for the loss my words have brought you!” He said softly.

  “Continue with your story, how did you find me?” I said gruffly.

  “Your grandfather never gave up searching for you. He heard word of a slave fighter in one of the southern cities that matched the description of the men of your family and he sent some agents to investigate. They identified that it was indeed you that they were searching for. Your grandfather tried to rescue you on several occasions, but the attempts failed. He was preparing another rescue attempt for you when he received word that you had escaped. He has been looking for you ever since. He found out, with a liberal application of money, the identity of one of your contacts and from him and few other sources of information we were able to piece together where a probable location to find you might be. I was sent by the ruling high council of the Valley Lands, with the blessing of your grandfather. We want you to come home and assume your rightful place among us. Will you come home?”

  I studied him carefully my instinct telling me there was something more to this, “After I do something for your high council first I imagine.” I said rhetorically.

  He chuckled softly, “You have the same way of reading the unspoken as your grandfather does. Yes, the high council does have an item of extreme interest that they would like for you to acquire and bring back with you to the Valley Lands, but it is not a condition for your return. You are free to return anytime you wish Roric. The decision is entirely up to.”

  There was a silence that stretched out so long that the Valley Lander started to look apprehensive once again, as if fearing that I hadn’t believed him. “What is it that the council wants brought back to them?” I asked.

  The man gave a relieved sigh and said, “We have essentially been cut off from the rest of the world. In particular, we have lost contact with a valuable spy of ours, who lives in the city of Kharta. This is all hostile territory to us.” He gestured around him, “I was surprised that I was able to get this far, without being stopped. The spy has gathered vital intelligence for us for years, but we have been unable to make contact with him for some time now. We believe him to still be alive and we’re hoping that he has intelligence as to the time and strength of the assault that will be brought against us, as well as any weaknesses the enemy might have. We badly need that intelligence, if we are to protect the Valley Lands and keep them free. I would try to contact the spy myself, but I know nothing of the lands further south and it has been a miracle, as I have already said, that I have reached this far and been successful in finding you. All we need for you to do is to go to Kharta, locate our spy, and if possible gain whatever information you can from him and then come home.” He finished, looking uncertainly at me.

  I looked around at those gathered around and knew that my decision wasn’t going to be a well liked one by my companions. “So how do I find and contact this spy of yours in Kharta?”

  My statement jarred them all awake, with a collective chorus of surprised grunts and exclamations. They were all looking at me now, as the firelight flickered onto their faces creating odd shadows. They were undoubtedly a rough looking crew, but I knew there finer points. They had in a way become to me like the family I had lost.

  “I know you view me as your leader, but it is a position I have never asked for or pressed onto you. I’ve grown weary in this endless quest for revenge and so have a lot of you, if you’re honest with yourselves.”

  At that statement there were several downcast faces in my audience.

  “I need to find out if there is something better out there than just being an embittered escaped slave on a revenge kick. If I find what I’m looking for I promise that I will find you and share it with all of you. You have all become to me as the brother I once lost, and it is not easy to leave, but I must!”

  “Can we not come with you?” Asked Seth, a fighter that was forever getting himself into trouble and that I had saved more times than I could remember from such said troubles.

  “No this is something I must do for myself. If I do not return by this time next month I advise you to forsake the hope of ever seeing me again. If you would like some parting advice it would be to disperse and give up this life of revenge as it is doing little good for any of us!”

  That had all transpired fourteen days ago and much had happened since then. Awakening from my remembrance of the past I looked over at the boy still asleep by the fire.

  The sky had grown dark and soon it would be time to wake the boy and move on. I gazed out over the Hagathic Wastelands, wondering how I was going to get the information given to me by the spy in Kharta, and the spy’s young son, safely to Kingdom Pass in the Valley Lands. I looked over at the lad asleep, face tight with the stress we both felt even in sleep.

  When I had arrived in Kharta it was to discover that the spy had already been found out and was awaiting his execution. Kharta, while not occupied by the Zoarinians was still very much controlled by them and they were only too willing to execute a spy on behalf of the Zoarinians.

  It had been very early in the morning, when the guard on duty outside the jail access door breathed his last ragged breaths. I had eased his lifeless body down to the pavement, wiping my knife off on his tunic as I did so careful not to make a sound. I continued on into the stygian darkness of the city jail.

  “Over here!” I heard someone cry out weakly.

  The voice had come from further down the row of cells. As I drew closer to the voice and could make out more of its owner I could see that he wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere with me. In the condition he was in it was unlikely he would live long enough to attend his own execution. I did not like the closed confines of the jail, which seemed to press in on me like a cage. I kneeled down beside the spy’s cell.

  “I knew they would send somebody for me. You’re a little late though.” He said wheezing, as he coughed up what appeared to be blood.

  He had been worked over several times judging by the different ages of the bruises and cuts I could see on his face and underneath his torn shirt.

  “They tried to get me to tell them where I hid the intelligence reports, but I didn’t! I didn’t!”

  The impassioned outburst cost him a lot of his remaining energy and he sagged back weakly against the bars of his cell. He reached through the bars with one hand and caught one of my hands and gripped it tightly as desperation tinged his voice, “You must do one thing for me, and you must swear to do it or I won’t tell you where the reports are!”

  His intensity of gaze and an indefinable desperation of spirit that radiated out from his eyes forced me to concede and I nodded my head.

  “You’re going to take my little boy with you! My boy is going to know what freedom is, especially the freedom to worship the Creator, without the fear or strictures of this place!” He said emphatically and painfully at the same time.

  “Please swear you’ll take my boy with you!”

  “I swear it!” I affirmed softly.

  He collapsed weakly back against the bars his grip o
n me loosening as he slumped down.

  “Good! The reports are in a false bottom of a planter pot located where Rassian St. meets Gonda Way in the Sonna District of the city. You’ll find the boy at 56 Rassian St. Tell the lady keeping him the code words, ‘The meadowlark flew away’, and she will give you the boy and provisions for the journey. Now go while it’s still dark outside. You will have a better chance of getting out of the city, with my boy before the alarm is raised. May the Creator see you on your way safely! Tell my boy I love him and that I wish I could be there for him, but that I have to stay here. He’ll understand someday what this was all about.”

  I got up to leave, but his failing voice caught me before I started down the corridor.

  “One more thing, leave me a knife if you would be so kind.”

  I glanced questioningly at him.

  “I ashore you Sir that I’m not the suicidal type, except for perhaps staying in the game longer than I should have. If I am to die here in this place there is someone that I very much want to take along with me.” He said with a raspy chuckle that abruptly caused him to gasp with pain.

  Wordlessly I pulled a small sharp dagger out from my left boot and handed it to him through the bars.

  “Thank you again, Sir! Tell me what name are you called by?”

  “I’m Roric.” I replied simply.

  “Ahh I knew it! There was something about you that reminded me of my old friend. I’m glad to know that your grandfather found you at long last! I am at peace now, assured as possibly as I can be of my son’s safety, while in your care! Your father was one of the greatest warriors the Vallian people have ever had. All you Ta’lonts are forces of nature! It can only help our fight for freedom to have another Ta’lont in the field of battle with us!”

  Ta’lont? Was that my real last name? I wanted to ask this man so many things. He had known my father in a way I had never known, but there was simply no time to ask what I desired to. I moved quietly out into the cool still grayness of the early morning.

  I heard him saying something before I was out of earshot, “Dear Lord, it looks like my time is nearly up here. Protect my boy and keep him safe. I love him so much. His mother and I have………”

  The rest of what he said was lost to me as I was out of earshot now.

  I had scouted out the city yesterday and I remembered the street intersection the spy had spoken of. It wasn’t far from here.

  The streets were empty of life other than that of the night critters that dug in the alleyways in search of scraps that had been thrown there from the day before. Reaching the intersection I saw a row of large planter pots going up Rassian St just as the spy had said there would be. The report was in a false bottom of one of these pots the spy had said. I came up alongside of the first pot and tapped the porcelain outer shell of the flower pot near the bottom with the butt of a knife, but no echo resounded from it. I continued up the row of pots, with no luck at finding the hollow bottomed pot.

  My studied calm began to crack as there where at least fifty or more pots to go and it was getting lighter with every passing second and with it the likelihood of getting caught. Maybe the spy had lost it and there were no reports in a hollow bottomed pot after all. Maybe they only existed in his cracked imagination. Sweat had started to bead on my forehead and it ran into my eyes. A light had come on here and there; it wouldn’t be long now before I was noticed!

  I started to walk away, when I saw the house number, Rassian St. thirty one. Having an idea suddenly I skipped ahead to the pot outside the boy’s house. Grabbing my knife, from my waist band I tapped the pot with the haft of the knife. Dong! Excited I swung the haft of the knife again like a hammer against the pot’s side and the sound of braking pottery echoed loudly up and down the street, but nobody seemed to have heard it. An oil skin pouch lay in the hollow cavity of the underside of the pot and in it I found the spy’s documents. I stuffed the oil skin pouch inside my shirt and made my way towards the door of the house.

  I knocked briskly on the door and it opened almost immediately surprising me by the suddenness of the action. A middle aged woman stood before me with worry lines creased across her face as she studied me. I repeated the words that the spy had given me and nodding she turned and called to someone behind her. A boy stepped past her to stand in front. The woman gave him a tight hug, kissed him on the head and then shut the door quickly, as tears streamed out from the corners of her eyes. The boy turned away from the closed door to face me. The boy was a sturdy looking one and he bore the pack on his back well.

  “When do I see my father?” He asked almost immediately with an earnest eagerness.

  I shook my head stiffly and said, “He’s not coming with us.”

  “I see.” The boy said softly.

  He looked away from me ducking his head down as he did so. It was growing lighter by the second. We needed to get out of here before the changing of the guard at the jail took place and they closed the cities’ gates.

  “We need to go, follow me quickly and as silently as you can. Can you ride a horse?”

  “Yes, a little anyway.” He said lifting his head back up and I pretended to not see the moistness gathered in the corners of his eyes.

  We were miles away from the city, when I looked back and saw the first signs of pursuit in the distance. From then on our lives had been one of constant action, as we moved northward in an irregular manner as I alluded the pursuit that had gradually grown more distant.

  It was dark enough now to move on and I woke the boy, who came awake startled. We mounted up and I led the way through the darkness that was gently highlighted, by the glow of a half moon. I looked back after an hour and saw that the boy was almost asleep in the saddle, as he relied more on his horse’s natural instinct to follow mine than conscientiously directing its path himself. It was working for the boy so I let him be and monitored his horse’s progress after me a little closer to make sure he continued following me.

  The boy hadn’t said a word since we had left Kharta. Looking at him now hunched over in the saddle with a blanket wrapped around him to ward off the night’s chill reminded me of the awesome responsibility I had taken upon myself to get this boy to safety in the Valley Lands. I should have left him behind for both our sakes. Still I didn’t regret my decision completely, if I could get this boy to a better life than I had experienced it would be worth the risk at least in some ways. Having the boy along had changed my escape route considerably though. He wasn’t up to an all out run for the Valley Lands so I had decided on a route that I hoped that our pursuers wouldn’t expect. Instead of taking the obvious route further up through the Hagathic Wastelands I was taking a gamble on another route. I was going to bypass the Zoarinian forces that I felt sure awaited us on the other side of the Hagathic Wastelands, by going partially through the Plains of Zoar the very heartland of the enemy.

  I doubted that my pursuers would expect even me to do something crazy like that. I would avoid the Zoarinian outposts stationed along the northern border of the Plain of Zoar, by hiring a Kawnia Lake fisherman to take us across the lake and drop us off on the shores of the Silepsium Moors. From there it would be a straight shot to Kingdom Pass and the Valley Lands beyond.

  Two days later we made it into the Lomar Swamplands and if I hadn’t lost anyone still on our tail by now then I wasn’t going to.

  I had gone back to the camp that I had left my men at hoping to increase the strength of our party northward, but the camp had been deserted with castoff supplies and clothes laying around like my friends had left in hurry without time to pack. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to cause them to leave one of our most secure camps so hastily. Perhaps it hadn’t been so secure given that the Valley Lander had found us. Just how had he been able to do that? Blind luck I guess.

  I had been looking out for my friends for so long now that I felt like I was somehow at fault for the hard times that seemed to have befallen them in my ab
sence. They would have to make do for themselves from now on, because I wasn’t going back to the life of a bandit. My responsibility was to get the boy to safety as I had promised his father that I would and then get the reports to the high council of the Valley Lands. Then other things would occur. What they might be I wasn’t sure, I’d just have to discover them along the way. I was anxious to meet this grandfather who had been searching for me for so long. Maybe when I was in the land of my father my purpose in life would be clearer to me. I hoped so.

  I parted the heavy knot of reeds in front of me slightly to glance through towards the boats pulled up in the sand across from us. The water was up to my waist and it was surprisingly cold for this time of year.

  I watched as the Kawnia Lake fishermen finished hauling the day’s catch in from their fishing boats. Having finished their task they started off towards the sleepy village in the distance. I waited until the sun had almost disappeared over the horizon before I felt it was safe for us to move from the heavy reeds we were hidden in.

  We had run straight into a Zoarinian patrol two nights ago. It had been a unexpected surprise for both parties. In the chase that followed we’d had to practically run our horses into the ground to avoid capture. Last night I had released the horses so that they would lay down a false trail for our pursuers to follow and we had set off on foot towards the lake hoping that the patrol would take the bait and follow our worn out mounts instead of us.

  It seemed to have worked out so far in our favor, but there was nothing favorable about our current circumstances. The water we stood in was dark and it stank. Dead fish and lake debris swirled around us in the murky water, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Leeches! I could feel them sliding along my flesh and then the sudden pinch of pain when they bit on and started to suck my blood.

  All I wanted to do right now was roll in a barrel of salt, until every last one of the retched things shriveled up and fell off. I hate bugs and anything close to it, especially leeches. The arena dungeons had been full of bugs and the poor excuses of what passed for medicinal experts assigned to patching up fighters had employed the heavy use of leaches in all their remedies. I had grown too loath both. It was all I could do to remain calm, as I stood there being fed upon.