The Warrior's Bane (War for the Quarterstar Shards Book 1)

by David L. McDaniel

  “My father is a very well known and powerful wizard in this realm,” he began. “You may have heard of him. He is called Valvector-Sor.”

  He waited to see their reaction, but no one seemed to recognize the name.

  “However, he is one of very few people, now and ever, to be able to use Wrae magic and Kronn magic together. Does anyone know about those two types of magic?”

  A few kids raised their hands timidly as if to say that they had heard of it, but they did not look as if they wanted to be asked to explain what they knew.

  “I figured as much. Wrae magic, according to my father, is elven magic that can be resourced from the air and is a manmade magic that anyone can learn to use, but the elves are masters at it, especially the Val elves who worship Val Eahea. Kronn is a native magic and can be resourced through the land. Those that can use Kronn feel it coursing through their soul from the ground up. The Sor Elves are masters of Kronn, which is really quite impressive because it is a foreign magic to elves. Is every one lost yet?”

  One of the kids raised their hands and blurted out, “So…” He paused. “Elves are real?”

  Alaezdar laughed and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Maybe we should just start with the training.”

  Another boy immediately stood up and blurted out, “But wait. You really haven’t told us anything about yourself.”

  “Fair enough. I was born in Hyronael, a small village north of the two Daevan Kingdoms where half elves live…Oh, but you guys probably have never heard of half elves. Anyhow, after my mother was killed, my aunt and uncle raised me. My cousins, who were older than I was, grew up and went off in search of adventure in the human kingdoms of the north to become great warriors. As far as I know, one of them could be one of these soldiers from Triel. Everything I learned, I learned from them, and now I will teach you what they have taught me.

  Alaezdar instructed them to jump up and proceeded to teach them some simple basics of sword fighting, beginning with the proper stance and balance. He then taught them how to attack and to defend and how to do it using techniques such as the thrust, the swing and the parry. They practiced for about two hours until he thought they had done enough.

  When he tried to end their practice, they whined and complained so loudly that they talked him into practicing for another hour.

  It felt good for him to be around young teenagers again. It gave him a solace and a feeling of redemption after the terrible fate of the kids on the mission that had caused him to leave the Rager’s House of Renegades. It was nice to see these boys smile, laugh and have fun. When Tharn asked him to do this sword tournament, he was reluctant to do so, but now he was looking forward to it. It might even raise his standing with some of the suspicious villagers who thought him so dangerous. Yes, this was a sword fighting skill he was teaching them and that could exasperate their fears that he was dangerous, but if they saw him interacting with the kids, they might see a different side of him than they had when he was hidden away on Tharn’s ranch.

  Not that he was seeking acceptance with the village, because when it came down to it, he really was just in hiding. It would be nice to be rid of the idea that he was dangerous, though. If he could erase that misconception, he would really be embedded in the community and therefore truly hidden in the village and harder to spot if any outsiders came looking for him.

  He and the boys practiced for another hour before he finally told them that they were doing exceptionally well and learning at an advanced pace, but it was time to quit for the day.

  ***

  Later that night Tharn and Morlonn stood outside the smithy’s shop. Torches flickered in a light breeze near the building and they could hear Rankin pounding metal on his anvil. They stood talking quietly and waiting for some of the Trielian warriors to settle down for the night.

  A handful of them still mingled in the streets. They had long since lost their full battle armor, and instead had changed into their lighter, black leather armor over blue silk tunics. They also had replaced their combat ready bastard swords with a lighter short sword. Tharn wasn’t sure if this was because they felt unthreatened or because they wanted the smaller sword for closer combat and the need for quick stabbing. Either way, it made Tharn uneasy.

  Earlier, Tharn and Morlonn had broken up a fight at the tavern two doors down from the smithy. Three soldiers had taken the barkeep’s wench, dragged her outside into the streets and started to lift her dress. Morlonn wasted no time in getting to the three and tackled the one that was at her feet.

  Tharn had been impressed at how quickly Morlonn had reached her. With two quick strides, Morlonn aggressively tackled the soldier before the other soldier, being trained in such circumstances, immediately went to the aid of his comrade and was about to stab Morlonn in the back with his short sword. Tharn then came up behind him, grabbed his sword hand with his own right hand, and had his dagger to his throat with his left.

  “Listen, now,” Tharn growled.

  He looked to the third soldier, who was now holding the wench. Not wanting to lose his advantage, the soldier backed away two steps so that he could see Morlonn and the third soldier. Morlonn was still struggling with the soldier he had tackled, but he soon ended up on top of him with his dagger at his throat.

  “You boys are wrong,” the soldier holding the barmaid began. “This is our town now, and one word from me to Ambassador Krostos and I am sure you will be sent to the dungeons, or worse yet.” He gave the two a dark grin, “I will even volunteer to remain here and be a rancher and I will own you as a slave and work you to your bones until you die. Your choice.”

  At first, no one moved, but when Tharn placed his dagger deep enough into the throat of the soldier he was holding, the soldier stood on his toes and stiffened.

  “Let her go,” Tharn commanded again, “Morlonn, let him up.”

  The other soldier released his grip on the wench. She started to walk away, sobbing, but she took the time to spit at the soldier’s feet before she ran back into the tavern.

  Tharn still held his man at knifepoint. “Drop your sword,” he said.

  When the soldier dropped his sword, Tharn walked over and stepped on it, and then pushed the man away.

  “Warrior Azrull is not going to like this, old man!” he spat as he helped up the soldier who Morlonn had knocked to the ground. The three of them walked away.

  “Why do they have to call me, old man?” Tharn mused. “In my day they wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  “What are you talking about, Tharn? They didn’t stand a chance today. You showed them who was boss tonight.”

  “No, I think we are going to have some repercussions from this Azrull. We had better get ready for a bumpy road. Friend of Triel or not, I think we are in for trouble.”

  Darkness now covered Valewood like an ominous foreboding and the torchlight in the streets brought shadows that flickered in the warm evening breeze. Tharn and Morlonn heard Rankin pounding mightily on his anvil in his smithy while they waited even longer for the night to settle down. The soldiers continued to mingle as if on watch, waiting for something else to happen.

  After Tharn had chased away the three deviant soldiers, they were still present, but it seemed no one would come to confront Tharn or Morlonn. Warrior Azrull either was pre-occupied or did not care, and Tharn doubted the latter. What did concern him was that he did not know what Azrull was preoccupied with. Was it the molesting of one of his villagers or the planning of a bigger demise for the village. Tharn was not happy with either prospect.

  “I don’t think we can wait any longer,” he whispered to Morlonn.

  “I think you’re right. How do you think we can get the caravan out without anyone not
icing?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tharn admitted as he walked inside the smithy.

  Rankin saw Tharn and immediately put down his hammer and stopped working on the blade. Inside, Jord worked on some leather breastplates and five other men sat in the back of the room, either sleeping or leaning against the wall quietly and talking amongst themselves. Tharn motioned to one of the men to stand and join them and he jumped right up and approached.

  “Coben, are you and your men ready to go back?” Tharn asked.

  “No, we are not,” he responded with anger, but with a hint of fear on his face.

  Tharn turned to Rankin. “How much raw Goblin-Touched Ore did you get on the last trip?”

  “Not enough to fill the Ambassadors quota he gave us.”

  “How much are we short?”

  “It looks like another two loads, but I think I have enough junk ore lying around, I could mix it in to get us close.”

  Tharn shook his head.

  “Ambassador Krostos isn’t the most observant of men,” he said, “and you might be able to sneak it past him, but I don’t know about this Warrior Azrull. He may know the difference. I don’t want to take a chance of causing more problems than we already have. If we can get one more shipment back here before the festival ends, I think I can make that work. If I can keep Warrior Azrull away from the Ambassador, I think I can convince him that that it is enough,” Tharn turned and looked to the caravan leader again. “You will go back.”

  “But Tharn, the goblins are raiding. There is no guarantee that we still have a mine to go back to get your quota. I’ll go back if we can take some of these Trielian soldiers with us.”

  “No, that is out of the question. The King has mandated that if we want to keep our autonomy here, we are not to use -- or even request -- the king’s soldiers to help us with anything. The fact that we used them to dig our sloughs years ago was a special favor that he made clear would never happen again.”

  “Then what are we supposed to do if the mine is overrun by goblins?”

  “Kill them,” he said caustically.

  “We will die! I can’t believe you are asking this of us, all for a kingdom that doesn’t belong here, supplying them with this nasty poisonous metal!”

  “This kingdom is going to protect us if other kingdoms decide to invade the realm, and King Toron assures us that a war is coming. And when this war breaks out, what side do you want to be on?”

  “Neither,” he said.

  “That is foolish! You will end up dead and ignorant if that is what you believe. You will take your men and head back to the mine. Go cautiously and quietly or storm the mine. Either way we need this ore to survive another year. I can talk favor after being a little bit short, but not as short as we are now. If I could go with you, I would, but it is more important that I stay. I will send you a rider to act as a scout and give you an ample supply of arrows and shields, but nothing more. Or you can refuse, and I will send you and your families away from this village, never to return.”

  “Look at these men,” Corben said and pointed to his men as they sat and leaned against the far wall in the shadows. “Look at their eyes, and look at them good, because you have just condemned them to death. We will go, not because we believe in your cause, but because we do not want to be exiled from our home. Believe it or not, Tharn, we love what we have here, and I may not agree with you, but we will die for it.”

  Tharn extended a hand of friendship, but Corben only looked at it at and shook his head and tightened his jaw.

  “Offer me that hand when I return, if I return. Let’s go men. We’re going back!”

  Corben and his men loaded up their carriage with the necessary supplies. They were quiet in the night and they snuffed out the torches on the back side of the shop where the carriage and team were parked. Tharn made sure that they had the extra gear he had promised, and when they were loaded, he climbed up to the top of the carriage where the team leader and Corben sat ready to go.

  In the dark Tharn could barely see Corben’s face, but he could tell he was not happy. He had known Coben for many years and knew him to be one of the bravest men, even braver than some of the solders he had served with. He knew the fear within him about not returning was great, and the prospect of him not returning was more probable than not.

  “Bring this load back with all of your men,” Tharn said. “I will send a scout for you in the morning. He will know how to find you, if you stay to your normal path.”

  “Send someone good, and not a young boy.”

  “I will. We’ll see you soon.”

  “I don’t think so,” Corben said.

  He motioned to the team leader to move. The horses responded to the quiet command and they slowly rolled away into the night and headed for the gate out of Valewood and into the Goblin Tribes Forest.

  Chapter 8

  Alaezdar and Kunther stood in the center of the round pen, just south of Tharn’s main horse stable. Tharn had built it in the middle of a cluster of oak trees so that it provided some shade and respite from the hot Flamespan sun when he was training his young fillies or his unbroken studs and mares.

  A crowd of over fifty villagers and guests, including some Trielian soldiers, crowded around the pen and watched as Alaezdar assembled his group of teenagers, all armed with shields, elbow guards, shin guards and helms that the smithy had lying around and had never used. He had even custom made a few to fit some of the teens. Most of the boys stood quietly inside the pen while a few fidgeted, eager to get started.

  Alaezdar turned a full circle and looked around at the spectators. Most of them he had seen before, and although he may not have spoken to them, he knew their faces. Some of those he had spoken to did not always have kind words for him, so it impressed him that they were there. He could feel the festival atmosphere about the place and he could smell the food cooking on the grills. It was nearing lunchtime on the first day of the festival.

  “Today is the first round of the tournament for these boys,” he said to the crowd. “We will start with a free-for-all fight that these young men have been working so hard on lately. Kunther and I have been giving them some tips on how to fight with their wooden swords. Your Kunther here is an accomplished apprentice. He learns quickly and your young boys have responded well to Kunther’s teachings,”

  Kunther smiled at the crowd after hearing Alaezdar’s accolades and his chest puffed out a bit.

  “Kunther, get these young warriors ready!” Alaezdar commanded and Kunther withdrew the sword that Rankin had made -- which he had promptly named Straight Edge -- and yelled to the boys to get in the pen and line up beside him. Alaezdar continued his introduction.

  “The rules to this part of the tournament are simple. They will fight until only one is standing victorious. This is their showmanship of what they have learned in just a short time. Then we will move onto one-on-one combat, matching the boys evenly, until we reach the final two, and then we will have them fight on the final evening of our festival. We will crown the winner at the Fountain Dance.”

  Kunther had the boys spread out with their backs to the round pen wall, and he and Alaezdar walked outside of the pen and gave the signal for the boys to go at it. They all charged to the center while the crowd shouted encouragement. The boys immediately responded to the cheers and they went at it with great enthusiasm as their excitement and adrenaline kicked in. They all went on the attack, and their wooden swords clacked when they hit each shield and sword. They blocked and sparred and displayed both their offensive maneuvers and defensive maneuvers simultaneously. Even Rowlf fought well. He defeated one kid before two of Jor’s friends teamed up on him and took him out. All the boys fought as they had been
taught and they fought fairly. When they were hit in the kill zone, they fell to the ground and waited for the match to end.

  Alaezdar felt pride that he could teach these skills to the boys and that they could learn so quickly. It almost made him yearn to be back with his guild, until he remembered the blood, the gore, the politics within the guild, and the politics of the realm that had made him sick and regretful that he was even part of it. He loved this simple farming life and felt a bit resentful that Tharn would even ask him to do this.

  That thought brought about his concern again for how Tharn had suspected that he was so knowledgeable about his swordsmanship.

  Alaezdar did miss his friend Shadow Blade. Shadow Blade had saved his hide more than once. His friend had very much lived up to his name as he never liked to be in the spotlight or at the front of a mission, yet he was always a critical component to the success of every mission in which he was involved.

  Alaezdar thought of the last time he saw him, and it saddened him. Shadow Blade had found him alone to tell him that even though he was his friend, the next time he saw him, he would kill him. That was his mandate with the guild, now that Alaezdar had just exiled himself.

  Alaezdar wondered, if it came down to it, if that time came, could he kill Shadow Blade in combat? It might come to that, he feared, just because he would have to defend himself. He would not want to, and he also wondered how far Shadow Blade would go to kill him. He knew Shadow Blade would have no problem fulfilling his mandate. His loyalty was one of his strongest points, but Alaezdar knew he would be conflicted with his loyalty to the guild and his loyalty to his friend.

  The crowd’s sudden cheer brought him out of his thoughts. The last boy had been victorious. The other boys stood up as Alaezdar came to the center of the pen and congratulated them all before the crowd. The boys rushed out of the round pen as a hurried, but organized team and grabbed a half dozen of Tharn’s scarecrows and went back and placed them in random spots around the inside of the pen.