A Dream of Storms, In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One

by William Kenney

“Gorin Grimandin, Great St - stone Troll from the wondrous city of Rathnok. All l - looks to be in order here.”

  Chenal shook with fear in his somewhat fancy chair behind his stately mahogany desk. Not quite fancy enough for his station, he often thought. The mayor should have better furnishings, what with all of the important decisions he had to make! He barely managed to stutter his sentence loud enough for anyone in the room to hear. His teeth were chattering far too much. He puffed a final time on his long ivory pipe sending small clouds of smoke into the air.

  “N - now, what is this all important message th - that you must deliver to our dear Hagan?”

  Some within the hall chuckled softly under their breath at the slight emphasis on the word dear, getting a glare from D’Pharin. To think they would be so disrespectful of his brother with him standing right there! Most thought of his brother as a drunkard who was wasting his life in hiding. Hagan Marindel had been one of the most celebrated war heroes a dozen years ago, but when he had returned, he had changed. He only spoke of it briefly with D’Pharin before he moved up into the mountains some time ago. He had simply stated that he had seen and done things that he was not proud of and wanted to be left alone. He had only seen his brother a handful of times since his return.

  “Hagan must hear …. Hmmm …” came the low answer. The Troll looked at each of the people present; hoping his point was taken. I do not have time for this.

  Chenal leaned back, one hand scratching his salt – and - pepper beard. He brushed at his puffy white shirtsleeves, a habit he had acquired with the office.

  “I see … The message, it seems, is for our Hagan’s ears only, eh?” he tried to stifle a sneer. “Might we know from whence it came?”, he asked.

  The grey giant shifted his feet nervously. To D’Pharin, he seemed to be growing agitated, as if he were in an extreme hurry. D’Pharin instinctively backed toward the door.

  The Troll cleared its throat and the hardwood flooring below reverberated with the sound. The atmosphere suddenly became tense.

  “Hmmm. You may …. Not.” the great creature uttered. He slowly stepped within arms reach of the mayor and placed his two giant hands on the edge of the desk. His breath ruffled the hair of Chenal’s brows and blew smoke back into his pudgy face.

  “Fine, fine … ” the mayor smiled until every tooth was visible. He quickly backed his chair away with a scrape and stood. He suddenly forgot his arrogance. Wanting nothing more than to be out of the Troll’s presence, he summoned his assistants. As the two men rushed in, he gave them the order to lead him to Hagan.

  D’Pharin jumped in. “Um, excuse me, Sir? Sir Gorin?” He paused as the Troll leveled its eyes to his. “You don’t mean any… harm to my brother do you? Hagan, I mean?”

  Gorin drew back his head in shock.

  “Certainly…. Not!” he grunted and strode from the building. D’Pharin ran quickly after him, afraid he had somehow insulted him.

  “Sir ... ? Uh, Gorin?” he called. “I meant no harm. It’s just … well, most of us have never even seen a Stone Troll and we don’t know what to expect.”

  Gorin slowed and turned to face him. His features had a puzzled look as he took in the young man before him. Tussled brown hair, somewhat sharp features with a long nose. He could see in his eyes that he was not harmful.

  “I understand. Hagan … he is your brother?” he asked, not noticing the townsfolk slowly gathering round him. He was already becoming accustomed to the language once more. Years ago he spoke it fluently and it would not take more than a few hours to sound normal, he knew.

  “Yes Sir, he is.”

  “It seems you have his honor and … what is the word in your tongue ... ? Respect … if you are kin to him, then I am certain you are a good man.” The Troll grinned, sending some of the smaller children running. To them, this must have looked like an intense scowl, after all stone doesn’t move as easily as flesh.

  D’Pharin smiled back. He was beginning to like this creature from the north. As they walked off through the middle of the village, a crowd followed them perhaps twenty paces behind. He was in awe as each of Gorin’s steps sent a shudder through the ground beneath their feet. If a Troll such as this was ever angered, he pitied the poor soul on the receiving end of one of those enormous fists. He glanced back at the villagers and felt a sense of pride. He had a Troll for a friend. Imagine that? What’ll father say?

  “I’ll take you to Hagan. It’s not far. Just up into the mountains a bit.” he said as they pulled away from the crowd. The mayor’s assistants turned to one another and cleared their throat in unison.

  “The Mayor Chenal has given us specific instructions - “ they began.

  “Hmmm. This lad will … suffice. This is Hagan’s brother is it not? He can most likely lead me as well as the two of you, hmmm?” The grey giant cut them off. He stared for a moment and with a quick nod, they agreed. Soon, they were out of sight.

  “I’ve read stories of Trolls from my father’s library. Are all of your people so … big? With an army of Trolls as big as you ... Who could beat you?” D’Pharin asked with a fire in his eyes.

  “Hmmm. Most male Trolls in my country are … are much larger than I. I am … hmmm, well … considered small.”

  “Small?”

  “I have brothers and they stand an arm’s length taller than do I. It is an embarrassment.” Gorin explained, his eyes downcast for a moment. D’Pharin had evidently touched on a sore point.

  The Troll slowed for a moment causing D’Pharin to turn on his heel.

  Gorin hesitated, obviously stalling.

  “My friend … Hmmm … is there a place for food nearby ... ? My task requires haste, but I am afraid I may fall from hunger if I do not eat soon. Wind, forgive me.” As Gorin muttered this, an accompanying growl issued from his abdomen. “My apologies … It has been two days.”

  There was a brief pause and suddenly they both began laughing, which caused more of the deep rumbling. They were both thankful for the change in topic.

  “Of course,” said D’Pharin leading him off down a side road. “Where are my manners? You could probably eat a muckhog. Heh, heh.” Muckhogs were disgusting pig - like creatures not known for their cleanliness. Usually, they made their dens in refuse and smelled like it. It wasn’t hard to track a muckhog on a clear day.

  There wasn’t much conversation between them at The Rose and Thorn inn, with Gorin literally shoveling roast and potatoes into his gaping mouth. D’Pharin had never seen anyone or anything consume that much food at one sitting. After four or five helpings Gorin pushed himself back from the old wooden table and patted his belly. The other patrons at the inn had all moved over to a far corner and were mumbling amongst themselves under the dim yellow lamplight. Even old Mastriel, the innkeeper’s wife, was keeping her distance. D’Pharin couldn’t blame them though; Gorin was a sight to behold, especially when engulfing every bit of food in sight. The Troll wiped his lower lip with an old rag he had pulled from his belt and let out a low moan.

  “I have wasted enough time here, hmmm … We must … go”.

  He stood, accidentally shoving the table into D’Pharin’s midsection. D’Pharin had a short conversation with Mastriel about who was paying for the food and asked her to speak to his father when he came to town later. His father would be angry that he hadn’t immediately returned to the ranch, but D’Pharin considered this much more important. He grinned and walked back out into the street.

  Gorin was leaning against the side of the building evidently unaware of the people gawking at him from the alleyway across the street. His head was back and his eyes were closed. He seemed to be napping.

  “Gorin?” D’Pharin said reaching out and touching him lightly on the forearm. The skin was not as solid as he would have imagined. It gave beneath his fingers. Not quite like his own flesh but not unlike it either. The surprising thing to him was the heat that came from the Troll’s skin. Much hotter than a man’s and it almost seemed to
vibrate as he touched it.

  The Troll slowly looked down at him, dark grey eyes barely visible beneath his brows.

  “I am sorry, my friend … I know there is no … hmmm … excuse.” he began in his impossibly deep voice. D’Pharin did not understand.

  “I have been traveling for two weeks and one day. It seems that ex … exhaustion has caught up with me.” He pulled his back away from the wall and stood up straight, blocking out the midday sun and putting D’Pharin in a sudden deep shadow.

  D’Pharin chuckled to himself. “Well, you slept, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “I most certainly did not! He huffed and stuck out his chest. ”You may not know the customs of the Stone Trolls, my friend … I will take no offense, but it was put upon me to deliver an important message and until that message is delivered, Hmmm, I will not rest!” he had become visibly agitated and it seemed as though he was somewhat ashamed of himself. If a grey - skinned creature could blush, then Gorin did.

  “Sorry, sorry.” D’Pharin started. “ I … oh never mind. You’re right. I don’t know your customs. I didn’t know … ” he let his voice trail off and they remained silent as they exited the town and headed into the near foothills.

  They walked steadily for an hour without a word. The air grew more uncomfortable about them as they both tried to shrug off their own embarrassment. D’Pharin let his mind wander and he found his thoughts on his older brother, Hagan. So much of Hagan’s past was unknown to him. He had fought in The Battle of the Black Sun almost a dozen years ago and had returned a war hero. That much he knew, but then everyone knew that. D’Pharin had only been a very young boy when Hagan had left and they had never been able to develop a close relationship. Relationships like those among other siblings in Lauden. Hell, I don’t even know him, he thought with a shake of his head.

  Since the war, Hagan had retreated into the mountains with the money given to him for his service. He had built a small cottage and secreted himself inside, rarely coming into town and never speaking to anyone when he did. They had only seen each other a handful of times in the years after his return and D’Pharin regretted that. To not know one’s brother. Sad indeed. Nowadays, what he knew of his brother was gathered from hushed rumors he overheard among the other townspeople. His brother’s drinking and strange moods. Some had told him that occasionally they could hear Hagan screaming and breaking things in a drunken rage up on the mountain.

  It seemed he had spent most of his childhood in fistfights over his brother’s reputation. D’Pharin was as good as anyone in town with his fists. He wondered if Hagan was even aware of that.

  The way became more difficult as they trudged into the foothills and began their uphill climb. Gorin seemed to have no trouble at all despite his lack of sleep. To the northwest, they could begin to make out the lay of the land. D’Pharin imagined he could see the shimmer of the Illdredge River from here, but that was impossible. It lay many leagues away. He also knew that even farther to the north sat the Elfwhere forest, home to the mysterious Wood Elves. He had never traveled there of course, only read stories and overheard conversations. His brother had known Elves, he was sure of it.

  They followed a well-worn path commonly used by the villagers. Other small towns sat in the heights of these hills and there was often trade between them. The green brush and trees were thick here, resplendent with their new spring growth. Flowers sprung up everywhere in a rainbow of colors and small animals scattered as they approached. It smells like spring, D’Pharin thought out loud and Gorin turned to look at him.

  “I did not think you, hmmm…Humans, noticed such things.” he said raising one hairless brow.

  D’Pharin stopped where he stood.

  “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t we?”

  The Troll moved his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. With a deep breath he sighed, “Once again, it seems our races are somewhat, hmmm-ignorant-of one another. We must agree on this-we will no longer assume anything about one another. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” he answered with a smile. “You know, Gorin, every human is different. There are some of us who probably don’t notice the small things. The smell of flowers and the colors of a sunset, but my family has always taken time out to do these things. My mother…well, she’s gone now, but when she was alive she taught us to cherish these things and to never forget them. Her faith in the Wind was as strong as any in all of Kirkaldin.”

  Gorin grinned at the lad and lightly clipped him on the shoulder.

  “She sounds like a great woman. You should be proud to be her descendant.” He paused, considering his next words. “In the Stone Troll, hmmm … communities, honor is the most important thing one can own. One can be as poor as a beggar, but with honor one is still rich beyond his wildest dreams. Loyalty, respect, integrity-you know these words? These are the things we strive for in Rathnok, my home.”

  “In Rathnok, each of us is treated the same. Until we are given a reason to doubt, all are equal. Even the women of our home have equal station, unlike … I am sorry, these are your ways and I should not question.”

  D’Pharin shook his head. “No, that’s fine. Some of our ways seem strange to me as well.” They both laughed.

  “D’Pharin, in other lands- you would not believe- the women fight alongside the men and are just as skilled! The Elves of the forests, their women are some of the best warriors I have ever seen. In the Battle of Tree Towers, I … ”

  “The Battle of Tree Towers? You fought at Tree Towers? So long ago? But, then Trolls live much longer than we do.” D’Pharin could not contain himself. War stories always excited his sense of adventure. Never having left this small town, he longed for a challenge. Anything besides this boring life of helping his father at the stables. He loved horses, but Lauden couldn’t be more mundane. “I can’t believe it, tell me about it. Did you see S’Darin? How exactly did he die? Is it true that Mournenhile himself destroyed him?”

  Gorin burst out in deep laughter, shaking leaves form the nearby trees. After his chuckling had subsided, he sighed.

  “Ah, son … you are young, are you not? Stories of battle always excite the mind. Fighting in such a battle is another tale indeed. As the Stone Trolls say, there is no glory in blood.” He placed his huge right hand on the young man’s back and helped him over a small stump in the trail. “Perhaps you will leave this town one day and have your own adventures. I pray luck for you. Wind watch over you, my friend.”

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” D’pharin asked anxiously.

  “Hmmm. Later, friend.” Gorin answered with a crooked smile. He rubbed his palm over the top of his head, producing a rough, scraping sound that almost put D’Pharin’s teeth on edge. Troll skin was a mystery to him for certain.

  Roughly an hour passed with much casual conversation between them. It had not taken much time for them to grow comfortable with each other. D’Pharin found himself dreading the Troll’s departure. There were so many more questions he wanted to ask.

  “D’Pharin, is that your brother’s home, there?” He would have to put his questions on hold for now.

  One massive finger pointed through the trees to their left. A small cottage stood just off of the trail somewhat hidden by the upward slope of the hillside. It was obviously very run-down and not taken care of. Several smashed rain barrels littered the front yard and many fence posts had fallen to the ground. The roof was in disrepair and the dark green door was partially open and loose on its hinges. Two large dogs raised their heads at their approach and sensing no danger, dropped them back to the ground.

  “Yep, that’s the place.” he answered with a little disgust. He couldn’t believe the uncaring attitude his brother had slipped into. He wasn’t like that when he left, he thought. Gorin’s eyes went to him.

  “Do not judge your brother, D’Pharin. No one can know what he feels. What has changed inside. War is not easy on one’s body or one’s mind.”

  Gorin had seemed to
guess his thoughts, somewhat unnerving him for a moment.

  “Well, let’s go see if he’s home.” D’Pharin said as he walked onto the knee-high grass of Hagan's yard. Who am I kidding, he thought. Isn’t he always home?

  He lightly rapped on the door with his knuckles and it swung a little farther open allowing a better view inside. The place was a mess. Junk was piled everywhere that he could see. He knocked louder, already impatient.

  “Hagan, are you here?” he called out as he stepped from foot to foot.

  “Hagan?!”

  “Damn.”

  He pushed the door open, which was a feat in itself. Something blocked it from the other side. Probably some sort of trash thrown about. After getting the door open and recoiling from the pungent smell of old ale, he motioned for Gorin to follow. This would not improve Gorin’s opinion of his race, he was sure. The entire ceiling was covered with cobwebs, some occupied and some not. A layer of dust covered every visible surface. They noticed several pieces of strange artwork hanging on the walls. Disturbing paintings of carnage and great horned beasts. Stacked to one side, was a large crate full of buckets of what seemed to be paint. Various brushes and art utensils lay about. Was Hagan responsible for all of these drawings?

  Three steps took them through the entryway and into the home proper. In the main living room, adjacent to the stone fireplace, a man’s feet hung off the end of the embroidered sofa that sat there. The rest of his body was completely covered by several blankets. A low rumbling came from underneath and the covering above his face rose and fell a little with each snore.

  D’Pharin could not help but be flustered. Maybe the people were right. It seemed his brother was a drunkard after all. Look at him there, passed out in a drunken sleep. He glanced up at Gorin and smirked as if to say, “sorry about this”. Gorin simply smiled back and grabbed his shoulder.

  Suddenly, another foot came out from beneath the blankets. A rather smooth and feminine foot.

  Both of them gasped in surprise. A little too loudly in fact.

  A most disheveled woman, wearing nothing but an elaborate necklace, sat up straight, her raven-colored hair all about her face. Her near-black eyes fixed on the Stone Troll and after a brief silence, widened like saucers. She let out a scream and bolted from the room, out into the front yard. In seconds, realizing she had forgotten her clothing, they heard her sneak in the back door. After finding suitable attire, she exited again with just as much haste.

  Gorin turned to D’Pharin with huge, round eyes. He seemed to be almost blushing.

  “It’s alright, Gorin.” he said. “Think nothing of it.”

  “But … ” Gorin began.

  D’Pharin cut him off with a shrug and wave of his hand. He couldn’t help but grin. It’s not every day that a woman races by as naked as a newborn. He set his mind on his brother.

  “Hagan.” he said, leaning in close to the bundled man.

  No answer.

  He reached out and put his hand on an exposed calf. Instantly, there was a quick rustling of bedclothes and a blade at his throat. Hagan’s haggard face was inches from his own, his red-rimmed eyes wide and intense. The younger brother recoiled for a moment from his foul breath. For a moment, D’Pharin did not recognize him, but Hagan was quicker to react. His eyes became softer and he tossed his dagger at the mantle in disgust. With one hand he gripped D’Pharin at the upper arm and hugged him with the other.

  “Brother. I’m so sorry… I …. ”

  “It’s alright, Hagan. I surprised you, that’s all. I know you didn’t mean to.” D’Pharin tried to calm him as he slowly pried his brother’s fingers from his arm.

  Hagan took a deep breath and slowly reclined on the sofa. He pushed his unwashed hair away from his dark eyes and ran a hand over his stubbled chin. Then, he went rigid again as he caught sight of the great Stone Troll standing to his left. His eyes once again met his brother’s.

  “Who is that? What is he doing here?” he said, now obviously angry.

  “Sir Hagan. I am Gorin Grimandin from Rathnok. I mean no … offense. Please, listen … ” Gorin spoke slowly as he moved closer to D’Pharin’s side.

  “He’s a friend, Hagan.” D’Pharin added. “You can trust him.”

  “D’Pharin, please. I think I have a little more experience in this type of situation. Why don’t you let me decide who to trust, eh?”

  Hagan threw the blankets to the side and stood, pulling on his patched brown trousers. His brows came together as he looked down at the sofa. He suddenly looked sharply at Gorin.

  “Where is she? If you harmed her in any way …. ” he scowled.

  “Hagan! I told you he was a friend. Your … woman … ran outside at the sight of him.” The youngest brother explained, pointing out the front door.

  They all glanced at the wooden floor, where some of the woman’s clothing still lay strewn about. Hagan produced a small smile and looked into D’Pharin’s face.

  “Naked?”

  D’Pharin nodded and after a moment the two burst out in laughter while Gorin stared on with a puzzled expression. As they calmed down, the woman burst through the open door and scooped up her belongings.

  “I’m glad you can laugh at this situation!” the frazzled woman screamed. “And by the way, I don’t like your artwork!”

  She turned and slapped Hagan hard against the right cheek, then stormed out.

  “Amitee … ” he called out an apology.

  Silence.

  Then the laughter started again. Excepting the Troll, of course.

  Once his older brother had cleaned up a bit, D’Pharin sat Hagan down at the small table in the kitchen. He noticed that Hagan had changed a lot for the worse. His once flat stomach now held a large paunch and he slouched when he stood. He no longer held the air of confidence that D’Pharin remembered. When Hagan had left for the War, everyone looked up to him.

  Gorin felt uncomfortable and stood leaning against one wall, his eyes on the floor. Hagan had become a little more coherent and attempted to straighten the room up a bit, but soon gave up.

  “Can I offer you gentlemen some … uh … what do I have?” he started, fumbling around in the cupboards. “Never mind. There’s nothing here. Haven’t been to market in some time. Uh … ”

  “Lord Hagan.” Gorin interrupted, motioning for Hagan to be seated across from him. Hagan hesitated, but knew there was no avoiding this. He had been sent a message. He knew as well as any that Stone Trolls were among the most good and honorable creatures in all of Kirkaldin. He knew the message would be of great importance. He did not want to hear it. I’m through with that.

  Gorin slowly dropped to one knee and bowed his head, hand to chest.

  “Lord Defender. Vanquisher of the Darkness. Hero of the Black Sun. Sir Hagan Marindel …”

  “Enough! Look, Gorin, those are no longer my titles to bear. I … I don’t want them. In fact, I never wanted them. I’m no hero. So, please … continue but, without the formality.” Hagan had begun to stand, but once again seated himself with a thud.

  Gorin was obviously taken aback. His people lived by formality. It was what made them the respectable race that they were. His forehead wrinkled as he thought out his next words.

  “As you wish. Lord Hagan … ” he began in his low gravelly voice. The word ‘lord’ produced a grimace from Hagan, but the Troll continued. “When the stillness came upon the world and once again Mournenhile crawled onto the land, you fought beside the best of our realm’s warriors. As the Black Sun shown down upon Harquinn, your blade left naught but death in its wake. The fires of Hell were upon our earth and you stood your ground, defending the great city and all of Kirkaldin. Your battle with Malhain is now a tale of legend, sung by minstrels near and far. On that dread day, the side of good defeated the armies of Mournenhile, driving them back across the Edge to lick their wounds, those that did not lie upon the ground in their own blood.”

  “Yes, I know the stories. They never found Malh
ain’s body. He may not have died. Get on with it, Gorin. Please.” Hagan was growing very impatient although his younger brother was in awe.

  “Are you- I mean were you really called all of those things?” D’Pharin asked, smiling in Hagan’s direction. He took notice of a large painted canvas leaning against the north wall. A battle scene. Mostly shades of red.

  Hagan only grunted in response. He then turned to Gorin, his hands slowly becoming fists upon the tabletop.

  “Can we please get to the point?” he whispered through clenched teeth.

  Gorin breathed a heavy sigh and began again.

  “You have been summoned by Councilcrane. They request your presence immediately, Lord Hagan.”

  Hagan paused for a moment, his eyes fixed to the grain of the table.

  “No.”

  All were silent for a moment, not knowing what to say.

  D’Pharin was the first to clear his throat and speak. However as soon as he opened his mouth, his older brother silenced him.

  “No, brother. I am not a legend. I am not a hero. Those are not things I want anymore.” He hesitated and looked to the ceiling. “I just want to be left alone … ”

  Gorin fidgeted where he stood, unsure of his next course of action. He knew that at any cost, Hagan must be convinced to accompany him on his return.

  “Hagan,” he began. “I mean no dis … disrespect, my friend. Before the battle, you swore an oath to Kinrahd-“

  “To Hell with the oath. I had no idea what I was getting into. None of us did! You don’t have any idea what was asked of us, do you? No idea. The things I had to do … I can never forgive myself. If I had known what was to come, I never would have given my word. Not to Kinrahd. Not to anyone. It wasn't worth it. Too many died. Far too many… ”

  His eyes held a faraway look as he remembered those days and his lip began to tremble.

  “Hmmm. How can you say it wasn’t worth it?” Gorin moved close to him, his hulking form casting the table in shadow. “Had you not fought, the land you stand on now would be under Mournenhile’s rule. All would be as twisted here as in the east. Have you seen the lands across the Edge? Black and deformed.”

  “You may have suffered along with the rest, but never say it wasn’t worth it. Would you want your family-your brother-to die under Mournenhile? I don’t think so. Remember those that fell under that Black Sun.”

  “Look, I am finished. I have no more to give. They cannot ask more of me. I gave everything I had.” Hagan was in obvious pain. D’Pharin reached out a hand, but he slapped it aside.

  “I don’t want sympathy. I … I don’t know what I want. It wasn’t supposed to turn out that way. Friends and companions dead by my side. I do not want that again, do you understand?”

  For the first time since they had met, the Stone Troll held an expression of near anger. He huffed, causing the cobwebs above him to swing and dance around.

  “Do not say that you would consider breaking your oath. Do not say that.” Gorin said with a hard squint. “I will no longer hold respect for one who does not keep his word. And a war hero no less!”

  “Do you think I want your respect? Why would that matter to me? I want to be left alone or didn’t you hear? This is my place now. Here.” He jammed his finger into the tabletop to make his point.

  Gorin looked away and out the window in thought. D’Pharin thought he could actually hear his teeth clenching from where he sat.

  “It is your decision, of course.” The Troll said quietly in Hagan’s direction.

  “And I have decided I will stay here.” said Hagan roughly.

  “No, Hagan. That is not what I meant.” Gorin turned toward him and bent at the waist until they were face to face. “It is your decision whether you ride to Harquinn or I carry you there. A Troll always completes his mission. Always. I will have you in Harquinn within two week’s time regardless of your mode of travel. I do not mean to be … what is your word ...? Violent. However if the situation calls for it … ”

  Hagan stared into his dark grey eyes for a moment, then turned his aside. He looked to D’Pharin but found no solace there. The last thing I want is another blasted adventure!

  Who am I responsible for this time?

  Hagan sharply exhaled, stood and walked past Gorin to the window. He took in his front yard, untended for months and his fence, broken in many places. The dogs raised their heads as they sensed him there, then realizing it was not feeding time, went back to their naps. The trees outside were starting to get their leaves. Soon, all would be a thousand shades of green. Strange how he hadn’t noticed these things for so long. Now he would be leaving, so he tried to soak it all in with his eyes. This may be the last time I see this place. I almost didn’t make it back last time.

  “I have one condition. One condition and I will go.” Hagan said coldly.

  “Go on, my friend.” Gorin answered, taking a step toward him.

  “If I am heading back into battle-I am sure they would not want me if that were not the case- if I will see blood again, I want to bring Vasparian.”

  “Lord Hagan … ” Gorin began.

  “No! That is the only way! We will find Vasparian and enlist his aid. He and I survived the Black Sun back to back. His is one of the few blades I trust.” Hagan balled his fingers into a fist and stared at it for a moment.

  “That will add many days to our trip … ” the Troll muttered through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t care. You swear an oath, now. You swear to me that we will at least ask him to join us.”

  “Hmmm.” Gorin grunted. “Agreed, Hagan. I will never hear the end of this once we reach the council … ”

  Gorin looked as though he were calculating things in his head. This will have to do. I am bringing him back. Most did not believe I could even do that. And I am the smallest of my family. Hmmm!

  “Must we leave now?” he asked without turning.

  Gorin cleared his throat.

  “I can give you until the morning if you like.” he said.

  “No.” Hagan replied trying to sound confident once more. “I’ll just need to gather some things.”

  “Understood.”

  “D’Pharin, would you help me in the other room?” Hagan asked wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

  “Sure, brother.”

  D’Pharin was at a loss for words. He wished to comfort his brother in some way but had no idea what he was going through. Gorin remained in the kitchen as the two moved into the next room. The elder brother walked through the living room and into a dark room at the back of the house. D’Pharin followed him and discovered a room filled with trunks of all sizes. Some were carved with ancient and unfamiliar symbols, others plain and unmarked. Piled in a far corner were leather sacks and packing crates that Hagan began throwing to the center of the room. Dust immediately filled the air, as it seemed this room had not been used for some time. Finally, Hagan found what he was searching for and stopped digging. Slowly, he turned toward D’Pharin although his gaze was fixed on the items he held in his hand. He began to brush off the cobwebs and dirt as he turned them over in his hands. He held before him a deep blue suit of chest armor, inlaid with reflective silver markings and in the other hand, the matching gauntlets. He managed a small smile as some thought brought a fond memory.

  “I’ve never seen those.” His brother gasped extending a hand towards them. He traced the patterns with his fingertips and smiled.

  “No one has … unless they were there in Harquinn.” Hagan answered. He quickly walked back into the main room and tossed the armor on the sofa. With D’Pharin on his heels, he opened the door to his bedroom and entered. He crossed the room and knelt at the other side of the unmade bed. He lifted the mattress with one hand and pulled something out with the other. D’Pharin was unable to see what he held but it gave Hagan a deep frown.

  “What is it?” he asked, concerned yet very intrigued. What other treasures did his brother have hidden away up here?


  “I swore to never use this again.” he mumbled and shook his head.

  He stood and pulled a beautiful long sword from its black leather scabbard. Its slightly curved blade glinted in the dim light and a flare traced the length of it as Hagan moved it in an arc in front of him. His eyes followed the movement of the silver steel with a strange satisfaction. He felt a longing. He missed the feel of the sword in his hand. He could not deny it. It was simply an extension of his arm. Always was. No, I can’t!

  Not again!

  “By the Wind, Hagan … ” D’Pharin exclaimed. He had never seen such a sword in person. He remembered the pride he had once felt for his brother. “That is some blade, brother.”

  “NO!” Hagan screamed and threw it across the room, causing a long gash in the wall. The sword fell to the floor with a clang and came to rest. Hagan put his head in his hands and turned away. D’Pharin leapt across the bed and retrieved the sword. He marveled at its brilliance as he gently took the scabbard from his brother’s shaking hands. He reluctantly sheathed the blade and held it to his chest.

  “I’ll hold it until you want it back, agreed?” he asked.

  Hagan turned, teary-eyed and nodded. “I’m sorry, D’Pharin. I … ” he let his voice trail off.

  “Don’t apologize, Hagan. I’m sure I can’t understand war, having never been anywhere close to one. Hell, Father won’t let me out of his sight for a moment. By the way ... ” he dropped his voice to a whisper.

  “Will you take me along?”

  Hagan gave a start and looked sharply at his brother.

  “Brother, please. You have no idea what this will involve. I will not risk your life as well as the others. Your place is here-“

  “What? My place is here? What does that mean? I’m only meant to be a stable boy? A ranch hand? Father’s errand boy?” D’Pharin yelled.

  “I can’t believe you would say that to me! So, you’re the only one in this family that gets to leave this boring place? No, wait a second. I am old enough to decide where and when I go. You may be older than I am, but I am my own man.”

  “D’Pharin … ”

  “I don’t want to hear it. You’re just like him!”

  He stormed out of the bedroom, sword in hand and ran out into the yard. The dogs raised their heads as usual, then returned to sleep.

  Hagan saw Gorin looking on from the kitchen doorway.

  “He doesn’t know what it’s like out there, Gorin.” he said as he stared at his brother’s back through the open door.

  “Who decided when you would leave, Hagan?”

  Hagan slowly looked at the Troll. I did, I know. He’s just a kid. If I can keep him from harm…

  “Your life is not his and his not yours. If he wants to go from here, he will, without your blessing if need be. Hmmm … he has your blood in him. The blood for adventure. True blood. Just as you joined the side of Good and fought with the Wind, so will he. You know that.”

  “I know, I know … ” Hagan mumbled walking past the fireplace and reaching to retrieve his dagger. As he reached the front doorstep he paused and then called out to D’Pharin.

  “I’m not carrying you when you get tired. If you complain, I’m gonna choke you. Agreed? The road out there is rough, brother. It is no picnic. Most of all, you have to agree not to get yourself killed.”

  D’Pharin turned and smiled, gripping his brother’s sword in both hands. He ran over to him and tossed it into the air toward Hagan. The older Marindel caught it with one hand above his head, sunlight catching the silver tooling along the scabbard. Gorin stepped out of the cottage with a grin.

  “Lord Defender, Hero of the Black Sun.” he stated with pride.

  What the Hell am I doing? Hagan thought.

  Getting sucked back into the fires of Hell.

   

  After packing several sacks with Hagan’s supplies, they were ready to depart. Hagan had gathered all of his armor and weapons, a bedroll, and some grooming items. D’Pharin was somewhat surprised to see that he owned any. His appearance of late had become rather wretched. At some point, he had cleaned himself up quite a bit. His hair had been combed, face washed and shaved. He looked about ten years younger as he shut and locked the front door.

  “Coal. Leather.” he called out to the two hounds and they jumped to their feet. He patted each on its broad head as they tried to jump up on him.

  “You two are going to go stay with your grandfather, alright? Now, you have to behave yourselves, understood? There’ll be plenty of work to do. I’ll be back soon. Come on, now.”

  Gorin was carrying most of the sacks. To him it was no burden at all. Hagan and D’Pharin both had one smaller bag slung over a shoulder. They crossed the front yard and stepped through the rickety fence gate. As they turned north down the path, a woman’s voice called out.

  “Hagan!”

  They all turned and looked back up the hill. Farther along the path, Amitee came running, this time fully clothed. Even from this distance they could see she had been crying. She wiped her face as she drew closer and threw her arms around Hagan, almost knocking him to the ground.

  “Where are you going, dear?” she said softly, turning them both so that their backs were to D’Pharin and the Troll.

  “You’re not leaving me, are you?” she sobbed as she looked into his eyes. She had always had a seductive way about her. She usually got what she wanted from him and now he felt weak.

  “Amitee .... I must go. I have important business far from here.”

  “No, please. Stay here with me. You always said that you were through with all of that. That you would never again leave this place. Please, Hagan. Stay.” She was on the verge of tears, clawing at his shirt collar. Hagan struggled to hold her up. He truly felt sorry for her but he knew this had to be. What do I say? I can’t tell her the truth. I promised.

  “Amitee. I will come back. You know I will.”

  “No you won’t, dammit! Don’t you lie to me! I know what will happen.” She screamed and spat at him. Almost immediately she calmed herself and batted her eyelashes at him.

  “We have fun together, don’t we? Huh?”

  Hagan blushed a bit, mostly because his younger brother was standing behind him. He adjusted the sack on his shoulder and cleared his throat.

  “Look, I have no choice. You must understand. This is not something I can say ‘no’ to.” He paused and searched for the right words. He didn’t want to hurt her. They had been together for nearly ten years now, off and on. It was a strange relationship but he hadn’t cared. Anyone that would put up with his raving and listen to his stories couldn’t be that bad. “I made a promise.”

  She scowled up at him. He thought for sure that she would hit him again. She didn’t.

  “You promised me, too.”

  “I … ” He wasn’t able to finish the sentence. She ran off up the hillside and into the trees. The last word he heard from her was a shouted “Bastard!” and then nothing else.

  He stared up after her for a moment, remembering their time together. Good times, but he had to admit, there were also plenty of bad. He would miss her. He knew that much.

  “Come on, brother.” D’Pharin slapped him on the back and he nodded.

  “Let’s go.” he said. As they walked, he couldn’t stop himself from looking back. Perhaps she meant a lot more to him than he would admit. He didn’t think she would be here when he returned. If he returned.

  The dogs fell in line behind them as they made their way back towards Lauden. The sun was high in the sky, the shadows shortening before them. They didn’t talk much for the first hour or so, but soon D’Pharin spoke up.

  “Maybe we should stop by the Dreamsinger before we go, huh?” he said.

  “I don’t think we have time, the way Gorin speaks.” Hagan replied. He wanted to talk. Anything to stop thinking about Amitee.

  “Your town has a Dreamsinger?” Gorin arched an eyebrow in their direction. Nowadays, very few towns had them.
They were gifted people, usually women. They could walk through other’s dreams. At this time, travelers mostly used them. The traveler gave a lock of hair or some other personal effect to the Dreamsinger and when relatives wanted to make contact, the Dreamsinger would use this ‘connection’ to communicate through them. An easy way to keep in touch if you could afford it. Of course, some did not trust it. That is the way of magic.

  “She is new to the craft, but very good I am told.” said D’Pharin kicking some loose dirt down the path. “I think Haniman has used her and probably Chenal as well.”

  “I think Chenal has used just about everyone.” Hagan added with a chuckle.

  “So tell me, Gorin. What news have you? What goes on in the world? It’s been awhile you understand, but I should catch up on things. Don’t you agree?” he said.

  “Hah. Hmmm, where to begin?” Gorin started. He paused for a moment in contemplation and then resumed.

  “Since the Battle of the Black Sun, Harquinn has been rebuilt into an even finer city. The stonework of the Tower is beautiful. The council still rules, although there are rumors … some want a king.”

  “A king? What? The council has ruled for what, nine hundred years?” Hagan protested.

  “Closer to one thousand, I would think. That was indeed before my time.” The Troll added. “Some wish Harquinn to have a stronger army and to rely less on magic.”

  “Interesting … ” Hagan said. “Interesting, but foolish.”

  “Some would say.” said Gorin.

  “What’s the difference?” asked D’Pharin feeling a little left out.

  “Well, Harquinn is the stronghold of the east. Many of the great battles have culminated there. The people remember this.” Hagan explained. “What they don’t remember is that magic swayed the war, not the sword. Don’t get me wrong, the sword had its place, but in the end, sorcery turned the tide.”

  “Hagan, please.” Gorin said and then addressed D’Pharin. “Your brother is being modest, I believe. The tales all tell of the final battle between Malhain and your brother. That, I believe is what turned the tide.” He placed one huge hand upon both of the brother’s shoulders. He smiled, looking down upon each of them; happy with the company he would be traveling with.

  “Malhain. Hagan, I can’t believe that was you. I thought those were just stories.” the younger Marindel was once again amazed.

  “Alright, let’s talk about something else, shall we?” grunted Hagan with a sidelong glance at the Troll.

  “Hmmm, as you wish.” Gorin mumbled. He then began filling Hagan in on what he had missed in his years of seclusion. The continuing movement of evil into the lands of good. This invisible border between the two sides of the realm was most commonly referred to as The Edge. The edge of the good lands. He spoke of the end of trade between the peoples of Elfwhere and the cities of Man. Some said the Elves had begun to mistrust Man. Man had joined Mournenhile’s armies in the past and would most assuredly continue to do so. Already there were rumors of an army of Men across the Edge preparing for a war like none had witnessed in the past. The Dwarves of Kirkaldin, as was usually the case, had little to do with the other races; in fact, Gorin hadn’t seen or heard of a Dwarf sighting in years. Not many people had cause to venture as far south as Pahn Pirik, the huge mountain range that pushed its face against the sea. The Slatebreaker Sea, as it was known to it’s native folk.

  He told them of the Rot. A sickness that ravaged the mind of those afflicted. It turned its victims into raving madmen. Once infected, the person babbled and spoke to people that were not there. Some claimed to hear the voice of Mournenhile himself. As the Rot progressed, the body began to literally decompose from the feet up. It seemed to be very contagious and the worst of the infected were often locked away where they could harm no one. Over all, the world was in a slight state of chaos.

  It seemed that Gorin wished to say more but was holding back. Hagan decided not to push him.

  “Does Davaris still hold the High Seat in Councilcrane?” he asked to change the subject.

  “Hmmm, yes. None is as wise and fair as Davaris. I can think of none that could take his place.” the Troll said with utmost pride. “None that still live, that is.”

  Those that knew of the Battle of the Black Sun, knew of the fall of Kinrahd. He had ruled the council before Davaris. Hagan had always felt that he had let Kinrahd die. No one else saw it that way, of course.

  “It was he that sent for me?” asked Hagan.

  “It was.” Gorin affirmed.

  “I look forward to seeing him again. He was always fair to me.” Hagan said with a grin. Memories were beginning to assault him. Things he had intentionally blocked out for a dozen years. Fire and blood, steel and sweat. The white-hot glow of Wizard’s flame. He remembered the faces of those that had served with him, so many now gone. He remembered Kinrahd. Strong and powerful Kinrahd. With dark scarlet robe and wild white hair, standing atop the bodies of the fallen. Staff thrust out before him and dancing in fire. Shouting in the ancient tongues and blasting their foes to ashes. Terrible Kinrahd. That was the only time he had ever felt afraid of the High Wizard. Those eyes. I think his eyes had more fire in them than his staff.

  But, he had fallen. In the end, the flames were extinguished, just as we all will be eventually. Our time will come, no matter how we fight it. To be remembered, that is all one can hope for. To not disappear into the past, but remain in the present dwelling in loved one’s memories.

  “Hagan?”

  D’Pharin had called his name several times. He had been so lost in thought he had not heard.

  “Sorry, just thinking … ” he replied.

  “Gorin, any word about the Runeglobe?”

  “The Tinkerers of Aka-Brindor have made little progress, it seems.” he replied with a frown.

  The Runeglobe was an ancient artifact unearthed years ago. A mostly transparent ball full of energy, it was inscribed with millions of archaic symbols. The council had thought it most important and had set the Tinkerers to uncover its hidden meaning. Thus far to no avail. Since its discovery, it had been secreted in an underground chamber near the heart of the city.

  “The council still believes the globe holds the key to ending Mournenhile for good, eh?” Hagan asked with a shrug of the shoulders.

  “It would seem so, yes.” answered the Troll.

  “They believe it to be a relic created during the Morning of the World, when all of this was created.” He spread out his giant arms to encompass everything within their view.

  “Who do they think created it?” asked D’Pharin. “The Elves?”

  “No, no. Not the Elves.” Gorin shook his head from side to side. “Not the Elves. The Wind itself. The creator of Kirkaldin. He who carved the plains and built the mountains.

   

  “Before Morning, came the Wind.

  Naught but darkness accompanied him.

  Time at rest.

  Time begins.

  Since the coming of the Wind.”

   

  “Go on, Gorin.” said an excited D’Pharin. He loved the ancient songs. “Sing the rest of it.”

  Gorin looked at Hagan as if asking permission. Hagan nodded his agreement and he continued.

   

  “Barren ground rose and fell.

  Snow-capped peak and forested dell.

  Time at rest.

  Time begins.

  Since the coming of the Wind.

  Hawk and wolf, whale and wren.

  Elves and Dwarves, and later, Men.

  Time at rest.

  Time begins.

  Since the coming of the Wind.”

   

  “You sing well, my friend.” Hagan said. “Deeper than most, but still very enjoyable.”

  “My thanks, Hagan.” Gorin said with a toothy smile.

  The songs of the Trolls were well known throughout the land. On special occasions, the very mountains themselves could be heard to reverberate wi
th their voices. Thousands in unison, melody and harmony. Guests were not welcome at these events. Troll clan songs were always appreciated from afar.

  They had gotten close to the end of the path and the way had leveled off for the most part. As spring had arrived in Lauden, the air had grown quite warm and the animals had come to life. Of course the birds were everywhere, but now squirrels and chipmunks foraged for nuts in the thick ground cover. They even sighted a family of deer just as they left the foothills.

  They were so close to the village of Lauden now that they could smell old Vemberin’s Bakery as they rounded a low hill, smelling his sweet bread and pastries. Gorin mumbled something about another meal and quickened his pace. The plan was to make a stop at their father’s home to gather supplies and leave the dogs. Hagan still did not believe that their father would allow D’Pharin to leave and he thought that was probably for the best. Father can crush his dream instead of me.

  Before they reached the town, the dirt trail forked in front of them. Their fathers ranch was on the outskirts of Lauden, so they took the easterly path. A horse-driven wagon loaded with goods rumbled past them as they stepped to the side. The driver was wrapped in a dark cloak up to his eyes and didn’t even look in their direction. Most likely a shipment from Ar’Klaemen, possibly baking supplies or ale for one of the few taverns in town. Whatever it was, he was in a hurry. Hagan cursed under his breath at the driver’s carelessness.

  “Wonder what he’s in a hurry about?” asked D’Pharin stepping back out onto the trail.

  “I didn’t recognize the wagon, did you?” Hagan asked.

  “No.” his brother replied. “And I know most of the traders by name. Never saw that one before. I think I would remember that fellow.”

  “We’ll let father know. The mayor can look into it.” Hagan said.

  Gorin had been standing in the tall brush to the side of the path staring after the wagon. He hadn’t moved since it had thundered past. He seemed to be frozen where he stood. They both noticed him at the same time.

  “Gorin? What’s the matter?” D’Pharin asked moving closer.

  The Troll finally swung his head back towards them and his face held a strange expression of almost fear. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Hagan asked loosening his sword in the scabbard. Anything that could scare a Stone Troll was worth worrying about. He scanned the trees at both sides of the road and pushed D’Pharin closer to Gorin.

  “Hmmm … Something is not right. I felt something, almost like death as the wagon passed. There is something wrong here.”

  “What do you mean?” both brothers whispered in unison.

  “Let us make haste. We must hurry.”

  Then Gorin was off at a trot. They ran after him and soon they were walking briskly down the long drive that led to their father’s horse ranch. As they approached, some of the ranch hands noticed them and shouted out a welcome. Most were amazed to see Hagan out and about. At the sound of all the commotion, their father, Rhuvin Marindel sauntered out the back door. A tall, imposing man with thinning hair and a paunch around the middle, too much time in the sun had creased his eyes and forehead deeply while leaving his skin a dark pink color. He wore buckskin breeches as the other ranchers did and a long sleeved button-up work shirt. He held his left hand close to his body as if injured.

  Their father’s eyes went from brother to brother, mostly ignoring the huge Stone Troll, then finally settled on the younger, whose eyes were on the ground.

  “D’Pharin, today’s chores are still waiting where you left them.” he said with a rough tone. It seemed that he wished to speak with Hagan alone and needed a reason to dismiss D’Pharin. “Maybe your large friend can give you some assistance.”

  Gorin gave a quick snort of disapproval, glanced at Hagan and followed D’Pharin across the yard toward the stables. Several ranchers looked up from their work, expressionless. Their eyes, however, followed the great Stone Troll until he disappeared into the stable building near the rear of the main house.

  Three of them mending a fence began a hushed discussion about the unexpected visitor. Something strange goin’ on, one of them remarked.

  “Could’ve used your help down here after your mother was taken by the Wind,” Rhuvin said casually as he walked with Hagan to a busy corral. They had several horses within that were being trained.

  “That’s a fine mare, there.” Hagan remarked, gesturing to the far end of the corral. Two men worked with a huge black horse. Very muscular and proud, it fought them every step of the way. Such a noble beast, he thought.

  “Fine, yes, but she is much too stubborn.” his father added.

  “Some refuse to be broken. You cannot force the wildness out of all of them. Some will serve, but on their own terms.” Hagan said.

  “That’s a whole lot of effort, son. When obeying would be so much easier in the long run.”

  “Obeying?” Hagan gritted through his teeth. His father obviously was not speaking of horses any longer.

  “I did not come here to argue, father.” Hagan said calmly, pushing his aggravation down.

  “Why did you come, then, Hagan? I haven’t heard a thing from you in years. You weren’t even in attendance at your mother’s funeral, by the Wind!”

  Hagan tightly shut his eyes. That hurt, he thought.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” he said turning to face Rhuvin.

  “Understand what? Your mother dies and you can’t even pay her your last respects. She didn’t deserve that, Hagan!” his father lashed out, releasing anger that he had bottled away for years.

  “I paid my respects, damn you! I didn’t need to look at her dead body to make my peace. Where do you think the roses around her grave came from? Magic? They just blossomed out of nowhere? No! I planted them there and every year I tend to them. For her! I would say that qualifies as respect, father! Don’t you?”

  His father’s mouth hung open as he stared at his defiant son.

  “You didn’t answer my question, son.” he said softly. “Why did you come?”

  “I came for my horse. Where’s Maelstrom?”

  “Maelstrom? Maelstrom’s been dead for years, boy. You forget how long you’ve been hidden away up there. He was getting old when you left him here.” said Rhuvin.

  Hagan turned away in despair. He never imagined Maelstrom not being here when he returned. They had been through it all together. Now he was gone. That beautiful stallion. Damn.

  “I lied.” said his father after a moment.

  Hagan’s eyes brightened as he lifted them to his father’s face.

  “Well ... in a sense. There is a Maelstrom here. Your horse sired him. Take him.”

  Maelstrom’s son? Strange what time does. Well, if it can’t be Maelstrom, then this will be as close as possible.

  “Thanks.” Hagan finally managed.

  To say things were awkward between them would be an immense understatement. Since Hagan had left, against his father’s wishes, things had changed and it seemed beyond repair.

  “Drom, “ he called out to a ranch hand. “Have Maelstrom saddled and ready to ride.” A burly, blonde youth jumped to his feet and ran for the stables. Rhuvin employed many of the village boys. His ranch seemed to be a very successful business. People from many distant cities came for the horses he raised or to have their steeds trained by his ranchers.

  “So I guess the council has held you to your oath? Is it another war? What is it this time? Some fool adventure, I suppose.” His father had a way with disparaging remarks. Always condescending. Grow up to be a rancher just like me, he had always said.

  Hagan glared at his father with narrowed eyes. How can one hate their father?

  “Damn you. While the rest of us fought and died out there,” he gestured far off to the north and west. “You hid up here on this ranch, old man. You are and always will be a coward. We could’ve used your help out there!” Hagan’s voice was nearly a sc
ream as those last words came out.

  Rhuvin suddenly jumped forward and roughly grabbed Hagan by the shirt collar. Then, with incredible speed Hagan pivoted in place, brought his hands up between his father’s. A quick sweep of his right leg put his father to the dirt in a heap.

  “Boy ... “ his father began as he tried to rise.

  “Boy? Look again, father. I’m no longer a boy to be pushed around by the likes of you. If you ever put your hands on me-or for that matter, D’Pharin-I will do more than throw you to the ground.”

  A small crowd of ranch hands had gathered but they were keeping their distance. Hagan stomped his way through them to the open stable doors. D’Pharin and Gorin stood just inside the doorway where they could see but not be seen. Several stalls back, the blonde-haired lad was walking Maelstrom out. As he entered, D’Pharin let out a low whistle.

  “Hagan ... ” he started. He silenced him with a look.

  “Grab a horse and mount up, brother. We’re going.” He stated plainly.

  “But, father won’t-“

  “It’s no longer his decision. It’s mine. And yours. Don’t stay here. Come with me to Harquinn.” he said as he watched Maelstrom approach.

  “You look just like your father, boy.” he remarked patting the huge horse along the neck and chest. The horse seemed to study him for a moment and then nuzzled against his shoulder. It was as if Maelstrom knew him although they had never actually met.

  “I’m Hagan. I knew your father. There was never a finer stallion.”

  Maelstrom’s big brown eyes seemed to comprehend all that he said.

  In minutes, the two brothers sat atop their steeds within the stable. Their stallions both stomped the straw-covered dirt floor with anticipation. The chance to run again.

  “Hagan, what if he-“ D’Pharin began to question their present course.

  “D’Pharin, it is time you leave this place. He has never treated you well. You are a man and as a man you can make your own decisions, understand?” Hagan smiled at him and that gave him all the courage he would need.

  “Gorin, how will you ride? There’s not a horse in this entire country your size.” D’Pharin asked with a laugh.

  The Troll opened his mouth to answer, but Hagan interjected with an explanation of sorts.

  “Don’t worry, brother. He’ll make do, I assure you. Gorin doesn’t need a horse to keep up.” Hagan said taking his bags from the Troll’s outstretched hand. He slung these over his saddle and tied the leather drawstrings to it.

  “When we ride out, don’t look at him. Don’t be afraid. As long as I am here, he can’t hurt you.”

  The two riders spurred their horses forward and out of the stable. The Troll trod along behind, ever watchful. The ranchers were all frozen in their tracks. They fully expected Rhuvin to stop them, especially the younger brother.

  He stood, arms crossed over his chest, feet spread wide. He was in their direct path and seemed to have every intention of remaining there.

  Hagan turned to his brother.

  “Don’t look at him, understand?”

  “Sure.” D’Pharin answered, casting his eyes downward.

  Hagan was worried that his father would somehow frighten D’Pharin into staying. Not this time, he thought.

  “What you doin’ boy?” came their father’s call.

  The younger brother’s eyes darted back and forth across the ground but never in his father’s direction.

  “You get down off that horse this instant before I knock your damned head off!”

  Hagan met his stare head on, never wavering. Never blinking. No longer was he the youth of twenty, shivering with every word out of his father’s mouth. He had been more than just a rough parent. He had been extremely violent with them. Mother always retreated to the comfort of the house when he went into one of his rages. Hagan was sure his father was the cause of his mother’s death.

  “Goodbye, father.” Hagan said with a grin.

  “And look after my dogs.”

  Rhuvin took a step forward, had second thoughts and stepped back. 

  The three companions rode past him and out onto the dirt road in the direction of Lauden.