Sunset

Sunset

























The old man sighed deeply to himself at the interruption.

"Alexander!" whispered the young boy tensely. Shifting uneasily in his overly large tunic, handed down to him from his older brother, he added "Keep quiet or we'll never hear the end of Henderson's tale!"

Alexander, perched in the middle of the crowd next to the protesting individual, shot him back a glare. Pointedly ignoring his unhappy friend, he decided he'd offer forth the question again; "But why were they fighting anyway? I mean, when two armies do battle, there's got to be a good reason, right? Like for land, or a rebellion, or because their kings just told them so, right? Or was it something else?"

With that, he sat back down smugly next to his disgruntled companion, satisfied with his obviously pertinent question on the matter. For good measure, he shot the other boy a heartfelt look of take that! After all, his question was a good one, at least in his mind. He wasn't about to come out that day and not fully know what was going on, that rare day when the individual known to the village as Henderson decided to captivate his audience with another tale of majesty, suspense, or whatever he felt like making up that day to tell. Or more importantly, why it was going on.

So what if his friend was afraid to ask any questions himself in front of a group of listeners like that? He had no such fears! This was an exciting moment for Alexander. And for most of the village, for that matter.

No one really knew just how old Henderson really was…..he was just one of those people who seemed to be around forever. The story was that one day, when he was younger, he had been passing through the village telling fantastic tales of war, love, or any variety of other topics to the local townspeople who happened to be at the local tavern, The Hedgehog Inn, that night. Strangers were not that uncommon there, especially during the bitter winter months when a weary traveler could stop at the village nestled in that forest and enjoy a warm night or two before continuing with his travels. And it was rumored that The Hedgehog's owner, Moe, would on occasion offer both room and a hot meal for someone who could tell a good tale, or perform some sleight of hand to draw a crowd at his tavern. After all, innkeepers needed to make it through the lean months just as much as anyone else.

Apparently Henderson had indeed spun a good tale that night so long ago, and so his talents were welcome there. Learning to support himself, he eventually just stayed at the village permanently, and would on a rare day venture out and tell a tale to the inhabitants of the village he now called home. A large crowd of all ages would usually gather, good weather permitting, to hear his stories. And even in some bad weather, a respectable crowd would gather inside The Hedgehog to hear a tale or two. It seemed that Henderson, when he was in the mood, would just decide that he had a story to tell, and would sit down and tell it.

On this day, however, the weather was just fine, so Alexander and his friend had ventured out and squeezed their way to a respectable seat amongst the other townspeople. Alexander recognized many of the faces in the crowd that day. It was, after all, a rather small village (at least compared to the vast cities he'd heard about) tucked away in a portion of the forest rather distant from the next town over. And that just made him all the more proud to be offering his question forth to the storyteller in front of those he knew.

After all, if there was a war, even in a story, there had to be a reason for it.

With a weary expression on his face, Henderson sighed again, this time more deeply, and decided to at least respond to the youngster, instead of ignoring him outright. Being a storyteller could be a trying activity, especially when some of the younger fellows of the town got into a curious mood.

"Why were they fighting, you ask? Well, if you just keep your sword in your scabbard, and sit tight and listen, you will find out soon enough."

The crowd responded with a scattered chuckle here and there at the remark, but awaited the rest of the tale expectantly, some sitting on the edge of their seats. Alexander was not the only one with questions out there; he had just decided to voice them.

Placated, for the moment at least, Alexander settled back in his seat and thought that a little patience couldn't hurt after all.

"Now where was I? Hmm…ahh yes, I was talking about one of the great swordsmen in that war, a man named Corith."

Now that the storyteller had remembered where he had left off, he resumed.


********


"Corith was a friendly man, twenty-some years past his birth. Not an imposing figure at all, he was of modest height, but he did possess two primary things that helped shape the warrior he was. Firstly, he did have a powerful build to him, his broad shoulders and great strength often causing him more problems than he liked when being fitted for armor. So although he was not the tallest of people, his strength enabled to surprise and overpower more than a few swordsmen of his time. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, Corith had a deep burning desire in him to become a great warrior.

Many men would avoid war at all costs, and when called upon to fight, they would do the best they could, and fought more often than not to merely survive. Kill or be killed was often the mindset. Corith, however, actually enjoyed the swordplay, and practiced it at any time possible, while the other soldiers would spend their free time dicing for gold in the top of the castle towers. He thrived off of the competition of a good match against a worthy opponent, and learned to fear no one.

His youthful appearance was deceptive, however, since Corith had fought in several deadly skirmishes out in the borderlands. In fact, Corith did not just fight in those battles, he excelled in them. Time and time again, one of his fellow soldiers would glance about in the heat of battle and see the powerful man hewing his way through attackers without fear, and challenging their greatest warrior in sight. Each time, Corith would almost effortlessly overpower him with massive two-handed blows from his sword, and eventually defeat him. Or perhaps destroy is a better word to describe it."

Cracking the knuckles on his huge hands, Henderson settled back in his seat, and continued:

"One day, while Corith was out and about in one of the strongholds out in the borderlands, he came across a beautiful young woman. With auburn hair that shone reddish-brown in the sun, and possessing a small, shapely figure, it was no wonder he fell in love the day he laid eyes on her. Corith and Julia conversed easily and happily together almost immediately, and soon became inseparable.

Never before had he encountered such a beautiful, friendly, and loving woman. His personality was complimented well by hers, and it did not take too long before his fellow soldiers were passing jokes back and forth amongst themselves, and chiding the young man about her on occasion. Undisturbed by this, Corith had planned on being wed to her after some time, and Julia was more than happy to be his bride, once the traditional period of courting was over.

Julia had also possessed something else that Corith had never encountered; she was remarkable with the sword as well. Her athletic figure flowed across the stone tiles they fenced on as she matched her opponents, both male and female, blow for blow. More often than not, her patience would outlast her attacker's, and eventually she would find an opening to deliver the final blow as the other tired. She would often engage in practice swordplay with whomever she could find, and if that option was not available, she would practice her forms alone, with nothing but her moonlit shadow dancing across the floor.

And so it came to pass that her skills soon became widely known throughout the borderlands. In the battles that raged across the countryside, her shapely form was often seen dancing from one foe to another with deadly grace. After all, King Vladhar's much maligned borders needed as many soldiers as could be found, and anyone willing to help fight was welcome.

Corith and Julia were indeed a special pair, each earning the respect of many friends, as well as the hate of their enemies."


********


An impatient voice from the crowd spoke up, "So what's all this have to do with the war?"

Annoyed at the interruption, Henderson again cracked his massive, weary knuckles, and stretched his once-powerful arms.

"Patience, my good man! Background on the characters involved in the story is always essential to keep the audience's interest. Or know you nothing about storytelling?"

With that, he settled into his tale once more.


********


"And so, the King eventually heard of their great deeds and fighting prowess, and soon enough sent word out that he wanted them to fight with his personal guard. Off to the King's castle they went, high with the knowledge that they were to join the most elite fighting guard of the kingdom.

You see, to the south lied another land ruled by another great king, by the name of Lattimer, who until recent years had been on good terms with Vladhar. However, it so happened that while King Lattimer was hosting a banquet for the emissaries from the kingdom to his north, one of Vladhar's ambassadors had indulged himself a bit too much that evening on the fine wine that was offered. However, this man took his indulgence a bit too far that night. Ogling one of the serving girls all night, the ambassador deemed himself ready enough to make known his interest for her after quaffing a few too many drinks.

Well, the young girl was used to such attentions in her line of work; after all, she did serve lords and such often enough in the banquet hall. However, the now-brave ambassador did not bring his feelings to her attention in a subtle or even half-pleasant way. Indeed, his reaching across in order to grab her rear, while knocking over several full glasses on the table (in the laps of Lattimer's men, no less), was not at all seen in good humor by the host.

It seems that the anxious ambassador had been having marital troubles back at home, and this little visit was to be a stress reliever for the both of them while they thought things out. Unfortunately, the drunk ambassador did not think at all that night, and once he returned home, word of what he had done spread quickly. The only thinking that his ex-wife-to-be was doing was figuring out how best to hurt him with her rolling pin as she chased him frantically about the house.

But I digress from the point here.

Well, the ambassador made his ill-advised attempt at the serving girl, causing her to yelp loudly in protest as wine spilled all over his neighbors. Shouts of anger from the hosts soon echoed about the banquet hall. A few of the hosting party, also indulging themselves a bit too much that night, offered up many an insult at the offending party and his countrymen for his actions.

Outraged by the sudden insults to king and country (for many did not witness the incident with the serving girl), the guests offered up insults of their own quickly enough, which the King did not take kindly to.

It was only a short matter of time before anything within reach was thrown about in anger. Once one of the hosts fell from a sharp blow to the head by a stale loaf of bread (itself an object of insult by the guests), personal weapons were drawn quickly, and a melee ensued.

Several men were wounded on either side, and the unfortunate soul who met painfully with the old bread actually died some time later, both from the head injury and a knife or two that was thrown about. The incident cleared up when the King Lattimer's guard closed in and the guests outright ran from the hall, the castle, and the land altogether.

Arguments ensued between both kings, and insult after insult was hurled across their border at one another, until tempers flared to the point of warfare. The guests that fabled night did not help matters much either, as they seemed to leave out important details to their King Vladhar of how the incident started. Thus, the charges brought forth by Lattimer were considered lies by Vladhar, which only escalated matters. That, and the fact that both kingdoms had recently stumbled upon an old abandoned stronghold with a significant amount of riches only made things worse. One could say that tensions were high over the whole discovery matter anyhow, and the banquet incident was merely a catalyst of what was inevitable.

Regardless, insults piled upon insults, and what once was a reasonable agreement of peace between the kingdoms soon crumbled into outright hatred. A war was indeed brewing, and King Vladhar was wise enough to see it coming. And so, Corith and Julia were summoned to the heart of the kingdom, along with all other fierce warriors that could be found, so that a great army may be formed."


********


With that, young Alexander whispered to his friend in utter disbelief, "You mean, it was all over a woman?"

The boy's remarks were met with laughter by those who were close enough to hear him, causing the storyteller to pause.

Henderson, whose sharp, intelligent gaze swept across the crowd to the source of the interruption, paid the remark no heed, and began again once the people quieted.


********


"It took little time for the rest of the castle to hear of and notice the great fighting skills of Corith and Julia as they trained with the army. Tournaments were staged often for the king with the participants using weapons made of wood in order to prevent permanent injury. The now-famous couple partook in a number of them, excelling in the two-against-two melees as well as on their own. Winning time and time again with their combination of graceful ease and overwhelming power, the newcomers soon won over the hearts of the people. Friendly and personable, both warriors would often stay after tournaments to talk with particular audience members or teach some basics of swordplay to an ambitious youngster.

Corith's confident attitude and intelligence made him an easy fit into the king's army. Julia, with her winning smile and easygoing personality, eased the pains of her defeated foes in the tournaments as well. Both would often enough treat their tournament adversaries to a tankard of ale or two once the swordplay was over, and left the animosity behind. Several tournament victories and tavern visits later, the pair earned the respect and trust of their fellow soldiers.

It was soon enough that the king's soldiers were called upon to fight for the crown against Lattimer's men to the south. Skirmishes over border claims soon enraged both kings to the point of war, and large-scale battles ensued. Vladhar's army fought superbly in their encounters along the border, and the very best of those warriors were chosen one by one to form the king's personal guard. Deemed simply as The Knights, they embodied the virtues of power, bravery, and fearlessness.

Corith was one of the first to be called into the king's court to join The Knights, and his confident attitude and intelligence soon won him the honor leading them. Vladhar bestowed upon him a rare two-handed sword said to be crafted by the mysterious dragon-slayers who once lived across the great sea. Rumored to have the magic power to cleave through the iron-tough scales of mighty dragons, the weapon was crafted so perfectly and balanced so well that one could wield it almost effortlessly in battle, compared to the cumbersome human-forged weapons wielded by most. It appeared as if it were an ordinary, although well-crafted, sword, with the only mark of its significance being the inscribed silhouette of a roaring dragon on the 5' blade near the hilt of the weapon.

None knew how the king came upon such a weapon. It was said that it was a peace offering from the dragon-slayers to those who once ruled Vladhar's territory long ago, handed down from generation to generation. Another rumor indicated that it was found in an ancient shipwreck off the coast, and still others pointed to it being the spoils of war from long ago. Regardless, only a handful of weapons of that sort had ever been seen in the past, and fewer still existed in the king's great land.

Julia, as well, joined The Knights in due time. As with all the other Knights chosen to join that group, she too received a new weapon to replace her now-battered longsword. Although not as big of a rarity as her male counterpart's gift, the blade was of the highest craftsmanship around, and a valuable gift nonetheless."


********


As Henderson paused in his story to refresh himself with a tankard of fine ale, an interested audience member close to Alexander asked, "But what of Lattimer's army to the south? Was he not gathering an elite army of his own?"

Now sufficiently refreshed, the teller of tales stretched his broad shoulders and continued.


********


"Indeed, Lattimer was not sitting idle all this time either. Outraged by what he called unsubstantiated raids on his outlying villages, the angry king gathered an army of his own. Acting out of angered haste, he let it be known throughout his kingdom that he was looking for highly skilled men to fight for him. Monetary compensation was generous on his part, so he had no difficulty in forming his own highly trained guard. It was not difficult to find a man willing to fight to put food on the table in those days.

Not much else was known about where his men came from, other than the fact that most were mercenaries, looking for much-needed earnings for their skills. It was rumored that Lattimer's armory contained special weapons of its own, but these reports were considered merely hearsay, as no one had ever seen these weapons in person. Indeed, why would the angered king trust hired men with weapons of value, even if they did exist?

Lattimer's guard nevertheless was a highly trained, if not entirely trusted, group of soldiers, and each was well known for his ruthlessness on the battle field and willingness to take another man's life in the name of war.

With all these preparations taking place, and the brewing hostilities between kingdoms fueled by mindless village raids along their borders, it was not long before a full-scale war was declared. Both kings summoned up the majority of their forces and sent them towards the other's kingdom, hoping to invade the land and take whatever spoils possible. A skeleton army was left behind, just big enough to guard the rest of the land from outlying bandits.

In fact, it was said that both of the kings' blood was flowing so richly with the taint of war, that they rode with their armies themselves towards the border, their elite guards protecting them.

Lattimer soon caught word of his adversary's movements, and altered his advance to the border. In fact, upon hearing the information, he decided instantly that he would crush Vladhar's army once and for all. Dismissing his generals' advice to ward off the advancing army with a token force while storming their neighbor's castle with one much stronger, Lattimer slowed the advance of the majority of his troops and laid a trap for the unsuspecting king to walk into.

Vladhar had no knowledge of the whereabouts of Lattimer's forces, as his scouts had repeatedly disappeared, either found dead at some later time or in a tavern in the southern kingdom, drinking away his troubles with the aid of several new coins that formerly belonged to the treasury of the shrewd southern king. And so, he advanced his forces towards the opponent's border, ignorant of what lay ahead."


********


A few in the peaceful village gasped at that.

"How could King Lattimer do such an underhanded thing? Did he not show any honor of his great opponent whatsoever in the war?" asked a naïve young farmer in the crowd.

"There are no such words as 'honor' in war, my friend" replied Henderson. Reflected in his cold eyes was the look of a tired, defeated man who had seen more than his share of bloodshed.


********


"It was cold that afternoon when Vladhar's force entered the valley. A bitter wind swept across the field, mercilessly penetrating the woolen coat of a cook as easily as the armor of a knight. Corith could see his own breath easily, as well as that of Julia, who was speaking to him of their future plans after this particular excursion had ended.

Corith noticed that the cold sun shone quite beautifully in her hair that day as they spoke of marriage once the war campaign was over. Corith knew that he loved her, and that they would be happy together once they got back. As the main body of their army rode into the valley, Corith's thoughts started to drift to such things as raising a family and building a decent house.

That is when the attack came.

No one in Vladhar's army saw it coming. The reconnaissance troops had not yet reported back that day, as they weren't due for another hour or two anyway. They typically scouted far enough ahead to sniff out any danger, and would report back in shifts to their captain. However, the previous day a few had gotten violently sick on some wild mushrooms they had eaten, and so the troop was a bit shorthanded that day.

The captain wasn't that worried, as they were still a good day or two from the border of Lattimer's kingdom, and the enemy troops were reported to have moved very little in the last few days. Strangely, a number of Vladhar's infiltrating scouts had not reported anything for weeks. But then, such was the risk of operating deep behind the enemy's lines. They should not have any enemy contact for at least a few days.

These thoughts were fresh in the young captain's mind as the first volley of arrows rained down on their frontguard. Three of these shafts of wood sprouted from the young captain's chest, their bristled feathers flowing tightly in the bitter wind. His only thought was of how he failed to see it all coming as he fell from his horse, eyes glazing over in pain and endless sleep.

A large portion of the frontguard fell wounded or dying to the hard ground in that valley until some rallied together and discovered where the enemy archers were located. In a copse of trees bordering the ridge around the valley to the southwest, one scout discovered the archers' position and yelled to the others to charge. Friend and companion alike fell one by one as they approached the treeline from the angry onslaught of arrows, but enough made it in good enough shape to strike down those who had been hidden. A large melee ensued as more troops joined what was left of Vladhar's frontguard in the attack, and the battle in the woods raged on for quite some time.

Meanwhile, Corith and the rest of the king's guard had regained their composure and tightened ranks. Shouting orders in the howling wind, the powerful man soon had a plan of attack formed, and he issued out commands to his captains and sergeants efficiently, as more of Lattimer's once-hidden force charged down from the ridge in a screaming mass of metal and anger. Wielding short swords or light spears and wearing little armor, this mobile light infantry force made their way down the steep slope to Vladhar's army quickly.

The front portion of Vladhar's army was still reeling from the volleys of arrows that had rained impersonal death upon them as the first wave of Lattimer's force hit them like rolling thunder. Defensive positions were weak, although bravely attempted, as the charge blasted through their front like a spearhead, driving its way swiftly into the heart of the defensive army.

The opposing force of Vladhar was torn apart initially, but soon began to hold their position. As bodies of both forces began to litter the ground, Vladhar's troops attempted a counterattack. Shifting both flanks around to envelope the overeager enemy, things began to look better for the ambushed army.

Then the second wave of Lattimer's force hit.

Heavier equipped than the first, this force wielded heavy, broad-bladed weapons and bore shields and heavy armor. Not needing as much speed as the first surprise group of attackers, these men were both heavily armed and armored. Still, they made their way down the slope to the valley in good time, and many in Vladhar's sweeping flanks were not prepared for them. Either not seeing them coming in time to do anything about it, or merely preoccupied with their counterattack, his flanks were hit hard by the heavy force.

Smashing into the sweeping flanks of Vladhar like a hammer, the counterattack was soon diffused and chaos ruled the battlefield.

More troops swept down from the ridge, footsoldiers sliding down the slopes and cavalry picking their way down to the valley, bearing both weapons and grim looks of death. Soon enough the valley was filled with Lattimer's troops engaged with Vladhar's in a massive battle of disarray and confusion. This is just what Lattimer desired, as his troops were not as nearly organized as the other king's or as well trained. His primary hope for victory lay in catching his enemy off guard and forcing him to be engaged in a disorganized, chaotic battle.

That is precisely what he got.

Broad bladed swords clove through armor ruthlessly, axes and maces caved in shields and helmets alike as the gruesome battle raged on. All semblance of order had left long ago, as warriors whirled about in a heated frenzy, a great mass of steel glinting in the cold sun. The now-trampled grass that covered the valley became sodden with the blood of its combatants as the day drew on.

Corith kept his Knights close to King Vladhar as he screamed orders while dueling with foe after foe, striking down one after the other with his engraved two-handed sword. Time and again Lattimer's forces would break through to Vladhar's guard, but each time would be beat back and destroyed by the Knights. The mighty 5' dragon-etched blade cut through armor as if it were merely cloth as Corith spun from one man to the next, dealing death with ease to whoever would face him. By his side Julia stood strong, dancing about with serpentine grace, striking down those who opposed her and aiding other Knights in defending the king.

Somewhere across the battlefield, Lattimer sought desperately to find a way to strike down the opposing king, becoming enraged at his inability to do so. Ruthlessly cutting down whoever stood in their path, Lattimer and his guard advanced into the heat of the battle, seeking out the head of his foe. His guard fought well along his side, and with his protection he grew confident with his advance into the heart of his enemy, who attempted to strike him down at all costs.

Often Lattimer himself would strike down those few who broke through the ranks of his escort, as his own experience with the sword was proven.

The light of day began to fade as the southern king hacked his way through Vladhar's forces, losing guards here and there, but never breaking its tight ranks. His men, well beyond the point of weariness and nearly at the point of sheer exhaustion, drove on with vengeful determination, the fevered pitch of their king's voice pushing them forward.

The sun was beginning to set in the hazy, reddish sky when Lattimer finally reached his goal. His men locked in a fierce duel with Vladhar's, and soon enough Lattimer himself charged into the heat of the action, heading straight for the other king.

As he struck down one of the Knights in his way, he turned to see an amber-haired woman block the path to his objective. Reeling back from the blows from her longsword, Lattimer struck a defensive pose and parried her attacks with much effort. However, soon the toll of endless fighting showed in her, as Lattimer gradually fended off her blows with ease. Having been protected for most of the war, the king was not nearly as physically worn down, and soon he began his counterattack.

It was not long before the onslaught had her reeling backwards, and she was struck down full across the chest by the man, tripping over the corpse of a fallen comrade. His obstacle now cleared, the victor charged straight for his goal.

His arms lifting his blade above his head as he ran screaming an ancient battle cry, Lattimer hardly heard the great roar of Corith bearing down on him from behind.

Upon seeing his wife-to-be absorbing the blow from Lattimer full force in the chest, her armor yielding beneath the blade of the attacking king, Corith finished off his current opponent with sheer brutal force, and whirled his powerful body around in a frenzy of maddened rage.

Lattimer strode just past him as he turned, smashing his magic two-handed sword of the dragon-slayers into the enemy king's back in an impossible blur of speed and devastating power.

The finely crafted blade blasted through Lattimer's heavy armor down to the dragon inscribed on its blade near the hilt, its roaring silhouette reflecting all of the anger and fury in the eyes of its wielder.

Lattimer's momentum, along with the force of the death blow he received, sent him sprawling onto his face, his lifeless body skidding to a halt at the feet of Vladhar himself.

After the mighty blow was dealt, Corith instantly dropped to his knees with grief beside his fallen love. Tears of sadness and fury streamed down his muddy face, making him an easy target for the foes around him still engaged in battle.

A powerful man, one of the now-deceased King Lattimer's guard, struck down yet another opponent with ease in the midst of the still-raging battle. His wicked morningstar crushed opponents' armor and bone beneath its ominous power without mercy. Upon seeing the famed Corith fall to his knees, he took advantage of the situation without hesitation, and struck the man on the ground full in the side, cheating his fellows of the opportunity to do so. It was, after all, war.

Corith crumpled easily, his body falling on top of Julia's in the muddy, blood-soaked field. The last thing he saw was the other man vanish quickly from the battlefield, the fading light reflecting off of the dragon-slayer emblem engraved in the rod of his weapon."


********


Henderson's audience stared at him with hollow looks in their eyes, devastated with the last portion of his tale. Clearly, they had expected a different ending.

One such soul asked quietly "And….the war?"

Henderson concluded his tale.


********


"Upon seeing or eventually hearing of their leader's death on the battlefield, Lattimer's men were routed in due time. Many dispersed on their own, sensing that their mercenary services would no longer be paid for. Others ran off in fear of the northern king, while still others simply surrendered. Some still fought to the death, these being the overzealous soldiers of the group. Eventually they too were finished off, and what was left of Vladhar's army marched back home.

Their numbers had been devastated by the ambush, and so no venture into the southern kingdom was attempted. It seemed their taste for warfare vanished quickly after that ill-fated day.

Vladhar was victorious that day, but only in the worst sense of the word. Almost all of his best men were killed, his scouts had been murdered or turned traitor, and his army had been nearly obliterated by the senseless war. Defeated at heart, the king relinquished his crown to another, and retired to another land, the despair of what he had done weighing heavy upon his heart."


********


With that, Henderson was finished with his story. The crowd dispersed slowly, the depressing tale they had heard ringing sad in their ears. As they walked back to their homes in the fading sun, only a few noticed the strange glimpse in Henderson's eye as he finished his tale.

Alexander was one who had seen, just barely, a look of odd intensity as the story closed, mixed with a touch of sorrow and…perhaps…..guilt? He wasn't really sure. The moment had passed so swiftly, he was surprised he noticed it at all.

He mulled these thoughts over as he shuffled home to dinner. The notion that perhaps Henderson's tale was not at all fantasy skittered across his mind briefly, but then dissipated quickly as he sat at the table and began to eat, discussing tomorrow's chores with his father.

Henderson himself retired to bed early that night in his small dwelling, weary from the day's work of entertaining the village. He drifted to a deep sleep quickly that night on his mattress. Under its frame amongst an assortment of his belongings lay an old morningstar, bundled carefully in rags and stored in an old locked crate. Its dragon-inscribed handle was worn with use, crafted by a vanished people long ago, a stranger to the light of the sun for an eternity.

Henderson's dreams drifted to the war, and of those things he would never speak of in his stories; of how he had struck down Corith himself, holding back on the blow just enough so that the other man may live. He had done the man a favor, striking him unconscious, so that others would leave him for dead, when any other of Lattimer's heartless group would have killed the man instantly, and finished off his woman as well. He had then left the battlefield to preserve his own life, vanishing without a trace. None had discovered his deed, with a single exception.

Wrapped in with the weapon, amongst the rags, rested a worn piece of parchment. On its yellowed surface were awkward words of gratitude, signed by a man and wife that had been left for dead in a meaningless battle long ago.