Valeran Orbarksyr - Inheritance of Fate - Chapter II

[Grey Bishop]

It was annoying knowing Troth was toying with him. Whenever Valeran thought he might land a blow the aging warrior would twist, spin, suddenly parry or something. Always something. Sweat beaded on Valeran's brow as he considered his opponent. Then the day's training was over. Troth lowered his blade signalling the day at an end. Valeran frowned at the thought of another day without landing a telling blow. He saluted with the blade as he had been instructed before placing it in his pack.

Troth had set out east leaving Silverymoon and Valeran to return home alone. It was late and the sun was setting. Valeran wondered over what Troth had to leave the city for but he knew better than to ask. He knew the back streets well and used them to get home quicker whenever training ran late. This night was no different. Still, dinner would be cold and his mother's glare colder. His thoughts were drawn back to the present as he came to the door of his home, the home he had known for the last eighteen years. The door stood open, splinters of wood were visible on the ground as if someone had forced the door open. The smell of roasting mutton escaped through the door and another mustier odor.

The only weapon Valeran had was his dulled training sword. Removing it from his pack and setting the pack aside, he slipped into the shadows and silently crept into the home that suddenly seemed familiar yet unfamiliar. The table was overturned, broken plates scattered across the floor, stew still boiled in the kettle in the firepit. A body lay strewn across the living room floor. Panic entered Valeran's mind for a moment until he realised the body was of a man. Then he thought of Troth and quickly moved to the bodies side. That was when it moved.

The movement was odd and jerky as it rose. It was not Troth. It was not even alive that Valeran could tell. The dead, glazed eyes turned on him as the charred torso came into view. A spell of fire had ruined and killed this man, yet he was standing up. Then Valeran realised it was not only rising but advancing and the flesh was falling off the corpse to reveal the skeleton beneath.

The undead creature reached out with its hand and instinctively Valeran struck the arm with his dulled blade. The dullness suddenly served well as the blade impacted the skeletons arm splintering it. A second quick blow to the skeleton's skull knocked the ot from the neck and the creature collapsed into an unmoving pile of bones.

A few, brief moments of stunned silence passed before Valeran remembered what worried him. Dashing into the side room he could not find his mother. Upstairs, nothing. The cellar, again nothing. Whatever had happened had happened in the living room as his mother prepared dinner, an hour or so past. From the wounds on the man he had been hit with a spell of fire. He had been an elf though not one Valeran had known. He calculated and considered what he knew and realised it was very little. The elf could have been a guest or one of the attackers. How and why he rose as undead was a mystery. Where his mother was yet another. The sound of plated boots stepping into the door behind him alerted him to another possible threat.

Spinning with the dull blade in hand, Valeran attacked with all his might to feel the sword land against a steel shield. Troth's eyes met his over the rim of the shield and Valeran sighed with relief. "Troth, someone broke into the house and mother is missing! That elf turned into a skeleton and attacked! I.. what will we do?"

Troth looked over the room silently taking everything in. He grunted and returned his drawn blade to its scabbard. "It's time to take you to your father. The trip will be long and dangerous and.. I can not go with you."

"But my mother… if not you then how... I.." Worries raced through Valeran's mind. His mother was missing. Troth was sending him to Narfell and suddenly he didn't feel as ready as he had been telling everyone he was.

"I will find your mother. I have hired men to escort you to Jiyyd in Narfell. They are sellswords but good men. I have travelled with them before. Watch them, learn from them. I can teach you no more. You are as ready as you will ever be training with a dull practice sword." Troth smiled and handed Valeran a bundle. "Head to the eastern edge of the city where we trained. They await you there. Now go!"

Valeran nodded, grabbed the bundle and rushed off. He didn't pause to consider how or why Troth had already arranged for him to leave until he got to the clearing. Then he was too intrigued by his new companions to think about it. They were a mixed group and not what he had envisioned when the word mercenary came to mind. He cautiously approached unsure what to say or where to begin.

[Vilehelm]

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