Roland's Path Read online

  “I told the church that I sent the boys after the escapees. I also told them that the other prisoner was pardoned by me by mistake and released. They didn’t believe a word of it, but did not wish to question my word. The questions ceased, of course, after I made a donation of fifteen gold coins to ‘The Cause.’ Our King is so eager for a victory against Tarborat that he refuses to see the real battle between good and evil being waged in our own churches,” Velryk spat, as the rage at the hypocrisy mounted in his heart and throat.

  “Still the same Velryk. You cannot judge a religion by a few people who abuse the authority it gives them. The same thing happens with some lords and knights. You know that to be true. No kingdom or church will be perfect until men can leave their pride and vanity dead behind them.”

  “I know,” Velryk acknowledged, softening his voice. “But they are just so self-righteous,” he offered as a feeble defense. His son Roland had never heard Velryk get this close to an apology or an excuse. There were many things about Velryk Roland had yet to learn.

  “To change the course of this often-practiced conversation,” Shaylee skillfully redirected, “I take it the boys are not wanted for their crimes then?”

  “It is no serious offense against the laws to be stubborn and proud,” Velryk said.

  “That is good, otherwise they would have had you in chains decades ago.”

  Both smiled and Velryk nodded his agreement.

  “Still that boy can be so hard headed,” Velryk said. “Why would he do this?”

  “Are you going after them?” Shaylee asked, knowing the answer to Velryk’s question. An answer he wouldn’t admit to himself.

  “No,” Velryk said with a resigned sigh. “If I go after them it will give the church something to base a criminal charge on. And if I did find them, I don’t think it would do any good. What would I do? Order them to come home?”

  “You have yourself to blame,” Shaylee said. “Don’t give me that surprised and innocent look. It is your blood that runs in his veins. Do you not remember the days when you and Ellidik would run off after your crazy causes?”

  “They are, neither one of them, old enough for this sort of thing. They were taught better than Dik and I were. They should have known better. How will they learn anything by running off into the world without a notion of what real war is about? Roland doesn’t have his feet on the ground solid. He needs to learn more about the nature of men before fighting those types of battles. He’s not ready to learn what it is like to take the life of another man. He’s not ready for what it can do to your soul.”

  “You don’t fear for his safety, do you? You’re afraid that what happened to your first son will happen to him,” Shaylee said, taking Velryk’s hand.

  She had loved her husband dearly. They had all been such good friends. Now, holding Velryk’s hand… “You’re angry you didn’t have more time to teach him. You have to let go of what happened to your first born. No one blames you for that but you.”

  “Roland’s not ready!” Velryk barked, harsher than he intended. He pulled his hand away from her gentle touch.

  It had been his poor luck to live on when a man as good as Ellidik fell on the battlefield. Ellidik would have made the proper teacher. Dik was the patient one. Dik was the one always centered and calm. Why had Bolvii let Dik fall and leave Velryk here. His own wife had been dead for years, why was it not Dik here to comfort Shaylee? Why did Velryk love her?

  Shaylee’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

  “If he’s not ready then he never will be. There is only so much you can teach a child before he has to learn the hard way for himself. You remember the day when he and El were babies and just barely walking and playing near the cooking pot? You told Roland not to touch the pot because it was hot. What did he do? The first thing he did was put his hand to the glowing red iron. He even burned his other hand on the pot just to spite you. You have done a good job raising the boys, Velryk. You have to trust in them now. Give them their room and let them understand the reasons behind the lessons you have taught them. If you go after them now then they will touch the burning pot again, just to spite you.”

  “I suppose you are right,” Velryk said. “You always have been. If you hear from El will you let me know? I think Roland would be too proud to send a message to his father unless it be to tell me he has defeated all the armies of Tarborat single handedly.”

  “I will certainly let you know. Would you like some breakfast? I just can’t get used to cooking for only myself. I’m afraid I have prepared too much.”

  “I’d love a good meal.”

  Eight hundred leagues away, in the city of Gallhallad, a paladin and cleric of the church of Silvor the Huntsman enjoyed a much more lavish meal.

  Gallhallad was the home of Lord Bessett and overlooked the eastern shores of the Kingdom of Lethanor. Gallhallad had been the least effected by the wars with Tarborat and it’s dark general Ingshburn. Within its walls each of the twelve gods was honored with their own cathedrals and grounds. The properties of the churches here did not rival those found in Ostbier, the capital city of the kingdom, however they possessed their fair share of gold fixtures and tapestries of silk.

  Sitting in the chambers of High Cleric Barnam, Sir Sanderland pled his case for charges to be brought against that arrogant boy and his father, Velryk.

  “I understand your thoughts on the matter,” Barnam said. “You must understand that the church has other concerns, other plans, in the offing. If we can seem indulgent now it will strengthen our standing in the future. A future in which we will demand, or perhaps take, power from a weakening throne.”

  High Cleric Barnam was born of the Great Man race, as most in the upper echelon of the churches were. He appeared to be in his late fifties perhaps which could put his actual age anywhere from two to four hundred years. His blonde hair bore a good deal of gray now as it curled around his silken cap. He was possessed of a kind face and easy smile which stood in sharp contrast to eyes of blue that could be merciless. His frame was large, as was usual for those of his race, but his soft hands and bulge of a gut belied his even softer lifestyle. A lifestyle paid for by the faithful.

  “Your Holiness,” Sanderland said, “this Velryk’s name doesn’t carry the weight that it did in former years. Many have said in hushed voices how his courage must have failed him for him to live such a humble and safe life in Fordir.”

  “Ah, but they do keep their voices hushed, do they not?” Barnam replied. “Those prisoners were of no threat to the church. Of that I am sure. Furthermore, nothing should come in the way of your engagement with Lady Angelica.”

  “She still puts me off,” Sanderland said. “Has she no thought of how mighty our children could be?”

  “I have assurances from her High Cleric that you will be wed,” Barnam said. “In the meantime, make your way to Lawrec. If the tide is turned there against this Daeriv, then the Church of Silvor should be among those that take the glory for it. If Daeriv is successful in driving the prince from there then I will need a good man who can attest to the failings of the prince and therefore the failings of his bloodline. If the prince should fall in battle then the Church will need you there ready to assume command, for the good of the people or course.”

  chapter IIi

  The Wild Lands

  THE THREE YOUNG MEN TRAVELED for a few days and were beyond the borders of Gallhallad. Gallhallad enjoyed a peace that few other regions could match. Now they were moving into the borderlands. The untamed fringes between those places known as civilization. The leaves and grass were browning in preparation for winter’s sharp touch. They traveled for weeks avoiding towns and strangers. Roland wanted no word of him returning to his father unless it be of his victories.

  They passed shacks and cabins here and there inhabited by the huntsmen that roamed these less tamed lands keeping their distance. All the boys, for boys is truly what they still were, enjoyed the time. They enjoyed discovering places unknown
to them, and drinking water from foreign streams. Eldryn, Ashcliff, and Roland talked a great deal during that time. Ashcliff was always very careful when discussing his own past. They spoke in turn of tales they had read, or mischief they had gotten up to in their recent-past youth.

  Roland and Eldryn fell into their talks with the ease of a lifelong friendship, with Eldryn talking for both of them most of the time. Ashcliff’s veneer, although well-conceived and undetectable by Roland and Eldryn, began to fade. He caught himself time and again telling them stories of his life without his usual careful guard. He told them of his life on the streets of various cities as a beggar and a thief. He told them of his captivity and time as a slave. He found he was becoming their friend rather than posing as one.

  Roland and Eldryn discovered that Ashcliff could match even their endurance, if not their stride, when it came to the daily runs. They also discovered that he could produce surprising results when hunting with only a dagger borrowed from Eldryn. Ashcliff, however, insisted on hunting alone. He did have secrets he must protect. The other boys protested this idea in the beginning but, as their trust grew, so did Ashcliff’s freedoms.

  Eldryn stalked, and harvested, several deer with his bow. Roland was as skilled an archer as Eldryn, but his bulk countered his attempts at approaching wild game quietly. He rarely got within bowshot of anything worth eating. Roland did find that he was skilled at hunting wild boar and bears, however. He developed a method that consisted of angering his prey, and when they charged, he would cut them down with his axes, or bastard sword. That tactic seemed to suit Roland well.

  Ashcliff had displayed a remarkable knowledge of herbs and eatable plants. The small group ate well for trail food, however, not nearly in enough quantity to please Roland or Eldryn for that matter. The diet and travel seemed to lean Roland and Eldryn’s physique. Both, however, gained in strength and constitution with the increase in exercises and the life in the wild.

  In their camps of evening Roland would instruct Ashcliff in the use of the hand axe, or short axe as it was known to some. Eldryn taught him archery. Ashcliff attempted to pass on the tricks of manipulating and throwing a dagger, but the alien nature of handling a weapon in that fashion was difficult for Roland. Eldryn politely paid attention but did not practice. It seemed Eldryn was satisfied with the weapons he knew.

  As they strayed farther and farther from the settled lands the terrain became more broken and wild. The closer they came to the mountains the more evidence they saw of the Battles of Rending that literally tore lands apart. They labored over sharp embankments of ancient lava and carefully negotiated rushing streams of near freezing water from the snows far above. The trees became shorter and more sparse. They heard the cries of unknown beasts in the night.

  The boys began taking turns at watch during their slumber after a curious creature none of them could identify attacked, killed, and attempted to eat Roland’s horse. The creature, which looked something like an evil cross between a tiger and a raccoon, died with a dagger in its right eye, an arrow in its heart, and one of Roland’s axe blades in its skull. They didn’t realize it at the time, but this was their first stand together. A quick act of instinct by all toward a common goal. An act which became a corner stone for a friendship.

  When the beast fell dead Eldryn, much to Roland’s dismay, noticed that Roland’s pants were most of the way down leaving only his shirt tail to scarcely cover his genitals.

  “Why are your pants off?” Eldryn asked.

  “They’re not off!” Roland said as he worked to pull them the rest of the way up. “I was…I was taking a dump if you must know!”

  Both Eldryn and Ashcliff tried to stifle laughter.

  “I haven’t read as much of the old tales as you have, Roland,” Eldryn said as his laughter began to over flow his lips. “But, tell me I beg, do they talk of the great Shyeld of old ‘taking a dump’ in those wonderous stories?”

  This sally broke the dam and Eldryn and Ashcliff burst into a laugh fueled not only by the state of Roland’s pants but the release of the fright the night creature had brought on them so suddenly.

  The rough winds and rougher terrain began to take its toll on their spirits. Sleep became harder to come by and less restful. But, as it is with most men, shared misery became a shared bond.

  The moon was declining as Roland’s shift on watch, he always took third watch of the three, was coming to an end. It would be time for him to prepare breakfast soon. Roland heard something in the brush approaching their shelter in a dry creek bed. Winter was in full force now, and the boys did what they could for shelter from the wind in these wild lands.

  Roland, dressed for warmth and battle, took up his two axes and listened. He considered waking his friends, but what warrior wakes his friends at the slightest bump in the night. He considered taking off some of his armor to move more quietly, as Ashcliff had begun to teach him. He dismissed that thought as well.

  Roland walked into the dark, relying on his ears and nose, as he had been taught. He did smell something vile on the wind. He heard the twist and bind of leather to his left and he spun to meet the attack he felt was coming.

  Roland took the full force of a hammering blow on his left leg that buckled his knee. If he had not turned when he did his knee would have been broken by the blow instead of only buckled.

  Roland cut out in a reaction to the painful strike. He saw the outline of a large humanoid being in the shadows and the faint glow of disease yellow eyes. The creature howled as Roland’s axe blade bit into its upper thigh. It swung at Roland again.

  Roland saw the blow coming this time. It was not in Roland to block the attack. ‘If one only defends, he will not be victorious, he will only be tired.’ Roland heard the quote from ‘Thoughts on War’ run through his mind. It seemed he was quite good at remembering the quotes that agreed with his own philosophy.

  Roland dug in the toe of his left boot and forced himself inside the arc of the club that swept towards him. He crashed into a fowl smelling beast that was at least two feet taller than his seven feet four inches.

  Roland cut for the inner thigh with one axe, and the collarbone with the other. He felt the club strike him on the back and he knew it would leave a bruise. However, a bruise was better than a broken limb. He felt his axes bite flesh and break bone. The creature howled again and Roland pushed away from it drawing his iron free of the wounds they had cleaved.

  Roland set himself and the beast came at him again with an overhead chop. Roland had just enough time to side step the swing. He moved to his right and caught the creature’s arm between his axe blades, one rising and one falling onto the beast’s forearm. Roland had practiced that attack on trees four to six inches in diameter and had splintered them. This time he cut through a few inches of muscle, and brought another howl of pain from the beast’s throat.

  The large beast kicked out at Roland and struck his breastplate just above his abdomen knocking him back eight feet. Now his breastplate was dented in and was pushing on his diaphragm, cutting off his air.

  Roland dropped an axe and drew his flame blade dagger. He sliced through the leather straps on his armor as fast as he could as he kneeled on the ground.

  The beast approached, one arm hanging in a grotesque and unnatural bend, the other arm holding the small tree it was wielding as a club.

  Roland had to drop his remaining axe to get the killing armor off. Using both hands, one wielding the dagger, he managed to get free of the death grip the bent armor had put him in. Once freed he looked up from his kneeling position to see the creature standing over him.

  The beast swung another overhead chop directed at Roland’s skull. Roland caught the swinging club in one hand and strained with all the might that he could summon. Roland forced the club back up into the air and pushed the large beast back.

  The creature sneered and leaned its maw toward Roland to bite at his face and throat. As it drove its head forward Roland launched the dagger in reply. Ris
king his hand, Roland thrust the dagger between the creature’s teeth and into its maw. Driven by Roland’s strength, the blade traveled through the roof of the beast’s mouth and into its brain. Unclean teeth scraped the iron surface of Roland’s bracer.

  The beast slumped to the ground, dead. Roland collapsed beside it with exhaustion, his chest heaving for breath.

  Eldryn was running into the trees with a torch lit and held high.

  “Roland!”

  “I’m here,” Roland said between gasps, “with our visitor.”

  “What is that thing?” Eldryn asked as the light from the torch shined on the intruder’s damaged corpse.

  “An ogre I believe. It matches the descriptions I’ve heard,” Roland said, between gasps.

  “Yes, that is indeed an ogre,” Ashcliff said from the shadows with a belied calm.

  “Why did you not wake us?” Eldryn asked angrily.

  “Should I wake you at every noise of the wind?” Roland offered. He had thought this response a reasonable retort, but it felt weak when he heard it out loud.

  “Your pride will not only be the death of you, Roland,” Eldryn, calming now, said. “What if the creature had killed you? That would have left Ashcliff and I at its mercy while we slept.”

  “I bow to your wisdom, and ask your pardon,” Roland said in his infuriating knight-errand tone. Roland had meant every word not really understanding how that tone so enraged Eldryn at times.

  “Get up and let’s eat breakfast,” Eldryn replied exasperated.

  “Give me a minute, to catch my wind,” Roland said.

  “Are you injured?” Eldryn asked concerned for his friend. His anger passed as if it had never been as the idea that Roland might have been hurt replaced it.

  “Not seriously, no. A bruise or two, that is all.”

  “Let’s see what this big fella has on him,” Ashcliff said, smiling. “Ogres are known for their fondness of anything shiny.”