“I prefer the simple life. Being bored is a state of mind; you have control over that.” - Toren Eringer

-

Sam came to a stop after four hours of a moderate pace. She was breathing heavily, trying to cool off. Toren dismounted, then guided her off the path. He had hoped to find the main road before they rested, but it was deemed not to be. Perhaps we should not have taken the short cut, he pondered.

It was a darker than average night, from what Toren could tell through the thick canopy line. He suspected that only one of the other moons was out, considering the current illumination. Despite this, however, he was able to see about ten paces out with no issue. Sam’s eyes were certainly better at times like these.

“Come on girl, we will find a safe spot and then I can take all this weight off you.” They trekked about fifty paces off the trail they had been following before the man found a spot to his liking. He removed the pack and the rest of the gear, then pulled off the saddle. Sam shook her whole body, like a dog emerging from water. She cantered in a circle before lying down on her right side. She was asleep in moments.

Toren finished removing the lighter plating he still had on, setting it aside for easy access in the morning. It was a cool night, which was welcome after the taxing day. After doing a quick perimeter sweep, he sat down, leaning against a slanted tree trunk. The incline would be perfect to sleep on and they would be unseen from anyone further than a dozen paces away. He kept his right hand on his sword’s scabbard as he closed his eyes, promptly drifting to sleep himself.

A burly human had one hand on either side of the table, hunched over and standing across from where Toren sat. He was not alone, as an entourage stood behind him encouraging the raucous behavior. Toren glanced toward the bartender, who looked away, pretending to be cleaning a glass.

The young man had heard of this particular band of bullies, but had yet to encounter them. If no one else was going to stand up, so be it, but Toren could not let the unruliness and intimidation continue.

As he rose from his seat, he called upon the power he had often used in the war. The light in the tavern dimmed as an ominous red glow emanated from the holy symbol dangling from his neck, that of Kraelyn. Terror filled the eyes of the men before him. Two turned and fled, the remaining three backed away slowly.

Other patrons recoiled, afraid for themselves at the magic being displayed. All but one. A young half-elf nearby stood up from her seat opposite an elf and aging human. Rather than being afraid, she looked sad. Sad for Toren. She reached out to put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Maria!” The retired soldier bolted upright, quickly assessing what happened. The reversible cloak he draped over himself as he slept descended to the ground as he stood up, scanning the area. The sun was likely just over the horizon, but otherwise, all appeared normal. It was the same dream that haunted him, a memory from a life that barely felt like his own.

Toren prayed to Krealyn, healing the bruises he still held from yesterday’s encounter. He then retrieved the cloak and began donning the small pieces of his armor.

Before sliding into the chest piece, he walked the area, gathering many fruits and vegetables he found growing. He laid out the small feast in front of Sam for when she woke up. The human then retook his resting place, breaking out some rations for himself.

The warhorse stirred as Toren finished eating. She stood up and began devouring what her master found. Toren packed up what he had taken out and placed everything back on Sam in the appropriate spot. By the time he strapped everything down, Sam was finished eating and ready to continue their journey.

The duo easily made it back to the path, where he jumped up, swinging a leg over the saddle and taking a seat. “We can start off easy, then pick up the pace on the road, alright?”

The magical steed replied with a nod and a light neigh of approval, not that Toren needed it; she already mentally told him that would be fine as she started at a light gait. They were both thankful for the weather, as it warmed slowly over the next few hours. Clouds moved in, but did not bring rain. It was near perfect for fast travel; cool enough that you want to keep moving, with no sun beating down while doing so.

Well before midday, they emerged from the fairly dense forest onto the main road. Though it was not well kept this far out, it was preferable to the seldom used path they navigated overnight. The rider urged his mount to pick up the pace. It had been years since he had been back to the great city, but he estimated another day and a half if they could keep up this pace.

Ordinarily, many people traveled the road. Some were traders, others tourists, and some were even people moving to the city in hopes of making a living. Toren himself was born there, 32 years ago last month. While he was still a toddler, his parents moved north, not far from where they found themselves on the road. His family had traveled to the city, however, a few times a year. Toren knew many of the streets intimately, as he often roamed them when his parents were busy.

His thoughts were interrupted as he spotted a cart in the distance. The man slowed Sam down, giving him time to don the remainder of his armor. After years of practice, he was able to do so competently even while riding quickly, but wanted to have enough time to secure it all. A few hundred paces out, Toren could tell it was just a single man up front with a lone horse pulling the small cart.

The man waved, looking genuinely pleased to see the retired soldier, “Hello there, good sir!” he called out. “How do you do?”

“Well. Thank you for asking. And you, sir? How are you?” Toren brought Sam to a stop as the cart pulled up next to them, also stopping.

“Fine, thank you!”

A soft voice came from inside the cart, “Oh Charles, not everyone wants to stop and chat!”

The man cocked his head to the side as he called over his shoulder, “Relax woman, very few people are traveling alone right now, and this man is a soldier!” He returned his gaze to address the armored man again, “Heading to the city?”

“I am indeed,” Toren answered, “Did you happen to see anything unusual since you left?”

“Yes! There was quite a large caravan that passed us yesterday, in the late afternoon. I tried speaking to them, but they gave me very little other than a ‘good day.’”

“How many would you say they were? What were they wearing?”

The late middle aged human replied, “Well, they probably had five carts that could hold twice as much as this one.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “They had an odd assortment of clothing, as some appeared to be quite wealthy, while others had on even more raggedy clothing than me!” The man stated, jovially.

Looks like they found enough to disguise themselves, at least enough to fool a commoner. “That does sound odd. Perhaps a travelling circus?”

“Hah! That could be, soldier. We are heading up the road to see…”

“Charles!” the woman interrupted, “Don’t share our personal business! We have no idea who he is!” She flipped up the fabric enough to poke her head out. “I beg your pardon,” she apologized to Toren.

“No need ma’am,” he insisted. “She is right, though. I would refrain from speaking about your business to random travelers. Just because the war is over does not mean there are not those with ill intent around.”

“Of course, of course, sorry dear,” Charles said to the woman. She retreated back into the cart.

“I wish you a safe journey. Thank you for the information.” He gave the other man a nod as he commanded Sam forward.

They were already at a brisk pace by the time the cart rider replied, “Have a safe journey, too! Enjoy the city!”

Less than a day ahead of us, Sam. Can you make it that long?

Yes, she replied.

-

They stopped after six hours of hard riding. Sam wanted to keep going, but Toren knew how tired she was. The warhorse went a little further out of sheer stubbornness. The rider finally convinced the unnaturally intelligent animal that they would catch the imposter caravan before the city, regardless if they continued or not.

The human was not entirely sure, though. He was running through the math in his head again as he gathered what he could for Sam to eat in the morning. He set up a small fire to keep them warm as the temperature began to drop. The night would be much cooler than the prior evening.

The road created a separation in the canopy about twice his height, enough to get a small view of the sky. It was much brighter than the night before, with the largest moon looming. Even so, the stars were too numerous to count.

Toren drifted off into another dream, one which he forgot moments after waking. Sam was up already, eager to continue. She seemed refreshed enough that they could probably make it the rest of the way to the city. The rider put on a few pieces of armor that he could not manage from horseback, then packed up and left.

With renewed vigor, Sam maintained a moderate gallop south for a few hours. As the road changed from adequately kept to well maintained, the rider announced, “Mith-Fell is close.” The mount was already increasing her stride.

A few minutes later, they broke free of the tree line. Fields of wheat lay before them to the east and west. In the distance, they could easily spot a cart ahead of them. There were people walking alongside and behind, so their pace was that of a human’s walk. While closing on what he assumed to be the caravan, Toren spotted the familiar wall of the city rising along the horizon.

Once they were within a few hundred paces, the man noticed the group was larger than he expected. He pulled slightly on the reins, saying, “We should slow down and come up with a plan.” Sam reluctantly eased her pace to a trot, still slowly catching up to their quarry.

You are close!

The voice had returned. Toren gave a mental command to speed up again, “We will go around to the front, see if we can spot him as we move. I doubt they will openly attack us within sight of the city guards.”

The duo moved off the road into the fields twenty paces before reaching the caravan. The armored man clearly saw five large carts they had procured. He had little doubt now, especially seeing how those walking carried themselves. Not all of the group were formally trained, but he could tell by the gait of some that they were military.

Toren scanned the faces of those he could see, not spotting his target. Some looked away immediately, others stared straight into the slit in his helmet. His presence was causing those that saw him to react; they recognized the symbols upon his cloak and armor as that of their enemy. One of the men steering a cart finally noticed the rider. The cloaked man stood up, whispering something to those walking beside the cart.

The equestrian pressed on, passing the front of the disguised contingent, but still not spotting the man he sought. They were now approaching the city gate, which was open. A guard flanked each side of the road, with a few more atop the wall patrolling. The former soldier contemplated what to do as he reached the guard on the left side.

“Hey there Captain, how are you doing?” the dwarf guard called out. He looked relatively young for his long lived race. Unlike a lot of dwarves, however, he kept his facial little more than stubble.

“Could be better,” Toren answered, then lowered his voice. “Do you have a way to signal for trouble, without alerting this caravan?”

The guard looked visibly shaken now, looking from the rider to the carts heading his way.

“It is important you do not let them know, please hide your concern or they may attack us all.”

The man’s resolve seemed to strengthen, “Yes, I can do that.” As the carts came close enough to hear the conversation, the guard said, “Give me a moment, Captain, and I will be back with you. I have to check this travelling band looking to pass into our great city.” The dwarf moved up to the leader of the caravan to converse.

Toren dismounted, placing Sam in between himself and the caravan. He readied his shield out of view, preparing to jump into action as soon as one of the enemy made a move. As he was doing so, he heard movement both on the wall and the other side of it. Something the dwarf said had already alerted his colleagues. Despite this, Toren worried there would be nowhere near enough allies to have a good outcome for the guards or himself.

“Yes, of course. What business do you have in Mith-Fell?” the dwarf asked. The veteran had missed some of the conversation.

The human that led the travelers responded, “We are merely weary travelers looking for rest. Some of us have come to live here, should we find work. Others have simply come to see the city and spend some coin.” The man had experience in these matters, as he sounded convincing.

“Wonderful!” the guard stated, “Is this everyone? We will just need to do a simple check of each of the carts, after which you are free to enter.” It was a reasonable expectation.

“There are a few of us in the carts, but you are welcome to inspect them.” The human stepped to the side and held out a hand, gesturing for the dwarf to look into the carts.

They know!

The voice rang in his head. “They know!” he yelled to the dwarf as he spun Sam around him, revealing his shield and drawing his sword. Toren charged the caravan leader while he enchanted his weapon with magic.

The dwarf received a dagger in the side from the human he was talking to. All around, people on both sides were springing into action. Arrows started peppering the imposters from atop the wall. A few guards rounded the corner from inside the gate, shadowing Toren.

With their cover blown, the contingent of men unveiled their own weapons, maneuvering to meet Toren and the guards. People also began spilling out of the wagons. Some were armored since they were hidden, but most had little to no armor donned.

The retired soldier was unable to get to the voice of the caravan, as the man had slipped behind his companions. Instead, Toren targeted the first person he met, slashing twice. Both cuts landed; the first straight across the chest, the second a backhand swing from hip to the opposite shoulder. The man collapsed to the ground.

The dwarven guard was on a knee, trying to back up. Toren reached under the man’s right arm, hooking his weapon though the gap as he pulled the man back toward the gate. The other guards passed him, defending their friend.

Though the guards were experienced, they were going to be quickly overrun by numbers. Toren needed to rejoin them as soon as possible, so he dropped the blade momentarily to place a hand on the dwarf’s wound. The familiar glow followed the whispered words to Kraelyn, healing the man enough to walk away under his own power. Without waiting for a word of thanks, the human grabbed his weapon and rejoined the guards.

Toren thrust his sword at the first enemy he found, but missed. He saw his quarry had just exited the nearest cart. The anger he had not felt for almost two years swelled up within him. “You!” he yelled, “stay there!” While full of indignation, the words were also laced with magic. He pushed over the man in front of him as he charged.

The arrogant human looked straight back at Toren, scar still etched above his right eye as he smirked. “Bring it!”

As Toren closed the gap, he was slashed twice by others, but hardly noticed in his fury.

The other human drew a sword, the very one from Moril’s shop that Toren had seen once before. Though he did not hear a voice this time, he felt the blade pulling him closer.

The retired soldier swung his own sword as he reached the man, but his blade was parried.

The man responded with a slash of his own that could not find purchase.

Trying to take the other human’s head off, Toren swung twice. Both missed, as his movement telegraphed his reckless attacks.

On the man’s second attempt, the special sword hit Toren’s chest plate and recoiled slightly, but was not pulled immediately back. It was just a moment, but a moment was all Toren needed. He swung down hard, willing his sword to strike with radiant energy. The once arrogant man was astonished; he seemed just as surprised that his hand did not return to his side as Toren did.

A bright yellow flash interrupted the battle as the briefly divine weapon sliced through the man’s forearm of his sword hand. Leather, flesh, and bone were cut clean equally. The man gripped his dominant arm with his left hand just above where it was severed, screaming in agony.

As Toren brought his weapon around to finish the job, he was tackled by two of the recent amputee’s companions. One attempted to pin him as the other pummeled his armor with a mace, trying to find a weak spot. With his concentration broken, the magic no longer compelled his target to stay, so the scarred human fled.

“No!” Toren cried out, realizing the man might get away again. A few more enemies began closing in as he struggled with the two on top of him. He was able to shove the mace wielder away, but the other was determined to keep him down.

He was surrounded. By the sounds of the battle, the guards were being forced back to the gate. The enemies nearest him began stabbing, slashing, and hitting any part of Toren they could. Though his armor was among the best in the region, it would not protect him from this many attacks. Several strikes found their mark as the situation quickly became dire.

Hooves approached him as the beating continued. After a moment, all but one man were thrown off Toren as Sam came charging through. Run! She mentally told him as she kicked and thrashed around.

Toren’s adrenaline returned as he shoved the last man off him. He rolled over, pushing himself up off the ground.

Take me with you!

The strange blade was inches from his left hand, which he was not about to ignore this time. Toren pried it from the hand that still clutched the hilt, taking it into his own. He glanced down at the spiral symbol that resembled Kraelyn’s on the hilt.

The world around him faded away as Toren found himself floating in black space. Trillions of stars surrounded him in every direction. Before him, a woman appeared, clad in full plate armor not unlike his own. “Kraelyn?” he asked.

“Took you awhile,” she replied. “I was beginning to worry you would never find my weapon.” In her hand was the same weapon he had picked up.

“I was concerned when you did not take it that night of the invasion.”

“I have replayed that moment in my mind many times. If I had, I could have saved my family,” he said. The regret was haunting him.

“Perhaps.” She showed no sign of emotion, “But we cannot help the past.”

Though he expected that, it still stung.

“We can, however, change the future.” She flourished the sword in her hand expertly, then held it out, presenting it to Toren for him to take. “Will you help me do that?”

“Anything you need, I will do if I am able.” he accepted the sword, grasping it in his left hand. As the man held it up he came crashing back to the battle.

Good, then run!

Eringer scrambled to his feet, following the directions of his god and mount. As he ran toward the city gate, he heard Sam cry out in pain. Though he knew he could return her as soon as he had time, he always hated when she got hurt. He knew better than anyone that just because you can heal, it does not mean that you are immune to the pain. He released her before she had succumbed to the assault, causing her to disappear in a puff of magic.

Using his shield, the man crashed between two of the enemy combatants as he made it inside the city gate. He sheathed the sword that channeled Kraelyn to lay his dominant hand over some of the wounds. He called upon the reserve of healing that remained to sustain himself for the prolonged fight.

As he rejoined the guards, new sword in hand, he could tell that most of the fake caravan had vanished into the fields. Eringer showcased the magical blade’s potential as he landed two deep slashes on the nearest enemy.

Realizing the rest of their entourage had disbanded, the dozen men still fighting disengaged, retreating into the fields. Three were brought down before they made it, but the rest seemingly escaped.

Twenty lay dead on the road, seven of which were guards of Mith-Fell. The wounded were rushed off to the nearest temple as the bodies were brought inside.

The Captain of the Guard arrived a few minutes after the encounter. He was a grizzled half-orc, a little past his prime. The man towered over everyone, standing almost a foot taller than Eringer. “What happened?” he asked the nearest guard.

The elf replied, “Well this man showed up right before a caravan.” She pointed to Eringer. “Then Groner over there gave the distress signal when he addressed their leader.”

The Captain’s gaze followed her hand, falling on the newcomer. “You have got some explaining to do. Some of my guards lost their lives to help you.” He was clearly upset, as he appeared to genuinely care for his men.

“I am sorry for your losses, it was not under my control.” Eringer continued, “This caravan was a contingent of the Haren army. You can check their equipment, I am sure there will be plenty of evidence.”

The Captain looked out to the bodies still on the road, then returned to questioning, “How did you know that? Why did they come here?”

“I had been following their trail for over a week. The day after the war ended, I got word that a group had broken off to head south. I believe they intended to gain entry into the city and then escape via ship within a day or two.”

“Why bother, though? They could have left with the rest of the army and not had any problems,” the half-orc said.

“That I do not know. I do not think that is the last we will see of these men,” Eringer announced. “They had a purpose coming here, which I intend to find out.”

The Captain of the Guard sighed, “Very well, Captain. You are permitted in the city, of course, but I don’t want to hear of any more trouble involving you. I imagine you did quite a lot for our nation, but you come get one of the guards here if you suspect any trouble. Got it?”

“Yes, I will notify the guards should anything come up,” Eringer replied.

Satisfied with that, the half-orc turned back to his men. They were already discussing an increase in patrol for the next couple weeks as Eringer walked toward his favorite tavern. I need a drink.