CHAPTER ONETHE MERCENARY AND THE CLERIC

  After a long night of travel, it took the sun rising to its highest point to wake Garrick Landow from his exhausted slumber.

  The mercenary wiped his eyes. Then he looked to his right, off into the distance, and saw the main path that led to The Crossroads. Once he rubbed one hand over his shoulder-length, dark brown hair and the other over his beard, the mercenary sat up and looked to his left.

  Garrick smiled and stretched. Just as he’d thought, his companion was already up and off hunting, since it would now take most of the day to get to the mercenary guild at the far end of the city.

  Garrick grabbed his pack and then slung his quiver of arrows and bow over his light brown tunic and chainmail. After pcing his boots on, the mercenary patted the sword at his side and stood. He took one more look back at the way he’d come and mented leaving Shepherds Bend. However, he knew it was the right thing now to keep on moving.

  Moving to another job. Moving to another adventure. Whatever that might be.

  In his almost forty years, Garrick had been all over the world of Danaria. The mercenary had walked and worked almost every part of The Human Kingdom Lands, but he’d also felt the shade of The Elven Forest and hiked The Dwarven Mountains. Garrick had also been on the outskirts of The Goblin Caverns and even been close enough to The Domain of Dragons to see one of the great beasts flying high above him in the twilight sky.

  Even so, thought Garrick, none of that compared to The Crossroads. It was the very center of the world, where all the races of Danaria came to trade, work, worship, and leave their woes behind. But the mercenary also knew all too often it was a pce to cheat, steal, kill, and hide away.

  And though it was technically a part of King Gideon Brock’s realm, the ruler of The Human Kingdom Lands was mostly hands-off, as long as no true trouble was stirring. So to Garrick, along with the others that lived there or made frequent visits, The Crossroads was a truly free city.

  Finally, with all his weapons and gear equipped, Garrick stepped onto the wide dirt path that he would walk for most of the long day. It wasn’t anything new. As a mercenary, he’d been up and down this road more times than he could count, and that could actually be said of all four paths leading to The Crossroads. So much so that it was getting harder to find a pce he had never been to set up camp. Still, the tall tree and the bushes encircling it had been a perfect spot for the night. He would no doubt remember it for next time he had to take this route.

  After a few minutes, Garrick stopped and pced his right hand over his forehead to block the bright sun’s gre. He looked behind him and then ahead of him as he started to walk again. It wasn’t unheard of to not see anyone else walking this path, still so far out from The Crossroads, but by now the mercenary figured he would have seen a dwarf trader or an elven bow maker. Even a cluster of knights on their way back to Aubrelon, the kingdom seat of good King Brock.

  And to his dismay, Garrick thought he would’ve seen his companion by now.

  As he walked, Garrick saw the road turning around the hillside, and hoped he soon wouldn’t be walking alone. Right now he didn’t want to dwell on his thoughts, and even though his companion wasn’t the biggest talker, he didn’t have to be. Just having him around was good enough.

  Then upon reaching the curve in the road, the mercenary could hear voices and a commotion off in the near distance.

  Seeing a small rock formation close ahead, Garrick jogged over to it and looked out. Just off the road near the trees was an old man wearing white robes and swinging a staff wildly at three sloppily clothed men.

  Garrick let out a sigh. To get a better view, the mercenary slipped out from the rocks and over to a string of bushes closer to the action. He crouched down and peered out.

  “Well, you were right,” whispered Garrick to himself.

  The mercenary watched as a cleric of Elion did his best to defend himself against three bandits. A staff against a knife, a dagger and a sword were not great odds to begin with, but add in the fact that the bandits were young and the cleric was at least three times their age, Garrick knew he had to step in.

  As he moved stealthily from the bushes to the tree that the cleric was backing toward, Garrick pulled his bow from his shoulder with one hand and an arrow with the other. Then he watched as the bandit closest to the cleric ducked the old man’s staff and stabbed with his knife.

  Bow raised and arrow nocked, Garrick stepped into view.

  “That is enough!” yelled the mercenary.

  The three bandits turned from the cleric, armed, but with three to one odds they became confident again. Though, maybe over confident.

  The first bandit, a wisp of a man, looked Garrick up and down, then spoke, “Look mercenary, just keep moving and we will let you live. This does not concern you.” The words were spoken with a sneer, and Garrick knew he was more talk than action.

  Then the sneering bandit took a step toward the mercenary, with his overconfidence getting the better of him. He was most likely the leader of the ragtag group.

  Garrick let the arrow loose and it hit the lead bandit in the chest. As he started to fall, the second bandit lunged at Garrick. It was a quick scuffle. After dropping his bow, Garrick threw a left inside elbow to the bandit’s temple, stunning him, then unsheathed his sword with his right hand and raised it up swiftly, crashing the bottom of its hilt into the bandit’s chin, who then fell unconscious.

  Feeling the final bandit move towards him, Garrick turned and parried the sword coming down at him.

  This bandit was bigger, half troll if that were possible, and it was all he could do to keep his sword in pce. Knowing his limits, Garrick released and stepped to the side, letting the big man fall forward.

  There was a rustle in the nearby trees, and though he knew he would take out these bandits, another one or two may mean trouble.

  The big bandit recovered and swung again, only this time he looked calmer, more composed. Garrick parried each thrust and looked for his opening. Then a familiar feeling came over him and he smiled.

  “Sarcastic smiles will not stop me from doing to you what you did to my friends,” spoke the big bandit through clenched teeth. “Feeling tired yet?”

  Garrick took a step back, closer to the trees, still holding the big man at bay. Then he dropped to a knee and held his sword with both hands to steady it against the stronger man’s attack.

  Suddenly, the trees rustled again and in a fsh something bck jumped out and took Garrick’s adversary down with a growl. The big bandit screamed as a bck wolf had him by his sword arm. Instantly the bandit released his bde.

  Garrick stood up, kicked the sword away and looked at the other two bandits. They were still down. Not a threat.

  “Onyx. Release him,” said Garrick quickly and sternly.

  Hearing the mercenary, the mystic wolf growled and bit down for a few seconds more, but obeyed. Then the big bandit grabbed his sword arm and rolled in pain.

  “Onyx, watch them,” is all Garrick said, and the big bck wolf sat down happily, as if resting after a time of rigorous py. A second ter he licked his lips, then sniffed the air.

  With the situation now under control, the mercenary went to the fallen cleric and knelt down in front of him. His white robes were dirty and specks of red could now clearly be seen. The old man coughed, wiped his nose with his right sleeve, and then looked up at Garrick.

  “Well, my kind mercenary, I fear you are too te to save me,” said the cleric through the pain. Garrick looked down at where the cleric’s left hand was. It covered his stomach and blood was not only staining the robe, it was soaking his hand.

  “Hold on my holy friend. I think I can...” replied Garrick, but the cleric grabbed his arm.

  “No. No...there is not much time,” stated the cleric, as he looked from Garrick to the sky above. “I am not far from Elion’s Embrace. The god of all creation is calling me. I...I can feel it.”

  Garrick started to tear a piece of the cleric’s robe off to double up the fabric to stop the bleeding. The cleric breathed deeply, his mind made up on his next action. Then he pulled an old scroll from his inner robe and tried to hand it to Garrick.

  “My name is Braelind. You must take this to The Holy City...to the High Priest himself. No one else.” The cleric coughed and winced in pain. “I found it…in the catacombs… It was… Please, just take it to the High Priest!”

  Looking at Braelind in what Garrick knew were the old man’s st moments, and seeing how important the scroll was to him, the mercenary grabbed the rolled parchment and quickly stuck it into his pack.

  Curious about the scene unfolding in front of him, Onyx left the injured bandits, trotted up, and stood next to his kneeling companion. Garrick rubbed the mystic wolf’s head for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next.

  “Rest old man. I will do what you want,” answered Garrick, mostly to put the cleric at ease in his final moments.

  Braelind winced in pain as he lifted his left hand from his stomach. With his right hand he tried to slip a ring from his finger. Though it took all his strength, he was finally able to get it off. Then he motioned to Garrick.

  Garrick opened his hand and Braelind pced the ring into his palm and closed it tight.

  “When you get to The Holy City, show them this ring. It is a ring of The Brethren. With this you will have little trouble getting an audience...” Pain racked the cleric’s body again. Then he smiled. “I thought it would be I who brought the knowledge of the location of the King Priest’s Scepter Sword to The Holy City, but Elion has decred it to be you, mercenary.”

  Onyx looked over at Garrick and whimpered softly as if he could feel the cleric’s spirit starting to drift away. Garrick grabbed Braelind’s shoulder, nodded, and then put the ring into his tunic pocket.

  “Promise me, mercenary. Promise me you will...” continued the old man.

  Garrick nodded at the dying old man and squeezed his shoulder. “I will, Braelind. You have my word,” announced Garrick.

  The mercenary’s mind was racing. The legendary Scepter Sword? The King Priest? He wasn’t sure what was really going on, or if any of it was true to anyone but the dying old cleric he was kneeling in front of.

  However, one thing Garrick did know was that Braelind would die peacefully if it were up to him.

  Braelind smiled up at Garrick and nodded. Then after a few more seconds the old man leaned his head back and breathed his st breath.

  “Fall into Elion’s Embrace,” whispered Garrick. It was something his mother said.

  The mercenary closed Braelind’s eyes and stood up. The words he spoke echoed in his head as he suddenly remembered saying it to his mother when she died.

  Coming out of the memory and back to real life, Garrick felt something was off. All was quiet. Too quiet. He turned around. The bandits were gone.

  Garrick looked down at Onyx.

  “Slipped away in all the commotion.” Onyx growled quietly and sniffed the air, but Garrick patted the mystic wolf’s head, putting him at ease.

  “No. Leave them be,” assured Garrick. Then he looked at Braelind, grabbed the old cleric’s staff and said…

  “We have something more important to do.”