The realms are mutable
The color of the sky
To the shape of the land
It can change, Scar to Sea
Mythica to Cloden
Don't trust towers to stand
When a new age begins
Everything is like sand
—Lord Blitz Truth of Blue
A tripod of logs stand in the middle of a field of budding crops, backing familiar farmhouses with chimney smoke puffing. Under the logs' apex, a bucket-sized bell swings in the breeze with a thin ringing rope hanging down to the dirt.
Ishkur rubs bleary eyes and turns from the late afternoon sun. Just that lonely thing. He stomps his foot on an uncovered cobblestone, marking where the ancient trade route bridges forest and field. Not a tower or even a single palisade pole.
Jax pants a few strides back, adjusting the massive greataxe strapped across his hairy shoulders. The berserker leader jerks his hands at the double line of brutish men, leaning against each other just behind him. They show teeth and nod.
Hurry, Happy. Move those hog legs. Ishkur firms his mouth and slips on his helmet. I need your brothers tame and on task.
"We've made it to Waygreen Village in good time." Ishkur salutes them, silver gauntlet streaked with the rusty brown of his dried blood. "Well done, sons of Phoenix's passion." That could work. "Now, disarm for hospitium." S O P P, Sopp's Platoon.
Jax slips off his axe, black smile wide and hands signing to the side.
Egghead stumbles forward. "Too weak. Need meat." The big berserker slips off his heavy flail and other gear. "Now."
The rest grumble and drop helms, weapons, and anything else they've hung onto for the trip.
Ishkur gulps, stepping back from the growling men. "Wait here in the shadows while I get things ready."
He jogs to the tripod and ducks under it. At least those bumpkins did something.
The berserkers emerge from the woods. Ishkur waves them off. They slow but come on, standing straight and scratching ribs.
Shit logs. "Guys, you've got to listen!"
Children squeal and scatter out of neighboring fields, running like mice from hounds.
"See? Not the right first impression."
Jax nods, and the other men bow their heads. Ishkur sighs. Grabbing the ringing rope, he yanks.
Snap.
The broken length of twine drapes over his shoulder. Really, another silent bell. Ishkur growls, tossing the frayed rope aside. "If you must follow, then you must obey."
Jax signs and Egghead says, "We wi'l eat soon, even if we must eat you." The big berserker chuckles. "Do you taste sweet?"
"There's a vampiress you could ask, except I cut her head off with a shovel."
In the field across the village's street, an old man stumbles away from two mules harnessed to a plow. Jax points at the equines, and his body hair starts to flicker.
"No." Ishkur waves towards a grand building where the street forks. In Daisey's honor. "Three States Tavern should have tender horse in their stables." I spare you mules. "But, please stay here. I can—"
YOU ARE READING
Ranger of Path
FantasyIshkur, an orphan nostalgic for the heroic roots of his adoptive band of ambitious adventurers, sets out on a redemptive mission to recover the secrets of a forgotten trade route traversing a contested realm. The orders that he finds in his pocket...
