The Bridge: Of Two Worlds

Prologue

Corin looked down upon the anvil as he struck the finely shaped sword that he was crafting. He looked at his hands; they were permanently stained black. Sweat poured down his forehead since it was a hot day in the midst of an unusually warm spring. The heat and smoke from the forge caused him to cough violently as he had done so for so many years - his body was simply not what it used to be. Corin's apprentices - boys who were declared unfit to fight either due to physical defects or mental incapability, dotted the scene, each confused with what task they had to perform despite Corin detailing the procedure half a hundred times each week.

"Perhaps my fate truly is accursed," he exclaimed as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking at those deemed unworthy by his clan. He was not worried that they would hear him - half of them were deaf, whereas the other half would probably not understand his words. The boys had been enslaved in all but name to maximise the efforts of the Wyldumari - the clan Corin belonged to, as each and every man had to play a part in the war against the Taeryadorian Elves to the north. Corin looked outside, wishing to hear the gleeful sounds of children playing but their songs did not reach his ears anymore. They did not play with one another as they used to. The ambiance consisted of women who carried buckets of fresh water from the nearby springs to their homes and the sounds of swords and axes colliding against shields caused by men of the Wyldumari training for war. It was a war effort, every man had to know how to wield a sword and wield it well.

Seventeen years had passed since the Humans of the Wyldumar Clan had ventured north against the skilled and graceful Taeryadorian Elves that had threatened the very existence of the clan. The war - which was originally only expected to last for a handful of years, still raged on like thunder over the Skull Sea. The tide of Taeryador had smashed into the frontiers of the human world. The three Andronimen Clans - Bahatar, Thorina, and Wyldumar had put up a fierce fight to defend their homeland yet only the latter had survived the burgeoning tide of Taeryador so far. The war had affected Corin personally as well. Supplies always had to be diverted during warfare and it was because of this that Corin's loving wife Alanna had passed away while giving birth to their son. The memory of her death was still painful even after fifteen years and Corin longed to see her again. The gift of death, of seeing her once again, was not allowed to the smith - as his Thane Kuros had decreed to him long ago.

The sound of objects collapsing shook Corin from his brooding. An old man had just fallen nearby, knocking Corin's blacksmithing materials to the ground. The younger man rushed to the old man's aid.

"I should have noticed you coming, Thurin. Are you hurt?" asked Corin as he held the old man's hand and helped him take a seat.

The old man let out a soft chuckle. "You believe a fall will cast my soul from my body? You are far too naive, my old friend, to believe I still have one."

The old man was Thurin, once a mighty warrior of the Wyldumari who was now reduced to being a blind hermit. The man's eerie, permanent grin appeared to be a curse from Byoril, as were his lack of eyes. Scars of pox and war decorated the old man's face, yet it emulated more life than any other Wyldumari Corin could think of. He did not know the reason why.

"I was not expecting to see you here," said Corin.

"Nor was I. Ha!" the old man remarked. "I had nothing to do all day, lad. My stomach ached for some mead. Do I smell awful?"

"No. Just the usual," Corin replied after carefully sniffing the old man from a distance.

"Then why did my guide run off in the middle of the night? I figured it must have been the smell or perhaps he found my arse too hairy for his pleasure?"

Corin sighed with disappointment at the old man's joke as well as his guide's abandonment. Respecting the elders of the Wyldumar was a strong tradition, one that had not died out with the changing ways of the clan but he had found the youth of today to be far more cowardly than his and his father's generations.

"Shall I get you something to eat?" Corin asked him.