Zedalion
10-21-2009, 09:08 PM
“That’s him, I think.”
Kendrek looked up from the weeds he’d been pulling, dried streaks of dark blood criss-crossing his hands. Many of the weeds were bull thistles, and pulling them was not without its hazards. He peered down his nose with the full weight of wisdom his seven years on Sryth had granted him, glaring at his brother, who was younger by six full seasons.
“Where?”
Jaden, the younger one, pointed. The boys watched as a thin, not-terribly-tall figure strode around the cornfields and towards the little shack where the boys lived with their parents. It was a humble, thatched-roof affair, one that did very little to hold out either the cold or the rain, and even Kendrek, young as he was, had started to formulate a vague plan that involved running away, to Trithik, perhaps, or Talinus. Surely, he thought, in the city food would be more plentiful, or, at least, the winds less brutally cutting. One day, maybe. Kendrek liked to imagine he had the ability to forge his own fate. It was good to have choices.
“He doesn’t look like much, does he? I always thought Thordon was…umm. Taller. And less…uhh…shabby-looking.”
Indeed the man was not much to look at, he was wearing a ragged old grey cloak that was threadbare at the tips. As he walked and the cloak shifted side to side, it revealed an assortment of armor, none of which actually matched. He had swords slung on either side of his belt and some kind of stick strapped to his back, but his hands were empty and his unremarkable face was blank and distant, like he was thinking of something else. As the man drew closer, both boys noted that his boots were so scuffed and battered that they seemed in danger of falling off his feet at any moment. Jaden dropped his voice so that the approaching stranger wouldn’t hear.
“Dad said he couldn’t get Thordon. Too busy, working for one of the Thanes, or some such.”
Kendrek shook his head, thinking it was more likely their father couldn’t afford the legendary adventurer’s fee—or merely that he didn’t know how to find the man.
“So who is he? Is it Trent, or Elendil, or who?”
To the boys, adventurers were their heroes, and they dutifully memorized the names and deeds of each and every one when the bards sang of them in the village square. That was, when the boys’ chores were done and they were permitted to go.
“No, it’s somebody I never heard of. Zellion, or Ziffidon, or something.” The younger boy furrowed his eyebrows together as he tried to pronounce whatever the man’s odd name was, sounding like he had marbles in his mouth.
“Some mercenary from the bottom of the barrel, I guess. I thought dad was going to get a real adventurer”, Kendrek opined, his voice rising into a nasal, whining pitch.
As if on cue, the stranger suddenly tripped on a rock in the pathway and faceplanted directly into the dirt, his arms pinwheeling out for balance for only a moment before he collapsed with all the grace of a constipated banana slug. His fall created a sizeable puff of what the boys both knew to be arid, infertile soil.
Jaden and Kendrek shoved their hands over their mouths to stifle the laughter and ran to the back of the home. They didn’t want him to hear—after all, he might be incompetent, but he had swords, and they didn’t.
When the giggles died down and they began to hear the man, in a low, soft voice, reach the house and begin discussing with their father the terms of his employment, a thought suddenly occurred to the older boy and his face lit up like a bonfire.
“Hey, Jade…I bet next time we’ll be able to get a real hero!”
The younger boy looked up through his tangle of dark hair in the worshipful way boys look only at their seemingly-omniscient older brothers.
“How?”
Kendrick leaned in conspiratorally. “We just tell them that, plus whatever dad is paying, if they kill the tzaril they’ll find this guy’s body and get all of his equipment, too.”
The laughter of the two young boys burbled merrily through the small farm, easily piercing the walls of their home to where Zedalion, his cheeks still a bit red from his embarrassing fall, listened to tales of cattle depredations by tzaril and tried to look more interested than he actually was. In the end, he knew, he would take the job, whether the man could pay him or not. Zedalion, in all his clumsy glory, was not a man with choices.
As the light softened and wavered, the sun pressing down behind the hills to the west, the sounds of merriment attracted other attention, as well. Scales passed noiselessly over grass as slitted yellow eyes narrowed. One soundless wave of an arm brought the others, gliding gracefully out of hiding as they converged on the two unarmed primates, weighted nets rising and then thrown in a graceful, merciless arc.
Tiny humans were not so tasty as their cattle, Vr’ren supposed, but the hope was that they might fetch a higher price as slaves.
And if not, he mused, as swift blows rendered both boys unconscious before they even thought to cry out, they could still be eaten. They were smaller than the cattle, to be sure, but it was to be hoped they were more tender, as well.
Vr’ren’s stomach burbled slightly as he and his men slid back into the woods, the heavy nets clutched in their hands. Perhaps he’d eat one of them regardless.
It was always good to have choices.
Kendrek looked up from the weeds he’d been pulling, dried streaks of dark blood criss-crossing his hands. Many of the weeds were bull thistles, and pulling them was not without its hazards. He peered down his nose with the full weight of wisdom his seven years on Sryth had granted him, glaring at his brother, who was younger by six full seasons.
“Where?”
Jaden, the younger one, pointed. The boys watched as a thin, not-terribly-tall figure strode around the cornfields and towards the little shack where the boys lived with their parents. It was a humble, thatched-roof affair, one that did very little to hold out either the cold or the rain, and even Kendrek, young as he was, had started to formulate a vague plan that involved running away, to Trithik, perhaps, or Talinus. Surely, he thought, in the city food would be more plentiful, or, at least, the winds less brutally cutting. One day, maybe. Kendrek liked to imagine he had the ability to forge his own fate. It was good to have choices.
“He doesn’t look like much, does he? I always thought Thordon was…umm. Taller. And less…uhh…shabby-looking.”
Indeed the man was not much to look at, he was wearing a ragged old grey cloak that was threadbare at the tips. As he walked and the cloak shifted side to side, it revealed an assortment of armor, none of which actually matched. He had swords slung on either side of his belt and some kind of stick strapped to his back, but his hands were empty and his unremarkable face was blank and distant, like he was thinking of something else. As the man drew closer, both boys noted that his boots were so scuffed and battered that they seemed in danger of falling off his feet at any moment. Jaden dropped his voice so that the approaching stranger wouldn’t hear.
“Dad said he couldn’t get Thordon. Too busy, working for one of the Thanes, or some such.”
Kendrek shook his head, thinking it was more likely their father couldn’t afford the legendary adventurer’s fee—or merely that he didn’t know how to find the man.
“So who is he? Is it Trent, or Elendil, or who?”
To the boys, adventurers were their heroes, and they dutifully memorized the names and deeds of each and every one when the bards sang of them in the village square. That was, when the boys’ chores were done and they were permitted to go.
“No, it’s somebody I never heard of. Zellion, or Ziffidon, or something.” The younger boy furrowed his eyebrows together as he tried to pronounce whatever the man’s odd name was, sounding like he had marbles in his mouth.
“Some mercenary from the bottom of the barrel, I guess. I thought dad was going to get a real adventurer”, Kendrek opined, his voice rising into a nasal, whining pitch.
As if on cue, the stranger suddenly tripped on a rock in the pathway and faceplanted directly into the dirt, his arms pinwheeling out for balance for only a moment before he collapsed with all the grace of a constipated banana slug. His fall created a sizeable puff of what the boys both knew to be arid, infertile soil.
Jaden and Kendrek shoved their hands over their mouths to stifle the laughter and ran to the back of the home. They didn’t want him to hear—after all, he might be incompetent, but he had swords, and they didn’t.
When the giggles died down and they began to hear the man, in a low, soft voice, reach the house and begin discussing with their father the terms of his employment, a thought suddenly occurred to the older boy and his face lit up like a bonfire.
“Hey, Jade…I bet next time we’ll be able to get a real hero!”
The younger boy looked up through his tangle of dark hair in the worshipful way boys look only at their seemingly-omniscient older brothers.
“How?”
Kendrick leaned in conspiratorally. “We just tell them that, plus whatever dad is paying, if they kill the tzaril they’ll find this guy’s body and get all of his equipment, too.”
The laughter of the two young boys burbled merrily through the small farm, easily piercing the walls of their home to where Zedalion, his cheeks still a bit red from his embarrassing fall, listened to tales of cattle depredations by tzaril and tried to look more interested than he actually was. In the end, he knew, he would take the job, whether the man could pay him or not. Zedalion, in all his clumsy glory, was not a man with choices.
As the light softened and wavered, the sun pressing down behind the hills to the west, the sounds of merriment attracted other attention, as well. Scales passed noiselessly over grass as slitted yellow eyes narrowed. One soundless wave of an arm brought the others, gliding gracefully out of hiding as they converged on the two unarmed primates, weighted nets rising and then thrown in a graceful, merciless arc.
Tiny humans were not so tasty as their cattle, Vr’ren supposed, but the hope was that they might fetch a higher price as slaves.
And if not, he mused, as swift blows rendered both boys unconscious before they even thought to cry out, they could still be eaten. They were smaller than the cattle, to be sure, but it was to be hoped they were more tender, as well.
Vr’ren’s stomach burbled slightly as he and his men slid back into the woods, the heavy nets clutched in their hands. Perhaps he’d eat one of them regardless.
It was always good to have choices.