Last Son of Ironhorn [ch.2]

They had found Agnes in the morning, hanging by her hands from a dead plum tree near the inn. She had been stabbed in so many places that Balor had thought her nightgown had been wine red until he saw the torn white sleeves. Her eyes, devoid of all their fire, looked down on him as she hung. In death, her pale face admonished him for abandoning her, and the red smile that opened from her neck mocked him further.

Balor had buried her by the smoldering skeleton of the Inn of the Hill Giant, now a smoking shell of her family’s legacy. Alix and Esme, Agnes’s eldest nieces, were interred beside her by the boys. The sun was peaking over the eastern canopy by the time they had covered them. Willem, Tylar, and Cerrit stood with him in a respectful vigil over the women who had sheltered them. Balor muttered a half-remembered prayer over the pauper’s grave. A prayer he had devoutly known the night Ironhorn fell, when the sea had carried him to the shores of these lands. And just like then, a familiar rage bubbled inside him as the words spilled from his mouth.

They could not waste time burying the rest of the patrons, so Balor and Tylar had taken to piling the bodies to at least grant them a funeral pyre. Willem, weakened by the wound in his side, went about scouring the charred timbers of the inn for supplies and valuables that may have survived the fire. Balor had sent Cerrit into the woods to look for the survivors that had run off, hoping that Agnes’s youngest niece, Alla, was among them. It came as a surprise when he returned from the trees, not with a trail of survivors, but a battered man armored in dark iron. Cerrit dragged the struggling man by his backplate and threw him at Balor’s feet.

“Caught this one on his way back to the road. Had to open him up a little, but he can talk.” said Cerrit, who despite the bleeding cut on his left temple, spoke unfazed.

The man lying before them was in a worse state, groaning in pain as he clutched his leg. A tattered pant sleeve exposed the leaking gash where Cerrit’s axe had slashed his left calf open. Balor met the raider’s swollen eyes as he began his questioning.

“Where did you come from? What business had you that required the slaughter of innocents?”

The man flashed a bloody grin. “What makes you think I’ll tell you that?”

He rolled over fully on his back, exposing the symbol embossed on his rough breastplate. Balor felt his soul leave his body, his nerves chilling as if the mother of all sea winds had blown into his spine. The pieces came together in his mind as he studied the imprint on the armor: two crossed chains quartering three swords and an axe, the sigil of the Sea Lord of Thangoris. All at once, it made sense to him why they were looking for an Ironhorn, and why they had aimed to leave no survivors.

“You will tell me, because I know what you are.” Balor said as he knelt down next to the man. “Thangori corsairs are a hard folk, I know. The wind and sea beats and batters them into the coldest bastards alive.”

The man’s sadistic grin began to slowly fade as Balor spoke.

“Try as they may, mainlanders cannot understand that they may spend years beating a man into submission, but if he is a man who has been beaten all his life, nothing they can do will hurt him.” Balor turned to look the man in the eyes while grasping his sword hilt. “They will not understand that, to cry again, a beat dog must be broken.”

Balor drew his sword and drove it deep into the bone of the man’s good leg. The wide-eyed, bearded corsair gasped in pain, but no cry came out. Cerrit reacted fast, holding the man’s shoulders down on the ground to keep him from flailing around.

“I will ask you once more. What did you seek here?”

Balor slowly began sawing the sword up the raider’s leg. The armored man squirmed, then wildly struggled like a drowning fish but Balor refused to let him be free of his pain. It was tedious work to cut bone down the middle with the un-serrated blade. Once the screams began, however, he could not help but savor it.

“Stop, stop! No more! Please no more!”

“Tell me what I need to know.” He twisted the sword within the bone with all his might until he heard a metallic snap. The man’s screams echoed so loud amongst the towering trees that even Khorus, who was perched some distance away, flapped his wings in surprise. “I can end this. Tell me.”

Tears ran down the man’s temples as he now lay near in shock. Struggling past quivering lips, he managed to get his words out.

“Ironhorn! Sent us to look for a living Ironhorn man. Said he’d be at the inn…”

“Who said?”

“My capt'n”

“Where did the rest of your company go?”

“Found nothin here. Went south. Down the road.”

“Well, they should be glad they missed him, because they would have ended up just like you if they had not.”

The corsair’s watery eyes widened with realization.

“You…?”

“Yes.”

And with that, he ripped the sword out of the man’s leg and buried the steel in his chest. The low-grade iron of the breastplate caved under the force. Red began to pool in the crater. The man coughed out a spout of blood and one last rough groan of anguish, before dying, his last moments of fear frozen in his eyes.

Balor remained there, pushing down on the sword with all his fury although it sank no further. He locked eyes with the dead man, then with the sigil on his chest, now pierced through the center by the blade. He ground his back teeth as he shifted his full weight onto the pommel. Cerrit had let go of the body and was saying something, though he could not hear. Eyes fixed on that damned symbol; the sound of clashing steel came back to him. Stone crumbled and flames roared, and the screams flooded his ears.

Someone came up behind him and lifted him up off the sword. Balor’s arm reacted before his head did, swinging his right elbow into the face of the unseen person, who promptly let him go. The world was a blur as he spun around with fists readied, but when it refocused, he saw Tylar staggering backwards.

“Enough, he’s dead! Are you insane?”

Balor slowly turned back to look at his sword; at least half of the blade had gone through the dead corsair and into the ground. Cerrit had cautiously moved closer with his palms open. And looking towards the inn, Balor saw Willem had grown paler.

“I am sorry. I forgot myself for a moment.”

Tylar massaged the spot on his head where Balor’s elbow had connected, brushing strands of his golden hair from his suspicious eyes. “It seems to me that that’s not all to it.”

Balor’s own caution began to take him. Each wound he spotted on his friends was another stab of guilt. The guilt of putting them in danger because of who he was. Yet, he could not find the words to tell them why this had happened.

“We had best finish here. There may be other outlaws nearby, and we cannot afford to be caught in the open.” He turned back to Cerrit. “Were there any signs of Alla, or the other survivors?”

The man’s tense shoulders had relaxed under his brown cloak, but his eyes fell on hearing the question.

“Found the minstrel, Marilda, and two others. They’d been run down by this one, I’ll wager.” motioning to the corsair. “No sign of the girl or anyone else.”

“We ought to search for her, for Agnes’s sake. These woods were already no place for a child.” said Willem, walking back to them.

He was close when he winced in pain. He dropped what he had collected and fell to his knees. Tylar rushed over to him and lifted Willem’s shirt to examine the wound. Even from where Balor stood, he could see that the gash was deeper than he had thought, right into the left lower ribs. Upon seeing his friend’s condition, Balor shocked himself with how fast he came to his decision.

“Balor, this is beyond my ability to heal.” Tylar began. “If Will doesn’t get proper treatment for this-”

“I feel fine, boys.” said Will in between dry heaves. “Go out and find that girl. What good will this burial have been if Agnes rises again to kill us for losing her niece.”

Balor avoided Willem’s gaze, instead looking at Tylar. Meeting his blue eyes, he saw that they had reached the same dreadful conclusion, although neither of them wished to speak it out loud. Half a minute passed before he elected to spare Tylar the burden, and he dragged down his regret into the dark sea of his mind as he finally turned to Will.

“Cerrit did not find her among the fallen in the woods, meaning there is a strong chance she lives. And, a wounded man would hinder our search.”

“Then leave me here until you return with her. You know I can manage.”

“Not with that wound, Will. We need to find you treatment, and swiftly. Until you can be healed - Alla is in the hands of the gods.”

“Brother, you can’t mean that. She’s just lost everything she’s known. And you would leave her to the wilds?!”

“We will return to find her, I swear it, but your situation is no less dire. Children are resilient, I am certain she can endure until we return.”

“Yes, you would know would you not? Your own experience has made you the authority on the resilience of children, has it?”

Willem’s body betrayed his growing fury, and as he tried to get up, pain stabbed into him. Gritting his teeth, Will groaned as he fell, his strength leaving him as he passed out of consciousness. Tylar caught him this time and set him down on the ground while readjusting the cloth bandages on Willem’s side which grew ever redder.

The weight of Will’s words was made worse by the truth in them. Regardless, his decision was final, and though Will may chastise him for this, he would be alive to do so. Balor glanced back into the forest behind them, and the morning sun beat down on him about as harshly as his shame. He quietly prayed for forgiveness as he turned his back on the eastern tree line. Whether he was praying to his gods or to little Alla, he could not know anymore; neither were like to hear the prayer.

They had taken a door from one of the outhouses and lain Willem on it. They gathered the items Will had collected from the inn: eleven silver coins, slices of burnt jerky, an iron pan, three leather satchels, four game knives, a rondel dagger, leather straps, a wood axe with a charred hilt, and five onions. Balor took one satchel and had given the other two to Cerrit and Tylar. Between them, they had divided the onions, jerky, knives and smaller items. Cerrit would carry the heavier ones bundled into a tarp from a wagon behind the inn, while he and Tylar would carry Willem on the door.

Khorus circled above them, spying for incoming people, although he would do them little good in the forest. Balor left his sword in the dead corsair; the blade was notched from cutting the locks of the stable pens and was likely broken at the tip now. The thought of it being a warning to the other raiders should they return for their friend brought him a tinge of satisfaction. Still, this left him with only the dagger they had found.

After some discussion, they had decided to head for Pier’s Farm in the west. There they could replenish supplies, and Pier’s granddaughter, Ysabel, was a skilled healer who could tend to Will’s wound. Balor doubted Ysabel would remain mad at her betrothed when she saw the state he was in.

As they prepared to depart the husk of the inn, Cerrit’s head sharply turned back towards the burnt building, slowly brandishing one of his hand axes. Balor had not heard anything, but he had come to trust in the tall woodsman’s hearing a long time ago, and drew the dagger. Tylar was slower to react, only unsheathing his sword when he saw them brandishing their weapons.

Heavy footsteps shuffled through the charred wood, unseen within the inn’s remains. Balor extended a palm to Tylar, telling him to remain at Will’s side, and with the other, motioned for Cerrit to head for cover behind the wagon. He did so, his cloak billowing behind him as he ran and dove behind the cart, quieter than a mouse.

Balor himself stepped towards the road, keeping his eyes peeled on the direction of the footsteps. He stopped just short of where the grass met the dirt of the road, in front of where the main entrance had once been, calling out to the unseen.

“You in the rubble, show yourself.”

The footsteps stopped, and Balor braced for a response.

“To whom have I come upon?”

“The protectors of this property.”

“Protectors, you say? Perhaps you should consider a change of profession.”

“You jest, but if you are with the brigands who wrought this ruin, I will have your head! Now show yourself!”

The voice gave itself form as a man stepped out from behind a collapsed wall. He was an older man, sporting unkempt gray locks that fell past his shoulders. A beard extended to his chest. Yet he was well formed, his old dark cloak outlined a broad back, and his veiny forearms were as thick as galley oars. The man came up with his hands raised, and his cloak was pulled back to reveal a broadsword in its scabbard. Balor saw by his appearance that he was no corsair, but was distrustful still.

“I am no brigand, young man. Merely a wanderer who was hopeful of a reprieve from the wilderness. Though when I heard the screams of a man on my approach, I suspected I might be disappointed.”

“You will forgive me if I do not trust you. Set down your weapon, and walk towards me.”

“You realize if I mean you harm, I will have no difficulty in striking down a man with a dagger.”

“I have had less against worse, old man. Now do as I say.”

The man slowly drew his sword and set it on the grass in front of him. It was a flat bronze blade, though it looked more cared for than its wielder. The man then stepped over the weapon and came forward slowly. Balor met him halfway, searching the older man for any other hidden weapons, holding the dagger ready. The traveler was taller than he was, more imposing than even Cerrit, and far hardier despite his years. As he finished the search, the man spoke again.

“As you can see, you have naught to fear from me.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Smart man, and although I understand your caution, would you mind telling your friend by the wagon to stop aiming an axe at my head. You allowing me to come this close tells me his arm is quite accurate.”

Balor was taken aback by the stranger’s awareness. Indeed, looking over the man’s shoulder, in the distance one could see the wagon from across the length of the charred building. Balor let out a whistle, and Cerrit came out from behind the cart.

“My thanks. Apologies for my sneaking; after hearing the screaming in this direction, I was unsure of your intent.”

“You have not given me reason for hostility. We are no brigands. You may be about your business.”

Cerrit, approaching them with an axe still drawn, picked up the traveler’s sword and gave it to him. The older man addressed him with a nod of thanks and sheathed the weapon. He adjusted his cloak and made his way onto the road. Balor saw that Cerrit had not broken his observance of the man. There were few things that made his friend wary, but when they did, they were obvious.

“Is something amiss?”

“Don’t like the way Khorus didn’t see him coming.”

“Could it be your bird was distracted?”

Cerrit looked up at the gyrfalcon circling above them with ponderous eyes. “No. He knew how to conceal himself. Could’ve had the drop on us if he wanted.” Balor believed him; the bond between the woodsman and the bird had never once failed them in their travels, before today.

They made their way back around to the other two, where they saw the stranger conversing with Tylar. Only until he saw them in his peripherals did Tylar sheath his blade.

“The man is offering to help us carry Will to Piers’s.” Tylar said “Did he check out to you?”

“The lands are lawless now. It seems that strength in numbers would do us all good.” added the stranger.

Balor knew he made a good point. With two men needed to carry Will, the more protection they had the better.

“I concede. We are heading west through the forest to avoid the men on the road who ravaged this inn. You may join us, on the condition that you help carry our friend here to aid.”

“My strength is not what it was, but I will do so.” said the man, looking past them and down at Will lying on the door.

“Very well. What are we to call you?”

“Kenn is my name. Well met.”

____________________________________________________

The march to Piers’s farm was a grueling one. Willem had roused several times, but was too weak to speak. Tylar saw to his bandage as they walked among the towering trees, and made them stop twice to apply a poultice he had created from shrubs he collected along their trek. Kenn had kept up with Balor’s pace as they carried Will, although he was grateful for the rest each time Tylar had asked them to stop. By nightfall, they had made it to Gallows Grove. Balor for once was relieved to see the grouping of slouched giant skeletons, as it meant they were near the ford of the Maidenstream, and only two days from there was the farm.

Balor called for an extended rest at Gallows Grove. Cerrit had set up a cookfire with dried branches and shaved bone before taking to the shoulders of one of the fallen giants to keep watch above the camp. Kenn had graciously shared a rabbit with them, which they cooked with one of Balor’s onions. For being their first meal back as wanderers again, it was not half bad. And the generosity of the older man seemed to even put Cerrit more at ease with his presence.

Balor was sitting on a rock near the flame, across from where they had lain Will. Even through the fire, he felt the judgment from his friend’s unseen eyes. It pierced him like a fishhook as he stared at the dirt below him. And though he tried not to think of it, he saw glimpses of the red-haired girl he had just doomed.

“It wasn’t a simple decision, Balor.” said a voice that seemed to read his mind. He turned to see Tylar returning from the woods with more kindling, which he set down near the fire before sliding a rock next to him.

“How is Will looking to you?”

“The poultices should see him through to the farm without running a fever. But, I’ve got that bandage wrapped around him tighter than a drum and the blood won’t fully stem. The lack of movement and speech has bought him time but not much, a day or two maybe.”

“At first light, we will cross the ford, and not stop until we reach Piers. If we keep a good pace, we will make it there by midnight tomorrow.”

“All right, but it’s best that Cerrit and I carry Will tomorrow. To make that time, we’ll need a fresh set of arms to manage him. And I think our new companion gave all he could give today.”

Balor glanced at Kenn, who was slouched against a massive arm bone near Will, shifting uncomfortably as he snored.

“He has placed a lot of trust in us, sleeping like that.”

“Yes, trust is scarce in these lands of late” responded Tylar.

Balor looked back at him. “How do you mean by that?”

His friend let down his hair, golden locks falling to his shoulders as his face hardened.

“The raiders last night. They were looking for you, were they not?”

“Yes, they were.”

“Look, when I met you and Willem, I did not ask much about your past apart from what you would share. I didn’t care to. Perhaps I should have. People are dead; our employer and her family, because of what you hid. Fate saw that we’d be spared, for a time at least, to deal with the consequences of this. So I need the truth of it all. Why do your people hunt you?”

Balor appreciated his friend’s candor, but the words hit like a hammer to the head. A hammer that loosened the floodgates, and reluctantly, he let the currents flow.

“On Thangoris, I was raised a noble.”

“I always figured that much; you talk like one.”

“I was my father’s heir, Chief Captain of the Sea Lord’s fleet. The sea is hard, and life on our island is harder, but amongst the crags and rocks he was polished mudstone. He inspired hope among his captains and our people, that we may see better times. He was a great leader, and the Sea Lord a jealous man.”

Balor found the words stuck in his throat, as he shut his eyes to the fire, trying to keep images from flooding back with the words.

“One night, without warning, the Sea Lord marched a host to our gates. Declared us traitors, conspiring with the foreign king to bring Thangoris to ruin. He would not have it, and demanded the heads of our entire house as recompense. By the end, my father took me to a cove under the castle, and begged me to flee. I wanted to stay, but he said I was to be the legacy of our family. That I at least needed to live. He then cracked me on the back of my head, and I awoke at sea in a rowboat, my family home in the distance, consumed by fire and screams.”

Tylar sat, enthralled, and where there had been suspicion in his eyes, there was only shock.

“I made sure to abandon my name that night, and by the time I washed up near the salthouse where Will found me, I was simply Balor the orphan.”

“Will doesn’t know?”

“I never had the heart to face the events of that night, so I feigned loss of memory. And over the years, I did lose everything that made me Thangori, and Ironhorn. Will became my brother, and what came before that no longer mattered.”

“Any idea how they found you now?”

“I am not sure, but however they did, the Sea Lord will want me dead, to keep quiet the events of that night.”

They sat for a moment, in silence, just looking into the fire. Somehow, despite the threat that now loomed on his life, Balor felt a pressure release from his mind. It was not much, but breathing felt a little easier.

Tylar gave him some time to enjoy the feeling before speaking.

“I was a child when the Blackmoore Fleet attacked this country. Our seaside village was enslaved for six months. We had no hope, til one morning when the sunrise revealed longships on the horizon. Tri-sailed, with each showing the image of a hunting horn. Corsairs normally raided our fishing vessels, but that day, they were our saviors. I’ve never forgotten their battle-cry as they beached their ships and charged into our captors. ‘Ironhorn! Draegon! Thangoris!’”.

Astonished by the revelation, Balor looked at Tylar, who slightly grinned while reminiscing on the memory. The amberhair, who was only still living thanks to Draegon Ironhorn, met his gaze as he continued.

“Your father’s influence brought hope to more than just his own people. To now know I’ve had his son’s friendship is a great honor. May the gods strike down the Sea Lord for his crime. Until then, you won’t be harmed by his doing, I swear.”

Balor had no words for his friend, managing only to return a grateful smile out of the chaos in his mind.

“You had better tend to Will, brother. I have lost enough family for one lifetime.”

Tylar collected himself and stood up to make his way to Will’s side of the fire, slightly bowing before leaving.

“As you command, Lord Ironhorn.”