The Elder Lands

Lucan felt as though the white light blinding his eyes was piercing into his skull. He could nearly hear it somehow, he thought, if it weren’t for the noise around him. Someone was struggling, another was choking on something. Then, just as the white shine began to fade from his eyes, he heard another bolt of lightning, closer this time, and the white shine increased in intensity once more, returning him to absolute blindness.

Lucan groaned and leaned to the side, forcing his face down, away from any other sources of irritation. He kept blinking, hoping to catch a glimpse of the clash of blades he could hear. Something was happening, but he couldn’t make sense of it.

Eventually, the painful shine trying to find itself into the middle of his skull began to fade away. He covered the sides of his face with his hands in anticipation of more assaults on his sanity, but none came. When the blur remaining in his eyes finally faded away, he saw his father cleaning blood off his sword, and the giant of a Wilderman was on the ground, unmoving amidst a pool of his own blood.

Lucan observed his father’s relaxed stance and finally noticed that those who remained of the Wildermen were fleeing, some of them even abandoning their plunder. More aid had arrived, and the defenders had overwhelmed the raiders. He saw Cordell kneeling over the form of a fallen man, and Lucan suddenly recognized him as one of their men-at-arms. He wondered if he was wounded or dead. Lucan knew the man’s name was Henry, but he hadn’t known him too well. He wondered if he would ever get to now. Beside Cordell’s kneeling form, Lucan saw the scorched remains of what looked like the shaman that had been fighting the man-at-arms. His corpse was smoking like a roasted side of beef. His skin and apparel were blackened and cracked and Lucan could no longer see the bone bangles he’d been wearing.

Lucan looked past the smoking shaman to where the other shaman had barred the way of the reserve that had been coming to relieve them, and he saw another smoking corpse. Lucan realized what had happened just as he saw the purple robes of a mage emerging from among Lord Arden’s soldiers. A lightning mage. Lucan knew that Lord Arden had reserved the services of a mage, though said mage wasn’t sworn to him, but he had never seen said mage himself, until now.

He was a short man of mild complexion and features, as far as Lucan could see. He wandered into the village proper as the last of the Wildermen fled, and Lucan saw two of Lord Arden’s soldiers shadowing him. The mage knelt over the scorched shaman, rummaging among his clothes and items.

Lucan lost sight of the mage as his father’s form filled his sight. The knight stood over him, his sword sheathed, his armor stained with the blood of his enemies, not a scratch on his flesh, though he did have a badly dented pauldron that Lucan was quite certain he hadn’t had before following the Wilderman into the house.

“Are you well?” Sir Golan said.

“I’m not certain,” Lucan said, before breaking into a coughing fit. “I think I might have a broken rib.”

Lucan took a deep breath and felt an ache in the lower right side of his chest. “Yes.”

“Keep breathing,” his father said. “Does it get better or worse?”

Lucan took a few more deep breaths, and the pain indeed became milder with each one, though it never left him. “It gets better.”

“It’s just a bruise,” his father said. “Though we’ll have you looked at by Lord Arden’s surgeon, and that plate looked at by his smith.”

Lucan nodded, taking careful gulps of air that he now realized he sorely needed. His father stretched out a hand for him and Lucan took it, getting up slowly and thankfully finding the pain bearable. He favored one side as his father helped him to a flat rock to sit on.

Lucan sat down as his father went to look over his men-at-arms. He saw him kneel beside the now obviously fallen Henry, and Lucan found himself bobbing his head in acceptance. He hoped none of the others had found their end here, most importantly the ones he’d gotten to know better, for he didn’t want to carry any more weight in his heart today.

He realized now that his hands were shaking, cold sweat was coating his skin, and the pain was in the overarching background of his consciousness. He felt sickly.

“It’s normal to feel poorly after battle,” his father’s voice interrupted his quiet torment. He was standing over him once more, and Lucan realized that it had been a while since he’d left him to look over their men. “Is it because of him?” The knight gestured with his head towards the corpse of the giant Wilderman lying motionless in front of the villager’s house.

Lucan shook his head but then stopped. “Perhaps, in part, it is. But that is not all.”

His father bade him move to the side then sat beside him. “What is it, then?”

“That first Wilderman I killed,” Lucan said. “The one near the forest. I killed more after him, but…but I didn’t look as closely, I didn’t see their eyes. I didn’t imagine what they were thinking. Him though…”

His father nodded. “Yes. It’s normal to feel guilt after killing for the first time too.”

“That’s the quandary, Father,” Lucan said. “It’s not guilt, I feel. It’s fear. I saw it in his eyes, his disbelief. It’s as though he’d believed that he would live for a thousand years, emerge victorious from a hundred battles, birth children countless and have a long line of descendants. It’s as though hehad plans. And it was all snuffed out of him in an instant, Father. For the longest time, I’d thought that the greatness of one’s aspirations or station might be a shield for them somehow. It felt as though death was a distant danger of insignificant consequence. But back there, I saw it, near as ever. And…I realized that I would look just like him if ever my life was snuffed out of me.” He paused, panting again, feeling a squeeze in his heart and a latent heat in his eyes. Then he continued. “I would not believe it, as he didn’t. I would find the look on his face reflected in mine. My eyes would be wide and panicked just as his were. I’d once thought I was brave. But I’m…I’m–”

His father interrupted him with a subdued laugh which, considering the circumstances and his father’s temperament, could be considered a loud guffaw. “The cause of your distress is that you feel fear? That is all? Tell me, do you think I’m afraid before I march into battle?”

Lucan shook his head.

His father chuckled once more. “But I am, Lucan. I always am. Only madmen and characters of myth feel no fear, Son. If ever a man went into battle without a drop of fear in him, then he was no brave man, but only fortunate that he was born without the curse we were all born with. No, brave men are those who go into battle in spite of their fear. You must not abhor fear, but learn to live with it. When you do, you’ll find it a familiar companion every time you march into battle. You don’t need to defeat fear, after all. You only need to defeat your enemy.”

Lucan gaped at his father, having not expected the response. He’d expected something, perhaps admonishment, or even pity encouragement. He had not expected this...understanding. He nodded slowly as his father’s eyes met his with certainty, then he looked down at his feet, absorbing what he could of his father’s words.

When he came back from his thoughts, his father was still there beside him, but he had the goldsteel axe of the Wilderman leaning on the rock next to him.

“He had a goldsteel weapon with him,” Lucan said. “I thought they couldn’t make them.”

“They can’t,” his father said, glancing down at the axe with some melancholy. Then he nodded towards the dead Wilderman “It didn’t belong to him.”

“Whom, then?” Lucan asked.

“Someone I once knew,” his father said tamely. “Perhaps a friend.”

Lucan looked at the Wilderman then at the axe again. “Did he kill him?”

“Most likely. The Wildermen guard their spoils of war dearly. And it would’ve taken a considerable warrior to defeat such a fine knight without subterfuge,” Sir Golan said while looking at the Wilderman’s size meaningfully.

“A warrior like the Bear himself,” a familiar voice joined them.

Lucan raised his head to find Sir Sarin, Lord Arden’s right hand. He was approaching them at a comfortable pace while soldiers fanned out around him to search the village.

Lucan’s father gave the dead Wilderman another meaningful glance. “I suspected as much. Never met him on the battlefield before.”

Sir Sarin leveled his own meaningful look at the corpse. “Obviously.”

“When all else failed, he tried to rely on an enchantment he didn’t know well enough.” Sir Golan patted the runed head of the goldsteel greataxe. “It was the end of him.”

Lucan was about to ask what the enchantment was when he saw the smoke pluming on the horizon above Sir Sarin’s shoulder. “Is that…?”

The knight turned his head in the same direction. “Ah, yes. They hit several settlements at the same time. We believe they did it all along the border. The largest great raid in decades by far. The assault here was the last to be repelled in the territory.”

Lucan gulped. He’d thought this was the odd raiding party that’d slipped through, not one of dozens if not more, and not that it was led by some ‘Bear’ he’d never heard of. He’d heard stories from his father about the Wildermen, but none of any ‘Bears’. Though it stood to reason that his father wouldn’t tell stories about a man he never met.

“Come, we ought to have you both looked at,” Sir Sarin said, gesturing for them to follow him.

The rest of the day was a blur. A surgeon took a look at his ribs, which he judged were neither bruised nor broken but rather suffering from a minor crack that could heal easily if he didn’t make it worse. He was sworn off any hard labor, combat, or training. He was also advised to wear boiled leather during the day to avoid any mishaps. It wouldn’t do to worsen his state because someone carelessly ran into him.

Later, he heard of the Bear from whispers among the men. Supposedly one of the greatest names among the Wildermen in the past two decades. He had led some of the bloodiest and most successful raids against Barwalis and Pontis, and he had the respect of many among his people, even outside of his own tribe. He’d become so renowned that his name had even echoed in the Kingdoms, at least among the border soldierly and nobility. And he’d died. So simply, so swiftly. It proved to Lucan yet again that death could claim anyone. No matter how renowned you were, what your status was, what your dreams were, it could reach you in a blink, and you could never anticipate it. The more you tried, the more it would cripple you. One wouldn’t accept death for what it was until that last breath. And that was what Lucan feared.

They stayed in Lord Arden’s territory for a fortnight, but miraculously, the Wildermen halted their raids and retreated into the forest afterwards. It was odd, as though the Wildermen had halted at the death of their marshal, but no one, not even the Bear, could unite the Wildermen so, or else the Kingdoms would have had to face much worse than the odd raid in the past. Yet the scouts and rangers affirmed it. The tribesmen had left the northern part of their forests and were returning home. It was a mystery that no one could solve, or rather, no one cared to solve, since they now got to go back to their peaceful lives, something that even those who lived by their blade appreciated.

It was time to return home.

He had handled his Blessing’s gains a day after the battle. They were plenty, even if they were tainted with pain, fear, and death.

You have slain an Iron Human and absorbed their Vital Essence.

You have slain an Iron Human and absorbed part of their Vital Essence.

You have slain a Steel Human and absorbed part of their Vital Essence.

You have leveled up.

You have leveled up.

Swordsmanship has leveled up.

Swordsmanship has leveled up.

Swordsmanship has leveled up.

Swordsmanship has leveled up.

7-Point Star Dance has leveled up.

7-Point Star Dance has leveled up.

Race: Human

Level: 9

Vital Orbs: 24

Mind and Body

Physique: Iron I 0/15

Spirit: Basic 0/1

Skills (0) 0/100

(Passive) Swordsmanship lv26: Journeyman

(Hybrid) 7-Point Star Dance lv12: Apprentice (0/1)

(Active) Wraith Strike lv8: Novice (0/1)

Yes, it was time to go home, lick their wounds, tend to their estate, and perhaps, when his mind was more at ease, use those vital Orbs.