Die By The Sword

  ***

  By the time Vengir's son had even learned what had happened, Torthan was well past the northern border. The sentries were young and careless. Killing them had been far too easy. Torthan had hung them from a tree before setting out into the barren plains beyond his home.

  At last. Two long decades he had endured, and now he roamed free, and victorious already.

  "It's only a matter of time," he muttered as the wind howled, "There are camps all over this place. And all I need is one. Then it begins. Such an irony. After all these years of blood and agony, it shall be the barbarian tribes that will bring justice. Gerthi had his chance! If he falls, there'll be no saving him. Or Casrad. Oh, I'll castrate him myself. Ha! Castrate Casrad! Castrate Casrad! A nursery rhyme!"

  Thus he was found by ten horsemen: cackling, and hunched over with mirth. Torthan went into their arms willingly, but it was no crude pile of huts they took him to. It was an orderly village, built of thick wooden logs.

  "A fine abode for fine warriors," Torthan said loudly.

  "Your thanks is welcome," said one of them civilly, "Would you follow us to the Elders?"

  Even before Torthan had been cast in his dungeon, he had dreamed of this meeting. Stories upon stories he had memorized of the mighty Elders. Each one had killed more men in battle than the rest of the tribesmen. They wore heavy stone plates to show their people that they were strong, fearless, and alien to pain and defeat.

  "Good day," said one of them warmly when Torthan walked in, "Welcome to our proud village. What brings you here?"

  Whatever the wizened old man was wearing, it was definitely not stone. He and five others, even more wrinkled than he, sat in a circle. They sipped from steaming goblets.

  "W-where have you gotten all this?" said Torthan.

  "Why, from Lord Vengir's son!" said one of them, who to Torthan's mortification was a woman, "He sent men to us, and wood. They have built these wondrous homes, and taught us how to farm well. We have had no need of fighting for years."

  "That is..." said Torthan slowly, "Good to hear."

  The Elders looked at him curiously. A silence grew that intensified when the woman poured a vial of honey into her goblet and stirred it in.

  "I thought," said the first Elder, "That you had come to us with information. The patrolmen told us that you called it important."

  "Ah, yes," said Torthan, “More important, perhaps, than anything you have known in your life.”

  The Elders looked at each other, uncomfortable.

  “What would you tell us, stranger?” said another Elder, “What is your name?”

  “Great Elders,” said Torthan, holding back his contempt, “I am the man who has spent twenty years in the darkest holes known to man. I am the man who has lost everything he loves. I am the man who has been torn in the flesh and the bone and the spirit by the cruelest of tyrants. I am Torthan!”

  “Torthan?” said one of the Elders, “Why… yes. It’s true! Torthan! You have come at last! Where have you been?”

  Torthan launced eagerly into his story. The Elders sat stiffly as his rants grew louder and louder. It was the same story Torthan had told to Gerthi. At the end, he tore his shirt off, revealing a hideous explosion of scars on his chest.

  “Torthan, clothe yourself this instant,” said the woman indignantly, “Calm yourself down, and hear this. Even if you had reached our people, all those years ago, it would have been to no avail. Even united, we could not have invaded. It was all we could do to keep Vengir’s men out of our own lands. Why is there anger in your voice? Is the battle not already won?”

  “No,” said Torthan, who did not put his shirt back on, “It has only just begun. Vengir raped my love. And then let her die. And then shoved me in his foulest jail and kept me there for twenty years. A few days ago, he let me out: the last mistake he ever made. I slew him. He will never trouble your lands again.”

  The Elders stared.

  “Murderer,” said one of them, pointing his finger.

  “Why do you call me that?” said Torthan angrily, “Call me instead the judge. The conqueror. The hero! Join with me, and let us invade him at last while his troops are still confused! Casrad is still alive! He will contest with Vengir’s son for power! There could even be civil war! Join with me! Call out your troops!”

  “It was Vengir’s son who brought us to our happiness today!” cried the thickest Elder, standing up, “We will not drown him in war based on the ravings of a madman!”

  “Madman, do you call me?” roared Torthan.

  “Madman! Murderer! Traitor!” shrieked the woman, “Guards! Guards!”

  Torthan seized the nearest oil lamp he could find and threw it in their midst. As the Elders fled the tent in terror, Torthan ran into the midst of the village and leapt on a black horse.

  “You’ll regret this!” roared Torthan, as the tent behind him erupted in flame, “Casrad will eat you all alive! Do you think your days of sunshine will carry on? Vengir is dead! Casrad is coming!”