Alright, here we go.

I started to write this story in 1999, while serving my 6 month co-op term for Mass Electric. The job was easy, and I had a lot of free time on my hands. Basically I started writing this because I had nothing better to do. and then at one point I realized that... I started to like it. I wrote, and revised and made my friends read this story and give me feedback. (thanks to all who did, you know who you are) So here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

PROLOGUE

Leanast K’alaroth sat alone. His favorite lady, a half elven named Kaltori – left his room a short while ago and he told his guards that he retired for the day. He wasn’t really tired, not mentally anyway. Kaltori knew what she was about, and unlike most other women of her profession, she always pleased him. She had a fiery human side combined with elven pride that always burned in her eyes. And she was often helpful as a spy, gathering information that Leahnast had no access to. It was through her, that he found out about a powerful magical artifact in a shape of a dagger with a ruby hilt, owned by some no-talent elven renegade. Tomorrow the dagger would be his, and the renegade would never be heard from again.

Leanast rose from his divan with natural elven grace, and walked over to the wine pitcher. Power. Power was everything. He was the second most powerful man in Dhelox, the closest advisor to the royal lord Duke Gatvar himself. Only second. But soon that would change. He raised his goblet full of blood-red wine, and smiled. ‘To me,’ he thought to himself, and took a small sip.

MISSION BEGINS AND ENDS

The people in town of Dhelox were mostly asleep. Why wouldn’t they be - it was one in the morning after all. The few citizens that had to be somewhere at this hour, tried to stick with the patrols, to avoid being robbed - or worse. A patrol consisted of five men dressed in white shirts, chain mail armor, baggy pants and cloaks, in white of course, and they carried spears. They were called the White Guard, and to Torin they presented as much threat as mosquitoes would - and they could be almost as annoying sometimes. Fortunately today the White Guard patrols didn’t pay close attention to their surroundings, and Torin had no problem making his way towards the designated house.

From the outside, the house seemed to hold approximately eight rooms, and one room was lit. For a moment Torin wondered whether he should go for the lit room right away, or work his way up from the first floor. His sense told him that he might be expected, and in that case it would be stupid to leave enemies at his back. He considered himself a good swordsman, but a stab in the back was a stab in the back. He will come to them, and face them in fair combat. But then, there was no such thing as a fair combat.

            Conveniently, a small window on the first floor was opened. The hinges were oiled well, and Torin had no trouble climbing in without making noise. After a quick inspection, He realized that he was in a small storage room. Trying the door, he found it not locked, not that it would be a problem if it were. He carefully opened the door, and carefully peeked in. Seeing a large iron stove, a few storage bins and shelves lining the walls, he figured out that he was in the kitchen, which reminded him that he hasn’t eaten since morning. Trying to keep his mind on the business at hand, Torin quickly and soundlessly moved to the door leading out of the kitchen. Well, almost soundlessly. His stomach seemed to like the smell coming from the food, which was probably left over from dinner, and made some unruly noises, that went on for about five seconds. Torin stopped, and looked around trying to see where the food was stored. A huge closet near the stove looked very inviting, and Torin made his way over there. Suddenly he heard voices, coming from the next room. “Thirty gold pieces you say? I would bet fifty if I were you…”Torin figured that from the sound of their voices they were definitely men, and from all the rattling and jingling sounds, it was obvious that they were wearing armor, and therefore most likely carrying weapons. And they were walking right into his hands. Forgetting the food, Torin drew a thin silk scarf over his face and silently unsheathed his sword.     

                                                       *   *   *

…Looking dazed, Zali slowly got up from the floor. His right arm burned. His right leg was wet with blood from a slash across the back of his thigh. The biggest problem was his sword, lying a few yards away, right at his assailant’s feet. The intruder was dressed in loose black clothing from head to toe, and had a black hood over his head. His face was mostly hidden behind a black scarf, which covered everything but his eyes and the upper part of his nose – attire used by most professional assassins. The man was broad-shouldered but not too tall, and didn’t seem very strong. But then again, never judge a book by its cover, Zali thought. Keep your head down. Breathe hard and fast like you are tired, and look defeated, and if your opponent is honorable, he will not take advantage of you. Zali’s teacher was such an optimist for a mercenary, but right now Zali really didn’t have any other options. He stood there unarmed, and playing a part of a defeated man didn’t seem all that hard.

For a good 15 seconds the intruder stood there, his knees bent and his legs spread out shoulder-length, his sword in front of him, holding it with both hands. To Zali it seemed as if the man had frozen. Then, slowly, he slid his sword back into his scabbard, which was positioned, on his back. Zali looked up. Well, he thought, eyeing the man up and down, that was stupid. He cut my wrist, and thinks he won the fight already.

            Zali didn’t survive his life as mercenary by questioning his luck. His head hung down again, and he spread his arms out. Maybe this encounter won’t end too badly after all. “OK “ he said, trying to sound weak and frightened, “You win. I surrend…” before he finished the sentence, two daggers came flying out from his sleeves into his hands. He threw himself at the other man. He will not have time to take out his sword, he will not… 

          Torin looked down at the dead man lying at his feet, and shook his head. As always, he did what had to be done. The man got in his way, and now he was dead. Well, he wasn’t the first and definitely wouldn’t be the last. Torin walked over to where Zali was lying, and wiped his sword on Zali’s coat’s sleeve. Zali wouldn’t need his coat anymore, and Torin didn’t want to waste a clean rag. Four years ago, Torin was guarding a caravan, along with nine others. One of them was Zali. They did not become friends, but they never got into any fights either. Torin sighed. Such were the fortunes of mercenaries’ life - one usually never knew what would happen the next minute, leave alone the next day - when one was at work. After Torin made sure that his blade was clean, he slid it into his sheath and crept closer to the door that led into the next room. The door was locked, but locked doors never presented any problems to Torin in the past. Taking out his lockpicks, he wondered what would happen if Zali didn’t try using his dagger, even though Torin never doubted that he would. Stupid question. Forcing the thought out of his head, Torin confidently went to          work. 

            Rolethand knew he was in trouble from the moment the assassin entered his house, but like a trusting fool, he didn’t run; he believed the four mercenaries he had hired were good enough. But one by one they were killed and now the only thing between Rolethand and the assassin was a wooden door. The magical dagger that he stole from a noble known as Baron Vidol had some powerful enchantments laid on it – too bad he hadn’t any time to figure out what they were and how to use them to his benefit. A few days ago, Rolethand was confident that the fat Baron wouldn’t be able to track him. The thieves that the mage sent supposedly left no clues. Now his position was desperate

        If he ran, the assassin would just pursue him and kill him easily out there in the night, in some dark alley. Rolethand was thirty-one, and has been studying the ways of magic for nearly ten years. But what use was it to know all these powerful spells when he could cast only a few weak ones! He quickly ran over which spells were at his disposal and which were not. A small ball of flame, yes that would be the best, he decided. The preparations wouldn’t be that long, which was the good thing about the spell. But if he missed, or if the assassin avoided the ball, Rolethand would be left helpless. The dagger hanging at his belt would be practically useless against a skilled swordsman. Oh, he had been given lessons on how to use it, but there was this maiden in his class, and she held his undivided attention. Most of the time. The rest of the time he spent on pulling pranks and making fun of the instructor.  Silently cursing the girl, the teacher, the school, he began preparing for the spell.

*   *   *

             Satisfied, Torin heard a soft click somewhere in the mechanism of the lock. This particular lock was a simple one, and it took him about twenty seconds to open it. Sighing, Torin thought about all the money that someone spent on purchasing and installing the lock, Idiots. Any professional thief can pick any lock short of a magic one. Torin knew that mages usually laid very interesting spells on locks. Some locks exploded, some tuned to stone - making it impossible to operate them. Torin’s favorite was – and he always smiled ruefully remembering the moment – when the lock turned alive and ate his lock-pick. After the munching and crunching was over, the lock politely asked if there was more where that came from. But most of the time, Torin would be able to tell the difference between a magic lock and a normal one.

Carefully, he withdrew a long needle from the keyhole, and slid it into its place on his belt. Another obstacle was out of the way, and this was the only room in this house he hadn’t visited. Torin knew that the lord that sent him here wanted this man alive, but it was not necessary. The dagger was what’s important, and although Torin would get more money if he brought the thief back in one piece, he wasn’t about to risk his life for a few coins, especially when there was no need to. From each boot, he produced an eight inch curious-looking throwing dart. Instead of a handle, these darts had another blade, and each blade was coated with sleeping poison, which was one of the main reasons Torin always wore leather gloves. With his right hand, he slowly opened the door.

            *  *  *

    His spell was almost ready when he heard a click in the lock. This was it. Fear ran through Rolethand, and suddenly, the spell flew out of his head. Now he understood how hard it was for war-mages to cast spells during a raging battle. Dropping out of mage school and moving into the city seemed like a good idea two years ago, but now, oh how he wished to be back in his small cell, or in a classroom listening to old boring mages babble on and on. Or in the huge library studying his butt off. Anywhere but here! Shaking – from excitement, not fear – he told himself sternly – Rolethand managed to walk a few steps to the only window in the room, before his elven blood froze in his thin elven veins. He heard the door swing open. No escape. Rolethand had one last hope. He was an elf, and killing elves in Koranon was worse than killing nobles. The Red Guard would eventually find out who the assassin is and eventually track him down. After the Red Guard would get hold of you, you would regret ever being born, up to the point until you are hung. If the assassin were aware of the situation in Dhelox, he would think twice about killing Rolethand. The elf prayed that he would get a chance to inform the assassin before the assassin did his job.

“Damn, an Elf!” Torin quietly swore under his scarf. Probably a magic user. Not that it made any difference. Torin slowly raised his right hand to show the mage the throwing dart. He spoke quietly, but he was sure that every word was heard.

“Listen elf. I’m going to cut the crap, and get to the point. You stole something from Baron Vidol, a dagger with an emerald set in the hilt... Or was it a ruby... Either way, The Baron wants a word with you, and it is my job to bring you to him. Now you have two choices; You can struggle, or…”

A red bolt came shooting out of the elf’s finger. For some strange reason, the bolt came out red, and not yellow. Rolethand didn’t have time to ponder why, because right before the bolt was supposed to strike the assassin, it disappeared. One moment it was there, the next, it was gone. It was apparent that the man had some kind of magical protection.

The assassin addressed the shaken mage in the same tone of voice, as though nothing happened. “I see you chose to struggle. Very well my elven friend, you’ve brought it on yourself.” Torin whipped out his hand and before Rolethand could flinch, a steel dart painfully bit into his painfully bit into his shoulder.

Giving a yelp, the young elf grabbed at his shoulder and trying to ignore the pain quickly pulled out the small piece of metal. And almost fell to the floor from the agonizing pain which pulsated though the wound wave after wave A few minutes later, the throbbing subsided and gave way to numbness. The mage risked to glance upwards. To his surprise, he found the intruder was still there, in the same spot, not moving. Was he even breathing? Or maybe he was a ghoul, a magical creation sent by his former masters after him for running away…

“ I would’ve come along peacefully! All you had to do…” ‘Why am I feeling so strange?’ he wondered out-loud. All of a sudden, Rolethand felt very lightheaded, like his head was full of smoke. First his legs, then his entire body  felt weaker and weaker.

“You know, you work too hard. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to take a break and rest for a couple of minutes?” Torin said in what he imagined a caring grandmother would say. The elf, those head felt heavier with every passing moment didn’t catch the sarcasm in the assassin’s voice.

“ I wish my parents said that to me more often. I might not have left my home if they would have been nicer to me.” Rolethand spoke through an  yawn, collapsing to the floor. “You know, I think a nap would be in order.”

Torin smiled; the task was almost over.

*  *  *

…It was early afternoon, and Torin figured it would be another fifteen or so miles to the Baron’s castle. He should make it before nightfall, and then he would be able to leave at dawn. The Baron would of course insist that Torin stayed, but Torin knew that time was short, and he wanted to avoid any unpleasant run-ins with the Red Guard. Torin figured he had three, maybe four days before they would find his trail. Then they would follow him for a month, probably get bored from the chase, (Torin hoped) and then go back to wherever they came from.

The elf was riding Torin’s packhorse. Well, “riding” was not actually what he was doing. He was slung over the saddle, still asleep. The horse was doing a good job carrying him, and Torin was glad that he went through  the trouble of acquiring this horse. He saw the horse at some inn a few days ago, and took immediate liking to it at that time he was a little short on gold, and the owner of the horse wasn’t around. Right after Torin left the inn however, two shabby looking men with swords ran after him, yelling, ‘Thief! Thief!’. After a short conversation in which Torin explained the situation to them, the men gave up the chase, and Torin left the scene with a clear conscience.

 The castle was located on a small hill, and it came into Torin’s view just as the sun started setting.

“Torin, my friend! I see the journey went well!” - the Baron’s voice boomed across the courtyard. The Baron was in his middle years, and a rather short man, with wide shoulders and a generously protruding belly. The belly appeared after the Baron’s wife passed away, and was growing by the day - it seemed - ever since. Torin also spotted Leck, The Baron’s son standing near his father. He looked about twelve or thirteen, a half a head shorter than his father, and half his width. His face, shadowed by sadness was framed by light brown hair. His gray eyes met Torin’s for a moment, and moved away. To Torin it seemed like the lad could start crying at any moment. As Torin rode through the courtyard, he noticed large blue circles under the young man’s eyes. Torin didn’t know much about raising children, but one thing was obvious; Leck needed a change of scenery.

“And if I may say so, you look well yourself!” - the Baron continued, advancing towards Torin.

“Thank you Baron, I always try to keep myself in good shape. No offense, but a big belly wouldn’t really agree with a mercenaries’ life.”

Something that sounded a lot like thunder came erupting out of the Baron’s mouth and Torin suppressed an urge to look up at the sky. The roaring laughter went on and on, and Torin covered his ears. They were one of the most important tools in his line of work, and he wasn’t about to lose them. Finally, the laughter subsided.

“No offense taken my friend, none at all. Why don’t you hand the reigns of your horse to the stable boy, and join us for dinner.” The Baron put his arm around his son’s shoulders, and Torin noticed that it seemed to darken the boy’s mood even more. “What about the elf?” - he asked, pointing at the still-sleeping magic user.

“I’ll take care of him later,” the Baron said, glancing over the elf in disgust. “Pleasure before business, I always say. But then,” The Baron said frowning, “My wife never approved of that idea for some reason.”

“She just couldn’t understand a mind so great, Baron.” Torin said smiling.

*  *  *

After dinner, which consisted of beef stew, roasted chicken and a raspberry pie, The Baron asked Torin to join him in the library for some tea.

“Look Torin, I am going to get right down to the point,” the Baron said, collapsing into an armchair, “I’m in bad shape.”

“Uhhh, What exactly do you want me to do?” Torin asked cautiously. “I can try to find some potions that will help you get rid of the weight…”

“It’s not me Torin, it’s my son Leck. Something’s been bothering him ever since my wife died. Nothing seems to interest him anymore. He lost his appetite, he doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t want to go hunting, or anywhere for that matter. I just don’t know what to do.” The Baron looked straight into Torin’s eyes, and Torin returned the stare. Ever since he arrived at the castle a week ago for his assignment, he’s been expecting this proposal. Now it all depended on how much money the Baron was willing to spend.

“Why don’t you travel with him for a month or two, a change of surroundings will surely do the trick,” Torin said, acting naïve for all he was worth.

“That was the first thing that came to my mind, but I can’t go with him, I have to look after my land,” the Baron said, throwing his thick arms into the air in dramatic fashion. “My neighbors have been giving me trouble lately, and don’t forget, I still have to deal with the elf.” At this point a servant came in carrying a tray with a small teapot and two cups. Quietly placing the tray on the Baron’s desk, the servant bowed and withdrew. 

“First of all, I thought you would get straight to the point.” Torin said casually, walking over to the table and helping himself to some tea. “And second of all - you want me to take him along, that much is obvious. The answer is no, absolutely not. You know what I do Baron, and you know how much danger he would be in if I took him with me.

The Baron leaned back in his armchair, and smiled. “And what is life without a little danger my friend?”

“’A little danger’, Baron? The Red Guard will start chasing me in just a few days, that idiot Gofheln is still looking for me, and you want to burden me with a kid?” Thinking about Gofheln brought back very unpleasant memories.

About 3 months ago, in the middle of February, Torin had an assignment up North, in the big city of Ratdan. On the way there, he had to ride through a Barony that belonged to a lord named Gofheln. Torin heard a lot about Gofheln, but never actually met the man in person. The nicest thing people ever said about him, was that he eats dead virgins for dinner. What he ate for lunch was better left unsaid. Although Torin usually held his emotions in check - riding though one of Gofeln’s run-down villages, made his blood boil to a point when he was sweating. Anywhere he looked, he saw poverty. Starved men, women and worse of all - children, were lying in heaps, frozen, with the garbage. The stink of death was so thick in the cold air that Torin found it nearly impossible to breathe. He sank his heels into the horse’s flanks, and didn’t stop until he reached the outskirts of the village. Finally, with village behind him, and a forest in front of him,  he let out a deep breath. But the picture of the dead, frozen and starved villagers was still clear in his mind. He slowed the horse to a canter, and that was when he heard a muffled scream.

  All thoughts about the villagers flew out of Torin’s head. He swiftly jumped off the horse, and tied the reigns to a tree limb. His hand on the hilt of his sword, he stealthily crept through the forest to the place where he thought he heard the scream. The snow under his feet wasn’t higher than one foot, and did nothing to slow him down.

 …Rahna didn’t know what hit her. She was walking home from uncle Lerad’s house, and she had only another one-fourth of a mile left, when she was hit with something hard from behind. She awoke when a bucket of freezing water was emptied onto her head. She tried to prop herself up, but someone grabbed her hair from behind, and roughly yanked it. Her vision cleared from the pain, and that was when she saw them. Four unshaven, dirty faces, each with cold dead pair of eyes. And then she realized, that one man was holding her down by her hair, the other two were holding down her arms, and one of them… was sitting on top of her. And smiling. She screamed.

- “Damn it Darr, shut her up!”

- “Who is gonna’ hear her Zani? As a matter of fact, I like it when they get excited.”

- “I knew we shouldn’t have waited for her to come around. I warned you.”

- “You shut up! We do this my way, or you, Bailan - don’t do it at all. Now hold her still…”

…Was the last thing Darr ever said, before an arrow pierced his back. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He fell dead - right on top of the girl.

            “I hope I’m not interrupting.” Torin said calmly. Very calmly. For some reason no one moved. ‘Maybe they are deaf,’ Torin thought, notching another arrow. That action seemed to immediately get their attention. The arrow went of, and another man fell dead, as the other two finally managed to grab their weapons and face Torin. Screaming, the girl pushed the dead man off her, and ran towards the road.

            “You’re dead! Whoever you are - you’re DEAD!” One of them screamed - in unnaturally high pitched voice at Torin. Holding their swords out in front of them, they cautiously  started advancing.

            “You think so? I  happen to disagree. As a matter of fact, I think it’s the other way around.” Torin said quietly, casually leaning on his bow. Once they were no more than ten yards away, he whipped an arrow from his quiver and notched it in a space of a second. A look of complete bafflement replaced the angry scowls, and as one man rushed at Torin waving his sword, the other turned around, and tried to flee. Another arrow left the bow, and found it’s way into the lower back of the fleeing man. After firing, Torin dropped the bow, and took out his sword. The man who was rushing him didn’t stand a chance. The snow turned crimson in under one minute.

            Two weeks later, Torin completed his assignment and was returning to his employer in order to get paid. Unfortunately, the shortest route to his employer’s castle was right through Gofheln’s Barony. Riding through one of the larger villages, Torin noticed that the villagers were acting very peculiar towards him. Most were content with pointing their skeleton-like fingers at him and whispering something – but some actually went as far as shouting ‘That’s him! That’s the murderer!’ Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Torin speeded up his horse to a canter.

            As he reached the next village, Torin rode about 150 feet off the road and hid his horse. As he contemplated on what whether he needed a disguise, the answer came a few moments later. From his hiding bush he clearly heard several horses, and caught glimpses of men in armor riding towards the village he had just come from. Things were looking grim.                   

It took Torin seven days to shake off that hunting group, but more followed. When he finally reached his employer, things were cleared up. It so happened that the four men Torin met in the woods, were Gofheln’s bodyguards, and Gofheln took their death quite close to his heart. He went as far as offering one hundred gold pieces for Torin’s head. The price was raised to five hundred after Torin ‘disabled’ five other men who tried to take him into ‘custody’.

*  *  *

“But we are almost six hundred miles from Gofheln’s land!” the Baron said, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“Distance means nothing to him my friend - he already proved that.” Torin said casually. “Do you mind if I help myself to some water?”

  “ No no, go ahead” the Baron said absently, scratching the back of his head. While you’re at it, grab me the wine pitcher would you? The goblets are to your right, in the top drawer. “Wait. Don’t bother with a goblet for me - can’t stand the damn things, they break every time I touch one. Get me my mug, which is on that top shelf - right where you were standing. ”

As Torin was pouring the water and the wine, the Baron stood up. Even though he wasn’t very tall, the width made up for it, and he was quite an imposing  sight. “Enough! How much gold do you want Torin? Although right now I can’t give you much, so maybe a title of a nobleman intrigues you? Maybe you want to own a village or two?  Speak up man!”

Torin finished pouring the wine, and walked over to the Baron, never breaking eye contact. The Baron unconsciously shrank back. Slightly. There weren’t very many people the Baron was afraid of, and Torin was one of them. The people who weren’t afraid of him at first, learned very quickly.

“I want a promise. The most solemn promise you can give me.” Torin said quietly. There was no movement in his eyes whatsoever. Swear to me that if I should ever require protection, you will do everything in your power to protect me, no matter the odds. Swear this, and I will take the boy as my apprentice.”

The Baron let out a long breath he didn’t even remember taking.. And then smiled a grim smile. “Is that all?” 

   Torin raised his cup. “To your health old friend.” - and drank down the whole glass. The Baron never took his eyes off him. “Oh,” – he said almost as an afterthought, “I’ll need one hundred gold pieces as well. Now,” - he set the goblet down on the table.  “How are the boys’ reflexes?”

            The Baron snorted.  “Better than mine, that’s for sure! Why, even last week he..”

            “Unfortunately that really does not tell me very much,” Torin cut in smoothly. Well, maybe not so smoothly. “I’d like to see for myself.”

            “Yes of course, first thing tomorrow morning I’ll send for him… Listen Torin; I’m a little short on gold right now, how about… ”

            “Yes, how about I look at the boy now?” it was more of a statement than a question.

            “Uh, now?” the Baron’s bushy eyebrows went up, and at the same time his eyes grew to twice their usual size. “Torin, it’s after eleven, I’m sure Leck is sleeping, he actually had a very hard day. Now about that money… ” His voice trailed off, as he looked at Torin. Why does this man have such an influence over me! The Baron shook his head, and moved towards the door. “We will meet you in the court yard in fifteen minutes.” And he walked out of the room, muttering to himself.

             Torin sat in the room alone, staring at one of the lit up candles. What a fascinating thing – fire. It provided light and warmth when needed. Most food tasted much better after it was cooked on a fire. Torin however, never associated it with anything other than death. He thought back to a time when he just turned six.

*   *   *

It was summer. He and his parents lived in a small village, in a well-built wooden house. His father was a farmer; his mother looked after their livestock. Torin was the only child. It seemed like his life started that summer – everything before faded into a dream – which he couldn’t recall. He couldn’t remember anything he did during that day, but he distinctly remembered waking up in the middle of the night – from the smoke.

 Lost in memories, clear images of the burning village appeared in Torin’s head. An image of his neighbors, on their knees, coughing and suffocating from the black smoke. Some moments from that day were forever implanted in his mind. The burning roofs. Smoke so black – you could distinctly see it even in the dead of the night. The screams…

            Then there were things that Torin couldn’t remember. He vividly remembered running off from the village that dreadful night, in utter panic. He remembered crying – crying for so long that it seemed there was no liquid left in his body. And the next few days were completely gone from his memory. The next thing he remembered was waking up on a hard wooden bed, and seeing a middle-aged man, bending over him with a wet piece of cloth in hand. He would never forget the man’s first words:

            “Good, you’re awake. We start your training tomorrow morning.” He straightened, turned around and walked over to the stove “Oh,” he said, turning his head slightly, “If you’re hungry, the rabbit stew will be ready soon enough.”

            Young Torin quickly sat up, and took in his surroundings. It appeared that he was in a wooden cabin, because there was only one door out of the room. There was a small wooden table and a chair in the middle, a stove with a chimney near the opposite wall, a bucket filled with something – probably water, a few shelves with some bottles, and… a sword in a scabbard, sitting in a corner next to the broom.

            “Of course, if you do not want to stay here, you’re welcome to leave,” The man said conversationally, as if reading his thoughts. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”   

Torin was so dumbfounded that he couldn’t reply. He thought that anything he would say would come out sounding stupid and meaningless. The man took his silence as consent. “Very well, so you’ll stay. Here’s your stew. Tomorrow you carve out your own bowl and spoon” otherwise you don’t eat. Oh. Another thing. You refer to me as teacher, and I to you as student.”

After that, the long months and years blended into one long, tedious moment, during which, Torin did little else but learn. He learned to move quietly, he ran a good eight miles each morning, and he learned how to use various weapons, from a club to a big double-edged axe They made frequent trips to a nearby town, where another world was opened to Torin. He learned how to climb the rooftops, how to pick locks, to move quietly inside a house, to follow people without being noticed and many other things. Throughout his training, he never ceased to grieve for his parents, and when he turned seventeen, he ran off to look for them. After eleven years of separation he vaguely remembered what they looked like, but he was sure he would recognize them.

For six months Torin searched in the wilderness. At one point he realized that if his parents had survived, (and he was sure they did) they would go and settle down in another village or maybe a large town.

The lack of money turned out to be a big problem. Anyone he talked to – always hinted that they would give him more information for a few coins. At one point Torin knocked some townsman unconscious after the man said to him, “you give me two silver, and I’ll tell you where your parents hid their money… I’ll even tell you where their graves are!”

Soon after that, he ran into the Black Guard. They offered him money and training if he served in their ranks. There were two preliminary tests; one tested his agility, the other his skill with a sword. Torin passed both, and served with the Black Guard for seven years. Soon after he turned twenty-four, he deserted – somehow managing to lose hie pursuers, and became a mercenary.

 Now he was thirty-one, that much he remembered, although he had no idea exactly when his birthday was. Each summer, sometime in August – he knew that he was one year older, it was as simple as that. His life seemed so long, and yet… He still had no idea what it was that he truly wanted in life. He wanted to settle down eventually, but not anytime soon. He loved traveling, loved being on the road. So far he’s been to eight big cities, and countless villages, and planned to visit many more of each. Money was constantly a problem, mainly because Torin only took on the assignments he thought were honorable. Unfortunately, most of the honorable jobs were offered by the poor, and not by the rich. Many times Torin tracked down robbers, only to find out that they already spent the money they stole, and he had to go back empty handed. Bringing back the robber’s left hand didn’t help his money pouch, even though it did brighten his employers’ mood considerably. Unfortunately, they couldn’t pay him, because in a lot of cases the thieves would steal all of the poor man’s savings. And so it went. Sometimes Torin would get half the money he was promised, sometimes none, and rarely would he get the whole sum.

            Four years ago, Torin took a job from a peasant. It was the usual, he was hired to track down four thieves that stole a farmer’s money purse and his horse. As always, Torin had little trouble tracking down the brigands, finding them in a tavern maybe fifteen miles away from the victim’s farm. The tavern was in the in the middle of nowhere, which was very convenient, there was no guards. The place was more or less packed, and no one paid any attention to Torin as he walked in and sat near the bar. Right away he spotted the thieves, and he quickly thought up a plan. The four men were playing dice along with a few others, and Torin hoped they were winning. After watching their game for a couple of minutes, Torin took out a piece of paper, and wrote down a message that he spontaneously thought up. Then he got up from his seat and walked over to the gambling table. As if accidentally, he dropped the piece of paper right in front of the loudest thief, who had most of the money piled up in front of him. Quickly, Torin walked out of the door, and in the stable – he needed t get rid of the witnesses. The stable boy, a blond skinny youth was sleeping in the corner, and softly snoring. Torin took out a silver coin, and gently woke up the boy. “Listen my friend, my horse needs some exercise, so I want you to take him for a ride. Take the north road, and wait for me…” seeing a dumbfounded expression on the kid’s face Torin realized that his idea sounded a little more than foolish, especially to some not-so-bright stable boy. Also realizing that he was running out of time, and that the thieves could show up any moment, Torin decided to be straight. “Okay kid. My broth… my father is real sick, you understand? And he needs a horse to be brought to him as soon a possible. So please take the horse one mile up the road and wait for me…” Torin understood that if he didn’t stop, he soon would have any idea of what he was saying at all. Sighing, he fished out another silver piece from his purse, and showed it to the boy, whose eyes lit up immediately; “Just do what I ask, and this will be yours as well. But do it NOW! And quietly!” The boy was gone the next minute.

            Five minutes after he left, Torin, who hid behind a wooden column saw four shapes creeping into the stable. They cautiously walked over to one a the horses, and all four sighed audibly when they saw that the horse was still there. You idiot! I’ll kick you and your stupid note to hell and back! You made me brake my winning streak!”

“But it says that someone will steal our horse tonight…”

“Your horse?” Torin said, stepping out of the shadows. All the men flinched, and their flinching looked more like jumping. “I think you are mistaken. This horse belongs to farmer Krogit. Actually, Krogit and I are very grateful to you fellows. You did an excellent job caring for the horse these last three days. But now I’m afraid that Krogit wants this fine animal back on his farm. I’m sure you will excuse me if I simply take… or maybe not,” Torin said when he saw each man holding rather long daggers. The thieves spread out into a half circle, surrounding him. Torin backed up until his back hit a wall. “Are you sure that… Hey, Whoah!” Two men rushed him, each facing his side, while the other two were preparing to throw their daggers. But they never got a chance. Torin’s hands went up as if in a gesture of surrender, and came down suspiciously quickly. Two throwing blades whistled through the air and each hit their mark. The two men who tried throwing their daggers dropped them, grabbing at their chests, and Torin saw with satisfaction that the sleeping poison was already at work. The other two thieves that were rushing Torin didn’t pay any attention to their friends. Their target was right in front of them, and they knew he was trapped. They were coming in from opposite sides, and it was clear to them that the victim had nowhere to go. Torin of course knew better. Feigning desperation, his eyes went from one man to the other, while in reality he was deciding on which man would be a better target for his next move. When the two men were both less than two yards away, in one step - Torin moved away from the wall, grabbed one of the attacker’s outstretched arm, and using the thief’s momentum, pulled him towards his companion. Because the two were running at full speed, neither had enough time or enough space to change their direction.

            Torin’s tactic worked to perfection, as the two thieves slammed straight onto each other, and went down in one heap, but quickly got up. Not wasting any time, Torin stiffened his hand and hit the closest man on the neck with customary precision. He knew that the thief would stay down for the next several hours, probably until morning. Turning his attention on the only robber still up, Torin saw that the last thief was on his knees and frantically searching for his dagger, which he dropped after he the fall. When he finally saw the dagger, he also saw a boot standing on top of the dagger, holding it down. He looked up just in time to see a man’s fist hitting him full in the face. Thoroughly searching each man, Torin found all the money that was reported stolen, plus a few extra gold pieces. Quickly saddling the farmer’s horse, Torin traveled north. Half a mile down the road, he found the boy fast asleep under some bushes and his horse tied to a nearby tree.

            Torin pitched a tent, fried the bacon and the potatoes he had acquired at the inn, and after eating promptly fell asleep. Late in the afternoon the next day, he made it to the farmhouse where his employer dwelled. And of course, his luck brought him there at the same time with a tax collector.

            He was still a good thirty yards away from the house, when he heard a great deal of shouting going on, coming from inside the place; “What’s the meaning of this! What do you mean ‘you got robbed’ I don’t care if you got robbed! Better come up with the money old man, or…” it went on, until Torin politely knocked on the front door. As Krogit opened it, his eyes widened and he grabbed at his heart as if it stopped beating. “Thank Gods! Your Honor, this man brought back my money!” – and he looked at Torin hopefully. It just so happened that the money Torin brought back barely covered the amount Krogit supposedly owned. And of course, Torin was left without pay. Again.

‘Such is life,’ he thought, rising from the Baron’s comfortable armchair and making for the door, I’m born without money, I’ll die without money. Doesn’t matter how hard I work for it.’      

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