Getting up before dawn had always been hard for young Grunth. Life’s little lessons had,

however, taught him that shirking work was not in his best interests, and so even before

the rooster had crowed its morning call, he had completed all his early chores and was

now heading into another boring, meaningless day in the fields of Kicer.

Uncle Olean (whom Grunth had come to call ‘Father’) and his sons set about making the

usual preparations for the harvest of the crops, trying to get the preliminaries out of the

way before the sun rose above the horizon.

It was during a short break in the days toil that Grunth finally asked his "Father" the

question that had been burning within him more and more over the past year.

“Is there any way I can break free of all this?” his gesture swept across the vista ahead of

them, taking in the fields that were in the process of being cleared, the dour faces of the

farmers set grimly as they toiled.

“…Surely there must be a way for our clan to free ourselves from this life of farming

drudgery, and for me to seek out a more adventurous life?”

Olean stroked his beard and looked upon his young nephew with a piercing gaze, seeing

the listlessness that had burned within him at a similar age.

Knowing the temptations that came about of such wanderlust Olean merely nodded and,

resting his hand upon Grunths’ shoulder, replied "I will see what I can do". Later that

week Olean approached Grunth with unexpected news…

“Come m’boy, tidy up and put on your cleanest clothes!” his face splitting into a smile for

the first time that Grunth could remember, “…I have sought an audience with the Lord

and, with my brothers support, he has consented to see us”.

Grunth was amazed. The Clanhead was not known to be tolerant of flights of fancy, yet

he had used his influence to help his younger brothers foster child…

He could almost feel the eyes of his relatives on him, for now his dreams belonged not

only to him, but to the Clan he represented as well.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The air was starting to chill the night they entered the grand dining hall of the

manorhouse, a sure sign of the approaching winter. Olean and Grunth waited patiently to

be called and, when the time came, approached the reining lord and master of the

manor of Kicer.

Alick of Vanthes and his family had long held influence within the Republic, and Grunth

could feel the nervousness turn to ice within his stomach as the lord turned his gaze upon

them. Even Olean seemed subdued in the presence of the man, and his uncle had never

shown anything but a quiet disdain for man or beast at the best of times.

Grunth tried to explain to Alick why he had come before him, his voice stammering as

the atmosphere within the hall started to fray his nerves.

He told of his grandfathers’ journeys to deliver charcoal to the metalsmiths that sought

his wares and how, on these travels he had acquired tales of adventure and intrigue from

men travelling the length and breadth of the Thardic Republic. In turn, these stories had

been passed on to him as he sat by the fireside while he was growing up, and they had

captured Grunth’s imagination from the first time he could remember.

Lord Vanthes sat quietly and waited until the lad before him had put his case, though he

already knew what he was going to do. Obviously this ‘Grunth’ desired a better life, and

Alick could not blame him for that, though the clan obligations set upon him were not to

be shrugged off so easily.

An apprenticeship as a metalworker was not such a far-fetched idea, and his demense

could always use another skilled worker. However, the boys’ tendency to ‘daydream’

were at odds with the dedication required at the forge, and Alick had no intention of

wasting valuable time and resources if the boy was not going to be attentive to his tasks.

Mayhaps something as a test, an example of his dedication perhaps?

Grunth could not believe his ears. It was not the job for which he had hoped, but an offer

to work as an Ostler was not to be sneered at, and in the provincial capital no less! He

could even look upon it as a chance to learn useful skills as well, for Ostlers had to handle

horses and such in their day to day work, didn’t they?

Either way Grunth looked at it, he was beginning a new and exciting life, which pleased

him very much...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After arriving in the town of Geshtei, Grunth disembarked from the wagon at the Inn he

was to be employed at for the remainder of his tenure. He was helped down by a lanky,

grubby faced kid, who told the new apprentice “Da name is Hibbut, come wif me ‘boy’,

you can put yor stuff over ‘ere”. From that moment Grunth felt that the two of them

were going to get along well.

Just as Hibbut was about to lead the new boy into the stables, two burly men wandered

towards the nearby Inn and the two boys stopped and waited for them to pass. The man

who had brought Grunth into town turned and gestured at him, turning to smile at the

fellow beside him. “Vis ‘eres yor new apprentice boy master Staven”, he said, gesturing

towards young Grunth. Staven looked tough, the years of handling stubborn horses and

apprentices alike giving him an edge, an edge that warned he would take no nonsense. As

Staven walked past Grunth he gave a disapproving snort, but before heading into the

building he turned to Hibbut and said “Take care of this rat, boy, and keep him out of my

way”.

Finally after so long, Grunth had the chance to behave the way he always wanted. No

longer under his Father’s watchful eye, mischief and mayhem was all he could think

about. However not wanting to be returned to Kicer, he thought it better to behave, at

least at the start…

The days were hard and long, beatings were regular if Grunth was not fast enough or did

something wrong. Even as days turned into months, Staven still treated Grunth with

contempt, but the young lad worked hard to prove himself to the others, including a

young barmaid, whom Grunth had taking a liking to.

All through his ongoing training, Hibbut continually jeered and belittled him which, he

had to admit, was wearing at Grunth’s nerves. After one day of constant heckling from

his fellow apprentice, Grunth decided he had finally had enough. Turning around, he

picked up a clump of horse manure from the stable floor and flung it across at his friend,

hitting Hibbut square in the back.

As the two apprentices faced off, a shove to the shoulder from the older boy sent Grunth

staggering backward. Laughing, Grunth called out “Is dat da best you got, ya pig’s ass”

This sent Hibbut into a fit, becoming a mass of flailing punches and kicks, to which

Grunth replied with a few of his own. They traded blows, Grunth landing a couple of

good shots, but Hibbut gained the upper hand with a thunderous thump to Grunth’s right

shoulder, sending him barrelling to the floor. Hibbut stood over his beaten foe, breathing

hard from his exertions. “That’ll teach ya boy, now get yor ass back to work before I give

ya’s another thumping”.

Weeks later, still smarting from the beating he had received from Hibbut, Grunth went

searching for some way he could learn to defend himself, some way he could teach

Hibbut a thing or two.

Using the one-day of rest he had free during every month, Grunth went into town

searching the local temples to see if any of the guards would be willing to teach him some

of their techniques. After many fruitless hours of trying, he decided that no one was

going to give a young boy a chance, deciding instead that he was going to end the day on

a ‘high note’.

Just down the road from the Apple Tankard was the ‘Portal of Gold’, a very up market

brothel catering to the wealthy young sons of the well to do. Grunth headed to his

favourite perv spot but, just before he reached his usual nook, decided to ask the bouncer

at the front gate whether he would be willing to teach the young boy a thing or two.

The guard took a second to look Grunth up and down, then grinned nastily, “Yeah, I can

teach ya sumfing…” he moved forward threateningly, “…if I catch ya round ere again,

I’ll knock ya bloc orf!” He rested his hand on the haft of the wicked looking cudgel

hanging at his side “Now beat it kid, ‘fore I give you a thrashing”

Dejected, Grunth returned to the Apple Tankard Inn. He thought he would try his luck by

asking Soren (Staven’s older brother and owner of the Apple Tankard) if he knew anyone

who could teach him how to fight. Soren squinted at the apprentice before he replied

“Why are you asking me? You should be more worried about doing your job boy, now

get back to work!” Just as he was about to walk out, the barmaid that Grunth had taken

a liking to called him over and, with the barest twinkle in her eye, said “Why don’t ya try

one of the taverns, someone there might help ya out?”

With this in mind, Grunth set out to find what he thought would be the best place in

which to gain experience fighting. Steering towards the docks, he came to the front door

of the Raftsmans Inn, a place that looked no more inviting on the inside than it did from

without.

At the bar before him stood a rather large man. "Maybe he’ll be willing to teach me?”

Grunth thought to himself. Plucking up some courage he headed towards the bar and,

once there, asked the Innkeeper if he could show him the ins and out’s of fist fighting. "I

have no time to mess around with an annoying little brat, now get out of my Inn" growled

the burley Innkeeper, straining to make his voice heard over the bunch of ‘regulars’ that

were already well into their cups.

"No! I want to fight!" replied Grunth, his patience finally worn thin enough that he threw

all caution to the wind. The Innkeeper, a brute of a man by the name of Zugril, was

surprised by the reply, but was impressed nonetheless. The boy was a little scrawny, but

had spirit, so he offered the young upstart a chance. "All right, come back later tonight,

ya'll get ya chance then" he told the young boy.

Later that night, Grunth returned to the Raftsmans Inn. Upon entering, he was met by the

smell of roasting meat, stale beer and the overwhelming body odour of nigh on twenty

dockworkers and sailors. Seeing the young lad enter, Zugril signalled him to approach

the bar and set him to work pouring drinks.

Several hours later, Grunth looked up from his latest batch of served drinks, fingers

wrinkled from the spilled ale, but none the wiser about fighting. "When are you going to

teach me?" Grunth inquired, his frustration clear even though he tried to hide it.

"Patience me boy, ya'll get yor chance" Zugril replied. Sure enough, not much later that

evening, a disagreement between two dockworkers evolved into a full fledged fight,

arguing over who was faster at stacking bales.

"Here's yor chance boy" Zugril said turning to Grunth, "If’n them two start trouble, show

them out the door, I don’t allow fightin in my Inn". By the time Grunth reached the

scuffle, one of the men had been knocked down, and the enraged victor was now turning

towards the young boy.

Hitting the man a couple of times in the chest wasn't working for Grunth, as the

dockworkers regular lifting and moving of heavy cargo had left him nigh impervious to

the type of blows that had almost stunned Hibbut. Neither, unfortunately, was being hit

in the face by his assailant, which sent Grunth sailing back against a table. Stunned,

Grunth raised his hands and retreated to the bar to carry on his work and lick his wounds,

the ruffian subdued by Zugril when he was shown the business end of a cudgel.

Zugril approached Grunth after the fight and told him what he had done wrong, and

offered suggestions on how he could approach his next set of troublemakers. This was

how it went on for the next few months, he won some, he lost some, but Grunth knew he

was getting better. All of which pleased him for he had long planned to teach Hibbut a

new lesson.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Next Story.

Written by: Gerard Saunders (a.k.a Grunth of Callon)