Hero- the Unknown Territories

  Contents

  Title Page ebook

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Review copy

  Other books

  Join Newsletter copy

  Authors Note copy

  About the Author copy

  Hero

  The Unknown Territories

  by

  Chris Fritschi

  DISCLAMER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Hero - The Unknown Territories

  Chris Fritschi

  Copyright © 2016 by Christopher Fritschi. All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  ISBN:

  ISBN: 9781090973740

  Click or visit

  chrisfritschi.com

  A very special thank you to my father who taught me how to tell a story.

  Acknowledgements

  To my lovely wife Karen, my endless gratitude for her tireless encouragement and patience.

  A warm ‘thank you’ to my beta-readers for their honest and unbiased feedback. Without you guys I would have missed out on rewriting the final draft a few more times until I got it right.

  Thank you to Matthew Riggenbach of Shaed Studios for this book’s great cover art.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  Outside the dimly lit tavern, a panicked crowd of townsfolk stampeded by. On their heels came a reverberating boom, which was quickly followed by a much larger cluster of townsfolk running for all they were worth.

  This sort of thing was outside the normal activity of the locals, and it understandably drew the attention of the people inside the tavern. They gathered around the windows and door, hoping to see the source of all the excitement; and they did. Collectively they gasped as they saw what was coming down the street.

  Having had their curiosity satisfied, all of them suddenly remembered very pressing obligations which, conveniently, required them to be as far from here as their legs could carry them. A moment later the tavern was empty, almost.

  A lone figure sat over his plate of half eaten, oily stew. Normally, he'd have wolfed down his meal and been on a second helping, but his appetite was not what it used to be. He would have been at the window, with the others, but that held no interest for him, either. In fact, everything had lost its appeal for some time now. His contemplative mood evaporated as jars, cups, plates and odd bits here and there rattled as a deep, throaty laugh rumbled through the street and into the tavern. Determined to ignore the disruption, the lone figure picked at his meal with his wooden fork, herding bits of food across his plate. He was not going to get involved.

  The booming laughter was joined by a solitary female scream, and the wooden fork abruptly stopped. Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he put the fork down.

  "Right," he sighed.

  Mechanically, he picked up his plate and placed it over his stein of ale. The chair grumbled across the rough wooden floor as he pushed himself away from the table. With a bone-weary sigh, he lifted his sword from the chair next to him and walked outside.

  The tavern doors swung back and forth with his passage as he stepped into the afternoon light. Delighted at their new found fortune, a cloud of flies descended on the abandoned stew.

  Several moments passed, then a rumbling grunt of curiosity came from outside. A pause, then more grunting. Clearly there was a conversation going on, but only the louder of the two voices could be heard. Another pause, this one a little longer as the unheard voice offered an opinion. In response, a snort of agitation was followed by a thunderous bellow that could be felt to the bone.

  Suddenly the earth was alive with sound and movement. The ground bucked and heaved, the air an awful orchestra of thunder and fierce roars. Dust from the tavern ceiling fell in a fine mist, and the plate covering the stein danced and skittered with a life of its own, but bravely it held its ground and did not topple.

  At once, it all stopped but for an odd sound of rushing wind, which grew ever louder. The interior of the tavern was suddenly flooded with sunlight as a corner wall and ceiling disappeared under an enormous hand as it crashed to the earth. The lifeless hand, large enough to hold an eight-foot-wide boulder, which, by the way it was, lay motionless atop the wreckage of the tavern wall. With a brief look to see that it wouldn't be interrupted again, the quiet picked up where it had left off, this time without whooshing sounds. Stepping through the dust and wreckage, our lone figure walked back into the tavern. As he laid his bloodied sword against the table, he noticed a chip in the blade.

  "Perfect," he said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. Then he called out, "Lackey."

  Several faces appeared in the window at once. "Which one of us, sir?"

  "I don't care. Number five."

  Instantly, a man came scrambling over the rubble to stop at the fighter's table. He was dressed in a plum-colored velvet tunic with leggings, and cap of the same color. A large, plumed feather topped the cap.

  "Lackey number five, sir," said the servant with breathless adoration. "If I may, sir, me name's Ansgot."

  "Yes," the fighter eyed him with a reserved glance, “of course you are. Your feather, it’s on the wrong side."

  Flushing pale in distress, Ansgot quickly whipped the cap around. "Dreadful sorry, sir."

  "Yes, well, look here, number five, I somehow managed to nick the blade on my sword. Don't know, I must be too strong, I imagine."

  "Could be a flaw in the blade, sir," offered Ansgot.

  The fighter levelled an unsatisfied look on his servant as gasps of shock came from the watching faces outside.

  Realization slapped Ansgot in the face. "Or both. Not both. That is, I was thinking of someone else... who I done seen outside, an' me mind was wandering... sir." Ansgot bent over the gory blade to give it a quick examination, then snapped back upright. "Just as you said, sir. Naught but powerful strength could have done chipped that sword, sir."

  Rolling his gaze to the ceiling, what was left of it, then back to Ansgot, he took a weary breath and sighed it out. "Take it away. We'll be going by the bank after we leave here to replace it. Make all ready."

  "Yes, your greatness," gushed the lackey, as he picked up the sword and left the fighter to himself.

  He sat down and for a moment studied the small hill of grit on the plate covering his s
tein. He removed the plate and took a long pull of his ale, then sat back, resuming his earlier demeanor of utter apathy. Could life be any more tedious?

  It was a mistake coming to this town. He knew it before he had even gotten here; but he hoped it was a place where he could find what he was looking for.

  The town was the last inhabited place on the edge of the Settled Territories, and strange creatures of all types and descriptions from the Unknown Territories came there to satisfy their curiosity or hunger. He couldn't understand why anyone would want to live in a place where their backyard was a dark and mysterious land filled with who knows what. As far as action, well, he found all he wanted and more. Each day held a battle with a monster, or rescuing some farmer's daughter. The townsfolk treated him like a god. It was a complete disappointment.

  He thought maybe what he was looking for might be in the Unknown Territories. He knew it wasn't here. He'd traveled everywhere else. Tomorrow, he'd cross the border into the Unknown Territories. But first, the bank, to get his gear replaced.

  The day was fine and clear. Left far behind was the town with its smelly, dusty streets, its throng of grateful, smelly, dusty peasants all clamoring to pat his back, the women shoving one another out of the way to gain his attention, the angry tavern-keeper demanding money to replace the missing wall.

  These days everything seemed so flat, so drab. The monsters he fought were witless and unimaginative. The damsels he rescued were trivial and vacuous. Or was it the other way around? Anyway, he knew something was missing, but hadn't quite put his finger on it. If he would have tried to describe what he was missing it would have been a vague collection of half-spoken sentences trailing off in a look of tired confusion. In search of the answer to that question he had decided to travel into the Unknown Territories. Perhaps in this new, unexplored land he could find the thing which would fill the void he felt.

  Here, on the open road was where he was happiest. It was one of the few things he found any enjoyment in lately. It was a good day, and not one to waste on melancholy thoughts.

  A breeze blew his cloak from his shoulders, revealing richly crafted armor. His breastplate glinted like a mirror and his chain-mail looked like the ripples of a silver ocean. The shield hanging from his saddle bore the tokens of many battles.

  The sun twinkled in his crystal-blue eyes. They saw every movement from the leaves on the trees to the wave of the grass. The wind ruffled his thick black hair and brought a smile to his face, exposing a set of white teeth heightened by his sun-bronzed skin. This was a hero's breeze, and Tilger was an honest to goodness hero; he had the membership scroll to prove it.

  Following close behind, his entourage of lackeys waited on his every command. Polishing an offending smudge from his armor, preparing his meals, announcing his arrival in a new town, and keeping his spirits up with praise and adoration were some of the duties they undertook. Arrayed in brilliant colored velvet tunics with matching leggings, caps and plumes, one could see they were servants to somebody terribly important, which was exactly the message Tilger had intended.

  Once or twice every league, a lackey would scurry up alongside Tilger and brush the dust from his boots, while asking if there was anything else he desired. The answer would normally be a wave of the hand or to be ignored altogether, but on those rare occasions they might receive a look, or even a smile. Scuttling back to his peers, the servants would jabber among themselves, asking what it was like.

  Like all heroes, Tilger had a fine battle horse named Sho. More than just transportation, Sho was a companion. Fast, nimble, brave and intelligent; Sho was all of that and more, and like heroes, a hero's horse was imbued with a little bit of magic. Not like they could cast spells, but it was something that gave them a little bit of an edge.

  In some ways, Sho looked upon himself as Tilger's guardian. Not that Sho would admit it to anyone, if he could talk that is, but Tilger's common sense had a few holes in it.

  With no destination in mind, Tilger had set out into the Unknown Territories, hoping that he would find that thing he was missing. The land was rich and green, and in the past couple of days they hadn't passed a single traveler; until now.

  In the distance by the side of the road was a green dot. Tilger and Sho saw it at the same time. As they got closer they saw a round, old man seated on a large rock with his hand in his boot. Tilger spared a glance in his direction as he rode by. The old man's green robes were a bit faded and the dust from the road clung thickly to the hem. The old man's arm was buried in his boot as he fished around for some unknown object. He caught Tilger's look and smiled.

  "Well met, traveler," he said brightly.

  Tilger gave a grunt and a nod but kept going. He had little use for meeting new people. New people were a lot of work. It was always the same things with new people. ‘Oh, you're a hero. I thought of being a hero, too, but...’ and then came the usual list of excuses of why they didn't. It was a bad back, a sick uncle, this or that. Being a hero wasn't something you just woke up and decided to do; heroes are born. While other children were pulling their blankets over their heads, afraid of the monster under their bed or in their closet, Tilger was pounding his bedroom monsters silly.

  A mile further down the road, Tilger came around a bend and there, sitting on a tree stump, was the same old man.

  As Tilger approached he saw the old man was still occupied as he had been before. He was concentrating on some unseen point in the sky, while his hand rummaged about, deep in his boot. His gray-streaked eyebrows were bunched together as if they were trying to push each other out of the way.

  Tilger eyed the round old man a little more closely. It did not strike him as odd to see the old man again. It was his experience that curiosity and foolishness were the two leading causes of death among people. Tilger preferred caution.

  At the clopping of Tilger's horse, the old man stopped his search and looked up. He gave Tilger a wink and a nod. "Well met traveler."

  This time Tilger replied only with a nod, and spurred his horse forward, trotting away.

  Later that day, it came as no surprise, or it shouldn't have, that Tilger saw a small green figure by the side of the road, in the distance. Tilger did not find things like this funny, or odd, or scary, or really much of anything. It could be a problem, maybe a trap, but mostly things like this just were.

  Yet, as his teacher had told him on many occasions, ‘problems are like trees. When a problem is new it's like a sapling. You can pull them out, root and all. But if you wait too long they become as mighty oaks and...’ He didn't know the ending. He always got distracted when his teacher began one of his analogies and stopped listening, but he understood this one all the same. This looked like a sapling that needed pulling.

  Looking over his shoulder at the plum and velvet procession behind him, Tilger decided that needed pulling, too. Perhaps this was the right time to change things around.

  He stopped Sho and wheeled around to his lackeys. They all stopped and looked at him with rapt attention.

  "Lackeys, out of the goodness of my heart I'm giving you all the week off. Return to town and await my return."

  "But your greatness," panted a lackey, "who will see to your needs?"

  "Do not trouble yourselves of such matters. I will find a way to survive. Now, go."

  With tears in their eyes, the lackeys reluctantly turned around and with much waving and many farewells, headed away.

  Looking down the road, Tilger could see the figure in the distance. He drew his sword and gave a quiet "heyah" to his horse.

  Tilger hardly finished his word when Sho leapt forward with amazing speed. Sho had seen the green robes also and felt Tilger's slight shift in mood. It was all but confirmed when he heard the sword pulled from its scabbard and just a matter of time, not long at that, before Tilger would give him the signal.

  Tilger closed on the old man, who looked up briefly, saw him coming then went about his task.

  Almost on top of him, Tilger rea
red on Sho and put his sword point in the stranger's face.

  "Enough with these games," announced Tilger. "Act and you will live or die as the fates decide."

  "Are you talking to me?" asked the stranger, looking befuddled.

  "You dare to mock me?" snarled Tilger.

  The old man finally noticed the tip of Tilger's sword almost touching his very long nose. "Oh me? Mock?" he chuckled. "By my word, I would never do such a thing. Now then, how may I help you?"

  "I need not yours nor anyone's help," said Tilger disdainfully.

  "Then, why are you here?" asked the stranger.

  "Why am I? Why are you following me?" demanded Tilger.

  Surprise registered on the man's round face. "I didn't know I was."

  "Well, of course you were. Every few miles I find you by the side of the road."

  The stranger put his hand to his face and thought for a moment, then nodded as if in agreement.

  "Hmmm, quite true," he said to himself. Then, turning to Tilger, "Not to be difficult, you know, but when you think about it, if I am here, then it is you who is following me."

  "What nonsense. Why would I follow you?"

  "That," the stranger said, as he pointed at Tilger, "is a very good question. What is your purpose in following me?" he asked indignantly.

  "I'm not following you. You are following me."

  The stranger squinted at Tilger. "Indeed. Who was here first?"

  Sho tilted his head to look at Tilger.

  "You were, but..." Tilger started.

  "Ha," cried the stranger triumphantly. "And who found who?" he asked, beaming.

  "I found you," growled Tilger, grudgingly.

  "Ha," cried the stranger again, as he shifted from one foot to another with excitement. "So, you admit to your crime." Then to himself, "I've caught him in the act, hmmm? Yes."