Hero- the Unknown Territories Read online

  Tilger was shocked. "Following someone is not a crime."

  "Ha, so you don't deny following me?"

  Tilger remained quiet. Sho, on the other hand, had had enough and turned back to the road.

  "Not much style for a hero," said the old man.

  Tilger stopped and turned around. "Have I rescued you before?"

  The old man scuttled over. "Questions are interesting things, don't you think? You ask them too early or too late, and they aren't worth the air they take up, but," he whipped his long bony finger above his head to emphasize his point, "ask a question at just the right time and you open a whole new can of worms."

  "What is a can?" asked Tilger.

  "Hoo, hoo. You are filled with questions. Well, no time for that right now. Come on, we should get off the road before it gets dark."

  The robed man patted Sho on the neck and headed onto a trail leading into the woods.

  Tilger looked from the trail to the road and back. It was mid-day.

  The old man's voice came from somewhere in the woods, this time with a little more impatience. "Don't dawdle, now. Come on. It'll be dark soon, hmmm? Yes."

  Standing up in his stirrups, Tilger shouted back into the woods. "My thanks to you for your concern, but I believe I will travel on." Then to Sho, "Let's be off."

  But Sho didn't move. Something had caught his attention.

  Tilger followed Sho's gaze, but what he saw didn't make sense. Ahead in the distance, the road was disappearing into darkness, and the darkness was coming towards them.

  "It's a nightmare shade," said a voice behind them. Tilger and Sho jumped in surprise.

  The old man stood there, arms folded and a cross look on his face.

  "Now look here, I'm all one for adventure and such, but..." he looked up, searching for the right expression, "really," he ended a little feebly. "Now come with me," he snapped, and headed back into the woods.

  This time they followed him.

  The air along the trail held the light, sweet scent from the thick tree growth. The old man tramped down the trail for some time, keeping his thoughts to himself.

  Tilger had decided he liked this person better when they weren't talking so kept quiet.

  Further down the trail, the old man piped up, "Nasty things, really, nightmare shades," he chattered over his shoulder. "They bring out all of your nightmares and make you think they're real. Of course, you can't get away from them, which then drives you insane from the terror, which is what it feeds on. The terror, that is."

  "I don't have nightmares," said Tilger.

  "Is that so? How boring."

  It seemed to Tilger they were going farther down the path than he thought they needed. "Why…?"

  "Shades don't like thick woods. Prefer open spaces, but hungry enough, they'll follow," said the stranger. "We'll camp up ahead for the night. It'll be gone by the morning."

  It wasn't Tilger's habit to casually join up with strangers, but his instincts weren't sending up any warning signals.

  Then again, warning signals weren't part of his make-up. Heroes see the world differently than most others. Where the common man flees, pleads, trembles and gets hacked to small, uneven bits, a hero charges, challenges, quakes with righteous anger and dies gloriously. Common people are driven by self-preservation; Tilger had none. In point of fact, his had taken a permanent leave of absence due to stress.

  The woods gave way to a small clearing near a wide stream. Tilger gave it quick consideration and was satisfied with it. "This looks…"

  "I like it," said the old man, settling himself against a tree stump. "Did you bring food? I'm hungry." He gave him a look of disappointment. "No food?"

  Tilger thought about telling him to get his own, but at least hunting would get him away from this annoying person. Several times he thought about traveling on, but reminded himself that he was on this journey to break the monotony of his life.

  The smell of sizzling game still wafted from the charred spit by the fire. Dull embers flared briefly as discarded bones were tossed in to the fire pit. The sun was low enough to let the chill of night creep in.

  The stranger wiped his greasy fingers on his robe, while Tilger took one of the many hankies women had given him as tokens of favor. He felt relaxed and drowsy. A good night's sleep sounded like an excellent idea, and he reached for his blanket.

  "My name is Ravenbeak," said the stranger.

  "Tilger," he replied, pulling up his blanket and rolling over.

  "Do you know what I am?" asked Ravenbeak, flicking bits of stray food out of his beard.

  Sighing, Tilger looked at him a moment, toying with several responses, most of which would only be thought funny by him and, no doubt, result in delaying his sleep. He opted to avoid humor.

  "You are a mage."

  The words had barely cleared his lips when the clever grin on Ravenbeak's face told him that sleep was now some distance off.

  Ravenbeak stood, drawing himself to his full height, and whether it was the play of the firelight or something within the old man, for the first time he looked dignified and menacing.

  "I am a practitioner of the arts of magic, a wizard," Ravenbeak proclaimed. His voice seemed to deepen and resonate around them. "I can twist time, summon spirits, call the past to present and look in to the eyes of gods. I have risen paupers to greatness, reduced kingdoms to dust, charmed demons and witnessed stars from birth to death."

  Even Sho took a moment to regard him with a little more significance.

  "Look into the eyes of gods?" Tilger asked, impressed.

  "Almost gods," Ravenbeak said dismissively. "Rather like lesser gods. Very lesser."

  "I don't think I've ever heard about lesser gods," said Tilger.

  "It's not important," Ravenbeak said, waving it off. "Mage, indeed. Such a small word to describe someone capable of such deeds as I have rendered."

  Ravenbeak settled back to the comfort of his blankets and poked at the fire.

  Tilger waited, knowing Ravenbeak wasn't finished. Nothing more came and he settled in to a more comfortable position.

  "Mage, ha!" He seemed actually piqued, and Tilger thought he would apologize to calm him down, but Ravenbeak waved him off as though he knew what Tilger was about to say. "You are a warrior, are you not?"

  Tilger nodded. "Of a sort."

  After the oration Ravenbeak just gave, Tilger felt his own hero speech would sound petty, which was a shame because he'd been working on it lately and felt it had some really good parts now.

  "Would you consider yourself a good fighter?" Ravenbeak asked.

  Tilger nodded again.

  Ravenbeak smiled. "Would you consider yourself a great fighter?"

  There was only one answer Tilger could give. "I haven't met my equal."

  "No?" asked Ravenbeak. "Not one?"

  "There is none," replied Tilger, irritation edging his voice. "Greatness belongs only to a few. It's cruel, yes, but it's the way of the world."

  Ravenbeak chuckled to himself. "My lad, you are no more a great fighter than I am a tavern wench."

  Now it was Tilger's turn to become menacing. "You had better stay your tongue before rudeness leads you to an ill end."

  Tilger locked him with a withering look, but Ravenbeak did not flinch. The flicker of the fire played with the shadows on their faces, giving their eyes pinpoints of light in the dark hollows of their faces.

  Curiously, a smile spread across the old man's face, and he began to chuckle.

  Tilger relaxed and allowed himself to smile. "You had the better of me there," he said. "There was a moment when I thought you were going to challenge me to a fight."

  The idea was too much for Tilger, and he burst out laughing. Oh, it felt good to laugh so deep and loud. He let himself be caught up in it. Tears began rolling down his face and it felt good inside.

  The old man had said something, but through the laughter Tilger had missed it, doubled over with one arm around his waist and the other a
ppealing for Ravenbeak's patience until he was done.

  Soon he settled down, and after catching his breath and wiping his face he nodded to the old man.

  "Wha... what was that you said?"

  Ravenbeak leaned forward and said softly, "I am challenging you to a fight."

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER 2

  The next thirty seconds were absolute silence. Tilger recited the last few moments over in his mind, to ensure he hadn't missed some pivotal part of the conversation, such as Ravenbeak saying that he was just kidding.

  "No, I'm not kidding."

  And indeed, Tilger could see he was serious.

  "What nonsense," Tilger said. "You aren't strong enough to hold a sword, let alone wield one."

  "You needn't worry about that," Ravenbeak said. "We will battle with wood swords."

  Tilger lay there, trying to think a way out of this so he wouldn't hurt the fool.

  "Are you afraid?" said Ravenbeak. "Will you hide under your blanket?"

  Tilger's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Did this grubby peasant call him a coward? He didn't take the insult too deeply, as he'd come to regard this oddity of an old man as a curiosity and harmless. He'd teach him a lesson, but not hurt him much.

  Ravenbeak threw Tilger a crude sword fashioned from a tree branch. Tilger caught it and stood up.

  "You won’t be needing any of that, will you?" Ravenbeak motioned to Tilger's neatly stacked armor. "Unless you fear I shall be too rough on you, eh?"

  "All right," said Tilger. "We'll have your sport, but I don't want to hear any of your fussing when… ouch!"

  Quick as a whip, the old man had given Tilger a stinging rap to the arm.

  Tilger nodded. "I see. So those are the rules, eh?"

  He lowered his stance and slowly moved to the right, looking for an opening.

  "You'll not sleep well tonight after I've… ahh!"

  Tilger leapt back as he rubbed a new welt on his shin.

  "Something wrong?" Ravenbeak smiled. "Perhaps you'd like to retrieve your ring of deflection?" he smirked. "That is, if you think you need it."

  Tilger didn't, and gave his answer by dashing at Ravenbeak with a thrust and a slash, meeting only air. Ravenbeak was almost dancing with mirth, but Tilger's expression was becoming dark and terrible.

  The wizard teased him further. "I had no idea you were so sluggish. You may put on your boots of speed, that is, if you aren't able to deal with me unaided," he mocked.

  With a yell, Tilger closed on the old man, jabbing, slicing and assailing him, but each attack was frustrated by a block or feint. Back and forth he'd dash and leap at Ravenbeak, never landing a strike until, completely winded, Tilger doubled over with his hands resting on his knees. He took a long moment, waiting for his ragged breathing to return to normal.

  "You know," he panted, "I do not... charge you outright... but, I wonder if... you do not have... the advantage of magic?"

  Where most would view this as an insulting accusation of cheating, Ravenbeak passed it off with a wave of his hand. "You just don't get it, do you, boy? It's worse than I thought."

  Tilger just waited for him to continue.

  "It wasn't magic that beat you. It was the lack of magic. Your magic."

  "My magic?" repeated Tilger. "I'm no mage."

  Ravenbeak waited for the light to come on in Tilger's eyes, but there was nothing. Ravenbeak sighed; this wasn't going to be easy.

  "Let me put this to you simply. All of that stuff,” Ravenbeak waved at the pile of Tilger's armor, jewelry, and weapons, "has magic qualities. When you're wearing it, you're almost indestructible, but without it..." he trailed off, expecting Tilger to finish the sentence.

  Tilger wasn't making the connection, and Ravenbeak looked at him sadly. "It's been doing your fighting for you. It's been doing everything for you. You've been wearing that junk for so long you've lost your natural skills as a fighter."

  Tilger's face darkened. "What nonsense. Why, when I was just a boy of seven I killed a Hook Tooth Gloth. By myself, at seven!"

  Ravenbeak smiled weakly as Tilger gave the history of his accomplishments. Three times wood had been thrown on the fire to keep it from dying out, as Tilger recounted his many victories.

  "...A Blooth, mind you, which is no easy feat. Of course, by that time I was wearing magi... uh, I had a little help." Tilger glanced sideways at Ravenbeak, whose face gave nothing away. "Then I faced..."

  "Yes, yes I understand," said Ravenbeak, having heard enough for one day. "I've noticed you didn't mention Kobolds."

  Tilger laughed out loud. "Kobolds? No respectable hero would soil his blade on a Kobold."

  Ravenbeak scratched in the dirt with a stick. "Not much of a challenge, hmm?"

  "I could kill Kobolds in my sleep."

  "How about a small bet?"

  Tilger puffed up. "I've never been one to shy away from a wager."

  "Well, I happen to know there is a small group of Kobold fighters camped nearby. Nothing much, you understand, only five or six, but I'd be willing to hazard a bet that if you fought them with only a dagger you would lose that fight."

  Tilger stared at Ravenbeak for a moment, then exploded into laughter. "A dagger, you say? Are you sure that will not be too unsporting?"

  "Oh yes, quite sure,” Ravenbeak said, from under his bushy eyebrows.

  Tilger came to his feet and thrust his hand at Ravenbeak. "Shake hands and the wager is sealed."

  "Don't you want to know what you get if you win?"

  "If it is the end of your company then that is all the reward I need."

  Ravenbeak stood, looking into Tilger's face with a sly smile. "Oh, that you will get, no matter the outcome." Ravenbeak reached for Tilger's hand, but stopped. "And the penalty should you lose?"

  "Lose?" said Tilger, surprised. "Like some common, uh, commoner? I don't lose. Really, for one so wizardly, you don't know much about heroes."

  Ravenbeak leaned closer, his eyes darkening. "I know enough."

  This was the most puzzling person that Tilger could remember ever meeting. "It is no matter."

  Tilger began digging through the clanking pile of armor. Standing up with his finely crafted dagger in hand, its blade flashed as keenly as his gaze.

  "Now, point the way to these insects."

  Ravenbeak eyed the dagger with mild disapproval. "That wouldn't be a magic dagger, would it?" Tilger's face told him everything he needed to know.

  "I thought as much," said Ravenbeak, as he fished through his bag. Finding what he was after, he held out a dagger with a badly tarnished and chipped blade.

  "Take this," he said, as he handed it to a reluctant Tilger. "Don't be such a snob. It's not pretty, but it's sharp."

  Tilger took the ugly old thing and shoved it under his belt.

  "Right then." Ravenbeak clapped his hands together. Looking around, getting his bearings, he pointed to the east. "Go that way for about half a mile. You'll find the camp."

  Without a word, Tilger stepped into the woods and was gone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER 3

  Around a gray colored fire sat five, short, bald creatures. Kobolds, generally considered the pond scum of almost every culture, are nasty, warty things, with drab red skin and heads a little too big for their bodies. Mostly scavengers, they are more willing to attack providing there's a lot of them and very few of you.

  One of them eyed his neighbor. "Oi, Blat, ya got something stuck between your teeth. I'll trade ya for it."

  Blat ran his scaly tongue over the object jammed between his rough, pointed teeth. "Don't know. Feels like it's worth a lot. Wut ya got?"

  Sholp dug through his greasy bag, careful not to let the others peek inside. After a moment, he pulled his hand out with a wide smile.

  The others leaned forward for a closer look as he opened his hand.

  "It's a toenail," said Sholp, with a hissing laugh.

  Gagg pulled back Blat's lips and put his eye to the piece
of sludge caught in his teeth.

  Letting go, Blat's lips closed with a wet 'plop' and Gagg turned to Sholp.

  "Never mind that," said Gagg, pulling off his sandal. "Lookie at this." Gagg displayed something between his toes that clearly had been there for some time.

  Before long, all of them were displaying various bits of squelchy matter, each one less pleasant than the last in hopes of trading for the toenail.

  As the Kobolds were deeply involved in matters of commerce, Tilger blithely stepped into their camp, striking a majestic pose in the light of the fire.

  So intent on the toenail, the Kobolds were completely unaware of his entrance, which Tilger found very irritating; it was one of his best poses.

  Tilger cleared his throat a little more loudly than what would be natural, but the lack of subtlety was lost on the Kobolds.

  Without any warning, a towering human had just appeared in the middle of their camp. Flabbergasted beyond the thought of running, the best they could do was let their mouths fall open, which is what they did.

  Tilger cleared his throat as slobber drained from five slack mouths.

  "Yes, it is I, Tilger of Golishmear." Thrusting his chin upward, he continued, "Defender of the weak and upholder of the…" Tilger looked at the half-witted faces starring up at him. "Never mind. It's been a long day and if it's just the same to you I'd rather not have to chase you all through the woods, because I'm just going to kill you anyway, so it would make my job a lot easier if you would just line up so I may slaughter you and be done with it. What do you say?"

  The dumbfounded Kobolds exchanged looks of bafflement, until one of the them shrugged his bony shoulders and stood up, but the others yanked him back down.

  Crust threw himself to the dirt, groveling for all he was worth, which wasn't much, but he made a good show of it anyway.

  As he fawned at Tilger's feet, he noticed something. This human wasn't wearing boots, and not only that, but he'd just discovered something new about them. Humans had toes, and there at the top of every toe was a toenail. They had just struck it rich.

  As inexperienced as Kobolds were with several aspects of humans, so was Tilger when it came to the manic greed that ran deeply through every Kobold.