Hero- the Unknown Territories Page 3

  They began to talk among themselves, sparing a glance at Tilger every now and then.

  "Oh come on, this isn't alchemy," says he ways with growing impatient. "I'll start with you."

  Tilger approached the closest Kobold and took out his dagger. They ended their discussion and looked at him in an unpleasant, gluttonous fashion.

  Somewhere in the back of Tilger's mind, a little voice was telling him that something was wrong. The immediate response by the rest of his mind was to kindly shut up and leave this to professionals.

  A moment later, Tilger found himself wearing a Kobold coat as every one of them leapt onto him, punching, biting, pulling, or spitting where ever they could find a piece of him to attack.

  Ravenbeak sat poking at the fire, taking great interest in the depths of the glow.

  "Hmm?" He leaned in closer, almost touching his nose to the flames.

  "Well," he said, "I never thought much of getting bad news, but I'm glad you told me. Once news reaches him, he'll be very keen to go after him, but I think he's still too weak yet.”

  He nodded his head in agreement to the crackling fire. "Hey, what?" He looked over his shoulder, then back to the flames. "Yes, yes. We'll talk then."

  Ravenbeak waved his finger in front of the fire. "Som ne-ento dop."

  No sooner had he finished saying this when a battered Tilger stepped into camp.

  Tilger's clothes hung in shreds, clumps of hair were missing, and scratches and cuts crisscrossed each other over every inch of exposed skin. His left eye was swollen, along with his bottom lip. Runny, blue Kobold spit dripped off one ear. Grass hung from his mouth.

  Sho stared, dumbstruck.

  Ravenbeak got up and walked around, inspecting Tilger from head to foot.

  "By all the runes, what happened to you, boy?" Ravenbeak fingered an angry looking cut.

  "Ouch," Tilger snarled. "Be careful."

  Tilger's anger was fed more from his humiliation than from his defeat, but he was doing a good job of covering it up.

  "Did this happen," Ravenbeak probed, "on the way back from the Kobold camp?"

  "No." Tilger fumed.

  "On the way to their camp?"

  "No."

  Ravenbeak looked blankly at Tilger's wrecked face for a moment, then realization came to him, and he burst into laughter.

  “Kobolds?" The old wizard sat down, trying to catch his breath between his gales of hilarity. Struggling to gain control of himself, Ravenbeak wiped his eyes clear, and holding his aching side, he stood up.

  "They took my dagger," Tilger said dejectedly.

  Ravenbeak flopped back down, caught in a new fit of laughter. "No more, please. Oh, can't breathe.”

  "When you have finished your tittering, perhaps you'd be kind enough to cast a healing spell on me."

  Struggling hard to regain himself, Ravenbeak forced a straight face, but he couldn't keep his lips from turning up at the corners.

  "Yes. Yes, of course."

  As Ravenbeak got up and dusted his hands off, he noticed there were several bite marks clustered around Tilger’s toes.

  Tilger caught Ravenbeak's glance and gave him a warning nod.

  "I don't care to discuss it."

  "No, of course not."

  Ravenbeak raised his hands, and his face became serious as he began intoning strange words.

  A dim, blue mist appeared around Tilger. Under the unknown words spoken by the wizard, the mist changed to a dull gray then sank into the ground.

  Tilger examined himself, finding that his wounds were now gone. Even the clumps of missing hair were now properly back in place.

  "I'm going to the stream to wash off," he said hotly, and tromped off into the brush without a second look.

  "You're welcome," said Ravenbeak.

  The fire was down to a low blue and gold flame when Tilger returned. Ravenbeak's sleeping form could just be seen in the dim light of the fire.

  Climbing into his bed-roll, Tilger heard a guttural howl carried on the wind, too distant to be a real threat, but better safe than dead.

  He took his sword and laid it next to him. It hummed softly under his hand, and though this wasn't new to him, he was more aware of it now since the old man had spoken to him.

  As he got comfortable, he noticed the stick with which Ravenbeak had defeated him laying by the fire. He lay there for a while, glaring at the stick, then sat up and pushed his sword away.

  The smell of cooking curled around Tilger's nostrils, tempting him away from sleep. He opened his eyes to see Ravenbeak by the fire, turning a spit. Still feeling irked from the quarrel of the night before, Ravenbeak only glanced in Tilger's direction and went back to cooking.

  Tilger got up, making a show of stretching out his stiffness to break the silence. "Smells good. I feel like I haven't eaten in days."

  Ravenbeak only grunted and sat down to eat.

  Breakfast passed with little conversation as Ravenbeak picked at his food, while Tilger consumed everything that he could put his mouth on.

  Watching him eat returned some of Ravenbeak's good humor. "Had enough to eat?"

  "Plenty, thanks."

  "Feeling rested, then?"

  "Yes," said Tilger, unsure of where this was going.

  "Good, good." Ravenbeak nodded. "All healed up?"

  "Yes. Why are you suddenly concerned about my health?"

  Ravenbeak picked bits of crumbs from his beard, then looked up at Tilger.

  "Remember our wager last night?"

  "Yes," said Tilger, shortly. "By my mind, it was not a fair wager, but honor demands that I pay you. What is the amount?"

  Ravenbeak gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "No, no. It cannot be paid in money."

  "Then what is it?"

  Ravenbeak leaned forward. "A quest. A quest for armor."

  "I have all the armor I could need," said Tilger. "Haven't you been nagging me on this very thing?"

  "Not for more armor," said Ravenbeak. "A quest to regain your own armor. It's mine now. You lost it last night."

  Tilger came to his feet in prideful wrath. Words of outrage crowded his mouth in such number that he was unable to speak one without another pushing its way out. Spit and obscenities spewed out of him until he completely deflated his lungs of any hint of air, and his cursing died in a strangled gurgle.

  Tilger stomped to his pile of armor and began putting it on in clanking, cold fury.

  Shortly, Tilger was fully armored. Instead of climbing on Sho, he advanced on Ravenbeak like a metal thundercloud. Lifting his helmet's visor, he glowered down on Ravenbeak with baleful eyes.

  "Villainy! I never agreed to such a wager," spat Tilger.

  "I asked if you wanted to know the consequences," began Ravenbeak.

  "Wizard or not, beyond this day you approach me at your own peril," Tilger growled, "You have been warned."

  With that, he turned and headed for his horse.

  "Why are they always so difficult?" Ravenbeak muttered.

  With his back to Ravenbeak, Tilger never saw the slight tilt of the old wizard's head, nor saw his mouth quietly utter the words to a spell that would change Tilger's life forever.

  Before he reached Sho, a small whirlwind sprang up around Tilger's feet and quickly grew. The last thing Tilger saw before the whirlwind hid him and the rest of the world from view, was Ravenbeak waving goodbye.

  With gusty power, Tilger was lifted off the ground, and the whirlwind began spinning him faster and faster.

  The force of his spinning became so great that bits of his armor started flying off. And not just off, no. They took flight like shooting stars and were lost from view over the horizon. Not only his armor, but it felt like bits of him were beginning to fly off, too. Tilger was too dizzy and sick to fight against the wind, not that it would have done any good; it was a magical whirlwind, after all.

  When the last scrap of metal zinged off him into who-knows-where, the funnel of wind unraveled itself, dropping Tilger in a misera
ble heap. If he'd had the strength, he might have killed himself just to end his nauseated suffering, but fortune smiled on him and he passed out.

  When he opened his eyes again, he ached all over. He prayed for death, but this was mostly directed at wretched, old wizards in green robes. He thought that maybe if he could get to the pond, a splash of water would do him good, and if that didn't help he could always drown himself. But any progress towards this goal was doomed because his brain and limbs didn't seem to be talking to each other. In fact, everything about him felt odd. That's the thing about magic; it had a way of messing about with you.

  Tilger gathered enough will power to form a single thought. "I hate wizards.” Then he passed out again.

  Sometime later, he woke up. He had no idea how long it had been, but he did feel better. Sho was grazing a short way off.

  He called Sho to help him up. His voice came out squeaky. Sho didn't come. He called him, again, but Sho didn't move. Instead, the horse just stared at him.

  "What's wrong with you?" Tilger squeaked. "Get over here."

  Still nothing. With some of this strength coming back, Tilger started to crawl to Sho.

  With a snort, Sho stepped away from him.

  Tilger had a number of whistles that he used as signals with Sho, as any good hero would, and gave one to call him.

  Sho's head sprang up and he looked at Tilger intently.

  Then something very odd happened. Sho started looking to his left and right, as if he were looking for someone.

  "What are you doing? I'm right here."

  Tilger whistled again, and Sho swung his head around, and looked at him, again. This time, the horse took a step forward.

  Tilger whistled again, and looking slightly baffled, Sho came to him. Tilger grabbed at the reigns, but Sho moved his head so he could sniff Tilger's hand.

  "Blast it, what's wrong with you?" growled Tilger.

  Finally, Sho dipped his head and Tilger caught the reigns and pulled himself up, under the continued strange looks from his horse.

  Now that he was on his feet, Tilger began feeling much better.

  "Pond," Tilger said, and leaning against Sho, they made their way to the water's edge.

  The water looked wonderfully inviting. Wasting no time, Tilger knelt down and scooped up handfuls of water, splashing his face several times.

  Refreshed, he let the water run off his face and drip back into his reflection. Something was wrong. He didn't know what, but something wasn't right. He looked around at the nearby tall grass and shrubs, but he didn't get a sense there was anything hiding there. He passed it off as just being jumpy.

  "More water," he thought, and turned back to the pond.

  In an instant, Tilger leapt back as he saw a horrible creature reaching for him from the water. Ready to fight, he stood there waiting for the thing to rise from the pond, but nothing came.

  Monsters, on the whole, generally make a big show of emerging from wherever they're hiding to impress or terrify their prey, but not this one.

  Carefully moving forward, Tilger peered from a distance into the water to see if it was still there.

  It was gone, but where? A little puzzled, he moved closer to the edge. Nothing.

  Closer. Still nothing. Finally, he stood at the edge of the pond, but aside from his own rippled reflection, he was alone.

  "A wise decision, monster," Tilger said to the water. "This is not a day you want to face the wrath of Tilger."

  Tilger's gaze gave up the search for pond monsters, and his distracted gaze came to rest on his reflection.

  "Wizards,” he said to Sho. "No bloody good for anything!"

  He came over to Sho, opened one of the saddle bags and pulled out a pair of riding gloves. The first one was so loose that his hand swam in it.

  "Is there anything that wretched wizard has not vexed?" he said, looking curiously at his gloved hand. He checked to see if they were the right pair.

  A voice in the back of Tilger's mind was trying to get his attention, but it wasn't having much success. For most people, they have a close attachment to the little voice that lives in the back of their mind, but not Tilger. After all, if the solution to every problem is your sword, there's not a lot of thinking needed to consider the complexities of a problem.

  Tilger tossed the gloves back in the saddle bag.

  "The sooner we're away from this place, the better."

  He scanned the area for his armor, but it was gone. "Where's my armor?" He searched through the brush and bush, with no success. "Where's my bloody armor?" he bellowed.

  Tilger reached for the saddle horn to pull himself up, and missed. He reached for the saddle horn again and missed, again.

  "What in the name of Gurthmoor is going on here?" He stepped back and scrutinized Sho from a distance.

  There didn't appear to be anything different about the horse. The voice in the back of Tilger's mind got a little louder. He looked at his hands and thought about his loose fitting gloves.

  The voice shouted. Tilger looked back at the pond, thinking about the monster he saw. The voice in his mind yelled and kicked the inside of his skull.

  He walked up to the horse and then noticed Sho was noticeably larger. The voice put all the pieces together for him and held it in front of his mind.

  "What has that wizard done to you, Sho?" The voice put its face in its hands and dejectedly shuffled away, flopping down in a disused corner of Tilger's mind, which there was in plentiful supply.

  "That evil cretin of a wizard has put an enlargement spell on you." He patted his horse in sympathy. "Is there no end to his villainy?"

  The voice began sobbing. Tilger lead Sho to a tree stump, and using it as a step stool, he climbed into the saddle. With a click of his tongue, he rode Sho out of the backwoods towards the road where he'd first met Ravenbeak.

  "I'm sure there's a temple around. We'll have the monks there give you a blessing and get you back to your old self, my friend," he assured his horse.

  Another thing about heroes is that they are nearly blind to any personal flaws. Any failings were attributed to the rest of the world. If a hero should die from drowning, it was because the river was inhumanly treacherous. That the hero was wearing eighty pounds of armor and didn't know how to swim would never cross their mind. And so it was with Tilger, but the realization that something had happened to him would come.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER 4

  On their second day of travel, Tilger was running out of encouraging things to say to Sho. Sho, on the other hand, was dealing with a nasty headache from rolling his eyes too many times. Not being able to talk, he was limited to facial expressions, most of which were lost on Tilger. He thought if he heard another, ‘Could be worse’, ‘Not as bad as losing a limb, heh?’, or the dreaded ‘This reminds me of the time...’, he'd die.

  Sho clenched his eyes shut as he heard Tilger clear his throat, preparing for another round of cheering up, but it never came. Wondering why, he opened his eyes.

  Smoke. There was smoke coming from the other side of a nearby hill. Smoke almost always meant action. If he were lucky, it would be a village being slaughtered or something equally disastrous; anything that would occupy Tilger.

  "Think we should take a look?" asked Tilger, as he patted Sho's shoulder.

  Tilger almost fell off as Sho broke from the road and ran for all he was worth towards the smoke. They hadn't gone far when they saw an old man and woman running in wild panic towards them.

  It was better than Sho could have hoped for. Tilger slowed him as they neared them.

  "Fear not. I will protect you."

  "You?" the woman asked.

  "I am Tilger of Golishmear,” he said, thrusting his chin upward. “A slayer of evil. Stay here, I'll only be a moment and then you can return to your peaceful, if not meaningless and empty lives."

  The old couple shared a confused look. "What are you gonna do?" asked the old man.

  "Kill the monster, of c
ourse," Tilger said. "It is a monster, right?"

  The couple nodded.

  "Then I'm going to kill the monster. Really, you'd think you’d never seen a hero before," said Tilger. "You should get out more."

  The couple looked around, then back to Tilger. "Ain't ya gonna wait for your friends first?" asked the old woman.

  "Friends?"

  "Yeah, you know, to help you."

  "Help me?" Tilger said, insulted. "I'm a hero, good woman," he puffed up. "A single hero is enough for any task. Now, I must go before the creature sees me and tries to run away."

  Tilger urged Sho forward and they took off. Just as the cause of the smoke came into view, they heard a wet, gurgling snarl. Rounding a stand of trees, they saw the wreckage of a farmhouse. In the middle of it was a breed of monster they'd never seen before, but this was a new land.

  Tilger reached under his saddle blanket for his spare sword and grinned; that fool wizard hadn't got everything.

  He sped towards the monster, preparing for one of his hero's dismounts.

  It should be pointed out that there is a lot people don't know about heroes. One of them is a hero's dismount. Each hero had their own dismount, and no matter how complex or simple their dismount appeared to be, it was nearly impossible for others to reproduce.

  The reason for this was centered around a critical but subtle movement that the whole dismount hinged on; so subtle, in fact, that it was nearly invisible and if done wrong, ended with someone getting hurt. This took a terrible toll in broken legs and arms on the young boys, who would try to imitate a hero they idolized.

  A hero can have more than one dismount, but because of the difficulty, most only have two or three. Valteen the Vigilant had a record thirty-seven, earning him the dislike of many of his hero brothers and sisters. After all, there's only so much showing off that even a hero can tolerate.

  The dismount Tilger was readying involved charging straight at the monster, while gripping a sheathed sword. Sho would suddenly stop, launching Tilger, sword in hand, into the air. Then he'd tuck the sword at his side, hit the ground rolling, and come up swinging at the feet of the creature.