Caleb's Journey

The Acquisition

A confident smile formed on Drarn’s face, for he knew that he had beaten his opponent. He reveled in moments like these, moments in which he had proved his martial supremacy and all that remained in this contest was for him to find his adversary and deliver the death blow.

“Nothing can save you from my axe now,” he told himself.

As his prey fled into the woods Drarn methodically followed him. The thud of his heart pounded in his head and eagerly he began his search. Arrogantly, he pushed through branches and brush, tracking the trail of blood on the leaves in an attempt to ascertain the whereabouts of his foe.

In his mind the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

Blood trickled from his wounds, for his foe had inflicted a few of them, but it mattered not. “A little blood is the mark of a good battle,” he chuckled. Hearing a faint rustle, he tightened his grip on the gigantic double-headed axe that he wielded. He guessed that the sound emanated from approximately twenty feet to the north, behind a boulder that was nestled in the midst of some trees. Beads of sweat rolled down his bald, dark brown head and face as he marched towards his destination. His march turned to a jaunt as the leaves crumpled beneath his feet, he raised his axe, ready to deliver the killing blow!

Quickly, he whirled around the boulder and his thick, muscular arms brought the mighty axe crashing to the ground. It cut through the air and struck the ground, splitting the earth, and sticking deep into the dirt. Whatever had produced the sound was not behind the rock. Smack! A sharp pain shot from Drarn’s ankle throughout his whole body as he flipped over in the air and onto his back. His foe, a thin man in brown robes now stood over him with a metal pole in his hands and a crazed look in his eyes.

His assailant quickly brought the pole down, but Drarn deftly rolled out of the way, and the staff stuck into the ground. The disappearing act had proven to be another of the warrior priest’s battle tricks. Drarn stumbled as he attempted to regain his footing. CRACK! The pole now jabbed into his ribs. Mikale, his foe, had quickly freed his weapon and had begun to press his attack. Drarn winced and the loss of air from the blow left him wheezing.

How quickly the tide of the battle had changed. Thoughts began to swirl wildly, like a miniature tornado, in Drarn’s head, “I can’t lose. Regain control of yourself.” That raspy speaking little man in the marketplace of Binjan had offered him quite a sum of money for the amulet that hung around the warrior priest’s neck. Carefully, he had planned the ambush by the creek in the Sacred Grove while Mikale was praying to Uua. WHAM! A quick blow to his hand returned Drarn to the dire reality of his present situation. Helplessly, he watched as his axe fell out of his hand and onto the ground.

Turning his body, so as to roll with the next blow, Drarn managed to catch the staff beneath his rib cage and trap it under his immense bicep. A test of strength ensued! Mikale, a strong, lithe man of six feet in with height with lean, sinewy muscles versus the enormous, hulking seven feet tall, thick and heavily-muscled Drarn. Knowingly, Mikale’s attacker grasped the staff with his gigantic right hand. “You’ll find my strength too much for you, monk,” he snapped.

Quickly, he lifted the pole, and Mikale, into the air and slammed them on the ground. Then, he flung the staff far into the woods. It sailed quite a ways, being no longer encumbered by the weight of its owner who lay on the ground, momentarily stunned by the impact of his crash.

Seizing the seconds of opportunity available to him, Drarn scrambled for his axe knowing that he needed it to defeat his foe. Mikale quickly composed himself, reached into his brown, leather pouch for some throwing needles and begun hurling them into his assailant in rapid succession. With pinpoint accuracy, he peppered the behemoth with the shards. They drew blood and slowed the giant, giving Mikale the time he desperately needed to harness the energies of his mind and as his whole body shone with a white light he eyed his adversary’s back. Running as fast as he could, he leapt into the air, extended his right foot intent upon delivering a crippling blow. A look of horror filled his now wild eyes for Drarn had feigned the extent of his injuries and was waiting to meet his airborne enemy. He swung his axe in an upward motion which was so powerful that when it met Mikale’s body, it cut the man nearly in half and the two lifeless sides fell to the ground. Wearily, Drarn walked over to the upper torso of the dead man and callously ripped his prize, an ornate blue-green orb with a brown leather strap, from its owner’s neck and headed home. “Thanks for the challenge,” he scoffed.

The victor’s home laid several days’ journey from the scene of his triumph and he trekked homeward sneaking through the grounds of the secret temple and its surrounding lands, on the outskirts of Binjan. When he reached his log cabin he tossed his weapon on the ground, hid the amulet away, and fell onto his bed to rest his weary and battle worn body. Combat takes a great toll on all, both physically and mentally and Drarn is not immune to such effects so he, like every weary combatant, laid his weary body down upon his bed. As he did so he imagined the riches he would soon gain from the sale of his new acquired treasure.

After a day-long rest the hulking warrior awoke and dressed himself for his meeting with Milch. They had agreed to meet in the evening so Drarn had the day to himself. He breakfasted on roast fowl and potatoes and over his repast he examined the amulet. “If this thing is magical, I don’t know what it does, that’s for sure for it has had no effect on me. To the right person, it might have that value. That temple wasn’t on any map I’d seen before. I wonder how that crafty little imp knew about it. No matter. I’ll have my money and be rich. No more living in a tiny log cabin for me. I’ll build a keep, maybe. Make those snotty knights and nobles envious of a mercenary like me. They don’t care for my kind, those who earn their living by hard work and the strength of my steel, but they dare not challenge my strength. They’re afraid of my might. Soon they’ll also be jealous of my wealth. Ha!” His mind dined on spiteful ruminations as he ate his morning meal.

He had never been much like anyone else, freakish in size, he had always been larger than the other children and it continued throughout his adult years. Wherever he went he drew stares for he possessed not only height that surpassed all he encountered, but also a girth that exceeded that of normal men. Never had he cared for the other children for they eyed him with fear and distrust. His immense size and near equal temperament had made him an outcast. Any friendship he formed never lasted very long, for he saw that many made a friend of him out of a desire for protection or to exploit his strength. It so frustrated him that he left school at an early age, a man-sized child whose parents made him work on the farm, an asset as a laborer, when his father had control of him for he soon outgrew his parents. At that time, even they became wary of the young man for like many young men his emotions outstripped his intellect and became his master and one day over a dispute with another farmhand, he slew the man with his bare hands for a perceived slight.

This lapse in judgment gave his parents the opportunity they had been seeking, a chance to dismiss the boy without feelings of regret. His father took him aside and told him that the other man had many friends, friends who would seek revenge against Drarn and his family and that the only way for all of them to survive lie in the boy leaving immediately and taking refuge in the surrounding wilderness. His father gave him some gold, pressed it into his hand, Drarn remembered, and told him, “People fear that which is foreign to them and you are such a thing. Be strong, but be patient. You have gifts which others envy and that will make you great, in time.” He hugged his son and wished him good luck.

Taking up residence in the forest, far away from the town in which he lived, the young man took to hunting to survive. He built a small shack out of timbers that he gathered and others that he laboriously chopped with his hand held axe, a parting gift from his father. Young, proud, and stubborn, he resolved to live, to thrive, and become a great warrior. “One day, I’ll return and no man will stand in my way,” he vowed. Over time he fashioned other weapons, such as a spear, and used them to hunt and forage for food as best he could. Yet, the hunting had not gone as well as he liked. On the farm, food had always been plentiful, so he always had a full belly. Naïve in the ways of hunting, he nearly starved. His pride spurred him on and he would rather starve than return home. Somehow, he sensed that his parents had wanted him to leave and anger and sadness filled his days.

Battling starvation, fortune smiled on him on one of his hunting trips. On a sunny afternoon he spotted droplets of blood on some leaves. “Injured quarry,” he thought. He crept though the thickets and came upon an encamped man, cleaning a deer. Smoke rose from the man’s campfire, preparations for the coming meal. Drarn told himself, “I’m big enough, if I want something, I should take it.” He crept up to the encampment, drew his knife, and pounced on the man and plunged his knife into the man’s side. Blood oozed from the wound and Drarn pressed his attack, seizing the man in his massive arms and plunging his knife into him repeatedly with malicious intent. The man wailed in agony, clawing frantically to no avail to free himself from the young man’s powerful grip. Still, Drarn kept stabbing, letting out his rage at being unwanted and he only ceased when he felt the body go limp.

Tossing aside the carcass he and marched towards the campfire. “Now, I can feast.” Assuming the place of the triumphant hunter, he began to carve the deer and place the carved pieces onto the fire. As they sizzled, Drarn began to salivate and greedily rubbed his bloody hands. “I couldn’t be luckier to find this guy. Finally, I can fill my belly.” While his meal cooked the exhausted warrior lay down on the grass and let the emerging scents shape his gastronomical dreams. If he possessed a conscience that expressed remorse of any kind for his actions it failed to manifest itself, perhaps it occupied a secondary role behind his prevailing need for self-preservation. Rather, he contented himself with the notion of a brief nap and then a full stomach.

Before he supped the young man had a notion to search the possessions of his unsuspecting adversary and in a leather pouch he found some gold. It was the first money he had made for himself. His father had given money for purchases for the farm, but nothing for his own discretionary uses. At that moment he vowed that hereafter his life would take a different course. “No longer will I be destiny’s pawn. From now on, I make my own fate as a mercenary.” He vowed. So it became with the young giant. The money he stole, bought him what became his weapon of choice, a double-edged axe, as well as some training sessions with a local mercenary. In little time the young man began honing his skills and the mercenary hired him as a fellow soldier on assignments, made him a fair share of money and brought him to his present state.

His present state being seated on a chair at a corner table of the Merry Mason Inn quaffing ale from a copper-banded wooden mug as he gazed about the room with a distrustful eye. Drarn always sat with his back against the wall, facing the doorway and today was no different. He viewed this seating position as tactically sound in that it protected his back against a sneak attack and afforded him the advantage of seeing every entrant to the establishment, tonight made slightly difficult and frustrating by the violently flickering candles. This angered him, but it also made him slightly more alert as he examined the already present patrons.

As he scanned the room his experience and travels told him that he had seen this place hundreds of times, maybe not in this particular locale, but its replica in any of the numerous towns he had cause to venture into during the execution of his jobs. Amidst the four planked walls of timber hung the heads of various creatures, here a deer, there a boar, at times, an ogre or some other evil denizen from the far reaches of the settled regions. The smell of pipe smoke, stale and overpowering, hung in the air. At the bar rows of foul smelling drunks, sweat stained from toiling in the fields or at the forge or some other manual trade sat in a row, their arms draped over one another’s shoulders singing loudly and out of tune to the minstrel’s lyre. In another spot some verbose individual expressed his opinions on the king and how he would run the country. Other’s supped quietly, but all sought the same refuge, the camaraderie of their fellow man and a brief suspension of reality. Drarn wasn’t like them.

Taking another gulp, he now turned to the slender young barmaid who approached him. “Excuse me, might ye be wantin’ another?” She inquired. A simple nod in the affirmative was the reply. He grew impatient, waiting for his payoff for a job well done. Cautiously, he sipped at his ale, as he kept a vigilant watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone that he knew seated at the large round table at the center of the room. He couldn’t quite recall where or when he had seen him. “Not that important,” he considered. However, it was important to him to note that located about ten feet to the right of that table was a stone fireplace. That might have strategic value.

When the waitress returned, he reached into his pouch, produced a handful of gold coins and tossed them onto the table flippantly. “Light the fireplace,” he coolly replied. Her eyes grew wide at the display of Drarn’s wealth.

“

Right away,” she replied as she quickly scooped up the money and hurried off.

While she walked away, he admiringly viewed her long, graceful legs as they carried her to her destination. As she went about her task of placing logs in the fireplace he noted how her white blouse with the cross-laced front clung to her proud form. “Can’t get distracted,” he thought. “Another time, perhaps.” Presently, he had a more pressing matter, collecting his money from Milch.

“

Where is that little, pockmarked money grubber?’ He wondered. The aforementioned money grubber had just entered the tavern. A short, squat, flabby man possessed of a ruddy, pockmarked complexion, a protruding nose, beady eyes, and greedy smile, as if he had just fleeced a widow of her savings. Flanked on either side with an armed, menacing looking bodyguard, he seemed to almost slither into the establishment. Drarn noticed him immediately. Likewise, who wouldn’t immediately notice a very large man? Milch shuffled towards him and extended his hand. “Greetings, warrior,”

Drarn rose from his chair and met the man’s grasp with his own. How sharply they did contrast for Drarn stood nearly two feet taller and when their hands shook his seemed to envelop that of the smaller man the effect of which wasn’t lost on either of them as their gaze met. Even Milch’s bodyguards noted the size of the man they now encountered.

“

Have a seat.” Drarn strongly suggested.

Milch did as he was forcefully requested. One of his bodyguards took his place to his master’s right and the other to his left. Both of them stood with their arms crossed so as to appear more menacing.

“

Since I’m looking at you my boy, I can only assume that you’ve succeeded.” the short man inquired.

“

Who knows, we agreed to meet here regardless. Maybe I got scared when I saw the place.”

“

You? Scared? Impossible! You’ve never said no to a mission and never failed yet,” the slick tongued man remarked.

“

I’ve also never had to sneak into a secret religious compound crawling with fanatical monks.” Drarn snarled.

“

True enough, but here you are and with my prize, I’m sure.” Milch was now verbally probing him. Drarn had always made him nervous due to his immense size and martial prowess, but Milch considered himself to be both wiser and mentally superior. He felt that he now had an advantage of one he considered intellectually inferior.

“

I didn’t see you come in with boxes of gold so I guess you didn’t come to pay me,” Drarn quickly quipped.

Milch laughed. “If gold were the only form of remuneration then perhaps there would be an issue.”

“

Gold is how I prefer to be paid and what we agreed upon.” Drarn angrily replied.

“

If he grows angry, then he will drop his guard,” thought Milch. “Now to coax him some more and snare him in my trap.”

“

Let’s not trifle with one another. I’m simply putting the case to you that there are other precious objects that have a higher value than gold, thereby making them a more convenient form of transportable payment. What do you think of jewels?” Milch inquired.

“

I think women wear them and that I don’t care for them. People price them differently. Gold spends the same everywhere.” Drarn put his drink to his lips, gulped it down then began to rise as he continued, “When you have gold, you’ll get your precious little necklace.”

Milch acted quickly, “Arrest your anger my friend. I’ll pay, I’ll pay. Sit. Sit. I’m only sporting with you.”

Drarn sat and stared angrily at the man seated across from him.

Milch felt confident in the trapped he had lain. “I’m sure he has the artifact with him. He was ready enough to produce it if I showed him my money.” Milch’s eyes did not betray his thoughts. He sat as placidly as he pleased. “Let’s drink together, before we transact our business.”

“

Agreed,” Drarn snarled. “Ale for both of us. Summon the serving wench and we’ll toast our success.”

Milch’s beady blue eyes surveyed his quarry as he thought, “I intend to make a meal of you, you overgrown buffoon. When your defenses are down, my men will strike you dead where you sit and I’ll be the richer for it!” With a contented smile he waited for the waitress to return. To his bodyguards, he issued orders, “Caso, Frakes, stand easy. We will be here for a bit. We are having a drink with our friend. When our business is transacted, we’ll depart.”

Drarn eyed him with some suspicion. Milch had a reputation for keen wit, but also for paying for services rendered. “I never cared for him, but his money spends,” he told himself.

Soon enough the waitress came and the two men shared a drink. “Tell me,” posed Milch, “how difficult was it to obtain my prize? My curiosity is surely piqued for I lack your size, strength, and martial prowess, but I do have a taste for adventure. Regale my companions and myself, please, with your tale of bravery.”

Drarn replied, “I like your flattery. I’m still amazed that you obtained a map for a place that doesn’t seem to exist, but as I followed the map that led me through a heavily-wooded thicket, there it stood. It was a very simple, but impressive marble structure, was the temple. No gold or silver or jewels adorned it. You’d think it nothing more than any other religious compound in that had the common outlying structures like a farmhouse, dorms, etc. I felt almost unsure of it being my intended destination. Finding the amulet’s owner kind of bored me. Those guys sure do pray a lot.”

This comment elicited a chuckle from all.

“

I had to sit in the surrounding forest for days as I noted their schedule of behaviors, habits, etc. Day after day I watched them and waited for my opportunity to strike.” Drarn paused to take a swig of ale before he continued, “Sometimes they worked in their garden. There would be days on end when they wouldn’t even come out of doors. I have no idea what that was all about and I don’t care, but it happened. Since you asked for an account I plan to give one.”

“

Their accursed chants gained my ire and I became eager to find my mark. As they gathered on the grounds for their daily exercise and combat practice I eventually saw the man I sought. The amulet was mostly concealed under his robes, save for the glint of a gold chain barely visible hanging around his neck. I noticed it plainly when they practiced fighting with their staves and he would fling and flick the others about, for he was something to watch with that stick. I knew he wouldn’t be easy prey.”

“

Finally, he strolled out on his own for a walk in the forest,” Drarn’s face grew grim as he paused for dramatic effect before adding, “His last walk.” Drarn went to raise his mug to his lips again, but something about the uneasiness of Caso’s face gave him pause. The mercenary felt that something was amiss. Instead of taking a gulp, he flung the mug and its contents at Caso, striking him in the face. Frakes reached for his sword. Drarn sprung to his feet and lifted his chair in his left hand.

Frakes swung his sword and Drarn blocked it with his chair. Milch began heading for the exit. Caso quickly recovered his wits and brandished his weapon. Drarn had no time to draw his weapon for Caso lunged at him with his sword, piercing his side. Grunting with pain, Drarn grabbed Caso’s arm and with his great strength, flung the man against the wall. Now, he had time to draw his axe, Deliverance, as it was known. It gave off a faint magical dweomer.

The two mercenaries stared at him, both of them with sword in hand, each intimidated by his size and his weapon. “Leave now and I won’t kill you. It’s only your master I want. You were hired to kill me and will fail. You know my reputation and you’ve already lost.” His face contorted into a violent sneer and through gritted teeth he gave his reply, “Throw down your swords and run or I’ll kill one of you quickly and carve up the other slowly and painfully.”

The two men looked at each other, nodded, and tossed their weapons on the ground. “He wasn’t supposed to run out on us. Go get him.”

“

Wise choice. Now get out of here and out of my way.” As he ran for the exit to give chase, he shoved past both of them, knocking them to the ground and the crowd parted to let him pass. Once in the dark streets, illuminated only with torches, he looked both ways, but saw no signs of the man who had just betrayed him. Even his immense stature, which allowed him to peer over the crowds, failed to give a hint of where his foe had gone. Then, he heard the galloping of hooves that became more and more distant. “Coward. He planned this all along. No matter. I’ll find him tomorrow, after a night’s rest.”