laneys.info Beware of Yankees, drunks, and loose women.

Struggling through the snow filled forests that hugged the faces of long lines of tall peaks, the small group pushed tirelessly to the west where Artek stated the travel would be faster than trying to suffer the unknown footing in the Black Mountains. Time was of the essence and Artek and his dwarven companions feared failure more than their pride at admitting that something couldn't be done, despite the odds.

That night, they encamped within the last valley that barred them from the borders of the Astaran Empire. Alexander never realized how vast the emperor's lands were. He sat within the dugout bowl that they had carved to keep out the wind as the campfire dried their wet clothes while they sat within spares.

Artek's deep brown eyes turned to the squire as he stared into the fire that danced in his mind, swirling experiences and memories. "What is your ultimate goal, son?"

Alexander looked up and to his left into the stoney, bearded face whose lines told of years of experience. "To be a templar."

Nodding, the dwarf puffed from his pipe, thick white plumes shrouded the half darkened face. "And what is your greatest fear?"

Alex didn't hesitate. "Losing my mother."

Årtek sighed. "Everyone dies, son. Not everyone truly lives a life worthy of legend or the name that their ancestors passed down through the ages. Many go about their daily lives like sheep and when trouble comes along, some surprise themselves with acts of heroism. Most just lay down and take whatever their enemy gives them. A smart enemy attacks your weaknesses, some hit you where you think you're strongest. If you want to be a warrior, you have to learn to push all those things out of your mind and attack him first. Cleave his heart out and feed it to him, let him taste the fear that he enjoyed seeing in his victim's eyes."

"That's not justice, that's vengeance. Arhus would forsake me if I started acting like our enemy."

"An idealist," Gaban quietly interjected.

"If that's the kind of life you want, then be prepared to lose the things you hold dearest," Artek continued. "Your enemy, if he's worth the time to hunt down and kill, will be trying his best to weaken your resolve to fight. The fight of a warrior isn't in his weapons or his armor, it's in his mind and heart. You master those and no one can stop you."

Alexander grinned as he mused, his blue eyes drifted back to the fire and he wondered if he could allow his mother to be hurt just so he could defeat his enemy. "I'm not in this to be remembered as a hero. But, you're right, Arhus will protect her and if her time on this world is done, he'll take her home and I'll see her again."

"This life is training for the next one," Artek smiled as he winked. "The one that will last forever."

* * *

After several weeks along the Yaro River, they arrived within the small fishing community of Hoganis. He expected there to be looks or stares as Artek and the dwarves followed Alexander towards the inn, but found that they must have been used to dealing with the halflings of Dronfield, dwarves weren't that different really. Just louder. Tired blue eyes gazed upward to the wooden sign hanging over the door sporting a tankard as they dodged a horse drawn wagon and pushed the door open. As the afternoon crowd here quietened and turned to view the smaller group walk into the establishment, an older man straightened at the sight of Alexander.

"Are you a squire from Exmoor," he asked, motioning to the black surcoat which sported the golden symbol of Arhus.

"No, sir." He had heard of the compound that resided within the duchy of Ashton, but had never even been there. "I'm actually from Kecel."

The man nodded, "Frightful business that was."

Alexander stopped. "What are you talking about?"

"Massacred, I heard. While they slept. Some fought, of course but, the Knight Commander was butchered in his own great hall by some demon and his army."

"You sure it was a demon," Artek asked, his deep voice piercing the inn's wooden walls.

"That's what I heard. Yes," he nodded. "Now that the champions for Arhus are dead, they're plundering the south as far as Edsby."

Artek turned to Alexander. "It's on the way," he grinned.

Alexander, pre-occupied with this revelation wasn't as excited about facing a demon. "How long ago did the raid on Exmoor happen?"

"A few months ago."

Nodding, Alexander headed towards an empty table, "Thank you, sir. And by the way, not all of the warriors for Arhus are dead. Many fight in the Black Mountains helping to save our dwarven allies."

"They should be here helping us," someone in the crowd said.

Artek and his companions readied their axes and hammers as Alexander stopped. "Dwarves of the Black Anvil Clan fought and died alongside the knights of Carbost and Navan as they pushed the orc armies back on their heels," he felt his adrenaline rush. "They helped secure those lands while compromising the security of their own homes. Where were you?"

That comment garnered the contempt and guilt from the crowd as most looked away from the young boy. His heartbeat accelerated as he realized that he was in a room full of people much older than he was, forgetting the squad of bearded tanks standing behind and to his side.

"You've got some spirit in you," someone said to his far right as Alexander eyed a well traveled man in leather armor. His wrinkled, tanned face was clean shaven, greying brown hair pulled back from his narrow face as steel-blue eyes smiled. "I'll give you that. You have to understand, most here are simple people who have served their time in the duke's army when they were much younger. Now they're raising families and sons who are securing our borders and trying to help save what's left of the Midlands," he eyed those across and near him. "They're sacrificing much to keep their homes safe and it hurts to think that the gods have abandoned us."

"But they haven't," Alexander stressed. "We're still alive. Crops still grow, the rain still falls and there are many out there who are dying every day to keep you safe."

The elder leaned on his forearms across the table as he stared. "How old are you?"

"What's that matter," Artek interrupted. "He's got more heart and backbone than I've seen in most for a long time." He sighed as he leaned his axe on his shoulder, "Come on, Alex. I'm hungry." A strong hand patted him on the shoulder and guided him to a table as the quiet discussion resumed. He sat down as the adrenaline rush softened and wondered where he had gotten the courage to confront the clientele.

Gaban laughed as he slapped Alex on the back. "Don't worry, none of them have the stomach to draw on us." His long, black beard rose as he leaned his head back and breathed in the strong scents of cooked meat, bread and other delights that they had missed during their twenty day trip from the halfling's home. As the barmaid set their meals down along with the short basket full of baked bread, Alexander gazed through the worn faces of those sitting around them.

"We have bigger things to accomplish," Artek interrupted as he raised his tankard and stared into the creamy froth.

"What," Alex eyed his friend across the table.

"Your lady still needs saving, remember?" He took a drink, then pulled back as his face pruned, eyes squinting. "Ahh, it breaks the heart."

"You knew what to expect before you drank it," Tarlach, their quieter companion laughed as he ate hungrily.

Alex smiled as he watched his friends joke and make light of life itself. It was as if they smiled and laughed in the face of danger, confronting it with everything they had, then reveled in their victory or defeat with the same fervor. He still had so much to learn.