Chapter One "Hefring"
"There he was. In the middle of a room. Quaint. The walls were made of stone, the ceiling too. Something stung his nostrils and he noticed a doorway to his left. He saw an orange glow emanating from its entrance. Fire. He tried to move but something was preventing him from doing so. Fear struck and his blood rushed to his head. All he could hear was the raging thumping of his heart. Another noise. A man's voice. He couldn't make out what the man said but it made his heart beat even faster, it sounded cold, full of hatred. Then he heard screams come from somewhere he couldn't see. Then footsteps. A shadow dragged across the threshold of the door and a man emerged. He was a beast of a man. Black hair swung from his head and down his shoulders. His face was clean but his eyes…his eyes, one blue, one black, stared icily down towards him."
The man spoke in the same cruel tone as before, "Your family is dead, boy."
Hefring woke as he uttered a desperate cry of pain. His cloth tunic was soaked with sweat and he was trembling. "Another bloody dream", he muttered as he ran his fingers over his face. He was lying on his back, staring up at the underbelly of a monstrous tree. He analyzed the patterns in the bark for a while. A lone ant crawled in front of his eyes and he admired its attitude, determined and strong.
Hefring rolled out of his makeshift shelter and looked about his surroundings. He was in the middle of a forest. A thick forest made up of deciduous behemoths. The trees where hundreds of feet tall and thick, very thick. Moss covered the rocks and the bases of the trees and an abundance of shrubs and other dense plant life covered the majority of the ground. He looked at his camp. His bedroll was under the tree and his pack was propped up nearby. He had only brought the essentials - his bow and arrows and a few days food. If this trip lasted longer than he expected he could always hunt or scavenge.
He remembered the stream he passed when finding a place to sleep the night before. Hefring shoved his way through the underbrush and came to a small brook. It looked out of place in the forest. Compared to everything else it was tiny and feeble, like a single thread in a wool carpet. It was running over moss covered stones and boulders and from a gentle crashing sound, he could tell there was a waterfall somewhere downstream. He approached a pool about a foot deep, looked deep into it and examined what he saw. A boy. He was still just a boy. 14 years old. His hair was the color of sand and his skin was somewhat pale. Hefring looked with pity on the figure. He was small and gaunt, all muscle and bone. "Master says I can leave when I'm strong enough", Hefring thought. Somehow, as hard as he tried, he could not imagine that day coming.
Then he remembered what his master told him. "Contact me every morning after you wake and every night before you go to sleep". Hefring sighed as he looked back into the pool. "Draumr kópa" he muttered as he pictured the place he called home. He felt his energy dwindle as the water shimmered slightly. Then the darkness of a familiar room came into sight. "Master!" Hefring shouted. A man peeked into view then disappeared. A couple minutes later the figure returned and strode towards the point of view.
"Master", Hefring said as he dipped his head.
"Hefring", the man returned and replied in a somewhat sarcastic tone, his eyebrows rising. "You're not dead yet."
Hefring examined the old man's face. He had long tangled grey hair but oddly his beard was relatively short. The wrinkles in his face and his withered skin made him look ancient.
"Have you caught up with the soldiers yet?" the old man asked.
"Nope. But I have seen traces of them moving in this area." Hefring replied
"Good, Good." The old man looked past Hefring's apparent form and muttered, "Ajax has returned."
Then he continued in a hurried tone, "The soldiers are ten miles north of your position. They are sticking to the trail. Their pace is relaxed; you can catch up by tomorrow morning, if you hurry, tonight."
At that the man walked out of view. Hefring waited for a while and when he realized his master was not returning, he ended the spell.
After refilling his deerskin canteen and washing his face in the cool water, Hefring stood up, sighed, and started back to his camp.
He picked up his bedroll, rolled it tightly and tied it to the back of his pack. He then took his bow, strung it and slung it over his shoulders. Off again he thought as he started his trek back to the trail, the opposite direction of the stream. After what seemed like a half an hour, Hefring saw a reasonable clear area through the brush. He was almost to the trail. Rushing forward, eager to be able to walk easily, his foot caught a root, amongst other things, and he tripped and fell forward. He face planted right into packed dirt and rock with an appropriate "OUCH!"
Hefring picked himself off the rough ground and got on his knees. As he rubbed his nose he looked up and down the path to see if anyone saw what had happened but nobody was there. He still felt embarrassed. He had spent his entire life in these forests so why, then, was he still blundering around like a mad old fool.
Hefring stood up and looked up at the canopy. From the position of the sun, he could tell that it was a few hours after daybreak. "Tomorrow morning…" he thought as he remembered what his master had said. "The old man might be a little odd but his ability to judge and perceive things is spot on."
"I may not be strong but at least I'm in shape." He muttered as he started running down the winding trail. He looked around him at the looming trees. Big animals are known to live here. He would be concerned but he recalled what Ajax had told him several days ago before he left. "Neither the beasts of the forest nor the beasts of the air will dare hurt you. I have dominion over these lesser creatures and they obey me. However, do not let your guard down young one, for the forest itself can be dangerous."
Reassured that he would not encounter trouble until he reached the soldiers, he let all fear seep away. Soon the rhythmic beating of his leather shoes hitting the earth beneath them lulled Hefring into a trance. His mind drifted back to when he was a little boy. He couldn't remember much. Most of his memories came from Ajax, but even he couldn't answer all of Hefring's questions.
He thought back as far as his mind allowed. Only flickers of images passed through is head. There had been water, lots of furious water. He could remember the noise- a raging and thunderous noise. A waterfall? Then Ajax. From the memories Ajax showed him, he knew he had been in a river. Ajax found him along the bank dying. He had been sliced with a sword. The wound crossed his front torso, from shoulder to hip. Ajax carried him to his home, the ancient keep. It was days before Hefring regained consciousness, even with Ajax's healing abilities. From then on he had learned everything he could from Ajax, that is, until the old man arrived. The old man.
"He barged right into our home didn't he, Ajax" Hefring thought to himself, concentrating on the path in front of him. "Though it's not all bad…" From Ajax's account the old man purely and utterly destroyed his mental barriers and all magical advantages he had garnered through the years. Hefring still couldn't believe that an old fool like Master could defeat Ajax so easily. Why the old man wanted to stay in the keep with them is another mystery.
Hefring's thoughts changed direction as he pondered about his family. Where did he come from? Who were his parents? Nothing Ajax told him pointed him in a direction, it was only theories. He imagined coming from a rich merchant family, travelling through the Hadarac desert to get to the land of Surda. Or perhaps an elf had magically spawned from a tree and sung him as a baby out of pure oak. Hefring laughed at his own joke.
For the majority of the day, Hefring concentrated on running as he theorized about his heritage. At one point in the path, where a stream cut across, Hefring stopped to rest and filled his canteen and washed the sweat off his face. Soon after he found himself running again.
As Hefring became more and more fatigued, he noticed the sun dropping to angles below the trees, where he could no longer see it. Finally, it was dusk.
Figuring he would catch up with the soldiers in the morning, he slowed to a walk and trudged off the path looking for a place to make camp for the night. He noticed a large rock formation several hundred feet away and approached it, looking for a cave or over hang. As Hefring rounded the rock he saw a very large cave covering most of the rear, facing away from the path. It was the perfect spot to spend the night. He climbed up some loose stones and peered into the cave. It wasn't very deep but it was wide. Content, Hefring dropped his pack on the stone floor and untied his bedroll. As soon as he unrolled it along the edge of the cave, he plopped down on it and let out a groan. It felt good to be off his feet after a full day of running.
Ignoring the nagging concern for his own safety, Hefring slid down to a laying position and drifted off to sleep.
The sound of shouting woke him up. It was full of merriment. "Weird" Hefringthought. He pulled himself off of his bedroll and strode to the edge of the cave. It was still dark. It seemed that he had only been asleep for a couple hours. He analyzed the sound again. It was the voices of men. It sounded as if they were dancing and singing, and perhaps a little drunk.
The situation unfolded rapidly in Hefring's mind. "The soldiers! They must have made camp in the forest while I was still running. I could have gone right by them!" At first he chastised himself for making such a dangerous blunder. Then he realized that this was his chance to deal with the soldiers as a plan rolled through his mind.
Running to his pack, Hefring grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows and slung them over his shoulder. He then ran out of the cave and down the path opposite the sound of the merry men. It was going to be a long night.