Nought But a Sword
That is how I came into the prosperous port town of Praven. With nothing to my name but my reputation, and my sword. I was twenty two years old. My father had left the family when i was very young, to fight in Jarl Knudarr's war band.
My mother had little use for a fourth born, and threw me into the streets of Sargoth, I grew up there, a street urchin, I learnt very quickly how cruel the world was, from the cold starved nights I spent curled up in an alley way, to the beatings I faced from boys older and bigger than me.
The first thing I stole was a stale loaf of bread. I grabbed it right out of one of the big boy's hands and ran, I was always faster than them. I learnt that that was how I could eat, the people I stole from were always thieves or thugs, they had no more honor then I did.
All that changed one day. When I stole from the wrong gang, ones who didn't just laugh as I ran away with a yelling teenager's purse, these were big men. Ones who carried silver not copper.
They cornered me in an alleyway, they closed in on me; I yanked a stick of the ground, they yanked knives from their belts. It looked bad, real bad.
Before he showed up.
He was dressed all in faded black cloth and studded leather, he ran into the alley sword in hand, the youth's turned to face him. When he saw they had me cornered, he bared his blade and told them to leave.
One with a rusty knife lunged at him. That man lost a few fingers and crumpled from a pommel striking his head.
It was all curses and yelling as the young men dragged their friend, He lunged at me with his left free hand; he yanked the silver purse from my hand and threw it backwards at the group of rushing youth's, one cursed and snatched it up.
I tried to curse back at the older teen but a sharp slap silenced me and put me on the ground.
"By rights you should be dead" He said simply. He had greasy black hair slicked backwards. His belt was studded with silver and his sword was obviously well made, but other than that, the man had the look of a common sell sword.
"Why did you give them the money back?" I whined, spitting blood.
"For the same reason why I shortened that lad's hands. It was the right thing to do." He said plainly.
"Are you going to kill me?" I asked, I recall squeaking in fear.
"If I wanted you dead, you would not still be talking." He said wiping his sword clean on my shift.
"Why did you help me?"
"Lots of questions have you, but I have answered two already, it is twice over your turn. What claimed your family?" He asked revealing a Rhodok accent.
"War." I answered. "Greed." I spat thinking of my mother. He nodded.
"And why did you steal from those boys?"
"I have to eat."
"More so than them?"
"They robbed someone to get that money, or sold Riot grass, why do they deserve it more than I do?" I asked, I staggered to my feet.
"No, but by your own reasoning, neither of you deserve to eat." He said. He took out a wedge of hard cheese and started eating. I remember my mouth watering just watching him.
"Maybe we don't." I said looking down. The boy's fingers we're still curled around his knife on the ground.
"I've got one final question before I take my leave. Those lads would have killed you, because they had numbers, age and strength; I could have killed all of them because I had a longer sword, a stronger arm and experience. I had no fear when I came into this alley, they feared me. Would you also be feared?" He asked. He handed me half of that cheese.
I nodded so hard my head hurt.
"Then come to the Retching Inn at Dusk tomorrow, I will wait for you on the second landing. Bring everything you own, it may be your only chance; Goodbye boy." The tall man said, turning his cloak around himself and leaving the alley.
I quivered, snatched up the rusty knife and tried to see which way the sell-sword went, but he had disappeared into the night's shadows.
I slept in the open, freezing nights are the norm in Sargoth but I always woke up even when others didn't, iron skin I suppose; and for the first time in a year, maybe two I slept in those alley's with a full stomach.
The next day, I didn't try and steal, the town folk gave me suspicious looks for my new knife, but none questioned me; they all knew me, I had charmed my way out of more than a few beatings from each of them. Most would even say they liked me, I think. Yet none ever had a clipped copper, nor an ankle of bread to spare for Duncan the Urchin.
When the sun began to fall, I found the tavern the Sell-sword had spoken of, I had to pay half the money I had on me just to stop the host from kicking me out. A few coppers used to be a lot of money to me.
I staggered up the stairs on shaking legs, and sure enough he was sitting there; in the same black cloak, and the same studded leather, sword belt slung over a postern.
There was a significantly bigger man next to him, a huge axe leaning against his chair and a dozen smaller blades coating his body, his blonde hair tied back behind his head in many war braids.
There was a single chair in front of the two, the dark one smiled at me. "Sit down boy" He said.
"I hope you're not making a mistake with this one, Ben." The big one said.
"Through the Khergit steppes, through the Rhodok highlands and the Sarranid Desert and the Vaegir snows. I have always lead us to victory. You never doubted me then, do not doubt me now." The one in black responded laconically.
"Fair enough, I'll rouse our men; we leave for the drill ground at dawn?" The blonde brute asked standing.
"Yes, thankyou Sister." Ben said, watching the big man go.
I sat down in front of him.
"Did you enjoy eating last night boy?"
I nodded.
"What's your name?"
"Duncan." I answered meekly
"Have you ever heard of 'Ben the Black'? he asked.
I nodded, his name had been mentioned once or twice by a guard i passed by.
"Glad to hear it, what have you heard of me then?" He asked smirking.
"You're a warrior, you won a tournament here only a month ago, you defeated Jarl Olaf in single combat."
"Good, what else do you know?"
"You're the leader of a warband in service to the Nords, why did you want me to come here?"I asked,squeaking again.
"Because boy, you have the look of a soldier i once knew, a powerful warrior, he was. I think you could be too. Now listen too me, i don't like to be interrupted." He said sharply and sudden as a whip.
"The Nords and Vaegirs are about to go to war again, they already are in everything but war. My men and i will be called off to die in service of King Ragner, i want you to come with us. I'm no knight, but i still have need for a squire. You'll polish my mail and sword till they shine, you'll pour my ale, bring me my meals and build my fires." He said, his accent coming through again as he stared into the fire burning in the lower hearth.
"And why would i do that?" Having just enough courage to be angry.
The man was amused by that.
"Because i can promise that as long as you serve me, you will eat at my table, i will personally train you in arms and how to ride. You will share my own fire and stand beside me in every shield wall; that is my offer." He said flicking his eyes between me and the fire.
"Why me?" i asked simply. he had me when he said i would have all the food he did. the training and shelter were only bonuses.
"What's your last name?"
"What do-"
"Answer me." He said, sharp again.
"Warden, my name is Duncan Warden."
"That name is why, now are you going to join us? or would you prefer to starve on these streets?" He said, he took a sprinkle of salt, and layered it on a ankle of bread. He offered it to me.
It may have been the best thing i had ever tasted. And for nine good years. I was his.