Interlude 1: A Debt Repaid
It was chaos. The previously pristine forest was now stained with blood and the peace was broken by the clashing of blades and cries of the wounded. As I lay behind a boulder clutching my bleeding leg, I watched in horror as my companions and comrades were being slaughtered by the men of Garitho's Wrath. We, Hadrian's Companions had been cornered like rats to a cliff wall in this desolate little forest. Our beloved commander, Hadrian had been struck by a poisoned arrow early on and was now being tended to within our camp.
Just then, a horn sounded and the hugest man I have ever seen rode out on a huge black steed. As he leapt of his mount, I continued to observe him more closely. He was at least 6½ feet tall and was broad in shoulder. Clad in finely crafted armour of the deepest obsidian and carrying an enormous battle axe of fine make, I ventured a guess that this must be the enemies' commander, Garithos the Black.
It was then that he yelled out in a voice that seemed to shake the very trees, "Hah! Is this all the vaunted Hadrian's Companions are capable of? All I see are rats and dogs, lined up for the slaughter! Where are the skilled men? The so-called men of honour and bravery!?"
Following this speech, he laughed in our faces and spat upon the ground. "I'd wager all my worldly possessions that not one of you will lay a scratch upon my armour!" and with that arrogant proclamation, he leapt into the fray.
If previously it was chaos, now it was definitely hell. Arrogant dog he may be, but Garithos could certainly fight. He was like a rock, standing firm against the waves of soldiers who tried to attack him. His axe danced a deadly dance of death and my heart fell as my brothers-in-arms fell one by one to that deadly axe.
Suddenly, the rest of the Companions seemed to begin falling back towards the camp. I watched, horrified, as they seemed to give up to the force of nature that was Garithos. Just as I closed my eyes and prepared to try to escape, I heard the last sound I expected to hear.
A melancholy melody filled the air, seeming to mock the horn that accompanied Garithos' entrance. My heart palpitated wildly at that familiar tune. I knew that tune. But it couldn't be; he swore to never wield his blade again.
A white stallion slowly strode into the clearing, carrying a cloaked and hooded man. As he leapt off his steed, he placed his flute into his saddle-bag before leaping off his mount and striding towards Garithos. When he was about 15 feet away, he stopped before raising his hand towards Garithos, and motioned for him to come towards him in what was unmistakingly a challenge.
The stranger was clothed in a black cloak with the hood pulled up over his face. The cloak was obviously of fine make, like one that a noble or a scholar would wear and its maroon lining marked the man as a scholar within a temple. He was only about 5½ feet tall and was slight in build. Comparing him to Garithos, it was as if you were comparing a twig to a tree.
At this time, the silence in that clearing was deafening. No man on either side dared to move as they all watched the two main characters in this macabre play.
The silence was broken by a harsh mocking laugh from Garithos, "Who are you man? What do you think an unblooded fool like you can do to ME?!" he leaned upon his axe as he smirked at the hooded man, "You had better return to your books and fine clothing fool!"
The stranger stood there, seemingly ignoring Garithos' insults and words. He merely raised his hand once more to motion Garithos in that mocking manner once again.
"Bah! No replies to the truth?! Why so quiet stranger," Garithos yelled before charging forward, "Well then! Looks like I'll have to beat the words out of you!"
To a passer-by, it would have looked like an execution. Garithos in his black armour and huge axe, leaping forward and swinging that bloodstained weapon to hack at the stranger who was only half his size.
But as is often said, appearances can be deceiving. Although it was something I had seen regularly in the past, I still kept my eyes fixed on the stranger, willing him to prove my suspicions true.
Just as the axe-head neared him, the stranger exploded into a flurry of action. He seemed to just bend backwards almost horizontal to the ground. Then, before Garitho's could recover his footing, he leapt forward just by Garitho's side. His cloak fluttered in the air and all that could be seen was a silver blur by him, but I knew what would be seen when it was over.
And I was not disappointed.
As the stranger landed in a kneeling position just slightly behind Garithos, his hood fell back to reveal long silver hair, tied back into a ponytail by a simple maroon band. His features screamed of elvish decent, further proven by his tipped ears. As his cloak fell back in place, it revealed a greatsword, about three feet or so in length, being held loosely by his side, dripping blood upon the forest ground.
I watched with a macabre sense of satisfaction as Garithos the Black, the one who had slaughtered so many of my brothers, who had mocked our honour and our company, fall to the ground in two, sliced right through his waist, in between the little crack that joined his breastplate to his upper leg armour.
It seemed a year of studies hadn't dulled his skills one bit.
"Hmph, and so yet another fool falls to my blade," his voice, hoarse from lack of use, rang out in the still silent clearing. He sighed deeply as he wiped the blood off his blade, "seems like standards have dropped since I left the mercenary world."
Sheathing his blade by his side, he turned towards the men of Garitho's Wrath, all of whom were in various states of shock at seeing their infamous commander taken out so easily. The half-elf fixed his deep gray eyes upon them in a cold glare, before saying the words that ended this battle.
"So, whose wife should I make a widow next?" As he said this, he had a slight smirk on his face and he took a step towards Garitho's remaining men.
His skills may not have been dulled, but neither had his arrogant streak before the enemy and his use of his name.
But his arrogance was backed by a true legend and his own skill. I watched with slight amusement as the men of Garitho's Wrath slowly figured out who the stranger was, and their expressions quickly changed into ones of fear and horror, and I think I even saw one of the men faint dead away.
After all, none among the mercenary companies did not know and fear to a certain extent the name Klaes. Klaes, the half-elf ex-sub-commander of Hadrian's Companions. Klaes, outcast from both man and elf. Klaes, demon of Feylith.
And of course his personal favorite; Klaes, the Widowmaker.
As one, the rest of Garithos' Wrath ran away, screaming bloody murder. Klaes merely watched them with a smirk on his face, raising his arm to stop the rasher members of the companions who were beginning to give chase.
"They won't be bothering you anymore, there's no point in fighting an enemy that won't fight back," he called out as he turned to face us, "Anyway, isn't it more important to tend to your own wounded and count your losses?"
At his words, the men seemed to be slightly abashed. They quickly started to help those wounded back to camp to get treatment, and moved the dead to the side for burial later on. Klaes' eyes roved over the whole clearing before alighting on me. With a grin, he strolled across to where I was lying on the ground.
"So, still think your mace is superior to my sword?" he asked as he extending an arm to help me up, and then supported me towards camp.
"Shut up," I said to him jokingly, "that was just a one off thing. I mean, how can your puny toothpick compare to my mighty hammer?" as we moved towards camp, Klaes left me standing alone for a while as he went over to a tree to recover the handle of my mace, before reaching out to extract, with a look of great distaste, the head of the hammer from its resting place, buried into the skull of one of Garitho's soldiers.
"Look at the mess you made again! At least my puny 'toothpick' as you put it, kills cleanly," he said this with that insufferable smirk on his face as he handed me the parts of my mace, "and at least I don't have to repair my 'toothpick' every two fights!"
Our banter continued all the way to the medical tent. He left me to the tender mercies of our medical team, before moving over to where Hadrian lay. The conversed for a while, before Klaes patted him on the shoulder, then strolled over to me.
"Well, I've said what needs to be said, done what needs to be done, and paid off my final debt," he said to me with a rather solemn face, "so I guess this will be goodbye then." With that he reached out a hand to shake mine, "all the best for your future endeavors and may we meet again someday."
Echoing his sentiments, I watched as the half-elf warrior whom so many of us owed our lives to, whom so many of us respected and loved, strode out of the medical tent, and of our lives, for what would probably be the final time.