Chapter 3

Despite everyone around Pherein was, in so many ways, alone in the world. Would he chart another course? He'd seemed to have lost the call on his life. The opportunity had been there before and yet he had allowed it to slip away. The proud islander allowed his mind to drift back as he walked through the bustling town to the time just prior to him saving Lily, to another opportunity that had come his way in another part of the kingdom.

"Okay, Pherein, what is your plan then?" Tress Boarslayer asked haughtily as Leif Alesmasher her consort and first axe of the Tribe of the Elk began to organize the dozen warriors the pair had brought.

Pherein sighed audibly which seemed to irritate the muscular female barbarian. "I simply pointed out that the purpose of this is to protect the village itself. Fighting that close could lead to unnecessary damage. It defeats the purpose of why we are here."

Gittain, the elderly farmer who acted as the leader for the village of Tyreel had put out the call for help wisely stayed out of the latest debate between the two powerful warriors. The man and his family along with the other nearly four dozen souls who lived in the fertile but unprotected valley had finally had enough of the lack of help from the Lord of the land. The nobleman who was charged with the provision and protection of the surprisingly prosperous farming community seemed uninterested in anything other than the tax he received annually so they were on their own. The year previous a group of marauders had come out of Umgar, sacking the village, taking their crops and anything else of value. It was uncertain where they were from being a mixed group of orcs, goblins and men numbering around two dozen. When they returned the following year taking the early season crops and promising a return in the fall for more, they knew they were in trouble. Appeals to the Lord did nothing nor to the crown of Latrellus. They were on their own so Gittain, a man who had fought for the land in the past struck out to find some adventurers who could help, offering the last bit of wealth they had in order to be free of this tyranny.

"I am here to win and to collect gold," the warrior with thick flaming red hair declared, her piercing green eyes flashing behind the streak of black paint she wore from her left forehead down to right cheek. "Why are you here?"

Pherein wondered that himself. The Delorgan had found himself alone after leaving his latest client in the south of Latrellus. The businessman who had contracted him turned out to be nothing more than a loan shark and he had been hired as an enforcer. The proud islander had left his employer after being told to break the arms of a merchant who had fallen on financial misfortune and was not able to pay the extorted rate. Pherein was disgusted at himself for working for such a man and wondered anew, as he had done in the last six months or so how he had sunk to such a low state. The Delorgan had had lofty goals after leaving his home island of Lothian to strike out on his own and make his own name. Unfortunately noble, or even honest, seemed hard to come by. So, the proud man had found himself being contracted out to shady characters.

But no more.

The fighter would no longer work as a simple sellsword. He needed a different path. So when he had heard while travelling back to Grantsbend of a group of villagers on the south of the Latrellus border who were standing up to defend themselves from marauders plaguing the peaceful place he sought them out to offer his service. He arrived just before a group of Umgar barbarians led by the aggressive woman he now stood before and her co-chief, a hulking man of ill temper.

"I am here to help this place," Pherein answered, meeting her hard stare with his own.

"Hmph," Tress snorted derisively yet she had a curious look on her face but held her tongue.

"We can press out to there," Pherein pointed to a defile on the south towards the treeline they expected their quarry to advance from, "and have not only a more advantageous position but also create a buffer and a secondary fallback point if their numbers are great. It is to our tactical advantage and also minimizes our need for help from the villagers. That should also increase our share of the glory to win without aid."

The seasoned fighter and raid leader knew the plan was solid and hoped the proud barbarian would see the benefit of it. He also knew that when the marauders saw what was arrayed against them it likely wouldn't be much of a fight. He knew though he had to engage them to break their will to come back when the mercenaries had left.

Tress gripped the handle of her war axe aggressively, not revealing her mood. Then, a vivacious grin broke out on her face and she came over and slapped Pherein hard on the back. "I like you Delorgan! Very well, we will do it your way." She turned to her consort and yelled, "Leif! We move out to the edge of the field and meet them there."

Pherein was relieved he didn't need to have another argument with the proud female warrior as she walked away purposefully.

"Thank you, sir," Gittain said quietly. "If we sustain any more damage to our outer buildings I do not know what we can do, or how we can pay."

"I'll do all I can to keep that from happening," Pherein answered genuinely. It felt good to be doing something noble again. A pair of hunting horns sounded in the woods in the distance signaling the arrival of the marauders. "It's time. Gather your force, remember what I taught you all and go to where I told you."

Gittain clasped the Delorgan's arm in thanks and left to gather the fourteen men and women who were the second line of defense. In the two days he and the barbarians had been there while Tress and her kinsmen had lounged and drank Pherein had been working tirelessly to equip and train those who were capable of fighting. He had staves sharpened into javelins, scythes honed to razor edge and pole axes made then he'd drilled the scratch force in basic tactics. It reminded him of his days back on the island when he had been drilling his boat crew. Though there was a pang of regret at leaving he was invigorated by the exercise.

Now it was time to put it all to the test.

Pherein's plan was simple. He and the barbarian mercenaries would meet the marauders at the end of the village's fields protected by an irrigation ditch providing some defense and also shielding the fall crops. The villagers would be just in front of the village in a loose skiltron ready to respond if needed. Hopefully the show of force would be enough to give the attackers pause for thought and he could then talk them out of fighting and any return. It was a bold plan but one he felt could work.

Down the dirt road that led south through the woods, hooting and hollering, the motley crew of raiders came out, seeking to intimidate the villagers by their arrival.

The surprise to them was obvious.

In front of the marauders, behind an irrigation ditch, stood a group of battle-ready barbarians and a large Delorgan warrior wearing a steel battle helm.

"What be this?" the leader of the marauders, a yellow-green half orc with rippling muscles, bear chest and kilt demanded. "This be our score. Get ye out of our way!"

"You have no dominion over this place any longer," Pherein roared. "Be gone or be dead!"

"Damn ye!" the half-orc screamed, spittle flying out from his tusked mouth, yellow, bloodshot eyes blazing. Stand aside or we'll push ye aside." The raider slammed his two-handed great axe into the ground for emphasis.

Pherein counted twenty-eight marauders, a mix of humans, orcs and goblins. None wore more than light armor and carried a motley array of weapons. Though they outnumbered the defenders exactly two-to-one the seasoned warrior was confident they could handle them if it came to a fight. He hoped it wouldn't.

"Enough talk, pig," Tress screamed back before Pherein could speak, "come so my axe can taste your blood."

The leader of the raiders looked at what was arrayed before him. It was obvious the fighter was assessing his chances and looking at how best to achieve his objective. "Aaaah!" he roared, raising his axe into the air as his followers surged forward.

It seemed he liked his chances.

Pherein and the barbarians waited patiently for the mixed crew to cross most of the gap from the tree line to the edge of the fields. Then, just as the marauders were committed and in full flight five barbarians on the right, led by Tress, and five on the left, led by Leif, leapt nimbly across the ditch to engage the surging attackers in an oblique movement on the flanks. It was a gutsy move since only five were left in the center of the line, but that group was anchored by Pherein MacDiarmidson. The surprisingly quick barbarians closed the gap in short order and hit the edges right before they engaged the main line throwing off their momentum. Chaos ensued as some marauders turned to fight the threat on the flank and others carried on.

Pherein and the remaining barbarians jumped the shallow ditch to enter the chaotic melee. Five goblins saw the writing on the wall breaking formation and running back into the woods and away from the battle. The marauder's advance was checked and despite those who left, the defenders were hard pressed, especially in the center. The big half-orc cut down one barbarian and then with one of his fellow marauders engaged Pherein. The big Delorgan fought back skillfully, using his shield to block the one and turn aside a hard, slashing stroke from the leader of the attackers.

Three of the raiders squirted through the thin line of defenders and went whooping towards the village. Pherein watched and knew there was nothing he could do other than trust in the resolve of those who'd suffered so much the last year.

They didn't disappoint.

By the time the orc and human fighters realized they were alone and none of their compatriots had gotten through it was too late. With primal yells the newly minted village militia surged forward. The trio turned to run away but each were skewered in the back with improvised pikes then hacked down.

The half-orc leader knew they were beaten so sought to make his escape. He grabbed a goblin who was with him and threw him in the way of Pherein to run away. The skilled warrior cut through the feeble defense of the cowering creature, already moving forward to ensure the leader of the band couldn't escape. Already the battle was wrapping up and those raiders who remained were running for their lives. Several of the barbarians gave chase but the blow of Tress' horn called them back.

It was only Pherein and the half-orc left.

While the remaining barbarians circled around the pair, yelling and cheering, it was clear Pherein was on his own. They were looking to be spectators of this fight.

"Abandoned have ye been, damned Delorgan," the half-orc snarled, gripping his axe.

"I need no help to dispatch one like you," Pherein spat back.

The attacker feigned surrender, raising his hands up and showing innocence on his face. Pherein didn't buy it. The half-orc swung viciously adding his free hand to the axe. The Delorgan raised his wooden shield to meet the blow. Though he had anticipated it the shockwave that went through his arm from the impact went straight up to his shoulder, numbing it. The veteran fighter leaned into the shield and pushed hard, causing the half-orc to stumble back. He counted with his own magnificently crafted hand-and-a-half bastard sword that sang through the air. The attacker attempted to pivot to meet the downward chop but was a fraction too late. The razor-sharp sword skipped off the angled block and sliced up the marauder's arm easily cutting through the sleeved leather jerkin he wore. The half-orc howled in pain and instinctively drew in head butting Pherein who didn't see it coming. The Delorgan saw stars and took two quick steps back to gain space. The marauder pressed in hacking away, seeking an opening through sheer violent fury. Pherein blocked most but one got through, finding a seam in his chain mail and digging into his shoulder. But this was not the first time the seasoned warrior had been wounded and his blood lust rose.

"Latrell!" Pherein screamed to his god.

The Delorgan warrior bull rushed into the half-orc, taking another glancing blow in order to slam his shoulder into the tall raider's midsection.

Ooof The air escaped, and he doubled over.

That was all Pherein needed.

In one smooth motion he turned his hips to allow his sword to move in a tight semicircle down and through the neck of the raider. With a plop the half-orc's head was severed from its body, falling to the ground as his twitching body followed suit.

And just like that, the battle was over.

Scattered around the field were twelve remaining marauders. Three of the barbarian tribe were wounded, none overly serious, but with their blood lust up the remainder dispatched any of the wounded without a second thought. So it went in Apia in times such as this.

Pherein, blooded but not too badly, still breathing hard from exertion, took it all in witnessing in particular three more bodies closer to the village and the defenders excitedly talking about their encounter. All seemed to have gone as planned.

"Well done, Delorgan," Tress came over and slapped him hard on the back causing the fighter to wince at the wound she hit. That seemed to cause her amusement as she snickered.

"And your people?" Pherein asked.

"Bah, a few scratches, nothing to be concerned about," the barbarian declared.

Gittain ran over, excitement evident on his face. "I cannot thank you enough for all you've done. Such a complete victory, I scarce can believe it."

"Believe it," Tress spat back, "and you can thank us in gold."

Pherein's moment of elation at the noble act was deflated by the declaration but he was more diplomatic. "It was good to be able to help you. Your people did well."

"Thanks to your help, Pherein," the village elder replied enthusiastically. "Will you join us for a victory feast?"

"Aye, that is better. Ale and meat! Come, Delorgan, let us find amusement," Tress declared and called her people together.

Despite the excesses of the barbarians Pherein could not think of a more pleasant evening he'd had of late. The villagers of Tyreel were generous and gracious hosts sharing what they had with their liberators. Prior to joining the feast, he had ranged off into the forest to track the raiders to see if they had perhaps regrouped. Leaderless, it was not surprising they didn't. Still, he ordered a rotating two-man guard from the new village militia to stand vigil. Yes, it was a pleasant night indeed.

The next morning Tress and Leif made it clear it was time to settle up and leave. After a hearty breakfast they formed up in the fields as villagers were gathering the dead and pulling them away to be burned.

"Where is our gold?" Tress stated bluntly, looking at the basket the elder of the village held out to render payment.

"What…what do you mean?" Gittain stammered, taking a half step back from the female warrior. "This is the agreed upon amount for you."

"No, this is the agreed upon price for us alone, do not think the Delorgan is getting any of our share," the female barbarian retorted aggressively.

"But there is no more, this is all we have," the elderly farmer stated in defeat.

"Well then I guess we'll have to take it in slaves," Tress declared.

The elder recoiled.

"That won't be necessary." Pherein had been trying to hold his temper since the end of the battle where the arrogant barbarian was concerned but this was the worst. He had been there when she and her mercenaries had walked in and agreed to fight. He could only shake his head at the lack of honor in the statement and again pledged himself to change his ways.

"Do not interfere, Delorgan!" the chief spat back.

"You can have my share," Pherein responded quietly but did not drop his gaze from the woman's penetrating look nor did his hand leave the hilt of his sword. "And you have enough."

Tress snorted dismissively.

"Truly," Pherein responded, voice as hard as steel.

Tress looked at him curiously. She could see he was prepared to fight over this though she didn't know why. The skilled fighter had seen the northern warrior in battle and knew his capabilities so did not want to tangle with him even with her kinsmen standing behind.

"Are we settled?" Pherein pressed.

"We are settled." The female warrior snatched the basket with the mixture of coin and goods in it from the village elder who breathed a sigh of relief. The chieftain signaled to her kinfolk and they walked away howling in laughter.

Just as the barbarians were about to enter the forest Tress turned and jogged back to the Delorgan. With a snort the barbarian declared, "You're a hard one to figure out Pherein MacDiarmidson."

Pherein said nothing but matched her penetrating stare.

Tress then laughed and slapped him on the back. "You're a good fighter and have a quick mind. We could use someone of your temper and temperament. Why don't join us?"

"I appreciate the offer but mine is a different path," Pherein answered politely. "May the luck goddess Thydita grant you favor."

"Very well. If you change your mind, we're not hard to find," Tress declared.

The pair of warriors clasped forearms and Tress ran lithely back to her kinsmen who melted into the woods.

"Thank you."

Pherein realized he was standing alone now with the village elder staring at the now empty field before him littered with bodies but absent the barbarians and their magnetic female chief.

"Thank you for all you have done," the man repeated. Then nervously stated, "but I am afraid we have nothing to pay you with. Perhaps some food?"

"I do not need your money," Pherein whispered.

"What did you say?" Gittain asked, hearing but not understanding.

"I do not need your money."

"But why?"

"This is the first noble thing I have done in years. I would not spoil it by demanding anything from you." Pherein found himself breathing hard and his eyesight suddenly blurry with tears as emotions threatened to overcome him. "Nor should people like you have to hire the likes of me to defend what you have a right to. This is wrong in so many ways." Spontaneously the man now filled with passion reached into his purse and pulled out fifteen gold coins. "Here, to rebuild."

The elderly farmer stood with mouth open, incredulous at the gesture, unsure what to say. "Pherein, I…"

"Cannot refuse. Do not deny me this penance. I owe much more to mankind for the sins of my past."

The man took the coins and rolled them around in his hand. "I do not know what your past held, Pherein MacDiarmidson, but know in the village of Tyreel your name will be taught to our children and songs will be sung about you at our harvest celebrations."

Pherein was touched by the gesture and ended up staying another ten-day in the village ensuring the beaten bandits did not return for revenge as well as continuing the training of their modest militia. No more would this place be the victim.

After that he had helped several other villages on the fringe of the frontier that had been abandoned by the capital and the nobles who were responsible for the people. He acted as sheriff in one and helped the others organize to defend themselves. It was satisfying work, and he began to feel his sense of worth and purpose return. Yet the wanderlust returned and so after a season he returned to Grantsbend since that was the closest thing he had to home.

Why could he not stay in Tyreel or one of the other villages in the area? The question burned deep in the islander's heart. The people loved him and looked up to him. In a short period of time he became a leader of sorts.

And that was what caused him to leave.

He had left Delorgan because he was not ready to assume the responsibilities in his homeland and if he was going to forsake his people for the road these farmers would not get him to do it either. So, he left the area to the disappointment of all to return to Grantsbend which was no home and had no real purpose. Again, he disappointed people who truly cared for him and though the proud warrior said he did not care in his heart he now carried another hurt that added to the considerable burden he possessed. But Pherein MacDiarmidson would not address this or the cause, instead burying it as deep in his soul as he could despite the cost to him.

Pherein had sought freedom from responsibility and now he had it. Yet that freedom had a price as well, one that though perhaps easier to pay, was even more costly than the one he had left. Again, the man would carry this burden, a shackle on who he could truly be. No man, beast or monster brought fear to the powerful fighter, but responsibility and legacy could cripple him and so rather than face and fight, he ran again.

Coming out of his reflection that seemed so long ago but had been less than two weeks Pherein realized he had stopped and was standing still in the middle of the town market. Though embarrassed as some carefully looked at the dangerous fighter he realized he had one more thing to reflect on. Now here was the woman Lily and perhaps another opportunity. Would he see where this could go, or would he run again? He knew what he would like to do but the same fear of responsibility told him something else. As the Delorgan reached the city gate of Grantsbend he moved hastily into the thick woods outside the town to try to find some form of distraction from the heaviness of spirit that threatened anew to bury him alive.