Iiro
The Coppersmith farm was easy to find, being located just by the northern side of the road to the west of Menzhome, with the city itself still in sight. To the south, where Meadows bordered on Darpatia, Iiro could see wide, white plains and several farmsteads like the one they were approaching now, whereas to the north, about a mile from the road, he could see a thick forest, frozen like the rest of this land.
Out of his group, only Nadim had remained by his side. Joanna had opted to accompany Kobold instead, whereas Vittorio obviously preferred the warmth of the local tavern. He and the dwarf, Darbrek, were currently trying to find an inn that would be accommodating to their odd group. Meanwhile, two of Kobold’s companions, Cilie and Relin, were with him right now, walking down the small path that led up to the Coppersmith farm. As far as Iiro had understood it, they had lost someone they loved to a vampire, to the very same woman whose husband they were now going to question.
While at first Iiro only wanted to lend a hand to his new ally out of courtesy, he was now glad Kobold had accepted his aid. Perhaps he and Nadim could ease the tensions that he was certain would arise soon. Relin in particular seemed nervous and while Cilie carried herself with a calm smile, he could see clear concern in her eyes. From his experience, that’s when people started to make mistakes. As such, he slowed down for a second, just enough for the rest of them to follow his example. “In there, I want you to let me do the talking”, he growled. “You are too shaken for this”
Relin shot him a brief glare, but swiftly calmed down again. “Wouldn’t you be?”, he asked and Iiro gave him an honest nod. “I would”, he clarified. “I was in your situation before and I have regretted it. If you want to have any chance of getting information out of that man, you let me do the talking” While Cilie seemed more understanding, Relin was notably less calm. Iiro could understand him, even sympathize, but he would not take any risks. “Do I have your word?” Reluctantly, Relin gave him a nod. “And if your approach doesn’t work?”, he asked.
“Then this man is still not your enemy”, Iiro replied sternly. “He’s just a husband who grieves for his wife. We don’t even know if he can tell us anything, so let’s go easy on him” He placed one hand on Relin’s shoulder. “I’m not asking you to let go of your anger”, he continued. “But focus it on those who deserve it”
This time, the boy gave him a nod. “I… understand”, he confirmed and Iiro knew he meant it. Though seemingly mild-mannered, there was something about him that reminded Iiro of himself about a decade ago. “Good”, he replied. “Follow my lead and we might just get something that helps us with finding your brother”
They continued up the path, wading through knee-deep snow, until they reached the Coppersmith farmstead. It was a modest cottage, no fence around it, with a small set of stables built to its left. From there, Iiro could hear a dog barking, loudly announcing their arrival. For a second, he spotted a shadow behind one of the windows and even before they reached the door, it got opened a little bit, just enough for the man behind it to glance out.
He was a bit younger than Iiro had expected, with a pale, homely face, his eyes tired and dull. “Can I help you?”, he growled, quite the opposite of the hospitality the Meadows were known for. But these were dark times and this man had suffered quite a loss, so Iiro did not begrudge him for being curt. “Abel Coppersmith?”, he asked and the man narrowed his eyes. “Who wants to know?”, he asked in return.
“The name’s Iiro. Me and my companions, we’re investigators of sort”, Iiro replied, briefly pointing at the people behind him. “We’re here because of the missing people. Because of your wife” This immediately softened the man’s glare. “Nadarie?”, he asked, his eyes briefly wide. “You… have you found her?” Iiro shook his head and the man didn’t even look disappointed. He seemed like someone who had given up any hope months ago and though his features were still twisted with grief, he clearly knew better than to expect any good news.
“Maybe we have a lead on her. We came here looking for a woman matching her description when we found your paper pinned to the board. I figured maybe we can help each other”, Iiro explained. It wasn’t a clear lie, but he saw no need to tell him the full truth either. Iiro had learned this from his sellsword jobs in the Valley of Svelt, where every snippet of information was valuable. And he would definitely not tell this man anything about vampires or that they suspected his wife to have been turned into one of them.
Abel Coppersmith still seemed reluctant, but after a moment of consideration, he fully opened the door. “Come inside then”, he growled. “I… don’t know how I can help, but please, if it’s for Nadarie then I will spare as much time as you desire” Now that he was fully in view, Iiro realized that this man was quite tall, but lean, as if he hadn’t eaten well lately. His living room was well-furnished, but the small fireplace was not enough to fully warm it, not that he seemed to mind. The man was clad in sheep fur even in the walls of his home and Iiro wrapped himself tighter into his cloak even as he led them closer to the fireplace. A few chairs were scattered there and soon, the five of them were seated.
“My wife…”, Abel Coppersmith mumbled as he stared into the fire. “I… there have been a couple of men like you. They came and claimed they wanted to investigate, but I never heard from them again. I suppose they lost interest once they realized I can offer them no reward” He shook his head. “If you are out for a reward, then we can cut this short, for I am barely getting by after Nadarie’s disappearance”
“We’re not out for a reward”, Iiro assured him, as he reached into his pocket. Joanna had given him a brooch before he left the city, one that had been entrusted to her by the duke himself. It was made of silver, but rather plain for it, a symbol of the ducal authority more than it was meant to be ornamental. On it, a simple etching formed the personal sigil of Duke Waldemar, on one side the lion that graced the banners of his house and the bear that he himself was compared to so often on the other. Even in the most rural parts of Meadows, people would recognize this for what it was. “As you can see, Duke Waldemar has taken an interest in the disappearances”
Abel narrowed his eyes before giving him a grudging nod. “About time he does”, he sighed and the tone in his voice made Iiro glad that neither Maximus nor Joanna were with him right now. “That changes things, of course. How may I help you then? I… I’m afraid there’s still not much, but you must have had a reason to seek me out”
“We’re looking for information”, Cilie interjected, to Iiro’s surprise and chagrin. He had barely paid attention to the young woman so far, she had been quiet until now and as such, he had assumed that she would go along with whatever Relin would agree upon. That being said, she had given him no promise to remain quiet. “Anything you can tell us about her. Her past, her skills… her beliefs”
Truth be told, that was roughly what Iiro had hoped to learn as well. According to Kobold, this Nadarie woman was almost certainly a vampire herself and if his encounter with Fredo was any indication, then they had to learn more about them individually, for no two vampires were truly alike. On top of that, he did not expect to meet a vampire such as Fredo again, who chose his own death over harming innocents. If the old stories could be believed, and from his experience they usually could, then in due time, all vampires became monsters, creatures of the Nameless One in mind and body. “That’s an awfully odd question”, Abel sighed. “Care to tell me why? Is my wife in trouble?”
“Not from us”, Cilie assured him. “But your wife… we believe she’s alive and in danger” That was a partial truth at least, but to his surprise, Iiro noticed something on Abel Coppersmith’s face, or rather a lack of something. The man seemed neither surprised nor relieved to hear news of his wife’s survival. “You knew that already?”, he remarked.
Abel frowned and had to visibly force himself to nod. “I knew she wasn’t dead”, he confirmed. “I apologize, for I haven’t yet managed to take down the note. If you intend to look for a missing person, then I have wasted your time” Iiro shook his head. “We already knew she wasn’t dead. She was seen in Baliho about a fortnight ago”
“Baliho…”, Abel mumbled, now unable to meet Iiro’s stern gaze. “I saw her… four nights ago. I was looking out of the window and there she was, just at the edge of night, where the fields and the woods meet. She was wearing her hood, the red one I bought for her a few years ago and… there was a child by her side”
Cilie took this revelation seemingly well, but it was Relin who nearly slipped up now, his fists clenching notably and a gasp almost leaving his throat. Iiro could understand him well, to know that the woman who took his brother had been so close just a few days ago must have been hard to stomach and yet, he remained quiet as he had promised.
“You seem particularly shaken about the child”, Cilie remarked and Abel gave her a swift nod. “I… I did not expect it, that is all”, he sighed. “You see, Nadarie, she’s… we…” He paused and gently, Cilie placed a hand on his forearm. “Take a deep breath”, she told him. “Start from the beginning. How was she like, your wife?”
Now, a regretful smile flashed across Abel’s face. “She was fierce”, he mumbled, his gaze staring off into the distance as he remembered a time gone by. “Stubborn as well. She once argued with a priest of Praios over a minor injustice, arguing against his point even after he quite verbally threatened her with calling the Banray upon her. It mattered not to her, for she was in the right” His smile widened, but it did not reach his eyes and his gaze remained sullen and distant. “That day I fell in love with her and she with me, to my surprise”, he added. “I built us a home close to the forest, where she could hunt to her heart’s content while I took to the fields and sheep. It was not a rich life, but it was a good one and we wanted for nothing, aside perhaps a few children, all in due time. We were young and thought we had all the time in the world for that”
“You’re her only family?”, Cilie asked, to which Abel shook his head. “She was born in Montclair, to the north. Her family still lives there, her father and two brothers, but she has rarely ever seen them after she married me. It’d take a full day on foot to reach Montclair and we rarely had the time for it”, he explained. A brief, grim expression appeared on his face. “Now I wish we’d have seen them. Perhaps they could have persuaded Nadarie not to… do whatever it was that forced her to part ways with me”
“I don’t think your wife planned for it”, Iiro assured him. “Nor had she any say in it. Right now, we believe she was forced into something beyond her control” This seemed to calm Abel a bit, but he remained understandably sullen. “It’s just… we were happy”, he sighed. “She used to tell me everything, but then… one morning I woke up to find her gone, her trusty bow as well. At first I thought she merely went out to hunt without waking me first, but come nightfall I grew alarmed”
“Are those woods usually dangerous for a huntress of experience?”, Iiro asked and Abel shook his head. “Not usually, but we are still in the Meadows and ever since that mess to the east happened, the one at Drakesfield, the wildlife has gotten a tad more unpredictable”, he explained. “My Nadarie once said that the animals act as if they sense a danger, something we humans remain oblivious to. And sometimes, that drives them wild. Packs of wolves that hunt humans, bears that leave the safety of their deepwood hideouts to prowl at the edge of the forest. They don’t live in that forest to the north, of course, but Nadarie once even saw a pit worm as she went hunting to the east. Kept her distance and never ventured there ever again, but still… just a decade ago half a dozen questing knights would have taken that beast’s head, now…” He sighed. “Dark times indeed”
“So you thought her dead all this time?”, Cilie asked and Abel gave her a firm nod. “Aye, but I thought men responsible, not beasts”, he sighed. “There’s talk of brigands that roam the countryside and I’ve seen strange fellows on the road. Been that way ever since the Orkenstorm ended” Now, tears welled up in his eyes. “I was certain that they got her. Nadarie was careful around animals, knew how not to rile them, but humans can be unpredictable”, he mumbled. “And even then, I knew… feared that there was more to it. Everyone in Menzhome has lost someone lately, or knows someone who has gone missing. This is larger than a few brigands, isn’t it?”
Iiro gave him a grim nod. “I have heard whispers that the baron’s behind it”, he brought up, which earned him a stern glare from Abel. “Certainly not!”, he growled. “Baron Dustward’s a good and fair ruler and he has brought us safely through Orkenstorm and Answin’s War. He has fallen ill lately and that’s why the rumours exist, he can’t defend himself anymore”
“He’s ill?”, Iiro asked. Truth be told, he was almost certain that the Baron of Menzhome had been turned into a vampire. That was an illness too, he supposed, but not one that could be cured. Abel gave him a firm nod. “He has not left the keep in weeks and receives only few visitors. His servants whisper that he has grown pale and thin and barely speaks anymore”, he explained. “We should be worried for our good baron instead of blaming him”
A smile formed on his face, one Iiro had seen in many of his past clients. Polite, but distant, unwilling to discuss this any further. Perhaps Kobold could have gotten more out of this man, but Iiro knew when to cut his losses. “I understand”, he assured him. “I truly do. People are scared. Can’t really blame them for trying to find the one responsible”
“Suppose I can’t either…”, Abel admitted. “But I know better than to blame the baron, or strangers, or elves and witches” Especially those last two were surprising words from a man of the Meadows. “Aren’t those the usual suspects?”, Iiro asked, to which Abel shrugged. “Doesn’t mean they did it. My Nadarie once told me that this land used to belong to the elves before the first human even stepped foot in it. And her aunt was a witch, so she always had respect for their craft”, he explained. “You want to know what kind of a person my wife was? There’s your answer. She did not care what others thought. She could be frustrating and stubborn, but never without reason and she had a good heart” Tears welled up in his eyes and he finally burrowed his head between his arms, trying to control his sobs. “I loved her with all my heart, flaws and all”
“But you know she’s still alive”, Iiro replied, trying to cheer him up. Abel looked up indeed, but still with a grim expression. “I know her, Sir”, he spoke. “I know there is only one reason she would show herself to me after all these months. That visit four nights ago was not a coincidence, but her way of saying goodbye. She knows that whatever she has been caught in will claim her life”
“Perhaps we can help her”, Cilie brought up. “Abel, this might sound odd, but for your wife’s sake, please be as honest with us as possible” He immediately gave her a nod. “Yes, yes of course!”, he gasped. “Anything, if it can help Nadarie” Cilie took a deep breath. “We need to know what gods she prayed to”, she then asked and to her credit, she did not seem happy with the question.
Abel looked only at her now and as such, he could not see the surprised glare Iiro gave her. This was unexpected, but he found his respect for her grown. Though she clearly did not like it, she had just asked a man how to kill his wife, with a voice so sweet and innocent that Abel remained entirely oblivious to her true intentions.
“Her… gods?”, he mumbled. “An odd question indeed. My Nadarie was a huntress through and through. Of course she prayed to Firun first and foremost” Iiro knew at once that this could not be true. He had thought about Fredo’s death a lot over the last two weeks, about the vampire’s words concerning his weakness. Fredo had worshipped Travia above all other gods, so the touch of his own family had been lethal to him. Firun meanwhile was not just the god of the hunt, but of ice and snow, of weather as cold and cruel as the one that was raging outside right now. There was simply no way a Firun-cursed vampire could have lived this long. Judging by Cilie’s reaction, she was privy to the same information. “Are you certain about that, Abel?”, she asked. “If there’s any chance to help your wife, you must be honest with us”
The look on Abel’s face was surprise, mingled with guilt. He had been caught in a lie, even if he did not seem to realize how she had caught onto it. “I… of course. My apologies, I…”, he stuttered, before he took a deep breath. “Do I have your word that none of this talk will reach my neighbours? I don’t want any of them to think ill of my wife” He continued only after Cilie had given him a reassuring nod, but even then he clearly needed time to collect himself. “I… have never spoken about this to anyone. Normally I would throw you out for even asking, because this is none of your business, but if there’s truly a chance, however small, to help Nadarie, then she would have wanted you to know this as well”
“You can trust us”, Iiro promised and by now, he felt rotten for lying to this man. He knew what had to be done and as always he’d push through it, but nothing good would come from this. The man smiled at him, still oblivious to their true intentions. “Nadarie used to be an ardent follower of Firun”, he revealed. “Back when I met her, she would never miss a prayer and she was always generous with her tribute. Of course, Lord Firun deserves as much respect as any of the Twelve, but he was never my god. But I respected her faith” He pointed at the wall next to Iiro. “I even carved his holy symbol into that beam”
Indeed, now that he mentioned it Iiro could see the faint remnants of a carving. Someone had destroyed it, however, with an axe judging by the deep cuts. Whomever had swung the weapon had done so without much aim, probably in sheer rage. “Did she do that?”, he asked, which Abel confirmed with a nod. “Not without reason”, he sighed. “For years, there was no hunter in these parts more devoted to Firun than her. She used to jest that if not for me, she’d have joined his clergy, devoting herself to solitude and the eternal hunt”
“What changed?”, Cilie asked and there was genuine empathy in her tone. A frown flashed across Abel’s face. “It happened four years ago, during the third year of our marriage”, he mumbled. “It was winter as well back then, but nothing like this one” As he spoke, his gaze became distant, still haunted by what had happened back then. Iiro had seen this before, but only in old, broken veterans. “Nadarie went out hunting…”, the man sighed. “She had found boar tracks the day before, a huge beast that would have kept us fed for days. She spoke her prayers to Firun, grabbed her trusty bow, kissed me goodbye and left the house, as she had done countless times before”
He took a deep breath, visibly collecting himself before he continued, his voice hushed, his gaze fixed at the fire. “If only I had stopped her back then…”, he mumbled. “Finding the boar was not difficult. It had left fresh tracks and Nadarie soon spotted the beast, one of the largest that had ever roamed these lands. She took aim, carefully as always, before firing her arrow, but just then, Firun’s boon would leave her”
“She missed?”, Iiro asked and Abel gave him a grim nod. “Only grazed the beast, injuring it and sending it into a frenzy”, he confirmed. “It charged at her and before Nadarie could fire another arrow, it had ran her through, its tusks digging into her belly. She would have died back then if not for another hunter who had followed the same trail. He heard the commotion, killed the beast and rushed my Nadarie to the nearest healer”
“A frenzied boar is not to be taken lightly”, Nadim brought up. “She’s fortunate she lived at all” Abel shook his head and tears were freely running down his cheeks now. “She would not agree with you”, he mumbled. “Yes, she lived and not a day has gone by that I haven’t thanked the Twelve for it. She barely survived and for two months she was closer to Boron’s Halls than to this good earth. The healer stitched her up, but something in her gut was damaged beyond repair. The injuries left her unable to bear children, destroying whatever hope we had for a little family of our own”
Abel’s voice was calm as he spoke these words, almost as if he had made his peace with it. And yet, Iiro could see the sullen look in his eyes, a helpless, numbing grief. He looked up, at the damaged beam. “She did not smile since that day, not as she used to, not with her eyes”, he added. “The first thing she did after returning home was to take an axe and just smash it against the symbol I had carved for her, until I held her back in fear she’d bring the whole house down. Then, she took every amulet, every effigy, anything meant to worship Firun, even her own bow which she had used in his name countless times, piled it all up outside and put it to the torch. I had never seen her with so much anger in her heart, so much resentment. She broke down on that day, cursing the Lord of the Hunt and all he stood for”
“She renounced the Twelve?”, Iiro asked and Abel shook his head at once. “Only Firun”, he clarified. “Instead of him, she turned to other gods. Travia and Tsa, praying for the family we had always longed for. But of all the gods, the one she turned to was the most unlikely, for it was Firun’s own blood, his daughter Ifirn whom she devoted herself to”
“An odd choice, considering what she’s been through”, Iiro mumbled. Abel smirked at this. “Is it though, Sir?”, he asked. “Ifirn is the goddess of safe arrivals and new beginnings, the melting of snow and shelter for lost wanderers. She is all Firun could not be. If one wanted to defy the cruel lord of winter without renouncing the Twelve Gods, what better choice would there be but gentle Ifirn?”
“You may have a point…”, Iiro admitted. He was not a strong believer in the Twelve Gods, though he had prayed to them before, Ifirn included. If he had to devote himself to one of them, she was a better choice than most, as compassionate as Tsa, as fierce as Rondra. “Nadarie had”, Abel corrected him quietly. “Given enough time, I hoped we could recover what we once had. She grieved, of course, and something within her remained broken, but she was never the type to give up and neither was I”
“I can only imagine…”, Cilie mumbled and her tone was grim now. Iiro took one quick look at her and he knew how rotten she had to feel. “Most of the men I know would have cast her aside” Abel gave her a warm smile. “Then that is on you and the company you keep, mylady”, he told her gently. “But I have married my wife for love and with a promise to Travia and neither is easily broken. Yes, I wanted to have a large family, but I wanted her more than anything in the world” His smile faded. “I only wish I would have told her sooner…”, he mumbled.
By now, tears poured down Cilie’s cheeks, but she kept her cool remarkably, still not letting the real reason for their visit slip. “She understands…”, Abel added, before he glanced at Iiro, who met his gaze with calm sympathy. “Has there never been anyone in your life, good sir?” Iiro narrowed his eyes, before he shrugged. “There have been a few girls”, he spoke. “Though only flings, I guess, for one night or a couple. There’s not much room for love in my line of work”
“One day this will change”, Abel muttered. “You will find someone who truly brightens your life and when you do, make sure to let them know. Don’t make the same mistake I did” With a sigh, he rose from his seat, but as he turned to the drawer behind him, Cilie reached for his hand. “You should not blame yourself for what happened”, she spoke softly. “Your wife left through no fault of your own, nor hers. There are darker forces at work here and she…”
“Cilie!”, Iiro cut her off, sharply now. She frowned at his tone, but gave him a barely notable nod, after which she was quiet. Abel smiled at her, but his expression was one of sorrow. “I should have done more”, he sighed, before he turned around. “I don’t know if you have any chance of finding her. There have been a number of people like you, sellswords and bounty hunters, once even a questing knight, but none ever returned”
“We can only try our best”, Iiro replied, as Abel reached into the drawer. “I shall not ask for more”, he stated. “And yet… if you actually find her, then please, could you give her this?” He pulled back, revealing a small carving of white wood, shaped like a swan, as he placed it on the table in front of Iiro. “Tell her that not a day goes by where I don’t pray to the Swan-Maiden for her safe return”
“If all goes well, you can tell her yourself”, Nadim mumbled. He reached out, placing one hand on the trembling farmer’s shoulder. “We will find her, I promise”, he spoke, his voice firm now. “We will do our best to help her” He truly meant it and yet, he met Iiro’s gaze and they both knew what this meant. Just because it worked once, with him and Lucy, didn’t mean that there would be a happy ending for Abel and his wife.
The wooden swan weighed heavily in Iiro’s pocket, even long after they had left Abel’s house. After that, he hadn’t told them much of value, before quickly excusing himself, sending them on their way with good wishes, a few rations of freshly baked bread and a trinket meant for the wife he missed so dearly, a woman they most certainly had to kill. And unknowingly, Abel had given them all the information they needed for it.
“So…”, Iiro began, as soon as they had left the house behind them. By now, the sun was shining, a welcome warmth in this freezing weather, though it remained a weak, distant light, unable to do much against the overwhelming snow that was crushing this land. “Nadarie is an Ifirn-cursed vampire”, he added, his tone grim and serious. He could see that Cilie in particular was heavily affected by Abel’s tale. She had held together admirably and gotten the information they needed, but she was still very much an ordinary civilian, untested by violence. Iiro himself felt a lump in his throat, knowing they had to kill a woman whose husband was grieving for her so bitterly, but he had a decade of combat experience and had become jaded by it. He knew how to kill people he’d much rather spare. “Any idea what her weakness is?”
“Do we have to kill her?”, Nadim asked. “What if this is similar to Lucy? Perhaps there is a better way” Iiro shook his head, but it was Relin who answered, his tone sharp. “Nadarie took my brother”, he hissed. “She has chosen her side” Iiro gave him a nod. “I agree”, he growled. “Lucy, for those who haven’t met her, is a vampire we met in Broonsgorge. She was turned against her will and remained reluctant, feeding only on her willing family. Even Sir Maximus decided against killing her. I’m afraid that won’t be an option with Nadarie, much as I’d like to reunite her and her husband” Nadim let out a sigh, before slightly shaking his head. “I don’t like this one bit…”, he hissed. “But you can count on me. I’ll do what I must”
“Don’t we all…”, Cilie mumbled. She looked up and at Iiro, who had one hand in his pocket, clutched around the wooden carving. “I thought this would be easier. Getting people to talk about their sorrows is what I’m best at, but I never had to lie to them, never like this. That poor man blames himself for something he had no part in”
“You’ll see worse if you continue down this path”, Iiro warned her. “I understand you have a personal stake here, but if you can’t stomach this, then maybe you should consider returning to Baliho” His tone was soft as he spoke, without even a hint of sharpness to it, for he could genuinely sympathize with these two. “Kobold and I will take care of this, I promise” Relin shot him a fierce glare. “Do you have siblings, Iiro?”, he asked, to which Iiro paused for a second. “I grew up with my cousin and she was like a sister to me”, he spoke. “But she’s gone now, like the rest of them, thanks to the Blackfurs”
“Then you know how it is to lose someone”, Relin replied. “But my brother is still out there, I can still find him, so you better believe I will not turn back before we do just that. If I can make a difference, then I must not leave, no matter the danger” Iiro shrugged, but he could not be quite as callous as he’d like to be in this situation. “I will not stop you”, he mumbled, avoiding eye contact with the kid, as they continued down the path.
“Regardless, we must figure out a way to kill Nadarie. I thought I had this deal with the weaknesses figured out, but… how would one even try and kill an Ifirn-cursed vampire?”, he continued after a few tense moments of silence. “Sun for Praios, single combat for Rondra, grave dirt for Boron, but Ifirn? Safe arrivals and new beginnings are a bit too abstract a concept for my liking”
“Melting snow?”, Nadim asked and Iiro took a brief look around the frozen landscape, a dry smirk flashing across his face. “Yeah, we just ask her to wait two and a half more months, maybe then we’ll have a chance”, he chuckled. “And it can’t be something as simple as archery either… can it?” He paused, having to contemplate on his own question. Ifirn was a goddess of archery also, focussing more on mastery of the weapon itself instead of merely the aspect of the hunt, as it was the case with her father. “Actually, do we know a proper archer?”
“Eret seems rather handy with a crossbow”, Relin brought up, but Iiro shook his head. “It needs to be a bow”, he clarified. “Never met a priest of Ifirn who used a crossbow. I wager one lucky shot could take her down, but we need someone to land it” Not for the first time during this journey, he missed Yveshin. The elf had always been a steadfast friend and the best shot he’d ever seen. With him by their side, he would not hesitate to face an Ifirn-cursed vampire. "If only...", he mumbled.
In this moment, as they passed around a corner, he spotted something in the underbrush, half-hidden behind a mound of dirt close to the forest. A man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, his body hidden entirely beneath a wide, brown coat with the hood pulled up. Around him were bodies, several men, though Iiro could not see if they were dead or merely unconscious. There were two scabbards on his back, one holding an elegant bastard sword, the other being empty, with the second sword, still unbloodied, firmly resting in his hand, the tip pointing at the throat of one man who still seemed to be conscious.
“Hold it…”, Iiro mumbled. Instinctively, he placed one hand on the hilt of his sword and next to him, Nadim did the same. Both men moved forwards, placing themselves between Relin and Cilie and the stranger, who just now seemed to notice them. He barely turned around, only enough for Iiro to spot the hint of his face beneath the hood, with a strong, clean-shaven jaw and a smirking mouth.
“Halt, wanderers!”, he exclaimed, his voice deep and booming, with the faint hint of an albernian accent. “I never thought I’d have to ask this in these peaceful lands, but are you friend or foe?” His blade, a well-crafted bastard sword, though Iiro could not see any details from this distance, remained pointed at the downed man’s throat. It was only then that Iiro recognized one of the men lying in the snow. He had been part of the group of thugs that had attacked Kobold and his companions a few hours earlier. The other men did not seem familiar, but Iiro could not claim to have memorized all of their faces.
“That depends”, he replied. “What did these men do to you and what are your plans for them?” The swordsman shrugged. “They attacked me for no reason”, he growled. “Or much rather, they attacked me for a foolish reason. Lured me out of the city under a pitiful ruse, then tried to rob me blind, or something like that. The moment the first of them drew a knife, I stopped listening”
Iiro gave him a grim nod. “I remember that one”, he spoke, pointing at the downed man, whose eyes now widened as he apparently recognized Iiro. “I thought I had made myself clear last time”, he added. “Where’s the rest of your people?” The man spat out, though his face grew pale as he gazed upon the razor-sharp edge of the bastard sword. “The rest left”, he hissed. “But me and the boys, we are the baron’s men! We’re going to defend him from rumourmongers like you and in return he’ll reward us!”
“Your baron’s a cunt”, the swordsman growled in return. “One would think a simple look at that tasteless gallows tree would be enough for you to notice. Is that truly the man you wish to die for?” The downed man’s eyes widened. “Now, we wouldn’t have killed you!”, he claimed, to which the stranger glanced to the ground. There, next to an unconscious man with a nasty bruise on his forehead, Iiro spotted a knife. “Wouldn’t you?”, the swordsman replied. “I ought to kill you for this” He glanced at Iiro. “Any objections?”
Iiro shook his head at once, but now that he had gotten closer, he could not help but notice how well-crafted these bastard swords were. The one resting in the man’s hand was long, longer than Iiro’s sword by far, the pommel adorned with a striking blue gem, while the blade itself was made of dark steel, far darker than that of ordinary swords. This was no weapon forged in the Middenrealm, nor in any other realm Iiro had ever been to. He had seen a similar blade before, wielded by a sellsword from Maraskan he had once known. A man from Albernia, with twin blades from Maraskan… his eyes widened as he realized what this meant.
“No… none from me… mylord”, he mumbled and the swordsman raised a curious eyebrow. “I have stopped these men from assaulting a goblin in the streets of Menzhome. The smart ones learned their lesson. This lowlife though… if he tried to kill you, then he deserves death in return” This brought a clever grin to the other man’s face. “Is that so?”, he spoke, as he glanced back at the downed man. “Do you hear this, fiend? Perhaps you do deserve death”
The thug opened his mouth to speak, but only a pathetic stutter left his throat. “Please… please, no…”, he gasped, staring up at the now raised sword. “Is this what you wanted to hear from me?”, the man from Albernia growled. “Pitiful begging? Or perhaps you’d have killed me regardless had I not been able to defend myself” With these words, he lowered the sword again. “Alas, much as I agree with this traveller here, I shall not kill you today. I am not in the mood to sully my blades with your rotten blood. Besides, the lioness won’t approve of me killing an unarmed man”
A sigh of relief left the thug’s throat, immediately cut off by the swordsman’s cold chuckle. “I’m sure she won’t mind me kicking in your teeth”, he added and faster than Iiro would have expected, given his heavy boots and the thick cloak he was wrapped in, he raised one foot, kicking the thug right in the face and heavily slamming his head against the rock he had leant against. The thug collapsed at last, unconscious, his teeth and nose shattered, but still alive.
Now, the swordsman fully faced Iiro and his group. Nadim clearly remained on guard, but Iiro, who had a good idea just who this man was, knew that any resistance against him would be futile. Fortunately, this man was no enemy. “Did you strike them all down?”, Nadim asked, as he stared at the men in the snow. Iiro counted half a dozen, including the one he had just knocked out. All of them were still breathing and none showed any sign of exterior injuries. “Of course he did”, he spoke. “They were outmatched, I wager”
“Oh?”, the swordsman added, his expression confident and slightly cocky. “I take it you have heard of me?” Iiro gave him a nod, unable to fully hide his enthusiasm. “I recognize those swords… they’re from Maraskan. I heard the stories, all of them!”, he confirmed. “Those are Responder and Revenger, the blades wielded by the Blood Twins during the Tuzak Uprising. And you… pardon me, but you must be the Sword King”
A good-natured chuckle left the man’s throat. “Not every man from Albernia with two swords is the Sword King, you know…”, he began, moving his free hand to his hood. As he pulled it off, he revealed a strong and handsome face, with a broad, clean-shaven jawline, pronounced cheekbones and a straight, prominent nose, as well as a single, silver ring in his left ear. His eyes were small and of a piercing blue, with only the fine wrinkles around them betraying his true age. Though his hairline was receding slowly, the hair itself remained thick and brown, with no hint of grey within it. And yet, he had to be nearly sixty years of age now, for Iiro had grown up with tales of his heroism for as long as he could remember.
“Alas, your guess is correct”, the man confirmed. “I am Raidri Conchobair, Margrave of Winhall, commonly known as the Sword King” He gave the group the faintest of bows, accompanied by a jovial smile, while Iiro found himself hardly able to contain his excitement. That man right there was his childhood hero, his and that of countless boys in this part of the world. The Sword King was a fighter without equal, with countless heroics to his name, from his slaying of the Night Demon in the gardens of Warunk to his legendary duel against both of the infamous Blood Twins, a feat that had single-handedly ended the Tuzak Uprising and restored Middenrealm control over the unruly island of Maraskan.
“I… I…”, he stuttered, fully aware of the baffled, visibly amused look Cilie and Nadim gave him. Relin remained quiet by his side, carefully looking from him to Raidri. “Are you truly the Sword King?”, the boy then asked and his tone was notably less excited than Iiro’s. This brought a jovial smile to Raidri’s face. “Sword King, Margrave of Winhall, Chosen of the Goddess and more titles than even I could possibly remember. My reputation and the twin swords will be proof enough”, he stated. “Though you may call me Raidri”
“Raidri…”, Iiro mumbled, barely able to meet the Sword King’s gaze. “It’s an honour to meet you” Raidri gave him a firm nod. “The honour is all mine, strangers. It’s always a pleasure to be recognized. That being said, I must ask of you not to brag about this meeting to any of the locals. I’d prefer to keep a low profile during my stay in Menzhome, lest I am invited to meet that bloodsucking fiend, the baron”
He was watching Iiro carefully as he spoke, his expression joyful and honest, but his gaze calm and inquisitive. Somehow, the sellsword doubted this choice of words was accidental. “We know why you’re here”, he spoke and immediately, the Sword King’s smile faded. “Do you now?”, he asked. Responder remained firmly in his right hand, but he made no attempt to raise the weapon, not that he needed to. As evidenced by the six unconscious men around him, Raidri Conchobair didn’t even need to draw steel to defend himself if need be.
“We are on the same side”, Nadim interjected. “Iiro has been sent by Duke Waldemar and the rest of us has flocked around him on the way here, for reasons of our own” Iiro could honestly not tell if this was enough to convince the Sword King. Though not known for being distrustful, Raidri Conchobair was no fool and as such, Iiro opened his hand, revealing Waldemar’s silver brooch. Raidri recognized this one and briefly glanced down at his sword, before deciding against sheathing it. “Perhaps you are, sir…?”, he began and Iiro took a deep breath. “Iiro Redal”, he introduced himself.
Raidri gave him a calm nod. “It’s been a while since I last heard a Nivesian name in these lands”, he spoke. “This is Waldemar’s brooch, alright. On its own it proofs little, but it’s better than just the claim alone. You’re the type of man the old bear would be fond of, the type he’d hire even over his own soldiers. A hero in the making, if my eyes do not deceive me. Tell me then, since you know Waldemar sent me here, what do you know of my quest?”
“We know you’ve been sent to find out what had happened to the missing people”, Iiro spoke, finally getting over the fact that he was standing in front of Raidri Conchobair, quite likely the greatest hero Aventuria had seen since the days of Geron the One-Handed. “You were sent after the Princess Walpurga and her husband, Prince Dedric, after they had gone missing during their own investigation”
“You seem well-informed, Iiro”, Raidri confirmed. “I will do you the courtesy of confirming what you already know. Waldemar sent me south for just that and for the past month, I have followed the steps of Princess Walpurga and Prince Dedric. My journey has now led me to Menzhome, where I had to avoid the baron’s men and their prying eyes, got ambushed by a group of overeager thugs and then I met a group of people who claimed to be on my side” He narrowed his eyes. “Sounds a bit too convenient, wouldn’t you agree?”
Iiro took a deep breath. “And yet, you are not sure if you can believe us”, he replied. “What can I do to prove my good intentions?” Raidri shook his head. “I am afraid proof is impossible in this situation”, he spoke. “There is no way for me to confirm your honesty. However, I don’t want to dismiss a possibly ally in this city. If you’re up for a test of your character, perhaps we can work something out”
“What do you have in mind, mylord?”, Iiro asked and as soon as he spoke these words, Raidri’s smirk returned. “It was Waldemar himself who once told me the true value of a man could only be measured in combat”, he stated. “You seem to be a passable swordsman and I itch for some exercise after the dull weeks of travel” He glanced around at the unconscious men. “And no, these do not count. They were unarmed safe for the fool with the knife and I’ve made sure that he won’t be able to hold a weapon for a very long time”, he added. “I would love to challenge you to a sparring match. No talking, just honest combat. Face me without fear and I will hear you out in return, compare your knowledge with mine and see if you are truly a valuable ally”
“A sparring match?”, Iiro exclaimed. The Sword King was undoubtedly the best fighter in all Aventuria, a man who had slain demons and ogres in single combat. No living man could hope to even hold their own in single combat against him. And yet, Raidri seemed perfectly serious about this. “Don’t be afraid, good man”, he spoke. “If you accept, you may attack me with all you have. No harm shall come to you, I swear it upon my name”
“And… might there be another way?”, Nadim interjected, which earned him a mild glare from the Sword King. “A coward’s way, you mean?”, he asked. “Not that I could blame you. I refuse to duel with blunt weapons and I know perfectly well of my reputation. It won’t speak for your character, but nobody shall hold a refusal against you, Iiro” He shook his head. “In fact, this day has made me quite thirsty and I have accepted beverage as payment before. If you’re paying, I shall accompany you to the nearest tavern, where we can discuss the next steps over a drink or a dozen”, he offered. “But wouldn’t that be a shame, Iiro? Missing your chance to prove your mettle against Rondra’s chosen champion… if you’re any bit the swordsman I hope you are, then that won’t sit right with you”
[Accept Raidri’s challenge] [Invite him for a drink]