Quendalon/Session19ThorwaldInterlude

It was a rare moment when he and his entire Circle seemed resolved to a task in thought and in deed, but this was such a moment. As Thorvald stared down at the demon horde in front of them, he knew there was no other choice. It was fight or die. More than likely it was fight AND die.

The jade sword flew to his hand, its weight not so burdensome as in the past. He stared down at the broken shapes below him and the twisted form of the thing in the center.

These things must die. This we can at least agree on. This we can at least ALL agree on. They call us Anathema but these are the true Anathema!

As ever, Li charged first. But he was not far behind.

* * * * *

“DEMON!!!” They screamed at him as they fell back.

Thorvald turned and his jaw dropped. The figure that stood in the town hall was not the man he once knew. Sarl Bright Eyes was young, handsome and cocky with dancing honey colored eyes and it was only those eyes that gave way his true identity, though they danced no more. The rest of him was worse, his golden hair had turned white, his face once fair was darkened and lined with wrinkles and his oft-smug countenance lined with a confused terror.

“It is Sarl!!” Someone else cried but then the breath caught in his throat and he stepped back.

Thorvald was the first to make his way through the crowd of retreating villagers, his iron sword was out and pointed at the stumbling figure of Sarl Brighteyes. As the villagers pulled back, Sarl looked at them with eyes that seemed to not see what was happening around him. He has no idea where he is. Thorvald realized as he saw Sarl stop a few steps from the well. He had the look of a man woken from a dream and not sure if what he was seeing was real or not.

“He is touched by the Fair Folk,Thorvald!” Rak the Horsekeeper warned. “Be careful!”

At this others began to murmur. “He is cursed.” One man said and others began to take up the cry in hushed whispers. Cursed, Bewitched, Anathema. Soon everyone was whispering as Sarl held his hands up and stared at them as he was seeing them for the first time.

Thorvald was within 10 paces when all of a sudden Sarl’s head jerked up and his eyes bored straight into him. Those golden eyes, once full of insolent mischief were now hollow yet possessed of an intensity that they never knew in life.

“Thorvald…” He spoke his voice sounding like stones grating together. “Thorvald….what is happening. Where are they?”

Thorvald said nothing. He merely pointed his sword at Sarl and held it there. Only now he noticed the extent of the young ranger’s ordeal. He was cut on the arms and face and bruised probably from a fall and his clothes were in tatters. Already he could see the blue at the ends of his fingers for he had lost his gloves. The cold had already started to kill him. It was no wonder. His patrol was overdue a fortnight and he was the only man to return. How he survived was a mystery.

But it was no mystery to the others. The whispers of Anathema and Cursed were even quieter than when they started but no less powerful. Thorvald stared at Sarl, or rather the thing Sarl became and held his sword out in front of him.

Perhaps he is just hurt. How he survived is a mystery but it is not impossible. A man might survive if he had the will. I should give him the test of cold iron.

But to do so he would have to let the thing inside his reach, if Sarl was indeed tainted that small distance could be the difference between life and death.

The shouts continued.

“Thorvald, strike him down! Don’t wait!!” Therjak the sheeptender called out. “He is possessed.”

Sarl! A voice cried out from within. It is NO creature it is Sarl! And almost as if to confirm this, the figure in front of him stretched a trembling hand out towards him, ice hung off his arm and it seemed as if even his fingernails were thin sheets of ice.

Without thinking, Thorvald struck.His greatsword clove Sarl from shoulder to sternum and he fell to his knees. Before he died, he looked up at Thorvald with a look of mild surprise that was more a look one gave a man who he bumped into accidentally than to man who had just shoved a sword in his gut. The look was there only for an instant before Sarl’s eyes fluttered and he fell back, his legs twitching once before he died. Thorvald pulled his blade from the body of Sarl, for he knew now that it was Sarl and for a moment all that could be heard was the wind, a distant eagle and the sound of steel grating against bone. Several dogs came forward and sniffed at the corpse.

The dogs... Thorvald realized looking at the body. The dogs were not barking. Why didn’t I listen?

He did not know how much time passed before other rangers were there weapons in hand. The other fighting men were in the longhouse when it all happened. When they ran up and saw the scene they shouldered past the anxious villagers who were telling their accounts of the demon slaying and came to him. The body was shortly borne away and he answered all questions as best he could. When it was all said and done there was a quick burning, stern talk of the importance of vigilance and a clap on his back for a job well done.

That night, Thorvald brooded. He sat in the longhouse alone staring into the dying embers of the fire in one of the outer hearths. Earlier he had gone to his uncle to voice his doubts but his uncle dismissed them as easily as he would dismiss him as a child when he would ask for something foolish.

“It seems that Sarl was not tainted.” He spoke his voice as ever was gruff and his words blunt. “But what of it? If you tested him and he WAS tainted it might have been YOU burned along with him and the dead gods knows who else. You erred, but anyone else would have made the same error in your place.”

“Even my father?” Thorvald had asked.

Something strange passed in his uncles eyes and his countenance grew stern. “Your father…” He began. “…your father Thorvald would have killed him even if he KNEW he was untainted.”

“But…”

“You saw him yourself Thorvald. Whatever happened in those mountains had broken him. He may have survived yes, but his mind was gone. He was a walking deadman though his heart still beat. You did him a mercy boy. No one will hold it against you.”

And his uncle was right. Not only did no one blame him for Sarl’s death, almost everyone still believed that he WAS somehow touched by the Fair Folk or possessed. Only the other rangers knew the truth and they dismissed it as little more than an unfortunate accident “Some truths,” His uncle told him putting his hand up on his shoulder “Some truths only a warrior can embrace.”

But this thought did not comfort him. Thorvald stared into the fire and saw Sarl’s face in the flames. What had happened to him up in those mountains to make him old and destroy his spirit? Sarl was a mischievous, thieving, fool who thought more about sticking his cock in virgin daughters than he did in ticking his sword in the bellies of the Fair Folk. He was selfish, prankish, irritating and there were many nights when he had to run for his life after he went one insult too far. Once Thorvald lifted him bodily and hurled him down the steps of the hall after he caught him cheating at Iron and Stones. The fall broke three of his ribs and his arm but not long after he was taken to the wise woman and patched up, Sarl limped back into the longhouse made a jest about the perils of gambling and resumed playing like nothing happened. The man who came back from the mountains was nothing like him. Thorvald knew that the longhouse would be a more quiet, subdued place without his jests, bawdy songs and ingratiating smile.

I knew… Thorvald thought gritting his teeth. I knew in my heart he was not taken. Why did I kill him? Why didn’t I trust my instincts?

He remembered then the eyes. The people hiding behind him, waiting for him…wanting for him to strike Sarl down, the curses of anathema that ran through the crowd. And in an instant he realized the truth.

I did what was expected. I did what was expected but not what was right. In the heat of the moment I did not want to weigh my judgment against the wishes of my people. They were convinced he was taken and so was I. He angrily hurled a chip of a fire log into the hearth and saw as the fire crackled and spit flecks of dust into the air.

Never again… Thorvald swore. Never again will I let my eyes see a demon where a man stands.

Or a man where a demon stands… the flames seemed to say as the hearthfire kept him company through the cold night.