A Sorcerer’s Journal

  Quest

  Jeron Warder

  Entry 1

  While running some errands in town today, I experienced something that shook me up pretty badly. A porter was carrying a crate of axe heads and tripped, crushing the crate and scattering axe heads all over the cobblestone street. A group of kids thought it was hilarious and laughed loudly. It was all very innocent, but it sounded just like a goblin ambush. It didn’t matter that after turning I could see what happened. The sound of the spill and the high-pitched laughter instantly brought back the terror of a real event. I started shaking and breathing too fast, and it drew stares from nearby townsfolk. I had to turn and walk away as calmly as I could, and only after a few minutes of walking was I able to calm myself again.

  Trauma is something that stays with you for a while, even years after the events that created the trauma had taken place. The particular event I was reminded of today took place in the year 1219 After the Breaking. We found ourselves marching through deeply shadowed woods that day, the tangled undergrowth clawing at our armor as if sentient and actively trying to keep us from advancing. The briars made me very glad that father taught us to smith armor as he did. Armed with plate armor, the briars were only able to harm me if I was careless and tripped, but they definitely slowed the unit down. Militia recruits had to provide their own armor, and not every member of our ten-person talon could provide as much protection for themselves. As a result, I could hear muttered curses further back in the formation from those who had armor of a lesser quality. The abundance of water made the briars thick this close to the river, and I thought if we could find a game trail maybe we could get some relief. On a positive note, at least the forest was shaded from the typical afternoon heat.

  My twin brother, Bran, and I marched side by side at the head of our talon, just behind Sergeant Doornail. Doornail wasn’t his real name, of course, but a nickname earned for good reason. He’d had a very long career as a soldier, and he was as tough as they came, hence the nickname. We were fortunate to be under his command, as he was teaching us the fighting skills he learned through a great many battles. I looked to my right at Bran, who looked to barely even notice the thorns. Bran was a very large young man at any age, and even at nineteen years old, he was as strong as any man in Stonekeep. He was a gentle giant, though, and was very pleasant and passive unless moved to anger. It took a lot to do that, but when he was angry, I would definitely not want to be the target of his ire.

  Bran and I pushed through the thorns, keeping a sharp watch all around us for the dozens of deadly dangers present in our world. As sure as the world was flat, a moment’s inattention could be the death of any of us. As if sensing what I was thinking, Bran spared a glance behind him to the plate armored form of Elle. Elle the bell, I liked to think, and not just because the words rhymed. She was as clear headed a person as I’ve ever met, and she was always pleasant to talk to. She was just as focused on our surroundings as we were, and for good reason. She was like a beautiful songbird in the dark forest, only she relied on armor and companions for defense rather than flight. Bran had never said it, but he’d been in love with Elle from the moment he set eyes on her almost ten years ago. She knew it, of course, as anyone with eyes could see it, but Elle had had a difficult childhood, and that experience made her deeply distrustful and fearful of men. Those who knew her could sense the same sort of fear in her now.

  Mira marched beside Elle and directly behind me. She looked pretty uncomfortable under all that armor she wore, but she was a scrappy little thing and would never admit she was afraid or hurting. Her pack wasn’t as heavy as those of the rest of us because she wanted room for Bandit on top of the most critical of her supplies. Bran agreed to carry the rest of her stuff out of compassion, but also because it made him look good to Elle. Or so he hoped. Either way, Bandit was rarely out of Mira’s sight despite the sergeant’s preferences, and since Bandit couldn’t be kept away from her human friend, accommodations were made.

  Bandit was the most troublesome pet you could think of, even for a raccoon, and even now her little nose and bandit-masked face were visible over Mira’s shoulder pauldron, sticking out of the pack, alert for any danger. Or honey buns. That little raccoon loved honey buns, and the thought of her stealing one of Johala Baker’s honey buns with both paws and hobbling away on two legs as fast as she could still makes me smile. She was thirty pounds of pure, furry trouble. As I thought of that, birds starting chirping loudly around us, prompting Bandit to make a little yip and growl before disappearing inside Mira’s backpack.

  Mira never missed a trick. “There’s trouble close by!” she called out, just loud enough to be heard by everyone in the talon.

  I couldn’t help but remember lessons my mother gave me as a child about the dangerous creatures we had to watch out for in this part of the world. I began reciting them in my mind, on the lookout for each one. Spike berries, death lilies, renders, quill beasts, stroks, pit spiders…

  We didn’t get another twenty feet through the brush before something big sprang out from the undergrowth and attacked Bran. He already had his shield on his arm and had just taken his short sword out of its sheath when something partially green and partially brown, but all fangs and talons, hurtled at him. The speed of the attack was stunning, and it slashed at his shield and breastplate before he could set himself. Render! Bran was barely able to get his shield positioned correctly before the render chomped down on it. We could easily hear the shriek of its fangs on the metal. Bran yelled out in surprise, knocking me aside as the render pushed him into and past me.

  “What the… “someone yelled.

  “Render!” Sergeant Doornail hollered as he drew his blade. “Surround it!”

  Renders were very large reptiles, around twenty to twenty-five feet long and weighing more than three thousand pounds. They had a total of eight appendages, six of which were used for walking and the two front-most arms were located on an upright part of their torso and were used for gripping and slashing with their formidable claws. Renders were able change their coloration to blend in with their surroundings, and with their strength and quickness, it was only their stupidity and cannibalistic tendencies that kept them from overrunning the world. Like many predators, renders only felt comfortable when they were able to focus on one thing at a time. Facing more than one opponent made them afraid and want to retreat to safety, but hunger always forced them to try anyway. It’s what made them so dangerous. A render would attack a heavily armed caravan to seize one guard or pack animal without thought of the consequences when it was hungry enough.

  The render shook its horned reptilian head, trying to tear off Bran’s arm or drag him into the forest, whichever served to fill its belly first. I quickly stepped around to Bran’s right to thrust with my shortsword, drawing blood, and was rewarded with a powerful slash of its claws across my shield. It didn’t hurt me much, but it knocked me off balance and kept me from attacking again immediately. Sergeant Doornail was already flanking the render on my right and thrust with his sword at its side, where he scored a solid hit to its scaly torso. Elle was on Bran’s left side and hacked at the render’s right flank. The others in our group scrambled to surround the creature and shouted to confuse it as Bran slashed at its snout with his shortsword. It surged forward and scored two grappling hits on Bran’s leg with its two front claws, and it started pulling Bran into the forest, still chomping down on his shield. Even as big as Bran was, he was easily yanked off his feet. By himself, he was going to lose this fight.

  Fortunately, Bran was not by himself. I recovered from the blow I took and thrust as hard as I could at its ribs. I was a lot stronger than I looked (a fact I kept secret), and my shortsword sank deeply. The render roared loudly, releasing Bran’s shield, and tried its best to bite me. Its maw was almost able to open as wide as my shield, but I managed to block the attack and struggled to retain my balance. It was a whole lot stronger than I had imagined, and the sheer strength and fury of the attack put me in the mindset of a little mouse instead of the soldier I was trained to be. It was something instinctual, that fear, and I can tell you it’s almost impossible to overcome in the heat of the moment. The other soldiers in my talon were hacking or stabbing the render the best they could, but those in the back of the formation were floundering through the briars more than they were helping. At the very least, they were helping by confusing it.

  The render secured its grip on Bran with both front claws despite his flailing attacks and snapped at the nearest adversary, which happened to be me again. I raised my rectangular steel shield to block and pressed the attack. Though only a few seconds had passed, the render was already wounded in several places. It never stopped thrashing about and trying to drag its meal into the forest, and the struggle surged this way and that with Bran now hanging upside down by his legs, still flailing at it with his sword. I thrust again and scored a solid hit at the base of its neck. Elle was still hacking at its right arm, and the sergeant was doing his bloody work on it to my right, when suddenly it seemed to sink on its left-hand side. With Bran still in its clutches, it rolled completely over me and Sergeant Doornail and used that momentum to get itself further away from the rest of the soldiers.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Our talon kept harrying the beast. Though the render was losing strength, it roared, kicked, and snapped at us in the wild melee. Suddenly the render pivoted and struck out with its tail as it turned to flee. Even so, it kept trying to drag Bran away, but it appeared that blood loss caused its struggles to lose strength. Its roars changed to deep growling mixed with panting for breath. A few moments after a final thrust from Mira, the render shuddered and died, collapsing in the churned earth with a thud.

  Sergeant Doornail and I helped Bran up off the ground, all of us breathing heavily. We all gathered around the render, straining to catch our breath, the battle fatigue taking its toll on us. Bran flexed his leg a time or two and nodded at me. I didn’t even have the presence of mind to insult his fighting skills right then, which was something I’d eternally regret. All I could do was hunch over with my fists on my knees, trying to get my breathing under control.

  “Well, done, everyone!” Sergeant Doornail said. “Well done. Ten minutes!”

  “I’m all right,” he said when Bran noticed me looking. “Scratched up my armor, though.” He shook his head ruefully.

  I knew how much effort he’d put into the plate armor he made. “It was worth every bit of sweat and sacrifice you put into your armor. Aren’t you glad you made it thicker like dad said?”

  “My leg is thankful. I didn’t know how strong renders really were.”

  “Well, you do now.”

  This wasn’t the first time Bran and I’d seen a render, but it was the first time the others had, and they took a long look at the beast. The monster lying dead at our feet was about twenty-five feet long from snout to tail, and about eight to ten feet tall when standing at rest. It was a big one and must have weighed more than most others of its kind. It had three claws on each of its limbs, and the talons on the frontmost arm-like limbs were razor sharp and about four inches long each. The fangs in its reptilian maw were sharp as daggers and about three inches long. As we watched, its scaly hide changed back into a grayish color from the brown and green it was a moment ago.

  “No wonder we didn’t see it,” Elle said.

  “Thank God for Bandit’s warning,” Mira said.

  A chorus of affirmations from the three of us greeted that statement, none louder than Bran’s. Bran took off his backpack and rummaged around for a moment before bringing out a small parcel wrapped in wax paper. Bandit peeked from Mira’s backpack, her attention immediately fixated on that package, nose wiggling frantically.

  “My last one. I was going to eat this for dessert tonight,” Bran said as he opened the paper, “but I think a certain someone deserves a treat.”

  With that, he handed the contents of the package, a freshly baked honey bun, over to Bandit, who was hanging halfway outside Mira’s pack with excitement, straining towards the honey bun with both paws. You could almost see the joy on her little masked face as she grabbed it and disappeared inside the backpack.

  Once we collected ourselves, no one wasted time in doing what they needed to do. We all took long drinks from our waterskins and refilled them from the Deepflow River. After making sure no one was in the trees still, Sergeant Doornail took command.

  “Enough standing around, you sluggards! Form up!”

  We jumped back into marching order facing the direction we were originally headed. The sergeant started pushing through the briars again and we followed behind as we had been trained these many months. He started angling for higher ground, I noticed. The river was still on our left and we were only thirty miles, or a day and a half, from Stonekeep. The march through the dark forest wore on.

  After another two hours or so, which made the time around six in the afternoon, the sergeant called a halt. Rays of sunlight were breaking through the forested gloom in this spot. The two-hundred-foot-tall oak trees were casting a lot of shade, for which I was thankful, but plate armor was really hot and we couldn’t risk removing our helms to wipe the sweat from our eyes. His eyes were fixed on the ground at his feet, and he knelt down for a closer look. Bran and I were both curious what caught his attention, and it became obvious that we found a small game trail leading from the river on our left to the hills on our right.

  “Goblins,” Sergeant Doornail said in his growling voice. Finally, a sign of our true quarry, the reason we were so far from civilization. “Looks like only a few sets of tracks were laid today. We should find their lair above us in a cave or rock overhang. Goblins hate sunlight, so maybe we can catch them sleeping. Shields at the ready, boys. Swords out. Advance.”

  The fields around the city of Stonekeep were being attacked and gleaned by goblins recently. That was very unusual since the goblins were not known to live close by. They were usually the slaves of something larger or more powerful, like the ogres of Grunbar, whose homeland was far away from human lands, especially our kingdom of Mithram. Goblins were around four feet tall with dark, thick hide, and were known to be as black hearted and evil as beings come, without exception.

  Goblins were less dangerous than the ogres, though. Ogres were around ten to twelve feet tall and were all muscle held together with sinew, hate, and cruelty. They had thick armor they wore for battle, which they were about nearly every day, and fought with fearsome two-handed weapons. The ogres had a society built around slave labor. They didn’t care where the slaves came from, whether from other clans of ogres or from the closer human lands like Fellton. They just wanted more for themselves. More of what? More of everything. Some mothers in Stonekeep would tell their children that they would sell them to the Ogres of Grunbar if they kept misbehaving. Knowing some of them, it wasn’t always an idle threat. Either way, goblins could not be allowed to gain a foothold close to human lands or real unpleasantness would follow. That’s why Councilor Fellick Goodman, the Warleader of Stonekeep, had ordered Sergeant Doornail to take his talon and scout out the goblins. He said he would send more warriors when we brought word of their location.

  We marched after the sergeant, trying to keep from making noise as much as possible. We were all armored to some degree with plate armor, chainmail and gambesons and we made a lot of noise, but we still had to try. We had been told that goblins were nasty business, that they set up traps and ambushes for the unwary, and that in large numbers they could overwhelm defenders with the sheer ferocity of crazy full-on charging attacks. They just sprang up from concealment and ran over each other in a frenzy trying to overrun a formation of warriors, then just stabbed, clawed, and bit until one side won the battle. None of us wanted to be treated to that, so we approached with caution.

  Sure enough, after ten minutes of careful advance, Sergeant Doornail found the first tripwire trap, which was attached to a spiked pendulum made from a log. We whispered word back to each man where the danger was, then kept advancing. Their camp must be close. Sergeant Doornail found a pit trap, too. It was cunningly concealed with sticks and leaves, but it was easy to spot if you knew what to look for. The sergeant knew all their tricks.

  Doornail held up a fist to signal a halt. The trail ended about twenty feet ahead at a small clearing under an exceptionally large oak tree growing next to a hill. The hill had a cave entrance in it, which was about twelve feet high and twelve across. In the clearing was a small fire pit with a few rabbits on spits, a canvas bag full of grain sitting next to it, and sixteen goblins chattering among themselves, each with their beady eyes fixed on the cooking rabbits. They must be hungry to be so fixated on the meal that they didn’t hear our approach, even if they were pushing and shoving a little for position. The sergeant looked at us behind him and grimly signaled for us to form a circular formation behind him, and then advance. We entered a well-practiced formation with three ranks of three soldiers with one trailing, which would expand into a circle once we entered the clearing, and we quickly advanced.

  The goblins heard us coming, of course. There was panic on their faces as they turned and saw us. After a moment of stunned comprehension, they just broke and ran into the cave, shrieking. I didn’t know at the time if this was a bad thing or not, but I should have guessed it was bad. We advanced more cautiously in our circular formation with shields protecting us from the projectiles they always carried. Sure enough, with high pitched yells, they hurled javelins out of the darkness of the cave as we advanced. Our shields had a very thin layer of metal on the wooden planks underneath, and the javelins bounced off our shields with the ringing noise of metal on metal. There didn’t look to be any light coming from the cave mouth. That was a concern, as they could see in the dark and humans couldn’t. Sergeant Doornail called a halt as we got to the fire since the goblins appeared to be trapped inside.

  “Brotlan and Trevic,” Sergeant Doornail said, pointing at two men at the back of the circle, “Get your torches out of your packs and give them to Mira. Mira, you’re to be in the center of the circle with the torches,” the sergeant said.

  They quickly did as commanded, and Mira lit the torches in the campfire. On the sergeant’s order, we advanced into the cave. After the first two volleys, they must have run out of javelins because no more goblins launched anything at us as we came inside. There were no tunnel branches or side passages that we could see as we advanced. There was just darkness ahead, along with a surprisingly regular cave around us. It occurred to me that this cave was chiseled out of the earth, not at all naturally formed. That should have been out of the capabilities of a dozen goblins, but that was a thought for another time.

  “Five-man shield wall,” Doornail ordered.

  We closed our circle and made two ranks of five men with Mira in the center in the back. That effectively sealed the tunnel with shields. The rear rank was ready to support the front rank from being overrun by a charge. The sergeant was in the center of the front rank, Bran was to his right and I was to his left. There was still no sight of the cowardly goblins as we began advancing again, but I started to think my ears were playing tricks on me as we moved forward. I could hear a sound like a murmuring water or wind through the trees. It was just a slightly more metallic sound than it should be. Alarm bells started ringing in my head as I considered the implications, and I wasn’t the only one.

  “Sergeant, we’re not up against sixteen goblins,” Bran said with certainly.

  We started hearing the same sound coming from behind us. Comprehension dawned on us all at the same moment. We were trapped. There was a very deeply voiced, guttural chuckle coming from deeper in the cavern, just out of sight. Mira threw one of her torches down the passage a way, and what I saw there made my heart skip a beat. It was a large mass of goblins filling the tunnel further than I could see. There must have been at least a hundred of them, and there was a huge, hulking figure that could only belong to an ogre standing in the center of the warband. Dozens of goblins started coming down the tunnel towards our rear. Perceiving that our escape was cut off, the back rank pivoted to make a shield wall against the threat behind us without need of a command from the sergeant. At that moment, seeing the hunger in their eyes and the evil delight in their fanged grins, they knew that we knew we were trapped. One talon would never be able to fight its way out of this.

  One of the young men behind me whimpered. If I didn’t reveal myself, we’d all die for sure.

  Fear.

  Paralyzing panic.

  Knowing what revelation of my abilities meant, I was overpowered by despair.