The night was cold and the wind howled up the ravine. It was a testament to the skill of the man that he could keep a fire alive on this night. He sat wrapped in a black cloak with his eyes closed. He appeared to be asleep, but occasionally he would cock his head and listen intently at an unfamiliar noise. He uncoiled easily and threw some more wood on the fire and instantly was back in the same position, cloak wrapped around him as if he had never moved.
He was a tall man with wide shoulders, which his suit of antiquated elven armor could not hide. He was lean rather than stocky, but his movements bespoke of power. His face was partially hidden by the cowl he wore, but it was his eyes that drew your attention. Once called kind, they now flashed with anguish and despair. His armor, once the best in the land, now needed mending and even showed signs of disrepair. Only his sword, never far from his right hand appeared to be in good order.
He sat silently, content with his horse as his only companion. He was a loner by choice and his scars indicated that it was a wise idea that he be left alone. Tonight his mind traveled back along the paths of his youth, while his ears unconsciously monitored the natural night sounds. He dwelt on his mentor and teacher, Jacyn Suncrusher, who had guided him along the path of Righteousness and Justice. Always counseling the young knight, with advice or a stern word if he strayed from the path. Now he was gone and Aedarton missed him tremendously.
He caught a muffled scream in the wind at the same instant his horse raised his head and snorted. “Asagatan kasha “, he spoke softly in a language only his horse understood. The horse quieted, but remained tense. He strained to hear more, but the wind shrieked instead. Effortlessly he rose and melted into the shadows around the firelight.
“Isha kasha” He spoke quietly and the horse walked to his side. In one fluid move he was in the saddle, at one with the horse. He strapped his shield to his left arm and watched the horse’s ears, knowing he would hear or smell danger long before he did. Softly, he began to chant and he felt the strength of Tyr protect him.
Danger materialized out of the shadows of the trees in the form of a squinty eyed, coarse haired figure with large canines glistening in the firelight, then another, until 4 Orcs stood at the edge of the camp grunting at the fire. Aedarton grinned wolfishly, for the fools were nightblind now. Orcs and fire never mixed well, he knew. As they shuffled closer, he charged.
The first Orc had his head separated from his body before they knew he was there. Before the head hit the ground, the second Orc was split from shoulder to groin. The third Orc managed to get his spear up, but the man charged and took the spear on his shield, splitting the Orc’s head in two as he rode past.
The last Orc had notched an arrow and fired as the man turned. It struck him in the shoulder, but did not stop the charge. Aedarton simply rode the Orc down and trampled him to death. He wheeled the horse nimbly, still possessed with the battle lust. When he realized all his foes were dead he dismounted and packed quickly, muttering a quick prayer to Tyr. He knew that where there was one Orc hunting party, there would be others. This party had fallen quickly, but the man knew from past experience that Orcs were tough as nails. They were ferocious fighters and were not to be treated lightly.
He felt the twinge as he moved and noticed the warm feeling of blood. The arrow had wedged in between his armor and punctured his skin. He reached and broke off the feathered haft. He would deal with this wound when he was in a safer place.
He had traveled a short distance when he found the source of the scream earlier. The dead bodies of a woman and two small children lay butchered in the ghostly moonlight by a makeshift camp. Aedarton bowed his head and silently said a small prayer. Wisdom dictated that he should be on his way, for he could no longer help these three, but he was Paladin and bound by ancient rules. As he began preparations for burial, he silently wondered what would possess a woman to be out here alone with two small children. They were dressed well, but plainly. He buried the children side by side, his heart crying for the senseless death of someone so young. As he carried the woman to the hole, a necklace fell out of her tunic. Aedarton gently reached to return the necklace to its hiding place. The front of the necklace glittered in the moonlight. Aedarton gasped, recognizing it immediately, and fell to his knees, cradling the woman’s dead body in his arms. He stared at the necklace, then turned his face to the heavens and screamed a promise filled with anguish.
“They will speak of the fury of my retribution for a thousand years.”
Aedarton buried the woman by the children, shedding a single tear. He then went hunting, for Death had come to live in the mind of a man.
A Paladin's Revenge
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