Hero
Chapter One
It was a perfect early summer day, the
kind that
makes poets want to drone on and on, with stunning cloudless blue skies, a hundred
shades of green in the surrounding forest, birds singing in the trees, bees
hurrying from flower to flower. The rider on the road took absolutely no notice
of the tranquil beauty surrounding him. He was dressed in the panoply of a
knight, complete with a coat of arms, but his armor was a little worn, his
surcoat a bit frayed. He stared directly ahead, mentally adding up the miles to
the next large town, and comparing it with the light weight of his purse. No
matter how he added it up, he didn’t have enough silver to make it. He had to
find a job, and fast.
His name was Sir Olak of Dald, and he was
the youngest son of King Athelard of Dald, a tiny
country completely surrounded by high mountains, making it nearly impossible to
invade. Not that anyone would want to, Dald was home to a large community of
dwarves. With the permission of the
Crown, the
Dwarves mined
the gold and gemstones in the surrounding mountains. They paid a hefty sum in tithe and taxes, and that was enough to
comfortably maintain the country, but not any to waste on things like war, or
philandering younger sons. And with the allies that the Dwarves could call
upon, no one except a madman invaded a country with a Dwarf Enclave.
Olak was supposed to be a
Hero, with a capital H. As the youngest of 5, he was so far removed from the
‘heir and a spare’ that unless his four older siblings and all their children
dropped dead, the closest he’d get to the throne was standing behind it with the rest of his
siblings
during audience. Since he really didn’t have anything to do growing up other
than standing around at court functions, he fell into typical younger son
behavior. He spent his days hunting and playing games with his friends and nights drinking,
gambling, and as he grew older, seducing the maids and peasants in the castle
and surrounding areas. He was given the standard education of a young noble,
including arms training. The King, despairing of what to do with the
boy, sent him off to be a squire. Barely squeaking by, Olak managed to perform his
duties well enough that he finagled a knighthood out of the ancient derelict
that his father had apprenticed him to. The old bastard had knighted him after
he paid a tavern wench to spend
the night with the old drunk. Not the approved way to gain one's knighthood,
but Olak figured he was
justified. He was expected to become a Knight, after all. Who cared if he really
believed in all that junk a Knight was supposed to stand for, it was simply an end to
a means. And he figured what the hell, he might even be able to seduce a few
more country wenches. They tended to be more impressed by a title of any kind
than their worldlier city counterparts.
Once he was knighted, it was
expected that he go out Questing to become a Hero. The problem was that Olak wasn’t much good at
either questing or being a hero. He’d much rather spend his time wenching, drinking and sleeping
late in a soft featherbed, but his father had cut off all monetary support once
he was knighted. It was expected at this point he make his own way through the
world, being a Knight and all. Olak managed to find enough small jobs like
finding lost children in the forest, or dealing with a local ‘bandit’ that
usually turned out to be some vagabond holding up women and stealing their
jewelry. Monetary rewards were usually small, but after the deed was done, he
was put up in the best room at the local inn or
a guest room in the best house in the village, plied with much food and drink,
and willing maidens to warm his bed for the night. The last of those jobs had been
some weeks ago, and while he could usually charm a meal out of the local girls,
anything else had to be paid for in cold hard cash.
The forest thinned as Olak traveled south, turning
into pastoral rolling hills, dotted with sheep and cows, separated by hedges
from neat little plowed fields full of crops. There was the occasional
farmhouse, but no towns on the horizon. His horse, a big dapple gray warhorse
named Aman, was middle aged, and
not inclined to break out of his ambling walk unless there was a real need. Olak wasn’t sure what he
would do about replacing him when the gelding became too old to carry him. He might
have to travel back to Dald and beg for one from his father’s royal stables. Not a pleasant prospect to have to
deal with the days of lecture from his parents on why he hadn't won a new steed
for himself.
A crossroad appeared, and Olak rode up to the signpost.
There was a town a few miles up the road, and he pulled out his map and
consulted it. He had crossed into another country when he left the forest, he
was now in the kingdom of Treegan, a place known for its quiet pastoral
lifestyle, and not much in the way of Quests. According to the map, there was
one sizable town not too far up the road. He put his map back in his belt pouch
and nudged Aman into a walk
again.
As the aging warsteed ambled down the road, Olak pondered his existence.
He was middling handsome, in a standard princely kind of way. Blue eyes that
made the tavern wenches sigh and giggle, thick locks of wavy mid brown hair fell
just past his shoulders. He was fairly fit, riding all day and the daily sword
practice he did still do kept him that way. Barely eking by and not being able
to eat rich foods and drink to excess anymore since he left court kept him
slimmed down as well. Probably a good thing, otherwise he'd be round as a ball,
like one of his sisters.
As the leagues slid by, and Olak wondered how long before
he could 'retire', and return to Dald, and his
former life. Probably not for a long while, he was only 28, and His Royal Father
was not one to tolerate idlers. The sister who was slated to take the throne
after their father was a bit more charitable, as long as he kept away from
court. Maybe he could sweet talk her into a nice little chateau up in the
mountains, with a generous stipend. Worth a try anyway.
