Son of Soron (6 page)

Ungar seemed not to care as he ordered the men to drag the body off the road into a ravine. Politics and kings irritated him. He cared not what was in letter, but he stuck it in his shirt.  He was illiterate. He would have someone read it to him in private.  Gold coins and a horse was a good day’s work; he was rather happy with the outcome of today’s heist. Little did he know the chain of events that killing this messenger would lead to.
 

Chapter nine

VENECIA, THE LARGEST of Solotine’s southern cities, was a sprawling diverse group of communities rolled into one thriving city. As a port city, it was the central hub for traders from the continent of Mithbea and the far western lands. Grains, fruit, wood and wine would come from the eastern Kingdom of Tarnstead. Minerals and cotton, clothing and other materials would come from the nearby southern lands. If something was worth trading, it would come to Venecia. But the rulers of Venecia had a problem. Traders, the lifeblood of Venecia, were refusing to travel to the kingdom of Broguth. Bandits and pirates were harassing and killing traders and, more importantly, cutting into profits.

The council of Venecia gathered to address this very problem. Trade with Progoh and the other cities of the kingdom of Tarnstead was becoming increasing less profitable due to losses from bandits. The ruling party in Venecia was the council, a collection of merchants, a few key tribal leaders, and landowners that together governed the city.

Four weeks had passed since Raul Ventego, a prominent member of the council, had left to discuss the issue with the king of Broguth. He had been expected back in three weeks, his brother Paulo Ventego, as he spoke before the council. “And what of my brother? Do we just sit here and wait for his return? If bandits or the king of Broguth has held up or injured him, I demand action."

Other members of the council nodded and spoke in agreement. Council members being killed or imprisoned was a very unsettling thought. Raul was a good swordsman, a strong man capable of looking after himself quite well. Perhaps the bandit problem was more dire than they realized. Either something foul had happened to Raul or they had angered the king of Broguth with their ultimatum to make safe the distance between the cities or be cut off as a trading partner.

Barouta, leader of the Chundo tribes, a strong and aggressive nomadic tribe known for their proclivity for war and horsemanship spoke next. “I will send a troop of my finest warriors. They will find Raul and deal with the problem.”

Baron Tarozan, a prominent landowner, was one of the more level-headed of the council members. He feared his fellow council members would allow Barouta to take the problem of bandits and turn it into a war. Barouta often spoke of the advantages Venecia would gain by conquering the lands to the north and east. He often said Progoh needed new leadership and a change of fealty. The baron cleared his throat and spoke. “Make it a small troop Barouta; we don’t need you starting a war.”

Barouta coldly looked upon the baron. “Barouta does not start wars, he ends them,” and with that, the meeting was over.

As Barouta left the city, he turned to one of his lieutenants Ashuna, “Take fifty horsemen, find Raul and if you can’t, find an answer from the king.”

”Yes my lord, and if the Raul is in the custody of the king?" asked Ashuna.

“If those fools have given me any reason to press for war, I want ample proof. But do not be too aggressive with the king. If war is to come, it will come.” Barouta almost smiled. He welcomed the idea of war with the eastern kingdom. “We will not start a war without provocation.”  Barouta stroked his braided beard.  He hadn't specified how little provocation he would ignore. Allowing too much lenience was a sign of weakness. He dismissed his lieutenant. He was bored with peace. A war stirred his blood, and winning a war brought wealth and status.  It had always been the way of the Chundo. Alliances were hard to balance and shifted often.
 

Chapter ten

THE WARM AFTERNOON sun felt good on Nathan’s face as he sat by the creek.  Nathan, sore all over from the last few days training with his father, was glad to have gotten a reprieve today. This afternoon, his father let him quit his training early. Nathan thought he would go find Ava and head out to the pond, but his mother had other ideas. She wanted fresh fruit for their supper and since Nathan wasn’t working with his father this afternoon, he got volunteered to pick some fruit from the orchard. Not that Nathan minded terribly, it was several hours until dinner so he was having a rather enjoyable time alternating between picking fruit and stretching out in the sun. Nathan’s basking in the sun was soon interrupted by a familiar and increasing annoying voice.

“So you ratted me out? You little shit. Ava won’t even acknowledge me now. I am going to beat the snot out of you, you arse-licking mixed-blood bastard.”

Nathan sighed and quickly got up, despite being sore. He had been expecting to run into Tomas sooner or later, so he was not surprised by Tomas showing up.

Warily, he corrected Tomas. “Actually she found out about it from Sharon, but that doesn’t matter, I told her what an ass you are anyways. I am not going to stop being Ava’s friend because you have designs on her. If you are stupid enough to think beating me up is going to help you get her attention, that is not my problem.”

Nathan watched as Tomas’s face went a deep red and his fist clenched. Nathan was not going to be caught off guard this time. He squared his feet to the older boy and relaxed. He would not start a fight with Tomas over Ava. But if Tomas thought he would be beating him up easily, he would be in for a surprise.

“Oh, so I am stupid? You are the one with a purple face. I am really going to hurt you this time.” Tomas was already swinging his fist as he yelled at Nathan. However, this time things went much differently.

Nathan, expecting Tomas to take a punch at him, easily slipped under the wild haymaker. Nathan countered by planting a jab to Tomas’s face, causing blood to gush from his nose. Enraged, Tomas yelled and continued to throw wild punches with everything he could muster. Nathan, using his father’s lessons, kept dodging and weaving, delivering stinging jabs to the face and hooks to the kidneys.

Tomas now had a swollen eye and a fat lip to go along with his bloody nose. Frustrated by his lack of success throwing punches, Tomas tried to tackle Nathan. Again, Nathan was well prepared for the change in tactics and was anticipating the attack. He pivoted, grabbing Tomas by the head and back of the pants. Using his momentum, he sent Tomas tumbling to the ground. Nathan followed Tomas to the ground, delivering a hard knee to the older boy’s soft belly, driving the wind out of him. Tomas was completely defeated and did not try to get up. “Don’t try it again, Tomas, or I won’t be as nice next time.” Stepping away from his fallen opponent, Nathan let out a deep sigh of relief. It gave him no pleasure to beat Tomas, but it did give him great pleasure to know he could protect himself. All the work with his father was worth every sore muscle and bruise.

Nathan took up his bucket of fruit and headed home, leaving Tomas on the ground in a heap, trying to regain his breath. Turning back, Nathan couldn’t help but adding “and if I were you I would avoid Ava for a while. She isn’t interested in you at all.”

After Nathan left, Tomas sat on the ground stewing over his defeat to the younger boy. Tomas hated Nathan with a passion, born from a lifetime of listening to his father Ned complain about “those damn foreigners”. Before Soron had moved into Elderwood, Ned had run a small blacksmith shop himself. His metal was cheap and poorly made, but that did nothing to stop him from taking advantage of unsuspecting traders in need of repairs or goods. When Soron opened his shop, it took little time for Ned’s blacksmith shop to become customer-less. All Tomas’s life, he heard how that damn northerner and his Baltan witch wife were a plague on the village.

Growing up with such jealousy and prejudice, it was natural for Tomas to take a dislike to Nathan. He never had reason for that dislike to grow into anything more until Ava thwarted him. Tomas always had a way with the girls. His quick smile and confidence made him interesting and he took full advantage of it. It was only when Ava rejected him that he turned his attention to Nathan. When Tomas realized his competition for Ava's interest was Nathan, he thought it would be easy to scare off his competition. He miscalculated. The skinny kid was not a wimp after all. The bigotry of Tomas's family now combined with jealousy. The seeds of hate his father had planted now grew. Tomas got up and headed for home. This was far from over; he vowed to find a way to hurt Nathan no matter what the cost.

Chapter eleven

NATHAN WAS SITTING at the pond waiting for Ava. So far, he was having a pretty good day. The previous night he had told his father about the second confrontation with Tomas. Today as part of his lessons, they once again went through the fight, this time analyzing what he did right. His father had said he was proud of Nathan for trying to resolve the issue without violence. He also praised Nathan for properly using his lessons. But, as Nathan watched Ava approach, he could tell from her body language that the following conversation would not add to his level of happiness. Ava had both hands on her hips, a sure sign of her irritation.

“You were fighting with Tomas again,” Ava said with a certain tone to her voice, which she reserved for when Nathan did something dumb.

Nathan sighed. Yep, she was not happy at all. But this was so not his fault, he thought to himself before replying, “It’s not like I wanted to. I was picking apples for supper when he confronted me. He called me a rat for telling you about our first fight and then started swinging.”

Ava groaned in frustration. “Boys are so stupid.”

“Hey, ease up on the boys part. I did nothing wrong.” Nathan would not be taking the blame for this mess. This was Tomas’s doing and he should take the blame.

Ava sighed, removed her hands from her hips, and came over to inspect Nathan. “Your mother’s healing salves are amazing; I can’t even see where he hit you this time.”

“What are you trying to say? He didn’t hit me this time.” Nathan felt like a piece of meat as Ava poked and prodded his ribs, his chest, moving his head around looking for any telltale signs of bruising.

“Oh, well, Sharon ran into Tomas and said his whole face was swollen and bruised, and he had a big black eye and a cut lip. I figured you would have the same or worse,” said Ava.

Nathan tried to not sound like he was bragging. No point setting her off again. “Nah, after the first fight, my father started teaching me how to fight. After sparring with him, Tomas is not much of a challenge, actually pretty bad. I doubt he’ll ever try again.”

Ava showed her surprise at this revelation. “Your father was a fighter? He certainly is big enough.  I’ve just never seen him do anything but work in the blacksmith shop and he is always so friendly,” said Ava.

Nathan thought about this for a while before replying. “He doesn’t talk about it much but I get the feeling he actually was a warrior for a long time. If you ever see him with his shirt off, he has all sorts of scars on his body. I think he has seen a lot of fighting.”

“Oooh, your father with his shirt off, I would like to see that, all those big muscles…,” Ava teased.

“Not funny Ava, that’s my father you’re talking about.”

Ava just laughed “Oh relax, as if anyone has a chance with your dad while your mother is around. She is so beautiful. Come to think of it, both of your parents are beautiful. I wonder what happened to you? Do you think you were adopted or maybe they just dropped you on your face as a baby?” Ava sprinted behind a tree as she taunted Nathan.

Nathan laughed and chased after her. He might be bigger and stronger but Ava was as quick as a rabbit and hard to catch. He was getting better at it when she wasn’t using branches to trip him up. Nathan yelled at her as he ran, “You know I am not adopted. How many blued-eyed villagers are there? Just mother and me, and I am much too smart to have been dropped on my head.”

A few moments later, Nathan was again looking up into the sky, groaning at his bad luck. How did she always manage to trip him up? Did she plant branches in strategic spots before teasing him into chasing her?

Ava leaned over top of him. “Too smart to have been dropped, eh?”

Nathan just groaned and admired the sky.

…

Soron grew up in a world of violence. Northern Solotine was a harsh and violent land, its inhabitants as forbidding as the land itself. In the north, resources meant more than just wealth, it meant life. Those who controlled the mines controlled the ability to make weapons. Superior weapons often were the difference-maker in battles being won or lost. Controlling the mines meant fighting for them, and Soron had fought often. Soron was Nathan’s age when his father sent him to the mines to learn the secrets of northern steel and how to become a warrior. Lessons in steel and blood came often for Soron. By twenty, Soron had seen, and caused more death than many warriors ever partake in a lifetime.

Now, he was content to live in the small, peaceful village of Elderwood as a simple blacksmith. But with the discovery of Nathan’s magic and the increasing number of bandit attacks in the area, Soron was putting aside his own aversion to combat to teach Nathan the skills that may well one day keep him alive.

As Soron reflected on his own childhood, he watched his son work through the progression of footwork, blade block and attack combos he had been teaching him.  “Eyes up, son. If you are watching your feet, you are not watching the enemy.”

He is too much like me at his age, thought Soron. He enjoys this too much. Training with weapons had always been enjoyable to Soron, as a young boy he always found the physical training to be challenging yet fun. The desire to absorb his trainer’s knowledge and prove his worth as the son of a tribal chieftain had pushed him to be the best. Training was fun. Actual combat was not fun, it was bloody, violent and left a mark on a man’s soul. Soron could still remember the face of the first man he killed. Bloodshot red eyes and a bulbous nose, the look of shock on the man’s face as a boy half his age pulled his sword out of the dying man’s chest.