(A Homeric retelling of The Fall of the Noldor)
Sing, O Nienna, of the wrath of Finwe’s son
Feanor, the deadly wrath that brought upon the
Noldor countless woes and sent many fair princes
of the Eldalie down to the Halls of Mandos from
that day when first far-seeing Manwe and mighty
Feanor parted in strife.
Morning arrived in the town of Riverwatch as the new sun sent shafts of light gleaming over Middle-Earth’s horizon. One of those shafts made it’s way through the window of the town’s fortress alighting the face of it’s newly ‘appointed’ Lord Protector. Rufius stirred grumpily and shifted his slumped over form to cut off the light from view. The movement caused a sharp pain in his head, ‘How much had he had to drink last night?’
He thought he remembered three bottles of wine for sure as he made a half-hearted attempt to rise from his chair but after that things became…fuzzy. Screwing his hands into his eyes, Rufius tried to clear his head and get a handle on the situation. In his haste his arm struck an empty bottle that fell to the floor with a crash causing a couple of his new guards to stir from where they had laid down in their own drunken stupor. The Lord Protector lurched clumsily to catch the bottle, but succeeded only in almost sending his self crashing to the ground. His foot struck a goblet, sending it skittering noisily across the floor. Finally Rufius decided that sitting down and collecting his wits was a safer option.
Where was Jaxton?
Squinting his eyes against the light, Rufius searched the room for the outlaw leader. Half a dozen men lay dozing in various positions around Merigal’s office, but he could see no sign of Jaxton. Rufius groaned in irritation. It had been a spirited, rowdy celebration the evening before with wine being passed around as fast as men could down it. And there had been Jaxton, acting as the master of ceremonies, laughing the most and making sure that each glass was always full. He drank at least as much as Rufius if not more, and was now nowhere to be seen.
When Rufius had finally given up the search and resolved to focus his efforts on recovery, Jaxton himself burst through the door. Heedless of the pained groans such noise caused, the bandit walked across the room to where the Lord Protector slumped in his chair. In his hands were two bottles of wine that Rufius noticed were from Merigal’s own personal store. Although he supposed (even if supposition was difficult in his current state) that it was his personal store now. The thought made him smile in spite of his splitting headache.
“I see you have finally recovered from last nights festivities”, Jaxton said with a grin.
“What time is it?” Rufius managed with a groan.
“Oh! It is early yet,” Jaxton replied, placing both bottles on the table. “But not so early that we cannot fight off last night’s revelry with an early morning refresher. Rufius eyed the first bottle warily, but underneath felt a certain sense of anticipation. But that he supposed would have to wait.
“Nay, I must start my morning street patrol,” Rufius told the one-eyed bandit and attempted unsteadily to rise from his chair. His head was throbbing, but his duties as Lord Protector awaited and he was eager to establish himself in his new position, allow the citizens to get used to the new order. However Jaxton put out a hand and pushed him slowly back into his seat. His one-eye held a crafty and mischievous glint and his lips parted in a crooked smile. Rufius found himself both mesmerized and repulsed and could not look away.
“Do not worry yourself about such trivial matters dear Rufius,” Jaxton purred silkily. “I sent a couple of the boys to make the rounds for you. Even now they are making the first impressions of our brand new day for Riverwatch.”
Rufius was paying no attention though, for as Jaxton spoke, the old fox’s hands popped open the first of Merigal’s wine bottles and poured them both a small portion into tall goblets. After this he took a water skin from his side and added water to both goblets, filling them to the brim. Rufius looked confusedly at Jaxton but then his eyes widened when he noticed the elvish brand on the bottles and understood completely.
It was Dorwinion, the wine that was reserved for the table of the elvish king in Mirkwood. Merigal had received the bottles in gratitude for services rendered to the woodland monarch in days gone by. Rufius had dreamed about those bottles since the first day he had set eyes on them, but Merigal had kept them locked away in his office. It was reputedly potent and powerful stuff which was why Jaxton had to water it down greatly. The Lord Protector’s lips parted and he began to salivate in his eagerness.
“Perhaps I can worry about personal patrols later after all,” he finally managed as Jaxton handed him his goblet. Jaxton tipped his own goblet in salute and grinned.
“That’s the spirit,” Jaxton said grinning. “I’ll take care of Riverwatch for now…in your stead of course.”
“Of course,” Rufius repeated as he felt the wine pour down his throat like fire. After a while the world grew unsteady and uncertain and then faded out.
***
Darkness.
Pain.
This is all that Mericc can sense for the longest time. The pain is everywhere but mostly from his left shoulder, flaring intensely to a consistent rhythm. The darkness is worse though as it threatens to surround and engulf him, pulling him back down into the void.
After a seemingly endless period of internal struggle, he manages to break free causing a small dot of light to appear before him. Mericc focuses all of his will on it, forcing it to stretch until it is a thin line on the horizon. Sweat glistens on his forehead from the strain, or is it from the heat he feels emanating from the bright line? He is not sure. Concentrating even more intently, he pushes the line wider and wider until he can make out indistinct shapes and colors above him. Ruling over them all is a glaring ball of light and heat in a sea of blue.
‘The Sun’ Mericc thinks hazily as his mind shakes itself from the darkness. Terrible memories flood back as a fresh round of intense pain washes over him. A name repeats itself in his head and the boy grabs at it in an attempt to maintain conscience.
Rufius…
But it does no good. The pain is too much and he feels himself slipping. But before he does another word comes to him in the approaching darkness.
Father…
The torches of the training room flicker as the two combatants circle each other and prepare for another round of swordplay. Mericc feels like he is making progress against his father and the thought makes him happier than he has been in weeks. Not that he has landed any blows, in fact, he has never come close to striking his father in all of his years of training. No matter how hard he studies or trains, Merigal always counters each lunge, each thrust with an effortlessness that is maddening in it’s regularity.
The only way that Mericc knows he is improving is because the complexity of his father’s counters increases and sometimes he imagines the slightest smile pass proudly across Merigal’s face after a particularly spirited exchange. In those moments he is closer to his father than at any other time in his life and that feeling of pride makes him all the more eager to train and study even harder. After a final round they disengage and Merigal lifts his sword in a salute, a signal that the day’s exercise is over.
“You are showing much improvement Mericc,” Merigal says as he looks down at his young son. Even though he is now only a few inches taller than Mericc, he will always seem to tower over the boy who always see’s his father as that hero of legend. “Your footwork is improving and you are not overextending as much as you used to.” The child smiles up at his father and awaits the inevitable ‘But’.
“But,” Merigal says on cue. “You really should give up that 2-handed sword as your weapon of choice. It is too big for you for one and while the weight of it helps you in some ways, it hurts you in many others.”
“I like the power of it,” Mericc replied. “And I suppose I shall grow into the weight with time.”
“Have you ever considered the shield?” his father asks.
Mericc rolled his eyes and started to laugh, but was cut short when he looked at the seriousness in Merigal’s face. “Awww Father!” he sighed. “A shield is just for protection, no one ever gained fame hiding behind a piece of wood.”
“I see,” Merigal said, his eyebrow lifted. “Go get my shield if you would please.”
His head slightly down, feeling as if a lecture was coming his way, Mericc did as he was told. Merigal’s shield was of heavy construction and Mericc remembered with aching muscles the many times his father made him lug it around to build up his stamina. The task was made all the more awkward by it’s design, a five-pointed star with the image of a mountain in the center. After giving the shield over to his father, he placed himself once again into a fighting stance.
“Now attack,” his father instructed.
With sudden speed Mericc swung his sword at his father, but with an even quicker movement Merigal thrust his shield forward in a bashing movement that caught the boy mid-swing, nearly jarring the blade out of his hands. The Lord Protector followed this up with a sword thrust that Mericc barely countered and then swung his shield in a murderous sideways arc, the edge of one of it’s five points missing the boy’s wide-eyed face by less than an inch.
The two continued to spar but Mericc found it increasingly difficult to counter his father’s blows. It wasn’t Merigal’s amazing speed that was the issue (though that was normally enough), it was the shield’s ability to mask his father’s movements so that his son couldn’t anticipate what was coming next. ‘Watch your opponent’s wrist movement’ he was always taught, but now he found that next to impossible.
The worst of it though was the way his father would use the shield to push and prod him in whichever direction he wanted to. Finally his father feinted another arcing attack with his shield and Mericc dodged but suddenly found his father’s sword at his chest. Hawk eyes glared hard at Mericc who withered before their intensity.
“Anything is a weapon in the hands of the well trained Mericc,’ his father said. “A shield is a weapon, a castle is a weapon, even words are weapons. Never forget this.” Mericc nodded in penance.
“You were wrong on the second point as well,” his father continued. “If the past years have taught me anything, it is that putting your life on the line to protect something you care about more than yourself can give more glory than any mindless quest for personal fame. Remember this as well.”
Mericc nodded, but found himself suddenly slipping. Darkness swam before his eyes and a sense of falling enveloped him as a voice called his name over and over.
“Mericc please help me, I can’t lift you by myself!” the voice pleaded. It was a pleasant voice and he tried to comply, but found his legs difficult to locate in the dark. With an effort he found his feet and felt himself lifted up and placed across something solid. The smell of horse hit him confusedly and he struggled to find the light from earlier.
“Lets get out of here,” the voice said.
Finally Mericc managed to open his eyes slightly. The smell of horse was strong and he watched the grass as it bobbed up and down under him. His shoulder hurt terribly, but the biggest shock came when he turned his head to the side. Staring him in the face, filling his vision with sudden clarity, was his father’s shield.
“Who SENT YOU?” Mericc roared. His hands shook, causing beads of sweat to pour down the assassin’s face who looked perilously at the sword at his throat.
Rufius watched as the last of the towns garrison rode out the east gate. When they had gone, the aging veteran looked to the task of taking care of the Lord Protector’s body. The crowd stood around Merigal in silent vigil, the shock of the great hero’s death almost too much to bear. Silent tears spilled down unbelieving faces, each hoping beyond hope that Merigal would rise miraculously, defeating with his formidable skill the spectre of death. But it was not to be.
Finally, after allowing the mob their time to grieve, Rufius ordered them to disperse. The death of Merigal Quickblade would be known to the whole of Riverwatch soon enough and the town would be given it’s chance to remember their former Lord Protector properly. Former, Rufius supposed, because with Merigal’s death the title of Lord Protector passed to him by all rights. It was not the way that he had envisioned gaining the post, but now that he had it, he would perform it as best he could. Soon the crowd dispersed quietly and numbly back to their homes until only the girl Aniwen was left besides Merigal’s form.
With the help of two stout men, Rufius carried the body of Riverwatch’s greatest champion back to the fort to be cleaned and prepared for a proper burial. Aniwen walked quietly behind, her head down, thoughts to herself. Every once in a while she would look back in the direction of the east gate and Rufius knew that her thoughts were on Mericc. He had tried to convince her to go back home to her father’s house but she had stubbornly refused, preferring to act as a make-shift honor guard on Mericc’s behalf. Later on, with Merigal’s body safely inside the fort’s medical ward, the young girl fell asleep in a chair close by.
Hours passed.
The dark of the night deepened.
A lone rider rushed through the east gate and towards the fortress atop the rocky hill at the city’s center. With weary arms he lifted a horn to his lips and blew a note of dire warning. His armor was dented in many places and blood seeped slowly but consistently from a wound in his side. By the time Rufius and Aniwen had run out to meet him, he was slumped over his horse’s head, fading ever closer to death. His eyes half opened he spotted Rufius and beckoned, his words barely above a whisper.
“Disaster…garrison surprised…routed,” the rider finally managed, holding his side painfully. He slumped down further in his saddle and Rufius was forced to shake him roughly to rouse him.
“What happened? Speak!” Rufius commanded sternly. “Who did this?” With an effort the soldier continued, each breath a struggle.
“Jaxton One-Eye…Brigands…Heading this way,” the soldier said before slumping over. Suddenly Aniwen rushed forward, her eyes filled with worry.
“What of Mericc? Have you seen him? Is he safe?” she asked frantically but it was too late. The soldier had breathed his last. Aniwen broke into fresh tears, fearing for the young man who had captured her heart and whose fate now hung in deadly uncertainty.
From the dark several men appeared, drawn by the call of the warning horn. Rufius gave orders for them to pass from house to house, warning the people to stay safely inside and out of sight of the streets. With the garrison now gone, the town was practially defenseless against the danger that now approached. Jaxton One-Eye was as ruthless as he was crafty and anyone unfortunate enough to fall across the gaze of that one remaining malevolent orb would bitterly regret it.
“That means you as well Miss Aniwen,” Rufius said softly, breaking her from her daze. “Head back to the High Quarter and warn the families there to stay inside at all costs.”
“What will you do?” Aniwen asked, her eyes wide with fear.
“What I have to,” Rufius responded, his eyes focused on the east gate. His senses were sharp and he could just make out the dust rising beyond and the sound of hooves approaching fast in the distance. “Now go Aniwen, and do not look back,” The veteran commanded as he unclasped his sword from it’s sheath. Aniwen turned and ran, her heart beating hard in her chest.
Soon the group of riders came into view, their black cloaks and head wraps masking them from head to waist, covering their features. Unlike the orcs that morning, the men before him did not shout, threaten or snarl words of derision as they came. These were professional men. As they approached the new Lord Protector, the riders slowed and fanned out in a semi-circle around him, but made no other move. Rufius unsheathed his sword, eyes darting from one side to the next but the riders just sat on their mounts silently and waited.
After a minute Rufius heard the sounds of two more riders approaching. The semi-circle split in the middle and Rufius watched as the leader of the brigands made his triumphant entrance into Riverwatch.
Jaxton One-Eye was a man of mean reputation. The days of his youth had been spent long ago but were replaced with the craftiness of old age and the slyness of a rattlesnake in the high grass. The wrinkles of his face ran deep over cracked skin, his crooked nose casting a small uneven shadow on a small precise mustache. A black patch over one of his eyes masked a jagged scar, a gift from Merigal Quickblade during one of their early encounters. But Merigal was dead and the aging outlaw remained and that was just as Jaxton would have it. Fearlessly, for he was surrounded by his men with only the aging Rufius before him, Jaxton dismounted off his horse and approached the veteran warrior. Quietly by his side, another dismounted and followed but Rufius knew without thinking who the other was.
The differences between Jaxton One-Eye and his companion were striking and one might wonder how these two bandits of such disparate looks had ever gotten involved with one another. But the partnership had proven lucrative and for the last years the name of Thurin Quiet-knife had garnered as bad a reputation as the older Jaxton’s. But while Jaxton was old and wrinkled, Thurin was in the prime of his youth, his dashing handsome features a stark contrast to his cold remorseless interior. He was called the Quiet-Knife, both for his skills as a spy and assassin and for the fact that he rarely ever spoke, allowing his blades and the wilier Jaxton do the talking for him.
The two men walked unconcernedly towards Lord Protector Rufius, who brandished his sword threateningly before them. Their men sat in their horses like ominous sentinels, surrounding the proceeding. Rufius stepped back a pace without thinking, he knew there was no place to go. The line had already been crossed
***
The campfire burned low, it’s dying embers releasing their last vestiges of light and warmth. The man poked at them with a blackened branch, hoping to coax what remaining heat lay trapped inside. His eyes darted nervously from side to side as the shadows closed in around him, stretching out their accusing fingers at him in the gloom. He hated the cold and dreary outdoors with it’s night time predators, exposure to the elements and worst of all, the gods-cursed marsh flies. A friend of his once heard that in the lands out west, the marsh flies grew to the size of small dogs and could suck a man dry in under a minute. But his friend’s imagination was as big as his mouth as the man told him often while they drank at the local tavern.
What the assassin wouldn’t give for a drink right now at the nearest tavern, out of the cold, with a town-girl wrapped around his arm. But the nearest town was the last place he wanted to be. Not after what he had done.
Swatting absently in front of his face at a marsh-fly, the man smiled at the rich reward he had coming to him. ‘Oh yes’, his benefactor had promised. ‘There would be plenty of money for the job’, more than he had ever seen in fact. The embers of the fire pulsed fainter and fainter but the man was too lost in his thoughts to notice anymore. Images of endlessly flowing wine and women danced before his eyes, enticing and tantalizing him as red hot particles of burning wood floated along the breeze.
The assassin marveled at the simple cleverness of the plot. The orc attack drew the attention of the Riverwatch garrison, allowing him to easily slip in unnoticed and wait for the coming dark. His benefactor had even shown him on a rough map, the perfect spot to sit and wait for his quarry while still remaining undetected by even the sharpest eyes. The man at the campfire remembered with glee the thrill of the kill and the manic race through the side streets and alleys until he came upon a horse that he promptly ‘acquired’ to aid in his escape.
The faint cracking of a branch went unnoticed by the assassin, still lost in his thoughts.
An angry cry broke Merigal’s killer out of his revelry and he looked up just in time to see a shadowy form charging towards him. Before he could react his nose exploded in pain as the form cracked him with the hilt of a sword, sending him sprawling. The assassin looked around frantically for his assailant but stars danced in front of his eyes and the waning light of his fire turned everything a murky shifting grey. With an effort he went for his crossbow however before his fingers could wrap around the stock, a boot kicked at his hand, sending his weapon into the night.
“WHO SENT YOU?” his attacker screamed. The assassin looked up and found a sword pressed to his neck. At the other end of the blade was a red-faced young man and Merigal’s killer saw that though the boys hands shook, he meant business.
“Mercy,” The assassin pleaded, sweat pouring down his brow.
Mericc bent down, the tip of his sword causing a small rivulet of blood to appear on the assassin’s neck. With his other hand he grabbed at the man’s collar and drew him close and the assassin could see the fire in the young man’s eyes.
“The same mercy that you showed to my FATHER!” Mericc bellowed. “Now I am going to ask this one time or else what comes after will be slow and painful. WHO sent you?”
The assassin gulped carefully, mindful of the blade at his neck. All thoughts of wine and women were dashed from his mind as Mericc looked down on him expectantly. The fire offered neither warmth or light, its embers completely burned out.
“It isn’t fair,” Mericc proclaimed sulkily as Rufius’s sword passed over his head. He parried the next blow then tried to thrust inside, a move that the more experienced warrior easily countered. The training barracks echoed with the sound of their blunted weapons clanking off of each other in rhythmic repetition, sweat pouring down their brows. “I should have been out there fighting with you and everyone else,” Mericc complained.
“I’m sure Merigal had his reasons Mericc,” Rufius responded rather crossly. With a quick movement he forced Mericc back with his sword and his smaller opponent barely managed to stop himself falling to the ground. Rufius was strangely out of sorts for the evenings training, a fact that was not lost on Mericc as he sported a few more bruises than he normally would after sparring with the large warrior.
Normally after a battle or adventure, the red-haired Deputy Protector would be in high spirits, drunk with the exhilaration of victory and more than a few pints of ale. But tonight, especially after meeting with Merigal before his father’s nightly patrol, he was in a particularly sour mood. Mericc was undaunted though, and as they fought back and forth, he resumed his entreaties.
“But how am I ever suppose to become a great adventurer like my father if I never see any action?” Mericc said between labored breaths. “What adventures can one have stuck behind doors protecting the women and children?”
Not that he had minded having Aniwen pressed up against him, his face pressed into her hair as he held her tight as the battle raged on below. When the fighting was over he stayed for a while at her house and comforted her, speaking soft words as the dead and dying were attended to and carted out of the streets. And when the day began to wane, they said their good-byes and Mericc promised to come see her again the next chance he could. Outside he looked up just in time to see her blow him a kiss from her window and he walked to the garrison fortress, his heart a little lighter.
A hard elbow to the chest woke Mericc suddenly from his daydream and he went sprawling back, barely parrying a vicious blow from Rufius. The large warrior really was in a bad mood this evening and Mericc once again wondered why. Another flurry was intercepted more confidently by Merigal’s son and he even managed to force Rufius back a ways with a counter attack. The two went at it fiercely, Rufius countering Mericc’s greater youth and speed with a lifetime’s worth of experience and guile.
“I want to have adventures of my own Rufius,” Mericc continued as they sparred back and forth. “Travel the Dale-lands or maybe even Rohan. Fight ruthless bandits like Jaxton One-Eye, The Dragon’s Maw or Endhorg the Fierce.” Jaxton One-Eye in particular was a bandit that had captured Mericc’s imagination. He had been a constant thorn in the side of the Dale-lands for years now and was one of Merigal’s more persistent adversaries in his younger days. He was as crafty as he was ruthless and was one of the few people who had ever crossed paths with Mericc’s father and lived to tell about it.
Rufius laughed loudly for the first time that evening, his face regaining the jolly grin that Mericc was so used to. With a subtle feint and a less than subtle trip, he brought Mericc down to the ground, kicking the youth’s sword away before he could recover. Mericc sucked in his breath as he felt the blunted tip against his chest, forgetting for a moment that it was just a training sword.
“Getting ahead of yourself aren’t you boy?” Rufius laughed. “Especially from one who can’t beat an aging fat man yet.” Sheathing his sword Rufius helped Mericc up and patted him on the back. “Best take it one challenge at a time lad. Getting ahead of yourself is a good way to lose one’s head.” They both had a laugh at that and Mericc was glad once again that his fathers long-time companion seemed back to his old self.
They put away the training equipment and Rufius spent the next twenty minutes going over the spar with Mericc, telling him what he had done wrong and what to work on. While he was less skilled than Merigal, Mericc enjoyed his training sessions with Rufius a little more because the big man would show him all the dirty tricks and underhanded fighting tactics he had built up over the years. Merigal looked down on such shortcuts as beneath a true fighter and would berate Mericc harshly whenever he would try them out in their sparring sessions.
‘A man who uses short cuts like that, falls into the habit of using them in lieu of proper training and discipline’ Merigal would say. ‘And when the day comes that he’s faced with a situation where none of his shortcuts work, he finds he’s forgotten the long way and that usually means his end.’
Rufius finished his lecture with a good humored pat on the back, telling Mericc that he was becoming quite the swordsman despite the Deputies’ teasing. Mericc was just about to broach the subject of what had been bothering the big soldier when they heard a woman’s scream pierce the night. Both men, young and old, equipped themselves quickly and raced for the door. Mericc especially for the voice he had heard sounded very much like Aniwen’s.
****
A crisp night time breeze was blowing outside that went unheeded by Mericc as he looked for the cause of the scream. Down the road he could see a ring of people surrounding what looked like two bodies on the road, one covering the other. He started moving as fast as he could towards the ring, the older Deputy Protector lagging behind though his presence barely registered in Mericc’s mind. His only thought, repeating over and over ‘Please let Aniwen be ok, please let Aniwen be ok…’ His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, more to mask his hand’s shaking than as a precaution against any danger.
“Please let Aniwen be ok,” Mericc whispered to himself again as the night’s shadows pulled back and showed the crowd in greater clarity. The panic and hushed talk of the mob charged the air and Mericc felt the approach of some impending doom with each quickened step. He saw that the figure on top was holding the second in their arms, head hanging low as if in mourning. A sigh of relief escaped Mericc’s lips as he caught a glimmer of yellow and gold from the figure holding the collapsed form on the ground. Aniwen was ok. He raced to her side, wishing to take her away from this ghastly scene. Let Rufius take care of the body on the ground.
It was then, as the victim came into focus that Mericc’s world came crashing down.
There, laying in the road of the town he had protected for twenty years, was Merigal Quickblade. A crossbow bolt stuck out of his back, his life essence dripping down, staining the pavement. Aniwen lay crouched at his side, holding his head in her hands, tears flowing down her face in torrents. She noticed Mericc and he saw a look of profound and terrible sadness that was as much for him as it was for the man at her feet. The young boy felt his legs lose all strength and he would have collapsed if Rufius had not steadied him at his side. Mericc’s legs drove him on towards the scene, though he felt them not and the world lost it’s sense of reality. He dimly heard through muted senses Rufius roaring for a healer and the shuffling of many uncertain iron boots.
Finally he pushed his way through the shocked crowd and fell down at his father’s side. The color had drained from Mericc’s face though it was nothing to how the man before him looked now. In his youth and in his folly Mericc had thought his father invincible, a giant colossus walking in a land of lesser men and morals. Merigal had won a hundred battles and bested countless foes and nothing seemed to counter the idea in his son’s mind that he would live forever. Now he lay in a heap, his face as white as his flowing mustache, feeble coughs signaling that his time was coming to an end. He took his father’s head from Aniwen’s hands and that beautiful young lady wrapped them around him, sharing his pain.
It was then that Merigal’s eyes opened weakly and he stared up at his son. Beckoning weakly and unsurely the dying warrior pulled his son’s head down so that he could hear his final words. Mericc nearly broke as his fathers authoritarian deep voice descended into a wheezing cough riddled shell of it’s self.
“I’m sorry…Mericc,” he managed. “That I kept you…from what you wanted.” A further series of coughs cut off the rest and it took a minute for the once proud man to continue. “I only wished…for you to…” But Mericc never heard the rest for there on the High Street of Riverwatch, Merigal Quickblade, famed adventurer and swordsman, died. Darkness descended, deeper than the night for Mericc and this time he could not stop the tears from falling. The rest of the crowd, even Rufius just stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do or say.
From the distance of his despair Mericc heard someone shout as if through a pane of glass, “The assassin was spotted, the assassin was spotted riding with great speed out the east gate.” Something welled up in his heart replacing the hurt, driving it aside. Outrage and anger at such a grievous injustice crashed over him like a tidal wave and before anyone could react Mericc rushed at the nearest horse and leaped into the saddle.
“NO Mericc!” Rufius shouted. “Don’t,” But Mericc heard little else, his whole being focused on only one thing and that was to bring his father’s killer to justice. He rode hard for the gate, his heart pounding in his chest as chaos erupted behind him.
Rufius wheeled quickly on one of Riverwatch’s captains, “Gather all the men and go after him NOW!” The experienced Rufius had recovered from his shock quicker than the others and was determined to keep control. The captain looked at him uncertainly and Rufius felt his temperature rise.
“Do you think that is wise Sir? Emptying the garrison at a time like this.” The captain said unsurely. Rufius grabbed the man violently by the collar.
“Would you have the slayer of our Lord Protector go unanswered or his only son slain mercilessly in his reckless haste?” Rufius growled. “Gather ALL the men I said and get after that cowardly assassin and for the God’s sake, protect that boy or it will be your head.” With that the captain rushed to gather Riverwatch’s forces for pursuit as Rufius struggled to maintain order as the town’s new Protector.
And somewhere in the dark, Mericc the boy pursued his father’s killer as the pleasant night’s air turned a deadly chill.
