The Drifter

The Drifter

            I had heard of this fellow, the one they called “the Drifter”. He would go from town to town doing odd, usually highly dangerous jobs. Some called him a hero; others called him a mercenary on a mission. What that mission was exactly, no one could say. Those who had given him jobs said he was polite and civil, even formal at times, though you could not tell by the way he looked. Even now as he and his shaggy battle horse walked into town, he seemed rather… intimidating. As the kings steward I felt it was my duty to stray this “drifter” away from the kings castle, for this is surely where he was headed, as this week was the week the kings son was expected back from his Royal pilgrimage. 

 I straightened out my official uniform I wore ever so proudly, cleared my throat, and stepped a few paces forward, with my armed guards of course. I calmly but sternly told the drifter to stop and state his business in the town. He simply replied in a gruff but steady voice “I came to rest myself and my horse… and perhaps see the king.”

The drifter was now about fifteen feet away as he dismounted his horse surprisingly graceful. I was slightly impressed but then I remembered he was a warrior, of course he knows how to handle a horse. Even still, something seemed off… I spoke in a lower volume but still very clearly (possibly too loud still I thought to myself) “King Victarion will not be seeing any visitors for the rest of the week! His royal highness and all the fair people of this land are expecting the king’s heir to return soon! And we don’t want any trouble makers or ruffians to spoil the occasion!”

At this the rider let go of his horses reins (although the horse continued to follow him) and took a few calm steps forward. This is when I noticed under his ragged, torn, hooded cloak he was wearing a very well kept but fairly inconspicuous set of black plate mail armor. On his back was a Longsword, on his waist were multiple daggers (I counted four) along with another long sword, and on his horse I could see yet another long sword strapped to its saddle on left side, and a short throwing spear on the other side. At the realization that this man was for all intents and purposes a walking armory, my men took a few steps back and drew their broadswords. I was too nervous to move, as the now visibly muscular man was only five feet from me. Before he could move again I shouted (in his face I might add) “Stop where you stand you, you dishonorable, rude, and unlawful brute! You have disobeyed my direct orders to turn around and go back to where you came from! I have half a mind to give you a day in the stocks and a good lashing myself for not respecting your betters! I will not have a delinquent in my king’s court this day! Guards! Take him away!”

There was a moment of silence, and then I came to the realization that my guards weren’t moving. I held my breath and turned around to see one guard kneeling with a dagger in his heart, another guard was pinned to a tree with the drifters spear through his chest, I could see he was trying to say something but couldn’t quiet get the words out as he continued to choke on his own blood. The last guard seemed to be just standing there petrified for no reason, I normally would have been agitated but at the time I simply felt confused and rather dizzy. Then at that very moment I saw the mans head slide off of his shoulders like a melting ice block slipping off a kitchen countertop; if it wasn’t so gruesome and gore filled, I would have considered it beautiful, even art. 

I felt a pit in the bottom of my stomach, as I stood there, motionless. The mans body dropped forward, and behind him stood “The Drifter”, one of his longswords in hand, literally dripping with blood. Anyone who had not seen the blade before the massacre could be forgiven for thinking the sword was naturally crimson. Then in a black flash he was less than a meter away from me. I didn’t realize how large he was, he was about twice my size, at least a full head taller than me. Then I saw his face, his long hair, and a rough beard that covered a vaguely familiar, “royal” face. “That tattoo” I said in a hushed tone, seeing the all too familiar tattoo on the left side of his forehead was when I finally realized the error of my ways. “Prince Victarion” I whispered softly to myself, in shock and surely doomed, I fell to my knees.

Prince Victarion was know as the greatest warrior of this land before, the slayer of dragons, trolls, goblins, and powerful wizards. He was fast as lightning, and had the strength of ten men. He traveled the world training, learning, not just combat, but skills of knowledge and intellect; truly welding himself into a man fit to be high king of Arexia. 

I instantly wished I had simply waited in king Victarion court, but it was far too late for that now. Before I could grovel for forgiveness from his highness, he looked me in the eye, and simply said “My journey is not complete yet, I will return in a single moon cycle’s time. I have heard the rumors of the dead rising in The Sacred Caverns, I will investigate this matter, and in doing so end my ten year royal pilgrimage. Tell my father, I’m sorry I won’t be coming back just yet. I will make my father, my family, and my people proud. Oh and make sure to let him know; his newly hired guards,” he then pointed to those dead men I only assumed were loyal Arexian soldiers, that I now saw were rather rough and sinister looking. He then continued “Are actually Cruel-Sea Pirates and Swift-Shot Thieves that have banded together to try to pull off a pretty big heist: To steal everything from the royal treasury. Quite smart if you think about it, no need to worry about guards and keys if you are the guards and already have the keys. Anyway, you’re welcome, and good day.” He then nodded, mounted his horse and left just as swiftly as he came.

To be Continued