A tale of the old days

As sung by the Bards of Hairston Downs

Chapter 1

He had come in the early morning spring light. Walking somewhat bent back and weary, across the bridge into Silverwater, through the last of the night's fog. No one recognized him. Except one. And by end of day, he had found shelter in a small shack next to the smelter of the village smithy. His only noticeable possessions appeared to be wrapped tightly in a long and narrow bundle of skins. Strapped high up on his back.

For several months, he worked the bellows and the young apprentice, Remick, oft remarked how tirelessly he could pump the same for old Ranulf the smith. He was lean and rugged and somewhat tall..not quite a yew bow length... with white in his shoulder length hair and at the temples and beard, all yet mixed with a brilliant bronze. His left eye was a flashing, sky blue. The other covered with a ragged patch speaking of a loss years before. His skin was pallid and whitish for many weeks. As if he had just emerged from some dark place. You really could not tell his age. But the matrons, in whispers and giggles, surmised he had long since seen fifty or more winters. And was probably no threat to their younger daughters. As the fire no doubt had gone out down below.

He said little, demanded nothing and went his own way. The village elders allowed him to join the wood cutters and so he made a few extra coins from his labors in the near forest. As spring gave way to summer, then the turning of the trees, a messenger came from the Baron. With panting breath, he spoke of the need for the younger men to gather arms and join their Lord to the northeast for the Orcs were once again sighted on the great bend east of the river.

For three days the forge rang with the sounds of hammer and anvil as Ranulf repaired much gear for the village contingent. The stranger, all the while, at his post on the bellows or cooling blades or stitching harness.

And so finally they were gathered and made their farewells to kith and kin. For a campaign might be long in the region they were bound. And yet they marched away with light and merry hearts knowing the generosity of their Lord. All that is except one. For in council the elders had decreed the stranger must fore go..for he had not been born of the village and that honor remained theirs.

He had remained silent at that pronouncement and had merely returned to his shack after the adjournment.

The next morn dawned bright with just the hint of frost. And two youngsters stole away for a bit of lark on the banks of the river near the old Temple bridge. The cock had only crowed once when, in the distance to the west, they spied a fearsome sight. They were lucky to have been crouched in the willows and so went unseen. For not a long bow shot away was a brutish figure armed and armored and sniffing the wind from the east.

Terrified, they crawled through the mud under the bridge and up. And tearing back into the village shouting of monsters in the west. Old Ranulf, just now at the forge, stepped back into the street to determine the trouble. Determined and willing to cuff or curse at the early unwelcome noise and it's source. Catching one by the scruff, he queried the lad and was satisfied with the honest fear he saw in the lad's eyes. Ordering the boy to find the village cleric and to gather the women and children for a march to the Temple he turned and returned to his door. Standing there was the stranger. "Do you still have it?" he asked. "Aye Captain" returned the good smith.

"Then let's make haste for the stench of orcs is in the west beyond the river. Appears they have fooled the Baron and have come from the Stone gorge as well.'' Bursting through the door came just then Remix. To report that the remaining villagers had gathered under the cleric and were making for the grove of the Old One and the stout temple walls. All except old granny Borina, whom some claimed was a witch, but was left alone as she was a great healer and midwife. And who had merely laughed and stated it was not yet time. Orc or no Orc.

He was silenced when he saw the stranger strip off the old ragged homespun shirt. Silenced as he saw the man's back and the long and numerous scars that blazoned it. But the boy was destined to see even greater things on that day then scars.

Remick watched as old Ranulf brought forth a large bundle from up high on the metal rack. And in amazement, continued to watch as the old man drew forth such armor as he had never seen before. Not your gilded and fancy stuff, even though the old smith could make it. No, this was heavy and a dull black. But solid as well. A fighting man's armor. By the beard of the Ancient One, this must be the fabled ebony of old legends he thought. A front and back piece, greaves, gauntlets and boots. All now worn over a clean white linen shirt and dark brown leathers. "a little tight'' muttered the stranger..but we have no time."

''The rest?" spoke the warrior. " Fraid not my Lord..the Captain will recall... that was lost in the Spine of the Dragon'' the smith enjoined. "Ah yes so it was....been a long time.... but I recall twas the cauldron..yes I recall" answered the stranger.

''Be a good lad Remick and fetch me my parcel....and then you and Ranulf be down the road..time is short.''

The lad was barely able to carry it back, for by the dawn, it was heavy. But he managed.

"No good byes old friend... go now with the lad... be well and live to see the dryad Queen return..for today it seems is the day" spake the stranger. "Aye Captain as you command...fight well my Lord," came the answer from Ranulf. The boy noticing a choking gruffness in the old smith's voice. "Come then boy..we must be away." And so they were gone.