Skorm the Broken

Days pass me by as I spend my time rotting away in the cells of Ienbrook. My father, Skral the Broken, has been slain by the hand of a woman once thought a friend. But then friends were only an opportunity to be stabbed in the back.

As days turn into weeks I spend my time remembering my father’s lessons. How he told me that revenge would be ours, and I would fulfil his blood oath and spill the blood of Goroth, as well as Chaos.

Gone are the days remembered so fondly, of hunting with father and his huntsmen in the forests to the west. Of climbing the cragged peaks of Inis Mor and hunting down the tribesmen who encroached on Cannish.

Footsteps outside draw my attention, and as keys are put into the lock of my cell door and the door is pulled open I can’t help but shield my eyes away from the light spilling in.

“Quickly now,” a voice hisses.

“Who is it?” I say.

“My name is Brother Assov, and I helped your father out once upon a time. Now it is your turn. Quickly now, we must flee!”

I stand, my shackles are unbound. I stumble out of the cell and into the corridor. There are two men in cloaks, one old and the other young like myself.

“Who are you?” I say, ill at ease at these men’s appearance, for I expected no aid from anyone in Ienbrook.

“There is no time for questions, wear this cloak and shut your mouth. With any luck we’ll make it out of here before anyone is any the wiser.”

This Brother Assov drapes a cloak of a priest around me and motions for me to follow. We make our way through the corridor, coming out onto a stairwell and climbing it. I pass a dead soldier on the stairwell, his throat cut open.

We pass through the corridors as silent as death, avoiding the footsteps that appear here, ducking into a doorway when a soldier appears there. The two men are light and sure of foot, and I find my own step wearing, as I am out of practice and woe betide the man who tries to creep through a fortress of enemies after weeks spent in a dark cell.

We come upon courtyard, and Brother Assov leads the way, and we climb onto the driver’s seat, and he picks up the reins. As the horses guide us through the gateway, the soldier there inspects a scroll the brother hands him. He nods.

“You sure you don’t need an escort, the roads aren’t patrolled as well as they used to be,” says the soldier.

“The Gods will be our protection,” says Brother Assov, and after being handed back the scroll he guides the cart out of Ienbrook.

I can’t help but look back at the place I’d been kept to rot these past weeks, a feeling of joy swelling in my chest.

*

We head east along the King’s Road, and that first night we load the cart into a barn and go inside of a tavern. Brother Assov pays for our room and food, and I wolf down a watery stew as if it was the greatest meal ever cooked. The ale tastes as sweet as nectar as it washes down the meal, and I can’t help but smile.

The two priests watch me closely all the while, and I check to make sure we’re out of earshot of anyone, which we are.

“So, why did you help me?” I ask Assov.

“I was a friend of your father, as I have already mentioned. I would not see it fit for someone as such as yourself to be rotting away in the cells of Ienbrook.”

“You killed a soldier.” I held no tone of accusation in my question, merely curiosity.

“Aye, we did. You were to be executed in two days’ time.” Assov took a sip of wine from his wineskin.

“Then you have my thanks. I owe you my life.” I hold out my empty palms. “Though I have nothing worthwhile to offer, you have my oath that I will repay the favour.”

“I’m sure if you are one tenth the man your father was then I have nothing to fear in that regard.” Assov stoppered his wineskin and slid it back inside his cloak.

“What about you friend?” I ask the silent priest. His eyes are sharp, blue, face gaunt and pale, with close cropped black hair. “Why so quiet?”

“Brother Cammon has sworn as vow of silence. He does not speak through piety.”

I nod. “So be it.”

We go to our room where three cots are allotted. I climb into the one in the corner and sleep takes me almost immediately.

*

I remember the first time I took a life. It had been on a hunt to the frozen north, past the Temple of Skursk, on my second hunt with father. The first time I had missed my shot, and the stag had gotten clear of the treeline. Father had told me there would be other opportunity’s to prove myself.

I remember the spear in my hands. The outline of the white bear coming closer, the snow falling like winter leaves. How the cold numbed my skin, how my heart beat in my chest, how I tasted blood from biting my lip so hard as the bear noticed our scent.

And father’s words in my ear as the bear came roaring at us.

Hold steady, my son, he had said. Aim for the heart.

The bear had reared up on its hind legs and I plunged the spear into its heart.

I had become a man that day, in father’s eyes…

*

I awake to the sound of a voice.

I shield my eyes at the light spilling in through the window, and forget for a moment that I had escaped Ienbrook, and that I was not in the cell anymore.

Brother Assov is in the privy, Brother Cammon sitting on his cot.

I sit up and Cammon offers me a skin of ale, which I drink from.

“Why did you have to swear an oath of silence?” I ask him. He simply shrugs. “Be it for the New Gods to wish a man to suffer such as that.”

Cammon smiled and nodded. For I worshipped the Old Gods, many a time I had went with father north to the Temple of Skursk, to pray of seek omens.

We set off east, and days pass by in silence, with only Assov’s humming to say that I had not fallen deaf.

“Where are we headed?” I ask on the fifth morning, after a night spent sleeping under a tree.

“Why home, Skorm, son of Skral.”

“This is not the road to Cannish lands.”

“No, it is not. We are taking you to the Temple of Avern, where you will begin in your training.”

“I am no priest, Brother Assov, and do not wish to become one.”

Brother Assov simply smiled. “You think we are but simple priests?”

*

The Temple of Avern is situated on a southern slope of hill, bordering a sheer drop off, overlooking a lake below. A town is located on the upper side of the hill, which we now passed through. People nodded in respect to the two priests as we passed by.

Inside of the temple, men in cloaks passed here and there, some carrying parchments, others buckets.

“Brother Cammon, I believe Brother Farrow seeks your aid as soon as you were to return.”

Cammon nods and climbs off of the cart, and with a final nod to me he turns and disappears around a corner.

“What do we do now?” I ask Assov.

“First you will shave your head, and adorn the cowl of apprenticeship.”

“I already told you I don’t want to become a priest.”

“Ah, but don’t you want to earn revenge on your enemies?” he asks me coyly.

“It is all I want.”

“Then let us go and make yourself ready to see the council members.”

I follow Assov after he hands the reins to a man in a cowl and we walk through the studded doors, into a great hall lined with books, scrolls, men sit at tables, inspecting these.

“The Temple of Avern is a place of learning, my boy.” Assov turns right and I follow. “A place of hard training, but you are your father’s son and I know you will find a place here.”

“My place is in Cannish lands,” I say through gritted teeth. “Leading my people against the tyrant Goroth.”

Brother Assov stops and turns to me. “Then be smart about it. Be smarter than your father was, for all his skills in swordplay it didn’t stop the knife plunged into his heart, now, did it?”

I can only stare. Assov leads us into a room, where he tells me to sit. A man appears and begins shaving my head, then I am told to disrobe and am given a light blue robe, like some of the younger members of the temple I had seen wearing.

“Now, Skorm, son of Skral, it is time to meet the Council of Avern…”