The Servant of Gelde

The older man sat quietly in his dank cell. Water dripped rhythmically from the stone ceiling, splashing into a small puddle in the corner where he kept the empty waste bucket. A bowl of porridge long sat cold and untouched by the metal bars. The flame of the wall torch across the hall flickered with the creak of the door to the prison, illuminating the man’s aged face. His hair had begun to gray some years ago, yet some specks of dark remained. His face, normally shaven clean, was framed by a wiry beard, grown over his time spent in his cell.

Guardsman Barkley stood in front of the cell holding a large keyring containing a few heavy iron keys. Wordlessly, he opened the cell and stepped inside to stand above the man sitting with his back to the wall.

The prisoner continued to stare forward, unfazed by the armed guard waiting on him.

“Up.” Commanded Barkley.

The prisoner remained on the floor.

“I said up!” Shouted the guard. “Hammar Feron has commanded you an audience with him. Now, stand.”

The prisoner pushed himself to his feet, the shackles around his wrists and ankles rattling.

Guardsman Barkley was no small man, but even he was dwarfed by the prisoner. “Step to the side, I need to unchain you from the wall.”

The prisoner calmly stepped to his right, allowing the guard to open the heavy padlock hanging from the stone.

Grabbing the chains like a leash, the guard led the prisoner from the cell and up the wooden stairs, each one creaking under the weight of the massive man.

Daylight streamed into the corridor through the windows which lined the wall. It was the first evidence of sun the prisoner had seen in weeks, and his eyes adjusted slowly, but the man let them burn instead of squinting. His steps were short, burdened by the shackles around his legs and the hall was long. He could sense the guard’s fear, but had no intention of harming the man; not yet.

At the end of the hall, two more guards stood with halberds, guarding the heavy wooden door which swung open into the main hall. The Hammar’s castle was modest, but the main hall certainly was not. The tall wood roof arched above, and the stone floor was centered by a gold trimmed red carpet down the middle. Tall candelabras lined the walls on either side, and two guards stood by each of the four doors which led to the rest of the castle.

Entering from the front right door of the hall, the prisoner saw The Hammar off to his right, sitting on a modest throne made of dark wood and velvet. “I hope my guards have treated you well.” Said The Hammar, a title bestowed by kings to local lords given near absolute control over their cities. “Of course, they are under no obligation after what you did.” He gestured to a large dried puddle of blood which still stained the stone near the prison door.

The prisoner stared at Hammar Feron on his throne, silently as Guardsman Barkley guided him to the center of the hall.

“Don’t look at me like that. I believe you will be happy with what I have to say. If what I say doesn’t make you happy, you should know you’re only alive because of me. Every advisor told me to have you executed on the spot, or tortured until death. But I couldn’t do that. No, I was too curious. It’s certainly uncommon a man is capable of killing ten guards, and wounding a dozen more all by himself. Surely, you would have killed them all and eventually me, had fate not brought me a savior. You should feel no shame, he is an incredible arcanist, and he was justly rewarded. The moment you were thrown in that cell, I sent my scribes out on finding out everything they could about you. I’m told the clue was your sword.” A guard tossed the prisoner’s sword onto the floor in front of him, its blade and hilt glowing with golden highlights. “No one had ever seen such a sword. It’s clearly magic in some way, but no one could truly understand its source until an apprentice found a reference to it in his own time. Imagine that, dozens of the greatest scribes, and it took a near child reading at home to find my answer. You are a servant of Gelde. When we learned that, it all came together. You’re not simply an arcanist, or a warrior, no you’re blessed by a god near forgotten. Some doubt your god’s existence, you know? They believe you are simply motivated by greed. But they have not witnessed you in combat. No, you’re clearly more than a mercenary in search of wealth.”

The prisoner continued to stare at his target, monologuing on his throne. He could feel the eyes of Gelde, seemingly burning a hole in the back of his neck.

“You were under contract, and all contracts can be broken. How much?” Asked The Hammar, holding up his head with his hand.

The prisoner remained silent and calm.

The Hammar lifted his head from his hand and sat up straight. “I am buying you out of your contract, you fool! Now, tell me how much you were paid, and I will have the coin brought out, no questions askee” The Hammar yelled.

“One thousand gold.” The prisoner spoke for the first time since before arriving in Feron’s castle. His voice was gruff, and monotone.

“Wow! I knew I made some enemies, but I didn’t know I made anyone that angry. I know it’s fruitless to ask who it was.” Hammar Feron pointed to his coinmaster who slipped into a small door behind the throne.

“One thousand gold… You know, your god is a bit unfair, is he not? Thankfully, I can buy you off. But had I been a poor man? I’d already be dead of course, but even then, there is no chance of paying you off. So, what is it that your god promised you? Riches? Power? An all-access pass to the best brothel in Bridgekeep?”

The prisoner continued to silently stare at The Hammar.

“A man of many words I see. I’m simply trying to learn about the man I am going into business with, you will face no judgement from me.” He paused. “No matter, I don’t need your words, just your sword.”

The room sat in silence awaiting the coinmaster to return. The door finally swung open, and the coinmaster returned with two guards holding a wooden chest between them.

“Ah, finally! Please, open it in front of our guest. Show him it is all there. Allow him to count it if he chooses, I am feeling patient today.”

The guards dropped the chest a few feet in front of the prisoner and pulled open its lid to reveal it full of shining gold coins.

“So, what’s the next step? I can have it brought to a counting house, credited to your name. I’m sure you’re strong enough to carry it out yourself should you wish.”

“Unchain me, and hand me my sword.” Said the prisoner.

“Not until the contract is broken.” Said The Hammar with authority that was missing from his previous words.

“The contract cannot be broken without my sword.” Said the prisoner plainly.

The Hammar looked to guards on either side of him, none of which dared to look him in the eyes. He then waved his hand at Guardsman Barkley. “Do it.”

The guard’s eyes widened “Hammar, I do not-“

“That is an order, guardsman!” Shouted Hammar Feron.

“Aye, Hammar.” Said the guards, pulling his keys from his belt, and flipping through them until he found the one to the prisoner’s chains.

The chains fell to the floor with a series of thuds. The prisoner stepped forward and grabbed his sword from the floor. He examined his weapon and grabbed the coin held into the hilt, pulling it out. The golden highlights dulled and the once shining blade seemed no different than any other steel sword. The prisoner tossed the coin into the chest with the thousand others, and knelt down with his head on the pommel, placing the blade’s tip on the ground. He began to recite a quiet prayer to Gelde under his breath, and the coins in the chest began to glow bright before they each started to shake violently.

Every man in the hall watched in awe as the sound of the coins rattling echoed off of the stone walls.

A trickle of coins began to float upwards as if they were falling, until they disappeared just a few feet above. The trickle quickly turned into a flood of glowing coins falling award and disappearing. The Hammar sat on the edge of his seat watching the beautiful display.

And then in an instant, it stopped. The prisoner rose to his feet and looked inside the chest. A few coins still remained. “You overpaid.”

The Hammar, mouth agape, looked forward at the near empty chest. “I- I guess so. It’s yours anyway.”

“I cannot take it.” Said the prisoner, placing his sword at his own feet.

“Where did it go?” Asked Hammar Feron.

“It is not for me to know.” Said the prisoner.

The Hammar slapped a hand on his thigh. “Then it is not for me to ask. It matters not, my business with you is not finished.”

“Respectfully, Hammar, if you intend to chain me, I will not struggle to slay every man you send after me. I believe it would be best for you to bring me my armor, and allow me to leave. I bear no ill will toward you, or your men, but I will not hesitate should I be tested.” Said the prisoner, with a casualness that struck fear into each man in the room, especially those who witnessed the previous slaughter.

The Hammar swallowed his fear and spoke. “There is no need for threats. My business with you is not punishment, not exactly. I intend to hire you. Are you capable of investigation?”

“I am capable of whatever is necessary for the job to be completed.” Said the prisoner.

“My city has been under siege for months. Men, women, children, all being attacked by animals spilling from the forest with a murderous zeal. Every scholar, ranger, and arcanist I have sent to find the source has failed. But you, I feel, are capable of not only finding the source of the forest’s anger, but eliminating it.”

“What do you intend to pay?” Asked the prisoner.

“Beyond your freedom?” Responded Hammar Feron.

“My freedom is not in question, Hammar. You will not be able to bargain with it.”

The Hammar scrunched his face, swallowing his frustration. “I see. I intend to pay you three hundred and fifty gold. Before you decline, understand the price includes your… convenience; to walk out of here without a fight. You are free regardless of the deal, that much has been made clear, but you will not have to fight your way out by accepting this payment. And I know you cannot deny the task itself.”

The servant of Gelde pondered the offer, waiting for his god to offer advice on whether to accept, but his god remained silent. A test it seemed, to show if he knew his value. “I accept. Bring me the gold and my armor, and I will be on my way.”

“Wonderful! But, before you leave, please speak to my scribes about what they have discovered. They have a theory on the water being cursed by an old-“

“Bring me the gold and my armor, and I will be on my way.” The servant of Gelde repeated plainly.

“I am giving you information which will help you, I’m not sure why you would deny the help.” Said the Hammar.

“You have said it yourself, everyone you’ve hired for this is incapable.”

The Hammar scratched his chin. “So be it. Hollis, bring the man his armor. Karlyle, fetch the gold.”

The Servant bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“While we wait; in all the time spent searching for information about you, we found no reference to you, only select passages about your god, and his servants. Which is surprising, given your… effectiveness. Now that we are in business, I feel that it is appropriate for me to learn your name at the very least.”

“My name is unnecessary.” Said The Servant.

“I understand that, yet I still wish to know it.”

“No.”

The Hammar’s brow furrowed, and his nails dug into the arms of his throne. “You are under my dominion. You will tell me your name.” The Hammar’s eyes stared daggers into the man standing before him.

“I am under the dominion of no man. I will leave this place, accomplish my task, and you will likely never see me again. My name is of no use to you.”

The Hammar stood, his face as red as the velvet on his chair. But before he could speak, the door to his left swung open with Karlyle rolling in a small wagon filled with gold coins. He wheeled the cart in between The Hammar and The Servant and brought it to a rest.

Wordlessly, The Servant grabbed a coin from the top of the pile and picked up his sword. He carefully placed the coin into the open slot on the hilt, and the swirling waves engraved on the side turned to shining gold, contrasting with the silver hilt. The servant held the sword to his face to admire his god’s work. A perfect replica of his family’s sword which he lost with his home many years ago, a gift from Gelde, bestowed for his loyal and lucrative service. Though it was made of pure silver, a poor choice for a weapon, the god enchanted it to be lighter and stronger than any sword forged by man.

Mere moments later, Hollis entered the room, dragging behind him the servant’s armor. The weight of the solid gold armor had the man gasping for air as he pulled along the flat cart, one full body heave at a time. The servant, growing impatient, stormed over to the guard who scrambled away as the hulking man approached. The servant put his hand out above the pile of armor and a bracer floated onto his forearm, and latched itself closed. As he reached his hand down, toward the pile, a gauntlet effortlessly slipped onto his outstretched fingers. He grabbed the breastplate which sat on top of the pile, and lifted it just near his chest where the armor effortlessly equipped itself. He repeated this, piece by piece, as the room looked on at the magical display. Finally, he lifted his helmet, which to the disappointment of everyone else in the room, was simply placed on his head. At the bottom of the pile was his shield, like his armor, made of enchanted solid gold and large enough to completely protect him if he simply crouched behind it. His armor put together was the weight of a multiple men, but to him it was as light as a bird’s feathers, and stronger than solid steel.

“I am leaving now.” Announced the servant as he turned toward the door. Behind him, the gold in the chest rose a few feet into the air and disappeared as the other pile did before. The guards at the exit avoided making any eye contact with either the servant, or their Hammar who was still stewing with a silent rage.

The stone steps to the castle made a sharp left downward into the humble town. White smoke billowed from stone chimneys peeking out of wooden roofs. The dirt street was bustling with common folk going about their days. They looked on in awe as the enormous golden man marched on his journey north to the woods. When the servant reached the north gate, he found a group of tense soldiers staring toward the forest on the horizon. A trench was dug out on either side of the road, stretching far out of sight. On one side were spiked barricades pointing both up to the sky, and down into the trench. On the other side was a field littered with various woodland creatures. An army’s supply of arrows sat in the rotting corpses of birds, and larger animals laid with spears protruding from their chest or back.

“I take it you’re the assassin.” Shouted a soldier from the watchtower on the eastern side of the gate.

“If that’s what you’d like to call me.” Responded the servant.

“I mean no offense, sir. Line’s been quiet today, but we’ll keep an eye out for you until we can’t see you no more. If you hear the horn, know we spotted something bigger than a bird, and ready yourself for whatever it might be. We’ll do our best to help, but I’m not risking any of my men on the other side of the trench.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Just open the gate, and I will be on my way.” Shouted the servant up to the man in the tower.

“Right.” Said the guard. “You heard him, boys, open it up. Looks safe from here.” He shouted down to the men at the gate who scrambled into action pushing the heavy lumber wall outward just enough for the servant to walk through.

The stench of death and rot hung low in the grass field. The early spring sun had just begun to ripen the carcasses strewn about the field, their sour smell stringing the servant’s nose. Yet, he continued on his quest, unfazed, and committed to the completion of his contract. In his decades of service, he had only failed to complete two contracts, his last being one of them. To Gelde, there was no shame in failure, so long as it was for a better price. But this time his failure was his own. To be disarmed, captured, and imprisoned for weeks, only to be paid off; it burned, and he would not fail again. But he knew he couldn’t wallow in his frustrations, there was a task at hand, to be completed somewhere in the forest ahead.

The air was cool at the tree-line, and the soil still soft beneath the servant’s boots as he trudged into the dim forest. The silence was discomforting. Where usually birds could be heard chirping above, only the psithurism of the empty trees filled the air. Step by step into the woods he marched aimlessly. He had no plan in mind of how to find the source of the forest’s anger, but he did have faith that Gelde may reveal the truth yet.

After some hours of walking aimlessly, a crow began to squawk in the trees above. Moments later, a bush rattled some dozen steps ahead. The servant drew his sword and shield. Heavy breathing could be heard in the shadows, heavier steps crushing dead twigs on the ground. From behind the trees stepped out a brown bear which roared in anger at the approaching man. The servant raised his sword, pointing toward the predator which sized him up. With a sudden jolt, the bear charged at the man who stood ready. The creature lowered its head and slammed into the shield, knocking the servant off balance just enough to break his defensive posture. Quickly, a large paw came flying in which slammed into the man’s right side, throwing him to the ground. The bear roared even louder and leapt onto its hind legs ready to crush its prey beneath its weight. As the beast fell, the servant thrust his sword upward directly through its heart. Blood trickled out and ran down to the hilt of the blade as the bear died upon it, collapsing off to its side.

The servant stood up and pulled his sword from the beast’s chest. A single good flick sent all of the blood spattering off onto the trees and ground. With just that, the blade looked as clean as though it was just sharpened and oiled. He closed his eyes, listening for any other attackers, but the forest was silent once again. He peered down at the dead brown bear, a weakened pain etched into its lifeless face. It seemed to be have been in good health, no signs of rabidus. There was no froth in its mouth, no wounds on its head, just a healthy bear pushed to unexplained aggression.

The servant sheathed his sword, and placed his shield onto his back, allowing its enchantments to hold it in place. From the front of his thigh, he drew a golden dagger. On each leg, what looked like adornment was truly a dagger, cleverly hidden and as sharp as a razor. He seldom used them as weapons, though they could certainly get the better of unsuspecting opponents. He grabbed the bear’s head so he could get a clear view of the top, and with one swift thrust downward, pierced the beast’s skull.

The servant pulled the dagger from the bear’s skull and examined the blood on the metal. It would suffice. He sat on the ground, brought the blade to his tongue, and licked a portion of the blood from the blade. In an instant he was within the bear’s memories; his own memories. He could smell something nearby. The smell was foreign, though not entirely unfamiliar. The bear chose to investigate; he chose to investigate. The smell only became stronger with each step, in the distance was the sweet smell of winterberry, his favorite treat, but they would have to wait. The smell was so very close, just on the other side of the trees. A bird is squawking; no, it is speaking. Unfamiliar sounds flooded his head. They hurt; they pounded on the inside of his skull. He begs them to stop. They are not just sounds, they’re words. He is being spoken to. “Slay the man. Crush his head. Consume his flesh.” The words echo, getting louder every time. The man is there. The man is the smell. He is made of metal, and shines in the dim light of the forest floor. The commands get louder. He roars in pain. Anything to make it stop. He charges forward and smashes his head on the shield. The metal man stands strong. A quick swipe of his left paw throws the man to the ground. “Crush his head” echoes the bird’s command. He rises tall and prepares to bring his weight onto the metal man. His chest stings. His chest burns. Why does it hurt? Darkness creeps in, the metal man stands. “Failure” said the bird, mockingly, before flying off. Silence at last.

The servant was himself once again. His breathing was heavy and erratic. The birds, he thought to himself. The birds were speaking; but why? It was progress, something to go on, which brought a sense of ease, however, there was still a long way to go before any answers became clear.

Examining his surroundings, the servant noticed the forest had become noticeably darker, and an orange hue shone through its canopy. Mere moments in the mind of another may take hours to process. The sun was setting, to be replaced with a moon of an unknown phase. He couldn’t take the risk, he needed to prepare his spot for the night.

Just as the sun fell beneath the horizon, the servant got his fire lit. A servant of Gelde need not truly sleep, merely meditate, and when in the field, they may simply form a circle in the dirt, Gelden magic protecting him from surrounding danger. With a fire to keep him warm, he placed his sword and shield on the dirt in front of him, knelt on the ground, and sat on the backs of his legs. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, letting the world quickly fade away.

He opened his eyes to a small mill on a river flowing calmly through a sparse wood. The sky was black, but everything was illuminated as if it was a clear summer afternoon. On the edges of the property sat a thick grey fog obscuring the surrounding forest. It was a place of comfort, a place of familiarity, yet more still a place of longing.

The servant stepped up the mill’s wooden stairs, causing them to creak under his weight. His linen clothes were not particularly warm, but they were comfortable, and freeing. As he opened the door he was greeted by the meow of Strangers. The black cat silently hopped upon the table beside the door, hoping for a pet. The servant reached out his hand, and Strangers rubbed his head against the palm. With a light purr, it closed its emerald eyes and melted into its master’s cold embrace.

This mill was once the servant’s home many years ago, in his life before Gelde. Each time he opened the door, there was a small hope that he would see his wife and daughter again. Closing his eyes, he could see his wife standing before him in the warmly lit kitchen. She was tall and slender, her brunette hair fell to the small of her back, and her green eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the fire. She moved with grace and beauty, her perfume wafting off of her wrists as she danced around the cold wooden floor with everything she did. He would watch her every day as she stitched and sewed clothes for everyone in the nearby town.

For his entire life, the soldier turned shopkeeper had dreamed of a woman just like her. While others married young, he waited for the day he’d meet her, always believing it was inevitable. When he finally met her, he knew she was his destiny, and he made sure to not let her go.

Their daughter took after her mother, something he was always grateful for. Her hair was lighter, but her eyes just as green, and skin just as fair. She seemed to always have energy to play, and play she did, from dawn until dusk every day. On sunny days she would run through the grass, her laughter filling the silent air. When it rained, she liked to sit by the fire and play with her dolls. She had always dreamed of marrying a handsome soldier like her father once was, a hope that came from an old doll she begged for when walking through town one day. She always had a way of getting what she wanted; at least from her father. She was seldom seen without it. He’d often stare longingly at the doll sitting in his daughter’s chair at the empty table, hoping to see her playing with it once again, wide smile filling the cavern he felt in his heart.

It seemed no matter how many years passed, the pain never truly faded. The memory of them tainted everything he did. With every meal he ate, every walk he took, he imagined how much greater it would be with them by his side. He had been on many adventures in his years, and he’d give anything to sit with them by a warm fire and tell his exciting tales.

He often wondered if they’d recognize who he had become. It was nearly two decades before he was granted his long life by Gelde, and in that time he had grayed and wrinkled, even beyond his years. But he still hoped they’d be just as happy to see him as he would be to see them. As he stared into the dark room, he could see them as though they stood in front of him, but the house was empty; the house was cold. A warm fire would do nicely to lift the chill.

As Strangers pulled his head away, the servant looked into the cat’s emerald eyes. The servant never cared for cats before he entered Gelde’s realm, but Strangers had an unexplained familiarity to him, as if they had known each other in another life. The feeling was one that was always welcome in the near empty abyss.

With the fire roaring, the servant got to work on his dinner. One thing his home never lacked was food. Any ingredient he could ever want was always available somewhere, a quick turn of his head and an entire cow would appear from out of sight if he so chose. Tonight, a whole chicken, perfectly plucked and gutted, appeared on the cherry cutting board on the counter. The servant carefully cut out the spine of the fowl to spatchcock it for a quick roast in his heavy iron oven. To the side he finely chopped rosemary, sage, and thyme, mixing the herbs with coarsely ground salt to rub onto the outside of the brassica coated chicken before throwing the oven into the roaring fire.

With the chicken roasting, the servant chopped and salted potatoes, carrots, and leaks, throwing each into an oiled pan until softened and browned. The smells of the kitchen filled his nose as he enjoyed the tenuous peace afforded to him. His wife had always been the one who would cook, and he’d often return home to a meal even more delicious than the last. No matter how much he had learned about cooking since, it was never enough to recapture the memory.

The brown and crispy skin of the chicken cracked under his knife as he carved and chopped a large hunk of meat into Stangers’s bowl on the table. The cat quietly hopped up and began to eat its dinner. The servant tore off a leg for himself and started on his own meal, the chicken dripping onto the wooden plate below him. His cooking may not compare to his wife’s, but it was certainly getting close.

A disturbance was heard outside. Someone was coming. Three men. No, four, one is in the trees. They think they’re moving silently. He opened his eyes into the darkness of the forest, his fire down to smoldering ash. He continued to listen to the approaching men as they crept closer.

The man in the trees was the first to get close. He nocked an arrow and drew his bowstring back. In an instant, the servant grabbed his sword, spun around and took a magic grip on the branch the man crouched on, sending them both crashing to the ground. Before the man could know what had happened, the servant had him in his grip, and his sword at the man’s throat.

“Peace!” Shouted one of the other men, walking from the forest with his empty hands in the air. The man’s long brown hair was tied loosely behind his head, and he had a short beard which came to a point under his chin. His teeth were yellow and crooked, and his brown eyes sunken into his skull just below a pair of sparse eyebrows.

“Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill all of you this instant.” Said the servant through gritted teeth.

“We mean you no harm. We are rangers.” Said the man still walking slowly toward the servant and his captive. He was wearing a dark green cloak on top of a padded brown shirt and combat kilt. A short-bow rested on his back, and a short-sword on his hip. Upon his chest he wore the symbol of a wreath, a symbol worn by the rangers.

“You say you mean no harm, yet he had his bow drawn. Now, speak honestly.” Said the servant.

“He is young, he got ahead of us. He wouldn’t have fired without my say so.” Said the ranger who had stopped a few steps away, the other two a few steps behind him, both similarly dressed in a ranger’s uniform.

“Why are you here?” Asked the servant.

“We were ordered to patrol the forest and find anyone still here, to get them out.”

“You have wasted your time, I have business to attend to in this forest.”

“That is not an option. By order of the Hammar, everyone must leave the forest, we have been given leave to arrest anyone who denies the order, they shall be imprisoned for no less than thirty days and thirty nights.” The ranger tried to sound authoritative, but he was clearly nervous to confront the hulking gold clad man.

“I have been hired the Hammar to find the cause of the aggression. Surely, your orders do not apply to me.” Said the servant.

“We were not told of any such hiring. Do you have evidence of this? Perhaps a contract.”

“My contract is only in gold.”

“Harlan, wait, I believe he speaks truth.” Shouted one of the men from the back. He was a short and skinny man, if one could call him that. His face was that of a pale and freckled boy, his hair was short and looked wholly unkempt. Were it not for the ranger symbol on his chest, the servant would have believed him to be a teenager lost deep in the woods.

“Why is that?” Asked Harlan to the young looking man, keeping his eyes on the servant.

“You’re a Gelden, aren’t you?” The man asked the servant.

“Servant of Gelde.” Growled the servant through his teeth.

“My apologies, servant of Gelde. Harlan, he is the one who was hired to assassinate the Hammar. Clearly some kind of deal was made between them. It’s likely why he wasn’t executed.” The man in the back said,.

“If that is true, then you have no quarrel with us, nor we with you, servant of Gelde. Release my recruit, and I promise no bloodshed.” Said Harlan.

The servant darted his eyes around to each man, none was in a favorable position. He pulled the sword from the young man’s throat and pushed him toward his comrades. The recruit turned to face the servant, his face stricken with debilitating fear and tears streaming down his youthful face. The man who had yet to speak grabbed the recruit and pulled him behind Harlan.

“Servant, is it true that those who serve Gelde may mind-see?” Said the freckled man in the back.

“Simon, this is not the time.” Spat out Harlan, still holding his hands in submission.

“By the time we are able to return to town, it may be too late, its memories would have decayed.” Said Simon to Harlan. “Can you do it, servant?”

The servant nodded to the affirmative. Harlan looked with suspicion, but eventually gestured to Simon who pulled a crow from his cloak and tossed it in front of the servant.

“We were attacked by a deer earlier, this crow seemed to be commanding it. I was able to shoot it out of the tree, and the deer fled. We were going to bring it to a mind-seer in town, but if you can do it, then we risk very little in lost memory. It was not more than two hours ago.”

The servant crouched and picked up the bird from the ground. He knelt on the ground, and cracked open the avian’s skull, its blood and brains leaking out over his gauntlets and onto the earth below. He held the bleeding creature above his mouth and allowed as much of the gore to pour in as possible. The rangers looked on in curious disgust.

In an instant he was within the crow’s memories. They were his own memories. So many memories, all the way back to its mother’s nest. Memories the crow, he, never knew he had. It was simply a matter of retrieving what he needed. He could see four men, sense the deer nearby, now was a chance. He commanded the deer to attack, and it did. It was unfortunate the deer had shed its antlers, but it may still get a good kick to one of their heads. No, this was too late. He thought back further. He was soaring above the trees, it always felt good to stretch his wings. This wasn’t right either. He was feasting on insects, something flipped a stone near a stream, the best meal in months. Still not right. A very thin mountain, no, a stone tower. The tower is calling to him, and he answers. He flies to the window near the top, there is a man inside his hand is out, his fingers are so long and sharp. This is no man; it is an abomination. His eyes were yellow and snakelike, scales covered his cheeks, and he had black feathers were his hair was meant to be. He lands on the man’s outstretched hand, and the man strokes his head and back, whispering something into his ears. The language is foreign, even to the servant’s mind, but its power is instant. Control is lost, he is at the abomination’s command.

The servant was back in his own body, dawn had just begun to break through the trees. The rangers sat around a nearby fire, and they turn their attention to the freshly conscious man.

“What did you see?” Asked Simon

“The crow, it was commanded by a creature in a tower, a very old stone tower, perhaps from before the first age. The creature had yellow eyes, feathers, scales, but was in the shape of a man. I’ve never seen or heard of such a thing.”

Harlan’s sunken eyes darkened. “It is as I feared. An archdruid has been born, and it seems he has become quite powerful.”

“Tell me everything you know of an archdruid.” Demanded the servant.

Harlan’s eyes darkened as he stared at the dirt below the servant’s feet. “A druid is born of the love between a man and a dryad. They bear no outward anger or aggression toward humans but defend their native lands fervently. We have built into their old forests, and so the rangers exist to combat them. But, an archdruid is a foul creature, born not of love but of lust, anger, and hatred. It bears not just a need to defend its home, but immense anger for all of man, feeling the fear and anger of its mother. It is smarter, stronger, and more dangerous than any druid, or even man. It is capable of magic even the most well trained arcanist can only dream of. I would call this one a fool, throwing beasts at a wall of spears is likely to do nothing but deplete his own forces, but I fear this is just a diversion. He must be dealt with as soon as possible, it is obvious we are in following his plan, as his tactics have not changed.”

The servant politely nodded his head and turned in the direction of the tower.

“Where are you going?” Said Harlan, jumping to his feet.

“I have my target, and you of course know the importance of what I must do.” The servant said, walking away.

“You cannot possibly believe yourself capable of this on your own. It would take an entire battalion of rangers to dispatch an archdruid of this power. He has an entire forest under his command, including the druids themselves.” Harlan’s eyes widened. “It is a diversion. He’s forming an army of druids, and keeping us busy with the animals so we wouldn’t pay mind the lack of druid assaults.” He said to the rangers around him, just loud enough for the servant to hear.

“I am not permitted to wait, I either follow through on my contract, or I die in its pursuit.” The servant continued to walk deeper into the forest.

“You will die in its pursuit.” Shouted Harlan, dejected. Simon whispered into Harlan’s ear, and Harlan quickly nodded in response. The group quickly broke down their fire and disappeared into the southern trees.

After some hours, the crow’s memories had begun to fade, but the servant committed the location of the tower to his own memory; he was close, he just knew it. With no wind to rustle the leaves, the forest was completely silent except for the servant’s heavy steps pounding on the dirt. Despite its silence, the forest seemed to be at its liveliest. Leaves were greener, flowers grew even in the darkest shade, and thick vines climbed and wrapped around every tree. He was certainly close.

The remnants of an old stone wall grew to the west, whatever it protected having long been washed away by time. Blood red roses grew through its cracks, their thorns standing ever protective of their wrapping petals. Long ago, the servant would have stolen one such rose to bring to his love, but that time had long passed.

There was movement ahead, shifting quickly to the right. Like the rangers, it thought it was being silent, but was even less so. The servant drew his sword and peered to the side so as to not alert the foe to his knowledge of its presence. It was just behind a bush now, watching. Then, just as quickly as it came, it left. A scout, and by the sound of its steps, bipedal. There were druids nearby, likely under the archdruid’s control as Harlan predicted.

It wasn’t long after that the base of the stone tower was in sight. The sounds of druids grew. It was at least two dozen, each holding their breath waiting to strike. He must strike first.

The servant quietly took a deep breath and reached out with his magic into the bushes, ripping a druid from its hiding place. The small man-like creature grasped at the false hand around its throat and flailed its legs hoping for the ground. But for all its struggle, it still died quickly upon the servant’s outstretched sword.

The whir of a sling was followed by a heavy stone cracking on the servant’s left shoulder, then another on his right hip. Stone after stone flung from the obscured forest, each falling to the damp earth in their futility. The servant dashed toward the tower, drawing a handful of druids from the trees into his path.

Their skin was pale, contrasted by dark green veins bulging from beneath the surface. They wore coats of fur and fiber around their lean torsos, and circlets of twigs and flowers around their heads. Even the tallest druid stood below a short man, but they attempted to intimidate the servant, nonetheless. Each carried a dark wooden shillelagh and slid their bare feet in the dirt as they began to encircle him.

A few powerful strides and the servant crashed his shield against the one in the middle of the line, its ribs shattering on impact. As it fell, its black eyes betraying immense fear and pain, another took a hard swing at the servant’s head, but the man was able to sidestep the attack and retaliate with a forceful blow of his sword, cutting clean through the druid’s belly. Another blow came from behind, this time connecting on the man’s back. The servant’s armor shrugged the blow, but it did throw him off balance a step. From the front came another swing of a shillelagh, but it was quickly dispatched with a parry and riposte through the druid’s chest.

A crack against the back of the servant’s head sent him to his knees. A stone came from the forest, crashing into his helmeted forehead. Before he could stand, a shillelagh swung into his gut, putting a slight dent into the enchanted metal. The servant jumped back to his feet with an aggressive turn, haphazardly throwing his sword and shield at an arm’s length. Both made contact with multiple foes as they swarmed from the trees. Their numbers were quickly becoming overwhelming, but if he could simply make it to the tower they would be manageable, constricted through the door. He threw himself forward toward the stone structure ahead, dragging with him druids clinging to his large frame. A kick of his right leg threw one forward onto the ground ahead, its skull subsequently crushed by the man’s heavy stomp. Yet still, more druids climbed onto the man, thrashing, trying to collapse him below their weight. It was quickly becoming too much, all the strength Gelde had granted his servant was not enough to carry the feral wave of druids.

The servant tossed his shield at two druids to his side, their torsos collapsing inward from the impact of the golden slab. With his free hand he reached over his head and pulled one off, throwing it headfirst into the ground below. More still clung on, and the servant leapt into the air throwing himself backward to land on his back. The few which hung on were flattened under the weight of the man’s armor. As he stood, the servant had a moment to catch his breath and assess the situation. Dozens of druids stared back with their black eyes, awaiting the opportunity to attack.

The servant used his magic grasp to pull his shield back to his hand, and he readied himself for the ensuing onslaught. Five druids charged forward, each met by a heavy bash of the servant’s shield, or graceful slash of his glowing sword. Another wave was just as easily dispatched. Then another, and another. They continued to pour from the trees and throw themselves at their foe with no regard for their own lives. With each wave, the servant took another step back toward the tower. He considered another mad dash to the tower at his back but knew it would be as fruitless as his first attempt.

And so, he continued to inch closer to his goal, covered in the mud like blood of his enemies. The near endless swarm only became more aggressive as the servant approached the tower, yet he never tired.

On the ground to his left, the servant spotted what seemed to be a snake slithering toward his ankles, he went to stomp onto the slithering creature, but as he lifted his foot it shot upward, wrapping around his ankle. He quickly realized it was no snake, but a vine being controlled by a nearby druid. It was uncommon for a druid to be an arcanist, the trait was most commonly seen from the first born of a litter of druids, which could number in the dozens. He sliced through the vine with his sword, and the severed piece fell from his greaves. But the rest continued its mission up his leg. He knew that the arcanist had to be slain if he had any chance of making it to the tower. The servant scanned his surroundings and spotted the creature in the trees to his left, its arms and hands twisting and contorting as the vine slithered around his legs. The servant raised his arm to pull the druid in, but another vine quickly fell from above and bound his hand open. He tried to slice at the vine above, but was once again thwarted by yet another vine hanging from the trees above. The two vines pulled the servant off of the ground, and the swarm of druids attacked with zeal their bound enemy.

The vines continued to wrap around every part of the servant’s body, slowly tightening their grip. The servant’s armor began to buckle under the grip of the vines. He tried to pull one of his limbs free, but it couldn’t be done. His mind raced, hoping for any possible escape, but nothing came. As the vines wrapped around his face, the servant’s eyes met the druid which had finally bested him. Its black eyes were soulless, its face expressionless. It felt nothing as it ended the life of a man which had killed more men than some armies.

An arrow flew by, the servant could hear it crack on the stone to his left. A nearby druid collapsed as another arrow pierced its chest. Like the start of a storm, a hail of arrows came from the south of the forest, many burying themselves in the bodies of druids. The crowd turned their attention to the south and left the servant hanging from the trees, trapped within the vines, until finally one arrow entered cleanly into the arcanist’s skull. In an instant, the vines released, and the servant fell to the ground. The surrounding druids seemed oblivious to the now freed man as he rose to his feet.

A fierce battle raged. The rangers had come, led by Harlan who was skillfully cutting down druid after druid which challenged him. In a short moment of peace, Harlan’s eyes met the servant’s and the ranger offered a silent nod of respect, before a sharp glance toward the stone tower.

The rangers could handle the army, the servant’s task was within that tower, and so he ran toward his goal. A swift and powerful kick to the heavy wooden door sent it swinging open.

The inside was dark, but warm and homely. The dim glow of candles along the walls illuminated painted canvases hanging around the room. A small round table on the right held a wine bottle and two long stemmed glasses, as if it was prepared ahead of time. As the servant stepped in, the door behind slammed itself closed. The servant readied himself for an attack as he slowly approached the stairs in the back. From above fell a grate of steel bars, crashing down on gold fringed crimson carpet running along the floor and splitting the room in half.

“I do apologize for the noise; it isn’t often I have invitees.” Said a smooth voice from the staircase. From around the staircase’s central column stepped down the archdruid, just as the servant saw through the crow’s eyes. His black feathers began on the top of its head and climbed back down his back, into his well kempt blue and gold doublet. His yellow serpent’s eyes calmly looked over the man on the other side of the bars. “The forest spoke of a golden golem marching toward my abode.” The archdruid stood with his hands behind his back on the other side of the bars, examining the servant’s grizzled face. “Don’t worry, I am a man of honor-“

“You are no man.” Interrupted the servant, his voice echoing in the stone chamber.

The archdruid smirked, his scaley cheeks rising. “You flatter me. Unfortunately, I must accept my lineage given to me by my father; devil he was. I admit, I lack many facets of a what makes a man; of course, there are the superficial factors. I lack one’s hair, one’s eyes, one’s hands.” The archdruid raised his hand to reveal a clawed appendage. “More so, I lack what truly makes humanity. Their greed, their lust, their foolishness…” the Archdruid side eyed the servant …”their mortality.”

The servant grimaced.

“Yes, I know who you are. What you are. You will find no judgement from me; I am a purveyor of knowledge that is all. There is an irony in Gelde, is there not? Many consider him to be the god of greed, but I know the truth, I know the history. There is no god more honorable, no god more just. Other gods, they seek tribute from men, or worship from entire cities; not in exchange for reward but to avoid punishment. But Gelde, he asks for nothing without giving. You serve him, fill his pockets, and in return you have whatever you want within his power. So, what is it you serve for? You don’t seem to be a man seeking gold, or power. You’d already have both, and you’d not be here were that true. No, it’s nothing material, not for you. Glory, is it? The thrill of battle? No, your eyes speak your truth, they speak of a sadness, loneliness, and emptiness. You seek a family.”

The servant’s eyes softened for a mere moment as he imagined his wife and daughter, taken from him so many years before.

The archdruid’s eyes widened. “Oh, not just a family; your family. I am sorry for your loss, I truly am. I imagine Gelde wouldn’t bring them back to you for mere pocket change, no, you are working on a truly monumental contract, are you not? A silly question, of course you are. I could think of no greater reason to enter into a pact with Gelde. Even if your god is not avaricious, the same could not be said for many of his servants. I applaud you, servant.” The archdruid stepped toward the table on the side. “May I offer you a drink?”

The servant glared in silence; his sword held ready.

“Please, please, put down your weapon. May we please just talk, like gentlemen? You are a man who respects contracts, are you not? I promise you your chance to kill me, should you simply share this drink with me. Do we have a deal?”

The servant considered the offer for a moment and relaxed his sword arm slightly.

“See, I knew we would be able to come to a deal. Stow your blade, place your shield against the wall, you will find no violence from me. Not now”

The servant sheathed his sword and placed his shield gently onto the stone by the side of the room.

“Smart man.” The archdruid winked. With a flick of his wrist, the bars separating the two rose back through the ceiling. “This is an Andolesian red, aged seventy-five years.” The archdruid said, pouring two glasses of the wine before handing one glass to the servant.

The servant had sworn off alcohol when he entered Gelde’s service. In his prior grief he drowned himself in a bottle every night. Where once he was given sympathy for his loss, he was given only pity, and then resentment. Feeling like a worthless drunk, he was given an opportunity to get back the only thing he wanted, but he knew that alcohol would only keep him from his destiny.

“You and I, we aren’t so different. We are both men of principals.” Said the archdruid, taking a sip from his glass. “We are both driven by a purpose greater than ourselves. We are both family men. To be fair to you, your family is much more… immediate. But mine is no less valid, at least in my eyes. You see, I seek to protect my family. Every animal, tree, flower, they are all my brothers and sisters. Unfortunately, men are a constant threat to my family, and so I must resort to violence. You understand, don’t you? I’m sure you’ve killed thousands of men in pursuit of your family.” It paused. “Is there something wrong with your wine?” The archdruid’s eyes widened in what looked to be genuine concern.

“I do not drink.” Grunted the servant.

“My apologies. I should have awaited your answer, I was just too excited to finally crack open that bottle. I have been saving it for a special occasion. Worry not, it will not go to waste.”

The servant gently placed his glass back onto the table.

“Clarify something for me, please. To fulfill your pact, you must earn your pact’s value in gold, or die in the process, is this correct?”

The servant nodded almost imperceptibly.

“You of course could not end your own life, nor yield in battle. It must be a legitimate death; one you could not rightly resist in the eyes of Gelde. Gelde is always watching, of course, and can even look into your mind; your heart. Unless, of course, something was to blind him.” The archdruid took another drink from his wineglass.

The servant noticed a sharpness to the words, and noticed just then the burning gaze of Gelde couldn’t be felt. His eyes widened in awe, and fear.

“You feel it now, yes? Or perhaps it is better to say you don’t feel it. We are completely alone, not even your god knows what is happening here. As such, I would like to present you with an offer. I could give you what you’ve wanted for so long, I could give you your family. More precisely, I could have Gelde give them to you. You have no stake in this realm, yet you are forced to fight the battles of lowly men. All on behalf of your god. A god which asks nothing from you but your time, and your name.”

The servant brought his hand close to the sword sheathed on his hip.

“Stay your blade. I don’t know your name, so I cannot speak it. Even if I did, I am not so cruel as to destroy everything you’ve sacrificed. You are not my enemy; my enemies slaughter my family outside. And those men, they are not your family, they are not even your allies. You owe them nothing, you are not one of them anymore. You are so much more; capable of so much more. Where they bring an army, you march alone; you do not need them, not anymore. You need not be their tool any longer. And so, I offer you this bargain. You allow me to take your life, so that I may proceed with my plan unhindered, and your contract will be fulfilled in the eyes of your god. Gelde would be none the wiser, and you will have all you have sought in his realm. Do we have a deal?” The archdruid took another drink, waiting for the servant’s response.

The servant considered the words of the archdruid. The hideous creature had immense knowledge, and his words rang true. A servant of Gelde is truly a servant of man. For decades he had been wielded as a weapon for those with the gold to afford him. He had killed all from corrupt politicians to young girls who had the misfortune of being impregnated by the wrong man. Pleas for life which he had once considered now always rang empty within his ears. He stopped counting how much gold he made years ago, as the end never seemed any closer. But now, the end was in sight. Not just in sight but in his grasp. All he had to do was say yes, and he would have everything he had worked for for decades.

But he was still a man, was he not? He still looked like one, his heart still beat like one, he still felt like one. He was still capable of mercy, and often felt respect from those who barely knew him. Despite his propensity for violence, he was often welcome in people’s homes, at their tables. He inspired fear in no one but his enemies, just like any soldier capable of calling himself a man. Despite the creature’s clever words, he was still a man, and he would not sacrifice the world for his own desires.

With a sharp breath in, the servant drew his sword and took a quick swing up at the archdruid who took a calm step back before gently placing his glass on the table.

“So be it, you will die outside of Gelde’s gaze.” Said the archdruid with a sigh. “I had hoped I wouldn’t need to get blood out of the rug, it is a tremendous pain.” In his clawed hand formed a glaive, its razor-sharp blade glistening in the dim candlelight.

The servant pulled his shield from the wall and thrust his sword at his enemy who casually parried the blade away, following with a quick swing of the butt of the weapon, deflected off of the servant’s shield.

The archdruid thrust his glaive forward, missing in the space between the servant’s head and shoulder. The servant clamped his shield on the shaft of his opponent’s weapon, and slammed down on it with his sword hand to push it from the archdruid’s hands. But the creature’s grip held strong, and a quick pull backward sent the servant stumbling forward, where his face was met with a swift kick upward. His golden helmet flew high into the air, the dim candles reflecting off of its shining surface. The taste of iron filled his mouth as blood poured from his cut lip, and he fell to his knees as his sword dropped to the ground with a soft clang. The sight archdruid standing over him spun and blurred.

The archdruid took a step forward, and grabbed the servant by his throat, lifting the man into the air, slightly above the creature’s head. “You men are truly pathetic creatures. Even when blessed by gods you are still so weak and foolish. You needed only to take the bargain, and we both could have had what we wanted. I was being generous, magnanimous even, and you would spit on my gift to you. But do not fret, I am not vindictive, I will make it-“

The servant’s hand was swift and precise. The creature’s serpent eyes spoke of shock, and even sadness as he felt the dagger’s blade pierce his heart. It slowly lowered its head to the golden hilt protruding from his chest. Its grip weakened, sending the servant tumbling to the floor, gasping for breath. The archdruid tried to speak but could only mouth something unintelligible before collapsing to its side.

Before the archdruid’s body touched the crimson rug on which it stood, the servant could once again feel the burning gaze of Gelde on him. It brough a painful mix of comfort and regret.

The heavy oak door slammed open, and a blood covered Harlan ran in with a concerned shout. Cheers could be heard outside of rangers celebrating the druids scattering into the trees, their leader lying lifeless in his tower.

The servant sat motionless as men poured in to raid the bountiful tower, some dancing, some singing, as they pulled beautiful paintings off the walls, and carried out a horde of valuables. Harlan’s face appeared in the servant’s sight, his crooked teeth protruding from his wide smile.

The servant could hear the celebration, could feel the excitement around him, but could not bring himself to join in the revelry. He had his destiny in his reach, he needed only grasp it, but now it was once again so far away.