The Voidwalkers

It was a late autumn day. Heavy raindrops hit the mud beside the young boy lying under a wagon. He had short ginger hair and freckles all over his face. He couldn’t be older than 13 and alone on the road in the middle of nowhere. He’s been running nonstop for three days and went into hiding anytime he saw or heard anyone approach. Nobody can be trusted. Those men seemed trustworthy when they came to his village. That didn’t stop them from butchering everyone. Smaller, softer drops hit the mud below him. Tears. Every time he thought of that night, tears would likely follow.

Now that it was quiet, he slowly crawled out of his hideout and corrected the sword attached to his back with some rope around the shoulder. It belonged to Massim, a respected trader with a shop in the village. It was his pride and joy, and he refused to sell it to anyone. Dorian always dreamt of buying it one day. He and his brother promised each other that they’d save up enough to convince old Massim to sell it, and they’d go adventuring. They never worked out the details of who would get to wield it, but that didn’t matter. Deep down, they both knew this would never actually happen. Now the sword was on his back, and he would gladly give it away to get his family back. He thought of their faces from the day before the incident, and the bitter realization that he would never see them again filled him with despair. More tears were quickly wiped out with a dirty sleeve. There was no time to mourn. Not until he reaches safety.

The road seemed never-ending with nothing but trees, greenery, and occasional hare around. It was finally peaceful. The rain eased off for the day and allowed rays of sunshine to pierce the dark clouds. Dorian’s stomach made sounds demanding a good, hot meal. He tried to bribe it with occasional berries, but that did not last long. The problem with obtaining some real food required him to go somewhere populated by people. He did not trust people at the time. His parents and elders warned the kids about the danger of the world outside their village. It always seemed like an exaggeration, but he wasn’t willing to find that out.

After about two hours of walking, the sky turned red. The sun was starting to set, and nights were cold. His stomach wasn’t asking anymore. It demanded food, twisting his intestines each time, like a hungry infant screaming. At this point, he didn’t care about anything other than a hot meal and fire to warm himself. He decided that the next house or tavern would be his stop. If they kill him, then so be it. What’s life worth now anyway? Besides, if he keeps walking, then he’ll die from hunger and thirst, and that made even a slit throat the better option.

He walked for another hour, and the scarlet light became colder and darker by the minute. Stars emerged slowly at first but then exploded all around the open sky. The usual murmur of the forest quieted down, and strange howling could be heard in the distance. Whatever came out of hiding was hungry, and Dorian was a gourmet meal to the wilderness. He tried to hurry his steps, but four days of walking with only rainwater for sustenance would not let him. His steps were heavy, and each one dug deeper into the muddy road. Whatever came out to hunt was getting closer, but it didn’t sniff him out yet. There were familiar sounds somewhere between the howls and quiet steps of wild beasts. Sounds of laughing and singing. Civilization was just a few hundred feet from Dorian. The warm, orange light of the hearth fire quickly followed. Adrenaline started pumping and hope of warmth and comfort carried him quicker and quicker. Unfortunately, every step was now much louder than the last one and easier to follow by whatever predatory creature was lurking around. The resounding footsteps of Dorian were joined by a rapid dabble of canine paws. It did not take him long to conclude that he was being hunted. His heart rate now sounded like a war drum, quicker and quicker with every foot, every inch of distance. The building finally made an appearance and looked like something that stood abandoned for many years, but a shelter is a shelter. Especially when fangs and claws are waiting to slash him open any second. Dorian noticed two men standing outside, and soon after that they also noticed him running towards them. The relief quickly turned into panic when the men ran back inside and closed the door behind them.

“HELP! PLEASE HELP! OPEN THE DOOR!” Dorian screamed with the little strength he had left. He charged the door and smashed into it shoulder first. As soon as he hit the wooden structure, he bounced off it and landed flat into the mud. There was nothing left in him to fight any more than that. He couldn’t hold it any longer and started bowling while lying down on a dirty road in the middle of nowhere. What a sorry end, especially for someone this young. He tried his best, but now it was time to join his family.

“Get the fuck off the door you fucking cowards!” Someone yelled on the other side of the door.

The door swung open, and three bolts wheezed through the air above him. Dorian heard a sad whimper, just like the one his dog used to make whenever it got hurt. He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them again to see an older man with a big, round stomach and a crossbow grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him inside. The man threw him in the middle of the tavern and quickly slammed the door shut. Inside it took him a while to adjust his eyes to the bright light, but once he did three people were looking at him.

“Are you okay lad?” asked the man. Dorian just stared at him for a second. He could finally take a good look at his savior. It was a middle-aged man, obese and with a balding head of raven hair on the sides. He had impressive sideburns and a dirty white apron. Beside him stood two unremarkable men. All skinny, dressed in rags with some elements of leather armor here and there.

“Lad, are you okay? Can you stand up?” the man asked again, then turned to the other patrons and with a much harsher tone said “Why are you morons standing there like fucking scarecrows? Bring the lad some water for fuck’s sake. You were about to literally throw him to the wolves.”

One of the skinny fellows ran behind the bar and quickly brought him a mug of water. Dorian grabbed it and started guzzling it like it was the nectar of the gods. Truth be told, in that moment that’s exactly what it was to him. As soon as he finished the whole thing and before he could even say anything the chunky man grabbed it from him and shouted.

“Bring him another one! Poor thing must’ve been parched.” As soon as another mug was handed to him the process repeated. After the third one, he could finally breathe and felt like life was coming back to him. He got up with some help and sat down on a nearby bench.

“I’ll bring you some food in a second, but first I want to make sure you’re okay lad.”

“I... I am. Thank you. It’s been days since I’ve had something other than rainwater to drink.” Dorian finally responded. The man he assumed to be the innkeeper nodded and covered him with some goat's hide.

“Go sit by the fire. I’ll bring you some meat and potatoes fresh from the stove and once you’re ready you can tell us what happened.”

Dorian nodded politely and slowly started walking over to the fire. It felt like an eternity since he last felt warm and safe. His alleged safety was not a sure thing yet, but it was better than being chased by wolves. He sat by the fire and dosed off before he knew it.

The rays of early morning sun shone right at the eyes of a man lying down on a messy bunk. He winced and tried to cover his face with his palm. It was too late now, he was awake. Unfortunately for him, it was another day and that meant it was time to get up. He sat down and fixed the long black hair covering his bearded face. He pulled it back in between the set of two black horns. He got up and grabbed a half-finished mug of ale from yesterday. One quick swing followed by a wince caused by the bitterness. He got dressed quickly and buckled a belt with two sheaths attached to it. One much shorter than the other. After one last look around the room, he made his way downstairs.

“Varris! You’re up early. Come here, I’ve got some breakfast ready for you.” The fat innkeeper shouted from behind the bar. He placed a bowl with fried eggs and bacon on the counter.

“What’s the occasion for that? I told you I only have enough money on me for the night.” Varris responded while walking towards the bar. He looked around the room and gave a hostile stare towards the two skinny patrons. His eyes then wandered to the fireplace and noticed something strange. Ginger boy lying down on hides by the now doused fire. The boy was snoring loudly and seemed to be in bad shape with scratches and dirt all over him.

“What’s that? You’re running an orphanage now? How did this little fellow get here?” Varris asked and sat down by the counter. He started eating his eggs without even looking at the innkeeper.

“This wee lad is how you’re going to pay me for the drinks from yesterday...” The innkeeper proclaimed proudly. “...and for the breakfast you’re eating right now.” He smirked.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Who do you think I am? I’m not a fucking nanny Hank.”

“I think you’re someone who owes me money, so unless you are set to fuck with me today, you’ll do what I say,” Hank replied with a very serious tone.

Varris was a lot of things, but he wasn’t someone who didn’t honor his debts. He finished the eggs with eyes on the bowl, and then grabbed a slice of bacon and looked at Hank.

“What do you even want me to do with him? Why do you even care?” Varris asked while taking a bite of the crispy bacon slice.

“He almost died yesterday. Must’ve been on the road for days and almost got eaten alive right in front of my fucking inn.” One glance at the two skinny men made them both stare at the ground. “I don’t know who he is or what happened to him, but I do know he’s not making it to Ravenfall. Not on his own at least.”

“Why would he go to Ravenfall?”

“My sister runs an establishment for kids like him. Just take him there and make sure he’s taken care of. If I find out you left him somewhere on the road I’ll slice your fucking horns off, you hear me?”

“If you want me to take him to Ravenfall, then he might regret not being eaten alive” Varris chuckled at his joke but got serious once he saw Hank’s disapproving face.

“Very fucking funny.” his face turned to a grimace. “Find Miranda’s bookstore and tell her that Hank sent you.”

"Fine, but that’s it. I’m not a fucking nanny.”

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

Hank turned around and started cleaning the bar area. Varris finished his food and got up. He walked to where the boy was sleeping and crouched beside him. On a closer look, he was older than he seemed. At first, Varris thought the boy was much younger because of how malnourished he was. Now he could tell it was a teenager. He poked Dorian’s face gently to wake him up. When that did not seem to work, he poked him a little harder. That did the trick. Dorian woke up still half asleep, then started looking around to see who woke him up. When he noticed the horned face of a strange man he quickly jumped away and tried reaching for his sword.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy kid. You won’t do much with that toothpick.” Varris made an ugly smile to try and calm the boy, but it had the opposite effect.

“Who are you? What do you want? I’m armed you know!” Dorian tried to make his voice sound deep and serious, but the sound was closer to a frog than a dangerous man. Especially with a little voice crack he made in the middle.

“It’s okay, lad. This is Varris, he’s... a friend.” Hank calmed him down and handed him a bowl of eggs and bacon, just like the one he made for Varris.

“A friend? That’s news to me” Varris snarked.

“Shut it will you?” Hank turned to Varris and then continued to speak to Dorian in a much calmer manner. “He looks scary, but in truth, he’s a big softy. He’ll take you to my sister. She takes care of kids like you.”

Dorian wanted to protest, but then again, he had nowhere else to go. The idea of having somewhere safe to stay sounded well in his head. He thought about it for a second then nodded. He will go there for now, since there were no better prospects. He grabbed the bowl from Hank and started eating. After a couple of bites, he noticed Varris staring at him intensely. Before he could say anything Varris turned to Hank.

“Draw him a bath, will you? They won’t let him into the city looking like a beggar.”

“Good point, finish eating lad. You can bathe after and then you’re good to go.”

Varris was waiting in front of the inn smoking from a wooden pipe. Delicate curves of the smoke wandered upwards as there was almost no wind today. He was contemplating how he got into this situation as well as making plans for the road. Ravenfall was not a destination he was planning on, but since he was between jobs it was as good a place as any. Maybe even better. The big city always had an abundance of work for someone in his vocation.

Suddenly the door swung open and Dorian, now clean and properly dressed, exited. He looked much better and healthier now that he ate and had a bath. There shouldn’t be any problems for Varris getting him into the city.

“Ready for the road?” He asked.

“I think so... Do you...” Dorian seemed a little scared to ask his question, which made Varris even more intrigued.

“Do I what?”

“Do you know how to fight?”

Varris burst out laughing, which took Dorian by surprise. He didn’t think it was that funny of a question.

“There’s not a lot of things I can do, but I can promise you... the one thing I know how to do is fight.”

The answer, although a bit strange, made Dorian feel a little bit safer. The idea of traveling was terrifying as his only experience of it was hiding whenever he heard anyone coming. Now he will have someone to protect him, which puts things in a different perspective. In a way, he was looking forward to it now.

Varris got up and motioned for the boy to follow. Before going Dorian turned around to see Hank in the doorway. He waved at the innkeeper and thanked him again for his hospitality.

Dorian was sitting on the ground before a campfire, leaning on a log for back support. He was inspecting his sword in detail, having it unsheathed only a little. It wasn’t special in any way. Regular hilt, with some black leather wrapping. It held sentimental value to him since it was the only thing to remember his family by... to remember his brother.

“Where’d you even get this sword?” asked Varris on the other side of the campfire. He was smoking from his wooden pipe and sharpening his swords. One was a curved blade, something like a saber but much thinner. The other was a shortsword with a pointy end.

“I took it from the shop in my village,” Dorian answered while keeping his eyes on the blade.

“Ah, so you’re a thief? Well, maybe you can be more helpful than I thought.”

He seemed to be equally shocked and offended by the question. He never even considered that the sword was stolen. Massim was dead, and he just tried to grab something to be able to protect himself.

“I’m not a thief. I didn’t steal it. I grabbed it to defend myself when the village was...” He stopped there. He buried his face in a scarf that Varris gave him and did his best to hide the tears.

“I see. I apologize then. I didn’t mean to insult you, kid.” Varris pretended not to see the tears and just returned to sharpening his blades. In his head, he never considered crying a sign of weakness. It’s only natural, but he was terrible in situations like these, so the best option was to just pretend not to see and let the kid be. He finished sharpening and noticed the sky started changing color to warmer hues.

“Come on, it’s time to go.”