The Stranger

by Hans-Jörg Knabel and
Andre Bixenmann (aka Hârkon)

Woven Banner of Rhobar III

It was late; the clock had just struck twelve, and most of the guests had already retired to their rooms. Just a few staunch drinkers were left, hugging their last cups of mead. Murdra snorted, annoyed, at the tavern door as it opened with a loud creak. Jus’ what I needed, she thought. Her back hurt and her eyes were burning for want of sleep. Nothing could have been more troublesome now than a late guest.

The man entering the tap room was wearing a long, tattered robe made of simple, brown linen. The walking stick in his hand was gnarled, the leather pack on his back dull and scuffed. The cowl hiding his face was full of holes. “Bah!” Murdra hissed. No coin to be ‘ad ‘ere! She tossed the rag she was using onto the sideboard and trudged out of the kitchen.

“Get lost!” she shouted as she strolled towards the newcomer, shaking her head for emphasis. “We’re closed!”

The stranger paused, standing in front of the open door. Water was dripping down his robe, forming a puddle around his coarse boots. Behind him, the rain was pattering on the porch roof. The man raised a hand wrapped in dirty bandages and pulled back his cowl. His short hair was brown, streaked with gray and had a greasy sheen in the torchlight; his cheeks and chin were covered by thick stubble. He gave Murdra a sad look.

„I don’t want to be any trouble“, the stranger said softly. “All I need is a bed for the night – or a dry corner in your stables.”

Two-handed sword of the paladins

”You can sleep in the stables“, she decided. “No food left – jus’ water.”

The stranger nodded. ”Water would be nice“, he acquiesced.

Murdra could hear her husband’s peg-leg pounding against the stone floor behind her. “Don’t be so ‘arsh”, Belgor said. “We ‘aven’t eaten yet, an’ ‘e’s soaked through an’ through. Let ‘im sit by the fire for a while. Won’t be any trouble.” Murdra growled.

The stranger looked at her with his sad eyes, waiting for her decision. After a moment of silence, Murdra sighed and gave a shrug. Belgor smiled. “I am Belgor”, he said. ”This is my wife, Murdra.“

”Leboras“, the stranger answered, following Belgor to the table by the fireside.

Murdra trudged back into the kitchen. “Got any mead left?” Elgan asked as she passed him by. He was smiling at her through a thick cloud of smoke. Murdra paused. “One cup – no more!” Too late, she realized her mistake. The men scattered about the tap room grinned and rose as one, gathering around Belgor and the stranger.

”We’ll need seven“, Elgan snickered and joined the crowd by the fireplace.

”Won’t be any trouble…“ Murdra growled, putting her hands on her hips. “Hogwash!” Seven cups of mead… and they’ll want to eat. She stepped into the kitchen and rummaged in the cupboard, pulling out some ham, hard cheese and a loaf of bread.

”You’re not from here“, Belgor said while Murdra was busy preparing the food. Leboras shook his head. “Where are you from?”

“Myrtana”, the man answered. “Near Faring.”

“Gods!” Elgan gasped, coughing up smoke. “From the mainland?” Leboras nodded. “What brings you to our island?” The men at the table looked at the stranger expectantly, but Leboras remained silent.

”You are right“, Elgan said after a while. “No use talking with a dry throat.” Grinning, he looked up to Murdra, who was heaving a heavy plate full of bread, ham and cheese onto the table. “Where’s the mead?”

”Keep that up, and you can drink it out of your boots!“ Murdra hissed, heading back for the sideboard. Elgan laughed. “Now tell us”, he continued. ”What brings you here?“

Leboras hesitated. ”Fate“, he finally said with a whisper. Elgan took a deep lungful of smoke and leaned back in his chair. “It always is fate”, he said, letting the smoke stream out of his nostrils. “Question is: which?” His eagerness to know more was clearly visible in his eyes.

”You’ll have to excuse Elgan“, Belgor interceded. “Any news he can get about Myrtana are as valuable as gold to him. He’s a trader and has a few takers on the continent.”

”Don’t forget he needs rumours to fuel his tall tales”, Grengar, the woodcutter added. The men at the table erupted in raucous laughter, but Elgan didn’t join in. “Just you laugh”, he grumbled. “Without me, you wouldn’t even know about Rhobar III and his coronation!”

The throne of Rhobar III

”I do“, Leboras said softly. The laughter stopped. Everyone turned to the chair by the fireplace. “I was there.”

Elgan folded his arms behind his head and savored his victory. “It was a sunny day”, he said. “The Myrtanian army was assembled in front of the gates of Vengard. The paladins standing proud, their armor glistening in the sun. Rhobar III was standing on a small hill in front of the city. The highest fire mage handed him the crown. Rhobar accepted it and placed it on his brow himself. Far above in the sky, an eagle circled the hill.”

Leboras nodded. ”It was strange“, he said. ”As soon as Rhobar was crowned, the eagle soared down and landed on his shoulder. It was… like a sign. Everyone was shouting Rhobar’s name – soldiers, paladins, mages… even the common folk.”

”Do you know more about the war?” Grengar asked, eagerness in his voice.

Leboras shook his head sadly. “I left Myrtana that very day.”

”Rhobar III has brought peace to Nordmar“, Elgan said. “He’s forging a new pact between the clans of the north – a pact that allows each chieftain to maintain face. The king vouches for the Nordmar pact and he has sent Lee, his greatest general, to the south to prepare a campaign against Varant.”

”He’s coming closer“, Belgor remarked, worry in his voice. Elgan pensively puffed on his pipe. “Who knows”, he said. “Maybe the people on the continent are right. Maybe his campaign will really bring peace to Midland…”

Leboras shook his head again. “War leads to suffering and guilt and more suffering. Not to peace”, he replied sadly.

“Let him come!” Grengar yelled. ”We will meet him with axe and sword and toss him back into the sea!“

”You take war lightly “, Leboras said.

“Shouldn’t I?” Grengar asked. ”Wouldn’t be the first time we kicked those Myrtanian bastards from our island!”

”You?“

”Ethorn and his warriors“, Grengar said. “The great battle in the Valley of Blood.”

“You were there?”

Grengar shook his head. ”I’m a woodcutter, not a warrior. But I’m telling you: If Rhobar III ever sets foot on Argaan, I’ll grab my axe and go to war at Ethorn’s side!”

Leboras‘ face grew dark. ”You don’t know what you are talking about“, he said quietly. Grengar laughed. “We’ll give those Myrtanian bastards a beating the moment they set foot on our island. We’ll slaughter them by the hundreds!”

Leboras’ face grew even darker. He then sprang to his feet, catching Grengar unawares. Grabbing the woodcutter by his collar, he pulled him out of his chair and pressed him against the wall. Grengar’s eyes grew wide. He wanted to lift his arms, but he was too weak, too slow. Leboras’ forehead smashed into his nose with a crack. Grengar slumped down as the strength flew from his limbs.

Leboras loomed over Grengar, face to face. The veins on his temples throbbed. He wasn’t choking Grengar, but his fist weighted heavily on the woodcutter’s chest, flattening him against the wall. Grengar coughed and fought for his breath – this was the grip of a warrior.

”You don’t know what you are talking about“, Leboras repeated. This time, there was steel in his voice.

Standart of Rhobar III

Elgan stared at the tattoo. “You… you’re a paladin!”

Leboras closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He unclenched his fist and let go of Grengar. The woodcutter’s nose was pointing to the side, the skin swollen and purple. A thick stream of blood was running over his mouth and chin. He slid down the wall and came to rest on the floor.

As Leboras turned to Elgan, the anger in his eyes had given way to sadness. “I used to be a paladin”, he whispered. ”Now I am just Leboras. That tattoo on my skin burns like the guilt in my heart.” He took his pack and stick and, without another word, stepped out of the door – whether he was heading for the stables or for the road, Murdra could not tell.

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