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  Reunion

  By Rodger Carr

  Copyright 2010 Rodger Carr

  Prologue

  Home Fires Burning

  Gerrod made his way up to the small cabin, drifted snow up to his thighs. Snow weighed down his already heavy fur leggings; but with a bag full of small game to last a month, his hunt had been a success. Frost dripped from his thick, gray beard and mustache. His tanned and weather‑cracked face chilled in the cold winter air. The sky above was a brilliant blue, but his many years of experience told him to expect the worst. He could tell by the encroaching clouds to the east that winter's fury was on its way. He was all too glad to reach the rough-hewn cabin he called home.

  The cabin, mostly hidden under the thick blanket of snow, huddled under the towering heights of a grove of ancient evergreens. Their low limbs bowed under the weight of the recent snowfall. The cabin was old, and the solid timbers aged a dark gray. A plume of smoke swirling out of the fieldstone chimney told of the warmth that awaited him there. He breathed deep the cold, crisp air, filling his lungs with the fresh scent. There was nothing like the smell of home fires burning.

  His numb hands clutched at the handle of the door. With one last, deep, chest full of frozen air, Gerrod pushed the door open.

  The warmth of the inside of the cabin hit him like a wave as he opened the door. There was a good fire burning in the fireplace, and the delicious smell of stew filled his nose. He inhaled the warm, aromatic air deeply, and felt it warm all the way to his lungs. The joyous song of children, coming to greet him with open arms, replaced the whistling winter winds of outside. "Grandpa‑pa!" they cried, encircling his massive girth with their hugs. They squeezed him from his knees to his waist, as high as they could reach. Three little sprites staircased in height.

  "Brandon, Mallory, Allison," a voice came from the pantry door. That sweet, melodious voice could only belong to Rachael. "Come, let your Grandpa‑pa get inside first. He's been hunting since early morn. He must be exhausted. Here, Papa, let me take some of your things," she offered.

  She took from Gerrod the large, heavy sack filled with the game he had killed, and his thick, outer fur. She hung the fur on a peg in the wall, and made to the kitchen with the sack of food.

  Taking advantage of the freedom from the little ones, Gerrod finished removing his gear. He took off the bow that slung around his frame, and unhooked the quiver of arrows strapped to his back. These he hung on another peg, next to his fur. Lastly was the giant sword, hanging in the scabbard about his thick waist.

  He removed the wide belt from his waist and carefully drew the longsword from its scabbard. Rather ceremoniously, he carried the great weapon high, with both hands above his head, across the living room. Six young eyes watched in reverent awe at the sight, as he carefully placed the weapon above the mantle of the fireplace. The steel of the blade reflected the light of the fire, so it seemed to glow. This great weapon took its place of honor, humbled by only one other weapon in the home.

  A large battle-axe rested above the great longsword named Flicker. A scraggly piece of fine, flexible leather cloth, tied on by two thin leather strip laces kept the blade of the axe safely sheathed. The handle was intricately carved with many ancient runes, and worn from much use in its better days. As was common for Gerrod, whenever he placed his own great weapon above the hearth, he stroked the fine etchings on the axe handle. He whispered some of those strange runes, written in a strange language that was gruff and harsh, and made the children giggle. With a stern look from their Grandpa‑pa, they quickly silenced their irreverence.

  The steel handle, as marvelous as it was, was clearly too short for Gerrod. This was a weapon of a friend from long ago. A lifetime too long, it seemed to the tiring Gerrod.

  He turned and made his way to the large, padded chair that was his favorite, suddenly feeling his great many years upon him. He let his heavy frame fall into the soft chair with full force. A heavy, deep sigh of relaxation came over him, as he closed his eyes a moment and rested. The children waited in silence, sitting on the floor in front of the warm fire. Their young faces reflected the glowing embers and the dancing flames. They respectfully watched and waited, letting their Grandpa‑pa have his moment of peace.

  At about that time, Rachael emerged from the kitchen with a large mug of steaming liquid. "Here you go, Papa. This will relight the fires in your belly." She had noticed how increasingly tired these hunting trips were making him now, and it troubled her, but she would not burden him further with her concerns. He would just laugh it off anyway, and tell her not to be bothered, and go on to explain how the hunting had to be done. She would not be able to argue his point, but would be left feeling poorly for revealing how much the old man's weakness was showing. He was too proud of a man to admit that his age, or anything else for that matter, ever getting through his tough hide. "You must be starving and freezing from the hunt," she offered.

  Gerrod didn't say a word, but he was all of these. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at his daughter. Her long, golden blonde hair cascaded around both sides of her round face. Her blue eyes were like crystals, shining in the soft firelight. A broad, sincere smile spread across her face. That smile, as always, reminded him of her mother until she shifted her head. Her long hair separated at the sides to reveal her pointed ears. Thinking of his own markings of his half‑elven heritage, Gerrod smiled. She really was his daughter.

  Gratefully, he took the hot mug of tea from her, and sat up straighter in his chair to sip from it. He looked down the sides of his upturned mug, which quickly defrosted his whiskers, at the three beaming faces below him.

  Brandon, the oldest of the horde, was but twelve winters old. He had already taken on the role of man‑of‑the‑house. But his mother was brave and smart, and he showed only self‑confidence and pride for his responsibilities.

  Next to him was Mallory. At only nine, she was becoming quite the young lady. Gone were the days when Gerrod could bounce her on his knee, sending her into giggles of childlike delight. It would not be long, Gerrod frowned, before she would start turning the heads of the boys when they ventured into the city of Oswegonia on their spring treks. Then, one day, she'd be off and married to one of them. Gerrod prayed to Mya to be able to enjoy her sweet, young innocence until then.

  Last there was Allison, a gift from the gods for Zackery's soul. Her father, Zack, never knew of Allison before he died from the bitter, poisoned claws of a troll. Sliced down in the defense of their village, Zack's death was an honorable one, despite its tragic suddenness. It was shortly after they laid him to rest, the smoke from his funeral pyre still rising in the cool night air, that Rachael had discovered his last legacy, Allison.

  It had been two long winters since, and it seemed like Allison had grown like a weed. Smart as a whip, too. While her time had been short on this world, you couldn't easily put one over on her twice. She waited there patiently, lined up with her brother and sister, watching old Grandpa‑pa sip his sweet herbal tea.

  The ancient mixture of bitter and sweet herbs and root juices flowed over his tongue and down his wind‑chapped throat. It steamed its way into his stomach, and relieved the grumble that had been with him since mid‑morn. The warmth of the fire flooded his fingertips and toes. It worked its magic up his tired, stiff limbs.

  The love of family, the warmth of hearth: this was what life was all about; that exhausted sigh of relaxation after a good day of work, of providing meal for the family, or chopping the wood to heat them. Yes, this, finally, Gerrod decided, was life. He closed his tired eyes once more for another sip of the tea and a silent prayer of praise and thanks for Mya's blessing and all that he had: life, home, and friends.

  H
is tired gaze slowly climbed the stone fireplace again, and Gerrod smiled at the great, steel battle-axe that hung in its place of honor. He smiled at his friends, at younger times when he was a mighty warrior. He smiled at the bond he once shared. He smiled at the memories.

  "I suppose you little ones would like to hear a story from your old Grandpa‑pa," he asked in his gravelly, low voice.

  Three heads bobbed up and down below him in unison. Smiles broadened on all three, spreading from ear to ear. While they had heard all of Grandpa‑pa's tales a few thousand times, the stories were always so full of magic and adventure that they never tired of them.

  Rachael, satisfied that her father was content with everything he needed and the children well tended to, slid off. With a wink to Gerrod, she returned to the kitchen to dress the meat he had brought in. While she never put much stock in the large tales of great heroes and terrible villains her father always wove, she knew that they did the children well. They enjoyed these times with their Grandpa‑pa. The love the stories delivered had seen her through many tough times, and it would serve her kids well too.

  "Have I ever told you about," he started. The children sprawled out on the floor. This was how all of Grandpa‑pa's stories started. The children were ready with elbows planted on the braided rag rug, and palms full of round cheeks. Gerrod contemplated how he should start, and once decided, started again, so as not to lose the magic of the tale.

  "Have I ever told you about the time when your Grandma‑ma and I took on old Rai'dley?" he asked the eager children.

  Even though they had heard the tale too many times to count, this remained one of their favorites. "Tell us, Grandpa‑pa! Oh yes, tell us that story, please!" they cried in delight at the selection.

  Reunion

  Table of Contents

  Prologue - Home Fires Burning

  Prelude - Rai'dley's Return

  Chapter 1 - No Complications

  Chapter 2 - Good Friends

  Chapter 3 - Unholy Alliances

  Chapter 4 - Cy'nan

  Chapter 5 - Uninvited Guests

  Chapter 6 - Charlena the Druid

  Chapter 7 - Twelve Bells March

  Chapter 8 - Thieves' Triangle

  Chapter 9 - Elixir of Life

  Chapter 10 - Star Shyne

  Chapter 11 - Highpoint

  Chapter 12 - Together Again

  Chapter 13 - The Abbey Dark

  Chapter 14 - Flicker's Fury

  Chapter 15 - LaBairne

  Chapter 16 - Face of the Enemy

  Chapter 17 - Into Darkness

  Chapter 18 - Falling Star

  Chapter 19 - The Jaws of Death Itself

  Chapter 20 - Eye of the Storm

  Chapter 21 - Fire and Lightning

  Chapter 22 - Festival of To'Mak

  Chapter 23 - Derik's Mace

  Chapter 24 - Home Again

  Chapter 25 - The Terror Above

  Chapter 26 - The Flight of Death

  Chapter 27 - A Festering Wound

  Chapter 28 - The Queen of Death

  Chapter 29 - An End In Tears

  Postlude - The Settling of Dust

  Prelude

  Rai'dley's Return