The Thorian Sagas. 1. The Trader.

Armed men; those who had followed the bears out of the mountains and down the river, moved through the gate into the courtyard in a single line, then continued, as others broke from their ranks to move to the side around the building. Those at the front of that line, came through the broken door, seeing a mass of confusion; weapons lying everywhere; blood, the bodies of two large bears, and the tributes… unharmed, helping as though it was second nature to them; just as their own women would have done.

It was obvious what had happened; these men had seen it play out in their minds for the last few minutes of that battle, not knowing how it might turn out, with but one man against two such bears; knowing that they were too late to change it one way or another, but seeing that the danger was being addressed and then had been dealt with, as they’d also known, by the time they got to the hostel.

They were men just like Stoker; Thorians, heavily armed with axes, spears and shields. Alpha Thorians!

The tributes began to see the meaning behind that name. True warriors.

Those men still moved out around the building and the courtyard outside, checking that there were no other surprises, though they already knew that there were none.

They left Stoker in the hands of those tributes, and of that one special tribute who sat beside him, encouraging him to lie still as she stroked his head and saw to his wounds. She was pale and may have been crying, but she seemed to know what she was doing.

One thing was obvious: Stoker’s time for looking after the tributes was over. Someone else would need to take on responsibility for them now and seeing them delivered to Fenn. But that would be for tomorrow. No one would be going anywhere this late in the day.

Other Thorians came into that hostel from the other direction, coming, upriver from Saltash. The two parties had been converging on those bears from both sides, intending to intercept them, and to end it all before it got as far as it had, but they’d been too late, seeing the scene of devastation and death that lay around them.

An older man knelt by Stoker and looked him over.

“Another first, even for you, Stoker. Two Rogues in one day.”

Stoker glanced up at the man he knew well.

“Would, that were true, but I killed only one of them, Father.”

He pointed to the first body lying there with an axe in its head, and certainly dead.

“Erianne killed the other.” He indicated the bear still hanging on the wall where that axe had transfixed it.

He was speaking of the woman seeing to his wounds.

Erianne, a tribute, but much more than any tribute, was the woman beside him. There was another story to be told here.

She sat by Stoker, seeing to his wounds, blushing across to him, seeing only him, when the others had arrived.

She knew what she was doing, this tribute; leaning over him staunching the flow of blood from the deep scratches across his chest, not shy to help him, ignoring the bodies of both bears. One of them, hanging from the wall as though still alive.

And she, this frail woman, had killed the second bear!

Stoker’s father saw it more clearly now. Not only another ‘first’, but an impossible, ‘first’, for a woman, a tribute, to have killed a Rogue? Yet he believed it. He’d seen it playing out in all of their minds; still being replayed as they went over it again and again in disbelief. Seeing the mind-numbing raw courage of it; seeing how she’d ridden that war axe down from the balcony to impale that second bear before it could get to Stoker, lying ready to take it on, and to sell his own life dearly.

She might have been killed or injured, but she had not hesitated or considered how it might have ended for her or for any of them.

It was obvious why she had done that.

Stoker’s father looked closely at her, seeing what was written across her face and the emotions that filled her mind as she looked down on his son, seeing the same thing in his son’s mind for her.

This, would upset the old order of things!

It was the first time anything like this had ever happened with any tribute.

This was another ‘first’ in the world of ‘tributes’, but then other changes were already taking place around them in their society, in the cities. Insurrection was brewing. What had happened here could even accelerate it.

Stoker’s father directed others of his party.

“Get the bodies of those bears out into the courtyard, skinned and declawed. The hide and claws from that bear, to Stoker”—he pointed to his son— “and from that other bear, to Erianne, to this woman.”

He watched others drag the first bear out and begin skinning and butchering it in the courtyard, then saw the second one unpinned from the wall and dealt with in the same way, as others began to repair the outer gate and the door, lifting them first from their hinges. Everyone helped in some way, even those tributes; clearing the armaments stripped from the walls to one side, or cleaning the blood off the floor.

The men knew what they were doing, having done it many times before.

Saltash would eat well, tonight. So would they all.

They would be staying in the hostel.

A younger man, the image of Stoker, stood by him, looking kindly down upon him.

“Always in the wars, Brother.”

Stoker looked up at him and said just a few words.

“Two Rogues to go, Peter. Only two to go, now.” They all knew what he was referring to.

Two more Rogues to kill, to set his older brother free.

“One, Brother.” Peter corrected him.

“But I did not kill both Rogues.”

“They were both called to you alone, but were also drawn further in, by all of you. You, and this woman, share directly in those kills. They both count. One, to go, but that is your task alone. I cannot help you in that.”

Stoker felt tender hands bathing him to get the blood off him, and to get him bandaged up.

He remembered his manners.

“Peter. This is Erianne.”

He wanted to say more, but it was still too early. He did not need to say more. His every thought told them that she was, ‘his’.

The usual routine of tributes had been upended.

Stoker put his own hand over hers.

“Erianne, this is Peter, my younger brother.”

She blushed up at him, seeing a younger version of the man she was helping.

Peter knelt by them and took her hand as the dog snuggled into them too. He kissed it as a gentleman should, setting her blushing even more.

“Thank you for saving my brother’s life.”

She didn’t need to say anything, even if she had found her tongue.

One after another, the men that had come into the hostel paraded by her, knelt before her, bowing their heads, thanking her, then moved on to do the same in front of the other tributes, thanking them too.

The other women were bewildered by this attention, understanding none of it, but they were being thanked by such men as they had never known existed until just a few days ago.

What were they being thanked for?

Nonetheless, they liked what they were feeling.

Their lives were changing by the minute, and had done, each day that went by.

Stoker’s hand fell onto the dog’s head.

‘Soon, Homer. Soon. Not far to go now.’

‘There is no need to do this for me, Stoker. I am happy enough as a dog beside you, knowing that we are all alive. Where will I be if you go after another Rogue and do not succeed? This last one was almost the end of you, but for Erianne. I have already got used to this. I swear I have been made welcome into the laps of more beautiful women in the last few days than ever I was as a youth. I can’t let you take that away from me.’

‘You saved my life enough times, Homer, as we were growing up. Let me do this one thing for you.’

Another warrior, Liam, walked over to Stoker, ending their mental conversation. They were all well known to each other.

“What have you done here, Stoker? These tributes are far different from those we usually see coming out of Fenn. They are suddenly alive and confident, and even seem easy to be working around so much death. They have no discernible fear.”

“No, Liam, these tributes are different. But for their help, the outcome might have gone the other way. They were changed by what happened. They participated. They gave me their strength without knowing it, by helping me. What they saw and felt, would change anyone. Why would they be afraid now? They’ve seen the worst that could possibly happen and will likely never see anything like it again. They also saw into my mind when my defences were down, and that, was not supposed to occur either, but it did. They know all about us.”

Liam smiled around at these women, seeing what his friend was describing.

“Maybe it was meant to be this way, Stoker; along with all the rest of what happened after you left Dorian with that one tribute, though I am sure the Dorians could not have planned this outcome.”

Stoker hoped that these others did not know all that had happened, as he and Erianne had grown closer together each of those first two evenings as she’d snuggled into him for comfort and warmth. He felt confident that there were some parts of his mind still closed to them.

“You saved the lives of these tributes, but your role in this, ends here with your injuries. Your father will name a successor to see to them, but it cannot be me. My role is to meet them as they leave Fenn; not to take them there. Any one of us would be honored with that role.”

“Peter has already been chosen to be that one, Liam. He will see to them getting to Golden in the morning, and then going on to Fenn in those wagons, as the carriage is brought back here.

“He will also be the one to break it to the Fennians that they will need to find an extra tribute to make up the number, with there being only one from Dorian and not the two, originally promised. They know what the treaty says, so they know better than to complain.”

He watched Liam retreat, as Erianne continued to see to his wounds and brought him a fresh tunic to put on over his bandages before he clambered to his feet, with her help.

He hobbled around, beginning to recover already, and knowing how lucky he had been.

There was nothing he could do here that was not already being done.

Stoker’s father brought two rolled up hides across to them, and the claws from those bears, strung upon leather thongs.

“The hides have been roughly scraped, my son, but one of them will need to be repaired, and then stretched and cleaned properly, but you know that already.”

He watched as Stoker dropped that string of claws over Erianne’s head, and then replaced his own necklace with the new one. He would give the one he’d been wearing for the last fourteen years, to his brother to take to Fenn.

Monique MacBeath should have it. She had fought hard enough to earn it many times over, and he could now let it go.

“We will stay here tonight and finish these repairs. You shall introduce Peter to these tributes.

“He shall take over your role now, in picking them up from the other cities, and will continue what you began, but Gareth will be the trader with Fenn. You took on too much by yourself.”