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Christian found himself standing idly on the pier uncertain of whom he should approach looking for work. The smell of the salt water and call of the gull’s overhead distracted him from his mission.  While he grew up in Nanholve, the harbor was almost as foreign to him as another country.  His father had done all he could to protect him from the lower class rabble that usually found their way to the waters edge.

“Outta me way boy!” a gruff, angry voice bellowed from behind him. Yet, before he realized the shout was directed at him, Christian was pushed out of the way, tumbling over several crates that were just unloaded off a ship. For the second time today, he found himself face down on the ground.  Looking over his shoulder from his now prone position, he found that his aggressor of all things was a dwarf.  While not being too worldly, he still knew better then to confront a dwarf that was obviously in a sour mood, and decided it best to let the incident pass with no further note. He drew himself to his knees and brushed off the front of his tunic.  The dampness of the boards beneath him guaranteed he would smell like fish the rest of the day.  I firm, scarred hard fell on his shoulder.

“Sorry about that lad, that old dwarf has a bit o’ a problem controlling his temper when he’s in a hurry.”

Christian whirled around as he stood to find a man, perhaps in his late thirties, addressing him with a hardy grin, “Thonas is my name, hast thou one of thy own lad or didst thou leave it in the dirt there?”

Eying the man with a genuine apprehension, “Christian,” he muttered, continuing to  brush the remaining dirt from his tunic and pants, “My name is Christian.” Gaining his courage, “What matter is it to ye?”

Thonas, surprised at the spark in the boy, but no less amused, continued lightheartedly, “Well, I see me boss isn’t the only one with a temper this day, I’ve never seen thee around before”, he lied, “what brings thee here, new in town?”

“Nay,” he replied, attempting to maintain his sternness, yet the fear in his eyes gave away his youth and inexperience, “I’ve lived here the whole of my life, if it matters to ye, my father has decided today would be the day for me to find gainful employment.”

Silently commended Adrian’s good work at getting the boy to the pier, Thonas threw an arm around the boys shoulders, and began leading him toward the west side of the docks, “Well then, today is thy lucky day lad, it just so happens we are in need of one more sword for our caravan to Salaile.”  

Christian started to protest, being unsure this was the crew he wanted to sign on with.  He was even prepared to explain that he had never used a sword, or any weapon for that matter, but Thonas was already pushing him toward the caravan and the dwarf he had the unfortunate opportunity to meet a few minutes earlier. 

“Udorus, ye mean little bastard,” Thonas yelled from across the docks, keeping a tight grip on the boy, “I’ve done found our last man!”

The dwarf let out an audible grunt and turned to see their latest traveling partner.  Looking Christian up and down, he shot a waxy glance back to Thonas, “What do ye be wantin’ him for?”

Thonas just laughed and waved off the dwarf who had returned to his work of loading  the wagons.

“Christian, was it?” Thonas feigned, “go and get yer travelin’ things lad, we head out in an hours time.”

 ————————————-

He had no idea what he would need for the trip, or even how long he would be gone. Christian packed his clothing and gathered up a few days worth of dried meat.   Thinking back to earlier that morning, the confrontation with his father, and the things that were said just a few short hours ago, he inked a note for his father that said nothing more than, “Found Work”.  Leaving the note on the table, he pulled the sword from above the hearth and headed out the door. His father had always told him the weapon would be his upon coming of age and if his father thought him old enough to find work, then he must in fact be of age.  Hesitating for a single moment he wondered if he should find his father and at least say goodbye in person, but, his stubbornness won, and he turned and headed toward the dock.

Christian had never traveled outside of Nanholve, and the thought of going to Salaile excited him, yet scared him at the same time.  His pocket was empty of any coins, he spoke only his common language and he knew magic and various humanoids were prevalent in the larger city.  Christian had only seen slight of hand magic in his home city when someone that claimed to be a wizard would perform small tricks on the street corner for tips.  Aside from the occasional dwarf, such as Udorus, he was not familiar with other beings that might be in Salaile. He had no idea how he would communicate with anyone if they did not speak the same language he did.

While he carried a sword at this side, he had never drawn it in battle. In fact, he had never been allowed to handle it at all.  His father never taught him to hunt as all of their food came from the market place or his father’s store. The only thing he had ever done was fish and he was certain that expertise would not be incredibly useful while traveling over a mountain.  In larger cities, one could have gone to the local weapon master to learn the art of swordsmanship, but one had not been present in Nanholve in almost a decade.

            His worrying lasted long enough that he did not realize he was standing at the pier already, his travel sack slung over his shoulder. Christian felt out of place, and vulnerable.

Here’s the first chapter of a “book” I started to write a couple years ago.  It’s unedited and raw.  I’ll post the next chapter soon.

     The sign hanging from the post above the door squeaked as the breeze blew in off the ocean.  The predawn light did not allow for the wording to be read off the sign, but he knew what it said.  For nearly two decades he had frequented this little shop.  There was little he didn’t know about the building and the contents inside.

     The building was not fancy, wood and white-washed plaster had been the original siding, but years of standing next to the sea left large patches of moss growing over the sides and roof.  It appeared as if the building were sprouting patches of hair on its otherwise balding head. The white-wash was long from the white it had been years ago when it was first built.  It was now grayed and had long stains running down the sides from years of rain bleeding off the roof.

            The two front windows, one on each side of the central door, were dingy. The residue of the sea salt carried in the air left the glass covered in a white, crusty film.  It would appear the owner had long lost interest in scraping them clean. Small areas were rubbed clean, probably from a child that had ventured up to see if there were candies for sale inside.  A single wood door was the only entry or exit for the storefront and living quarters above and behind.

            He stood in the shadows, watching, waiting for a sign that the owner of this store he watched so intently was roused. The combined smell of sea, fish and garbage wafted through the alleyway causing his nostrils to flare in the hopes of gaining fresh air.  He had been unconsciously twisting the end of his  goatee into a sharp point as he leaned against the wall of the abandoned building facing his target. 

            His other hand fingered the dagger tucked neatly into his belt. He did not worry about being seen as most of the city was not yet awake. The only ones wandering the streets now were the drunken sailors heading back to their ships, wenches returning from their advantageous nights with well paying travelers, beggars digging for scraps and thieves feeding on all of them.  To the average person, he surely would have qualified as the latter. 

            As he stood his vigil, his mind wandered. How many times had he stood in the shadows watching this building over the last eighteen years? “It will be good to put all this secrecy and falsehood behind us,” he attempted to reassure himself.

            The faint glow of a candle from the upstairs bedroom brought him back to the present; it was time.  He moved so quickly and silently, that any rogue would have been impressed.  He cracked the door just enough to reach his hand to the top and restrain the bell tied to a leather tether above the door before it rang out, drawing attention to his entry.  He allowed himself a smirk in amazement at how many people do not bolt their doors.  A single floorboard did not give away his presence as he moved through the shelves an leapt the counter baring his way to the living quarters in the back of the store.

            Drawing back the separator curtain, he helped himself to a seat at the modest kitchen table.  This allowed him a clear view of the stairs leading to the sleeping quarters above.  The kitchen and living areas were still dark, but the man reviewed in his head the location of each major object in the home. Several cushioned benches found their way in an otherwise bare living quarters, and the kitchen area held only a table, two chairs and a fireplace.  A empty cooking pot would be hanging in the fireplace and yes, there it is, a magnificent broadsword placed over the mantle. 

            The sword looked very out of place in such a humble home.  The blade was intricately carved with runes that most humans could not read, and gold was laid into each one.  The hilt, while wrapped in leather, was seamless, smooth and soft to the touch.  It’s balance was so precise it could be balanced on a single nail.  The craftsmanship of such a weapon is not one to be found in the realm of humans. Surely any visitor to this home would question how such a masterpiece came to the likes of a shopkeeper.  However, he was certain, in almost two decades, there were very few people that had the opportunity to grace this kitchen with their presence.

            While it couldn’t be seen fully from his vantage point, he knew the upstairs contained only two bedrooms, one for the man of the house, and the other for his boy. The woman of the house had died long ago.  Perhaps that was the reasoning behind the modesty and lack of decoration within the home.

            The room lightened slightly as the candle and the man carrying it descended from his bedroom.  Before the light fully came upon his unexpected visitor the old man caught sight of the shadow of a man sitting at the table.  He tried to step back, letting out a little cry of shock and tripped backward onto the steps. The flame of the candle jumped, hot wax splattering onto the hand of the old man making him wince.  Whether it was truly from the wax or if it was from the sight of the man at his kitchen table is not completely certain.

            “Careful Adrian,” the younger man teased leaning forward so the light of the candle engulfed his face, “Ye’ll wake the boy; we’re not quite ready for that yet, are we?”

            Shaking his head in reply, he found his way down the remaining steps and joined his visitor at the table, feigning a deeper anger then was truly there, Adrian attempted to scold him,  “What’s the meaning scarin’ an old man like that, don’t ye know how to properly knock on a door?”  he replied with nothing more then a half-cocked grin, it just wasn’t his style to enter the customary way and Adrian knew it. The old man fell silent, staring hard at the man before him. He visually searched the kitchen for something to waver or change, hoping this was still a dream and he had yet to wake. 

            As he looked around, the room seemed to grow unfriendly with nothing more than the candlelight to try and chase away the shadows of the lingering night. The corners grew deep, as if they never ended and one could simply disappear into them forever. Drawing his attention back to his guest, the old man knew he was awake; he could not fool himself, as much as he wanted to.  Drawing in a deep breath he looked directly at the man sitting across from him, and even though he knew what the answer would be before he even finished uttering it, he asked, “Yer ready for him are ye?” in a dry whisper.

            Preparing himself, he held fast to the table with both hands, fearing he would fall to the floor if he did not, his gaze dropping from gray eyes of his guest to the rough and scarred wood under his hands. He felt the room spin, and while he didn’t look up, he knew the reply had been a nod.  Adrian continued in his whispered voice, his eyes cast down, “I’m not sure he’s ready for you.”

            “It matters not if he’s ready for me,” he reminded Adrian pushing himself up from the old mans table, “He is mine, and I have paid thee well for thy care in raising him.”

            From inside his vest, he pulled a purse of coins and tossed it on the table in front of the old man.  “Here is thy final payment, be sure he is on the pier this morning, I will take it from there.”

With that being said, he turned on his heel and strode as silently from the kitchen and storefront as he had entered. One thought filling his head, everything would be as planned.

            Adrian did not bother to look up as his visitor left the house.  He lowered his head to his hands and wept. It would not be until the sun fully shown through the kitchen window, relieving the now spent candle of its duty that he stopped.