“Erich!” Derl slurred, staggering over to the table where he was sitting with Allthier. “The man of the hour!”

  He sat down next to the two of them, slapping an earthenware jug of rice wine down on the table. Beneath them, Michelle shifted unhappily, sinking her teeth into the wooden bowl containing her dinner of garr meat and dragging it closer to Erich so she could eat in peace away from the drunk cinderborn.

  “I’m not going to lie,” Derl continued, shaking his head, “I thought we were going to lose some people there. “I remembered the adult garr being tough, but that was on a whole different level. Still, I can’t believe how much stronger you got from a tier up. One minute you were only able to cut the thing, and the next-”

  “Woosh!” Derl jumped to his feet, sending the entire table rocking as he mimed swinging a sword. On the ground, Michelle growled unhappily. “Swish! And then you were slicing it apart.”

  “Thanks,” Erich replied, carefully taking a sip of the wine cup in front of him. It tasted like the chemicals the merchants in Burrwood would use to tan animal hides into leather. “I think I managed to improve my understanding of Magma Blossom during the fight too. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to cut through the garr’s bones without that.”

  Derl flopped back down into the seat he’d appropriated, a happy grin on his face.

  “Cut through adult garr bones he says like it's nothing,” the cinderborn warrior said with a snort. “I’m a tier higher than you and I wouldn’t be able to leave a single mark on their bones without using a technique. Listen to me Erich, you’ve got a bright future in front of you. I don’t know how strong your image is, and I’m not asking, but I’ve seen how you move. You’re destined for a lot bigger things than a dried up has been like me.”

  “Has been?” Allthier asked, glowing eyes flickering. “Don’t sell yourself short Derl, we all watched you kill one of the garr with a single attack. It might’ve exhausted your mana supplies, but that’s pretty impressive and no one can take that away from you.”

  “Pffff,” Derl blew a raspberry, shaking his head. “I’m a fumbler, using someone else’s image and technique like a child wearing their father’s clothes. I can fight, but at the end of the day, I’m pretending to be a swordsman and we all know it. That’s why I’m out here in the middle of nowhere, barely able to protect a small farming village while wanderers like Erich turn into actual folk heroes.”

  “Derl,” Allthier said sternly. “I think you’ve had enough to drink. Madla is a fine village, and-”

  “I’m not saying it's not,” Derl replied dismissively. “I know and like everyone that lives here. I can’t express how happy I am that you and Erich arrived when you did. Without the two of you, I’d be burying friends right now. That’s why we’re celebrating. Madla doesn’t have much, but even if you’re poorer than dirt, sometimes you have to take a moment out of your day to step back and live a little.”

  “Celebrations like this?” Derl gestured with a cup half full of the rice wine, swaying dangerously as he swung his drink in a half circle around himself. “You have to earn them. They don’t come often for yeomen and they come even less often for slaves, but that just means you need to value them even more. I bet every meal the nobles have is more expensive than this party. I also bet that tonight matters more to the people here than anything that has happened in that noble’s life.”

  “Ease up on the treason a little,” Allthier said with a hurried chuckle. “I doubt Erich is the sort to cause trouble, but those aren’t the sort of words that a town magistrate should be saying. That’s a road that leads to nothing but sorrow.”

  Derl hiccuped. His eyes flickered in the cinderborn equivalent of a blink.

  “That reminds me,” he said, voice slurring. “We should talk about Branlen Tarrl. In a fair world, he’d reward you as well. You deserve far more than five hundred bits for the fight today. Don’t expect anything from him. He owns the farming rights to these lands but-”

  “Derl,” Allthier hissed. “Me telling you to ‘stop committing treason’ isn’t some sort of secret code for ‘now you should commit even more treason.’ You know how Tarrl is. If he found out that you were gossipping about him, he wouldn’t take it lying down.”

  “I know,” Derl muttered. “Still. He doesn’t sit right with me even if he is my boss. I get that a bit saved is a bit earned, but he earns too many bits at the cost of his slaves and employees if you catch my drift. I just wish that I could leave Madla without abandoning everyone here. As tough ast things are with Tarrl as an owner, I’d like to think that I can bear the brunt of his greed. Y’know, suffer a little bit so the folks around here don’t have to. If I were to leave, Tarrl would probably hire someone more like himself to replace me. We’d start losing people to starvation and disease within the year, and I can’t have that on my conscious.”

  Erich took a sip of his wine. It still tasted more like chemicals than alcohol, but he did his best to keep a grimace off of his face out of politeness for his hosts.

  “You’re a good man Derl,” he replied. “I suspect that the worlds would be better places if there were more people like you.”

  “Thanks,” the cinderborn slurred back. “Say, Erich. You ever think what kind of person you are? You know, really sit down and think about it?”

  “I suppose,” Erich replied, glancing down at the cup of vile rice wine before thinking better of it. “I was at my happiest when I was a wanderer, eating berries straight from the bush and setting down my tent wherever and whenever I was tired. That gave me a lot of time to explore nature and myself.”

  “But did you?” Derl asked, “Did you really think? When I was your age, I thought that I had everything figured out. I’d go to an academy, get an image and become a warrior. I might not be as important as a swordsman, but I’d have honor money and women. That’s what anyone would want right?”

  “None of that crap matters Erich,” the cinderborn erupted with an angry shake of his head. “Women and drink? They’re fun and all but at some point in your mid thirties you wake up and wonder why in the name of the angels you put so much weight on them. Money? It’s great, but again what’s the point? You can buy nice stuff with it, but stuff is just stuff.”

  Derl leaned across the table, bumping it and dislodging both Erich and Allthier’s cups of wine. Mercifully, Erich’s spilled, relieving him of the need to actually drink it. The cinderborn extended his index finger, poking Erich gently in the shoulder as he heatedly continued his rant.

  “What about power, you ask? Plenty of people obsess over it, and I can’t say I’m not a little jealous of the people that made it further down the path of the warrior, but again, what’s the point?”

  “I think you’ve had enough,” Allthier interjected, putting a hand on Derl’s shoulder. “Tonight is supposed to be a celebration, not a time for middle aged men’s maudlin rambling.”

  “No Al,” Derl said, brushing the merchant’s hand away. “This is important. You saw how Erich fought. You saw how quickly he ascended tiers and how much he got. The boy’s going to end up a legend or a corpse in a ditch. I might not be a proper swordsman, but I’ve also survived as a warrior far longer than most and my posting out here has given me a lot of time to think.”

  Derl turned his attention back to Erich. His orange eyes glowed dully, an after effect of the man’s visible drunkenness.

  “Erich,” he continued, his voice hoarse. “Men fight for a hundred good reasons and die for a thousand more bad reasons.. You have skill, more than I’ve ever seen, but you don’t have a reason to fight. You need to ask yourself, why are you a swordsman? That should mean something more than just being another man that weaves mana and waves a sword around. The confederation cares when someone is a swordsman in a way that it doesn’t care about slaves or yeoman. Your actions matter. Your honor matters.”

  “Maybe I’m just a sentimental fool,” Derl mumbled, slumping back into his chair. “My first instructor told me to be true to myself, but it took me years and years to figure out who I actually was. Years of wasted time and mistakes. You’re lost Erich. I can see it in every move you make. Your image is strong and you’ve done a fair amount of good around here, but that doesn’t seem like it’s your answer.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “That’s what you need,” he slurred. “An answer. A swordsman hash gotsta know who he is. Why he drawsh his blade. What’s really important.”

  Abruptly, Derl stood up stumbling immediately. Allthier jumped to his feet behind him, expertly draping the warrior’s arm over his shoulder. He shot Erich an apologetic smile.

  “It seems like Derl has had a couple too many cups of wine,” the merchant said ruefully. “I’ll get him to his bedroom. You should stay back and enjoy the party. It’s nothing special, but a bit of a light and warmth in your life could do you some good. As much as Derl was rambling near the end there, he was onto something. You seem adrift Erich. Hopefully with a little time to unwind, you’ll be able to find something to tie yourself down to. An anchor to keep yourself focused and on target.”

  Allthier walked Derl away, catching the other man as he stumbled. Erich couldn’t help but glance ruefully at the empty cup of rice wine on the table in front of him. He didn’t have any idea how the other man had managed to finish a single serving of the alcohol, let alone enough to end up blackout drunk.

  “Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” he whispered to himself before screwing up his nose at the sharp smell. Erich shook his head. It was hard to miss the odor of the cheap alcohol, even over the potpourri of wet dog and sweat that filled the cramped meal hall.

  Cinderborn chatted and swayed all around the room, the previous dour mood replaced with smiles and glowing eyes. Most of them had a drink in their hands, and Erich couldn’t help but wonder how much of the alcohol a poor village like Madla actually had. It couldn’t be much. He didn’t want to ask anyone how much of their annual budget was going into the party, but it couldn’t be a low number.

  As Erich looked around the busy room, he couldn’t see a face without a smile on it. He was probably the only exception. Only Allthier and Derl had bothered to approach him, so Erich sat alone, empty drink in front of him while the rest of the town celebrated the destruction of the garr lair.

  Part of him balked at the situation. Technically he was the hero of the moment. Without Erich, Madla would’ve needed to wait for support, and that likely would’ve meant a ruined harvest.

  A larger part of him was perfectly okay with being left alone. Everyone in the room knew each other. They’d lived side by side and worked together for years, and the cathartic release of this moment was theirs more than his. After all, in a day or so, Erich would leave for the next town, likely never to see the cinderborn of Madla again. They weren’t celebrating his victory, they were celebrating their survival and avoiding starvation during the dry season.

  Some ten to fifteen feet away, a man jumped up on top of a table, his friends cheering him on. Erich watched, worried, as the poorly constructed table swayed and buckled under the man’s weight.

  One of the man’s friends grabbed his leg, steadying him as she smiled up at him. He raised both of his hands over his head. Quickly, a hush fell over the crowd as the cinderborn quieted, turning their eyes toward him.

  Once he had the room’s attention, the cinderborn clutched one hand into a fist, pressing it against his diaphragm and began to sing.

  “I’m going to lay down, my sword and shield

  Down by the riverside

  Down by the riverside”

  The man’s voice was a deep rich baritone, obviously trained and as incongruous as a gold inlaid carriage in such a small and poor village. The entire dining hall stared up at the singer.

  “Down by the riverside

  I’m going to lay down, my sword and shield

  Down by the riverside, study war no more”

  Erich’s mind began to wander. It was strange. His entire life was spent training to fight an eternal war, his role picked for him before his actual birth, and here he was. Over the course of a couple months, all of his friends were dead, his master was dead, and his previous goals were revealed to be nothing more than the cruel and petty machinations of the elves that oppressed his homeland.

  Homeland. He snorted. Like that word meant anything to him. Hollendil and Burrwood were just places he’d been. Outside the people he’d trained with, Erich had no connection whatsoever to the Cothleer Empire.

  “Ain’t gonna study war no more

  Ain’t gonna study war no more

  I ain’t gonna study war no more”

  He stood up, the dregs of the wine somehow growing even sourer in his mouth. Harold and Timothy would have loved this party. Even Gwen and Kaden would’ve had a good time. Harold probably would’ve dragged them from table to table along with Erich, forcing the three of them to talk to strangers.

  Erich pursed his lips, ignoring the singing cinderborn and his fans Harold was gone. Timothy was gone. Gwen and Kaden were gone. Even Sathis, someone he’d only known for a couple weeks, was gone.

  The last couple of months had been a blur. Erich barely had time to sleep, let alone process the string of tragedies that had befallen him. Now, it finally hit.

  He was alone. There was no one from Hollendil who knew who he was. No one to talk about Burrwood or training with. Erich was adrift in a strange land with nothing but a sword at his side and a vague goal on the far side of the world.

  “I’m gonna to talk with, that Prince of Peace

  Down by the riverside

  Down by the riverside

  I’m gonna talk with, the Prince of Peace

  Down by the riverside, and I ain’t gonna study war no more”

  The cinderborn erupted into applause, some of the farmers leaning close to slap the singer on the back while his female companion helped him down from the rickety table.

  Erich stood up, his mood sour. No one seemed to notice as he walked out of the meal hall and into the rain outside. Thunder crashed overhead and he stopped five or so steps outside the building. Lights burned in the windows of the squat wooden houses lining Madla’s walls, but other than a couple children that had already been put to bed, everyone was still celebrating in the dining hall.

  Rain beat down on him, streaming down his face and soaking through his armor in a matter of seconds. Harold, Gwen, Timothy, and Kaden. Their images floated through Erich’s mind’s eye as the reality of his situation set in.

  All of his companions were dead, and all meaning had been stripped from Erich’s life. He had a destination, but no idea how to get there beyond ‘start walking.’ What was that even supposed to mean? Just leave? Scrounge for food and a place to sleep?

  What was the alternative? Sign on with a powerful local lord and do that man’s bidding for the rest of his life? The army had left its mark on Erich. He’d rather skin himself alive than spend the rest of his life listening to someone else’s orders, living and dying by the whims of a petty tyrant.

  Or worse. It might not be him living and dying. Someone willing to pay a swordsman would want him to kill. Erich’s mind flickered back to all of the soldiers he’d killed during the endless war between the Cinderborn Confederation and the Cothleer Empire. Those were men and women, many without any mana to their names, just trying to do their jobs. They didn’t deserve to die anymore than his friends did.

  He dropped down to one knee. Derl was right. There was a lot more to life than being a swordsman and there was a lot more to being a swordsman than just swinging a sword around.

  Erich couldn’t bring Harold and his friends back. They were pointless victims of the endless war and nothing could change that. If he let himself wallow in grief, it would swallow him whole. He didn’t have any friends or family to snap him out of it. He didn’t even have a routine or activities that he could fall back on. All he had were the words of a drunk warrior, telling him to find himself.

  It might even be good advice, but how was he supposed to do that? Rain poured off of Erich. Behind him in the dining hall, happy voices joined together in a drinking song.

  There wasn’t any real place for him there. Erich didn’t want to be an outcast, but maybe it was for the best. He had a lot to process before he was ready to-

  A gentle pressure on his thigh dragged him out of his morose thoughts. Michelle stood silently at his side, her furry head cocked at an angle as she asked a wordless question.

  Despite himself, Erich couldn’t help but feel a smile appear on his face.

  “Sorry about that,” he croaked, standing up and picking the oversized otter up. As impossible as it seemed, she felt heavier now than when he’d first rescued her from the rainswept rice paddies. “I got a little lost in my feelings there. Don’t worry about it. I’ve just been through a lot.”

  She chittered in his ear, pressing her fuzzy cheek comfortingly against his.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he replied. “I know you’ve been through a lot too. Maybe that’s why we ended up running into each other. Our individual struggles would’ve been just too much if we had to shoulder them alone.”

  Michelle chirped happily, scampering up onto his back. Erich couldn’t help himself. He reaching back to scratch her under her chin.

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly your paws got better,” he said with a weak chuckle. “Or that you forgot which one was actually hurt during the fight. I bet you don’t even remember right now which paw you pretended was injured. How much of that all was performative? Was it just an excuse to make sure that we picked you up and babied you on the way back to Madla?”

  She chittered an affirmative reply, unrepentant.