Showcase-Sunday: Mourn of the sword chapters 1 and 2

this week my entry in  #Showcase-Sunday  is  first two chapters of my book. I posted this a long time ago. For this showcase I made some changes in the prologue. 

[original post](https://whaleshares.io/@fieryfootprints/mourn-of-the-sword-chapter-2)

 image created by me @fieryfootprints 

 Copyright (c) 2019 Simonas Tuinyla. All rights reserved 

                                                               Mourn of the sword

                                                                         Prologe   

   Cercor is a warrior who seems to have no equal. So far his overwhelming might was enough to overcome all obstacles in his path.  At some point even the greatest of dangers began looking trivial in his eyes. But then life decided to grant a warrior’s wish gave him plenty of challenges that were beyond even his imagination. It all began on a very ordinary day. In the middle of nowhere. At this point Cercor barely had any hope. He was beginning to believe that what he searched for simply didn't exist. Still he continued his search guided by nothing else but his stubbornness. And finally warrior was rewarded for not giving up. Because he found a great adventure.

                                                                   1. Fateful meeting

     What was it? The irony of fate? Curse of the gods? Or maybe just a sinister incident? One thing is certain- that mistake made my life real hell.  

 In the cold eastern mist for a long time silence was disturbed only by the steps of a single horse. But after about a half a hour Cercor heard new sounds: 

 - Come on, snot, give us your money and stay healthy. Did no one taught you to listen to your elders? I said give us money. Right now! 

 This scene was no surprise for Cercor. Roads were full of all types of scum. They robbed and pillaged entire villages but local lords did nothing to stop them. Tribute from the gangs was much bigger than taxes gathered from smallfolk. Besides getting paid for not doing something was easier than getting paid to do something. So noble lords remained in their high castles and refused to hear cries and moans all around them. They also did not notice smells of fire and death. But in all honesty Cercor also cared very little about these things. In his opinion this was just a small local problems and not really his concern. At least if bandits were smart enough to not mess with him. He was well armed, looked quite grim, battle hardened and scary. So most gangs kept respectful distance and tried to avoid any problems with this single traveling warrior. This unwritten pact of neutrality was was satisfactory to both sides. But they had different reasons. Robbers were driven by fear. Cercor felt only contempt. For bandits and their victims. Warrior believed that life is a battle. Those who cannot protect their property should lose it. Those who die do not deserve to live. Cercor often had such thoughts while riding through a burning village. 

   For some reason this time was different. He was about to ride away but then unexpected something caught his attention. Victim responded to bandits demands in most bizarre way: 

 -Go away, you bastards! You won't get even a single coin from me.- claimed a calm, melodic voice. 

   This simple answer made impression to the stern wanderer. He had heard people in similar situations crying and begging for their lives. Way too many times. Of course ending is always the same. This defiant stranger will die just like the beggars. Still his death was going to be more dignified. Cercor desired to see this man who seemed to know how to die. Besides the speaker's voice was filled with weird power and it also increased curiosity. Warrior rushed to bandits location. Why? To help someone who was in trouble? Or just to observe his final moments? Perhaps so. But in his heart Cercor already knew that he will get into some kind of mess. And by doing so will be forced to disobey his own rule and way of life. To only care about himself. Warrior’s mind was full of curses for himself. And yet he kept on riding forward. Soon destination was reached. Then stopped his horse and cursed more. This time in far more nasty way. Because this was not what he expected to see. 

   In a small clearing of the woods a victim was surrounded by five bandits. Scums were wearing surprisingly good armor. Far too good for regular hobos. So maybe a deserters? Their leader was a middle sized man with small penetrating eyes. His glance constantly moved from subordinates to target and back. Next to the ringleader stood another distinctive person. Most likely his right-hand man. But undoubtedly nature’s mistake. Gigantic creature with more resemblance to cave troll and not a human. Huge eyes, trembling body, open mouth with waves of saliva dripping out… All these sings lead to believe that giant was too fond of narcotic called zigzag. The rest of the gang seemed like ordinary bandits. Their victim was far more interesting.

 It was not a human. Well not entirely. Most likely one of his parents was a human and other the elf. Half-breed was still very young. Long white hair wrapped into hundreds of thin ponytails. Bottomless grey/blue eyes. He looked at his attackers without fear. In fact looked like he barely even cared about them. And most bizarre thing was that half-elf noticed Cercor before bandits but did not ask for his help. Just like he didn't ask the gang to spare him. Instead of asking he gave the order. As if he was in complete control of situation. Bottomless eyes for a brief moment met with Cersor's gaze. Staring right into his soul. And giving a short order,,Fight’’. Mercenary did not understand what happened. It seemed like someone else pulled out the sword. It seemed like a different horseman rushed forward and in a blink of eye killed one of the bandits. Cercor recognized himself as this horseman only after dead body hit the ground. Warrior once again became master of himself. And in the right moment to. Two other bandits were already attacking him. Gang boss didn't move from the spot. He simply shouted at his underlings: 

  -Come on guys! Kill this one and then focus on the freak!  

  One bandit attempted to stab mercenary with a dagger. But that ended in huge failure. Mercenary hit his face. Scum grabbed remains of his nose. That was his last mistake. Another swing of a sharp blade not only cut bastard’s hands but also his neck. Cercor did not notice fountain of blood rising before him. That was already the past. The present required more attention. Giant was coming closer waving an enormous axe. And another bandit was already raising his bow. Cercor was not generous enough to let archer have a chance. Sudden move and throwing knife pierced bowman’s eye. At the same time mercenary jumped from his horse. 

 -Svan, enough messing around. Finish him now!- Leader still didn’t move. Merely observed the fight. 

 Giant attacked with insane ferocity. In his hands monstrous axe looked like a light toy. Few times it barely missed the mark. These attacks toppled several trees and but were unable to draw any blood. Cercor jumped around, rolled on the ground and evaded every single strike. Mercenary moved so fast that Svan saw triple images. Maybe this occurred due to adrenaline rush? Or maybe this was after effect of zigzag? He did increase his dose recently… Maybe Cercor noticed this. Or maybe he acted purely on a instinct. Either way the longer battle continued the more Svan’s consciousness faded away into the darkness. He was never a genius. Now remaining bits and pieces of his mind were quickly sinking into the ocean of dizziness. Bizarre images were changing in front of his eyes. Svan saw himself on the top of countless women. Drinking finest beers and wines. And then marching the heavens. His face smiling from the moon… After that he kinda remembered that he is fighting. But that moment of enlightenment only lasted a few seconds. After that his eyes were covered and blinded by red mass. Giant’s body tensed up one final time. And then he landed in a pile of his own blood. Svan was not killed by a blade. His brain simply boiled from pleasure overdose. 

 - Well at least that fool managed to die in an amusing way.-said chieftain. It was unclear if he was talking to Cercor or to himself.- I should thank you for entertainment. But I am naturally ungrateful. Besides that my profession is not very suitable for nice people. But it gives me joy so I can't complain. 

  -As I thought you are not doing this for gold,-remarked Cercor.  

  - Not gonna argue about that,- grined the bandit.-Gold, silver. Servants ready to jump into fire at command…These trifles have little to no value for me. I had it all long time ago. And I gave it all away. You know why? Killing gives me more delight than any woman, hunts, drinks, drugs, cards or dice.  

 -I see. So I was mistaken when I thought that you might be something more.- Mercenary seemed to be very disappointed.- But I guess you are just another shiteater. You claim that killing gives you joy? I say that you are lying. You are killing because you actualy fear death. So you kill others with naive hopes that these sacrifices will satisfy death and it will leave you alone a while longer. But in doing so you are only making a fool of yourself. 

 -Quite sharp observation, mister.-bloodsucker’s voice slightly trembled.- Perhaps your words have a grain of truth. But couldn't I say the same about you? Or do you believe yourself to be some kind of saint? But that doesn't matter. I want to know only one thing. What is your name, you damn piece of shit? What is the name of a single bastard who dares to judge me? 

 -Cercor. 

  -And my name is Midzvirn.   

 Until this moment both warriors stood few steps apart. Neither of them moved. Neither attacked. Simply watched the opponent. Both were looking for any weakness. Waited for the smallest mistakes. Sole purpose of their conversation was to catch enemy off guard. But both of them were true professionals. So word games ended without any victor. Time for eloquence was over. Now was the time for serious talk. 

 Blades rang after clashing with each other. For a brief moment Cercor had a wolfish smile. The clash lasted for only a fraction of a second. But that was enough to know. This was without a doubt strongest opponent he had faced in a long time. Midzvirn was a first class killer and a true swordmaster. He moved swiftly and unpredictably. Slower and faster. Circling around. Not taking any risk. Focusing on his own survival. Cercor disliked this way of fighting. So he jumped in the air attempting to strike from above. Cutthroat squatted and tried to stab his victim in the air. Luckily Cercor was hot-headed but not a fool. He knew his own abilities very well. Mercenary rolled in the air and safely landed few steps away. 

  -Not a bad reflex.- Midzvirn commented to himself. After that he leaned forward and took a defensive stance.- and damn impressive acrobatics. It seems like you intend to entertain me till the very end.  

   Cercor walked forward at the same time using blade to draw some strange jaws in the air. He pretended to strike from the left only to charge right in the last moment and srike from below. Even still Midzvirn was able to predict this. Killer might had even succeed avoiding the strike. But he chose to attack as well. Both blades drew blood. But both warriors were barely injured and continued to fight with even greater ferocity. At this point it seemed like not two but twenty men were clashing in that battle. They were leaving many afterimages but their blades couldn't reach the target. 

 This fight gave great joy to Cercor. This was the most fun he had in last couple years. And yet the thrill soon disappeared. Experienced warrior felt that his opponent has already reached his current limits. But for mercenary this was merely a game. A good warm up… It was time to finish this. After successfully avoiding another strike Cersor suddenly tossed sword and caught it with his other hand and stabbed it near his opponent’s heart. Then he stepped back and said: 

 -You did quite well. If you will manage to heal these injuries try to find me for a rematch. If your illness will not claim your life first. 

 Midzvirn fell on the ground. He was badly injured. But these words still made him lough. He looked up. His gaze was strange mixture of respect, fear, hatred and surprise. With his remaining strength killer removed one of his gloves and revealed signs of leprosy. 

 -Damn you bastard… When did you notice? 

 -I was not sure about exact type of illness. But I guessed this before the fight. 

 Midzvirn had a faint smile and then lost his consciousness. 

 Cercor was about to leave the battlefield without even looking back. But then he was stopped by a melodious voice: 

 -Kind sir, thank you for saving me. 

 Only now did the warrior had time take a closer look at the one who got him into this mess. Half-elf was ten maybe twelve years old. He was trembling. His eyes were sharp and clever but now they didn't have even a glimpse of that strange power that ordered Cercor to fight this battle. In front of the mercenary now now stood a simple, scared and tired kid. 

  -Sir could you please help me a little more?  

  -Go away, snot.- uttered Cercor.- About four miles to the west is a village. Go look for help there. 

 Mercenary left half-elf alone and went to his horse. 

                                                                 

                                                         Chapter 2. Griferl 

  I had to listen to my common sense. Instinct that has saved my life numerous times. But I this time I was both deaf and blind. Blaming magic for this would be an obvious answer. But also a lie. The truth is that I simply wanted to have a friend. 

  Cercor was still thinking about his battle with Midzvirn. But even more so he was wondering why he got in to that battle. For the first time in many years he held a sword not to defend himself. Not to make a living. Not for the thrill of fighting. At least not just for that. According to mercenary’s point of view simply helping others was a weakness. It went against his way of life. His beliefs. His very essence. Those who are not able to protect themselves or they property should just die. Cercor kept repeating this to himself many years. At some point he finally began believing it. Sure at times he still helped others. If they could afford his help.  He called himself a mercenary but his job was different from others who shared this profession. He did the usual work as well- fought in wars, protected the caravans, acted as a bodyguard. But he was also willing to search for magical relics. Or to kill monsters. As long as job complied with Cercor’s rules he did without question. These rules were simple. It had to be risky job. And job could not tie warrior to one place for a long time. He preferred to travel and very rarely stayed in one city for more than a week or two. During the years of his career Cercor had spilled a sea of blood. Both his own and that of his enemies. He earned nicknames like The bringer of hell, Herald of death and The Unrivaled One. Even in the distant lands where he never set a foot those names were feared greatly. But to him they were meaningless. The coin that mercenary earned with his blade was nearly as worthless in his eyes. After completing some tasks Cercor gained enough money to happily live a three of four years. But such comfortable way of living was not his goal. Mercenary would at times party for a day or two. But after that he would always pick up his sword and once again return to his bloody path. 

 But after many years even that path became less and less exciting. Before it was a calling. Life’s mission. But it later turned into nothing more than entertainment. A hobby. And finally simply a taxing duty. Routine. Now most of the time Cercor just wandered the world. To the cliffs, forests and the plains. Mercenary craved to find an adversary who could be called his equal. But at this point it seemed impossible. No matter if he was faced with strongest warriors or wildest of animals… None of them were able to push Cercor to the end of his limits. None of them could make him uncertain of his victory. At best they were like mosquitoes to a tiger. Annoying? Perhaps. But at the same time still very harmless. Entire Cercor’s life was dedicated to two things. Constant improvement of his fighting skills. And search for a worthy enemies. Sadly these goals were colliding with each other. Even the tiniest advancement in art of battle made made the naturally enormous gap between him and others even wider. This in turn made him frustrated and caused training even harder. Never ending circle. At this point he no longer even had any hope. But he still continued to search even without hope. Until this morning. Half-elf saved by Cercor was clearly not a mighty warrior. Far from it. He was just another ordinary weakling. But at the same time he had weird power that forced Cercor join a fight. In the past mercenary slew a few mages and sorcerers so he had some experience with magic wielders. But that half-breed still did something outside of realm of the common sense. Cercor always believed that he was the sole master of his fate. That his will is stronger than steel and that it cannot be affected by any magic… But this time this belief was wrong. Someone else did break into his mind. That was a clear undeniable fact. But even more than that warrior was surprised that after the battle he could no longer feel any magic or strange will. All that was left in front of him was scared half-elf. No different from any other of his kind. 

   Cercor’s thoughts were interrupted by rustling leafs. After turning to the source of the noice warrior saw the person he was thinking about. Strange half-elf made a few steps forward and then said:   

 -Greetings again, kind sir. Forgive for bothering you again but could you please help me a little more.  I don’t have the strength to reach the village you mentioned earlier.  Could you please allow me to rest by your bonfire? And maybe spare something to eat?  

 -I would prefer not suffer your company for long,- Cercor remarked with a slight disdain in his voice.- But so be it. 

 -Thank you kind sir. My name is Griferl. 

  -You can call me Cercor. 

  -It is my pleasure to meet you.   

  -Enough with those pleasantries.-Mercenary was little irritated. – Instead you should tell me a real reason why you are here. You not as tired as you claim to be.   

  -I wanted to ask if I could travel with you. I saw your fighting skills and…  

 -And you would like to join me to get some protection? Not gonna happen. Besides traveling with me would not make you any safer because you would still have to be the one to defend yourself.    

 -I could pay you.-Griferl tried to argue. 

 -Listen kid. –uttered warrior.- I quite clearly told you that I do not desire to travel with you. And you could never afford to hire me as your guard anyway. 

  -Will a hundred gold coins be enough?- Half-elf responded in completely serious tone. 

   Cercor could not believe these words. A hundred gold coins was a huge fortune. Many people would have sold their souls for tiny portion of this sum. Other than quality of his weapons and armor Cercor had little to no interest in material things. But after hearing this even he became curious. Not about the money itself but about how this hybrid got it. 

   Grifel slightly smiled and took a little bag from his sleeve. It contained a handful of tiny stones. Not precious gems but ordinary stones picked on the roud. Half-elf extended his hand to Cercor:  

   -These are worth a bit more than the sum I mentioned.-He spoke in a melodic, self certain voice. It seemed like he himself believed that his hand was holding pearls. And then suddenly Cercor felt the same immence power from before. He clearly saw that stones are worthless. This was obvious. But desire to believe in this lie was nearly blinding. Still Carcor gathered his will and repelled strange force:   

  -I don’t know what kind of magic this is but it will not work on me. If you will attempt this trickery again it will be your death sentence. 

 For a brief moment Griferl seemed to be truly surprised. He regained his original composure so quickly that no normal human would had been able to notice his shadow of shock or slightly expanded eyes. But mercenary was far from a normal human.   

 -Please sir. I assure you, no violence will be necessary. I am no mage. I don't have any real special powers. My humble talents would only make a true wizard laugh. Anyway it is clear that my tricks are of no use. So let’s try again. I want to travel together and be protected from dangers we might encounter. I have no money to offer you. But I could still prove to be useful. Even my humble talents can convince normal people to give us shelter or food and drink. At times some coins as well.   

 - I can already get it all by simply using my blade. I dare to say that I wield it well enough to not have to worry about being hungry, thirsty or having a shelter. So protecting a weakling like you would still be a waste. All I want is to face and overcome the strongest opponents I can find. And that is not something that you or your tricks can give me. 

  -If all you want is a challenge then maybe I could help.-Grifel once again smiled.- It is true that I am no fighter.-  But I know where you might find what you looking for. I heard your name before. Stories about a mighty warrior who stopped participating in the tournaments after winning several of them in a row. Perhaps you gave up on your search too soon. Perhaps you will succeed in finding what you seek by returning there? 

 Copyright (c) 2019 Simonas Tuinyla. All rights reserved