The Bandit on the Road
A week had passed since Ion had claimed a room at the inn and settled into Graf. In the first three days he had simply rested, then for the next four he had spent most of his time watching the blacksmith forge his armor. The sight of molten iron plates and heavy chunks of metal being hammered into shape on an anvil under a fierce heat was mesmerizing. The warmth seemed to radiate straight through him. But after several days the fascination faded. So, to find some task worth his time, he had sought out the chief of security.
Chief of Security Ralf was a burly man in his fifties, built like the knight he had once been before a battle left him without a left arm. In most lands the lord’s knight commander double-hatted as chief of security, but many times the job fell to a knight captain retired by injury. Ralf was no exception.
“They say you captured the werewolf from Dachsen.”
“That is correct.”
Ralf had gone straight to the point, which suited Ion. Knights had a way of cutting to the chase.
“Actually, we have been looking for a man exactly like you.”
“Is that so?”
Ralf slid a rough map across his desk and explained. The map showed a river on Graf’s eastern border, dotted with several small wooden bridges and a few sturdy stone ones. Merchants and travelers between Shrin and Rupsin crossed here in great numbers, and the knights patrolled regularly, yet robbers and bandits still plagued the roads. The map was littered with marked bridges. One stone span and many more planks, plus a handful of low-water fords. A single bridge seized could bring in a steady toll.
“Bandits?”
“Of course there are bandit groups we can handle. But there is one lone rider who makes tracking difficult. A big one, they say. A few mercenaries have already lost their heads to him.”
“You think he is a knight?”
Ralf snorted and shook his head. “Maybe a bastard, but nothing higher.”
“That makes sense.”
“If you bring me his head, I will pay three gold.”
“Understood.”
Three gold for one man was a fair reward. When a bounty or reward was high, there was usually a reason. Either the target was strong or influential. Ion thanked Ralf and left the lord’s residence to gather more information on the road bandit.
Back at the inn Ion found Lotte upside-down in the owner’s hands. Lotte was especially obedient when given meat. “The knight has arrived!” the hostess called cheerily. She was a lively woman in her sixties and kept petting Lotte while she spoke. “He is quite a size, yet he has so much charm.”
“It is because Alina gives him meat,” Ion replied. “Ho ho, he is spoiled when he begs for treats. How about it, shall we rest? Would you like supper?”
“Not yet. I have a few questions first.”
“Of course, sir. What is it?”
“Is there a mercenary around here who knows the area well?”
“Of course there is.”
The hostess stroked Lotte, then reached down, slapped a table, and woke a forty-year-old mercenary sleeping on his back. “Oof!” He blinked in confusion. “Who… who is it? Who… who are you?”
“Who am I? I have one son named Ben, and I am older than you, you silly boy.”
“Ah, I am the youngest, so I am the same age as Mistress Alina.”
“Enough chatter. The knight has a question for you.”
The mercenary looked at Ion. “Ah, I see. What is it, ma’am?”
“First, let us eat and drink, then we can talk.”
“Thank you, sir. I am grateful.”
Ion took a seat, ordered two pints of beer, and the innkeeper’s grandson brought them at once. The moment the foam settled, both men took a long swig. “Ah! Good stuff!”
While Ion sipped lightly, Ben drained half his glass in one go and grinned. “Ready, sir. What do you want to know?”
“I received a contract from the chief of security to cut down the road bandit who wanders around. Do you know anything about him?”
The moment Ion asked, Ben gave a straightforward answer. The rumor had indeed reached the inn. “He is big and strong. Some even say his blood is diluted giant blood. My friends who fought him say he swung a mace and turned a mercenary’s head into paste. Seeing that, the rest of us ran.”
“A mercenary who describes it that way usually means the man is exceptionally strong.”
“That is what I think too. The exaggerations are there, but they do not make up stories about comrades’ heads exploding for fun. I believe the strength is real.”
Ben nodded. Even if the tales were inflated, the man clearly carried a different aura. “Hmm… then whereabouts does he usually appear?”
“Three days’ ride up the river you will find three bridges in a row. The merchants who skip Graf and head straight for Rupsin cross those.”
With the rumor and location in hand, Ion set three gold coins on the table and rose. “You have been most helpful.”
“Thank you, sir. Your kindness is appreciated.”
A single pint and one coin would have sufficed, but hearing the full story had been worth every copper.
* * *
The next morning Ion left Graf with Yen and Lotte. On the road he stopped at the blacksmith’s and the shops, bought a mace and a pair of leather gauntlets. The mace was for self-defense; in mounted combat there was rarely space for a sword, and mistaking a mace for a blade could snap it. The gauntlets were for the repairs he was still waiting on.
Three days later he reached the spot Ben had described. The distance from Graf to the river was a long day’s ride, and many travelers still used the bridges, yet they were hard to maintain. The stone bridges the lord’s own men patrolled were better kept, but the wooden and ford bridges nearer the villages and merchants’ paths were neglected. Three planks in a row awaited. The first was a narrow footbridge barely wide enough for one person, the next a horse-width plank, and the third a wagon-sized span. Ion crossed the last one. The planks creaked and swayed, but not dangerously. No travelers appeared, as if the rumor of a bandit had driven them away. “Let me rest a moment,” he muttered, sliding from Yen’s back. Lotte wagged her tail and trotted over. Yen began grazing while Ion sat on a rock and took out the dried meat he carried. He had started carrying only dried food since he began traveling with Lotte. The meat was hard and difficult to chew, yet Lotte could still crunch it down. Ion bit into dried apricots and plums when he saw a rider approaching in the distance. Lotte perked her ears. Ion swallowed the last of his meat, stood, and finished his fruit. Yen, sensing the shift, tore grass even faster. The rider turned toward Ion upon spotting him and galloped closer. Ion mounted. “Dah-dah-dah!” The sound of hooves grew near. Red dots on the map appeared, and the rider became clearer. It was the massive man Ben and Ralf had described. The giant-blood rumor seemed to have weight. Over two meters tall with thick limbs, he looked nothing like an ordinary man. He wore no gambeson suited to his frame, only a torn vest stitched from the cut-off sleeves of an old coat. The exposed shoulders and forearms twitched with raw muscle that looked ready to burst the fabric. The bearded man opened his mouth. “Who are you?”
“The road bandit who wanders this area, I came to take your head.”
The man laughed coldly. “The road bandit? You are talking about me? I am no bandit! I am gathering my mercenary band!”
“I heard you robbed peasants for money.”
“I needed funds to operate. That is all.”
“Then the men you killed chose not to pay?”
“I told them to join my band or pay. They chose the sword.”
The man lifted his chin proudly. “That is how I recruit.”
“You are a road bandit and a blackmailer.”
“I know nothing of that! Tell him yourself, bandit! Will you join my band? Will you pay?”
“I refuse both. Will you come here quietly, or will I kill you and take your head?”
“Hahaha! You dare threaten me? Come and try!”
“Very well. I am Ion of the Bargain.”
“I am Frederick Heringen! I will crush that head of yours!”
Ion and Frederick drew apart. Hearing the name, Ion immediately turned Yen. It was the instinctive response of someone whose family name carried weight. The distance was cleared as if in a joust. Frederick carried a greatsword on his back, yet he reached for a mace. Like Ben had said, he preferred smashing skulls with iron. Ion drew his own mace from his belt. It was a short weapon suited for mounted foot soldiers, but it would serve. Lotte wisely stayed aside, and Yen, unaccustomed to battle, pricked up his ears in excitement. The first to charge was Frederick. Ion lightly tapped Yen’s belly with his heel. “Hiiieee!” Yen leaped forward. “Thud-thud-thud!” They closed in an instant. Eyes glittering, Frederick swung his mace with a lecherous grin. Ion met it with a counter-swing. “Kaaaang!” The impact rang like thunder. They crossed and passed each other. ‘He is strong!’ A tingling jolt ran through Ion’s palms. Without hesitation he pulled Yen around. Frederick spun his horse, surprised by the sudden reversal of momentum, and his expression turned grave. “Kaaaang!” They collided again and crossed. This time both wheeled and struck at once. “Ka-gaang!” Both palms stung from the force. Frederick snarled and swung harder. Ion’s mace met his with a ringing crash. “You bastard! You are quite the opponent!”
Frederick hurled the mace away, leaped down, and drew his greatsword. Ion dismounted as well. The first to land, Frederick swung the greatsword at Ion before he could brace. Ion blocked with the mace. “Clang!” The mace flew. Lowering his stance, Ion dodged the follow-up strike and drew his sword. Frederick brought the blade down in a powerful overhead arc. Ion raised his sword to parry. The metal crashed again, but they locked into a pure strength contest. A giant of Frederick’s size pressed from above while Ion held firm from below. He absorbed the pressure without wavering. Frederick’s eyes widened at the strain, veins standing out as he pushed. “Why… why are you so strong?”
Ion said nothing. There had been no time to answer. The strength felt nothing like the rumors of diluted giant blood. It was raw, overwhelming power. Frederick grew impatient. “Die!” He raised the greatsword in a diagonal slash. Ion leaned sideways until one knee touched the ground, then drove his blade into the exposed waist and followed through, slicing up the back. “Kraaaah!” A third of the waist was laid open. The massive frame staggered, and the wound split wider. “Hwaaaak!” Not looking back, Frederick swung the greatsword in a wide arc. Ion sidestepped lightly and countered from the right side, cleaving deep into the left flank until bone cracked. “Aaaah!” The spine that linked upper and lower body was half severed. Frederick’s torso and hips twisted apart, and he collapsed. Foam flecked his lips. “Bro…ther… revenge…!” Ion’s sword finished the cut. The final blow took the head. ‘…’ The strongest opponent he had faced so far. The power that surged into him was immense. The body had not grown taller, yet every muscle and bone felt denser. * * *
Four days later Ion carried Frederick’s head to Ralf in Graf. The chief of security glanced at the severed head on his desk and nodded with satisfaction. “You have done well. This man was responsible for more deaths than I can count.”
“I imagine so. His strength was no joke.”
Ralf examined the head. “A thick neck like that would have made anyone suspect a monster. No injuries?”
“None.”
“That is good. Thank you.”
“Not at all. However…”
“What is it?”
“He claimed his name was Frederick Heringen. Before he died he spoke of his brother. Do you know the family name Heringen?”
Ralf fell silent, the name ringing faintly in his ears. Then his eyes widened. “Heringen…? No… not that Heringen?”