Tales of the Fifth Son: The Eye of the Storm (Unfinished)

A fantasy story I started. I don't know if I will ever finish it. It was an exercise in writing the "warrior" character. If there is enough expressed interest in me continuing it I probably will.

Tales of the Fifth Son:

The Eye of the Storm

(Unfinished)

 

Under the thrashing attack of the storm Ladunther Fifth Son struggled through the knee deep snow one arm turned away from his face, shielding squinted eyes. His left hand had long ago left the forgone task of holding his cloak closed in favor of resting on the pommel of his long handled sword; steel cold as the ice that clung to his beard, but lending him confidence in the face of the unknown. The freezing ice wind chafed his little protected face and whipped his heavy wool cloak out behind him like a grey snapping banner. Considering his position he stopped for a moment gathering his cloak about his hard frame and reaching into an inner pocket he withdrew a yellow chunk of cheese. In the lands of his youth the long aged cheese was considered excellent for its sharp taste among those who could afford the luxury. Lifting it to his cracked lips he bit down on his last morsel of civilized food. His teeth grated loudly as if coming down on a rock and with a painful growl Lad threw the food into the white landscape that encircled him. He thought he heard a “tinking” sound as of glass shattering in the direction of his last meal.  With a release of something long constrained, far stronger and more lasting than mere insanity, the fierce man threw back his shaggy wind burned face and laughed long and hard his deep voiced guffaws penetrating no farther then several paces under the continuous susurrations of the falling snow.

            As he returned back into himself he felt the cold beauty that surrounded him in all directions. The storm had come to an abrupt and forbidding stop while he paused in his trek and through the hushing fall of a late winter snow he could begin to make out objects in his surroundings. Like a wood block cutting he could see shapes but not discern if they were snow drifts or mountains; distance itself turned against him. The foreign surroundings made him uneasy. He shivered under his woolen layers for more reasons than the icy talons of the cold that had long since taken hold of him. With deft leather gloved fingers he retied the scarf that had fallen from its place on his upper lip with a well-oiled leather cord and began to slowly continue his journey. The sky was a dark grey that dampened his spirits and predicted a harder snowfall yet to come.

            For several hours he came on through the shadowy landscape finding little change. He searched with a keen eye for any sign that people had ever existed there, but around him only the shadowy grey objects of unknown material could be seen. Some faded into the grey background of the sky as he moved farther and farther north, but others seemed to be tied to him. Most likely a mountain or great cliff large enough that it always seems the same distance away. He none the less kept his eye on those shadows in particular and because of this he was able to see when one of the shorter ones began to ever so slowly detach itself from its accustomed place. From his left the shadow began to circle around behind Lad who tracked the slow but steady movement from the corner of his eye. He continued at the steady but paced walk he had been taking for the last league and nonchalantly eased his sword from its sheath. The sword cracked loudly as it broke the icy bond that had formed over the mouth of the sheath. It cut harshly into the ice hewn landscape. Using the unexpected noise to his advantage he turned, cloak spinning, to face the strange and menacing shadow that crouched there bowstring tense.

            Even as he considered his shadowed opponent Ladunther stretched out to the very limit of his blade honed senses trying to feel out his surroundings. He fought through the crashing waves of adrenalin trying to find balance between bestial instinct and human thought. He drew everything in and in until he was full to the brim with the essence of the place where he stood. Then with an imperceptible change he relaxed his muscles and mind sliding into one of the three basic sword stances.  All of the tension he had gathered leaving him in a surging flood of momentum that left a deep emptiness in its wake. An unfocused emptiness that intimately knew every aspect of its place in the ice hewn landscape.  He was one with the sword gripped firmly in his gloved hands and one with the land and the falling snow and one with his opponent who still crouched watching from the shadows unmoving in the seconds it took Lad to become One.