Free The Wanderer's Tale by David Bilsborough Page B

balding, red-faced foreigner did not show any reaction. He knew the ways of men better than most, and clearly was not about to waste his time trying to convince anyone of anything. Remaining seated, he merely nodded and returned his gaze to the table-top in front of him.
    So, instead, the old priest Appa rose to address the prospective campaigners. ‘Brave enemies of Olchor, a while ago I had a vision. In that vision my lord Cuna told me — ’
    ‘Oh no, here we go again,’ said a bored voice from the rear.
    ‘He told me that I too must accompany my colleague Finwald upon his quest.’
    This was met with a burst of cruel but predictable laughter. Though none of them had actually been there, the Far North was well known to be one of the harshest and most inhospitable regions of the known world. Appa, however, did not exactly look the hardy sort.
    But the old priest was undeterred: ‘Yes, I, Appa the worn-out old cleric, was told I must also make the journey to Vaagenfjord Maw. And there was one destined to go with me, one who has already travelled the world. This man, Cuna revealed, would arrive unexpectedly from the East, going by the name of Bolldhe. And though not a follower of Cuna, he would be sent with Cuna’s blessing. For he is the one destined to destroy forever the Evil of Drauglir. Yet he would have no understanding of his mission, or even how to accomplish this sacred task.’
    At this Bolldhe simply smiled and nodded.
    ‘But at the end,’ Appa went on, ‘he would know, and it would be up to me to help enlighten him. That’s how my vision ended – but a week later the very man arrived amongst us.’
    All eyes were now on the traveller. He certainly did not look anything special. Judging from the weird array of clothing and accoutrements, he could hale from just about anywhere on the face of Lindormyn. Apart from the rawhide trousers, deerskin tunic and stoatskin cloak, which might have been purchased from any trader right here in Nordwas, nothing else he wore looked familiar. Everything else was alien to them: the garnet-studded leather belt from which hung a lizard-hide waterskin; the necklace of bizarrely shaped teeth sporting a large and opaque pale-blue gem in the centre; those heavy jade bracelets covered in exotic runes; the scimitar-shaped brooch-pin . . . And what about the strange tattoos on the backs of his hands: some kind of horned serpent, or dragon perhaps? Clearly this was a well-travelled man.
    But why was this ordinary-looking man attired so extraordinarily? Though obviously no warrior, he did at least look fit in a wiry sort of way; a man who could look after himself. He had about him the ragged, unsleek look of a wild hare: in the constant watchfulness in his eyes and the careful way he held himself. While Peladanes and mercenaries lounged , this man seemed taut and ready to spring away at the first sign of danger, a man canny enough to dodge any opponent, or double back with a speed that would throw off any predator.
    In short a loner, and a survivor.
    All eyes remained on the traveller, but if they expected him to say anything, they were in for a long wait. Bolldhe just gazed back at them with an expression that seemed to say: Yes, can I help you?
    Finally one soldier called out impatiently: ‘Let me get this straight, cleric; you want us to accompany some old priest across near-impassable country, by a route you won’t disclose, to an old ruin inhabited by the burnt ashes of a five-hundred-year-old corpse, then to stick all manner of sharp things into it, and burn it again . And then, if it looks like rising to life again before the year’s out, to let this chatty foreigner destroy it by some means not even he knows of?’
    ‘He will know by the end of it,’ replied Appa. ‘That’s a promise.’
    ‘A promise made by your god – the one who appeared to you in a vision. You expect us to believe that?’
    ‘I know it sounds a tad unlikely, but it is true. That’s all I can