The next morning, Gunnolf awakened to lightened skies through the paned glass window. The bedding covers were twisted and half off the bed. The young elf woman was already out of the room. Strapping his sword to his hip and his short tanto behind his waist belt, he left the room silently.

  Lylen was standing in the inn’s front room waiting patiently as Gunnolf strode to her. She looked up at his ruffled fur concealing his eyes. “You’re terrifying when you sleep,” she murmured.

  Gunnolf paid no attention to her remark and gave the proprietress a nod that they were set to depart. He exited the building as silent as a ghost.

  “Hey, have you nothing to say?” Lylen asked after him, but the furry man gave no response.

  Outside, the sky above was getting lighter, but the sun hadn’t yet shined over the cliff side where Listagan, the capitol of Illisea Kingdom, resides as a shining beacon to the Lowlands. However, not a soul in the Lowlands looked up to that beaming city with any admiration, the war of almost twenty years ago was still fresh in the minds of many and those who weren’t born yet when it occurred heard the tales of massive battles across the Field of Khadrak, which lay now as a barren gravesite.

  “We should grab something to eat and purchase some provisions for the journey ahead,” said Lylen as they were some of the few who stirred this early.

  Gunnolf was silent a moment before leaning his head toward her while keeping his gaze fixed on the path ahead, finally saying, “You have money? You were a peasant last night, couldn’t pay your way at the inn.”

  Embarrassment flooded her face. “Are you this rude to all women or am I lucky?”

  He gave a taunting grin, showing his teeth.

  “No wonder you’re old and single still,” Lylen quipped.

  Gunnolf replied without looking at her, staring off into the distance, “Nobody stays in my company for more than I allow. I work alone, I travel alone, out of preference.”

  Her feet stopped while he kept his strides heading for a little stall next to the item shop. It was known for cooking up various foods before daytime, and it was in full swing for the early risers of Saha’dryr. Gunnolf ordered himself two snakes roasted on a stick and paid the merchant. When he returned to Lylen she went to reach for one of them and Gunnolf stood as still as a statue, not giving the second one up.

  “Didn’t you get me one too?” she asked.

  Gunnolf looked down at her, took a bite of the first one, chewed and swallowed before saying, “I had money, I also had no food last night. Two for me, none for you.”

  Her hand met her face, “Such a gentleman. I could get better treatment from a centaur’s ass.”

  Gunnolf gave a shrug as he took a second bite.

  “I take it we’re better off skipping the item shop for provisions,” the elf woman groaned in irritation.

  Gunnolf nearly finished the first snake before replying nonchalantly, “Sure. If we run into an issue, sit back.”

  She folded her arms under her breasts in a huff, “I can fight too ya know.”

  Gunnolf didn’t reply as he strode toward the city’s north gate and Lylen followed, each board creaking as they crossed the City of the Lake for the last time for a while.

  Crossing through the north gate having passed the inspection from the city guards was a silver gilded coach wagon drawn by white four scaled horse-like creatures, shaped like dragons known as duargons had a convoy of eight fully armored knights around them on foot, seven of them with red feathered plumes from the top of their steel helmets and blue sashes across their breastplates indicated they had traveled from Illisea Kingdom. Gunnolf and Lylen moved aside to allow them clear passage, one of the knights, closest to the coach door wore a helmet shaped in the fashion of a reptilian creature known as a basilisk stood there with both sword at his hip and a bow over his shoulder. His blue eyes inside the helmet seemed to catch both Lylen and Gunnolf but he remained silent as Gunnolf stared back. The knight out in front, a wide man in full armor announced, “Make way for the Envoy of Listagan, royal capitol of Illisea!” the crowding wooden pathways immediately began dispersing as the coach pulled over to the side of the road.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Why is someone important from Listagan be here in Saha’dryr?” asked Lylen curiously.

  “To see the Governor of the city, likely,” Gunnolf replied dryly. “It’s not our affair.” Gunnolf then continued his strides toward the city gate with Lylen following after. The knight with the basilisk shaped helmet watched seemed to watch them to where a shiver went down Lylen’s spine.

  The morning sun was finally poking above the cliffside of Listagan when they were two miles from the city now. Lylen with a boiling temper, stewed in silence as Gunnolf took each stoic stride one at a time. Damn him, maybe I made a mistake in seeking him out. He’s insufferable but so many say he’s a vicious and deadly swordsman. Some even claimed he’s the best mercenary in the Low Lands.

  The road ahead was a dirt path, fifteen paces wide, beaten down by wagons and carts as well as feet over the steady passage of time. Some say it began over a hundred years ago with travelers going from village to village to trade, others say the Dragon Gods formed the road when contesting over where the six elements would manifest on their world. Sparse evergreen trees lined both sides of the road as it winded downslope indicating that Yadra, the Elemental Dragon Goddess of Earth had the strongest influence in this region with Ocea, Elemental Dragon Goddess of Sea and Water forming the lake Saha’dryr rested upon. Shrubs and thickets appearing in clusters a few hundred strides apart and changing sides nearly at random. The pair finally came to a sign, one pointed northeast saying ‘Domon Valley’ while the other, said ‘Jakara Woods’ and pointed northwest.

  At the base of the wooden signpost the grass rustled and impulsively Gunnolf drew a short blade from his garb; a tanto and stabbed it into the grass. A short cry was let out as he lifted the deadly blade with a white rabbit attached to it as blood decorated the wound. The small hatchet in the creature’s paws fell to the ground at his feet. He tossed it to Lylen who let it hit the dirt road.

  “Why did you throw that at me?!” she barked.

  Gunnolf stood there and stared at her. No expression.

  “Well? If that was a joke, it wasn’t funny,” she grumbled.

  Finally, the kobold shook his head, “You’re not hungry then.”

  “What?”

  Before she could react further, he began walking northwest on the road, toward Jakara Woods.

  “I thought you weren’t going to get me food at all,” she said incredulously.

  “I won’t buy you food.” Gunnolf said as he looked over his shoulder at her. “Axe Bunnies like that are easy to catch, and you have eaten nothing.”

  Lylen’s stomach was aching for something. She gave a sigh, “Fine, could we stop so I can cook it some?”

  Gathering tinder for a fire was simple enough, dead branches of the evergreens and the dry needles caught blaze quickly with Lylen’s flintstone. Gunnolf sat on a large rock half embedded in the ground off the side of the road while Lylen cooked and ate the small furry beast. Gunnolf’s whetstone was put to work, sharpening his double bladed tanto while leaving his tachi in its sheath tied to his belt.

  In the distance back at the fork in the road a large wagon was seen being pulled by three galcudos and some armored soldiers walking alongside it. It was hard to make out what species the guards were at this distance but looked as if they were heading to Saha’dryr from Domon Valley.

  Lylen stared as she turned the skinned axe bunny carcass over the flames, her throwing daggers bloodied at her side from the task. “What’s in Domon Valley that needs an escort like that?” she pondered aloud.

  Gunnolf looked up a moment more as he said, “Axo Mine is there. Could be a wagon of silver ore that was mined out. Or the town of Parcielle is looking to trade with Saha’dryr. It has nothing to with our task though.” He then went back to ensuring his blade was sharper, patiently waiting for Lylen to start eating. Suddenly, Gunnolf was on his feet and facing due west, his pointed right ear flickered as his eyes focused on a thicket.

  Lylen stared at him eyes wide, “What is it?”

  “Stay,” he said as he stepped toward the cluster of trees sheathing his tanto inside of his belt and concealing it.

  His concentration was on the rustled bushes in the thicket. He was fifteen paces away when a cry came out, “Attack!” and five men leaped from the bushes and dropped from the trees with curved blades and axes out. The short, fat, man Bazurr emerged with his axe pointing at the kobold but his expression went from confident to exasperated when he realized who he was trying to rob.

  The humans charging at him made Gunnolf give a sadistic smile as his hand gripped his tanto, the short blade parried the axes of the first two men, and each exchange of blows caused them to lose their balance. A voice itched at Gunnolf’s mind, Draw the blade to easily deal with these scoundrels. Seventeen more kills is all that’s needed.

  The next two bandits went to stab at him with hooked blades, but Gunnolf was a whirlwind that sent both men flying to their backs, completely disarmed as fountains of blood shot up from the throats of each. The first two regained their poise but stopped frozen in their tracks as they saw what became of their allies. One of the axe wielders gave a wild battle cry as he charged the kobold, the short tanto casually clashed against the axe head and slid upward cutting the man across the face and with a short pull back and thrust, impaled his neck.

  The last of Bazurr’s men stood there in horror now. “Would you like to test your luck?” Gunnolf asked with a calmness to his tone, his eyes a mystery due to the head fur obscuring them. The bandit was silent and trembling but suddenly Gunnolf’s teeth flashed as if he was considering slaughtering him like the other three but at last, muttered, “Boo.”

  The man dropped his axe and immediately fled back toward his leader yelling, “I’ll give up this life of crime! Don’t butcher me!”

  Bazurr’s jaw was agape, “N-n-n-not you a-again!” The short middle-aged man turned and fled back to the cluster of trees he and his men came from.

  Gunnolf stood there, his tanto drenched in blood, but a flick of his wrist rid the blade of most of it as he sheathed it once more behind his waist belt.

  Lylen stared in amazement, “That’s why he is the Wandering Dark Wind.”