You are faced with a dire threat, good people. Your options are few and only the strongest of you can make it through the mountain passes. That means you cannot run.”
Jonas’s mother spoke up for the first time.
“What are we to do, sir?” Lorna asked with concern, her hand gripping Jonas’s in fear.
Airos looked at her, his eyes ablaze with fire, and said two frightening words. “We fight!”
Two
Manson Fights
The town bustled with activity; men strengthened the walls, women and children gathered food stores. Kiltharin, the blacksmith, sharpened axes, swords, scythes and any other tools that could be used as a weapon. Families living on the outskirts of town moved loved ones into the interior. Some built makeshift sleeping barracks in the town’s grange, while still others stayed with friends in their cramped little homes.
Gorum offered his small home to Jonas and his mother. Jonas noticed a few stares as they slowly carried their meager belongings into Gorum’s home, but not like before. It seemed to Jonas that Airos’s words had affected the townspeople’s feelings toward him and his mother. Everyone was too scared and busy to worry about a cripple and his mother anyway. They just wanted to survive.
The little home was cozy, clean, and smelled of baked bread. Gorum’s bakery was connected to the house through a door in the back. His massive clay and stone oven, built by his father who passed all his skills to Gorum many years ago, took up most of the work shop. The little house had one room with a connected bedroom. Gorum graciously offered them the bedroom which they accepted gratefully.
Jonas stood in the main room looking up at a large old sword hanging above the hearth. The blade was pitted and marked from many battles, and the leather handle was worn and frayed.
“It’s seen better days, that’s for sure.”
Jonas turned toward the voice of Gorum as the baker approached him. Gorum was a big man, round in the face and belly, but strong too, like a sturdy oak.
“That was my father’s sword,” Gorum continued. “I’ve never really used it myself, although my father taught me how.”
“It looks very old. Is it still sharp?” Jonas asked.
“It soon will be.” The dancing flames casted an orange glow throughout the room as Gorum took down the heavy sword. “I guess I need to get this cleaned up,” he said as he moved toward the table.
“Are you afraid?” Jonas asked seriously.
Gorum sat down on one of his wooden chairs, the sword resting on his legs. “I am, Jonas,” he said. “I am a baker, not a fighter. I would be frightened to fight a man, but the idea of facing a boarg terrifies me.” Gorum took up a stone; dipping it in water he began to wipe the stone across the edge of the blade with one long smooth motion. The grating sound of the stone on steel seemed to hypnotize Jonas for a moment. “But we do not have a choice, Jonas. We cannot run. We cannot hide. There is nothing for us to do but fight and hope that the gods will protect us.”
“Why would the gods allow the boargs to attack us in the first place? We have done nothing wrong,” Jonas asked.
“A good question,” Gorum laughed lightly, “but I have never understood the ways of the gods, so it may be hard for me to answer. But I will say this. There is always a balance in the world, Jonas. There is good and there is evil. They both weigh the scale up and down from time to time, but in the end there must be a balance. One without the other would cancel their own existence.”
“So you’re saying that for good to exist, there must also be evil?”
“I do not pretend to know. But I think it would be hard to define goodness if there were no evil to compare it to,” Gorum remarked as he continued to hone the edge of his old sword.
Jonas contemplated the baker’s words for a moment before he spoke. “I wish I could fight. I’d stand my ground right next to you, and I would weigh the scale in the right direction.”
Gorum looked up at him, smiling, “I believe you would, Jonas. Have you ever heard how Malbeck the Dark One was destroyed?”
“No sir. I do not know much about the Dark One. Can you tell me?” Jonas asked with nervous excitement.
“I only know a little of the tale. The ancient king of Finarth,