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The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

Stephen Huff’s

Chronicles of

War

Saga First

(November,1998-May, 2001)

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

The Warfarer’s

Exodus

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

Contents

Chapter Title

Saga First – The Warfarer’s

Exodus

Before the Wall

Of Empire and Alcorde

Exodus

Dragons and Dead Men

125

Tolls of Empire

151

The Invisible Revealed

208

Exile of Dung

259

Lost Talisman’s Found Again

324

Half a Pint

360

Among Rogues and Vagabonds

460

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

Stephen Huff’s

Chronicles of War - Saga First

The

Warfarer’s

Exodus

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

Before the Wall

The ritual of Alcorde was but a moldering ember of memory in his mind. It would soon

die, and with it his last hopes. Already its warmth was so dim as to be nothing more than a soft

glow in the ashes of his thoughts.

They had praised him. They had showered him with riches he could never spend. They

had sung of his courage from dusk to dawn, and virgins had thrown themselves at his feet,

yearning to be spent at his pleasure. All the land's male children fortunate (or hapless) enough to

be born on that bright day had been given his name. And for a moment, a mad, illustrious

moment, all the eyes of the world had seemed to be turned in his direction. Every mouth had

blessed him at once. All the peoples of the scattered lands had come to escort him triumphantly

through the city walls. Now...

Now, where were they?

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

Epsilon glowered fiercely and swept his stern gaze about the room. He was sitting on a

bench in a corner, a window at his right hand. No table squatted between his legs, leaving his

range of movement clear and unobstructed. A great horn of ale reclined on the windowsill, but

the drink was long forgotten. He hadn't ordered it and had no interest in its assets. Instead, he

fished a wad of jillroot from a hide pouch on his belt and bit off a mouthful of the powerful

stimulant. Masticating slowly, Epsilon glowered more deeply still and watched as a small throng

of babbling locals gathered at the opposite end of the room.

Their conversation was hushed and secretive. Epsilon could not hear their words, but

heads often popped up above the pack to glance in his direction, so he knew what they were

discussing.

It will come soon enough, now, sighed the sacrificial hero. I had hoped to find peace

here, at the end of the road... one last night as a human being. Here, at the gods' forsaken

toenails of Empire, here, a half a thousand leagues from Capitol Tesla, here I had hoped to find

ignorance and anonymity.

But this was not to be. The livery of the Emperor's Warfarer was subtle and somber, of

dark colors and bland silhouette, but it was nearly as well known as that of the Emperor's own

House. This despite the fact that there never had been and never could be more than a single

Warfarer to serve all of Empire at any one time.

Epsilon's dubious powers were not a birthright, and neither had they been casually

bestowed. He had maimed or slain a hundred men on Tesla's bloody court fields to win the right

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

to wear the Warfarer's colors. Such was the nature of the Ritual of Alcorde. Many were called to

combat, but only one could prevail. And that one was as surely doomed by winning as he might

have been damned for losing. For wining was a death, of itself. But a much slower, more brutal

death than any single sword stroke could ever be. Though he was only four months the outcast

from Tesla, Epsilon had found himself regretting his fate many times over, almost nightly in fact.

Indeed, he was regretting it even now. As a big man separated from the suddenly hushed

congregation in the far corner, Epsilon bit off another thick wad of jillroot and stowed the

remainder of the cake in its pouch. His right hand came to rest on the pommel of the Warfarer's

immaculate broadsword, while his left found the comforting support of a long dagger's jutting

haft. Epsilon slid his feet beneath the bench warily, ready to spring into battle at a heart's beat

notice.

The big man approached cautiously, his hands emptily clutching air, a sure sign of nerves.

Though his own sword dangled readily from a worn belt that crossed his chest, the local didn't

seem inclined to fight. Epsilon relaxed a bit, but only a very tiny little bit.

"Hail, Holy Warrior. Gods save the Emperor and His Holy Empire!"

Epsilon frowned and farted in the same instant. "There's nothing holy about me or the

bloody empire. Or the Emperor, for that matter."

Hushed expectantly to witness the big man's attempt, the throng gasped in unison and

covered their ears. Even their spokesman seemed aghast by Epsilon's words. He stood there

uncertainly, his face blanched pale, his mouth working open and closed, open and closed.

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

The sacrificial hero spat a wad of spent jill to the wooden floor and wiped the back of his

left hand across his mouth. His right remained still and firm. "What would you have of me,

citizen? I am not long for this world, and do not like to waste my breath pattering."

After but a moment's further hesitation (which earned Epsilon's praise of the big peasant's

courage), the spokesman made a sign of penance to an unannounced god and stammered, "F-

forgive me, Warfarer, but your oath was black enough to curl a drunken friar's whiskers. No

other man would dare say such things!"

"Aye, no other man. But many truths are left long unspoken. Save for the Emperor,

Himself, I alone need not fear my head for such paltry crimes. Just as I might deem your own

head a trophy and take it without fear of recrimination. From man or god. Or emperor. Now

again, good citizen, what would you have of me? And I warn you to speak surely this time, ere

my patience wanes."

"Of course." The big man cleared his throat. "I am Deldric of the Farther Heights. I--er,

that is, We would have nothing of you, sire, save your good cheer. Pardon my blunt tongue. I

know nothing of courtly ways and gestures, but I do know something of black brows. And yours

seems the blackest I have ever seen..." Deldric's voice trailed off into a mumble. As a bird

hobbling before the serpent, the peasant found himself enthralled in the Warfarer’s deep green

eyes. The depths of that steely gaze were unfathomable. Unfathomable like the deepest of seas.

And, like the seas, the cool, potent restlessness of Epsilon's gaze seemed to promise death and

harbor corpses deep down inside.

The Warfarer’s Exodus

Stephen Huff

To save time, Epsilon glanced quickly away and reached for his forgotten ale. Rinsing his

mouth, the Warfarer spat a blackened offal to the floor and took another sip of the heady liquid to

wash his jill-numbed throat.

Deldric quickly found his tongue and continued, "I--We thought to offer you meat and

drink and... and women... to afford you good cheer this night. The Great Barricade lies only half

a league to southward, an hour's walk, no more. And, though the Roaring Lion isn't much of an

inn and even less so a public hall, you will find nothing like her in the Wilderlands." The big man

stopped speaking a moment, both to catch his breath and to listen. When Epsilon made no

immediate move to accept, he started up again, less confident than before. "And if you would

shun our company, then this also will we allow you graciously. We will all go in peace early to

our blankets and leave you to yourself... but..."

Epsilon sighed and sipped at his beer again. It was shockingly good. He enjoyed another,

longer quaff and set the horn back on the sill. "But you desire a favor of me, no? A bauble, a

bead, something to remember the Emperor's Warfarer by, when you are old and your

grandchildren pester you for firelight's tales?"

"Well, uhm, yes, forgive me, lord. Forgive us all." Deldric cleared his throat again and

shuffled about hesitantly. "But this is a small, forgotten outpost town. The highway is nothing

more than a cart track out here, and nothing wondrous and no one great passes this way. Indeed,

you would be remembered unto our grandchildren's grandchildren even were you to do nothing

more than urinate against the great oak at the town's center. So we are understandably weak in

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TheWarfarer’sExodusStephenHuff1StephenHuff’sChroniclesofWarSagaFirst(November,1998-May,2001)TheWarfarer’sExodusStephenHuff2TheWarfarer’sExodusTheWarfarer’sExodusStephenHuff3TheWarfarer’sExodusStephenHuff3Contents#ChapterTitleSagaFirst–TheWarfarer’sExodus1BeforetheWall52OfEmpireandAlcorde563Exodus734...

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