A Valiant Departure

A Valiant Departure

Feet pump at a rapid pace through the woods of an uncharted isle. A reluctant king is adhered to the back of a massive warrior. Adventurers from greatly different nations run close, and with great haste. Monstrous men resembling apes make pace behind them, as easily through the trees as any on land.
“We hold them at the beach!” yelled Bjorn to those behind him. He was the massive warrior, barely feeling the weight of the man strapped on his back as he ran.
“Ok,” called the quick and stealthy man at the back. He was Kyle, a man who began life as a half Sidhe and had been forced to become all Sidhe by a deranged mage.
“Stone Knight, I call my friends through you.” Yelled the archer from the land of legends. Through the magic of his lands a beacon like message flew through the winds and into the sea captain’s ears.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Drop the longboats and row to shore. Our friends are in trouble and the Blood Raven does not leave a friend behind,” Yelled Alberto, the Captain of the Blood Raven, and Lord of the Sea of Blood.
Boats and oarsmen crashed into the sea. They heaved their muscles to pull the oars at a pace they believed would bring them to their destination in the greatest of haste. The Captain stayed aboard confident in the strength of his friends and the speed of his sailors. He had seen his friends stand up to kings and demons, and had always been victorious.

* * * * * * * * * *

They made it to the beach unmolested by the strange monsters following them. They saw not a handful, not a dozen, but a hoard of the beings coming for them and the rescue boats were but halfway there so they turned and drew arms. Axes, swords, daggers, and arrowheads flashed in the moonlight.
A wave of the monsters broke the tree line and made for the adventurers. Their blood soaked the mud as the adventurers fought them. The adventurers knew this wave was a test of their prowess and they were not going to fail this one.
The boats drew close and the next wave was set to cross the threshold set by the trees. Like the dungeon of the arrogant king some months ago, they knew they had to fight, but they knew they would be overwhelmed if they stayed to buy their own time. Unlike in the dungeon though, this time there was an escape if only through sacrifice.
“Would not the High King be of more use right now if he was unbound brother,” asked the smaller of the two North Men.
Bjorn had been the one who found the man. He was holding an axe before, but he was too easily disarmed to belie any real fighting prowess. If he were unbound he would surely die in a fight.
“No, you must go and take the King. I will stay here and fight. And this time I do so alone!” Bjorn stated this loud without yelling, and firm without threat. He had been willing to die for most of these people in that dungeon and so many times since then, this death would be an honor to him. Most importantly his friends and his countrymen would live because of this.
“Take this brother,” said Rolf as he placed a runic relic around Bjorn’s neck, “and good luck.”
“It has been an honor to fight beside you” said Jacques the Musketeer in a reverent tone.
“No, Gjaeving!” Bjorn said back in a reverent tone as well. Gjaeving was a word his people used for those they believed closer than any blood bond or family tie, and he believed that those he had adventured with since that fateful day in that tavern a long time ago, had all deserved this title though this was the first he told them.
“May the spirit of Douglas Cameron watch you my friend,” said Kyle as he tapped the large man on the shoulder, invoking the magic of the same lands as the archer had to call the ship.
Elana and Tommy got into one of the boats. They had lost each other many years ago, and believed that the best way to honor Bjorn’s sacrifice would to not lose each other again here on this beach so soon after their recovery. Elana’s stoic countenance almost failed her as she knew the fate of the man who had once confided in her that he thought of her as he did his deceased little sister who shared the same name. He had vowed once to protect her even if it meant his own death, and this time it would.
The boats shoved off as the monsters drew within melee range of Bjorn. He took them out as they came, and was showing hopeful signs of survival. This lasted until the host crossed the tree line and covered the beach in a blanket of fur and fangs. The archer notched an arrow and the other north man prepared to throw his axes. But they stopped, not in horror but in awe of what transpired next.
“Elsa,” a yell rang out from nowhere and yet everywhere and a bolt of lightning that looked like a harpoon crashed into Bjorn. He was covered in lightning and it shot out killing a mass of the host. His axes looked to be covered in lightning. Olaf Gunderson had been watching through a rune, which allowed communication between the two. He had used his great runic magic to become Vilskap and send his great power to aid his friend in his most needed hour. Beside him stood the ghostly visage of a highlander and ten other men with weapons drawn. They charged together into the hoard and fought a battle few men could ever attest to being able to see.
Bjorn was taking grievous wound after grievous wound and yet still found a way to stand and meet the next foe. He took wounds that would down even the toughest of the great beasts, and yet he stood willing his body to battle so that his friends might survive. The ghostly warriors took their share alongside him and would not let his sacrifice go in vain.
The last the adventurers saw of Bjorn, as they began losing detailed sight of the land, was the host of monsters piling atop his over seven and a half foot tall frame. He was gone, enveloped in the night and the pitch black mass of the monsters. His task in this world was complete. They did however hear his last yell of defiance against the hoard and acceptance unto death.
“Leif! I see you my brother, and I am coming!”
The next thing Bjorn himself saw was the door of the great hall of Valhalla open and there stood Odin with a large smile on his grizzled immortal face.
“Come in and feast Bjorn Torden, there is much fighting to be done soon.” Odin said this with the gruff voice of a disciplined leader, and yet the honorable voice of talking to someone of great note.
Bjorn sat next to his brother Leif at the great table, and pulled a large leg off the roast boar in front of him. He looked at his brother with the warm smile of someone looking at a long lost friend for the first time.
“You will need a bigger flagon dear brother, for I have great stories to tell you.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

Kyle was the first to climb back into the Blood Raven. Greeted directly by Alberto who looked down upon the smaller boats.
“Where is Bjorn at?” He asked Kyle.
“Feasting, I am sure of it,” said Kyle in a withdrawn tone.
“Feasting?”
“In Valhalla,” Kyle responded in the same tone as the original one word answer.
“I see.”
“If you have a cap on tip it now.” Said Kyle to the crew to get them to respect his and their friend’s sacrifice.
Jacques drew his sword and held a salute until the island was out of view, even to the tallest peak. The reluctant king was unbound and given a room, where he sat and for four days did not utter a word. The crew did as the Sidhe had asked.
Alberto told the crew he was going to his quarters alone to chart the next course. He was in there for an hour, and not a single map was laid out, nor compass studied. He cried. The stone heart pirate who to the outside world was as rough as sharkskin or tough as shoe leather, he cried. Bjorn had been with him when he was reunited with his mother and sister, and Alberto had been on the ship, confident he would see all of his friends again, when Bjorn had been forever reunited with his brother. He cried.
When he came from his quarters he was met by the other north man, who told him, “We must go to my homeland and put the king where he belongs. We must do this to honor Bjorn.”
“Set a course for the homeland of Bjorn Torden, we must finish his task on this world,” yelled Alberto to the crew of the Blood Raven.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Elana walked by the room of the, wouldn’t be but must be, High King on the fourth day, and she heard him utter something, supposedly to himself but loud enough to be heard outside.
“That man died for me.” Said the High King who would not wish to be.
“In my country when a man does such a thing…” Began Elana.
“We honor that.” Finished the King in a more confident tone.
By the time they arrived in the isles of their friend the High King had accepted and embraced the role he was to become. All thanks to the man who would die for a mere thief, a mere murderer, if only for the ideal that anyone can become a great man and do great things.