This is a fantasy story set in a fictitious land and in a time of medieval sorcery. All characters depicted are 18+. Although this story is in a time where safe sex is not heard of I would always recommend the practise of safe sex.
CHAPTER 1 -- A Storm is brewing.
Vernon shivers in the cold air of the shack and places another log on the fire. The storm outside is raging hard, the sound of the rain on the roof has a soothing rush to it but the winds are a little unsettling. The shack is poorly maintained and has a habit of falling apart in high winds, he hopes the repairs he did from the last storm hold. He looks at the four walls surrounding him made of old wood and lime, it's looking old and tired, which is how he feels at the moment. He is sitting in an old rocking chair next to the stone fireplace, the fire burning hot is comforting, a pot of broth is brewing above it. In the room is just a bench where he and his son prepare the food they eat, two beds, one his and one for his son and a small oval mirror above the fireplace. The mirror looks completely out of place here with it's gold ornate carvings, it seems it belongs in a palace rather than a farmers shack.
Vernon stands up and looks in the mirror, his deep green eyes look tired, his jet black hair unkempt, his face unshaven. He needs some sleep, something he hasn't been able to do properly for some days now. His face is still handsome even though it has been become quite weathered from working the fields all day for the last 25 years. Being a farmer has kept him trim too with a slim body and nicely toned muscles.
He thinks about the time he first got the farm with his wife, Jeena. It was so full of promise, their start for a future together, a family and someday a ranch. This wasn't to be, Jeena died from ill health 15 years ago and Vernon found himself raising his son and running the farm alone.
Vernon leans forward and places his head against the mirror, he sighs heavily. The farm. The Gods have been unkind this year and the crops have failed. He cannot pay the rent and his landlord is very ruthless. He feels helpless, this farm he has attended to for the last 20 years is slipping away from him. It feels like his whole life to now has been meaningless.
He hears a groan from his son's bed and rushes over. Bain is unconscious, sick with fever, sweat covering his face. Vernon places his hand on the boy's forehead, it's hot, the boy is burning up. His eyes fill with tears, he's about to lose his farm, he doesn't want to lose his son too.
Bain wasn't born to him and Jeena, he was found. They had been walking along a river one day when they had discovered a body, a woman, clutching a bundle of rags. They was about to leave and inform the local guardian when the bundle moved, inside was a little baby boy, not more than 2 weeks old, wrapped up with him was the mirror now hanging above the fire. Against his better judgement Jeena had persuaded Vernon to keep the child as they had been trying for years now to start a family and had been unsuccessful. This was the only way they could have a family. Vernon has no regrets about it now but he still wonders who Bains real family might be.
Vernon picks up a cloth and wipes the boy's brow. He is such a handsome boy with blond hair, big blue eyes and the sweetest smile he has ever seen. He prays that soon he will be able to see that smile again. He leans over and kisses him tenderly on the forehead.
Suddenly there is banging on the door. Startled Vernon quickly jumps up and runs to the window. Moving the rags aside used for curtains he peers out but it's dark and he can only just make out a figure in a long tunic, he seems to be carrying something. Vernon moves to the door and gingerly opens it, as the light from inside the shack escapes through the door it lights up an old man. His tunic is drenched as too his is grey beard. There is a look of anguish in his eyes. In his arms is a boy, naked, wet and unconscious.
"Please we need help," the old man croaks and with that he collapses into a heap on the ground. Vernon then sees a large blood stain on the back of the old man's tunic.
"Fuck!" he shouts.
He quickly picks up the boy and takes him to his bed, then rushes back, helps the old man to his feet and inside and sits him in the rocking chair.
"What happened?" Vernon asks.
"We was attacked," the old man replies.
Vernon rushes back to the still open door, the wind and rain howling just outside. He looks out to see if the attackers are still around, he can't see anything but it's too dark. He quickly closes the door.
"Your attackers are they still around?" He asks the old man.
"No we were attacked over 2 leagues from here, we managed to escape but not before I took 3 arrows to my back. Rafael did his best to heal me but the wounds are too deep."
"Here let me get you some broth, and we'll see about fixing your wounds."
"No, please, I'm dying and nothing you do will be able to stop it." the old man says grabbing Vernon by the arm and coughing voilently. The old mans grip is weak and Vernon could easily pull away but he doesn't. "My name is Sheerkan and I am the boy's guardian."
Sheerkan looks deep into Vernon's eyes, searching for something.
"You look like a good man, but I need to ask you an important question."
"Yes, anything," Vernon replies.
"Who is your allegiance to?"
"Why Aljeron of course, isn't every one?" Sheerkan looks deep into Vernon's eyes, this confuses him. "Why do you ask?"
"No not everyone is loyal to our great leader. I ask because you are my last hope, I need to pass the task for which I am charged to you."
