Paladins are nothing but trouble. Stories about paladins are everywhere, noble warriors riding magic steeds into battle against terrible foes. Champions of their gods. Heroes to everyone, except those who already have everything. Paladins are notorious for upsetting the balance of power, to the detriment of any who don't worship their deity.
So when Krell is called to service by the capricious god of the seas and skies, ReckNor, those with wealth and power can't help but be concerned. ReckNor hasn't called a paladin in years, and his nature is ever-changing and erratic. The fact that Krell is also an uneducated nobody with a stubborn streak as wide as the sea turns their concerns into fear.
All of which matters less than the threat clawing its way from the waves, ready to turn the ocean red with spilled blood...
Paladins are nothing but trouble. Stories about paladins are everywhere, noble warriors riding magic steeds into battle against terrible foes. Champions of their gods. Heroes to everyone, except those who already have everything. Paladins are notorious for upsetting the balance of power, to the detriment of any who don't worship their deity.
So when Krell is called to service by the capricious god of the seas and skies, ReckNor, those with wealth and power can't help but be concerned. ReckNor hasn't called a paladin in years, and his nature is ever-changing and erratic. The fact that Krell is also an uneducated nobody with a stubborn streak as wide as the sea turns their concerns into fear.
All of which matters less than the threat clawing its way from the waves, ready to turn the ocean red with spilled blood...
Krellâs sword struck the pell.
His heavy breathing couldnât disguise the dull thunk from the blade as it hit, bits of wood breaking off. Krell twisted his wrist and pulled, disengaging the blade. He struck again, the blade sliding along the wood, leaving a fresh scar. Once again, he failed to cut through the post.
Krell recovered his stance, his shield raised as Olgar taught him while his sword moved back into proper striking position. His next strike was high and carved another sliver of wood. Without waiting, Krell swung again. The sword hit lower than Krell wanted. He pulled back into the proper stance, and his next strike was on target, carving deep into the wood.
âAll right, lad, I think weâve seen enough,â a voice said from somewhere ahead of him.
Krell took a step back from the pell. An unsteady step, he was forced to admit. The sun was still high in the sky. Sweat ran into his blue eyes, causing him to blink in irritation. He glared at the wooden post. No more than halfway through. His chain mail armor was heavy on his shoulders.
He looked over at the town council, seated at a long table under an awning. They had comfortable chairs for the most part, and were sipping on what looked like cool drinks in the shade. Krell wondered how much attention they were actually paying to this test.
Amra Thort was the leader of the town council, and owner of one of the largest fishing fleets in Watford. She was a formidable-looking woman with steel gray hair, whose hands bore the signs of hard work done many years ago. People in the town respected her, Olgar had told him.
Seated next to her was Daylan Plintform, a wealthy merchant who owned many trading and fishing vessels. His long face was handsome, but he always looked irritated, even when he wasnât. Olgar detested him, but refused to explain why. He was popular in town, since he paid for numerous festivals and banquets when the catch was good.
Daylan and Amra were looking at one another and talking quietly, while the third member of the town council stared at him with rapt attention. Aldrik Kent was young, perhaps only a few years older than Krell himself, and had inherited his fatherâs fishing fleet and trading business. Behind him stood Nathanial, his manservant, a hulking battle-scarred man with bulging arms. Both Aldrik and Nathanial had paid close attention to Krell and his sword work.
The final person at the table was Captain Gijwolf. He was seated on a simple wooden stool at one end of the table, as if ready to leap into battle. He was eyeing Krell critically, taking in the slender youth sweltering in the sun in front of him. His dark skin contrasted sharply against the polished breastplate he wore.
âHow do you feel right now?â he asked.Â
Krell shrugged. Honesty was the best way, Olgar had told him many times. âHot. A little tired. Thirsty and hungry. Somewhat angry at the pell for still being there.â
Captain Gijwolf smiled and stood up. He strode forward, drawing his blade as he went. âTired? Letâs see how tired you really are then. Defend yourself!â Without waiting, he charged.
The first cut came fast and precise. Krell knew he was not in a proper stance, so simply stepped backward to avoid the first stroke. His shield came up a beat before Captain Gijwolfâs sword slammed into it, battering it aside. The next strike shoved it completely out of position, but Krell had his sword in hand and used it to deflect the fourth strike. He tried to catch the fifth, but it slid past his guard, rapping him smartly on the shoulder.
Krell counterattacked, his blade cutting low. Captain Gijwolf parried his blade, forcing it upward, and Krell surged forward, hoping to knock the captain backward with his shield to throw him off balance and break his defense.
He didnât even see the next strike, which took him in the leg, leaving a nasty gash. Krell hissed in pain, counterattacking again, aiming for the captainâs neck. Captain Gijwolf threaded his arm inside Krellâs reach, and the next thing he knew, his arm was locked somehow, his sword wildly out of position. His vision exploded into stars as the captain hammered the pommel of his sword into his face. Without thinking, Krell shoved forward again with the shield, in a last desperate move.
It was like battering a stone wall. The captain simply absorbed the blow from the shield without moving. He then hooked his sword hilt over the shield and pulled, twisting as he did so. Krell was caught completely off guard. He tried to step forward to maintain his balance, but the captain extended a leg and he hit the ground face first. Stunned for a moment, he felt the captainâs blade at his throat.
âGood enough, Krell. Get up. Letâs see to that leg wound.â
The sword withdrew, and Krell rolled over, breathing heavily. Captain Gijwolf kneeled down beside him and tore his leggings open to see the wound, then smiled.
âWell, Olgar wasnât mistaken, and youâre no liar. It does look like ReckNor, or some other god, favors you with their grace.â As the captain watched, the wound ceased bleeding, then began to slowly mend itself. Then it stopped healing, and a trickle of blood resumed.
âA little favor, at any rate. Can you walk?â
Krell nodded, then clambered to his feet. His leggings were a total loss, torn open and bloody. His leg supported his weight, even though he was growing a little light-headed from the heat and blood loss. Captain Gijwolf nodded at him.
âCome over here and sit. I want to know what you understand about this. What did Olgar tell you?â
Captain Gijwolf led Krell over to the table and shoved him at the stool, then pushed a cup of water to him. Krell took his helmet off and ran a hand through his damp brown hair, and grasped the cup. He drank deeply, emptying it. Without waiting, Captain Gijwolf refilled it and Krell drank again.
âUh, thank you, Captain. Olgar said that the dwarves nearby have a problem and need some help to look into it. Theyâve sent for their own soldiers, but until they arrive they need warriors to deal with something.â Krell gestured at the rest of the town council, who were watching him closely now. âYouâre putting together a charter for warriors to go to the dwarf mine and figure out what is going on, and deal with it.â
Captain Gijwolf nodded.
âHe has the skill, Captain?â asked Amra. âHe seems capable enough with the blade, even if a bit of a novice with it.â
Captain Gijwolf nodded again. âHe has the skill required. Iâm a strong hand with the blade, and this lad was able to keep me off him far more ably than he should have, considering only Olgar has given him any training. More than that, heâs fearless enough to go into some dark hole. Did his best to put me down out there, which is how I ended up dealing that wound to him. Sorry about that, Krell, but you were rushing me with your sword work.â
The town councilors looked at one another, then shrugged.Â
Daylan said, âWhy not then? Has he met the others who have arrived?â
Krell looked blankly back at them, then shook his head in the negative. âOthers? I thought Iâd be going alone.â
Captain Gijwolf snorted in laughter. âYou are young, arenât you? The things you find out there beyond settled lands, youâre never going to want to face them alone. Always bring comrades with you, lest some beast paralyze your will and leave you helpless while it starts to eat you.â
THAT WOULD BE A DISAPPOINTING WAY FOR YOU TO DIE.
Krell winced, flinching as the thunder of ReckNorâs voice crashed into his thoughts. His sudden movement jostled the table, upsetting some of the drinks. Daylan gave him a disgusted look as his drink toppled over.
Aldrik grinned at Krell. âWell, I like him! He seems like he knows what heâs doing, and if Olgar said he was able, and he meets your approval, Captain, then add him to the charter.â Aldrik let out a long, wistful sigh. Nathanial began clearing the cups from the table, dumping them out, and placing them into a basket at his feet.
Captain Gijwolf smiled at Aldrik. âHeâs more than capable enough. Half the guards in town would lose in a duel against him. Well, theyâre your bones, Krell. If you think you can cut it, an extra sword to venture out with the others cannot do anything but help.â Captain Gijwolf clapped him on the shoulder. âIf you live, that is. Go clean yourself up and Iâll introduce you to the others.â
#
Krell looked at his leggings, shrugged, and tossed them onto the floor. He pulled on his spare pair from his pack, then set about donning his armor. The chain mail was already showing signs of wear, and the vigorous use he had put it to earlier hadnât helped. It smelled like iron mixed with sweat and mud.
He looked outside and spied Captain Gijwolf standing nearby. Doubtless waiting for him. Looking at the chain mail armor, Krell bundled it up, wrapped his cloak around it to keep it secure, and did his best to stuff it into his pack. Then he put on his boots, buckled on his sword, and stepped into the sunshine.
Heâd done it! Olgar had said he was ready, and ReckNor told him heâd be fine. Failing to cut the pell, and then getting beaten by Captain Gijwolf, had done a lot to shatter his confidence. ReckNor was a pressure in his mind, forcing him onward, so he straightened his shoulders. Time to meet these companions who would stand with him at the dwarven mines. The pressure of ReckNorâs grace within became colored with laughter.
Captain Gijwolf looked him over as he approached, and nodded. He led Krell from the town market square where the test was administered, toward the Netminderâs Friend, the only lodging for travelers here in Watford.
Krell looked with interest at the common room when he stepped inside. The ceiling was high, easily over ten feet, and the floor was made of solid wood that looked reasonably clean. The tables and chairs were a motley collection of mismatched pieces, some of which had clearly been broken and repaired. A bar ran along the wall to his left, and a happily smiling woman with red hair turning to gray walked up.
âAh, Elias! We donât often see you in here at this hour! Care for a pint or some food?â
Captain Gijwolf shook his head. âTown business, Marlena, perhaps another time for the pint. Yes to the food, though.â
Marlena laughed, then turned to Krell. âAnd young Master Krell! Out without Olgar for the first time! Do you want to partake of my wares?â The emphasis on words left Krell thinking she meant far more than food or drink. He stared at her as a blush crept up his neck. She laughed again. âAlways the same, I see! Well, I wager youâll be meeting the others in the back room. Best be on your way!â
Captain Gijwolf smiled at her and walked toward the back. Krell stood staring at her, and she leaned forward, gesturing for him to come closer.
âBest follow the captain,â she said in a hushed, sultry voice. âTime enough to get drunk together later!â She laughed, then spun away to a basin filled with water, where she picked up a clay mug and began washing it. She looked over her shoulder at him, then gestured with her head in the captainâs direction.
Krell shook his head and looked around. Captain Gijwolf was standing at the back of the tavern next to an open door, looking at him with an expression somewhere between amused at his reaction and irritated at the delay. Krell hurried over and went inside.
A large table surrounded by chairs dominated the room, a private dining room of some sort. Space for ten or more, but what caught Krellâs attention at once were the people within.
His new companions.
The fey-touched stood out â he was dashingly handsome, and wearing finery similar to what the council had worn earlier. Fey-touched were always pretty, a remnant of some Elven ancestor in their bloodline. He looked at Krell and frowned. A sneering sort of frown that made Krell instantly dislike him for some reason. Krell frowned back, then turned to look at the others.
The orange-tinted orc on the opposite side of the table from the fey-touched slammed his tankard down. He was bare-chested, and his enormous frame was heavily muscled and covered with faint scars. He looked up at Krell.
âKnow how to use that?â he asked, gesturing at the sword strapped to Krellâs waist.
Krell nodded. A burly green orc sat at the head of the table eating; he nodded in greeting to Captain Gijwolf, and then turned his eyes to him. Where the first orc was bare from the waist up, this one was wearing a breastplate as he ate. A halfling was sitting next to him, and looked up when Kraven spoke.
âHey, all right, a new face! How you doing? Iâm Gerrard!â The halfling hopped down and walked over, extending a hand toward Krell. His grin was infectious, framed by a neatly trimmed beard, and Krell found himself smiling back at him as he took Gerrardâs hand and shook.
âThere you go. Now your turn, right? Thatâs how this conversation thing works! Thatâs Tristan, heâs a fey-touched, and across from him is Kraven, whoâs got anger issues bigger than his muscles, if you know what I mean. The big green orc at the end is Orca, like the whale. You got a name, or what?â
âUh, hi. Iâm Krell, paladin of ReckNor.â
âReckNor, huh? Heâs a bit insane for my tastes, but decent enough when not trying to kill everyone with a hurricane! And you said youâre a paladin? Didnât think ReckNor called paladins, but you learn something new every day! Wonder how long youâll live?â He grinned and returned to the table. âCome, sit. You wouldnât be here if our dear sponsor, the illustrious Captain Gijwolf, didnât think you could use that sword, so it looks like weâve enough to get going with this job! Finally, time for the captain to fill us in, or do you think heâs going to wait for more hands to show up?â
Krell sat next to Kraven, a little unsure about where to look. Gerrard certainly commanded a lot of attention. He was now talking about how ReckNor provided food from the sea, and how the other tavern in Watford tried to make alcohol from fish guts.
âSo, another brute then?â
Krell looked at Tristan. He was eyeing him with a frown on his face. Krell nodded back.
âI guess youâd say yes. That Iâm a brute. If something tries to eat me, Iâll feed it my sword first.â Krell shrugged, then looked around. He hadnât realized Captain Gijwolf had stepped out of the room until he returned, carrying two bowls and a goblet with practiced ease. He set a bowl in front of Krell, then sat beside him.
âEat, Krell. Iâve never known a man your age who wasnât hungry.â He set his own bowl down and fished a pair of wooden spoons out of his belt, handing one to Krell. Fish stew by the smell, but the captain was correct. Krell was starving.
Tristan sneered a bit, then said in a tone of voice that instantly irritated Krell, âWhereâs my food, Captain Gijwolf?â
The captain smiled and gestured toward the door. Tristan subsided into silence, but made no move to get up.
Kraven leaned over and whispered loudly, ensuring Tristan could hear, âTristan has a big mouth, and is annoying, but heâs got lots of power, apparently. He looks too pretty to take into battle, though.â Then Kraven grabbed Krellâs arm, his hand wrapping almost entirely around, squeezing painfully. âYou seem kind of, whatâs the word? Small? You going to slow us down, little human?â
Krell met his gaze, then at looked at his hand wrapped about his arm, then met his gaze again. He let some anger creep into his voice. âIâm a survivor. If ReckNor wants to take me to glorious service in the afterlife, then Iâll die. Not before that. Now, remove your hand so I can eat.â
Kraven bellowed out a laugh. âGood enough, Krell! But donât worry, I like you. Iâll keep you safe!â He slapped Krell on the back, knocking Krell into the table. Krell grabbed the bowl of stew and his cup before they tipped over. Orca grunted from the end of the table.
âNo problem with your reflexes then, and I can see from here the calluses that come from holding weapons. No scars, which means youâre likely new to this, so Iâll explain a few things. First, ignore Tristan. His tongue is harsh, but he has magic thatâll serve to keep us all alive. SecondâŚâ
Tristan bristled. âIâll have you know that many people tell me I am quite the elegant speaker, Orca, and that my good vocabulary and success with women are no reason for you to ââ
âSECOND,â yelled Orca, meeting Tristanâs gaze, âI am in charge of this little expedition. ThirdâŚâ
The room erupted in chaos.
âWho said you were in charge?â Kraven yelled, at the same time Tristan said, âHardly. I think leadership should fall to the one with the greatest value to add to the team, which is clearly me!â
Gerrard looked alarmed. âHey, whatever, Orca, am I right? No problem if you want to be in charge, but we split the loot evenly, no leadership stakes or other nonsense, right?â
Orca yelled back at Tristan. âIâm in charge because Iâm the strongest and smartest one here!â
As they yelled back and forth, Captain Gijwolf calmly ate his bowl of stew. When he noticed Krell watching him, he smiled, gestured with his spoon to continue eating, and then went back to his meal. Krell shrugged and ate.
Whatever he was expecting, this was definitely not it.
#
âNow that youâve got the yelling out of the way, let me tell you what youâre being hired for.â
Captain Gijwolf stood at one end of the table, looking at the group of them. Tristan appeared to be pouting, Orca looked angry, Gerrard was listening closely, and Kraven seemed to be paying no attention at all. Krell wondered why Olgar thought he should join these people. They didnât seem to like each other very much.
âThe dwarves recently got a commission from our Lord Duke Mavram Hudderly, long may he reign, to dig iron and copper ore out of the hills to the east of Watford. Theyâve established a mining camp, and use the town merchants for food and other supplies, though the ore they have mined is shipped upriver.
âAs they dug into the hill, they came across some small caves, not uncommon near the coast, Iâve been told. They set out to explore these caves cautiously, not knowing what theyâd find within.
âThree days ago, a pair of miners went missing. The next day, the search party of eight disappeared down the same hole. Theyâve boarded it up, and set guards as well as they can, but they want someone to go in and recover the bodies. Theyâre pretty sure something is down there and they want it dead and gone so they can continue doing what dwarves do. We put out a call for warriors, and you lot are the ones that have answered so far.
âSo, tomorrow morning, youâre going to spend a half day walking to the dwarven mining camp, and meet with their leader, Petimus Smithforge. Heâll show you to the hole, you go in, find the dwarf bodies, kill whatever killed them, and come out for a reward. Any questions?â
Krell looked around at the others. Tristan raised his hand. âHow much is the reward for?â
âTwo hundred golden sovereigns, to be split among the survivors. Hopefully, that means you all earn forty. And the gratitude of the dwarves, which may count for something as well.â
That number overwhelmed Krell â a month of skilled labor couldnât earn that much coin, and they were going to make it in a day?
âThatâs it? Hardly a worthwhile use of my time and stupendous talents, wouldnât you say, Captain Gijwolf?â Tristan looked smug. âPerhaps you can sweeten the offer for us? Or at least for me, the one clearly of most value here?â
Captain Gijwolf smiled, then looked at the others. âIf itâs going to be just the four of you, then the split means youâll end up with fifty coins each, not forty.â
âOh. Thatâs the way itâs going to be. Well, I canât leave these poor defenseless brutes to the certain doom that awaits them if I donât come along, so I suppose my gracious nature and incredible generosity will compel me to accept the offer of two hundred coins, to be split among the survivors.â
Captain Gijwolfâs smile grew wider. âWhy thank you, Tristan, for your kind and gracious offer to accompany these new companions of yours and use your formidable might to aid them in the battle that doubtless lies ahead.â
He turned to survey the rest of the table. âAny other questions?â
âYeah, you still paying the bill to sleep here tonight?â Kraven asked.
âThe town council is paying, but yes, your room for this evening is paid. After you get your reward, you ââ
âGood enough.â Kraven stood up. âIn the common room, tomorrow, at dawn?â
âYes,â said Orca, also standing. âBut we are leaving at dawn, not breaking fast.â Orca and Kraven both left.
Gerrard looked around, scooped up a bundle in the corner, and departed the room. As he stepped back into the common room, Krell heard him shout, âGood evening, Watford! You are lucky that Gerrard, a maestro of music with the voice of a songbird, is here to charm and entertain you tonight!â
Tristan also stood up. âWell, I, for one, am excited that you will all get to witness my magical might tomorrow. Pay special attention, Krell, because youâre in for a treat!â Tristan left and shut the door, muting the sound of Gerrardâs singing and the clapping from the crowd. Even the way Tristan said Krellâs name caused a flash of irritation.Â
GET USED TO HIM, KRELL.
âDo you want a room here, Krell?â Krell turned from staring at the door to Captain Gijwolf. He was looking at him strangely.
âUm, thank you, Captain, but no. Iâll walk up to the temple and sleep there tonight. Iâm sure Olgar will want to talk to me before tomorrow.â He looked around. âDo we leave the plates and things here, or take them somewhere, or clean them ourselves?â
The captain smiled and began collecting the plates, bowls, and spoons left behind. âIt speaks well of you that youâd ask that. Most people never realize how a simple common courtesy can earn you gratitude from people. Grab those bowls, and letâs make Marlenaâs life just that much easier.â
Krell grabbed the spoons as his stomach rumbled. âDo you think she has more of this stew?â
#
Krell walked up the hill alone.
The sun was setting behind him, so the path was well lit. The wind was picking up, and Krell could tell it would rain later. He could smell it on the breeze. Ahead, he saw a small boy leave the temple and run toward him. When he spied Krell he stopped, then ran off the road and went around him in a wide circle, and continued running back to town.
The temple to ReckNor stood on a rocky bluff overlooking both the town of Watford and the Sea of Harackeena. It was modest, as temples go, or so Olgar said to him. The stern visage of ReckNor, the god of the seas and skies, was carved into the front of the temple. Walking from Watford to the temple meant being in his gaze the entire time. Krell assumed there was some symbolism there that he didnât understand.
Olgar was standing at his favorite spot, a rocky outcropping hanging over the sea. It gave an outstanding view of the surrounding area, and incidentally let Olgar see anyone walking from town up to the temple. He was staring west toward the setting sun. His large frame seemed almost perched atop his peg leg, and the symbol of ReckNor hung about his neck, glittering in the sunlight. His graying hair blew wildly in the breeze. Heâd doubtless watched Krell walking up the path.Â
As Krell reached the top, he walked toward the outcropping, coming to stand behind him. Olgar had watched him approach, but now turned his attention to the vista spread out before them. Watford lay below the temple, a small town that was dominated by the docks. Almost everyone who lived there made their living from the sea. The Netminderâs Friend was easy to spot, the largest building in Watford, though the large homes of the wealthy were visible surrounding the nearby town square. Beyond, Krell could see the sprawl of the town along the Sanmen River. Krell had never lived in a town before and hadnât really seen much of Watford. He wondered why the buildings kept getting smaller the farther they got from the town square.
The Sanmen River was a sparkling blue color as it entered the town from the north, but became darker and more polluted as it flowed toward the harbor, where it made a muddy smear. The harbor was filled with fishing boats at this hour, each of them doubtless dumping fish guts overboard. Krell knew there was a small set of tunnels under the town to carry clean water to several cisterns for the people living in town. The wealthy had direct connections in their homes. Nobody drank from the river in town. Those who did often died.
He turned his gaze out to sea. As the minutes passed, Krell thought about ReckNorâs domain. Never the same, but constant. That was straight out of the book that Olgar made him read. Wild and dangerous, but also the source of life and livelihoods. His thoughts wandered to ReckNor himself, and why he spoke to him so directly.
I SPEAK TO YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE MY PALADIN, KRELL.
âWell, my boy, what did you think of the outside world?â
Krell winced. He wished ReckNor had a voice that sounded less like a roaring thunderstorm. Shaking his head, he looked at Olgar. âYou didnât ask if I passed the test the council set for me.â
Olgar turned and smiled. âUse that head of yours! If youâd have failed, you would have returned hours ago, and be starving besides. No doubt Captain Gijwolf fed you. He was a young lad once, long ago, just as I was, and we both remember.â He walked toward the temple doors, his wooden peg making his gait awkward. âBesides, I was there watching, so I knew you passed when Elias drew his sword on you.â
âI didnât see you there,â Krell said in surprise. Olgar only made the trek down to town when he needed supplies for the temple, and most of the time, the faithful brought them up when they came up for services.
âYou werenât supposed to see me, so you didnât. ReckNorâs salty tears, did you think Iâd miss the chance to learn firsthand whether youâd embarrassed me or not?â Olgar turned and smiled at him again. âBesides, itâs good for me to get down to the town. See some of the faithful who canât or wonât make the trek up the hill. I probably donât do that often enough. That hill is hard to climb with this leg, but ReckNor puts challenges in front of all of us. We overcome, or we perish. That is his way. Our way. Olgar and Krell, champions of ReckNor!â Olgar swayed unsteadily a bit before recovering his balance.
Krell looked at him closely, then moved forward and breathed in deeply through his nose. âYou are drunk. Again.â
âEase off lad, or Iâll thump you! Iâm an old man, and my days of adventure on the seas are behind me. You can lecture me on my habits when youâve had the same sort of experiences I have. Iâd wager youâll be doing so from the bottom of a cup, just like me!â
Olgar let out a belch.Â
âThough, youâre much more stubborn that I was, and a paladin besides. Likely youâre going to be dead before long, and thatâll be a shame, by ReckNorâs beard it will, because I like you, my boy! Pleased me greatly when you washed up on the docks here in Watford!â Olgar hobbled over to the doorway and threw open the double doors.
The sunlight filtered through the large window in the back, which was cut to look like ReckNor himself, with his trident and beard prominently displayed. Every column was adorned with his symbol, a trident piercing a wave.
For Krell, it was the first real home he could remember.
âHelp me in lad, my flask is empty and I think I want to vomit.â
Krell jerked him back away from the temple and supported his weight as he walked Olgar around to the graveyard. âIâm not keen to clean up inside again. Is it urgent, or can you make it to Plintform?â asked Krell. Spread before them was a graveyard, filled with hundreds of markers.
âNay lad, not so urgent that I canât hold it in. Letâs go pay the jackass a visit.â
Krell held Olgarâs bulk up as best he could, staggering through the cemetery to a large stone monument. Olgar leaned against it, then noisily threw up.
âYou ever going to tell me what Daylan Plintformâs father did to make you so angry at him, even after all this time?â
Olgar looked at Krell with bleary eyes and shook his head. âNo lad, I am not. Help me up, I need a drink.â
Krell sighed and heaved Olgarâs weight back onto his shoulder, and together they wobbled back to the temple. Once inside, Krell helped Olgar to sit on one of the many benches the faithful used when he called a service. Olgar leaned down and rubbed at his knee and leg.
âDid I ever tell you how the sea devils took my leg?â
Krell smiled. âYes, Olgar, many times, and always whenever youâre drunk. Itâs a good story, though, so I donât mind.â
Olgar gave him a threatening look.
âNever mind then, you condescending little shit. Tell me about the others and fetch my flask from the pulpit up there.â
Krell walked up, admiring the simplicity of the temple. Simple benches hand carved from driftwood that washed ashore, and a single pulpit. No books, no curtains, no carpet. Bare stone throughout. Plain. Simple. Harsh. Pure.
The pulpit was a simple wooden stand, mostly used by Olgar as a makeshift cane, while he talked to the people who trudged up for prayers. A simple drawer held three flasks inside. Krell shrugged and grabbed all three.
âAh, smart thinking, lad. Now you wonât have to go back up for more later. Stop being stubborn and tell me about the other idiots who answered the call put out by our illustrious town council.â
âWell, thereâs two orcs, Kraven and Orca. Theyâre big and covered in muscles. I think Orca doesnât like me already for some reason, kept shouting he was in charge. Kraven thinks Iâm weak.â Krell paused for a moment. âNo, that isnât it. Itâs that he thinks Iâm scrawny, like I wouldnât be able to lift a sword.â Krell thought about them. As orcs, they were substantially larger than most humans, with arms as big around as his legs.
âGerrard seems really friendly and fun, but it makes me think there must be something wrong with him, because he wants to dive into a dark hole that swallowed up some dwarves. He seems like heâs a singer at heart. That part doesnât make sense to me.â
Olgar snorted. âNever underestimate what fools will do for coin.â
âThereâs also this fey-touched named Tristan who has magic power.â
âI know him!â Olgar shouted. âKarabackâs lackey. He does errands for him from time to time. Not an apprentice, as such, but whenever Karaback is too lazy to do it himself, he sends out Tristan. Pretty, but arrogant.â Olgar let out a belch. âBut not unwarranted, from what I hear. Try your best not to make him angry. May ReckNor aid you there, my boy! Youâre going to need all the help you can get on that front!â Olgar started laughing.
Krell wondered about that. There was something about Tristan that made him want to grind his teeth, and he didnât understand why.
âKaraback, heâs the wizard who lives in town, right?â asked Krell.
âYeah, and heâs self-important and pompous. Donât anger him, or heâll threaten to obliterate you without ever actually doing anything about it. Who else?â
Krell shook his head. âThatâs all of them. We are leaving tomorrow at dawn from the Netminderâs Friend.â
âTo visit the dwarves,â said Olgar. Krell nodded.Â
âDwarves are a stubborn folk, but react well to polite words. Youâll find out soon enough if you like them or not. Lots of people donât. If you ever want something made of stone or metal, get a dwarf to do it. Youâll never see better work than dwarf work.â
Olgar took a long drink from his flask, then pulled Krell close. âNow, you listen to me, Krell. People who yell and boast about their strength or magic or whatever, those people are often afraid. Afraid, and possibly unsure. ReckNor, for whatever reason, has picked you to be one of his paladins. A holy warrior going out to work his will on the world.â
Olgar pulled Krell even closer, so that he was practically talking directly into his ear.
âReckNor is wild and tempestuous, like the sea. One minute itâs calm and gives you fish to feed your family, the next it washes them all out to sea and drowns them. Lots of others see him as insane, and will tell you that. Learn to control that temper of yours, or youâre gonna have nothing but enemies. ReckNor himself speaks to you, though I doubt he has anything useful to say. Donât count on him for aid. Even if he listens and sends help, never count on it. Just this!â And with that, Olgar slapped Krell on his sword arm.
âYouâre seen as smaller and weaker than others. But I know you, my boy. I know the will that sits inside that thick skull of yours, the courage that beats in your heart. ReckNor will tell you to do things. Mostly, if what Iâve learned is true, youâre going to be left alone. Make good choices, because paladins often die young. And stupidly.â
Olgar leaned forward, putting more weight on Krell. A minute passed in silence before Olgar let out a small snore. He had fallen asleep. With a heavy sigh, Krell began the effort of getting him into his bed.
âIâm a barely educated peasant that an angry and chaotic god is using to screw up the world in ways that nobody understandsâÂ
Krell is an unlikely hero in a very unassuming fantasy book. Chosen to become a paladin for an insane god after being found shipwreck on a deserted island, Krell has been thrust into a life of magical swords and sea monsters. Krell quickly falls into a group with other unlikely heroes, including, a wizard, an orc, a dwarf, and a priest. This band then finds themselves on several quests, with the simple goal of glory and gold.
 Beginning of Arrogance presents itself as having the potential to be merely a gory testosterone fueled fantasy book but instead creates a quest-like journey that will have readers questioning what a âheroâ truly is and falling in love with a group of ridiculously likeable characters. The imagery Bryan Cole creates with magic and monsters is fantastic and will have the reader believing theyâve transported into a video game. One of the aspects that was most enjoyable in this book was the real-world consequences to the battles these characters find themselves in, fair warning, characters will die. Krell himself is a character that readers were meant to love, he is a simple and humble man attempting to navigate his way through understanding what a âheroâ truly is and what his insane god intends for his future. The character growth in this book is wild but not unbelievable, Bryan Cole presents less of a âfound familyâ and more of a Cousin Vinny-esque journey where you as a reader get to ride the highs and lows of a true group dynamic. The plot created a well-paced storyline that engages the reader and allows for growth in the characters and a steady development of the setting.Â
I would highly recommend Beginning of Arrogance to any reader who enjoys a good D&D group or plays quest-styled video games. This is a book worthy to invest some time and emotions in.Â