Soron's Quest Read Free Page B

doesn’t involve a sword. Becoming a cook gave me a way to put my sword away. I am proud to be called cook.”
    Soron had not known this about Rurik, it did not surprise him though. Rurik carried himself like a warrior, even when in the kitchen. “Perhaps I could join you in the kitchens when this is all over,” mused Soron.
    Rurik shook his head, “Boy, you are perhaps the best blacksmith in all the north already. I have seen some of the jewelry you make, your talents don’t lie in a kitchen.”
    Soron smiled softly, “Jewelry is not the work of a northern blacksmith,” he repeated his father’s often spoken opinion on the subject.
    Rurik nodded, “That much is true, so become just a blacksmith. You cannot tell me you have not given thought to leaving the north for less battle filled lands.”
    “Actually I already told father that I would be leaving. He gave his consent, but it was halfhearted, he believes we will be dying soon so he said it to appease me,” said Soron.
    “Then do what needs to be done, face Magnus in combat and either go to the gods as a fallen warrior or defeat the great warrior and then leave without returning. Don’t give your father the opportunity to recant his consent. We northerners are not ones for goodbyes so no one will judge you. If you defeat the enemy and leave I will spread word of our conversation, nothing your father can do then.”
    Soron thought it over, Rurik was right. He had no reason to return, he would either die trying to defend his people or live and move on. It was time to start a new life, one not build with a blooded blade. “You better add a bit more food to my supplies friend; I plan on going on a journey.”
    Rurik lifted a second sack already filled and placed it beside the first, “Already packed boy, now off you go.”
    Soron shook his head, Rurik was a cagey one. He clasped the man’s arm in a farewell gesture then took up his sacks and slipped out of the great hall before the rest of the men started to awake. Soron took one last look at the Great Hall as he left. He wondered if he would ever be there again.
    As the morning sun slipped over the eastern horizon Soron swiftly moved north.
     

3
    The magnificent Magnus
     
    TWO DAYS LATER, Soron found the first signs of the advancing northern tribe. The advance scouts of the army were working their way south, traveling ahead of the main war party. Soron stood in a thick grow of aspen, he had anticipated that this was the valley the war party would follow down to Amradin. The valley floor was wide and level, easy traveling for large numbers. From his hiding spot deep in the trees along the side of the valley Soron was able to watch the scouts make their way past him on their way south.
    Within hours of seeing the advance scouts Soron heard the dull thumping, the sound of five thousand warriors marching together. Soon he could see the men as they made their way south through the valley. He had never seen so many men at once. It was an awe inspiring sight.
    Waiting until the men were within a few hundred yards of his position, Soron dropped his packs and walked out into the middle of the valley. He stood in the way of the oncoming army. As the men grew closer he mentally prepared himself for combat. His muscles warm from the mornings walk needed no stretching, he was ready.
    A voice rang out and the army’s forward progress halted, with the exception of three warriors that came forward to meet Soron.  Without doubt the one in the middle was the mighty Magnus Kollrson. As tall as Soron, the warrior was thick, burly with bulging forearms. Magnus’ face was a map of scars that marked his numerous conquests.
    “You stand in the way boy. Are you here to join the army?” said the mighty warrior in a deep throaty voice.  
    “I seek the mighty Magnus Kollrson. Rumor has it that he travels this way,” replied Soron.
    The man grunted in amusement, “You have found him, and who might you be boy?”
    “Soron