Chapter Three

Like Father…Like Son?

The monotony of Denrik’s journey continued for another day through the same nearly lifeless wastelands he’d seen since he left Stoink. He joined most of his fellow slaves in staring blankly through the bars of their cage wagon, remaining silent all the while. His mind started to wander, and soon he dreamed of younger days…

Niole Dra was perhaps the grandest city in the Sheldomar Valley, resplendent with centuries of tradition and history. Its buildings reflected centuries of changing architectural traditions, while its gardens and tapestries spoke to the wealth of its residents. Even many of its lower income residents lived comfortably, their homes solidly built, well-painted and decorated with yards and planters full of flowers. Large farms and forests alike surrounded Niole Dra, providing its citizens with both beauty and prosperity. Fittingly, Niole Dra was the royal capital of the ancient Kingdom of Keoland.

No community was a monolith, of course. Some of Niole Dra’s residents lived in poverty, particularly in the city’s southern outskirts. The houses there tended to be more run down and less maintained, reflecting their owners’ neglect and poverty.

Normin Glendowyr was one of the most well-known examples in his neighborhood. His blond hair was frequently caked with dirt and blood, and his green eyes were so bloodshot they almost looked red. His face, chest and arms were crisscrossed with a bevy of scars and gashes, and his nose and teeth had both seen better days. Normin’s clothes were often tattered, splashed with alcohol or both, reflecting how he often spent much of his free time.

Two of Niole Dra’s city watchmen, each dragging Normin by one of his arms, exchanged disgusted glances as they took him down the lane leading to his house.

“Did you really think it’d work, Normin?” the watchman Efoyan said, looking down at Normin in disgust. “That she’d actually go with you even if you bested her lover?”

“I’m su’posed ta feel shorry for giving ‘er the chance o’ a living time?” Normin said, his breath still reeking of the cheap swill the Orc’s Trough Tavern served its patrons. “Ain’t my fault she weren’t ‘nuff woman to see a good t’ing right in fronta her.”

Mekran, the other watchman, scowled in disgust at Normin’s slurred speech.

“And here I thought you’d learn after the first five times it happened,” Mekran said. “At least you cleared your tab this time.”

“Doonen’s always willin’ to wait ‘till payday,” Normin said with a grin. “He knows when ta give credit.”

“More than you deserve,” Efoyan said. “Consider yourself lucky we’re deferring your fine for tonight’s incident until the next time.” He and Mekran finally reached Normin’s house and tossed him onto the porch before they turned and left.

Grumbling under his breath, Normin didn’t bother to wipe the dust and dirt off his clothes as he forced himself to his feet. He needed a couple of tries before his shaking hand got a firm grip on the knob of his front door, and he nearly fell into the door as he pushed it open and stumbled in.

Slamming the door behind him, Normin looked around the room before he fixed a contemptuous glare on the only other person in the house. The young Denrik leapt out of his chair and ran up to Normin, bowing hastily to his father.

“Where’n Hades is Weimar?” Normin said, his eyes narrowing as he looked down his nose at his son.

“He…” Denrik said, before he trailed off and swallowed hard.

“Well?” Normin said, the smell of ale on his breath so thick it made Denrik’s nostrils flare.

“…He’s in jail,” Denrik said, cringing.

“Saving your ‘ide again, wuz he?” Normin said, cuffing Denrik upside the head. “Figured’s much. ‘Oo’s da cause dis time?”

“The Lenderson boys,” Denrik said. “They-“

“-couldn’t win ‘gainst a pack ‘o blind pixies,” Normin said, interrupting him. “You needin’ Weimar’s help against ‘em? I suppose your mother’s bailin’ him out?”

Denrik nodded silently.

“All the coin Troy and Vlandal’ve sent t’is fortnight,” Normin said, referring to Denrik and Weimar’s older brothers, now living in other cities. “Wasted to save yer sorry ‘hide. Can’t win a brawl to be savin’ your life?”

Denrik wanted to remind Normin how much more money the Glendowyrs might have if he didn’t spend so much of it getting sloshed at the Orc’s Trough, but he wisely held his tongue.

“I tried to defend myself,” Denrik said.

“An’ ya failed,” Normin said. “D’you know ‘ow much grief I gots from th’ lads at the Trough over that?”

The same lads who got you drummed out for joining their fool antics? Denrik thought to himself, unable to keep a scowl off his face. You honestly care what those idiots think? 

Unfortunately, as drunk as he was Normin could still read people.  

“You gots somethin’ ta say, boy?” Normin said. “Let’s ‘ear it, then.”

Denrik didn’t answer, looking down at the floor.

“Ain’t man e’nough ta speak, eh?” Normin said, his face a mask of rage. “Maybe this’ll teach ya some bravery,” he said, grabbing Denrik’s arm with one hand and clenching his fist with the other.

Denrik winced at his father’s clenched fist, but they both started when they heard the door open.

“What are you doing?” Weimar said, running up to his father and brother. “Father, there’s no need for this!”

“Why’re ya standin’ up for him?” Normin said as he released Denrik. “’E’s not even half the man ya’re, lad.”

“Papa, please,” a lilting feminine voice said from the doorway. Normin turned to see his daughter Holianna and his wife Marielle walking into the house, looks of dismay on their faces.

Holianna was tall both for her gender and her age, nearly matching Denrik’s height, but she was wan and slander, her green eyes shining brightly out of a pale face framed with neck-length honey-gold hair cut in a bob fashion. Marielle almost resembled an older version of her daughter, albeit shorter and more well-built. Her hair was longer and better-tended, reaching down in a braid that started to show signs of grey.

“What?” Normin said, folding his arms and rolling his eyes in annoyance. “I’s just teachin’ my other daughter some courage.”

“Why do you always have to be like this?” Holianna said. “Always berating Denrik like that!”

“’I’s tryin’ ta tough the boy up. Ain’t gonna learn oth’rwise!” Normin said, scoffing.

“You don’t need to do that, though,” Weimar said, putting his hand on Normin’s arm. “Can’t Denrik grow at his own pace?”

“An’ a fine job he’s doin’,” Normin said, shaking his head. “Ye’re too shoft on ‘im, Weimar-coddlin’ ‘im like a little girl.”

“Or maybe he has more sense than I do,” Weimar said, indicating the bruises and cuts on his hands. “Knows better than to pick fights he doesn’t need.”

“Don’ be sayin’ that, Weimar,” Normin said. “Ye’re th’ only other real man ‘ere sides me.”

“Normin, you shouldn’t be saying-“ Marielle said, before Normin cut her off.

“Right now, Denrik’s no good fer nothin’,” Normin said, turning back to look at him. “Be needin’ ta toughen ‘im up. Let’sh hear it, boy-‘ow you gonna prove yerself?”

Denrik hesitated, but Weimar spoke up.

“Take up arms for King and country, what else?” Weimar said. “We’ll enlist in the royal armies and make you all proud!” he said, putting an arm around Denrik’s shoulders.

Normin’s eyes lit up at that.

He nodded in approval, a smile seeming to turn up at the edge of his lips.

Denrik thought about how, for a brief and shining moment, it seemed like he’d finally prove himself to his father. Unfortunately, while Weimar passed basic training with flying colors, Denrik couldn’t match him. He was rejected, forced to return home in embarrassment. To his surprise, Normin didn’t say anything to Denrik when he delivered the news.

The disappointment in Normin’s eyes said everything he needed to.

Holianna, Marielle and Weimar himself tried to support Denrik, even speaking up for him to Normin, but Normin was unmoved.

Then there was what came a year later while Weimar was home on leave…

“You got Hellena’s attentions?” Holianna said, her hands rising to her mouth in horror.

Denrik sadly nodded. Hellena was widely known and loathed in Niole Dra’s lower districts for having a personality that was even uglier than her revolting, porcine appearance. She was also known for demanding attention from young men and refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer.

“What did you say?” Holianna said, taking Denrik’s shaking hand in her own.

“Exactly what I should’ve,” Denrik said. “I told her she could take her bloated carcass back to the Nine Hells she got her name from.”

“That’s my brother!” Weimar said, clapping Denrik on the shoulder. “It’s about time someone told that bloated piece of-“

“She’s claiming that I offended her and alienated her affections, or some such,” Denrik said, groaning. “She’s hired a swordsman to act as her champion! If I don’t face him-“

“Who is it?” Weimar asked.

“Sinwylle, the soldier who-“ Denrik said.

“-who’s been bullying people in our district for years? It’s about damn time somebody stood up to that bastard, and that’s exactly what I’ll do!” Weimar said, drawing one of the daggers hanging from his belt and twirling it with a practiced ease that made Denrik cringe inwardly.

“You’ll…battle for me?” Denrik said, staring in amazement at his brother.

“Of course I will,” Weimar said, as a relieved expression crossed Holianna’s face. “You’d do just the same for me!”

Denrik returned Weimar’s confident smile, but he cringed inwardly once again.

He could just imagine their parents’ reactions.

Marielle would be relieved and overjoyed…

…but Normin would just keep silent, the look in his eyes saying everything he needed it to.

Soon, Denrik just couldn’t take it anymore. He scraped together the money to get further training as a warrior and set out to seek his own fortune.

The results would’ve only validated Normin’s original view. Denrik joined adventuring parties, enlisted in mercenary groups and ran with bandit gangs, and their fates were always some level of humiliation or failure. That led him to go to Stoink in the hopes that he could join a bandit troop that actually knew what it was doing.

He tried to show off his prowess by challenging Gustav, which turned out to be the absolute worst in a long line of foolish decisions.

Now, he’d truly hit rock bottom.