The Lonely Road To Vengeance - Chapter 6 - (17 years ago)

  • Brynjar ran on through the forest, his ragged breath leaving a misty trail in his wake and his heart pounding in his chest. As he ran past a broken pine tree he grabbed a piece of red cloth that was hanging from the lowest branch. This was one of his father’s favourite exercises. Balgruuf had spent a great deal of time planning out a route through the forest. It was a ten mile loop that wound through the hills, with steep climbs and treacherous drops. Brynjar would run this route every other day, setting off before sunrise and had eventually come to love the exhilaration of the run, viewing it as the best part of the day. Once a week his father would walk the course grumbling about his knee and laying out several pieces of red cloth at various points. Brynjar would then run the course carrying weapons and collecting the pieces of cloth while his father waited at home measuring time with an hourglass. If Brynjar took more than two hours he would do another hour of combat practice that evening before he could eat. These days Brynjar rarely had to do extra combat practice, not that he need it.

     

     

    Brynjar was approaching the ascent  that would lead to the best view around (unless you counted the ones offered by the Throat of the World). He slowed his pace to a light jog to catch his breath so he would not be exhausted by the top. Up ahead a rabbit came out of the long grass onto the path. Without breaking stride we pulled his bow from over his shoulder, pulled an arrow from the quiver, drew and shot. The arrow struck the rabbit in the neck pinning it to the ground and killing it instantly. Brynjar snatched up the rabbit as he jogged passed, retrieved the arrow and returned it to his quiver. He then tied the rabbit to his belt as he continued up the path.

     

    As the path reached the summit the trees cleared leaving a clear rugged hilltop covered with wild-flowers and broken granite rocks. Brynjar lept onto the tallest rock and stooped to retrieve the final piece of cloth wedged in a crack on the top and then stood up and surveyed the view stretched out before him. He could see the roofs of Ivarstead nestled in the valley surrounded by pine trees with the river Treva  curving around the town glistening in the morning sun as it flowed into Lake Geir, The forest stretched out towards the horizon like a dark green blanket and above everything towered The Throat of the World. Brynjar looked up at the peak of the mountain towering above him. The sides of the mountain were covered in snow that shifted colour as the sunlight hit it. Occasionally snow would be blown off of a ledge by the winds and drop like a waterfall to the rocks below.. The peak of the mountain was always shrouded in clouds even on a bright clear day like today. No-one had ever been able to explain this and people who lived near the mountain gave up wondering a long time ago.

     

    Jumping down from the rock Brynjar continued down the path picking up the pace as the path curved back and forth through the trees. The gorge was coming up. Balgruuf had found it when he planned out the route for Brynjar’s run. The gorge was only fifteen feet wide and about twenty feet deep but with the bottom covered in rocks it was enough. The thick bushes and bracken around the gorge made it impossible to spot until you were right on top of it  They had gone up to the gorge before Brynjar had began running this route and chopped down a small tree to act as a narrow bridge.Balgruuf said that crossing it when he was tired from the run would teach balance and sure footedness. He was not wrong the first few times Brynjar had gone across on his hands and knees. Later he would walk slowly across with his arms stretched out for balance. These days he would leap through the bracken at a running pace and his foot wouldn’t make contact with  trunk until he was over halfway across the gorge. As the gorge approached Brynjar began to sprint as fast as he could and leapt gracefully through the bushes extending his foot towards the tree trunk bridge. Which was inexplicably missing.

     

    Brynjar crashed into the far side of the gorge frantically clawing at the rocks and soil in search of a hand hold. His left hand caught hold of a tree root and he hung there for a moment trying to catch his breath. He then climbed up over the ledge and lay on the ground gasping. There was pain in his side where his body had struck a rock jutting from the wall of the gorge. The pain worsened when he breathed in suggesting a broken rib. He clambered to his feet and looked around. He found the tree trunk bridge a short distance away. Clearly his father had dragged it out of the gorge and dumped it here. Clutching his side he continued his run at a gentle jog back towards the cabin.

     

    When he arrived back at the clearing where the cabin was he saw his father sat outside at the table  sharpening his sword. A couple of mugs of ale sat on the table with the hourglass sat between them. Brynjar placed the rabbit and pieces of cloth on the table and then, wincing in pain gingerly sat down and took a sip from his mug. Balgruuf looked up smiling and spoke first.

     

    “How was your run, it looks a nice day for it?”

     

    “Very nice, I nearly died at one point, but apart from that it was fine.”

     

    “The gorge?”

     

    “Yes the bloody gorge. Why did you get rid of the bridge?”

     

    “The bridge was there to teach you to be sure footed and it did that well. After that it was teaching you to be overconfident. You may face your enemies on unfamiliar ground and even when you think you know the ground you can never be totally sure. Now let me take a look.”

     

    Brynjar lifted his shirt to reveal a large ugly bruise already turning from red to purple. Balgruuf gently pressed the bruise getting a sharp gasp of pain from Brynjar.

     

    “Hmmm looks like you cracked a rib. Maybe now you will look before you leap. Finish your ale and I will get you some bread, tomatoes and cold chicken. Then you can head into town, I hear we have a new herbalist. You will need some ointment for this so I suppose we will found out how good they are.”

     

    After he had eaten Brynjar set off towards Ivarstead, crossing the bridge he made his way down the main street until he saw the herbalist sign hanging over a door. He opened the door and stepped inside to find a small shop. Herbs hung from drying racks hanging from the ceiling and a table with burners and alembics sat in the corner with coloured liquids bubbling through tubes. Behind the counter the wall was covered in shelves containing strange shaped bottles full of potions, jars of salves and ointments and bowls filled with exotic ingredients. What wasn’t behind the counter was a herbalist. Brynjar cleared his throat.

     

    “Err is anyone there?”

     

    From the back room came  scream followed by a thump and the sound of breaking glass.

     

    “Oh bugger! Don’t worry I will be right out.”

     

    The door opened and a young woman stepped out trying unsuccessfully to brush coloured powder from her robe. She looked up a spotted Brynjar and her face lit up in huge friendly smile.

     

    “Hello, I’m Eliza, Eliza Perrick, but my friends call me Lizzie. You can call me Lizzie, I hope we can be friends. I’m  new here and I need to make friends. I’m from Cyrodiil but my family is originally from High Rock, you can probably tell. I’m a herbalist. Do you need a herbalist? Call me Lizzie. Sorry I’m talking too much aren’t I. I do that when I meet new people. How can I help?”

     

    “Err I’m Brynjar, pleased to meet you Lizzie. I think I cracked a rib and was hoping you could give me something to help it heal or at least help with the pain.”

     

    “Right come into the back room and let me take a look.”

     

    Brynjar followed Lizzie into the back room which contained a lot more shelves with bottles and jars it also contained a raised bed and a couple of chairs.

     

    “Right take your shirt off and lie down so I can get a good look at you."

     

    ”Excuse me!”

     

    “I mean your injury, I need to see the injury.”

     

    Brynjar took of his shirt and laid down on the bed. Lizze sat next to him.

     

    “Ooh you poor thing, that looks nasty, does it hurt when I push here?”

     

    “Aaaargh!”

     

    “Well you’re right it is a broken rib no doubt, yes I have something here that will help.”

     

    Brynjar watched Lizzie search the shelves, picking up jars to read the labels and putting them back down.

     

    “So Lizzie what brings you to our little town?”

     

    “I always wanted to be a town herbalist and I always wanted to travel. I worked as an apprentice to my aunt in the Gilded Carafe in the Imperial City and when my apprenticeship was done I decided to come to Skyrim. I must say it is not what I expected.”

     

    “What do you mean?”

     

    “Everyone in town has been very nice, but the people I spoke to back in the City said that nords were stern and gruff and never laugh.”

     

    “They were probably just thinking of my father.”

     

    “You’re funny. Ah here it is.”

     

    Lizzie brought a jar of yellow ointment over and sat down.  Unscrewing the lid she took a small amount and gently rubbed it into the bruise.

     

    “This will help the bruise to heal much faster than it would do normally, and will also help with the some of the pain. You should use it every morning and every evening before bed for the next week.”

     

    “Thank you Lizzie, do you have anything that will help with the rib?”

     

    Lizzie placed her hand close to the wound, closed her eyes and mumbled under her breath. There was a soft golden glow and Brynjar felt a strange sensation like ants crawling on his skin. The pain he felt breathing faded to almost nothing.

     

    “What was that?”

     

    “Just a simple healing spell. It has started to knit the bones together. In a week or two you should be fully healed. Have you never been healed this way?”

     

    “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone use magic before.”

     

    “Then I’m happy to be your first.”

     

    “Err!”

     

    “Magic user, I mean. Now put your shirt back on and let’s go back out the front and sort out the payment. As this was your first visit to my shop and your first ever healing spell you can have it for free.”

     

    “Thanks Lizzie, I really hope you stay in our town and if you ever need any blacksmithing done my father and I run the local forge.”

     

    Lizzie stopped her eyes wide and her hand flew to her mouth.

     

    “You’re the boy whose mother was killed. They said you live in the woods now.”

     

    “It was while ago. My father and I have a cabin not far from here, it’s nice and peaceful and we still have friends. It’s not strange, honestly. Please Lizzie you’re the first person I’ve met who wasn’t here when it happened. I don’t want you to think I’m strange.”

     

    “Sorry, you’re right, of course I don’t think you’re strange, I look forward to seeing you next week.”

     

    “Next week?”

     

    “You should come in so I can see if you are healing well.”

     

    Brynjar paid for the potion, said goodbye to Lizzie and headed home. He did not even notice he was smiling as he went.

     

     

    PREV - NEXT

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

     

Comments

1 Comment   |   The Wolf Of Atmora and 1 other like this.
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  September 29, 2016
    Wow, what a nice intro to the chapter. As for Lizzie, can't help but like her.
    Spotted a small error. You have used the twice. 


     He could see the roofs of Ivarstead nestled in the the valley surrounded by pine tre...  more