The Saddle and Scroll

A story from The Immortal Saga

The Year 652 AW

Benneson Jacobs was scared. Battles are always scary, he assumed.

When he was a child growing up in Talinta, Benneson was always avoiding the other children. They liked to rough house and fight, Benneson was more of a thinker.

He knew well that he wasn't a brilliant mind or anything of the sort. He was just a ponderous person. He enjoyed the abstract of philosophy.

There was this one child, Ennesil. Ennesil was the perfect example that Kallah could breed with humans.

Big, bulky, and dumb. Ennesil ruled the neighborhood with brute strength and a complete lack of empathy.

One of Ennesil's favorite targets was Benneson. Ennesil would pound on him, no quarter given, for a good hour whenever Benneson was foolish enough to be seen by the lug.

The result being that Benneson became more bookish, and more introverted. Benneson liked his quiet time reading the philosophies of the greats throughout history.

Vrant, Dordeesh, and even Squire Tucket were his friends. He didn't need the other neighborhood children, who followed around after Ennesil like he was some sort of king.

Benneson was his own person, and he was fine with that.

His father, Mr. Jacobs, was an architect. A fairly respected and well to do man in Talinta.

Benneson always found it odd that he had never known his father's name until the man had died in a Kallah raid on a building he was overseeing. To Benneson, he was always dad, or Mr. Jacobs.

The Kallah. Those monsters made Benneson's blood freeze.

Easily twice the weight of a man and entirely composed of muscle. Their skin color was up for debate, given that they were always so covered in gore and filth you could never see their actual skin tone.

For some reason, Benneson pictured them as green.

They had two tusks coming out from their lower canine teeth, and ridged brows giving them an even more savage look.

Some wore pieces of armor, most simply went naked.

And they had taken away Benneson's father.

His mother took the news with a dramatic flourish. She turned to drink. She would sit at the dinner table, lamenting her ill fortunes, drinking any wine she could lay her hands on.

One morning, she just never woke up.

Luckily, Benneson was left with a decent inheritance. His father was no pauper, though his mother had wasted quite a large sum on her inebriation.

Benneson was far from poor though. And he knew it was time to grow up.

He began job hunting when he met Bosty. Bosty was around the same age as Benneson and also a bit of a cast away.

Bosty loved the idea of adventure. He read the same books, but instead of the moral and intellectual parts, Bosty read the exploration and adventure parts.

Bosty was a slight boy. A thin frame and ragged blonde hair. His eyes were piercing, the green light coming from them could see into one's very soul. It was never lost on Benneson how that particular description was a completely overused term, but it just fit Bosty’s eyes so well.

The two young men became best friends.

They would stay up late into the night, discussing books and the relevance of certain parts and historic figures. Always high up on the discussion list was the Immortal Swordsman.

The Immortal Swordsman was a piece of history dating back to around the time of the war. He must have something to do with the war. It was so obvious.

The war was simply that, the war. Every other war had a name, the war of Bassey Creek, the war of Contention for Liverwol, and so on. The War was just known as The War.

Never in recorded history had such a war raged across the lands, and decimated so many people. The war was a religious war, to determine which of the twin gods was the benevolent one.

That concept always bothered Benneson. Bosty argued that the benevolent god would surely win in a holy war, however Benneson contested that while Hall’s side won the conflict, that was the actions of man, and not the truth of the gods.

Which of course was blasphemy, but it was only intellectual bickering. Of course Benneson believed that Hall was the only true god, and that Hall’s twin brother, Mothma, was obviously the purveyor of all evil. Obviously.

Mothma created the Kallah after all.

The two opened a bookstore with Benneson's remaining inheritance. They called it “The Saddle and Scroll” and stocked it as well as they could. Traders always had old tomes for sale, and the duo purchased as many as they could.

They did well, even Ennesil came in and made a purchase about how to skin animals properly.

Eventually Benneson met Esela. The most beautiful girl in all of Talinta. At least in Benneson's humble judgment.

Esela was short, but perfectly featured. A heart shaped face, deep blue eyes, and long soft hair the color of straw. Benneson at this point in his life had become rather stocky, he was a scholarly person, not athletic in the slightest.

Esela was his polar opposite, but for some unfathomable reason, she fell in love with him.

They were married one week after Benneson's twenty-first birthday. Of course, Bosty was his best man.

A year later, war broke out between Talinta and the neighboring city of Rothburn.

It was a dark time for Benneson, his store saw a decline in sales, and Bosty became Ill. The local doctor said it may be consumption, and Bosty would likely only survive another few weeks.

Somehow, Bosty survived.

Esela however, was murdered in a raid from Rothburn.

Benneson was in a fury. Bosty tried to keep him calm and mild, but the grief was too much. Benneson had decided on revenge, and there was no talking him out of it.

He enlisted in the Talinta army, and Bosty followed him in.

Army life was harder than Benneson could have ever expected, training, marching and more training.

They learned how to use spears mainly, with a little sword training for emergencies. Bosty took to the sword quickly, he was a natural swashbuckler. Benneson took to nothing. He was awful at every part of being a soldier, but he was driven by revenge.

Captain Hallack was their commanding officer. A sharp, fastidious man. He was bald, and shaved his head every morning along with his face. His skin was like tanned leather, and his demeanor matched it.

Hallack almost tossed Benneson out of the army, except when Benneson explained his story, for unimaginable reasons Hallack changed his mind. Hallack had muttered something about a man deserving justice, and sent Benneson to clean some latrines instead.

Six months of this. Six months of grueling effort. Six months of failure. Six months of pain. Six months of hatred.

Then they were sent to their first battle. They arrived and formed up in their lines. Hallack shouting orders. Benneson began to shake.

Benneson assumed battle was always scary.

Where they stood, they couldn't see the other army yet, which was a small comfort.

Bosty stood nearby, jaw clenched, hands tight on his spear.

Silence conquered all.

Even the horses became quiet. Gentle breathing was all they could hear, along with someone gasping, trying to hold in tears of terror.

Benneson realized slowly that it was him.

He took one deep breath and held it.

It helped.

Bosty was a statue. Hallack was surveying the men, quietly appraising each one. Benneson imagined he was deciding who would live out the day.

There was a murmur from the front lines, and Benneson looked toward the castle they were laying siege to. The gate was opening, and a single man walked out.

Siege warfare was pretty straightforward, Benneson understood the concepts quite well from reading. The basic idea is to post an army around the city being put to siege. Nothing or nobody comes in or out. Either the city falls due to starvation and misery, or the army outside succumbs to the elements.

Benneson supposed the man that was walking toward the lines was going to attempt negotiations. Captain Hallack joined up with some other officers and rode their horses out to meet this stranger. It occurred to Benneson that the man had no horse.

Benneson started paying more attention. The man was tall, and walked with confidence. He wore all black, with leather armor and a vlack cloak that was slung over his shoulders. His hair was black. Everything was just different tones of black. He had a pale, angular face, and from this distance it almost looked like his eyes were glowing.

Benneson almost laughed at that idea, he was putting himself in one of his books, imagining great feats of heroism and a dastardly villain.

Bosty nudged him, and whispered into his ear, “I don’t like this.”

Benneson arched an eyebrow at Bosty, obviously the city sent this man to negotiate terms of surrender. He couldn’t imagine any other reason that a lone man like that would be strutting out so confidently toward an entire army.

Then Benneson noticed the two swords poking out of the man’s cloak. They were strapped to his back. What an odd thing to do, you would never be able to draw those swords fast enough for combat. They both had matching black leather wrapped around their matching handles.

Bosty leaned in again, “does this remind you of anything?”

Benneson looked over at Bosty, incredulous as to what he could possibly be talking ab-

The realization hit him like a pile of rocks. Everything about this man matched the descriptions of the Immortal Swordsman. Even those eyes that Benneson thought were glowing. The Swordsman was said to have silver eyes.

But, the Immortal Swordsman was just a legend, the book was written centuries ago. If this was the same character, well, Benneson guessed that was where the “immortal” part came from.

Benneson leaned in to speak to Bosty, “there’s no way. It can’t possibly be.”

Bosty started slowly backing up.

Benneson returned his attention to the man. The officers had reached him, and he was walking between them as if they were some sort of slight obstacle that he was not bothered with in the slightest. One of the officers reached down and grabbed the man’s cloak, attempting to stop him.

That is when Benneson’s entire existence changed.

The man drew the swords off of his back, somehow that Benneson missed. They flashed and the officer fell from his horse. The man spun, and two other officers were down. A horn sounded and someone yelled “charge.”

Hallack’s head fell from his body.

Violence ensued. More violence then Benneson could have ever imagined. There was blood everywhere, screams of pain, screams of death, and screams of pure terror. Bosty and Benneson both slowly retreated toward the archers at the back of the army.

There were easily fifty men dead and the man was working his way into the ranks. His swords were a complete blur, and somehow he always had two. Benneson watched as he threw a sword into a shield, going straight through and into the heart of the soldier that was holding it. Yet still, the swordsman had two swords.

And those two swords were getting closer.

One lone man in the midst of an army was too little for the archers to volley against. And as Benneson reached their ranks there was confusion as someone was passing out swords to the men that were barely trained in their use. There was a charge, and more screams.

Bosty was terrified, and Benneson noticed he had wet his pants. Come to think of it, Benneson noticed his own pants were rather wet too. If that man was who Benneson suspected he was, there was nothing anyone could do, they were all going to die here.

Over the next several minutes, soldiers fell everywhere. People were dying, Benneson was covered in blood and gore, and there was an increasingly smaller number of people attempting to withdraw from the field with him.

Finally, they were down to around twenty men, and the swordsman was approaching after he had just finished killing off the last of the archers. Benneson was crying openly. Bosty was missing. There were bodies everywhere.

One of the men he was with said, “boys, I wasn’t planning on dying this day.” and laid down his sword.

Everyone else followed his example, Benneson included. The man kept approaching.

A hand grabbed Benneson’s arm, and he spun to find a blood soaked Bosty, missing a hand and smiling drunkenly. Bosty said, “it’s really him. I can’t believe it’s really him.”

The man stopped at Bosty’s words. He flipped back his hair, and Benneson could plainly see the silver eyes. The man was barely four steps away.

“Who?” the raspy voice that came from the swordsman asked.

“Who do you think I am?”

Bosty gulped, and sheepishly looked at the swordsman.

“You’re The Immortal Swordsman. The Twin Blade, Old Silver Eyes. Right?”

The last word had a sound of desperation to it, as if Bosty was begging the man to confirm his identity.

Instead, the man laughed. It was a hoarse, broken sounding laugh. It made Benneson decidedly uncomfortable. The laugh never touched the swordsman’s eyes.

“I see we have a scholar in our midst. Which book did you pull those names from?”

Benneson found his voice, “Several, sir. Bosty and I own a bookstore in Talinta. But the journals of Sephen Reek are our main reading materials.

The swordsman smiled, yet again the expression never touched his eyes.

“That’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time. Are they original copies of his journals?”

“Second edition, sir. I haven’t been able to find first editions yet.”

“Close enough then. What’s your name, son?”

Benneson thought he looked about the same age as this swordsman, but decided not to bring that up. “Benneson, sir.”

“Well, Benneson. You and Bosty over there have earned the remainder of your forces' lives. Somebody patch up young Bosty’s hand before he bleeds out. And go ahead and share what you witnessed here.”

Benneson gulped. “Thank you, sir”

“I’ll be stopping by your store at some point, Benneson. What’s it called?”

Benneson looked over at Bosty as he was being patched up. They smiled to each other. He turned and looked at those piercing silver eyes. “The Saddle and Scroll, sir”