Gods of Blood and Fire - A. J. Strickler Page 0,2

in the boy’s eyes and his lip quivered as Kian approached. He could tell the boy was scared, but to the young man’s credit he did not run away. “They won’t be back for the horses.”

The lad said nothing.

“They tried to kill me even after I gave them the coin.” Again the boy didn’t respond.

Kian reached out and took the reins of the horses out of his shaking hand; the boy offered him no resistance.

“What is your name?” Kian asked.

“Julian,” the boy answered quietly.

“Did you know the men well, Julian?”

Tears rolled down his red-chapped cheeks. “They were my family, my uncle and cousins.” Julian wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand. “Are you going to kill me now?”

Kian felt disheartened, the boy thought he was nothing more than a common criminal or brigand. “No, Julian, I would never harm a defenseless boy, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Kian left the boy standing there, chest heaving, his tears coming now like a hard spring rain. The swordsman couldn’t tell if they were tears of relief, because he hadn’t been killed or tears for his slain family.

He walked the three horses away and tied their reins to one of the trees in the tiny grove where the boy was hiding, and he set to work building a small fire. This would be as good a place to camp as any. Trees and cover were meager in this part of Trimenia. The winter snows had only melted a few weeks ago and the night would be cold.

He watched Julian out of his peripherals as he made camp. The boy had sat down with his back to a tree, head down his arms wrapped around his legs. He would give the boy time when night came and he grew hungry and cold. Julian would come closer to the fire, and he could offer him food and water. Kian had no intention of leaving the boy out in the middle of nowhere to freeze or starve to death; he would try to see him safely to a town or village if the child would allow it. The warrior sat down and leaned back against a small oak tree and put his hands behind his head and waited.

As night crept closer, Julian began to get cold. He had started crying when he realized the swordsman was not going to kill him. Most of his tears had been because he was scared. Very few were for his dead relatives; he remembered all the times his uncle and cousins had been cruel to him. Nonetheless, the fact was, bad or not, they were all he had and now he didn’t know what he would do. Trimenia was a grim land in which a boy his age wouldn’t last long on his own.

He looked at the stranger. The man sat with the long sword he carried across his knees rubbing it with an oily rag. The traveler must be a great warrior, the young man thought, he had easily killed his uncle and cousins and they were the toughest men Julian knew.

His father and Uncle Raul had been farmers once, until their land was taken by Baron Serban. Serban was the nobleman that governed the land where his family had once lived. He had killed Julian’s father and taken his mother away. After she was taken to the Baron’s castle, Julian never saw his mother again. That’s when he had moved in with his uncle. The Baron had taken his uncle’s lands a few months later, and his uncle had blamed Julian for it. That’s when they all had become bandits. Julian didn’t want to be a bandit, but his uncle said there was no choice if he wanted to eat. His uncle had grown mean and bitter after that. When he was drunk, he beat Julian and treated him little better than a dog. His cousins were no better. They too took their frustrations out on Julian. The boy realized that he wasn’t really sad his cousins and uncle were dead; he was sad because now he was alone.

The sun was going down. Julian knew there were many wolves in the Kingdom of Trimenia and the Warrior’s fire looked very inviting. He got up and slowly walked over to get warm. Julian thought if the man was going to hurt him, he already would have. Besides this, Kian had said he meant him no harm. And he had spoken with such certainty