Chapter 13

Donovan now knew that he was a wanted man. Due to his brash and violent actions the troubled soldier would most certainly be hunted by the forces of good. His calling card would be his great facial scar, and the disfigurement would be recognized within any of the main cities. The unlucky warrior now had no choice but to go into hiding.

With nowhere else to go, Donovan eventually found sanctuary in the lost city of Ternail Dae as he had once before. After a few days of re-tracing his steps through the forest, he was able to find the cavernous structure hiding within the woods. He was almost certain this would be his new home, as well as his place of death. He would die alone in this great tomb, hated by the world outside.

The young man quickly realized that he couldn't spend all of his time inside of the caves. Most of the ancient supplies within its cellar were depleted or long since ruined. In order to survive he would have to once again venture back out into the world to find sustenance.

Donovan considered the idea of trying to change his appearance in order to visit one of the local towns, but the Protectorate found there would almost certainly recognize him on the spot. His scar was too noticeable of a feature to even attempt to conceal. Instead he had to find another way.

After a bit of thought the warrior came across a solution to his problem. He might be able to find work on a small farm that lay outside one of the main villages. There would no policing force looking for him day after day while he toiled in the field. He also wouldn't be trapped within any city walls that might cage him in. One of the benefits of working on a farm would be the freedom to return back to a simple day-to-day job. With simple manual tasks he would be without the fearful worries of a Holy Protectorate soldier. He decided this must be the action he would have to take.

In order to find an average job, the young warrior would have to set off without his suit of armor. It had been at least several years since he had been without his armor for longer than one or two days. Donovan felt unprotected and almost naked. He had grown accustomed to the constant feel of the cold and heavy metal rubbing against his skin. A terrible weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and he didn't quite know how to handle himself. The warrior put on some ragged clothes found within the caves, a dusty white smock along with some loose leather pants, and headed out of the hidden city in a search for work.

Donovan spent the better part of a week looking for a suitable farm that was be in need of help. Two separate pig farms that he came across on his search were not looking for assistance. A horse farm was only looking for those who could ride wild horses, and another large acreage that raised corn and beans was also not looking for workers. His idea about his new profession was looking worse and worse with each denial.

As luck would have it, he came across a small sheep farm that had a rickety sign posted. For once in a many while, good luck had been on his side. Donovan inquired about the job and learned it was just a modest position including tasks such as tending a flock of sheep. He would be assisting a small family of four: a young man and his wife, as well as their two young boys. The family did not have much, and their humble home had just the basic necessities needed to survive. Donovan didn't care. Here before him was his new simpler task in life, and he was thankful for it.

Donovan spent the next three decades with the Foxwoods on their rural farm. Day after day during the warm seasons he would tend to the flock as they grazed on the nearby grassy hills. He would make sure that they didn't stray from his vision, and he made an oath to keep them protected from any possible attackers. The retired warrior also helped shear the sheep in the spring season when their woolen coats had grown thick and white. The man in hiding would also assist with menial tasks around the farm such as gate repair should they ever arise.

It was modest work, sometimes very hard, but the aging man enjoyed it. Year after year he continued to watch over the livestock and his surrogate family.

The Foxwoods had initially been very apprehensive of their new assistant, mostly because of his large scar and unknown past. They had needed the help and no other choice had presented itself other than to hire the secretive man. Donovan did not share his painful history with the small family as he didn't want his past indiscretions shared amongst them. Instead he would lie and say that the disfigurement was due to a childhood accident shoeing a wild horse. The small group and aging warrior did not speak much during the work day, and they often ate meals apart from each other. Donovan had no animosity to the family that had brought him in, and he took on the role of their secretive protector as his thanks for their gratitude.

The retired warrior would spend his nights in the upper hayloft of the main barn, far away from the Foxwood home. His bed was made from some strewn hay and a few torn blankets. The building was very old and poorly built. It neither kept the rain, nor the cold, out of its interior with any kind of success. Icy rain would seep through the split boards of the ceiling during much of the spring months. Summers were also very brutal with no way to cool the structure. Often he would take it upon himself to sleep within his straw bed naked solely for the purpose of keeping himself cool.

The many years spent living with the Foxwoods were rarely eventful. Of the few items of note, the biggest crisis was the one time he had stopped a group of four gray wolves from stealing part of the flock. Another notable moment was when the warrior helped to put out a great fire that almost consumed the entire Foxwood home. The time living and working on the farm was bland and often boring. He did not wish for excitement, and excitement never decided to find him.

The only real problem that Donovan had was with keeping his focus on small rogue groups of sheep whom occasionally decided to flee from the flock. Most of the time he was able to force the little critters to rejoin the group, but on a few other occasions he wasn't so lucky. Three sheep under his watch once fell straight off a steep cliff directly into a canyon never to be seen again, and on another day five of the wooly creatures just up and disappeared without a trace. He had often been warned that he might be out of a job should he lose any more. The threats were not sent with any kind of strength and he often ignored them.

Since there was no need for Donovan's services on the farm during the winter, he would say that he was returning home to his family in Solitude. This was of course another lie, and instead he would head back to the hidden city of Ternail Dae, the only other place that he was always welcome. Not a single soul had come across the great cavernous structure over those many years he spent away from the city, and he was still the sole occupant that he knew of. In the great caves he would spend the cold season studying the ancient tomes, those that were still legible, and simply kept on living.

Over the years Donovan strived to continue his Church training. Other than reading books, he didn't have much else to do during his time inside the hidden city. There was no real point, but he felt the need to keep his skills sharp. By crafting makeshift dummies from some broken barrack beds, he was able to make crude targets for sword practice. Swinging his great silver sword during the time spent in Ternail Dae helped to calm his mind and tone his skills. The sword practice, in addition to some of the heavy lifting while on the farm, kept his muscular body in shape to boot.

As chance would have it, the warrior's appearance did not change drastically over the decades. His scar remained his one defining feature, but his usual patchy auburn-brown hair had begun to gray along the temples. His face was still roughly square with his nose and jar appearing flat and boxy. Donovan did keep an orange and gray beard upon his face, which helped hide the fact that he once was a soldier of the Church. As the years continued to pile upon the aging warrior, a few wrinkles had begun to litter his eyes, lips, and brow. The once young man was reaching into a half-century's worth of time living on this plane.

The day was slightly overcast with just a few patches of clouds overhead. The air was very calm on this spring day with not a single breeze to be felt. The several hundred sheep and their full coats of white wool were almost ready to be sheared. The flock was grazing on a hillside near a sparse forest located along the north side of the Foxwood's land. Both Donovan and one of the Foxwood son's were tending to the sheep upon the hill. The son held up the rear, closest to the family farm, and Donovan watched for any sheep that might be scheming to hide in the woods.

"Donovan! Keep ahn eye out! I think ah saw a few of 'em make a break fer the woods. A few of the trubblemakers I bet! Don't ya dare lose another one or it'll be yer hide!" yelled Kean Foxwood from across the field.

"Blast!" Donovan thought. Another group of them had gotten loose while he wasn't paying attention. This particular hill was bad for the disfigured warrior as his single eye had trouble scanning the entire landscape. "I'll go check… I'll be right back!" the warrior yelled back.

On this season there had been a set of five young sheep that didn't like to follow the rules of the rest of the group. Often they would stray a considerable distance away from the main flock and it took considerable wrangling in order to get them back into the whole. A few weeks ago, tiny iron bells had been placed around their necks in order to help locate them should they flee again.

Donovan headed into the forest of thin ash trees. Filling his vision were skinny stalks that resembled tiny wooden poles, almost like extended broomsticks. The vertical lines created by the trees hindered the warrior's vision. A thick layer of brown and green leaves covered the floor almost like a heavy blanket. Tiny little jingles from a bell could be heard ringing into the distance. He quickly raced through the high brush. The density of the forest grew as he went deeper under its canopy.

A few hundred paces into the forest lay the missing sheep. Obviously it was one of the five whom almost always ran away from the group when the chance arose. The sheep was still skipping away from Donovan when the warrior was able to catch up to it. He leapt into the air landing upon the ground while grabbing the animal's legs. It kicked and flailed as Donovan pulled it in towards him.

He lifted the small creature into his arms. Its once white coat was speckled with broken leaves and small twigs. The sheep was not very large and it squirmed within his arms. As the wooly object wriggled back and forth, Donovan heard another sound: the sound of a girl whimpering. Surrounding the miniscule voice in the distance were the arrogant laughs of several men.

The warrior's first impulse as an old member of the Holy Protectorate was to drop the sheep and head for the cry for help. "I must save her!"

He second-guessed himself and thought of his current duties. "I am no longer a savior… I am but a simple farmhand. It is no longer my duty to protect the people."

The laughs were becoming louder, and the men were heading closer towards him and the sheep.

His conscience began to argue with his rational side. "I must save the lady in need! It is my duty to God!"

The warrior's thought process swayed again. "If I lose this sheep in my attempts to be valiant, the Foxwoods will be none too pleased. They might actually fire me this time!"

His heroism chimed into the argument, "If that is how fate chooses to deal with my indiscretion to my current duties, then so be it!"

The warrior dropped the lone sheep within his hands and raced towards the voices in the forest. Braches and leaves crumbled beneath his feet as he ran.

The sheep slightly confused by its apparent freedom, stood standing by one of the ash trees for several minutes. It almost looked puzzled and dumbfounded. After a few moments, it bleated out a "Baa" that echoed through the forest. With a quick hope it continued on its journey through the woods. The bell around its neck continued to ring into the distance.

Into an open area came crashing the frail form of a young woman. She tripped and fell to the floor, sliding upon the mass of leaves. The woman didn't look much older than sixteen, and upon her back she wore some ragged burlap clothes. Her skin was a normal-looking whitish-pink, but she had a bright white mane of hair upon her head. With the fall her long straight locks had fallen forward upon her face, and they covered her apparent tearful expression. She was breathing heavily and her arms were shaking violently in an attempt to hold up her frame. In between her breaths soft cries could be heard.

Three men entered into the open space following the white haired girl.

One was tall and skinny with his joints looking very knobby. Upon his brow sat a blue cloth hat that covered his eyes. He wore a faded brown jacket with similarly colored pants. A grin lay upon his face. Spaces within his teeth could be seen as he cackled.

The second man was completely bald and quite large, almost Donovan's size. A single golden looped earring hung from his right year. Upon his forearms lay thick, bushy strips of brown hair. He wore a pair of leather pants and a black-dyed vest. His eyes were focused at the woman on the ground, the bright green centers of his corneas glaring in the soft sun. In his hands he held a long bullwhip, which he dragged along the ground with each step.

The third and final pursuer of the woman was much younger than the other two. He was smaller than his compatriots and seemed to be just following their lead. In his hands he held a large net, big enough to catch a wild dog. By the looks of his appearance, it looked like he was quite afraid and apprehensive about what he was doing.

Following the entrance of the three men was the retired soldier Donovan. He had emerged from the forest on the far side of the open space. The white haired woman sat upon the ground between him and the three males. Not having a weapon on his person, he scanned his memory for available spells.

The largest pursuer pulled his arm back and cracked his whip into the air. A loud snap echoed through the trees of the forest. He swung again and the tip of the whip hit the ground beside the girl's frail form. Leaves and twigs flew into the air, and a cloud of dust lifted lightly above the ground.

Greasy words came from the tall man. "Careful Biggs, we don't want to harm the merchandise. If she has any more scratches on her we won't be able to sell her for anything!"

"I wount miss, truss me" said the man with the earring.

The little girl appeared to get up, almost hopping, but immediately fell back down. She rolled into the leaves yet again, apparently unable to stand.

"Ay! You ain't gettin' away that way again lil' one," said the thin man.

Donovan moved forward towards the group, and all three of the men shifted after noticing his form coming into view. The younger man stopped advancing and stood there shivering with the large net wobbling in his hand.

"What have we here?" said the thin man.

Donovan spoke up. "A concerned citizen. What are you doing with this young girl?"

"Oh, aren't we the curious one? And why do you think you have the right to know peasant?"

The girl on the ground attempted to move again. Using her front arms she started to pull herself towards Donovan. She slowly began to slide across the wet leaves.

The right arm of the larger man pulled back, and the tail of the whip lifted high into the air. With a quick flip the weapon, the leather cut across the girl's back in a diagonal line. She fell forward onto the leaves and a large gash appeared along her spine. A thin line of blood dripped from the wound.

Donovan had continued to close in on the trio.

The thin man began to worry. "Easy friend, we have no problem with you. This wee lil' thing is our property. We have every right to sell her. We found her you know, she's ours. You…"

The warrior jumped forward. With a quick ratcheting motion from his right arm, Donovan punched the tall man straight out of his little speech. The blue cap flew through the air accompanied by several teeth. The man fell backwards onto the leaf covered floor and slid several paces away.

"Kiell tha bugga!" the man spoke with his shattered jaw.

The whip came flying through the air and wrapped around Donovan's right arm. A quick snap was heard and the leather embedded into his skin. A thin line of blood appeared where the leathered strip had twisted around his unprotected arm. The man with the earring grinned.

With a quick tug on the tied whip, Donovan pulled the larger man towards him. Caught off guard, the larger man stumbled forward. With a quick knee to his gut, Donovan was able to wrench the whip out of the pursuer's hand. The man with the earring started to fall backwards and Donovan planted his skull into the man's forehead. The man's neck and head flipped back and bloody spit sprayed into the air in a fine mist. He retreated a few steps away from the warrior and then regained his balance. Once recovering from the blows, the earringed man sneered at the impromptu hero. A line of blood created by the second attack ran down from his right nostril.

The large bald man charged at Donovan and his head connected with Donovan's midsection. The warrior braced for impact but was shoved several paces backward because of the attack. Using his hands, the bald man pushed Donovan off of his form. The warrior tumbled backwards twice. The man with the earring let out a great "Ha!"

Donovan righted himself, and sat on one knee. The blow had left him slightly dizzy and disoriented. He tried to remember any spell that might be useful for this fight.

It only took a second, but Donovan was able to recall the words he was looking for. He chanted four loud words and made twisting motions with both hands. Leaves, twigs, and rocks from the forest floor began to congregate in front of him. After just a moments worth of time, a large mass created by forest debris floated between his fingers. With a quick forward step, he cast the spell at the larger man.

The magic hit the earringed man directly in his upper torso. The debris hit his chest like a wave crashing along the shore. He was flipped backwards high into the air through some of the tree branches. The largest pursuer then landed upon his head with a loud crunch. A growl was heard, but it was quickly silenced as his body crumpled under its own weight.

The youngest of the trio had just stood there shivering during the entire fight. He quickly went over to the thin man and helped him up. With the both of them realizing that they were outmanned, they fled the scene leaving their compatriot to suffer alone on the forest floor.

Donovan, still bleeding from the whip's attack, sprinted over to the woman on the ground. She was motionless, but she still appeared to be barely alive. The blood from the wound along her back had begun to stain her simple burlap clothes. Her breathing was slow and shuddering.

The heroic warrior knelt down and picked up her tiny little body. She almost felt weightless, and far lighter than he expected. Her long white hair drooped down out of his arms.

He quickly began to head through the forest towards his winter sanctuary of Ternail Dae. For now, he would have to leave behind his duties on the farm. Right now they didn't matter compared to the health of the young woman within his arms. He was determined to save this little girl, whoever she was.

Continue to Chapter 14