c. 1993 · A hunt, and a capture.
As the magical sensation left his body he felt weak, as if his muscles had stopped working and his body had suddenly become very heavy. Ronik walked tiredly to a nearby tree and, carefully putting his sword beside him on the ground, fell into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, it was nearing dusk, and he was very hungry. The sky was clear and he could already see the Wanderer’s Star ahead. He knew that he would be travelling west when the Star was at his right while the sun fell behind the horizon. He ran across the green meadows with the Star at his right and soon came across a wide stream that flowed toward the north. He checked for tracks and to his good fortune, discovered the prints of a large deer. Hiding in the bushes for nearly an hour paid off when a grand buck strode to the creek and drank of the clear water. Removing the long-bow from his back, he notched an arrow, aimed, and fired. The arrow sped home and hit the buck in the breast, near its heart. Without even a cry of pain, the buck sprang up and bound into the trees at the opposite bank of the creek.
Ronik followed the animal’s blood and tracks and ten minutes later found it resting by a large oak. He again took aim and fired. This time the arrow hit the animal’s head and bounced off the skull. The impact of the arrow stunned the buck long enough for Ronik to finish the animal off with his broadsword.
He set up a small camp and formed a ring of stones to build a fire in. Cutting strips of meat from the dead animal, he cooked them over the fire and ate. After finishing his meal, he put six more pieces of flesh in is sack to eat later, and removed the buck’s head, which had a 16-point prize rack! The head would win him great respect when he returned. He slept under the stars and awoke with the advent of the sun. He got his belongings together, and followed the sun west.
As a new dusk approached, he noticed a horse’s tracks leading into a clearing. He furtively moved into the clearing, his sword ready for anything. What he saw came as a great surprise; he hadn’t expected to find him for many days to come. Gordon d’ Willintor lay partially hidden underneath a pile of brambles. His horse was tethered to a maple, and his fire had just recently burnt out. “Awake, thief!” he said to Gordon. The outlaw threw the brambles off him and stared in horror at the young warrior. Ronik commanded without waver, “Stand against the tree yonder. You may come peacefully–otherwise I will have to kill you.”
“Surrender to a young fool like yourself?! Never!” Gordon rolled over and reached for his sword. With unprecedented speed, Ronik swept his sword downward, cleanly severing Gordon’s hand from his wrist. “My hand!” he screamed. “I surrender, let me be!”
“Treat your wounds, mercenary-scum. If you make another move I will make sure your head follows your hand’s example.”
After repressing the flow of blood in his wrist, Gordon was bound and forced to walk behind Ronik as he rode Gordon’s horse back to Gavin.
Composed 1993 · part of the Short Stories collection · authorship documented on the Provenance page.