Thorn Leif's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Thorn Leif came to the treehouse district to raise an army, and found a tavern instead. Twenty-five years ago, a legion of gnomes had held these branches against the trolls. Now the legion was gone, the district half-empty, and Thorn's used armor drew stares from gnomes who had forgotten what a soldier looked like. He wanted them to remember. He wanted to build the legion again. But first he needed to find one gnome who still believed it could be done. He found the bar down a hollow bore inside the great tree, past the crowded meadhall above. The room was small and low, the walls raw wood, the air thick with smoke and spilled mead. A colony of tavern-gnomes worked the taps. Thorn set his sword on the table, the emerald in its hilt catching the lamplight, and asked the room a question. Who here would fight if the trolls returned? Most gnomes looked away. One did not. An old gnome sat alone in the corner, grey beard spread across his chest, one eye clouded white and blind. Scars marked his brow. He had been listening the whole time. He stood, crossed the room, and dropped a weathered letter on Thorn's table. "You're twenty-five years too late, boy," the old gnome said. "Or right on time. I've stopped guessing." Thorn looked at the letter. The ink had faded, but he read the last lines. It was an order. Final instructions, written for the day the trolls came back. Signed by a commander. "Who wrote this?" Thorn asked. "I did." The old gnome sat down across from him without asking. "Garrick Ironbeard. I commanded the legion the night it fell. I watched it break." He tapped the blind eye. "Lost this holding the last bridge. Then I came down here to drink and wait." Thorn's chest tightened. He had come hunting a believer and found the last man who had led them. "Wait for what?" "For someone fool enough to try again." Garrick studied Thorn's armor, the sword, the emerald. "You've the look of a soldier. You've the look of a man who thinks one voice can wake a dead legion." "I mean to." Garrick barked a laugh, short and hard. Then he leaned close. His good eye held Thorn without blinking. "The gnomes won't march for hope. They'll march for fear." He pushed the letter closer. "I wrote that letter because I knew the trolls would come back. They always do. And they're coming." Thorn picked up the letter. "You've seen one." "Three days ago. In the deep forest. A shadow-troll, big as the meadhall." Garrick's voice dropped. "It saw me too. It knows we're here." The smoke seemed to thin. Thorn folded the letter and stood. He had wanted an ally to raise an army. Now he had one, and a reason to raise it fast. The old commander was in. And the enemy had already found them.