By: Eddie Gibbs

The advertisement was posted on every message board in the Land. From Balinar to Brannonwoode, Shallonrod to Landsdale, there was not a message board in any Town Square, tavern, or marketplace without his offer. Some snickered and sneered at the message, others read with eyes wide in interest and fascination at the concept. Darryl EightWinds had been one of the latter when he saw the ad posted at Outie’s Inn:

So You Want to Be A Hero? Kalin Tarr will show you how it’s done! 500 gold pieces a week. Learn to swordfight, ride horses. Become witty and wise in the ways of the Land. ANYONE can do it! Learn from the legendary Kalin Tarr at Northwood Castle. Hurry! There are dragons to slay, and princesses to save!

Darryl needed little more convincing than this. Taking the parchment down from the board, he ran out of Outie’s Inn and told his carriage driver to head towards Northwood Castle.

There was a blank look of silence on the young boy’s unwashed face.

Taking this as a no, Kalin continued, "They’re quite vicious. I had to save some children, around your age, in fact, from them last summer."

Kalin Tarr, hero of the Land, sat leisurely on the earth in the courtyard of Northwood Castle, his back leaning against one of the dull gray stone walls, his arm draped over one of his knees. He picked up a small rock from the uneven grass and skillfully threw it almost out of sight. The boy, no more than a dozen years at his eldest, continued to stare with a mixture of confusion and curiosity at Kalin. The boy put down the rake he was holding and sat on the ground facing Kalin, giving the assembled pile of dead leaves, branches, and other assorted garbage behind him a quick glance.

Clearing his throat, Kalin said, "Well, you know, I was trying to put together the 10,000 gold pieces I need to purchase a ship and crew for my expedition into the Southwater Seas, when the lord of this town, I can’t remember his name, comes up to me."

The youth sat cross-legged in front of Kalin, arms on his legs, hands supporting his chin as he listened to Kalin. His small chest heaved with a deep breath.

Kalin continued, "He offers me 700 gold and the ‘eternal gratitude of the village’ if I can rescue their children from the ogres. ‘700 gold pieces’, I say? Now that’s definitely a hefty sum of gold, but I need 10,000 to get this ship so I can start looking for the sunken treasure of the Silver Fleet, so I tell him..."

Kalin stopped his narrative as he heard the sound of a horse-drawn carriage coming near. His hand reflexively went to the hilt of his sword as he leaned forward. The carriage that Kalin heard slowly passed through the wide open iron gates of Northwood Castle

I have got to remember to close those damn gates! Kalin thought to himself.

The four horses that pulled the small carriage were as white as the first snow of the winter, and stood prouder than any fully armored knight that Kalin had ever seen. The carriage itself was the color of sunset, with gold-colored paint along the trim.

The carriage then stopped. One of the intricately carved doors opened, and a man stepped out. He was clearly older than Kalin, but not by much--30 or so at the eldest, Kalin thought. He was clad in some of the finest fabrics Kalin had ever seen--Everset silk, perhaps?--his hair a carefully crafted bowl that fit loosely about his head, a look popular with the upper class. In his soft leather boots, he walked slowly and gracefully across the courtyard to Kalin.

"Ah, well," said Kalin hurriedly to the boy as he rose swiftly from the ground, "I slayed two of the ogres, ran from the rest, saved the children, got 1,000 gold pieces richer, everyone knows me in Sandale, the end. Finish up the courtyard, then feed my horse for me. Thanks." With a gentle slap on the boy’s back, Kalin walked towards the approaching nobleman.

"Kalin Tarr, I presume?" The noblemen asked, once they reached each other.

"The one and only." Kalin gave a grand, sweeping bow (noblemen like that). "What brings you to my estate on this warm summer afternoon?"

"I am called Darryl EightWinds, of the Noble House EightWinds." Darryl looked about the castle slowly, befuddlement on his face. "I am asking of the message you place in Outie’s Inn?"

Kalin’s eyes darted back and forth quickly.

"’So you wish to be a hero?’" Darryl offered.

Kalin’s brown eyes lit up with recognition. "Yes, the ad! Is that why you’re here?"

Darryl nodded slowly. "Could you make me a full-fledged hero within a month’s time?"

"Oh, easily!" said Kalin. "We can start immediately, this evening, in fact! I’ll have the help escort you to your room" Kalin made a quick 'come here' motion to the boy raking the courtyard, "and I’ll draw up a schedule for you, and we’ll have you swashbuckling with the best in no time!"

Sighing, Darryl made his own motion to the escort in the carriage, and another man emerged with several chests and boxes. "Pardon me for saying so," he told Kalin as they both walked towards the carriage, "but I was expecting a more, academic-looking, environment.

Breathing through his teeth, Kalin looked over the dilapidated Northwood Castle. The previous lord of the manor wasn’t very kind to the peasants he shared his castle with--they revolted and burned him at the stake. Since then, the peasants left, the castle fell to ruin, and was no longer worth any baron’s money to renovate. Kalin, however, was no baron. He was a hero. And to a hero, a castle is a castle. He paid an incredibly small sum of gold to the nearest kingdom to establish Northwood Castle as his property, and has since lived there with Pennie, the mute boy who took up shelter in the castle some time ago. Kalin, not wanting to throw him out, decided to let him stay in exchange for chores.

Though Kalin has always wanted to make the castle look as grand as any other he’s ever seen, the hero has never had the gold for it. He merely cleared out the master bedchambers as his living space, gave a guestroom to Pennie, and let the rest remain in various levels of disrepair.

"Academic-looking?" said Kalin with a forced laugh. "We’re here to teach you to become a hero, not a magician!" "Very well, then," said Darryl, watching Pennie pick up a chest longer than he was tall and awkwardly leading the way for Darryl’s escort, who carried the rest of the luggage.

The sun set over the parapets of Northwood Castle as Kalin and Darryl briefly took in the beauty before the evening’s introductory swordfighting lesson. Darryl was still dressed like the nobleman he was: a loose, fashionable shirt with puffy cuffs on the sleeve, an equally puffy V-neck, and tight leather pants, of the fashion a horse-rider would wear. Kalin wore a simple leather vest, a tan shirt beneath, leather trousers and his hero’s trademark: a flowing brown cape that hung from his shoulders. Facing each other on the seventy-foot ramparts, Kalin deftly drew his sword from its scabbard. Darryl followed suit, almost fumbling and dropping the blade as it cleared Darryl’s side.

"Hmph!" Darryl exclaimed. “These things look much lighter when the guards use them!”

Kalin pretended to ignore the comment. “Alright. The two most important things in a good swordfighter are balance, and stance. Here’s how your standard hero looks when he’s got his sword out and ready to fight.”

“I’ll have you know, Kalin Tarr,” responded Darryl nonchalantly, “that I did learn a tidbit or two from the captain of the guard back home. I know those amateur basics of stance.”

“Really?” Kalin sighed with relief. “I’m glad you do. Stance is such a hard thing to master, and it can really determine much about the—“

“En garde!” Darryl’s sword came within inches of Kalin’s face as Darryl snapped into position. His legs were far enough apart for Pennie to run between them. His sword arm stuck out straight, like a plank from a pirate ship, the blade of steel more like a blade of grass as it shook in the evening air. His other arm shot out into the sky, palm open, as if he were waving hello to hundreds of illusionary spectators in the courtyard below.

Kalin’s sigh of relief seemed to be sucked right back into his lungs. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s my battle stance. I’m poised to strike.”

“You’re poised to die!” Kalin exclaimed.

“Oh?”

“Yes! Your sword isn’t steady, I don’t know what your other hand is doing way out there, and if you move forward a half step, you could pull your groin! You know what kinds of heroes pull their groins? Dead ones!” In one rapid movement, Kalin swung his sword in a tight, narrow arc, easily slapping aside Darryl’s sword aside. Reversing the momentum of his swing, Kalin brought the sword on its flat end crashing into Darryl’s shoulder, its razor’s edge within a heartbeat of his neck.

Swallowing, Darryl said, “Alright, alright! No need for the dramatics!”

Kalin pulled the sword away from Darryl, sighed, stepped back a few feet, and said, “Let’s start with your stance.”

Darryl nodded in mute agreement.

* * * * *

The swordfighting continued for a few days, then it was time for Darryl’s next lesson. A makeshift archery range had been set up in the middle of the courtyard. The targets, a pair of scarecrows, were loosely crucified about 75 paces from where Kalin and Darryl were standing.

“It’s very simple,” explained Kalin, raising his longbow, “pull back the string, look down the shaft, keep your bow arm steady, and…” with a distinct hiss through the air, Kalin’s arrow was a blur in the breeze as it thudded into the chest of one of the scarecrows.

“Well done!” exclaimed Darryl. “Now I shall try.” Making sure he copied Kalin’s stance exactly (if nothing else, Darryl has definitely learned the importance of stance over the past few days), he raised the longbow and pulled back the string. Shutting an eye, Darryl zeroed in on the scarecrow, looking down the shaft, and… Zipp!

“OW!”

Kalin stared blankly down the courtyard as he saw the arrow travel a rickety course through the air, flying between both scarecrows before it came to rest on the green grass.

Darryl threw down the longbow, clutching his left forearm in pain. “OW!” he repeated.

Kalin slowly turned to face Darryl. He knew what he did wrong, even though he hadn’t watched Darryl aim. “You didn’t keep your bow arm steady.”

“I kept it steady!” objected Darryl. “The arrow wasn’t moving at all!”

“Your bow arm. The one that holds the bow.”

“Well, why didn’t you bloody tell me that in the first place?”

Kalin sighed again (he’d done much sighing the past few days) then said, eyes closed, “that’s enough for today.”

* * * * *

And so the weeks went on, lesson by lesson, failure by failure. Kalin, in his long years of adventuring, had never seen such a talentless, clumsy character as Darryl. He had managed to pull his wrist during the dagger-throwing lesson, bruise his rump on the riding lesson, and Kalin was absolutely amazed Darryl wasn’t dead after the acrobatics lesson, either from his clumsiness or Kalin’s desire to kill him.

Now the two of them sat in the dining room of Northwood Castle, at one end of the long, ornately crafted table. Kalin had five drawings in his hand. Darryl sat next to Kalin, his eyes shut in concentration.

“Ready?” Kalin asked.

“I’ve never been very good at this memory work,” said Darryl, “but yes, I do believe I am ready.” Kalin held up the first picture. It was an orange-colored, pig-nosed beast, a battle-axe in its hands.

“Goblin.” Darryl said uneasily.

Kalin held up the second picture. Here was a green-skinned, short monster. His eyes were round and beady, and he held up a sharp, crude dagger menacingly.

“Orc.” Replied Darryl.

Then the third picture: A giant abomination, a huge club in its hands, his eyes little more than slits as he seemed to be looking right at Darryl.

“Troll.”

The fourth picture was a thin, unhealthy looking creature. Its hair stuck out its head like weeds in a garden, its long, pink tongue licking equally long, equally disturbing-looking claws at the ends of its hands.

“Ogre.”

And finally, the fifth: a massive, lizard-like creature, with wings. Fire spewed forth from its mouth. Darryl paused. The concentration was visible on his face: his long eyebrows slanted downward, his narrow chin moved slowly back and forth. Kalin stood silent.

After what seemed like an eternity of thought, Darryl finally responded, “Cockatrice.”

Frustration mounting, Kalin threw his pictures onto the table, then spread them out. “You got them all wrong,” he said quickly, “THIS is an orc, THIS is a goblin, THIS is the troll, THERE’S an ogre, and THIS…is a dragon! Even children know THAT is a dragon!”

“Well, I am not a child!” exclaimed Darryl.

“You had me fooled,” growled Kalin.

Anger flushed Darryl’s cheeks. “You are supposed to teach me how to be a hero! You said you could teach anyone!”

“I thought I could. I guess there’s always an exception to the rule. If you want your money back…” Kalin grimaced, “I’ll give it to you. Just go back to your manor and be a noblemen. Let me slay the dragons. You can just pay me for it.”

Darryl stamped his foot on the stone floor, flaming eyes staring straight into Kalin. Without saying another word, he ran out of the dining room. Kalin sighed deeply, and sunk down into his chair.

* * * * *

Another evening, another sunset. Kalin stepped onto the parapet, and saw Darryl there. He sat on one of the ramparts, his green eyes glowing emeralds in the setting sun as it slowly sunk behind the distant Nevermoor Hills in the west. His bowl-shaped brown hair blew gently in the evening breeze.

Kalin approached the nobleman, the flapping of his cape in the air announcing his approach. “I’m…I’m sorry,” said Kalin, flatly. “I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

“Of course you did,” Darryl said, his voice soft and devoid of emotion. “I can’t swordfight. I can’t shoot a bow. I can’t do acrobatics. I am not a hero. I never should’ve even tried.”

Kalin was trying to think of the right thing to say, as he sat down on the rampart next to Darryl, staring at the sunset. “Those things, they aren’t all there is to being a hero, you know. There are other, more important, aspects.”

“Like what?” Darryl said, disbelief in his voice.

“Well…” Kalin’s head bobbed slightly in thought, “there’s…” Darryl waited.

Kalin’s head continued to bob, then he looked at Darryl. “You know, Darryl, you never did tell me why you wanted to become a hero.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve got money, you’ve got servants, you’ve got a big home, what could you possibly stand to gain from getting into this dangerous line of work?”

There was a brief pause, then Darryl said, more to himself than to Kalin, “Her name is Shannon.”

Kalin cringed. Oh, he said to himself. There’s always that.

“She’s…” Darryl himself cringed, “a commoner, a peasant girl. I stand to gain everything House EightWinds has once my father, Thorin EightWinds, passes on, but I have fallen hopelessly in love with a peasant girl.”

Kalin shook his head slowly, sadly, from left to right.

“I love her, dearly,” said Darryl, “but of course, father…the rest of the EightWinds family, for that matter…they do not approve. Ever since I met Shannon, two years ago, they have tried to put the world between us.”

Kalin rolled his eyes.

“But now they’ve gone too far!” said Darryl, his voice raising in anger. “They allegedly caught her stealing gold from one of the tax collectors. I know it to be false, but my father’s word is never questioned.” Darryl, his eyes now pleading, turned to face Kalin. “My family is going to hang Shannon! I am the only one who can save her!”

“I see,” said Kalin. “That is why you needed me to train you in a month’s time. Because she’s going to be executed—“

“In a month’s time,” Darryl finished. “That was when I found your ad.”

“Well, if that’s true…“

“She will be hanged in a week!” finished Darryl, again.

Kalin shook his head and rose from the rampart. “Why didn’t you tell me this when you first spoke to me? I would’ve—“

“Would’ve what?” asked Darryl as he rose from the rampart to face Kalin. “Offered your services to save her? And it only would’ve cost me how much?”

Kalin’s eyes darkened. “You think I would’ve charged you for my help?”

Darryl’s head cocked at an angle, his eyes boring accusingly into Kalin’s.

Kalin sighed in defeat, “Alright, maybe I would have! But isn’t that better than running into danger yourself? Getting shunned by your family, and maybe getting yourself killed?”

“For Shannon, I would run into any danger. I am already shunned by my family for loving her, and if she is hanged, then I do not wish to live, either. I want to save her, Kalin Tarr.”

There was a brief pause, then Kalin said, “You’re going to go on with this, aren’t you?”

“What have I got to lose?”

“At least let me help!”

Darryl looked back on the setting sun. His posture hardened, and he turned back to Kalin. “You already have. I cannot and will not ask for your further assistance. I must save Shannon on my own.”

Before Kalin could say any more in retort, Darryl left the parapet. Kalin sat back down on the rampart, watching the sun cast its final rays of light over the Land before the night set in. The silence of dusk was broken by the sound of Darryl slipping off the last few rungs of the ladder, landing in a heap on the ground and cursing the ladder that was “obviously built by Cranek Jungle apes.”

He’s a dead man, Kalin thought.

* * * * *

Kalin spent the last week teaching Darryl everything he could. He went over the riding lessons again and again, drilling swordfighting techniques into him (no pun intended), and trying the best to sharpen the nobleman’s wits (the best line he could come up with in an insult contest was “your mother milks goats!”)

But eventually, the time came. Darryl said good-bye to Kalin and Pennie, paid Kalin for the lessons, and headed off…to his death, Kalin was certain…to House EightWinds, to save the woman of his dreams.

After Darryl left, Kalin watched Pennie washing a portion of the walls. He walked up to the mute boy and said sadly, “There goes a foolish, foolish man.” Pennie turned to face Kalin. He put down the rag he was washing the walls with.

Kalin slowly sank down into a sitting position, his back leaning against the wall. “Love of a woman, that’s a great cause, of course, but that’s not what heroes do!”

Pennie’s chest heaved with a sigh, then he, too, sat on the ground next to Kalin.

“Us heroes, we’re treasure hunters! We put our lives on the line to find buried treasure and magical artifacts from long ago…not to save our maidens from our fathers.” Kalin looked at Pennie, his head nodding slightly. Pennie returned the slight nod with a blank stare.

Kalin was silent for a moment. His brown eyes seemed to scan the grass beneath him. “He’s doomed, Pennie. I’ve got to save him.”

Pennie picked up a rock and threw it across the courtyard.

Kalin quickly rose to his feet, reflexively grabbed at the hilt of his sword, then looked down at Pennie. “Pennie, get Gunther ready to ride. I’m going to save Darryl EightWinds and his woman. Look over the castle while I’m gone.”

Pennie got off the ground, his soundless mouth slightly agape.

“I know, Pennie, I know, I’ll be careful.”

Pennie’s shoulders dropped. He shrugged to himself, then went to the stables.

* * * * *

Moments later, Kalin was riding his trusty steed, Gunther, at a full gallop away from Northwood Castle. “I just hope we’re not too late,” Kalin said to his horse as they raced off.

Within heartbeats, Kalin and Gunther arrived at Dunshire, the small town where House EightWinds was located. Kalin and his horse raced through the streets, peasants stopping what they were doing to see where he was going. As they raced into the Town Square, Kalin could hear a commotion, sounds of battle. Oh dear, said Kalin to himself.

He brought his horse to a sudden halt once they arrived at the Town Square. Several of the town’s guards lay on the ground, some deathly silent, others clutching themselves in pain. Several other guards were rushing towards a nearby building, where Kalin saw the nobleman himself, Darryl, perched on the building’s roof, a bow in hand. In the center of it all, a young woman was swinging from a noose, her legs kicking wildly.

As the guards started to climb the building, Darryl cocked an arrow into the bow. He pulled the string back, aimed—Kalin sucked in his breath—and fired. The arrow shot through the air, piercing the rope of the noose and dropping the woman to the ground. Kalin’s jaw dropped.

“Shannon!” screamed Darryl. Seeing the guards joining him on the roof, Darryl ran to the edge of the building, leaped, and did a marvelous flip through the air, landing on his feet. As Darryl flipped, Kalin noticed in astonished shock that he had simultaneously drawn his sword and discarded his bow.

Darryl dashed to Shannon. A guard came in quickly, swinging his blade in a deadly high arc. Darryl swiftly dropped to one knee and stabbed outward with his sword. The guard ran into the blade, expression of battle frenzy changing to an expression of pain. Darryl flung the body off his sword and continued to run.

Another guard put himself in Darryl’s path, his sword pointed straight outward, hoping to stab Darryl’s chest before he could stop his run. Without stopping, Darryl’s blade came up in a tight, narrow arc, knocking the guard’s sword aside. Reversing the momentum of the swing, Darryl swung his sword smoothly across the guard’s exposed neck. Darryl was several strides away before the dying soldier hit the ground.

Kalin had managed to dismount from Gunther, his eyes never leaving his former student, his mouth never closing. His head turned slowly from Gunther to Darryl, Gunther again, then back to Darryl, almost as if he expected the horse to tell him what he was seeing was not a dream.

Now just a few yards away from Shannon, two more guards rushed to attack the mad nobleman. Hoping to catch him off-guard, one soldier stood in front of him, sword raised to strike. The second one charged from behind Darryl, his sword ready to stab through him. They were fast, but Darryl was much faster. The nobleman swung his sword into the guard’s blade, leaned into the guard…then fired his foot behind him in a kick that would’ve made a donkey envious. It caught the other guard right on the chin, dropping him like a marionette with cut strings. Still leaning on the soldier in front of him, Darryl pushed back and spun in a circle with the grace of a dancer, his sword being the partner. The steel blade cut into the remaining guard’s thigh, dropping his now-crippled body to the ground.

Darryl reached Shannon, and slung her over his shoulder. An older man who looked much like Darryl was screaming in utter rage at every person in the area with a weapon to “Get him! Stop my traitorous son!” But before any more guards could reach him, Darryl and his peasant lover had mounted a horse and begun to gallop out of town.

His father still screaming, the guards still in disarray, the two lovers were riding straight towards Kalin. Kalin moved himself and Gunther out of the way, and waved absently to Darryl. Darryl hadn’t noticed, however. He was too busy kissing Shannon as the horse seemed to guide itself out of town.

* * * * *

Days later, another nobleman entered Northwood Castle.

“I am answering your advertisement, Kalin Tarr. I wish to become a hero,” he said.

“Is that a fact,” Kalin said. He sat on the grass in the courtyard, his back leaning against one of the stone walls. Pennie sat a short distance away from him, staring at the nobleman. Kalin didn’t look at the man before him; his gaze was on his sword, which he was sharpening. “Why do you want to be one?”

“I’m in love with a woman, a princess from the distant lands of—“