Gather round, little ones. I have a story for you. I will tell you of a warrior from long ago. She was Bardur by birth, but she is the reason that the Hoodrick exist today. Indeed, she may be the strongest warrior Bardur has ever seen, for true strength is not in the body but in the mind.
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In the south of Barduria, just where the harsh tundra and baerion-filled taiga give way to colorful forests, sweet berries, and hooxe roaming the open plains, there was a small city called Rogu—“the edge.” The citizens of Rogu, though few in number, lived peaceful and fulfilling lives: they had the bounty of the autumn forests at their fingertips, and the nearest other Bardur city was nearly a turn’s journey away. This quiet lifestyle suited them well and drew little attention from anyone outside.
Halfway across Barduria lay the city of Jølark, where the winds are harsh and the streets are harsher. Sheltered from both on the outskirts of the city lived two friends. Akkorgh was a skilled archer, not such a hero as to be a household name but versed in combat and worldly in the cruel way that war provides. Much of his life had been spent on the battlefield, and he had come to Jølark in his retirement. He had reunited there with Tabuga, who had studied mysticism and the philosophy of fate and now fancied themself a fortune-teller. Many thought they had gone mad, and some even shamed them for forsaking the dice as the only true view into the future, but Akkorgh knew it was all real: Tabuga’s visions came to pass, and their dreams came true. So when, lost in their usual trance, they spoke a prophecy that mentioned him, he resigned himself to a future that only Tabuga would know.
A child comes into the world on the edge
To learn from Akkorgh and his wisdom
When he dies she will rise over conquered heads
And herald the birth of a kingdom
So it was that, a few turns later, two travellers arrived in Rogu. Akkorgh felt ill at ease in such a place, but his worry was assuaged by the hospitality of the townsfolk, for whom visitors were a rare occurrence, and by the knowledge that Tabuga had brought him here for a reason. Tabuga, for their part, adapted quickly to the town, as seemed to be their nature, though the people of Rogu cared little for their constant riddles and even less for their supposed prophecies. They had shared only their interpretation of the first half and had been largely ignored, but a few turns later an egg hatched, and the baby was named Lintoll—“the one who was already known.”
Lintoll knew the meaning of her name and quickly came to understand why it had been applied. But she seemed to be a quite unremarkable child, and neither she nor anyone else in Rogu could figure out why she had been the subject of a prophecy, let alone one so strong that it had been seen before she was even born. Tabuga, in all their wisdom, wasn’t telling. As Lintoll grew, she learned the ways of the town: she saw how food was hunted, gathered, and prepared; she saw how tools were fashioned and buildings were built; and she heard the stories that the townsfolk told, and she told some of her own. In this, she looked up to Akkorgh and Tabuga as mentors. The archer had no shortage of stories to tell, some of them so foreign to her that they might as well have been made up. She admired his candor in telling these stories, even when others said they were not fit for children’s ears, and she could see his heroism behind the cover of humility. As for Tabuga, she was sure their stories were made up (though they would never say it), and they never shied away from poking holes in her own. But she respected that they were working with a grand plan and carefully watching how it unfolded. She knew there was something they were not saying—would not say, no matter how much she or anyone else pestered them—and knew just as well that they would say it if they thought it wise to do so.
One day, Akkorgh was telling a story of his early days in the military when he was interrupted by the arrival of a small group of officers of the Jarl. They announced that the dice had chosen Ertof, the town’s best carpenter, to join the Bardur army. Lintoll knew that this was how the entire Bardur tribe operated, and a pronouncement like this might come every day in a big city, but it was the first time she had seen it here in Rogu. Something about it didn’t quite sit right with her. Ertof was strong and capable, and she had no doubt that they would do well as a soldier, but they were a carpenter. Why not one of the hunters, who could already use weapons? or a messenger, who could already ride a baerion? There were plenty of alternatives who had more useful skills and, frankly, were less important to the town. But they could not refuse the power of the Jarl, and Ertof left the same day, the town’s farewells and well wishes following them on the road. Akkorgh and Tabuga watched them all the way to the edge of the forest.
The day passed, and its memory faded. Lintoll continued to grow, watched over by Tabuga and Akkorgh. As much as she enjoyed story-telling, she realized it was not her calling. Her mind was sharp, but her tongue was sharper, so she preferred the thrill of hunting, alone, devoting all her willpower to tracking and chasing the baer and hooxe among the spruce and maples. She learned from the town’s other hunters and became proficient with the club and the spear—but she especially excelled with the bow. She devoted herself to archery, spending as much time as she could on target practice. She would watch the artisans as they crafted bows and arrows, and, even after so much time, she could sometimes feel the hole that Ertof’s departure had left. As her skill developed, she gained attention from the townspeople: she consistently brought back more food in a day than most of the other hunters, and she was still the youngest. She also gained the attention of Akkorgh, who thought he might know why he, now approaching old age, had been brought to Rogu.
He was telling stories of when he was first learning archery. He had not learned by hunting, the way Lintoll was, because that was impossible in a city, but his stories nonetheless piqued her interest. When others had bored of him and only Lintoll was left, Akkorgh made her an offer: he would train her in archery, not just for hunting as she was learning but also for combat. He saw that, with the right teacher, her skill could be honed to make her one of the best archers Bardur had ever seen. Hearing this, she finally realized what connected her to Akkorgh in the prophecy, and she knew that she had to take his offer.
Akkorgh may not have been a perfect teacher, and Lintoll was far from a perfect student, but she flourished under his guidance. He pushed her to become faster and stronger, to sharpen her senses and connect to her own body and the body of her target. She often complained and talked back whenever there was something she did not like, but her dedication to improve herself won out unless she was in a particularly sour mood. The results of her training were quickly apparent: she could do more in a day of hunting than any other hunter in Rogu, by a growing margin, and when she went out with Akkorgh it was as if they were a party of three. Before long, she could beat her teacher in any contest with a bow, and the competitive instinct that drove her to improve started to fade. But Lintoll kept pushing herself, never satisfied with her skill when she knew that something better was attainable. She also started “training” with Tabuga to strengthen her mind alongside her body, cultivating her focus in pursuit of a meditative flow state that Akkorgh’s combat training would never allow him to achieve.
Then disaster struck, and everything changed.
It was a regular day by all appearances. Lintoll was sitting in Tabuga’s house, working on mental exercises, while Akkorgh was setting up the target practice they had been training for almost a moon. The other townsfolk were all engaged in their normal busywork. They were interrupted by the arrival of officers of the Jarl. When the town had gathered, they made their announcement:
“The dice have chosen Tabuga to serve in the Bardur army. They will leave with us today.”
“No!” Lintoll surprised herself with her outburst, but she could not bear to see them leave, knowing they would almost certainly die in combat. This was not the fate the sage deserved, whatever the dice said.
One of the officers—the leader of the group, Lintoll guessed—stepped forward and sneered at her. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I won’t let you take them. If you want someone to fight for you, take someone who can actually fight. I’ll go in Tabuga’s place.”
The officer stared at her for a moment, then laughed. He kept laughing for a long time, while everyone gathered watched him. When he finally spoke, it was almost to himself. “What a silly idea.” He moved toward Tabuga and gestured for one of the other officers to join him.
But Lintoll was faster. She stepped in front of Tabuga and said, “I said, I’ll go. Whatever you want to do with them, I volunteer to do instead. And I’m pretty handy with a bow, so I’d bet you’d rather see my arrows in your enemies’ backs than your own.”
That elicited gasps from the gathered townspeople and looks of horror from the officers. Akkorgh frowned. But the leader was smiling.
“You think you’re a good shot, huh? Prove it then.” He produced an øgelfuss berry from a pocket and placed it on Tabuga’s head. “Shoot that from fifteen paces, and you’ll have convinced me: they stay here, and you come with us.” He crossed the crowd to stand next to Akkorgh. “But if you miss, this one dies too.” He pulled his sword out of his belt and pressed it to Akkorgh’s neck. Lintoll thought she saw a bit of blood where it bit his skin.
There was only one way to do this. Lintoll took her bow and an arrow from where Akkorgh had left them and counted fifteen paces away from Tabuga. The crowd gave them a wide berth. Tabuga and Akkorgh were each frozen to the spot, and the officer was watching her expectantly. She nocked the arrow and took aim just above Tabuga’s head.
Suddenly, she turned and fired, finding her target perfectly: the arrow lodged in the officer’s neck, knocking his head backwards. But either he was prepared for Lintoll’s feint or he had incredible reaction time because, at the same time, his sword sliced Akkorgh’s neck, and their two bodies fell back together.
Lintoll saw this but pushed aside her reaction, knowing that she had a more pressing matter to respond to. As the crowd devolved into chaos, she nocked another arrow and levelled it toward the other officers, shouting, “Get out or you’re next!” They quickly mounted and rode for the forest, though she did not know how far they would go. All she knew was that the longer she stayed in this town, the longer they would have to regroup their forces and come after her—and maybe Tabuga as well. She would have to leave tonight.
She tried to push that from her mind as she turned back to the two dead bodies, now surrounded by the crowd. They made way for Lintoll to kneel beside her teacher and watch the last life fade from his severed head. The last light in his eyes might have been for pride. The officer’s face was frozen in an expression of abject terror. Lintoll stayed there for a while, head hung, before slowly lifting herself and dragging herself back to her house. Someone would have to deal with the bodies, but she had more urgent objectives.
As quickly as she could, she packed some supplies into a couple saddle-bags. She negotiated with the stable-worker to take one of the riding baerions, knowing that she could never return it. Then she went to Tabuga to discuss her plan, but when she entered they spoke before she could say anything.
“I never told you the whole prophecy.”
Lintoll stopped short, confused.
“In fact, I never told anyone,” Tabuga continued. “The only one who knew was Akkorgh because he heard me say it when I first received it. Even then, I think he only knew the words, but not the full meaning.” They paused, as if trying to remember something. “The first two lines you basically know: A child comes into the world on the edge / to learn from Akkorgh and his wisdom. ‘The edge,’ of course, is Rogu, which is how I knew to come here and why I had to drag Akkorgh with me. But there were two more lines: When he dies she will rise over conquered heads / and herald the birth of a kingdom. Even when I received this prophecy, the third line was a bit cloudy to me, but I think I understand it now. His death today was part of the prophecy; there’s nothing you could have done about it.” Lintoll supposed they were trying to make her feel better, but when guilt and regret had been eating at her for half the day—even if she remained convinced that she had made the right decision—it was little help. “The conquered heads are both the officer’s and Akkorgh’s. Be proud of what you did today, and be proud of everything you’ve done over the last few turns to push yourself to the limits. We both know what you want, and now we both know you are foretold to succeed. I will support you today if I can, but I cannot leave with you.”
Lintoll was overcome with emotion. Shakily, she said, “I know. Thank you.” When she had gotten herself under control a bit, she added, “I don’t know if I will ever truly understand how much you’ve done for me, and I will never be able to express it back to you. But thank you for sharing the prophecy with me. It will not be forgotten.”
Tabuga looked at her for a long time then said, “Whatever that last line means, you have to do it. May the dice land in your favor.” They could not help smiling at each other, just briefly, then Tabuga left Lintoll alone. Slowly, she mentally prepared herself for the journey ahead, and she stood and left.
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Lintoll travelled across Barduria to find those who would stand with her—those who refused to live in a land ruled by chance any longer and had the courage to stand up to the ones who perpetuated that rule—and return with them past Rogu, past the edge, to form a new government. As we know, this did not go over peacefully, and Lintoll did not live to see the creation of the tribe that she fought so hard for. But, as she promised, we remember her prophecy, and we remember her for her strength of mind that enabled her to fulfill it. As the poet writes:
Keep your eye clear and keen like a falcon on the wing
Keep your heart strong and steady like your hand upon the string
Never bow to a tyrant while your people are laid low
For the highest head may fall to the man who wields a bow
Credit to “William Tell” by Ken Theriot for the final poem and the inspiration for this entire story.