The Unlikely Hero

Eighteen-year-old Theodogan watched the one hundred Morgalian soldiers marching towards his city-state of Nelandros from the door of his farmhouse. He sweated in his sleeveless white chiton from the afternoon heat. Curious, he left his house and walked through the open green fields to follow the small army. From a distance he could see the gleam of their bronze armor breastplates, their red plumed helmets and gray spears.

On the way he passed a closed goat pasture near a farmhouse with an orange tiled roof. Many of his fellow farmers had fences to protect their flocks from wild animals. He continued following the Morgalian soldiers from a distance and picked out their features. Leading them was a giant of a man, towering over his fellow soldiers and sporting glittering golden-scale armor with a pointed golden helmet covering every part of his head but his eyes and mouth.

Theodogan neared the troops. The giant turned around for a bit, and the young man was close enough to glimpse his piercing green eyes augmented with dark eyeliner and his brown dreadlocked hair. He panted in fear and quickly hid behind a nearby stone granary.

He knew the man’s name. Bagham, his greatest dread. After all, he was the most vicious warrior not just in his own city-state of Morgalis, renowned for its warriors, but in all Gratia, the southeastern land of the continent of Cletus that Nelandros was part of.

Once the coast was clear, the farmboy continued towards the Morgalian force, which had now stopped in front of Nelandros’ wooden gate. A short limestone wall enclosed the small city. He stopped and hid behind three cypress trees near the gate.

Bagham slammed the gate with his spear.

“King Andros II! You know why I am here!” he ordered with a voice as deep as an ogre. The farmboy felt a chill down his spine.

Suddenly, the gate opened, and out stepped a man clothed in an elegant blue toga with a red cape, leather sandals and a silver circlet. He was young with a black mustache and short hair. Four other men clothed in red togas, along with two guards wearing rudimentary leather armor flanked him. They stopped in front of Bagham and his troops. Behind them, in the main road of the city, stood a crowd of men, women and some children. They all shrieked.

“Greetings, Bagham. Please give me some more time,” requested the crowned man.

“Bloody dog, have you forgotten our orders have been for the past 8 years?! Every two years you must choose a champion from your weak city to face me!” demanded the giant.

“Yes, Bagham. I understand-”

The giant shield bashed Andros in the face, and the king screamed, falling on his back.

“Then why the hell isn’t there anyone?!” yelled Bagham.

Andros raised up his hands, his head down and his mouth bloodied. “Ugh-Please! I have fighters in mind, they just need preparation! Your greatness and ferocity require it!” he pleaded.

“You Nelandrians are a bunch of weak cowards!”

Andros looked up at the giant, who stared at him wrathfully.

“But I am merciful. I give you until tomorrow to choose before I raze down your city. Do you mark my words?!”

Andros gave a salute. “I will, Bagham!” he shrieked.

Bagham turned and marched back on the road, as did his troops. Theodogan spotted a speck of red tents hugging a moderately sized hill to the south. Andros and his delegates walked the opposite way. The farmboy also headed in that direction, passing the fearful, murmuring crowd.

“We can’t stand this anymore! Nine of our nobles murdered, every time our champion loses!”

“Andros must know that no one, not even his guards, will fight! We do not want to be slaughtered like dogs! He will have to volunteer himself!”

Andros stopped cold at these words and looked down at the ground.

Theodogan passed by the king and his delegates. He planned to leave the city and join his family at his uncles’ home, miles away. However, he had been asked to buy food and water for them from the city market, and did so in a hurry, passing the city’s ashlar grey houses with red tiled roofs. He purchased a pork leg, tomatoes, apples and lettuce, keeping them all in a hazel-colored straw bag which he put in his leather backpack.

Theodogan left the city and returned to his farmhouse which he had entrusted to his friend Barbas. He stayed there for an hour then gave farewells to his friend and left.

Theodogan started hurriedly down the road and looked up at a tall green hill many miles away, filled with cypress trees. He hoped to pass by it come nightfall. Three abandoned farmhouses lay beside the road at different distances. The one closest to Theodogan to his right had its entire front collapsed. Gray rubble sat piled inside and outside the dwelling, surrounded by yellow withered grass. It had a cracked rear wall. Waking faster, the young man neared the second abandoned farmhouse to his left which had an intact roof and walls.

Theodogan caught the figure of an old man sitting under its round archway, sheltered by the protruding orange roof. He took a closer look. The bearded man had long silver hair and wore a shining gray cloak and held an ashen white staff. The man seemed unusual, perhaps a wandering pilgrim or priest. But Theodogan had no time to stop. As he passed the house, the man stood.

“Good afternoon, young man. Where are you going?” he asked.

“Nowhere,” replied Theodogan as he continued walking.

“Perhaps I could help you,” said the man.

The farmboy heard footsteps behind him, but he didn’t stop.

“Nope, sorry. No time.”

“If you knew who I am and what I offer, you wouldn’t be so quick to shun me, Theodogan!”

The young man froze and turned to the old man.

“How do you know my name?”

“I will tell you in due time, young man. But first tell me what troubles you.”

Theodogan sighed then explained his situation.

“I understand. But have you considered volunteering yourself?” asked the old man.

Theodogan’s jaw dropped.

“Me? You’re kidding, right? I tend sheep. I’m no fighter,” he said.

“You once fended off a wolf attacking your flocks,” replied the old man.

“Only my dad saved me, but not before I got hurt.”

Theodogan held out his left arm, which had a faded, curved red scar.

“Still, not many can boast of having survived attacks by wild beasts. Your talents go beyond what you dream, Theodogan. I know that you play music on your lyre honoring the gods, and that you once ran a mile to catch a stray sheep and tricked a wealthy woman into relinquishing her jewels. You possess creativity, speed and mischief. Tell me, what god is associated with those qualities?” asked the old man.

“Uhm…Fadan. But wait, you’re not telling me that…”

“Yes. You are not who you think you are, young man.”

Theodogan’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“But that’s impossible! I lost my real dad in a chariot accident when I was just a baby!” he exclaimed.

“A story made up to protect you from the responsibility and trouble facing demigods. But now you know.”

“False! I am Theodogan, real son of Tomar and adopted by Nepo from the Hercal family. Even if you were right, it wouldn’t help against Bagham.”

“Fadan always finds a way, Theodogan. Trust in him and you will be able to defeat Bagham.”

The old man extended his hand.

“You’re Fadan? No, I’m sorry, I can’t believe you. Now excuse me, I must leave,” blurted Theodogan.

He turned and ran down the road. The god sighed and entered the dwelling.

The farmboy sprinted past the last abandoned house. Panting, he collapsed in a thicket of tulips beside the road. He looked at the sun set in the direction of the large hill. After taking a drink, eating some pork and an apple, he headed on.

Theodogan approached and passed the hill in the growing darkness. He yawned in fatigue, walking to a circle of cypress trees hugging the west of the hill and laying down on a bed of grass, looking up at the stars in the night sky. A few minutes later he dozed off.

He woke up to light and Fadan standing over him. The top of his staff shone. Theodogan gasped and crawled back.

“Do not be afraid, Theodogan.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Stand and follow me. I have something for you.”

“Can’t this wait until morning?”

“Trust me.”

The young man sat up and raised his arms, yawning. He grabbed his pack, put it on, and stood. Leaving the cypress trees, he followed Fadan as he walked around the hill, into a clump of junipers. The staff’s light provided illumination. They passed it and waded through a field of shrubs. Soon they reached an oval grove of poplar trees with a stream flowing just outside it.

Fadan walked to a circle of darker grass at the grove’s centre. He tapped his staff twice on it, and it morphed into a wooden shovel and the light vanished. Fadan turned back to the farmboy.

“Now, dig here,” said the god.

“Why? Is there something buried?” Theodogan asked.

“You’ll see.”

The farmboy grabbed the shovel from Fadan and began to dig into the circle of grass. He had difficulty excavating in the dark, and only managed to dig a small hole in an hour. Tired and panting, he threw down the shovel and turned to the god, who crossed his arms.

“Well, continue. It waits for you,” he said.

“What is? How much deeper? I can barely see down there.”

“Just keep going. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

Theodogan sighed and drunk a few sips of water. He dug a bit more in the next half-hour, later catching a small glow in the dirt. With widened eyes and an open jaw, he continued faster, uncovering a thick golden bracelet shining in the dark. Theodogan smiled and immediately picked it up.

“This is a nice bracelet! Is this what I was looking for?” he asked.

“Yes. It is blessed by me and can only be picked up by my worthy son. If you wear it, you will move like the wind, and will possess unreal reflexes. You will also be able to magically manipulate reality to your advantage. Why don’t you try it? Run from here outside the grove to the other side of that creek hundreds of meters away. Don’t worry, its very shallow.”

Theodogan returned the shovel to Fadan, who morphed it back into a staff. He put the bracelet on his right hand and sprinted past two of the trees to the creek like a wind gush. His new relic served as a lamp. Before Theodogan knew it, he made it to the other side of the creek. Drenched, he laughed and threw his arms in the air. He then sped back to the god.

“This is amazing!”

He knelt before the god and clasped his hands together.

“I believe you are my father, Fadan! Forgive me for how I treated you earlier!”

Fadan put his hand on his son’s head.

“I forgive you, my son. I understand how you felt. You were upset at having to leave Nelandros and desperate to see your family. But now there is a solution. I presume you see how this bracelet will help you in your fight. You have absolutely everything you need. All you must do is trust in me.”

Theodogan stood and smiled.

“Thank you so much, dad! Now Nelandros and I have hope!”

“But there is a catch. Once the bracelet has served its purpose, you must return it here,” Fadan asserted as he raised his finger.

“I will.”

“Good. Now go home and get some rest. Also give me your backpack. I will take care of your family and shall give them the supplies you purchased.”

Theodogan took off his pack and gave it to Fadan. The god shimmered and disappeared with a burst of wind, taking the bag with him. The farmboy stood tall with a renewed confidence, although his eyes were heavy with fatigue. He sprinted out of the grove towards the road and followed it all the way back to his farmhouse, feeling the cool of the wind. After an hour he arrived at his home and slept.

That morning, Theodogan’s presence in the house surprised Barbas. However, Theodogan told his friend that he had to do something very important and hurried to the city after breakfast.

He headed to Nelandros and made his way over a tall stairway past the city square and marketplace to the king’s palace, a splendid marble building sitting on a hill. It had six columns on its front and a triangular roof. However, it also had a dull and dusty exterior, evidence of the city’s decline. Two guards stood outside the palace’s bronze squared door, and the farmboy saluted them.

“Hello guards, I am volunteering to fight against Bagham,” he said.

One of the guards laughed.

“You? You’re just an unexperienced normie. How do you expect to defeat the bane of our best warriors?” taunted the other guard.

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

“Go away. The king needs real fighters.”

Theodogan clenched his braceleted hand and closed his eyes. He disappeared for a few seconds, and the guards gasped in awe. Theodogan reappeared in the same spot.

“You’re a mysterious one, but the king is desperate and could likely use you. Follow us,” replied the guard.

The two guards opened the door and entered a long rectangular room with Theodogan.

Splendid marble carvings of men and women lined the walls, holding farming objects such as scythes, wheat and shepherd’s crooks. Marble also made up the floor while black tiles filled the ceiling. Andros sat on a stone throne on a dais at the end of the room, arguing with his nobles about finding a champion. Theodogan walked closer with the guards beside him.

“Well, conscription for a champion is the only choice. It’s that or Nelandros is screwed. End of discussion,” said Andros.

Andros stood up and turned towards a doorway behind his throne to its left. Theodogan ran forward.

“Wait! I volunteer to fight!” he yelled.

Andros turned around fast with wide eyes. He inspected Theodogan for a few seconds then spoke.

“An untrained commoner not even dressed for battle! How do you expect to defeat Gratia’s strongest warrior?”

Theodogan headed to the king and bowed.

“Most Excellent King Andros II of Nelandros, I am Theodogan, a farmboy from the Hercal family. I know that I do not look like a fighter. Indeed, I’ve never fought in battle. But let me show you my power.”

He focused on a silver cup on a small circular wooden table beside the throne. He took a deep breath and extended his braceleted hand towards it. Andros and his nobles stared at him for a couple seconds. The cup flew from the table into his hand. The king and his nobles exclaimed and later noticed the bracelet.

“Is that…Fadan’s Bracelet? The real relic? How did you come across that? Are you his son?” asked the King.

“Indeed I am.”

Theodogan returned the cup to its spot. The king sat on his throne, smiled and clapped.

“Amazing! I can see this relic’s utility. Fadan always finds a way, they say. Of course, I will allow you to duel Bagham. You are our last hope, but beware. He too has supernatural capabilities as a half-giant. One misstep could cost you your life, as it did my father. Perhaps I could lend you my armor?”

“Thank you, my King, but I have everything I need, even a weapon. I promise you I will fight hard.”

“Excellent. I wish you the blessings of the gods. Go to the amphitheatre in five hours ready for battle. I look forward to watching you, Theodogan son of Fadan.”

Five hours later, Theodogan walked to the semi-circular stone amphitheater outside the north of the city. It was relatively small and had one side completely open. There, facing the city, stood the Morgalian troops in formation. A wooden fence bounded the ring at the centre. He entered the amphitheater and saw the giant standing in the middle of the ring’s sandy ground, armored and holding his shield and spear.

He turned to look at his fellow Nelandrians up in the semicircular stone bleachers, whose cheers filled the whole area. People of all ages stood there waving their arms, wearing tunics and togas ranging from white, blue, green and red.

The king sat in a raised seat at the top of the amphitheater, with his wife Amalia and his two sentinels. He arose and ordered everyone to be silent.

“Today, we finally have a champion. Theodogan, from the Hercal family and Fadan’s son! May the gods protect him!” he announced.

The cheering started again.

“Come on, champion of Nelandros!”

Theodogan took a deep breath, reminding himself of his bracelet as he walked inside the combat ring. Bagham gazed at him murderously, laughed and smacked his shield and weapon together.

“A scrawny farmboy, coming to face me! Ha, you don’t even have a weapon! This is Nelandros’ best?! Pathetic! I swear, once I slaughter you I will feed your flesh to the wild animals!” taunted Bagham.

Theodogan frowned, unsheathed his knife and extended it, getting into a front stance.

“You come to me armored with fancy weapons and believe that this guarantees victory. But I come bearing the power of Fadan, which your equipment is no match for!”

Bagham raised his spear on his right hand, screamed and charged at Theodogan. However, he stepped to the side, and the giant stabbed only air. The audience gasped in wonder. He swung his spear around, but Theodogan jumped over it and got to Bagham’s right side. The demigod scanned his foe’s body for any open areas but had to roll to the side to dodge his spear again.

Bagham lifted his weapon again and slashed, but Theodogan blocked with his knife and stepped to the side. The people cheered as he moved.

“Go Theodogan! You can do this!”

The giant growled at the demigod.

“How is this possible? You should be dead by now, boy!” he yelled.

“I told you I’m a demigod!”

“And I am the son of a Giant! This will end soon!”

Bagham charged again at Theodogan, but he rolled again to the side, ending up near his enemy’s shield-hand. He tried to slash Bagham’s open wrist but had to move away again to avoid his shield. Theodogan ran backwards and now stood about two meters away from his opponent.

“Why won’t you die?!?!?” screamed Bagham.

Theodogan continued scanning his opponent. He sprinted forward, dodged another thrust by Bagham and tried to stab his armpit, but missed and passed by.

Theodogan turned around with a start and felt a shield bash his left arm. He gasped, stumbled and dropped his bracelet. Feeling a slash in his shoulder, he screamed while dropping his knife and falling on his back. The crowd yelled.

“Now, prepare to join my other three Nelandrian opponents in death!” taunted Bagham.

Theodogan panted uncontrollably, and his shoulder stung. He began to regret having volunteered. However, he turned to his left and glimpsed his bracelet a little more than an arm’s reach away, reminding him that he was the son of Fadan.

Bagham dropped his shield, grabbed his spear with both hands and drove it at his enemy. Theodogan managed to reach and equip his bracelet, but then the spear went through his stomach. Bagham laughed maniacally, and the crowd cried.

“Nooooo!”

“Another champion lost!”

However, no blood seeped from his stomach, and his form dissolved slowly.

“What is this magic?!?!?!” screamed Bagham.

His spear was buried in the sand, and he attempted to pull it out with much effort while grunting. He overlooked Theodogan’s reappearance a few meters beside him. The demigod stood, picked up his knife and snuck up behind the giant before he had managed to pull out his spear.

He jumped over the giant’s back and plunged his knife into the rear of his neck. Bagham yelped, dropped his weapon and fell to his knees.

Theodogan made his way to the front of his dying opponent and saw his wide eyes and his open bleeding mouth. Soon the giant slumped to the floor hard face-first. Blood trickled from his wound to the ground.

Theodogan turned to the cheering crowd, who raised their closed hands. In turn, he pointed his arms towards them. Andros stood.

“We have beaten the Morgalians!” yelled a man.

“Finally!”

“This young man is Fadan’s son! The gods are with us!”

On the other side of the stadium, the Morgalian soldiers yelled, breaking their formation.

“It cannot be! How can a mere farmboy kill our greatest warrior?!?!?”

“Only the gods could have caused this!”

The demigod walked up to the summit of the amphitheatre amid the people’s applause. Finally, when he reached the king’s chair, Andros rose and shook his hand. The king then placed his hands on the demigod’s shoulders.

“May Aluim bless you, Theodogan savior of Nelandros! Who would have thought that a farmboy would defeat our slaver?”

Theodogan bowed.

“I am honored, my King.”

Thus, Theodogan knelt in front of his king, as he later would during his knighting as the Protector of his City amid great applause and celebration in the marketplace near the palace. The common farmboy had become Nelandros’ hero.