The sky was clear that day, not a cloud to mar the blue perfection as far into the horizon as one could see. The town beneath that magnificent sky was far less majestic. Once a bustling town of well-kept huts, sturdy piers, and beautiful boats that were as pleasing to look at as they were sea-worthy, the place had become a ghost haunting the shore. The few huts which had survived the fires were nothing more than gutted, crumbling shells. Most of the one-hundred or so surviving townsfolk who weren’t dragged away by the monsters from across the Great Sea for nefarious purposes were grimy with soot and chained together, tasked with cleaning the remaining fish they had left to feed the invaders.

Only five trogmortem remained with the captives in the city. All of them were beastly, nasty, and cruel. Their green eyes glowed when the light hit them just right, not like creamy jade or a sparkling emerald, but something ominous, the kind of eyes that startle you out of slumber while trapped within a night terror. They had rough, reddish skin that almost looked like hardened scales. Their builds were thin with wiry muscles, but they were still as wide across as two stout men, and more than twice as tall. Their bent postures kept their stony fists just off the dirt as they lumbered around threatening any of their prisoners who slowed even the slightest in their work with long, blackened claws and sharp fangs wet with saliva.

The biggest of them, Nalzin-Lo carried a massive whip with small metal shards fastened about its end. They jingled as he shook the thing and whistled loud when he cracked it. He was the first to notice the deep gray clouds forming atop the hill above the small fishing village. It was like a ball with rough edges swirling and expanding. Blue lightning arced within and around it occasionally striking out in zig zag patterns ten to twenty feet long.

“What do you make of that?” he yelled back to his kin.

“Strange looking storm right there on the ground,” one answered back.

“Maybe the gods,” another added. “Should we kneel.”

“You saw the great tiger when he came to call on Ott in the great waste,” Nalzin-Lo grunted back. “He didn’t arrive riding lightning or floating in clouds. He was just there. No. Form up on me. If anything steps out of that mess, we’ll rip it to shreds.”

The swirling mass of clouds grew larger until it was a full fifty feet in diameter. Flashes of lightning came faster as the bolts traveled further and further out from the thing. Finally, a bolt arced out and blasted the trogmortem standing next to Nalzin-Lo. It blew a hole right through the nasty beast’s chest and tossed him twenty feet through the air. The crack of thunder that accompanied the strike shook the ground and toppled the other four beasts right to the ashy sand.

“Stay down,” Nalzin-Lo,” shouted at his group.

Fear danced about the prostrate group as they watched the growing mass in horror. The lightning subsided slightly as the swirling clouds gained depth. Before long, it looked like a corridor expanding before them at the top of the hill, rather than a cloud growing just above the ground. When Hagen stepped out of the swirling tunnel, removed his hood, and shook out his healthy mane of light brown hair, those luxurious waves fell around a fresh face that could not have seen more than twenty-five summers.

Nalzin-Lo jumped to his feet, looked around at his brethren, and laughed, “He is a child.” Then he looked back up at Hagen and commanded, “Best go back where you belong. There is nothing for you here.”

“On the contrary,” Hagen smiled flashing teeth as white as fresh snow, “I have come for those people you’ve been terrorizing, and I aim to see them free from beneath your heel. Leave now, and our quarrel can wait. Remain, and I crack the ground beneath your feet, burn you with lightning, and bury you beneath the waves where the fishes can pick your bones clean of your rotten flesh.”

The threat only made the mighty trogmortem laugh harder. He nudged the warrior next to him and said, “We haven’t the time for this. Kill the fool.”

The grim trogmortem soldier heeded the command. He charged up the hill toward Hagen with murder in his eyes and a menacing war cry pouring forth from his lips.

Hagen didn’t budge. His smile just widened as he raised his arms out to his sides and shouted in a voice as beautiful and terrible as a god’s, “BARAQU!”

As soon as the command left Hagen’s lips, three bolts of lightning from three different flashes in the sky all converged on the charging trogmortem. Thunder shook the ground as the massive beast exploded in a sloppy cloud of blood, meat, bone, and entrails.

He smiled at the remaining trogmortem and bellowed, “I warned you. I gave you ample time to free yourself from my vengeful gaze, and you have spat upon that gift. RIMANIS IM!”

Wind suddenly swirled around the three remaining trogmortem. Nalzin-Lo’s eyes were wide with terror when his head slammed into one of his soldier’s knees. Then something smashed into his elbow. He couldn’t tell if it was a head, a foot, an elbow, or something else. The vicious wind spun so strong it dragged dirt up from the ground to color itself dingy brown as it stretched up into the sky, a hundred-foot whirlwind spinning faster and faster. Nalzin-Lo was nearly unconscious when the sensation of falling upward finally ceased. He just spun there, bouncing off his brothers, helpless and out of control.

“NAHU!” Hagen commanded.

The swirling wind immediately ceased, and the three trogmortem fell one-hundred feet to crash upon the merciless ground, smashing into bruised puddles of blood and vomit. Once the sound of rushing wind, bodies thudding dully against grassy sand, beasts crying and groaning, and bones cracking from the force of falling from great heights had ceased, Hagen turned his attention to the terrified townsfolk.

The grim menace that had twisted up Hagen’s recently young face as he battered monsters with the elements smoothed into a friendly smile as he spread his arms wide and approached the chained and huddled mob. The sounds of dull sobs and heavy, chain links clinking and squeaking against one another as the frightened group hugged each other huddling as closely together as possible in fear of the next attack made it difficult for him to maintain the calm demeanor. If it were in his power, he would kill those monsters again and again. Thoughts like that were dangerous, but their crimes against his people had been great.

Thoughts of punishment suddenly swirled about in his mind. They were foreign. Much had changed in the past few hours—forgotten ideas and power well beyond any elixir he could concoct—but the idea of punishment wasn’t one of them. It was new, fresh. He’d always been a man with a mind for learning and nurturing. Even the idea of using his remembered power to free his people wasn’t born from a longing for revenge. After witnessing how cruel the beasts from across the Great Sea had been, and how callously they had treated his people, it was difficult not to embrace ideas like punishment and revenge.

The welcoming smile he had forced onto his face remained as he spoke soothingly, “Good people of Castrine, you have survived terrors no man should ever have to endure. You have lost many you love, your homes, your glorious ships, and even your way of life. You have spent your lives loving the Great Sea, showered in its glorious bounty, and now fear what comes out of it. There is much of that I cannot change. There is no power great enough to pull someone back from the Lake once that journey has been made, and the only thing that can heal this new fear is time. Havenstahl has failed you. I have failed you.”

“Ye ain’t failed nothing,” a grimy, old woman popped her head up from the huddled mass. Her voice was rough with age, but strong. Her eyes, though gray from cataracts and partially obscured by messy, gray hair, sparkled with hope as she continued, “Them monsters did what they did. Ain’t nothing can be done for what’s been done. But what of us who remain. What do we do now?”

“SIKKURU PETU,” Hagen boomed in response. Instantly, each cuff fastened to each wrist in the huddled mass popped open, and the chains binding the group clanged to the ground. Then he turned toward the hill behind him and shouted, “NGIR DU!”

The group of newly homeless refugees had just begun rising to their feet when bright flashes of blue lightning arced across the sky atop the hill. The crack of thunder that immediately followed drove them all back to the ground, prostrate and covering their heads.

“Please, good people of Castrine, you have nothing else to fear. I am here to help not harm you. In fact, I will see to it that no monsters from across the Great Sea will ever harm you again,” his voice had gained an imploring note as he approached the brave woman who had spoken and touched her gently on the shoulder.

“Look there,” he said, as he pointed toward the swirling mass of blue light that had formed atop the hill stretching into the horizon like a corridor. “You have nothing to fear. Despite the lights and clouds and sparks, that is nothing more than a doorway. You will walk through and find yourselves in the courtyard at Havenstahl. Walk up to the first person you see and tell them you need help. They will know what to do.”

“How will they know?” the old woman asked. “We’ve got the look of grimy trail thieves.”

“My voice will leave your lips when you speak, and they will understand,” Hagen smiled down at her. “Now go. I promise you, once we’ve sent the monsters from across the Great Sea back to their homes, we will rebuild your village to its former glory. Your lives will return to normal.”

The group obliged Hagen’s command and trudged slowly up the hill. He watched as the able helped the injured until all had made it through. He waved his hand once the last had crossed the threshold, and the swirling mass shrunk out of existence. Then he turned his gaze south down the coast allowing the grim menace of his expression to chase his smile away.

As the two stepped into the orange, flickering glow of a blazing fire, they caught the attention of the twenty or so soldiers lounging around it. A voice among the crowd shouted, “The giant slayer lives!” The rest of the small group erupted in a cheer that brought more soldiers from other fires burning around the camp. In a few moments, hundreds of men were crowding as closely as they could to the hero that led them into battle and killed a giant.

“Don’t be crowding too close,” Doentaat hollered above the murmuring throng. “The giant slayer still be needing to heal.” Then the king of dwarves paused, collected himself, and shouted with every ounce of force his lungs could muster, “But Daritus, the killer of giants, lives!”

This sent the crowd into a wild frenzy. A cheer louder than a crack of thunder erupted from the throng of wily soldiers.

“Let them giants take note,” a voice rose above the rest.

“General Daritus fears no man, no beast, and certainly no giants,” another answered.

Still another shouted, “Long live the king.”

And yet another answered, “Yes, King Daritus.”

The buzzing and shouting continued. Congratulatory remarks filling the air as the soldiers reveled in their general’s glory.

Finally, Daritus raised his right arm and shouted, “I am no king.”

“Quiet,” Doentaat yelled. “Let the general speak.”

The murmuring slowly subsided as Daritus continued, “My friends, soldiers, comrades, I am no king. I am a man, a soldier just as all of you are. I am a man who stands tall against fear, as all of you do. I am a man who is willing to give my life for the good of Havenstahl and Alhouim and all of Ouloos.” He paused as the crowd finally grew completely silent, finally adding, “But I am only a man.”

Daritus began to pace back and forth in front of his tent as he continued, looking around the crowd into as many eyes as he could, “I am not a god. I am not special. I believe the people I represent deserve to live in a world free from the fear of being trampled, ripped apart, or even eaten by the likes of the monsters challenging our shores. But…I am just a man.”

“Just a man who kills giants,” a voice answered from the crowd that erupted again in response.

Once the crowd calmed back down, Daritus stopped pacing and continued, “Yes, I killed a giant. And not just any giant, I killed their leader. It was a general against a general, and a leader of men prevailed. I have been battered, teetered on the brink of death, and yet here I stand very much alive. What does that tell us?” He paused, glanced around the crowd, and then answered his own question, “It tells us giants are not invincible. They bleed and die just as we do. Their hides are tough, but our swords are sharp and strong.” He paused again as a murmur swept through the crowd. Finally, he added, “When the sun rises on a new day, I cannot lead you into battle, but I will be with you in spirit. Every grong you cut down, every trogmortem you slay, and every giant that falls before the might of men and dwarves will strengthen my spirit.”

A brief cheer blasted from the crowd.

“All of you, men and dwarves, you all share my desire. All of you have the strength to see your will done on the battlefield. What stands in the way of your glory? Giants, trogmortem, and grongs are horrible, nightmare creatures that trample everything and leave a path of destruction in their wake. Yes, they are terrifying. They growl and snarl and snap. They fight for no cause though. All of you standing before me, all of you fight for a cause. Do not be swayed from it or intimidated by their posturing. Think about the innocent folk who sit huddled in their homes, terrified by the monsters threatening their peace. Think about those who have fled the coming storm and challenged the dangerous trail to Druindahl, ripped from their land by fear. Think about your fallen friends who have died by your side. They are your cause. They are whom you fight for. Let those images burn into your brain, and unleash that fury on the beasts that dare challenge your might. I am just a man, and I killed a giant. Who among you will be the next to make that boast?” The volume of Daritus’s voice had slowly been rising as the words poured from his mouth. By the time the last words fired from his lips, they were carried along by the strength of an all-out shout.