“Thidrek, wait!” called Ferran hoarsely.

The warrior and the innkeeper were making their way through the forest that cloaked the mountains above Ulmer. Their labored breath misted in the air. The oaks amidst the pines were showing the flaming orange and red hues of the harvest season. Thidrek was crashing through the underbrush, his steps crackling on dead leaves and twigs.

The old warrior turned to regard Ferran with impatience, and waited reluctantly until the panting innkeeper was able to stumble up the slope and lean on a tree beside him.

The innkeeper had trailed behind Thidrek since they had set out for the portal hours earlier. The two had studied the map once more in Ferran’s chamber before donning traveling clothes, and then gathering food and waterskins for the journey from the inn’s store room. Ferran left The Shadowed Rest in the hands of his cook, and the two left at sunrise for the arduous trek into the mountains. The climb was too treacherous for horses, so they were forced to go on foot. Thidrek had set a grueling pace that Ferran could not match, and the innkeeper was unable to convince the other man to shorten his stride. Now the sun stood well overhead, and Ferran wondered if Thidrek might leave him behind on the mountainside, so great was the old warrior’s desire to reach the portal.

“We must press on,” growled Thidrek as the innkeeper shifted the pack slung over his shoulder to momentarily alleviate its weight. “I warned you not to bring so much.”

“We won’t be able to reach the portal before the sun sets,” gasped Ferran. “Remember, the map says the portal will not open at night. We will have to make camp, and continue in the morning. You saw this from the map, just as I did.”

Thidrek curled his gloved hands into fists. “There is much more daylight left to us! We can cover more ground before dark falls.”

“I am as eager as you are, Thidrek. But we must rest before facing the trial.”

Thidrek waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I have not forgotten. Fear not, we will find a place to rest for tonight before you collapse.”

The warrior led them at a slower pace as the day wore on, and the sun had slipped closer to dusk by the time they came upon a small clearing shaded by pines. They deemed it suitable and prepared their camp. When they had a fire burning, they shared a cold meal of dried meat, bread, and water. After they had eaten, Thidrek took out his sword and began to sharpen it absently with a whetstone. Ferran watched the old warrior for a time before breaking the silence.

“Do you always stare at the flames so intently?” asked the innkeeper.

Thidrek looked up from the fire. “It is a habit that has crept over me since my wanderings began.”

“What do you see there?”

“Many things,” said the old warrior quietly. “The fires of siegecraft, wizardry, and burning cities…and pyres. I see the faces of those I have killed, and can almost hear them curse me. They would surely say that I do not deserve peace.”

Ferran seemed to consider Thidrek’s words for a moment before he spoke. “While I believe the dead may envy the living, I also believe these tormentors in the fire are naught but the shadows of guilt that you have laid upon yourself. You fought your battles with honor. An enemy slain in combat with Thidrek of Narad is not one who would rest uneasily, my friend. I say take the burden from your shoulders. You need not carry it further.”

Thidrek looked out into the darkness, and Ferran saw the gleam of tears welling in the old warrior’s eyes, a sad smile on his lips.

“I thank you for trying to strengthen my resolve, friend,” Thidrek said at last as he wiped at his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. “Enough melancholy. Come, tell me of your days with the Fourth Legion!”

The moon rose to creep across the heavens as the two men talked of battles and heroes of old. After a time, they decided to consider the alfari map again.

“Is there not anything more to be gleaned from the writing?” Thidrek asked. “I do not like chasing vagaries.”

Ferran shook his head as he produced the map from a wooden scroll case. “As I told you, it is written here that, during the trial, a warrior must face the fallen and conquer his greatest foe. It says nothing more.”

“Trust the long-ears to be devious,” spat Thidrek. “I have faced many foes in my time, and would be hard pressed to name the one that was the greatest.”

“I have faith,” said Ferran, “that the trial will call for us to pay homage to the slain with solemn reflection on our deeds, and nothing more. In the end, I’d wager that we should not look for the shades of our enemies to return and challenge us.”

“And I’d wager the priest that translated that map for you didn’t know anything about ancient alfari script, and gave you a faerie tale for your coin!”

“You may be right,” Ferran laughed. “Well, this ‘faerie tale’ has led both of us to a night on cold ground instead of warm beds. That makes us both old fools. So, friend, who takes first watch?”

Thidrek, seeing the exhaustion of the day’s journey on his companion’s face, took the watch. After Ferran had gratefully retired to his sleeping furs, Thidrek turned his eyes again to the fire, his mind racing back over countless battlefields. Shaking his head, he began to sharpen his sword once more. The warrior lost track of time as he slipped into the steady rhythm of the rasp of stone on metal, his thoughts focused on this old ritual as the night deepened around him.

Story plucked from:
http://www.dndadventure.com/html/short_story/ss_warriors_reward.html