The belt chafed as the sword’s unfamiliar weight swung with his stride. Jarl reckoned he ought to have taken Old Marko’s advice to sling the thing over his back, that or he should have stolen a horse.

The trees crowded close to the rutted road. Jarl stumbled and cursed. How did a leathersmith’s apprentice end up leagues from home with a sword at his hip he probably couldn’t even swing?

He looked down at what had tripped him and gasped. …

Story Start 9: A bumpy road
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