Chapter 21: Gathering Strength

he road stretched endlessly before them, winding through rolling hills and dense forests. Dikun Silver led the warband, his cloak trailing behind him as his steel-gray eyes scanned the horizon. The soft crunch of dirt beneath their boots was a rhythmic reminder of the miles they had crossed since leaving Lindell.

It had been a week since the battle, and though the wounds of the past lingered, a renewed sense of purpose drove them forward.

"Captain," Revan called, riding up beside Dikun. "We're nearing the outskirts of Varnhold. A small town, but bustling. Could be a good place to gather supplies and hear what the locals are saying."

Dikun nodded. "Good. We'll stop there."

He glanced over his shoulder at the warband. Despite their battered armor and weary expressions, there was a new discipline in the way they marched. The taste of victory had ignited something within them — a sense of pride.

---

Arrival at Varnhold

The town of Varnhold was nestled along the banks of a narrow river. Wooden houses with thatched roofs stood side by side, their chimneys puffing thin trails of smoke into the sky. Merchants lined the streets, hawking their wares with boisterous calls. Children weaved between villagers, laughter ringing through the air.

But even amidst the liveliness, there was a lingering tension. Guards in mismatched leather armor patrolled the streets, their wary eyes scanning every passerby.

Dikun dismounted, handing his reins to a stablehand. The boy, no older than twelve, gave a quick nod before leading the horse away.

"Harlon," Dikun said, "keep the men sharp. No trouble."

"Aye, Captain," Harlon rumbled. "But I doubt this town has seen half the steel we've faced."

"That's why we'll keep it that way," Dikun replied, his tone firm.

---

The Tavern Meeting

The Rusty Boar was a dimly lit tavern, its thick oak beams sagging under the weight of years. The smell of roasted meat and stale ale filled the air. At the far end of the room, a bard strummed a lute, his voice lost beneath the low hum of conversation.

Dikun and Revan pushed through the heavy doors, heads turning as they entered. Most eyes lingered on Dikun's worn armor, the faint gleam of steel still visible beneath the dirt and blood. The weight of his presence was undeniable.

A burly innkeeper approached, his stained apron barely covering his gut. "Travelers?"

"Something like that," Dikun said, tossing a silver coin onto the counter. "Ale. And information."

The innkeeper's eyes flicked to the coin, then back to Dikun. "Depends on the kind of information."

"News of the eastern lords," Dikun said, lowering his voice. "And of Jorvik."

The innkeeper's face darkened. "Word travels fast. They say Jorvik's dead. Cut down in the fields of Lindell. Some think the lords will retaliate. Others…" He hesitated.

"Others?" Dikun pressed.

"Others whisper of the one who killed him. A commander with no banner — only a name."

"And that name?"

"Dikun Silver."

Revan smirked. "Well, Captain. Seems your reputation precedes you."

Dikun said nothing. He could feel the weight of those words. A name carried power — and power brought enemies.

But it also brought opportunity.

---

A Call for Soldiers

The sun dipped low as Dikun emerged from the tavern. The town square buzzed with activity, villagers gathered in clusters to exchange rumors. Yet, something stirred within Dikun. A voice. A thought.

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Then, without hesitation, he spoke.

"People of Varnhold!" His voice carried, cutting through the din. "I am Dikun Silver. Some of you may have heard my name. Some may call me a fool, a madman, or worse."

The villagers fell silent, eyes wide.

"But I tell you this — I stood at Lindell. I faced the raider lord Jorvik and struck him down. Not for gold. Not for glory. But for those who could not fight for themselves."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"The lords of Calradia see us as nothing more than tools. They take our grain, our gold, and our blood. But no longer. I offer another path."

Dikun's gaze hardened.

"Join me. Stand with the Silver's Warband. Fight not for crowns or titles, but for the freedom to live without fear. I will teach you to fight. To defend your homes. And together, we will ensure no tyrant rules unchallenged."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, one by one, men stepped forward.

"I'll join you," a grizzled farmer said, his hands calloused from years of toil. "I'm no knight, but I can swing a spear."

Another followed. Then another. Young and old. Brave and desperate.

Revan's grin was unmistakable. "Looks like we're not a ragtag band for much longer."

Dikun nodded, his heart steady. "No. We're something far more."

To be continued...