Alarick’s party arrived in the Temple of Cyndel with very low panic from the citizens.
Actually, most of them bowed for him, and even said some Maudinian words of praising. Interesting, but supposedly expected since Cyndel was joined at the hip with Maud.
The temple was a big building made to train druids and hunters, different from the ones where priests studied the old books.
Alarick saw the people gathered in front of the temple moving inside, while some of them called Erriene's name. They seemed wary but trusting all at the same.
Alarick watched a familiar figure walking from inside of the temple, and the afternoon sun lazily shone over the silver white hair.
Those violet suspicious eyes narrowed over the amount of soldiers Alarick brought along, but Erriene’s expression and slight nod said he was already expecting it.
The regal creature waited for everyone to settle with a patience Alarick didn’t had.
Erriene was always so proper, so put together. The right rings on his long aristocratic fingers, the well brushed hair, the soft skin on his pale hand that had never seen the rough end of a well worn sword but certainly knew how to yield an expensive one.
His robes weren’t plain ones either. They usually had patches of gold and silver, sewn with several symbols, some for protection, others as ornaments. They frustratingly always went over stupid breeches made of strong looking cloth, and Alarick always thought they were useless.
His high cheekbones and soft looking jaw molded a beautiful face that was gentle and trusting.
Like mages, druids were usually scrawny, but hunter types like Erriene had to climb up trees and actually trek the woods more than enough times to give him a more healthy complexion.
Older to him by two years, the Elf Prince still looked like a sixteen year old, seventeen at most.
A mix of druid, hunter and priest, he was small and slender but he wasn't weak, and had all the right curves in all the right places.
“Son of Randal.”
Alarick heard the light soft voice. He trotted his heavy horse from side to side in the green grass of Cyndel as greeting.
Erriene clenched his jaws when he looked past him and to the wooden cage that rattled as a soldier opened the bars and let the women and Severn pass through. His face showed anger but he didn’t say anything.
The women and Severn ran inside the temple and out of the Maudian's view. The air was tense and Alarick wondered if it was all of Erriene’s angry aura contained.
Erriene walked down the stairs of the temple as if protecting everything that was inside. People looked at him like he was a savior and he knew it.
Alarick had seen the way women looked at the elf prince, as if they WANTED to be in distress for a little of the Prince’s attention.
To his warriors and the Maudian people, Alarick was an uncontrollable monster.
Except he was a monster on their side and they wanted to keep it that way. He was seven feet of muscles, anger, and pride, just ticking, waiting to explode at the first opportunity and as often as he could.
To Erriene, he was a barbaric animal with no morals, no rules and imprevisible. That made Alarick want to act like a barbaric animal towards him, but he knew that would only prove his point and make no good.
Alarick knew the feeling he caused to others when he walked right up at them. He dismounted his horse, dragging along the three gigantic beasts at his heel.
Erriene may never run, but Alarick still liked the way the Prince trembled, just a little, when he walked up to him like this. He loved it.
Only for Alarick, he did that, or at least that’s what he liked to believe. Rationally, he chalked it up to his tall and bulky frame- it was intimidating, but sometimes he liked to think it was something more.
Fantasize and imagine was all he could do really, because Erriene would rather die than to wake up in his bed every day, and he knew it.
Every time he thought about it, a wave of anger went through him, accompanied by something deeper, darker, that he didn’t want to call sadness.
It was rare for him to see a thing he wanted and not to be allowed to have.
Growing up as a warlord’s son and in the care and loving arms of Aefstine, Alarick was used to getting anything he wants. Aside from having his mamkka back, this was the second time that he can’t get something that he really wants.
When he got close enough, he stared down at Erriene for some seconds, waiting for him to feel small and petty in his presence.
It never worked.
Erriene, who only reaches up to his chest, just stared right up at him with that little tilt in his lip, as if waiting for him to stop the tantrum.
“Wie vu er meg bheil dhuais?” Alarick greeted in thick Maudinian, face somber and serious, and lifted an eyebrow feigning disgust.
(Where is my prize?)
The soldier’s eyes beside them widened in apprehension.
Erriene smiled, but not in a nice way.
Never in a nice way for the Maudians.
Erriene parted his heavy robe to the side and drew out a sword that was tucked in his belt. Alarick saw the heavy silver glinting in the sun, the warm energy coming from it, and came forward.
“I’d say it’s good to see you again, but I don’t lie,” Erriene said in that soft but firm voice of his that always made Alarick’s crotch give a twitch.
Kill him, a mocking voice said in his head, He disrespected you.
He took the sword and dragged his finger on the carvings. It was Maudinian.
‘Dir ylemi er zi nie rata cogadh anns treubh.’
(There is no war in the tribe.)
A quote from a frost giant’s legend, about a great frost giant warlord and his weaknesses, his people, his family and his enemies. There was one special sword for each one of them.
Alarick was impressed by the thoughtful gift, it looked just like the ones in the old drawings.
He showed his gratefulness by getting the letter from his belt then throwing it at Erriene’s feet.
With a flick of Erriene’s fingers, the wind slowly went by and the paper went fluttering in submission into his open hand.
Alarick didn't let his amazement show.
Look bored, he told himself.
“Is that a no?” Erriene pouted, folding the letter in his hands and hiding it somewhere in his robes.
Alarick was distracted by the little patch of skin that showed over his hips for a while. He frowned trying to recall the conversation.
“It depends on what you have to offer, and what is it that you seek,” he said at last, noticing the resignation in his voice and hating it.
Erriene smiled and turned to the temple.
“Follow me, Warlord. We will discuss this inside where it is warmer.”
The words sent a shiver in his spine, but he quickly reminded himself who he was talking to, and focused on looking bored.
“It’s Xiath, and
you know it. And what about them?” Alarick said, not moving from his spot and jerking his head towards his warriors.Erriene turned.
“Your soldiers are welcome to enter. There is food that we hunted and prepared for them. Ali karade darte ca se fhein,” Erriene said in both Gythanean and Maudinian.
(But make sure they behave.)
The mixing of the languages didn’t confuse Alarick anymore as it once did. His mamkka made sure that he was well versed in both languages.
Alarick let out a grunt and told his soldiers to follow.
They entered through the temple and Alarick noted that a lot of people from Gytha were laying around, completely at ease.Something else he noted was that almost all of them had bruises and wounds all over, some still in bandages- still healing.Erriene showed the dinner spread around in low tables by the floor to the soldiers and Alarick’s mouth watered at the sight of food.They ate in the travel, alright; they were good hunters. But it was something else when it was done with vegetables, herbs and whatever it was that Erriene and the others put in the food to make it smell like that.“Don’t worry. You are free to eat now if you want to, but I saved some for you,” the Prince said, an urgent tone in his voice. “I wish we could talk first, if you don’t mind.”Alarick looked at him. “I don’t mind. Let’s get this over with.”The temple was a very solid construction made of wood and rock, and the floors were clean as if they spent the whole day mopping it. It was dirtier now with the so
Alarick nodded slowly while Erriene trembled and tried to gather a little of his dignity. A troll invasion was more like a plague taking over than anything else. They were dumb, ugly,hairy creatures that moved around forests, and when they grouped together, usually to the command of a big leader, they went to the bigger cities to find food. That could be anything from bread to vegetables and meat. The more crazy ones would even eat humans, but it wasn’t their preference. Trolls could take over an entire country given the time and the right luck. They reproduced fast and the younger ones were ready to fight pretty quickly. It was unlucky that they caught the little villages because they couldn’t defend themselves. A city would handle it better. If the invasion of the land wasn’t contained fast, they would leak to other places and then it would be impossible to track them all. On the other hand, Alarick thought troll
Two YearsAgo… Alarick found a nymph on his garden. Or so he thought, at first glance. It had been a tough afternoon; his father hadn’t joined them at yet another hunt for a couple of ogres trespassing the forest ever since his mamkkadisappeared a couple months back. He was angry at the world and depressed. They both were. But instead of locking himself in one of the rooms in the fortress like his father, he was out there, raising his sword and killing everything in his way. They may be father and son and share the same blood, but right now, the both of them have different ways in coping up with the devastating loss. His clothes were damp, there was mud in them, and he’d been circling around the fortress trying to find anything he could show his wrath toso it wasn’t too far off to saythatstumbling acros
Back to the present… “Clay-brained orc,” Errienemurmured to the empty room. He closed his eyes and breathed one more time. Alarick’s scent was still in the room, making his head spin. A leathery smell, mixed with an animalistic scent. It had something to do with his confidence. Alarick had a presence that often muddled his string of thoughts. His figure much reminded him of Fourthly, the ogre that worked in the well who had a thick neck and broad shoulders like a bull. Alarick was built like a strong bull, but way taller than Fourthly. A giant. A young, reckless and inconsequential giant bull. It unnerved Erriene how tall he was, how strong he was, how he treated him like he owned him. Alarick wasn’t ugly exactly. Far from it actually. It shouldn’t matter to him but one may argue his strong jaw and straight nose were attractive, if one was slightly drunk. Or so he wan
Erriene stood in front of Alarick, hands firmly clasped behind his back as his soldiers stood outside ready to leave.“Is it done?” Alarick asked, watching the blue magic that surrounded them minutes ago disappearing.The words were a little tricky to say, unknown to him, and the thrill he felt at his guts when the magic circled him and Erriene was overwhelming, in a good way.Erriene had handed him the contract and he had dropped a little of blood on it, and it was a little unusual with land binding contracts. But he would send it to Maud, and it would be protected.“Yes, yes,” Erriene said with impatience. “Now tell me, why are there soldiers all over the temple?”Alarick had spent the last two days sending letters to Maud to let his father know of his plans, and waiting for a good amount of soldiers to travel to the Temple of Cyndel. He had sent some men around to find the trolls’ positions
Two days later, Alarick found himself riding his horse in a forgotten part of Kalise- the poor, unkind part of the land.It was said that Kalise was a holy ground, where supposed gods have been killed and born, but despite being pleasantly warm most of the year, it’s soil wasn’t good for growing.Thorne was making suggestions though, about some places that could be salvaged.Alarick circled the camp one more time. He had groups of men protecting the abandoned villages after making themselves the plague against trolls and killing anything they found in their way, and they were making camp after the archers took care of a large batch by the forest most of the trolls were coming from.It would take some time, letting the trolls regroup and then following the trails, but Alarick felt calm.Fighting in Kalise feels like protecting Erriene, and wherever Erriene was at, that was Alarick’s territory.Those were the th
It was done.And it was as easy as Alarick thought it would be. They had gathered their things first thing in the morning, and up on their horses as they were going back to the temple.The trolls were not all dead, but what was left of them could be dealt with by the men he assigned to take care of them, in different places.They were building posts, and there was a constant stream of food being delivered by his hunters to those posts.It would take some time to build a good watch, good fences and traps around Kalise, but the land wasn’t huge by any means, and they were all pretty used to the old routine they made in the villages of Maud.The villages were being reconstructed. Soon, the families that took refuge in the Temple of Cyndel would be going back to their homes.Alarick had fulfilled his promise. It was time to go back to Maud.Time to let Erriene go again, but not before collecting one more promise from t
One year ago…Alarick paced back and forth in his garden, raving mad.Randal watched his son with sorrow in his eyes. Alarick had never been denied of things before. Being the son of a warlord, and being a warlord himself, everything and anything that he wants was given to him with open palms.Rejection was something his son knew nothing about.Watching this for the first time without Aefstine by his side was frustrating.“Do you really want to declare a war? For a man?” Randal said, already knowing the answer.“Yes. Yes, I do,” Alarick said, but in his eyes, they both could see him accepting defeat. “But I don’t think I can handle to see him hating me more than he does now.”He let his sword fall to the floor and took off both his gloves, crumpling it in his hand.“What’s yours is yours, Alarick,” his father said, eyes distant. &l