Part 1 - The Present
Alarick was patrolling the frontiers of Maud, nervous calloused hands twitching; sharp, unkind eyes scanning the fences and limits, waiting for a threat that never came.
His stallion was huffing, trotting angrily, looking for trouble as much as he was. They made a formidable pair.
His hands were bloody from the bear he helped to hunt, but the adrenaline was still pumping in his veins, fierce believers of an invisible enemy.
The only threat to the country nowadays was the occasional ice bear and packs of giant wolves that plagued the villages closer to the mountains.
No war, no battles.
Alarick spent the last seven years making himself known as the scariest warlord to ever been born, and it paid in respect and fear from his enemies.
He didn’t need to be here to kill these animals. His soldiers could very much deal with it. He came just for fun.
Besides, he knew people liked seeing him around. It gave them the feeling of protection that he was very much glad to provide.
He shifted his attention- without moving his gaze from the horizon- to the fast trot of a horse in the distance.
He knew it was Figl without even looking, the man was always desperate on a horse, always worried for some reason.
The heavy breathing got closer and Figl tried to scream his message but choked on his own words.
The soldiers accompanying him chuckled at the screeching voice coming from the pale, clumsy guard. He chuckled too at the thought that Figl could be a Southerner.
He was mighty small for a Maudian with his six feet.
Alarick had prohibited him from fighting, but he insisted on being at least a messenger or a domestic guard.
“Xiath, ghlac sinn uhvatili smo yazini de Nord gheata tuath,” he panted. “Ach dar Levon agus Thorne pegaram eles izmedu selayi gini. Ca jyra Sud!”
(Your Highness, we’ve captured the whores in the North Gate.)
(But Levon and Thorne caught a spy between them. From the South!)
Alarick huffed like an old lion to the stressed messenger, and his warriors relaxed when he did so. If Alarick wasn’t worried, then no one else was.
He nodded from his tall black stallion and the messenger bowed and joined the end of the party, still looking wild but tamer now under his watch.
That boy needed a man, woman, someone, anyone, but he was very resistant to Thorne’s advances.
Thorne was a good captain, but Levon was a little air headed and despite being his second in command, only gave him headaches.
There were no ‘spies from the South’, he snorted to himself, only curious little wayward soldiers, sticking their noses in somebody else's business.
Alarick liked to give those Southerners to one of his men, warriors tended to like those pretty Gythaeans, and it was amusing to see them trying to escape the clutches of a Maudian.
Some of them ended up liking it, but usually it scared them so bad they either broke or ran away to spread nasty rumors about Maud.
Good. He didn’t like to look soft.
He called the small party of soldiers he’d chose to patrol with him, and headed back to the fortress.
His fortress. His castle and his frontiers. His territory.
His grandfather was the first barbarian to challenge the old tribe and create an actual empire.
Some followed willingly but it took them years to convince the rest of the old tribe to join them.
Alarick was born right in this new, different transition. With time, everyone began to notice the advantages of having a home that you couldn't carry on your back.
Twenty five years old and carrying on the old man’s legacy, being the warlord of an established territory, he realized that he liked it.
It was great to have a place to call yours, after all.
Homes that put roots on the ground and demanded you to look after.
Despite a lot of talking between his soldiers that the wild life was something to miss, Alarick found he liked looking after an immovable home.
But, a fight now and then wasn’t much to ask for. These days, he only had these petty confrontations to solve and wild animals to kill.
Getting closer to the fortress, he took a second to appreciate the building.
He had a castle, the Enrilth Castle, and it was a new acquisition, but rarely used by himself despite it being his official home.
He did like it better than the fortress, it was his father’s, but the emptiness usually left him uneasy.
Not the emptiness of the castle, but of company.
Soldiers, maids, whores… They weren’t much of a company.
It had been impossible to get his father out of the old fortress and into the Enrilth Castle, so despite the old man rarely leaving the library where the portrait of his deceased spouse hanged on, Alarick slept a lot in there.
Poor vardekka.
Before Alarick’s heart could work out an anguished beat at the sad memory, his attention was caught by a commotion on the outside.
Women screaming.
Alarick got down from his horse, fur cloak blowing with the snowy wind, and he could already see the problem ahead.
Levon was baiting them like predators circling the prey, Thorne was looking confused, and those small women weren’t native, they were outsiders.
And they were terrified.
His soldiers had put them on a line by the stone wall inside the hall of the fortress and they were hurting their little hands clutching the wall for support while his men laughed.
Alarick’s heavy boots made a loud sound on the stone floor and his beasts- three forest wolves he raised- came right behind him trying to get his attention.
He could see that Levon was in front of someone, and he gave Alarick a wicked smile.
“Ovaj ce du vam svideti, Xiath,” and he cringed inside but didn’t showed it.
(This one you’re going to like, Your Highness.)
It was probably a male whore, and Alarick just wasn’t in the mood to deal with them today or the near future for that matter. He had long been done playing but it did not deter his soldiers from trying to provide him entertainment despite his refusals.
“U redu bem, khuile aga se. Svi vi ishi deg,” he said in a bored but firm tone.
(Alright, get back. All of you.)
His soldiers immediately took a step back and Levon showed him the ‘whore’.
Alarick clenched his teeth when he realized who it was and he had to restrain himself from taking out his sword and beating Levon to a pulp.
“Dur yihi mani quem wer esses fios er. Dur ghaim ha deveria meg da pozoves,” Alarick told Levon in a drawled voice.(You don’t know who this is. You should have called me before.)The big man shivered at the bad omen.Alarick clicked his tongue at him and turned to the ‘whore’ and grabbing the trembling man by the elbows to forcefully turn him around.Severn was a tall, eighteen year old boy that was all angles, bones sticking out everywhere. Curly black hair and bluish eyes. He was one of the princes of Gytha, a country south of Maud.He looked more like the Knight than the King, more manly than other Gythaeans in his manners, but more wicked as well. They said he ran away from his family to become a whore but everybody doubts it’s the truth and that rumor didn’t last long.Soon after, he started to work for the Temple of Cyndel owned by his brother, Prince Erriene.“Xiath Alarick,” Severn said shakily in Maudinian with such a weird accent he almost didn’t grasp it. Scared blue eyes
After settling Severn and the whores in a wooden cell connected to the horses, Alarick ordered his soldiers to get them some blankets so they wouldn't freeze and went to gather some personal supplies from his own stash that he usually take on every long trip.He stopped at the library to warn his father he was leaving for some time.“Han zove uvek agus dur liga, como ele inide hulemi,” Randal said from his seated position on the big poltro.(He calls and you go, just like always.)The powerful stature and posture hadn’t left his father, though his hair was getting whiter every year, along with the sadness and despair in his black eyes. Alarick remembered this poltrone, it was his mamkka’s favorite.He shook his head from the memories, refusing to be caught in the same depression, refusing to look at the portrait on the wall beside his father.“Yimesilali asifelagi. Han neberi ha teria conhece nu ar. Dur fost iarraidh alehi,” he said, walking away from the comforting warmth of the plac
When Alarick told Thorne that he had decided to hear Erriene out about this mission, the man winced in sympathy.Thorne, who had a long hair that he kept tied and a black beard that he trims, trotted his horse along with him in the front line. He supposed his party of soldiers was too big, but you never knew with Southerners.It wasn’t as if he was showing off.Maybe he was, a little.“Det taj aquele, hein?” Thorne said, walking on thin ice.(That one, eh?)No one ever knew where the line crossed when the subject was Erriene.Alarick was confused himself.One thing was for sure, no Northerner ever wanted to speak with Prince Erriene.It wasn’t because he was rude and spoke nasty about them, no.It was because the prince could be extremely pleasant, and use that against you. Also because he could manipulate and twist your own words when he wanted something from you, and he would never tell you what it was.Any other person like that wouldn’t survive a week in Maud because they tended t
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 ar
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