Sons of Winter chapter 1: Playing Warrior
#1 of Sons of Winter(Novel)
Hello there my dear readers. I want to personally welcome you to my new novel called "Sons of Winter." It's still a WIP title, so it might change after I finish this novel, but until then, it sounds kind of fitting. So, what's this novel about? I jokingly call it a "hatchling raising simulator" in the sense where I plan to explore a topic that I always wanted to write about: An anthro raising a hatchling. Don't let yourselves be fooled by the innocent premise, however. There is a fair bit of struggle going in this novel, but this only serves to make the happy moments all the more meaningful.
"Sons of Winter" is a bit of an experiment on my part. It is what I call a "High creative-freedom novel commission" in which the commissioner allows me a great deal of liberty to detail the plot, as well as employ any number of OCs I deem necessary to help guide the protagonist down his fated path. So, the reason why I liked to call this a personal work is because it definitely feels like one. However, after talking with my beloved patron, he allowed me to credit him in order to give proper recognition to his OC, as well as provide an example into how these sort of novel commissions look like ^^
So, without further ado, let's get readin'!
Sons of Winter chapter 1: Playing Warrior (high creative-freedom novel commission written for Teufel: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/dragonteufel/ )
Description: In this story of war and survival we follow Aleks, a young wolf of no particular skill as he struggles to carve himself a path out of the shadow cast upon by his elder, better brothers.
Aleks belongs to Teufel: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/dragonteufel/
The other characters featured in this novel are my creation
*
"Strike the iron while it's hot." A hammer crashed down upon the ruddy sword that was starting to take shape atop a sturdy anvil. "Strike it hard. Strike it true. Strike it until the weakness drains from its body."
The words of his Master of Crafts often provided inspiration and purpose to Aleks, but today was no such day. The blacksmith's hand stopped mid-air, and a heavy sigh left his throat. The crumpled pieces of metal he had been ramming aimlessly for the past minutes had no body of their own. No harmonious form. Even the order was all awkward, large pieces mixed with smaller fragments. The vibrations of his blows currently served to separate the shards more than unite them, and for a moment Aleksander, son of Gorath the Unyielding--leader of the IceHowl Clan--suddenly felt that the disheveled work standing before him was an actual representation of himself: a creature scattered in too many pieces to make sense of itself.
Who exactly am I? Aleks thought as he stared blankly at his failed creation. The son of a Warrior? The whelp of a seamstress? A shaper of iron?
Aleks ran a heat-absorbing crystal over the sword and picked up a metal fragment that needed to be thinned further. It was cool to the touch, and rather tiny in size. Blunt at both edges. Kind of like him, a wolf that would never achieve any greatness in life unless repeatedly smashed by a hammer.
At least this tiny piece can turn into something beautiful, yet no matter how often Father pounds me, I still can't seem to live up to his expectations.
"Master Aleks!" came a shout from the front of the shop. Grundar. Or was it Grunfel? Aleks could hardly tell the two bear twins apart.
"Moment please." He left the hammer down and wiped the soot off his apron with a few swipes of his gloved hand before he ran over to the door.
"Oh, Grunfel. I thought that was you." Aleks winced as the bear's burly hand squeezed him like an iron trap. Grunfel was mostly a forager, but he used to be a good fighter back in his days. Strength had certainly remained in his arms. "Your lovely female voice gives pause before the rising storm, eh?"
"That why you whine like a whelp?" the bear smirked, pointing out at the shard still clutched by the blacksmith's fingers. "That a dagger you're working on? I can see it taking the exotic shape of a Star's Edge."
"Nah, this useless junk's never going to become more than a mediocre knife at best." The shard clattered on the ground briefly before the bear picked it up.
"I thought your father taught you better than waste good steel. Here."
Aleks studied the proffered bit of metal. "More like brittle, useless iron. I need to craft better things. Give them shapes different than the ones IceHowlers craft. Purposes other than mere bloodshed. Heard humans weave Dream and Spirit magics into their weapons and tools."
"Your brother told you that?"
Aleks nodded, still refusing to touch the damned thing. He attempted to sketch a smile of his own when he saw the weird look in the bear's eyes. Before he had the chance to react, his two oversized hands pulled him into a spine-crackling embrace.
"Aaaaghhh I'm gonna hurt for days, you son of a swine!" the wolf rubbed his sore back to alleviate the discomfort. "What was that for?"
Grunfel shrugged. "Good hug for good crafter! You may be displeased with your current craft, but our clan is very grateful for all that you do."
Aleks scoffed. He seized the lump of steel from Grunfel, if only to set it atop the anvil to join the other hopeless bits. "Would that I could share in the joy. Now come. I suppose you're here for more than just find petty excuses to snap my spine with those logs you call arms."
The bear followed Aleksander over to the foundry. Four tables were scattered around the place, each with their own array of fresh weapons that rested on dirty pieces of cloth.
"Mhmmm, good to see you've kept busy." Grunfel tested the weight of a double-bladed steel axe in his hand. "Good for taking heads. Not great for plucking herbs, though. Need something of a gentler touch for those." The gatherer's mahogany eyes settled on the blacksmith. "That's not all, however. Care to guess why I'm here today, my blue delicate flower?"
Aleksander was tempted, for the briefest of moments, to play dumb. Shrug the question off. Sell the bear what he needed and send his fat arse back to the forest.
"My father," Aleksander said instead, two simple yet awfully complicated words at the same time. He paced around the room, fingers sliding over the assortment of swords, daggers, scythes, hammers and a multitude of other tools he alone had crafted. Everybody in his position would have felt proud of their deed. Few in the IceHowl clan dabbled in the crafts, and fewer still grasped the intricacies of molding turning materials useless in their natural form into an object with a purpose.
But respect for the craft, along with the pride stemming from his creation, never did much for Aleks, for he was the fecking chieftain's son.
The hands of a warrior, used for the work of a common villager, his father had said, spiteful beyond what his calm words conveyed. Five years had passed since then, and Gorath had yet to come to terms with it. How could he, Gorath the Unyielding, father of two illustrious sons, accept this perversion to befall one bred from his legendary seed?
"Your father merely wishes for you to reconsider your stance, lad. Iron doesn't speak. Steel doesn't sing when you ram it the way a female does."
"Sings fine to me." Aleks brandished one of his bastard swords.
The bear frowned at that, as if he went against the very customs of the IceHowlers. "Not bloody well it don't."
Within three steps, the bear came face to face with Aleksander, unflinching despite the blade sitting between them. He towered two heads above the wolf, which meant Aleksander had to look up to gauge the bear's intentions. Was he here to advise? Or to punish?
The blacksmith's muzzle curled when the bear's heavy hand fell once again on his shoulder, a habit he started to detest. "Give this matter proper thought. Don't put your pride before duty. Gorath asks of you what any father would from his sons. Just think about it when you forge your next blade. Think of the greatness you could achieve if you wield the mighty weapons you forge. There is strength in these arms now." He clutched both of Aleks' arms, rubbing their biceps with his thumbs as if to make Aleks aware that he no longer had the twigs from five years back. "Don't let the past rule over your life."
"I will consider it," Aleksander said calmly. "Now take your hand off my shoulder. I have work to do."
A few minutes later, the herbalist was back on his way to the forest, and Aleks back to his shattered sword or whatever Eternal Dragon's name that amalgamation of shards was supposed to resemble. Aleks swiped the useless dirt off the anvil, the clattering noise of the shattered steel making his ears twitch a couple of times. A painful sound, to hear one's work clatter on the floor, purposeless, forgotten.
But not as painful as the years spent living under your father's thumb.
"I'll prove him wrong," the blue wolf muttered under his breath as he placed more broken blades from his scrap box onto the anvil. "He shall grow to understand that even a broken sword can still inflict harm upon the thickest of skins."
Aleks stared at the shards for a few moments, then bagged them all up and walked over to the smoldering foundry. "I was not born as what you wanted me to be, but I can become something greater if I but see myself to purpose. You watch me, father. You just watch how I rebirth myself from the Eternal Dragon's flames!"
The metal sizzled angrily when it joined the other shards that melted into the same even goo. The heat of the melting pot did not bother Aleks at all. On the contrary, it made him tingle all over, knowing that reshaping himself was just a matter of giving proper form to his skills.
He worked for hours, until night fell over the snow-coated valley in which the IceHowl Clan made its home. Smoky snakes slithered towards the twinkling stars from the rectangular homes of the more illustrious crafters. The rest of the population lived in huts or tents, depending on their possibilities. Many years ago, the first explorers of what was then an amalgamation of smaller tribes brought with them tales from the outer world. Stories of hairless apes living in enormous villages made of stone. Legends that spoke of metal forged into beasts, steel dresses that covered every part of the wielder's body, and of bows that could shoot arrows on their own.
Nobody had believed these asinine rumors until the creatures later known as humans came into contact with the tribes. War ensued, then unity, and later on, separation. Frenedar the Merciful, a human monarch unwilling to shed the blood of what he considered mere barbarians, had appointed Korlvangar of All as chieftain over all tribes and forged a peace treaty with him.
Aleks knew that story well; everyone in this part of the world did, regardless of their clan. Korlvangar's sons continued their father's legacy by mapping out their land and borders. Their world now fully discovered, the three went even further by befriending the humans in ways never deemed possible, where travelers could walk freely across human lands, unhindered by prejudice. Along the years, tents turned into huts, then huts became buildings made of stone not unlike what the humans erected in their own sprawling cities. Life became so good that the tribes took Frenedar's example as a lesson in prosperity. They let go of past grudges. Buried their bloody histories in sealed tomes that got burned to usher in the Pact of Past Vanishing was made, after which bears, wolves, felines, foxes and everything else that walked on two feet became a single civilization under the combined rule of Korlvangar's three sons. Galvanaar, chieftain of Might, upheld the courage of his people. Nalgarak, chieftain of Wisdom, took it upon himself to funnel the humans' knowledge unto his disciples. Obadei, chieftain of Peace, meant to forever preserve the Pact of Past Vanishing and never have it tarnished by the emergence of beliefs willingly discarded
It took less than a generation for three chieftains to separate into three different clans. Though they all had their history, the one every IceHowler knew was that Galvanaar had taken a courageous stance when the two other chieftains betrayed their blood in favor of the furless humans, thus becoming turncoats forever despised and denied entrance into IceHowler territory on pain of death.
"Hrrrrr..." the soft rumbling sound that came from the window elicited no reaction from Aleksander, whose eyes remained glued to the pot of swirling gold that churned within the bowels of his forge. His own sun, so close to the touch. Would that Gorath held more than just paltry respect for the crafter's guild. It was the might of these hard workers that had elevated the village from an amalgamation of tents into the proper imitation of a human town. Walls, towers, gates--the IceHowlers had all of these, and more. Yet, in Gorath's mind, none of it mattered, for it came from the humans and not from the minds of his own people.
"Rrrrrr..."
Aleksander wiped his brow. What was that sound?
His ears shuddered when a gust of warm air washed over the nape of his neck. He thought it was the forge, but then he realized this air had a moisture to it, and a smell that had no business inside a blacksmith's shop.
The blue wolf slowly turned his head to the left, his eyes following the smooth onyx pebbles up to a sizable crimson orb with a black slit in the middle which expanded as soon as Aleks stared into it.
"Graaaah!" Aleks stumbled back from the enormous creature. Clattering noises mixed with the wolf's groan as he tripped over a table, spilling its contents all over the floor.
"Years of looking up to me and you are still unmanned by my dragon?" an amused voice said from outside.
"I'm not really--" Alex hoisted himself up on the upturned table with a heavy groan. "I'm not looking up to hraaah." His voice cut off again as his foot stepped on the blade of a sword. Fortunately for him the blade was blunted, so Aleks escaped with a dull pain instead of a crease between his padded toes. The blue wolf smiled in the face of fortune, dusted off his apron, then walked out to greet the unlikely pair that stood like statues at the entrance of his shop.
"I never looked up to you, brother, nor have I appreciated your stinky breath, you giant soot-colored lizard." His index finger fixed a curved claw between the dragon's crimson eyes.
Angry for the interruption, yet more for the trespassing, Aleks turned his vengeful eyes back to his brother. "He should know better than stick his nose into my forge. Lost count of how many times I told him that. And I warned you -many times over- of the degree of concentration I invest into my work." Aleks jabbed a finger into the middle of his brother's chest. "A single mistake, one single miscalculation. That's all it takes for your sword to give way before the enemy's."
Rofak nodded his head, still retaining that skeptical look in his fiery amber eyes. "I'll keep that in mind next time a fighter's mad enough to charge at NightWing."
The wolf's fur was as dark as the dragon's scales, but it was that cold sarcasm that got Aleks' blood going. Today, Rofak looked little like the chieftain's favorite son. He wore leather instead of steel, a casual attire that almost helped him pass for a common worker if not for the dual swords sheathed upon his back.
Of course. Why would he ever part with them, the prodigious warrior? Even the humble shopkeepers had to see them, then marvel at his battlefield exploits, as if Father's feasts in Rofak's honor weren't enough.
"Why are you here?" Aleksander asked. He hoped that question would annoy his brother enough to leave, but much to his vexation, Rofak seemed to have an actual purpose here besides his usual teasing. He brushed his dragon under the chin to get the beast to settle on its belly, then stepped into the shop to look around as if this was the first time he saw a blacksmith's habitat.
"You worked hard today. Sold all blades from what I see," he whistled softly. "Our father will be proud."
"That I did," Aleks smiled half-heartedly as his brother's bare toe claws clicked on the stone floor with each step. "I've had a very busy day. Why, my head's pounding like an anvil, so if you'll have the decency to step out of my shop, that'll be-"
Aleks' jaws went slack when his brother obtained one of his swords. He barely saw what happened. A kick that sent one of the fallen swords up. The hand that grabbed onto the handle mid-air.
The swift motion that put that deadly tip right between his eyes. Aleksander's words came to an abrupt stop when he found himself with the tip of a sword inches away from his cold, oozing, twitching nose. All blacksmiths were used to the smell of steel, but now that same familiar smell acquired a sinister edge. One that slowly cut its way through whatever sliver of courage Aleksander clung to as he stared into his brother's molten eyes.
"I want to lend you a hand." The black wolf flipped the sword mid-air, grabbed it by the middle of the blade with two fingers, and tapped the lukewarm handle on the blacksmith's nose. "Eternal Dragon's sake, have I given you a single reason to be afraid of me?"
"I-I don't know."
"You do. Now take this."
Aleks raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what sort of offering this was, but Rofak, his Rofak, the eldest son of Gorath, was not in the habit of offering his aid to random crafters, least of all to his lesser brother.
"No? Very well then." It must've been the silence. Or maybe the indecision in his smaller brother's eyes that forced Rofak to sheathe the sword in a scabbard that he must have pilfered from the woodworker's shop as well.
"It's good steel. Better I put it to use than let it gather dust in this cozy shop of yours. I am heading over to the ring to sharpen my skills for tomorrow's mission. The choice I offer is twofold, just like a blade's edge. You can come with me and sharpen your own abilities, or remain in this dust-ridden habitat and rest. The choice is yours."
Aleksander didn't even want to give the impression that he was pondering his choices. He knew what sort of animal Rofak was, always looking down on him, crafting the crudest japes from the failures of his younger brother. He wanted a target dummy, not a sparring partner.
"I think I'll rest for the day," the blacksmith said, flexing his weary fingers. "Worked so hard I can barely hold a sword straight."
"Hah. I still remember how your hand trembled when Father had you carry steel for the first time. Perhaps it's for the best. After all, not every wolf is born a fighter."
Rofak's sneer went past Aleksander's splayed ears. He knew Rofak too well to give him the satisfaction of fighting back with words, so Aleksander turned around without a sign, a word, or a proper farewell and headed towards his bed.
Or tried to. After a single step, some scaly thing that could only be the dragon's tail wrapped around his waist to drag him out into the cold air of the night.
"H-hey! I said I want to rest, you deaf son of a mink!" Aleks screamed as the tail gave way. He found himself cradled against the dragon's unnaturally warm chest by a huge clawed paw. The dragon had lithe enough fingers to grab easily onto its prey without inflicting unnecessary harm with the curved ivory claws Aleksander felt press against his gut. He saw his brother's amused face, and would have let out a snarl of defiance if he didn't find himself captured by a huge fire-spitting beast.
"Good job NightWing." Rofak gave his dragon another well-earned rub. "You'll have plenty time to sleep when you get a sword through your gut. Like it or not, I'm helping you avoid the gruesome fate of prey. Walk with me. Or you can just stay and let NightWing drag you along the dirt. Either way, you will hold a sword straight tonight. Father's orders."
If Aleks had to name the two words he hated the most, they had to be 'father's orders,' made worse by the one who delivered them. To Rofak, Father's word was law, so Aleksander eagerly opted for the walking option.
Somehow, it felt better to keep ahead of the dragon, where his eyes could not see him. Aleksander didn't exactly know what was about NightWing that made his fur stand on end. Could have been the ominous red eyes; rubies cut from the molten heart of a fiery volcano. Or perhaps it was the spikes that adorned almost every part of the beast's body. The dragon had them almost everywhere: on his elbows, on his hind legs, on his cheeks, and of course down along his serpentine neck where they traveled down the dragon's spine like a grizzled mountain range up to the tail tip where the spiky formations lessened into a bladed tail tip. The creature also had a short temper with those who annoyed him, and even though it rarely hurt anything beside his prey, Aleks, in particular, felt that he got on the dragon's bad side more times than any other wolf.
It's the color. Definitely the black. And those scales of his, Aleks shrugged as he thought on how warm and weird they felt against his fur. _I don't know how anything with fur can stand them. Why can't any SnowFang have a measure of sense in their heads and pick a wolf or a panther for a partner? Not that I'll ever know... _
What he did know was that he'd never choose a dragon if he ever found himself wearing the title of a SnowFang.
"We're here."
Aleks blinked his eyes a few times. The sparring ring was right ahead of him, an arena filled with frozen sand surrounded by a small wooden fence.
"So, what now?" he looked over at his brother, unnerved by Rofak's toothy smile. "What does Father's instrument wish to inflict upon me? Mangled torso? Broken arm? He'd probably be happier with me out of commission, despite the shortage of swords."
Rofak's features hardened with equal parts conviction and regret for what he was about to do. He pointed Aleks to the ring, then went to NightWing to whisper something that made the dragon take flight, leaving the two of them alone.
"Nothing quite as crude. Father merely wants you in proper form, not crippled. Now get yourself a weapon and assume defensive stance."
Aleks scrunched his muzzle at that word. He picked himself a spear from the nearby rack, then exercised a few times with it. This lengthy weapon had a fluidity about it unlike any other, and the blacksmith felt good to hold anything other than a sword in his paws. He gripped the spear's shaft tight, then went through the various stances taught by his father.
"Water stance, fluid and graceful. It relies on swift, yet controlled movements to confuse the opponent." Rofak slammed the flat of his sword into Aleks's leg. "Though on you, this stance looks more like a stream split by jagged rocks. Let go of whatever thoughts you hold in your head. It is just you...and the spear. Nothing else should come in between."
Easy to speak for the wolf who had trained every waking moment of his life. Blow after blow, Aleks started getting annoyed by Rofak's ruthless training style.
"I'm not any good with this! Shouldn't you and Father already know it by now?" He snarled as he picked himself up from the ground. "I forge swords. The spear is still unknown to me. Let me try something I am familiar with." Aleks threw the spear aside to grab a longsword from the rack, its weight and reach somehow unfamiliar to him. This weapon was much heavier than what he crafted. And longer. Way longer.
"That's a greatsword you just chose. You're supposed to hold it with two hands, dummy."
"I know." Aleksander quickly adjusted his grip. "I was just testing its balance."
"No. You'll wield it with one hand now." Rofak threw a shield at Aleksander's feet. "And you'll show me how a shieldguard protects the vanguard in earth stance."
Aleks took a deep breath. He expected the swings from that monster of a sword to feel heavy, the shield to wear him down like a mountain on his back, but the muscles he built over five years as a blacksmith prepared him to fulfill the duty of a shield guard. To hoist the shield up at a moment's notice, to thrust the two handed sword into an opening while he held the shield ahead protect himself against incoming blows. Each movement strained his muscles in a strangely enjoyable way, yet his movements felt sluggish, uncoordinated, and most importantly, too draining on his stamina.
"No, no, no," Rofak said from the side, clearly disappointed. "Clearly you are not cut to be a shieldguard. A wall is only as strong as its foundation, and you, my brother, can't ever sustain a prolonged march if the need for one arises."
"At least I tried," Aleks snarled.
The black wolf chuckled. "Tried. Not a word you often hear on the battlefield. You either come back...or you don't return at all. Try the twin swords. Maybe wind stance will be more merciful on your form."
Once again, Aleks tried his best, only to become a target for his brother's incessant mocking. "Last I recall, wind stance was supposed to surprise the opponent, not give them an edge. You are full of openings. If this was a real battle you'd be dead several times over."
Aleks bowed his head in defeat. There were no words to speak. No courage beating in his thumping heart.
"Are we done?" he said, squinting his eyes as needles stung his throat with every breath.
"Yeah...we're done," Rofak said, then turned to leave.
Aleks rolled his tongue back inside his mouth. Finally, relief. He turned around to put his weapons back when a crackling blow took the wind out of his ribs.
"Kaaaah!" The blue wolf collapsed on his knees. His teary eyes looked up at his brother, or rather, the butt of the spear pointed at his nose.
"I want to be done with you, but Father's not one who gives up that easily. Get up, pup," another quick blow to the shoulder followed. "Show me--and him by definition--that you're not the coward everyone believes you to be."
Pain forced Aleks to roll on his feet. He collected the spear Rofak threw at his feet just in time to block a downward swing from his brother's swords. The shaft vibrated under the steel's ringing kiss, the blunted edge too dull to cut through hardwood. For as long as he could, Aleks stood his ground against his brother's attacks, each blow he missed adding another bruise under his fur. His body started to succumb to the seething pain, but Aleks fought on. With gritted teeth and battered breath, he fought to prove himself in the eyes of his brother.
Eyes that gleamed with something darker than sheer determination.
"Grooooaaah!" the blacksmith's body vibrated like a spring when he took another fist to the gut, his hand doing nothing against the sting that propagated along his aching abdomen.
Rofak flexed his fingers. "If that was my sword, you would've been--"
"You're thinking about him. Aren't you?" Aleks spat blood from his mouth. He struggled up on his feet, wincing in pain. "This training...this isn't about me. It's about you!"
"Be silent!" Rofak snarled. "Fight on. I'm barely getting warmed up."
Spit flew out of Aleksander's parting muzzle as the sword took him in five different places, each blow stronger than the last. "Found him...haven't you?" he glanced up at his brother with a single eye, the other too swollen to see. "Or maybe he found you..."
Aleks gladly endured the storm of swords that followed. Physical pain was only temporary. In a few days, his muscles would heal, but the same couldn't be said about his brother, whose vengeance concealed a much deeper sort of pain. Aleks didn't remember when it had all started. He was still young, on the bosom of adulthood. Rumors had started propagating around the village on how the Elder Shaman's only son had disappeared. Some said he died. Others said he left to start a new life within human borders. Nobody knew for certain until Aleks' older brother had returned from a hunt more red than black. The identity of his attacker had shocked the entire village. It wasn't a beast that did it, nor man.
It was Javron, the Elder Shaman's son. So Rofak had claimed, yet many refused to believe even the son of Gorath the Unyielding for spouting such horrid claims. After all, how could any son raise his blade against his own blood? It was inconceivable. Unheard of.
Up until Javron had returned to the place of his birth, atop his wyvern partner Shazeeka. Together with a band of honourless rogues, he had burned and looted his home village like a plague.
The IceHowl Clan had suffered a bitter defeat that winter, followed by desertion throughout the whole new year up until next winter. By then, more than a third of Gorath's vassals had turned their coat to join the winning side, with more and more outer villages declaring their allegiance for Javron. When a clan that prized strength above all else suffered a mere scratch, it bled its very people to the point of exsanguination.
In this ordeal, none had suffered more than the family Javron left behind. His own father, the Shaman, took a few weeks to retreat into the mountains. In his seclusion, he meditated on his own, and when answers refused to come, he had ascended to the sacred peak to plead the Dragon Gods for their divine guidance.
Gorath, too was, furious, as was his right. Betrayal of one's kin counted among the capital sins one could commit. From a very frail age, cubs were taught the value of life, were inspired to protect, love, and cherish even those outside their family. For the Shaman's own son to betray his family, his kin, his tribes...it was worse than treachery. It was blasphemy. Amongst those most grieved by this act was Rofak. The black wolf carried the scars of those days long after his flesh had knitted back together, cursing Javron's name every time he swung his twin swords during training or otherwise. He had sworn to bring the traitor to justice, and for many years, it seemed that his thirst of vengeance had subsided, buried underneath a rising pile of other ambitions, forgotten. After all, Rofak counted himself amongst the most gifted SnowFangs that had ever lived, with accomplishments that slowly threatened to rival the legends of the past.
Aleks saw it clearly now. A truth hidden in plain sight, burning within his brother's eyes like a tempest that threatened to upturn the balance of the world itself.
Though time had passed, the black wolf's rage had never truly subsided.
"I found his lackeys first," Rofak said. His battle-hardened fingers grabbed onto Aleks' shoulders like strangling vines, tough and unyielding. "Caught them late at night while they feasted on roasted boar, drunk out of their minds. I could've captured them all, you know. Eight dogs, five cats, two minks...Easy prey."
Aleks's muzzle trembled. The grip on his shoulder became stronger, pulsating with a dull pain that slowly ascended into seething agony.
"I could've fashioned them a cozy cage to spend their last days into. But that's not what I chose." Rofak's lips began to curl up, slowly revealing the dripping shapes of his fearsome canines. Aleksander squinted his eyes, as if his frail eyelids could protect him from the dark beast that started to take over his brother. "I only needed one to tell me where their bastard leader is. Got three for good measure, just in case one of the rats was too devoted to squeak."
A cold shudder rushed along the blacksmith's spine. He realized what that icy feeling contained. Fear. Fear for more than his immediate safety. "You interrogated them."
One of those black furred hands slammed into Aleks' throat, turning his words into a pathetic mewl.
"No, brother. I tortured them." Rofak's rank breath fell over Aleks' muzzle like a tide of fear and despair. "Their fur was easy to shred, but what lays underneath, the skin, the flesh, the bones...oh, how they struggled to keep their insides inside, but we all know it is only a matter of time before the body succumbs to pain and the mind withers like burned leaves. Only blood pays for blood, and our dear bastard brother has justice itself to answer to."
"Rofak...you...no that can't be." Aleks shook his head even as his throat clenched with a painful heave. "No, it...can't be. We left barbarism behind. Everyone...forgot about..."
"Not everyone," Rofak spoke over his brother's pathetic coughs. "The ancient traditions of the blood rites still live on if you know where to look. Strength answers to no one, brother. We need strength on our side if we are to prevail against our bastard brother, for he fights for nobody but himself. Do you think he follows a code, like we do? Rules? He has sacrificed his own wyvern partner for power, and I am not going to wait until his army of thugs and freaks washes over us like a plague of death and destruction. Neither will Father."
Aleks rasped violently as the vice-like grip around his neck suddenly receded. Rofak indulged into a short self-righteous sermon about the meaning of strength, but Aleks knew the black wolf only took the parts that suited his immediate needs.
"You speak of a future where the tribes are free of Javron's maniacal reach, but what future can that be when we lower ourselves to his level?" Aleks moaned, crawling in the sand in pain. "The moment we allow madness to overrule our judgment we become no better than him. If we betray our rules, our codes, our pacts...then we would've betrayed everything our ancestors strove to create."
The black wolf's maw rumbled with an ominous growl. Rofak's patience was running thin.
"You despise me less than our father. Please, brother. Perk your ears. Listen, at least, to a few words spoken by your kin and stop tarnishing the memory of our ancestors by digging into the old rites."
Aleksander got no understanding in return, but a shove that sent him back into the cold embrace of the frozen sand. His brother's foot pressed down upon his chest like a boulder rolling down a mountain, and Aleks gasped and coughed and spat, unable to breathe as Rofak sneered from above.
"You talk about right and wrong as if you stand on the peaks of the Gods! What do you know about strength, brother? You, whose trembling hands were unable to hold a proper sword? The Dragons spat on you. Weak of arm, slow of foot, not particularly keen in neither intellect or shamanism...yet you speak to me as if we are equals. Expect our tribe to heed the words of a blacksmith who sells weapons he should be wearing in battle. Grah. Battle. As if you know anything about the meaning of fear. You are still untested. A pup that suckles from his mother's juicy teat."
Rofak licked his snarly whiskers, his foot lessening some of the strain. "I will protect you, as will the tribes bound by pact and blood to the IceHowl clan, but do not expect any respect from us, weakling. In this world there is no right or wrong. Only survival. The strong preying on the weak. If you believe my wisdom to be lacking. If you think yourself truly my equal...then all you have to do is stand up and I will heed the words you so desperately crave to share."
After he cleared his chest off the weight through a couple of coughs, Aleks propped himself up. He first got on his knees, then reached a hand over to his brother for support.
Rofak stepped back just enough to be out of reach, his pointy fangs gleaming in the sun's caress.
Bastard, Aleks forced his weakened feet into one last effort. One push and he'd stand up. One little effort, and he'd finally become Rofak's equal.
As if his brother would ever allow that. The ground of the arena trembled, sands of grain leaping into the air as NightWing flew overhead to crash down behind Aleks' stunned form. He whirled on his feet as his instincts warned of immediate danger, his blue fur a shade darker under the dominance of the dragon's black wings. Aleks caught a brief peek of the throbbing blood vessels that webbed along the membrane before his pupils widened in shock at the black blur that flew towards him.
Slam!
The dragon's whipping tail sent Aleks flying across the arena like a ragdoll, soaring through the air not unlike a dragon before the cold earth welcomed him once more in its cruel embrace.
"Get up!" Rofak roared, as did his dragon. "Father wants you ready to fight other dragons. Or have you forgotten that our very SnowFangs are now part of the enemy's army?"
"Ghaaah!" Aleks howled in pain, beads of saliva falling down his chin. His eyes teared up as he propped his head up to look at the trampling beast. NightWing's ivory claws tore through the sands as he charged towards his prey, his bladed tail flicking behind for another assault.
Aleks managed to duck under the tail's lashing swipe, then crawled over to the dragon's side for an advantage. NightWing flapped his wings with a mighty gust, sending particles of frozen dust into Aleks' eyes. The blacksmith closed his eyelids to a squint, akin to a human knight's visor, and ran. He ran as fast as he could, ducking and jumping around the dragon's vicious claw swings to try and grab onto the black beast's wing, but he could hardly get close. NightWing was fast; faster than any beast his size had the right to be. He sent Aleks into the dirt with another swipe of his tail, then caught him in the ribs with the back of a forepaw as soon as he got back on his feet, the dull crack hinting at something worse than just bruises.
"Ghrooohhh!" Aleks spat a few globules of blood before the same oppressive foot fell on his chest.
"Are you done?" Rofak hissed from above. When no reply came, the black wolf grabbed his brother by the nape to pull him up. "ARE YOU DONE PLAYING THE WARRIOR?"
"Nrrraaaah!" Aleks groaned in pain, bits of his fur snapping apart from his skin like ropes pulled by overwhelming weight. He couldn't go down like a coward. He just couldn't. He spat whatever blood he had left in his maw to blind his brother. With his neck free, Aleks ran up to the distracted dragon, then with a titanic effort Aleks jumped onto the beast's back. NightWing let out a mighty roar. He flapped his wings, thrashing his neck about to rid himself of the blue pest that held onto the spikes like a stubborn parasite. There was no way for an unarmed wolf to ever best a dragon, but Aleks had a weapon of his own. Determination. He held on through bites and roars and flaps of wings.
The dragon took to the skies. Aleks held even tighter, whirling and screaming alongside the black beast that danced erratically in the air. Roars rang in his ears. Muscles burned with fatigue. Aleks held on until his arms became icicles and his stomach a churning mess of raging bile.
I'm going to die, aren't I? Aleks thought as he caught a peek of the village below, so far removed from his paws. I'm going to die in the sky, with nobody to remember me by...
Blackness rolled over his eyes. Debilitating weakness washed over his body. Aleks tried to hold on, but his body had nothing else to give than a sigh.
Darkness overwhelmed him.
Then a sudden, painful heave roused him back to awareness.
"Ghloooaaaah!" Aleks rolled onto his fours. "I'm..." he licked his lips to wet them. "I'm dead...aren't I?" He looked up at the sky to see two looming jaws parting before him.
Hot, rancid breath washed over Aleks, followed by something slimy that could only be the dragon's tongue. It swished and rolled around like an eel, soaking in its vile fluids. NightWing seemed to enjoy pampering his prey before eating it, but strangely enough, no teeth ever got close to Aleks' fur.
The wolf peeked an eye open to see an assortment of pebbly scales surrounding two flaring nostrils. The gust of air felt stale, but fortunately more pleasing than the insides of the dragon's mouth. Settled like a cat with his tail tip buried under a paw, NightWing licked as if he treated one of his own, rumbling with a soft sound akin to a feline's purr, albeit much deeper. His usually scary eyes were shadowed by a pair of leathery eyelids, another strange hint that took Aleks by surprise. He must've seen NightWing docile twice, maybe three times per year, thought this small relief brought no conclusion to the current predicament.
How to get out of this situation without angering the great beast? Aleks looked around for something he could use. Tickle the dragon's feet? No, that was stupid even by his standards, but perhaps he could sneak back between the tongue strokes. It usually took a few seconds for NightWing to get his sizable tongue back inside his great stinky maw.
"Don't do that."
Aleks flinched at the sudden voice.
Rofak came from behind, his fingers sinking through the wet strands of blue fur. "It might stink like your backside on a warm sunny day, but a dragon's saliva is just as good as a healing poultice, if not better, and he'll share unconditionally. One of the things he does right with others."
Rofak rubbed his free hand over the dragon's snout. NightWing's nostrils flared, exhaling another mighty gust of air along with a long, satisfied rumble.
"I remember the several times when I would've died were it not for him. First was a gash here, along the ribs." The black wolf swiped his hand along his torso. "A panther's shortblade. Cut me from ass to shoulder when I stalked a band of dishonest travelers. A year later, I got this."
Rofak turned around to present his back. There wasn't much to see amongst all that fur, but he spoke of a dragon's Claw tearing through his leather armor as if it was nothing but dirt.
"How did you survive? The pain must have been..." Aleks winced as his own wounds flared to life.
"I had him." He laid a hand between the dragon's nostrils. "This noble beast here tongued my torn flesh day and night until I was fit enough to travel. You'll understand when the time comes."
"Maybe...right now my ribs are killing me."
Rofak chuckled. "What you've done gives pause even to our Gods. Our mother must've laid with a dragon when she birthed you. Eternal Dragon's claws, you are more stubborn than my NightWing." Rofak tilted his head towards the dragon's snout. "He said you held on like specks of cloud to his scales. Impressive."
It was, considering every fiber of his being felt like being torn apart.
"No no, don't do that." Rofak kneeled beside his wounded brother when Aleks tried to stand up. "You've used everything you had to prove your damned point."
Aleks' eyes brightened somewhat. "So...did I win...?"
Rofak closed his eyes, his toothy smile becoming even more revealing. "You succeeded in reminding me of something I had almost forgotten. Do you remember the tale of Galvangar the Bold? How he wrestled dragons and subdued giants?"
Aleks nodded. "He proved that we are all equals in the eyes of the Gods."
"That too, but what stuck with me was his selflessness. He had a choice to become one with the Dragon Gods or return to his people. Remember what he said then?"
"No...it's been a while. Do you?"
Rofak tipped his muzzle. "If you aren't strong, then somebody has to bear the burdens for you." A sigh left Rofak's mouth, his gaze dipping low. "I've always looked up to Father. You know that better than anybody. But what I did to you--what he pushed me to accomplish--is and forever will be my greatest shame."
Minutes passed in complete silence but for NightWing's audible breaths. If Rofak's words stunned Aleks, then the water clouding his eyes left him completely speechless. Was this really his brother?
Aleks would've smiled if he didn't get lifted and draped over his brother's back like a sack of weight. "I'd place you on NightWing's back, but I think you had enough dragon riding for today. Search for Famdel when you reach the marketplace. He'll give you a steep discount for any herbs you need. Just remember to mention why you look as if a dragon tried to eat you or he'll think you're one of the urchins looking for a free poultice."
Typical Rofak, to hide his weakness in such disarming fashion.
"That bad, eh?"
"Mate, you look worse than my dragon's arse," Rofak chuckled as the two wolves slowly left the sands of the arena behind.
The marketplace grew as quiet as the sacred peaks when night wrapped its dark curtain around the valley. Traders sheltered their goods inside their homes to protect them against the coming cold that rolled down the misty mountains. Aleks bid farewell to his brother, bowed respectfully at NightWing - who, surprisingly answered with the same courtesy-- and continued on his own along the empty paths that led towards the edge of the market's square. Famdel's abode was a small hut located at the fringe of the market row. Aleks knocked on the door a few times, then peeked through the window when no answer came from the hut's bowels.
"Famdel?"
Silence.
Maybe he left, Aleks gripped his side. "Ow...guess I have to find another herbalist. If there is any awake..."
He could try his luck back in the market.
Or he could keep on the path ahead and rely on the benevolence of the herbalist's guild that lived on the fringe of the forest. Their luminescent crystals still shined above their huts, which meant somebody was still awake.
Aleks wrapped his arms around his torn tunic and kept on moving through the cold one step at a time like a lone hunter, until something strange caught his eyes. A flame, too high in the sky to be a crystal. He shrugged it off as one of the sky riders that patrolled the village at night, then it struck him. Weren't night patrols supposed to be stealthy?
When he looked again, every trace of light was gone, replaced by stars on a starry sky.
"Eternal Dragon's playing tricks on me." Aleks shrugged.
But what if He didn't? Something seemed a bit off up there in the sky; a familiar movement that Aleks couldn't quite put his finger on.
Aleks narrowed his eyes and waited in the cold mist that crept out from the forest, puffs of hot air escaping out of his half-parted maw along with his shuddering breath. No sound came. Even the wind remained still. Yet Aleks waited with a churning feeling in his gut that something weird was going to happen. When he was little, he used to stare at the night patrols for hours to play the guessing game with his siblings. Aleks could tell every species of fliers apart by the blink of the stars when the creature passed over them, and more often than not, he turned out to be right.
"Serpent," he winced in realization as his muscles involuntarily tightened with apprehension. There weren't many that loved flying at night, which narrowed down the possibilities to a startling amount of one.
Ruthnyr.
Aleks's heart skipped a beat as he watched his brother's golden serpent soar ever closer. The beast let out a muffled hiss when it passed by his head. Aleks ducked instinctively to protect himself against the savage gusts of wind that kept the creature airborne, then whirled on his feet just moments before the creature collapsed through poor Famdel's house in a crash of splinters and debris.
Aleks gritted his teeth. He limped his way back toward the serpent that kicked his way out of the rubble. The impact must've hurt quite a bit, but the scaly creature rolled on its feet as if nothing happened, its verdant eyes catching Aleks for one short breathless moment.
"Lokash...it really is you!"
Aleks' words seemed to irritate the creature as it gave a short snort. It turned back to the ruined cottage, tail flicking impatiently. It was so close to Aleks, he could feel the grassy smell radiating from the bushy furred tip. He noticed dents along the serpent's lengthy tail. Gashes along the wan underbelly where the scales were softer, smaller.
Yet Lokash whined not from the wounds. He didn't even snarl.
"Where's Ruthnyr?" Aleks summoned the courage to walk over to the serpent's head. "He's always with you, unless...unless he sent you back with a message. Or-or to retrieve something."
A shadow leaped from his right. Aleks barely saw what it was before a pair of cold fingers sealed his muzzle in an icy grip.
"Run back to the village," soft, measured words came out of the silhouette's hood. "Alert the hunters, as many as you can. And do it quietly," the traveler hissed, freeing his captive. "We want them to think we're easy prey."
Aleks' heart skipped a beat when he realized he gazed upon no one but his smaller brother Ruthnyr, who always wore a dark blue robe engraved with human runes. At his waist rested several scrolls, and runebound tomes replaced common weapons.
Aleks wanted to ask his brother about his whereabouts. Why he had disappeared for months. But something told him this wasn't the time for idle chatter.
"W-who?" Aleks stuttered. "Who's coming?"
"The Bastard."
Aleks' heart froze in his chest. He saw Ruthnyr's cape unfurl behind him like a dragon's wing as the gray wolf leaped onto his serpent's back. Within two heartbeats, the two of them were gone, leaving behind only splintered wood and a wolf too shocked to understand the implications of the words he had just heard.
Run....run....
The voice on the back of his head was frail. Weak. Just like his cold aching body.
RUN!
The wolf blinked. A deep icy breath filled his lungs as the fangs of threat found purchase deep within Aleks' shivering flesh.
He was coming. Javron the betrayer was coming to finish what he had started all those years back. The fear alone made Aleks forget everything about his injuries as he ran back along the market's streets to knock on as many doors as he could, alerting everyone about the bastard's return.
END OF CHAPTER 1
*
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