《A King's Regret - Ravenchild》


 The Mother

    His first sight of the world beyond the hut he lived in with his mother was through a window. The shutters had been raised for the first time in his memory, letting in air that for once carried no hint of winter¡¯s chill. Looking out of it, his view was that of a sheltered garden within a clearing bordered by tall trees. Sunlight filtered through the morning dew and mists of pollen in shafts of light that cast the shadows of the forest beyond into stark relief. From his perspective it seemed as if his home was warded against the darkness beyond by a curtain of light that descended from the sky. It was then, as he knelt upon the stool placed by him under that shuttered window, that he beheld the first sign of animal life beyond the walls of his home.


    A Myre-bird ghosted out of the forest, gliding on silent wings. Its plumage, seeming darker than black, slipped seamlessly from shifting shadows cast by the foliage and crashed into the shafts of light one by one. A riot glinted across its feathers. Blue, green, baleful red, royal purple. Even, paradoxically, pure white shone before his curious eyes. Unconcerned by the child watching its visual display, the creature rested upon one of the fence posts bordering his mother¡¯s garden. It took a moment to look around with its bright yellow eyes before giving a short, authoritative caw of approval.


    He spent the rest of the morning watching that bird as it groomed itself on that fence post, hopping from foot to foot at the borders of the garden. As if in a trance he traced its lines, memorised its colours and the twitching, jerking movements it made as it turned about hither and thither. A sadness came upon him when the Myre-bird finally flew away back into the darkness of the forest, its coruscating kaleidoscope of colours vanishing with shocking swiftness. There one moment and gone the next.


    He didn¡¯t even realise he had been crying until his mother came to check on him and dabbed at his eyes with the hem of her dress, tutting consolingly. She smiled as he fumblingly tried to explain what vexed him so, flashing white teeth. To the boy it was the first time that he had seen something approaching his mother¡¯s beauty. He drew comfort from her warm reds and cheerful yellows. He lay there in his mother¡¯s lap rubbing astrand of her ebon hair, so like his own, between hisfingers.Her smooth hands softly stroked his head her fingers running through his curls. The soothing sensations eased his distress as his mother began to hum a lullaby. That night he dreamed of flying through the forest on ghostly wings, unknowing of the faint glow from his body that awoke his mother or of the bittersweet smile that passed across her visage at the sight.


    The next day began the first of his lessons. Taking a stick of charcoal, his mother sat him down and slowly, patiently taught him to read and write. The two had long held the habit of talking to each other in a tongue of rapidly shifting words. It surprised the boy to learn that they had not been speaking in one language but several. The boy spent many a hazy day untangling the mixed-up mess of languages under his mother¡¯s firm care. His reward was being allowed out into the garden to play for a time and honeyed bread served with a warm herbal tea that lulled him to sleep where he dreamed of flight.


    Time passed that way with the boy having learned all he knew at his mother¡¯s knee. Wonderous were the Books of Heaven that described the ways of the winds and water, the pulse of the earth and fire deep. This and more he learned from her. The Book of Gods, Beasts and Mortals was rife with tales of adventure that stirred his blood. It was filled with stories of heroes who roamed the land and seas battling monsters and trading with spirits in games of skill and wit. This book especially delighted him as there seemed to be a new story every time he opened it.


    Most tedious was the Book of Nature that seemed to detail a never-ending list of plants and animals and their properties. His mother insisted he learn that book by heart and he acquiesced if only because such lessons often led to forays into the garden where he could see some of the plants for himself.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Eventually there remained only one book that he had not read, the Book of Fate that his mother held back with a smile.


    ¡°It¡¯s not yet time Little Wing.¡± She¡¯d tell him, ¡°Go and play.¡±


    And play he did, in the garden under the sun. His dreaming had grown stronger as he read each book. Now he was the hero, wielding sword and shield. His footsteps lighter, ever more confident and swifter after each night of rest. He shaped a bow and let fly arrows into the wind. Lance and staff, hammer, maul and more he took up. At times he would lay back in the grass and listen to the sky, hear the beating heart thrumming deep within the earth. When playing or laying about bored him, he would scratch his words into the dirt. Writingthe true names of every plant and animal he¡¯d ever read of,he¡¯d then repeat the task in every language he¡¯d ever learned.


    When he returned to the hut, he¡¯d find his mother sitting by the fireplace weaving. A meal of cereals and fruits would be waiting for him. His mother would greet him with a smile and lay down her work. Her soft hands tousling his hair and she¡¯d tell him.


    ¡°My Little Wing. Come sit fora while.¡±


    At night he¡¯d lay in his mother¡¯s embrace dreaming of the world beyond. The wind stirred leaves of the forest making soft susurrations in time with his mother¡¯s breath. The heat within the earth below pulsing in time with the heart beneath her breasts. The two curled against each other in quiet understanding of what was to come, silently, supporting one another. With the turning of seasons that seemed to pass in slow ages, the boy grew up. In the passage of time turninginto a tall, strong youth, dark of hair and eye.


    The youth was practising staff forms when the Myre-bird returned. The wooden pole in his hands had been coaxed from a seed with a whisper of encouragement and a flex of his will. The bird watched raptly with uncommon intelligence as he swayed like a river-reed in the wind. The twirling ends made no sound as they spun about with deceptive swiftness. Finally, the youth¡¯s shadow dance came to a halt with a blurring thrust that ended just shy of the fence post onto which the bird had alighted. He exhaled a steady breath slowly and examined the bird that watched him in turn. The Myre-bird concluded its inspection ofthe youthwith an authoritative caw.


    His mother was already waiting for him when he returned, wearing a bittersweet smile. She gave him a cloakthat he draped over his shoulders. A satchel bag containing fruit and nuts were her next gift to her son. Lastly, she took up the Book of Fate but he was already holding one of his own. At the sight of it she sighed in resignation and said to him.


    ¡°It¡¯s time Little Wing, it¡¯s time.¡±


    <hr>


    Deep within the black woods, where hunters and lumbermen dared not lightly tread, the memories of the eldest of mortals tell of a mist shrouded island in the centre of a lake. In times long since past. A goddess was worshipped there, beautiful and terrible as the forest she ruled. Once, in times of plenty, young lovers coupled in the waters as hunters sacrificed animals on the lake¡¯s stony shore. A ritual offering of a bloody heart presented toward the lone aspen tree upon that island in the lake. A tree only seen under the light of the hunter¡¯s moons.


    In leaner times and times of war, a more brutal tradition of sacrifice was enacted. Enemies and unwanted mouths were passed into the goddess¡¯ care. The former tortuously slain while the latter imbibed concoctions that put them to sleep as they slipped beneath the waters. For she accepted all, loved all, blessing birth and soothing death. She who was the white goddess of the black woods.


    As the ages turned, waxed and waned, fewer people came to that lake in worship. Yet she loved them still. At times the river beyond the forest carried babes into her hands. She accepted them all into her care and sometimes¡­


    Sometimes¡­


    Sometimes¡­


    <hr>


    A Myre-bird¡¯s call roused the youth from his meditation upon the shores of the mist shrouded lake. He wore upon his shoulders a hooded cloak, darker than black. Standing slowly, the youth stared out across the waters and at an island where a single tree, a white aspen, stood in lonely vigil. In his hand he held a staff marked with runes impressed upon it by neither fire nor blade. Slowly, the youth dipped his head toward the tree, in his mind¡¯s eye recalling a bittersweet smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m going mother.¡± He murmured, before turning toward the forest.


    His form slowly vanished into the gloom, seamlessly melding with the darkness until he was gone.


    No wind stirred the lake waters or air. Yet, on the island, the leaves of the aspen tree trembled.


    Murmuring¡­.


    ¡°Goodbye.¡±

 The Pensive Lion

    Low chanting filled the cavern, punctuated at intervals by the pounding of feet on stone and fists on bared chests. Fires crackled in lit braziers, casting the worshipper¡¯s shadows upon the walls in stretched out parodies ofhumans and beasts. Acolytes cast sprigs of dreamsong and maidesmusk into the fires causing a haze of delusions and lust to descend upon the throng.


    On and on they chanted.


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    In a depression beaten into the floor by mortal means, outlined with sacred text,a naked man wrestled a bull into submission. Large, calloused hands gripped the animal¡¯s horns. The sinews of his arms flexed under his skin as if they were writhing snakes seeking to escape the confines of the body that contained them. The white bull snorted in furious agitation, its wild eyes tinged red as it struggled to rise. The red-haired man grunted, gritting his teeth on a bronze ritual blade as he set his knee onto the bull¡¯s flank. He used the limb as a fulcrum to press the creature¡¯s bulk against the earth. As he did this, the ritual blade''s edge glinted in the firelight. It cast off rays of light that highlighted his sweat-soaked visage in a grimace of ominous make.


    On and on they chanted.


    ¡®Mithra¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    The muscles of his back and arms rippled as the man reached around the bull¡¯s head in a swift movement. Skin anointed in blessed oils slid against the animal¡¯s throat as left hand came to rest beneath right. A choked off bellow echoed throughout the cavern. The bull thrashed against the man, legs kicking wildly. His face turned red, burning with exertion as man and bull embraced. Slowly the white bull¡¯s struggles ceased, white foam gathered at its mouth, the rolling of its single visible eye and weakly lashing tail the only signs of its continued survival.


    On and on the worshippers chanted, feet stamping, fists clenched tightly.


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    The red-haired man released his right hand¡¯s grip upon the dazed bull¡¯s horn. Hetook the athame from between his teeth and held it up above him. The air grew heavy at this act. It was as if a great formless weight pressed down upon them all. The worshippers¡¯ actions stilled as the chanting gave way to a reverent silence. Reddened eyes gazed upon the scene of the man subduing the bull. Under the influence of the hazy fumes, the onlooking men and women grew aroused at the sight. The cavern filled with the sound of harsh panting asmisty breath passed through the watchers'' parted lips. With a deliberate motion, the man lowered the blade and slit the white bull¡¯s throat.


    And so, the chanting began again with an escalating sense of frenzy.


    ¡°Our Oath!¡±


    ¡°Our Bond!¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    ¡°Mithra¡±


    Blood gushed onto the stone floor. The arterial spray painted the man¡¯s face, arms and torso with steaming hot, red blood. Following the sacred rites, he turned his gaze to the altar set under an opening in the cavern¡¯s ceiling. Sunlight spilled unto the stone plinth, illuminating a hand carved relief of the ritual he had just enacted.


    ¡°Our Oath!¡± He cried.


    ¡°Our Bond!¡± A hundred voicesroared back.


    ¡°Mithra!¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Mithra!¡±


    ¡°Mithra!¡±


    Acolytes stepped forth to collect the white bull¡¯s blood into chalices. They followed him as he strode toward the altar. The high priestess stood before him when he stepped into the light of the sun. Accepting a chalice, she dipped a finger into the blood bearing cup and began tracing the secret symbols of their faith across his body with the blood-soaked digit. He raised his face upward, the sunlight scattering through his hair. The muscles of his neck tensed as more hands joined the priestess with feather-light touches across his deltoids, down his back and across his buttocks. The rest of the chalices were passed among the crowd of worshippers.


    The priestess chanted as her hands followed the lines of his pectorals then down his abdominals until she reached his manhood. A single finger dragged along it as she gazed at him with hooded eyes glazed in divine fervour.


    ¡°Hail Mithra!¡± She cried out.


    The worshippers thundered in reply.


    ¡°Mithra!¡±


    ¡°Mithra!¡±


    ¡°Mithra!¡±


    Men and women began to couple with each otherwhile the acolytes sprinkled them in blood.He bore the unresisting priestess down onto the floor before the altar. As he pressed her, she whispered into his ear.


    ¡°Our oath, our bond.¡±


    ¡°Our oath be kept.¡± Dracones Uthyr affirmed. ¡°Our bond be sealed.¡±


    <hr>


    Dracones Uthyr Ambrosius sighed as he penned another order for dispatch.


    Fifteen years of harsh fighting had seen his legion pressed back to their current holdings. Camulodum was a fortress built at the mouth of a valley between two mountains. Its high, enchanted walls and harsh terrain had thrown back enemy forces time and again be they man, beast or other, stranger things. The valley opened into the territory that held the people his legion fought for, tradesmen, farmers and the dependents of the brave men and women who followed him.


    A sea wall and the fortifications along it guarded the coastal villages and the sole remaining port left to him in the castle town of Carthanum. There his brother¡¯s former legion cast back Vertigan¡¯s mercenary raiders under the nominal command of Praefectus Actus Dulcitius. Uthyr¡¯s lips twisted as he corrected himself. The captives from the last raid had confirmed his expectations and the rumours his spies had brought him. The barbarian men and tamed monsters that attacked along the coast weren¡¯t mercenaries under Vertigan but raiders under a different leader, one of their own.


    This, Ingvar as they called him, had been drawn to the isle by Vertigan¡¯s promises of land and riches. However, he cared not a whit for Vertigan¡¯s words, reputedly calling the man an ill-born weakling. The barbarian sought instead to take by right of arms all that he could. In the past year warbands under him and those of his like-minded allies had been raiding without regard for their victim¡¯s allegiances.


    It was tempting to smile at the thought of what Vertigan¡¯s expression must have been like when he heard the news. He almost wished hecould havebeen inVertigan''s court whenword got backbut Uthyr was self-aware enough to realise that he would likelybe too busy smashing the bastard¡¯s face in if he ever got close enough to see him again. After all that the man had done¡­


    The creaking of the stylus in his hands shook him from the murderous thoughts swirling in his heart. Uthyr dropped the writing implement and leaned back with a tired sigh. Not even the morning¡¯s successful ritual celebration, reaffirming the covenant between him and the officers of his legion, succeeded in cooling his ire for long. His eyes, as always, trailed toward the dragon standard on the wall.It had been his brother''s standard and was now his.


    ¡°You were always the calmer of us two, Auryelin.¡± He murmured. ¡°Being a caged lion suits me none too well.¡±


    The legions current territory may have been secured from mortal raiders but the disappearance of Icilia Nicasia, the Provost Sacerdos and his sworn brother¡¯s paramour hobbled them even now. Most of the Legion Conclave were magicians of lesser talent, loose seeds from throughout the empire¡¯s border territories and a few locals deemed worthy of initiation into the deeper mysteries. A legion sorceress of Icilia¡¯s talents and power was hard to come by outside of the emperor¡¯s life-guard. Most preferred living as the tame pets of various aristocratic families, showered with wealth and resources to aid their studies.


    How Auryelin had won the loyalty of a woman capable of casting and maintaining the Magna Sanctuarii was a mystery the man took to his grave. As it was, the three sorcerers closest to Icilia in power needed to share the burden of a greatly diminished sanctuary spell among themselves. The full effects of the barrieronly covered the valley and the land beyond was barely pacified. That they could even accomplish that at all was due to the fact that Icilia¡¯s ward magic hadn¡¯t faded entirely when his sorcerer¡¯s took control of it.


    Any punitive expedition beyond the boundary was certain to be attacked by magic beasts long before they encountered their more mortal enemies. To make matters worse, Vertigan¡¯s mercenaries and the raiders that followed after them were gleefully summoning demons to aid them in battle at every opportunity, letting the creatures rampage as they willed. That the people blamed Vertigan for the many deaths this practice caused among the young and helplesswas hardly a consolation if the legion was unable to take advantage of the fomenting unrest.


    Standing up, Uthyr called for a scribe to carry out the stack of dispatches. He waited until the man left before taking out a map of the isles. The next few hours were spent looking at that map pensively. Yes, being a caged lion suited him poorly.


    The question then was, ¡°How to get out of the cage, without startling his prey?¡±

 The Father

    Thesolar was well appointed. Richly dyed carpets and woven tapestries adorned its cold stone floor and walls. Gildedmetal sconces formed in the likeness of vicious magical beasts held unlit candles in the corners of the room. Exquisitely carved wooden tableswere laden withbowls of exotic fruit and fine wines in enchanted crystal flasks that sparkled with dots of starlight as if each were a celestial orb constraining a tempestuous purple sky.


    Clack, clack.


    An eating couch dominated the room¡¯s centre. The dappled fur of a tazcra cat draped across it. A large deskwith a high-backed chair was set off to one side before a tapestry featuring a snarling golden lion.A door framed in blue nacre opened out to a balcony through which an overcast sky could be seen. It was as if the gods had spun the clouds into a great shroud that hid the heavens from view. Diffused sunlight ignited the insubstantial canopy with an incandescently white brilliance that contrasted sharply against the pitch-black silhouette of the man standing tall upon that platform.


    Clack-clack.


    ¡°Set!¡±


    Back straight as if a spear pointed heavenward, he wore a purple robe edged in gold that flared at his legs. Strong hands bearing jewel encrusted rings gripped the balustrade before him. Upon his head of brown hair rested a golden crown etched with scenes of roaring lions. His visage was taciturn, with brows and full red lips that were naturally drawn into a scowl. Dark eyes calmly gazed down upon the courtyard below.


    ¡°Rah!¡±


    ¡°Set!¡±


    Clack! Clack-clack!


    Two youths bearing shields and wooden batons duelled within a training field. Back and forth they went, trading blows one after another.


    Clack!


    ¡°Haheugh!¡±


    The batons were weighted to mimic swords yet the youths wielded them fluidly, twisting their weapons about one handed in controlled arcs at the head or legs. It was interspersed with feints and swift, questing stabs seeking to gaps in defences. A burly man, clad in armour oversaw the match. A harsh but fair task master, he sternly called out to the youthsthat they needed totighten their movements when one or the other over extended.Healso gave encouragements with equal vigouriftheir actions met his standards.


    High King Vertigan ap Vanadin watched it all in silent approval.


    It would fall to Vandimer and Cattigan to ensure that his legacy lived on beyond him. When he was their age, he could hardly even dream of having the authority he now held. Living in his father¡¯s court had placed him in the ideal position to see all that was wrong with their land. To others his father Vanadin might have seemed theruler of a prosperouskingdom, gaining much from his imperial ties,but Vertigan knew better. He recalled days of flustered meetings as his father sought to appease his imperial masters. The man followed the Dracones words like a faithful pet, all but pissing himself in joy at the slightest word of praise.


    Vertigan could do naught back then but look on in impotent fury as the imperials took his people¡¯s land, riches and talented youths. His father¡¯s loyalty repaid in subtle snubs and dismissive words. His people called Vanadin a king but Vertigan knew that to the imperials the man was nothing more than a useful tool, hardly an equal. So, he bade his time and learned from his enemies. He swallowed the insults paid as the price for his people¡¯s freedom. He drew together allies, accumulated wealth from trade and bribes, he learnt how the imperials fought and tried his best to add their strength to his own.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Years of hard work, struggling against his father¡¯s apathy at their situation. He seeded spies among the youths taken in by the imperials. Not their legions or administration, that was too dangerous with their oath-binders and truth-sayers but their servants, handmaids, messengers, dockworkers and whores. He learnt the structure of their society from the bottom up. Theirs was an aging empire, grown ponderous and fat on excess. The Dracones could not count on timely aid from the central regions of the empire if any came at all to their call. Their primary contact was through the few merchants who braved the passage to their land and the occasional convoy of settlers bearing official writs. It had been years since the last such convoy, before his youngest son¡¯s birth even.


    He had exulted at the news. The vaunted Dracones were little more than petty tyrants of a distant colony in the eyes of the empire. An empire beset by wars on a thousand different fronts. They ruled because his people knew no better and allowed them to steal their land unopposed.


    What right had they to take? What right had they to rule?


    Vertigan¡¯s ambition was towipe away the years of shame and bring his people to greatness never before seen. If the fractious petty kings wouldn¡¯t follow him, he¡¯d drag them along with the might of his armies. After all, he had allies of his own¡­


    ¡°Ah, if only it were that simple.¡±


    His eyes picked out a blond man leaning against a wall. He was looking at the ongoing spar with lips twisted in a hint of mockery. Hengest, the nominal leader of the Thorsica mercenary bands that Vertigan had hired. At the time he¡¯d thought little of the man but now the sight of him was becoming less and less pleasing. The man¡¯s greed made him easy to manipulate but the problems his people brought with them frustrated Vertigan to his core.


    He blinked as the door to the room behind him slowly opened. His minutely tensed shoulders relaxed as the scent of a familiar perfume began to fill his nostrils. He could hear the jewelled bangles clinking as her white sandaled feet stepped toward him. In his mind¡¯s eye he recalled the sway of her hips given by the prowling walk she favoured. Even now, years after he met her,Rhonwyr still managed to enflame his loins with lust with every single movement of her body, her scent andher touch.


    Long fingers gently rested upon hisas a pair of firm breasts pushed against his arm engulfing it through the cloth of her silk dress. He turned to her as her other hand traced the line of his jaw before settling on his shoulder. They stood there in silence for a moment. She gazed at him with her cold blue eyes set in a face no less beautiful given her Thorsican heritage. He brushed a strand of blonde hair away from where the wind had blown it across her pouty lips framed in an insouciant smile.


    A pink tongue darted out to lick at his finger causing him to impulsively lean forward to lay claim to her lips. She breathed a happy sigh as they parted, the gusty breath shifting her breasts enticingly beneath her red dress. Resting her head against his shoulder, she looked down upon the training field before saying.


    ¡°You have such healthy sons my husband.¡±


    The considering tone of her voice as she said that stoked both his pride as a father and his possessiveness as a man. His second wife, Rhonwyr, was far younger than he and easily matched his enthusiasm in bed. The thought that she might seek out another lover was foolish but it never failed to drive a spike of jealousy into his heart. No other man would touch her supple body while he yet drew breath.


    She was his!


    Schooling his features even as a hand drifted down to grip her ass with punishing tightness, he answered her. ¡°They have a great legacy to uphold. The kingdom I am forging needs their strength.¡±


    Gasping in his arms, she looked at him with a hooded gaze as she dragged her sharp, painted nails across his chest. He felt them even through the cloth of his tunic, a silent challenge that spurred him on.


    ¡°Such talk is for the future my love, they are still boys,¡± Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, ¡°And a strong man like you can yet sire many more.¡±


    There were no more words between them as he dragged her laughing from the balcony and into the depths of the room beyond. Down below, a watcher noted the scene in the balcony above. Their eyes crinkled in mirth.

 The Circle

    ¡°Clouds deposit rain and snow on the mountain peak. Snow melts from the peaks of mountains into water that flows down the slopes, winding its way through valleys and across the plains for a time until joining the sea. Clouds form above the seas and gather at the mountains. It is a circle¡­. Magic permeates the material world through the boundary of the aether. It gives souls to lifeless forms that make their way through the turns of the world for a time, changing and being changed, eventually returning to the immaterial world of the empyrean sea. The souls of life-bearing forms create the magic of the aether that gathers at the boundary of the material world. It is a circle.¡±


    <ul>


    <li>The Book of Heaven and Earth</li>


    </ul>


    Magic beasts are a curious mix of near human cunning and brutal animal instincts the youth noted. Sucking thoughtfully on a honeycomb, he watched as the creature below him demolished a giant hive of white-scaled bees. Theyoung manin the tree and the magic beast below were both protected by a barrier of thin purple smoke that emanated from a smouldering bundle of twigs and broad blue leaves held in the youth¡¯s hand. The angry swarm was repelled by the smoke as if it were a physical thing.


    Eventually the swarm divided into six parts, each one centred about a queen, and departed. Workers carrying larvae and stomachs full of precious honey. They would spread through the forest, forming new hives while the magic beast got to enjoy a rare treat in exchange for not eating the strange human who spoke the in the wyrding tongue.


    As the two enjoyed the fruits of their labours amyre-bird alighted upon the youth¡¯s shoulder. It looked upon the scene imperiously, regally accepting the young man¡¯s offering of a honey smeared grub. Finishing the treat, it tilted its head to the youth and seemed whisper in his ear. The young man¡¯s lips pressed into a grim line of contemplation, then he turned and warbled at his new friend below who was in the midst of gorging on honey. The magic beast lifted a white furred brow in perplexation.


    What did the strange human want now?


    <hr>


    Life and death walk hand in hand in the forest. From the old giants standing shoulder to shoulder, their upper canopies soaking in the light. To the myriad lifeforms living within and below them, scurrying through their flicker-lives in a headlong race for survival. The tree tops cast the forest floor in aperpetual shadow broken only intermittently as the sway of branches in the wind opened rare windows of opportunity for sunlight to gently brush the earth as if a lover surreptitiously stealing a kiss.


    In places where one of the forest¡¯s giants had fallen to age, illness or rank happenstance. Young contenders vied for their place in the circle of lifegiving illumination like drowning men desperately scrambling against each other as they reach for salvation. To a stranger the black forest might seem an ominous thing. The dark bark of tall trees in an ever-present gloom. Mysterious sounds carried on the wind, distant roars, chirps and whistles. The earthy smell of decomposing leaves littering the ground hiding unseen creatures stirring there under.


    The girl fleeing for her life with her friend is not a stranger to the forest. Her earliest years had been spent travelling in the company of the village¡¯s hunters trailing behind her mother as she was taught the simple woodcraft needed to survive in the wilds. How to navigate the forest edges without losing her way, what plants heal, hurt or were fit to eat. Learning to use bow and arrow held her interest more than knowing how to field dress game, treat minor wounds or move surefooted across the leaf strewn forest floor. It was only in the last few moments, as Nenya¡¯s aunt brought Myra to her and instructed them to hide in the forest, that she realised what those lessons had really been about.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    With worried eyes she looked back at her gasping friend struggling with her hiked up skirt, so impractical for the task at hand when compared to her own more sensible leggings. They were still a fair bit away from the hidden camp the village hunters sometimes used. Fortunately, it seemed that they had evaded pursuit by the forces attacking their village. That gave her some leeway for helping Myra.


    Decision made, she slowed her pace and led Myra to a moss-covered stump of a blackwood tree. Tall and wide, the unassuming exterior hid a hollow centre accessed through a hole carefully hidden by moss and vines tied to rope netting. It was just large enough to fit the two girls comfortably. More importantly, after a bit of searching Nenya found an oilskin bag containing hunter¡¯s clothing, some weapons and other supplies. She kept watch through the disguised opening as Myra adjusted the clothing with a knife and some petty spells in preparation for wearing them.


    Soon the other girl was ready to go and Nenya took Myra¡¯s hand, already planning her next step, when she paused before the opening beset with a feeling of dread. Dropping to a crouch, she motioned Myra to silence, whispering softly.


    ¡°Hold a moment, I think something is out there.¡±


    Smiling in reassurance to calm the worry that flashed across the face of the girl kneeling beside her, Nenya carefully peered through the moss covered netting disguising their hideout. Long minutes passed in silence filled with only the sound of buzzing forest insects and Myra shifting uneasily behind her. Nenya was about to signal that they were going to leave when she heard the sound of baying hounds and distant curses in an unfamiliar language.


    Gripping Myra¡¯s hand in warning, Nenya drew the dagger she carried with her and stabbed it into the earth at her feet. Then she quickly began to string her hunter¡¯s bow. Looking out through the weave of the netting she watched as two men following a pair of dogs became visible through the trees. Turning toward Myra, she quickly mouthed.


    ¡°Two raiders with dogs.¡±


    Grimly, she watched as they grew closer to their position obviously following their scent. She was going to have to kill the trackers.


    ¡°Um, Nenya.¡± Myra¡¯s voice whispered querulously.


    ¡°Quiet.¡± She reprimanded softly without looking back, preparing to nock an arrow.


    ¡°We¡¯ll only get one shot at this.¡±


    Bringing up her bow, she carefully moved forward until the head of the arrow peeked out a gap in the netting. She aimed for the trailing man and began to time her breaths. Steadying herself, in one fluid motion she drew and let fly an arrow. Her focused eyes saw the leading man inhale sharply as the arrow whizzed by, sinking into the chest of his fellow who let out a guttural cry. She was already reaching for a second arrow, hoping to get the raider before he could find cover when her thoughts were scattered by a tremendous roar.


    Nenya watched in shock as a morbriosca, forty stone of angry fur, muscle and teeth, collided with the raider and began to maul him as the hunting dogs fled in terror.


    ¡°Nenya¡­¡±


    ¡°Myra,¡± She interrupted her friend whispering breathlessly, ¡°When I say the word, run.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡± Replied a voice that was most certainly not Myra¡¯s.


    ¡°Who?!¡±


    Snatching up her knife, Nenya whirled around to find Myra leaning away from a grinning stranger wearing the forest cloak of a druid.


    Unperturbed by the weapon pointed at him, the dark-haired youth continued to smile winningly as he introduced himself in an obviously rehearsed manner with a sketch of a formal a bow.


    ¡°I bid you greetings, my dear ladies. I am called Myrelin. Might I inquire after your names and how fare you, on this fine morning?¡±


    The two girls looked at each other, nonplussed.

 Druid

    Their confusion at the unexpected encounter didn¡¯t last long before Nenya swiftly jumped into action. Roughly pulling Myra behind her, she held her knife in a forehand grip keeping the point aimed at the stranger. The cloaked youth simply watched her actions with a faint, and in her opinion infuriating, smile of amusement.


    ¡°Who are you!¡± she snarled.


    The young man tilted his head and blinked in confusion, seemingly unconcerned by the weapon in her hands.


    ¡°I do believe that I have already introduced myself, dear maiden.¡± He answered in his strangely formal manner.


    ¡°Was he some kind of noble?¡±


    Then he confused her further by uttering a string of gibberish, of which she recognised only his name, while repeating his actions from the earlier greeting.


    ¡°Ya, he¡¯s just a crazy person.¡±


    Said crazy person was beginning to contemplate introducing himself in yet another language when, to Nenya¡¯s surprise, the awkward standoff was broken by Myra of all people. Despite her habitual timidity, the girl chose to berate her friend, hissing to her.


    ¡°Nenya! You¡¯re being rude to a druid! Introduce yourself properly.¡±


    ¡°Myra! Don¡¯t get swept along by this strange guy-EEE!¡±


    Interrupting her friend with a sharp pinch to her side, Myra shoved her way forward and curtseyed to the increasingly bemused looking youth.


    ¡°Pleased to meet you good sir, I¡¯m Myra Binnon and my friend here is called Nenya Eynon.¡± She said with a blush, continuing with, ¡°Please pay her behaviour no mind, she means well. Aunty says she¡¯s half-wild most of the time and the last hour has been¡­ a trial for us both.¡±


    ¡°Myra!¡± Nenya exclaimed in frustration before catching the look in her friend¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Of all the times to become besotted by a man!¡± She complained internally.


    Myrelin nodded gamely as he replied, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I was raised in the wilds myself. It builds character.¡±


    ¡°Then how are you speaking like a noble?¡± Nenya interjected with obvious suspicion.


    Myrelin looked confused, ¡°A noble?¡± He questioned, ¡°Fair maidens, this is just how my mother taught me to speak to a lady. The books I''ve learnt from also indicated this to be the proper manner of addressing another.¡±


    ¡°Your mother did a fine job.¡± Myra admired with a light titter.


    ¡°Why thank you.¡± He said with a smile.


    Nenya clutched at her hair at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.


    ¡°He just said he was raised in the wilds! Only nobles or rich merchants talk that way or can afford to buy books about something as pointless as fancy manners!¡±


    Eventually, Nenya decided to keep her doubts to herself about the obvious lie. Swiftly, she moved on to more pertinent matters.


    ¡°So, you were saying that that big brute outside is yours?¡± She asked.


    ¡°An acquaintance of mine.¡± He corrected. ¡°We have an understanding on some matters.¡±


    Continuing, he said, ¡°I discovered your plight and asked him for help.¡±


    ¡°Could you ask him not to eat us?¡±


    Myrelin nodded, ¡°That shouldn¡¯t be a problem unless you want a share of his kill.¡±


    Her expression turned faintly nauseous at the thought, ¡°T-that¡¯s f-fine, we¡¯re don¡¯t want any.¡±


    <hr>


    The morbriosca had thankfully dragged the two corpses out of sight by the time they left the hollow.A trail smeared with blood led away from them through the trees andout of sight. Unfortunately, Nenya¡¯s sharp ears could still hear the faint sounds of snapping bones and enthusiastic mastication. Repressing a shudder, she turned to the druid.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°Well, thanks I guess, though we had the matter well in hand.¡± She told him half-heartedly.


    ¡°I need to get my friend and I to safety. Our village is under attack by those raiders.¡± She finished.


    ¡°Raiders?¡± He frowned, ¡°So far inland?¡±


    ¡°Have you been living under a rock?¡± Nenya almost asked him but instead replied with, ¡°High King Vertigan allowed them to settle land on the coast, now they¡¯ve been raiding small villages like us for food and thralls.¡±


    ¡°Aunty said that it might not have been the villagers that are doing it but other groups that didn¡¯t want to settle down.¡± Myra corrected.


    Nenya harrumphed, saying.


    ¡°It¡¯s the same thing in the end though. They had to get those hunting dogs and supplies from somewhere if they¡¯re able to raid this far inland. I bet I also know where they were planning on selling anyone they captured.¡±


    A thought struck her then and she hesitantly continued.


    ¡°Hey listen, my Ma wanted me and Myra out of the fighting but if we had help... I know this is asking much but do you think you can use your magery can help us?¡±


    Seeing Myrelin frown, she pleaded, ¡°You don¡¯t need to fight, just¡­ There¡¯s going to be injured people and people like us being hunted. Any help at all would be appreciated.¡±


    Clutching the neck of her tunic, she looked at her feet whispering as she felt Myra hug her, ¡°We don¡¯t have much but we¡¯ll repay you however we can, so please¡­¡±


    Her eyes had become blurry with unshed tears as the thread of hope that had formed in her heart and the lack of immediate danger caused her discipline to falter. Her last sight of her only remaining family had been of them turning to join fight for her village. The fate of her mother and Aunt bore heavily on her thoughts.


    The hand on her shoulder startled her into looking up. Against her will, seeing Myrelin¡¯s face up close caused her to flush.


    ¡°Close.¡±


    The impish smile that curled his lips didn¡¯t help matters at all.


    ¡°Too close.¡±


    And what was up with his eyes, his pupils and irises were glistening pools of bluish-black that reminded her of a starry night sky.


    ¡°He¡¯s too close.¡±


    Boys shouldn¡¯t have eyelashes so long.


    ¡°He¡¯s way too close!¡±


    The druid was saying something but Nenya didn¡¯t hear. All it did was draw her attention to the shape of his lips and that caused her stomach to flutter and her thoughts to roil further. Now that she got a good, close look at him in the light, she realised that he was perhaps the prettiest man she¡¯d ever seen. Myra¡¯s earlier behaviour suddenly made a lot more sense.


    So, she slugged him.


    ¡°Nenya!¡± Myra shouted at her from her the side in outrage.


    The blow landed beautifully and laid out the dazed druid on his back.


    Nenya blocked her friend¡¯s words out, turned around and crouched, covering her heavily blushing face as she struggled to calm her beating heart.


    <hr>


    The kindly girl, Myra, was fussing over him.


    ¡°Myrelin are you alright?¡±


    He waved her off when she tried to use healing magic on him. He had his ownways of healing and training to use them when disoriented was good practice for such a minor injury.


    ¡°Nenya, why¡¯d you have to hit him in the face!¡±


    It would help if he ever had to use his magic under more desperate circumstances.


    ¡°Have you ever seen a village boy this cute? Have you ever seen any boy this cute?¡±


    Also, he could use this opportunity to think about what had gone wrong.


    ¡°Hueil has this big hairy mole on the end of his nose that wriggles whenever he smiles at me!¡±


    He¡¯d made a mistake, that much was obvious. One brought about through not having enough experience dealing with people other than Mother.


    ¡°And you were the one asking him for help!¡±


    Mother was perfect but she couldn¡¯t be with him always. Actually, she could but he¡¯d wanted to write his own fate and that meant going out into the world and unavoidably, meeting new people.


    ¡°He even has all his teeth. All his teeth Nenya!¡±


    He supposed he could have stayed in the woods with Myre-bird but that would be boring. He wanted to have an adventure.


    ¡°Stop crouching down there looking like a toad, come over here and look pretty. Maybe we can salvage this when he comes around and get him to help us.¡±


    It had occurred to Myrelin that there were gaps in his lessons that couldn¡¯t be covered by reading from books, even one as comprehensive as the Book of Gods, Beasts and Men. The flaw of course, lay not in a lack of relevant content but in his ability to apply the knowledge he held. It was why he¡¯d been made to study the actual plants he¡¯d learnt about in the Book of Nature. Dealing with people, as he was coming to realise, was a far trickier affair than his readings made it seem.


    He touched his jaw and winced.


    ¡°And painful.¡±


    ¡°So, very painful.¡±


    He''d need to invest in a personal passive barrier spell.


    ¡°What a pain.¡±


    ¡°Less painful than being punched in the face though.¡±


    His books did cover situations like this however. Of the possible scenarios it was most likely that his approach had been far too intimate. If so, he knew just what to do once he got up. He¡¯d just smooth things over and tell the two girls about what Myre-bird had shown him happening over at their village. He already knew just what to say. He¡¯d just rest for a moment and let things calm down.


    Of course, he pondered, his limited experience meant that he could still be misreading the situation. In which case if the fiery one called him a pig when he got up and demanded he lick her boots he¡¯d need to use this time to plot his escape.


    Much the same if she slapped him on his ass and demanded he go get her a beer¡­


    Back to the wilds with him if that happened. His pure heart wasn¡¯t ready for something like that. Those kinds of stories always gave him chills and not entirely the good kind either.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t women be more like Mother?¡±

 Village

    ¡°So, the fighting is over? Are you sure it¡¯s safe to come home?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what Myre-bird showed me. Some mounted men attacked the raiders from behind, killing some and forcing the rest to flee with the aid of fighters from the village.¡± Myrelin answered Nenya.


    The three of them had diverted from the path the girls had originally taken when fleeing from the village. Their new route instead approached their home from the side bordering the river which let them stay out of sight. Nenya had insisted on doing so saying that it would allow them to properly assess the situation. The mixture of hope and suspicion in her voice was obvious but Myrelin paid it no heed since it gave him time to make some preparations of his own.


    As they approached the outskirts of the forest, Myrelin completed the project he had been working on. It was a quick and dirty solution to defending himself against physical attacks. While he was confident in avoiding or outfighting most forest predators, be they mundane of supernatural, given ample warning. Especially so with Mother¡¯s protective blessings woven into his cloak. Nenya¡¯s punch had awakened him to the fact that those protections were not without limitations.


    So, on the way back to the village, Myrelin had devised a series of defences that he hoped would serve him well. First was a thin, invisible film of water and wind magic that was anchored to his form. It carried a set of passive enchantments inspired in part by the blessings on his cloak. They were designed to turn aside blows both physical and mystical in nature, hopefully causing attacks to slide off of his body without causing harm.


    The enchantment also incorporated a spell designed to enhance his health and stamina allowing for a mild regenerative effect. That had caused the bruise along his jaw to rapidly fade away. Unfortunately, he could tell that in its current form, this defence would only last a couple blows before failing which is why he¡¯d developed a second layer of protection.


    The second defensive layer was an evocation tied to a modified spiritual warding. The modifications allowed the spell to hold secondary enchantments in addition to a conceptual protection against harm. Should it all work as intended any attack on his person would run into a conjured barrier formed from a hollow shell of iron two fingers thick and six paces in diameter. To his mystical senses it felt as an immaterial dome was suspended just above him. There was a curious feeling of metaphysical weight waiting to fall into place.


    He could already see the problems with it though and resolved to put together something better for his protection. Sometime later, when he wasn¡¯t tromping through the woods with company. For the moment however, he felt confident in having a deployable barrier that would definitely stop most mundane attacks short of anything possible by siege weaponry. The largest drawback though, was that he''d be trapped in place when the barrier materialized. As they drew closer to the river, he ceased his efforts to adapt the barrier into conjuring floating shields and focused on the task at hand.


    <hr>


    The river reeds rustled in the wind as they exited the trees. A feathery light susurration that intertwined with the sounds of life that carried from the village just across the water. The reeds and forest undergrowth gave the greatest amount of cover to mask their movements and the three youths took advantage of that fact, creeping forward until they stopped just before the slope leading down to the watercourse.


    The area about them was covered in olive-green stalks topped by swaying tawny heads. The village of Afon¡¯Ddu shared its name with the river that had helped fuel its growth as a trading outpost built on a river-crossing. The fording that was originally used by travellers passing through the area now hosted a sturdy stone bridge built a hundred paces from where the they were currently hiding.


    The three crouched there among the bushes for a time and gazed across at a collection of houses built upon raised foundations, a feature necessitated due to the seasonal floods. The buildings had seen better days but Nenya could see that things were as Myrelin had stated, the battle appeared to be over. Better yet, she saw with her own eyes the familiar forms fellow villagers moving materials atop a roof, likely repairing damage done to it.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    The group moved slowly toward the bridge keeping an eye out for any sign of a trap. Myrelin, having already scouted his surrounding, paid more attention to the scenery. He could clearly see the palisade wall of the village from where they were walking. It was a high wooden wall with an abutment of earth at its base fixed in place against erosion by the elements using hedges of crimson spine that must have been planted by the villagers.


    Myrelin internally noted that the poisonous plant¡¯s presence was probably a measure meant to dissuade magic beasts seeking to enter the village. The toxin secreted by the thorns andthe plant''sdistinctive red leaves was something that even a morbriosca would be wary of. Inhumans, it was capable of near instantly inducing crippling pain and hallucinations that lasted for days. Most forest predators preferred to simply avoid approaching such bushes altogether.


    Looking further, he could see pasture and farmland downriver. They were sectioned by hedges of the same crimson hue as those at the base of the palisade. Dotting the landscape were a few watchtowers. They were more likely meant to serve as lookouts against magic beasts seeking an easy meal than as a defence against human raiders. Out inthe distance, he could also see what looked like a sawmill with an attached waterwheel that turned slowly in the water current.


    The three exited the swaying reeds and stepped into an area where the plant growth had been deliberately cut away. They were now in clear view of any watchers overseeing the approach from the bridge. A cry of challenge soon came from the village gates where two groups of armed warriors stood guard. One group wore leather armour over woolen clothing while the other had blue tabards on what looked like mail and padded tunics. Besides the two groups was a collection of horses that some of the latter were in the process of grooming.


    The warriors tending to the horses had tensed at the shout but soon calmed as a man in leather armour said something to them. They continued their work as the man dressed in leather strode forth to greet them.


    ¡°Nenya, Myra! Thank the gods! Are you two alright?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re fine! Reece, Mother and Aunty Elen decided to bring the hunters back to help when we heard the alarm.¡± Nenya answered.


    She clasped the older man¡¯s arm in greeting as she asked hurriedly, ¡°Are they safe?¡±


    ¡°Aye lass,¡± he replied.


    ¡°They came back in time to ambush the bastards from across the river, picked off the ones trying to climb the wall.¡± The man, Reece, said as he motioned behind him.


    ¡°Not that climbing it would have helped them.¡± He finished with a knowing grin.


    Shifting his head to look behind the man, Myrelin could now see that beyond the gates was a wooden drawbridge set across a dry moat separating the palisade he had observed from a second inner wall. What he had assumed to be houses built close to the wall turned out to be covered walkways that ringed the inner defences, allowing archers to fight from the platforms.


    His lips twitched as he noted that some enterprising soul had planted the same poisonous thorn bushes lining the base of the outer wall down in the ditch between the two structures. He raised his eyebrows when he realised that the drawbridge seemed to be built from two hinged sections. It was designedin such a way that cutting the ropes used to pull it up would instead cause the structure to collapse into the moat. The contraption looked strong enough to bear the weight of men and loaded wagons but he wouldn¡¯t trust the ropes with a heavy load after the battle that had just occurred. That probably explained why the horses remained outside the gates.


    In the meantime Reece¡¯s grin had shifted into a thoughtful frown.


    ¡°Alwen and Elenwyd said that they¡¯d sent you two on to the hunter¡¯s camp.¡± He told them, ¡°They had to wait while the chief met with our guests,¡± a hand motioned to the men tending to the horses, ¡°But they were going to come get you right after. What are you doing back?¡± He questioned as his eyes settled on Myrelin.


    ¡°And who¡¯s your friend?¡±


    Myrelin smiled at what seemed to be his cue.


    ¡°I bid you greetings, my good sir. I am called Myrelin, a traveller of the wilds.¡± He bowed with a flourish, ¡°I happened across these two fair maidens being chased by men of ill repute and sought to lend my aid.¡±


    Rising and giving the bemused man a guileless smile, he continued. ¡°Upon hearing of their plight I found myself moved by their most vigorous, passionate pleas-Mmph!¡°


    Slapping a hand over the druid¡¯s mouth, Nenya interrupted with a glare, saying. ¡°Found a crazy druid in the woods, he fed the raiders chasing us to his pet morbriosca. We brought him back to help.¡±


    Seeing Reece mutter ¡®fair maidens¡¯ under his breath while looking her way dubiously, she glared harder.


    ¡°The end!¡± She growled through gritted teeth.


    At her side, Myra sighed in despair. "Let''s just go in, we''ll explain to Aunty Elen and Aunty Ally when they get done with their business Reece. He''s a druid and here to help, where are the injured?" She asked as she walked past them gently leading Myrelin away.


    "Oh, and tell anyone you send out to avoid the western part of the forest for a while, there''s a morbriosca sleeping off a large meal."

 Scions of the Dragon

    Acanthus Petronax was a giant bear of a man. Close to seven feet tall,his heavily muscled frameweighed nearly thirty stone. He was currently naked save for a loin-cloth and a loose, linen tunic that fluttered in the wind. The shifting clothshowed glimpses of his torso to initiates arrayed before him. It was a display with a purpose. He needed the new recruits to see him and understand.


    His skin appeared to be heavily tanned atfirst glance, but this was far from the truth.Thousands of faded scars that marred his flesh until they blended into a single darkened whole.Large and small,there were themarks formed by the weapons and magics of men. The jagged lines and pits where the teeth and claws of beasts had laid open his body. The remnants of burns caused by the instinctual magics and foul sorceries wielded by monsters and demons.Even theslightly mismatched and unnatural colouration of his eyes betrayed the fact thatat some point they had beenregrown.It was a testament of the countless battles he¡¯d fought over his eighty years of service to the legions of the Red Dragons. Proof that even the most advanced armour, protective spells and combat arts had limits. He bore these marks by choice and duty.


    The healers of the legion were not so poor as to leave a man maimed and crippled so long as he and they yet lived. The oath-bond of the legion demanded no less. Low ranking soldiers might be left with spectacular scars after a few years of battles but the disfigurations were only cosmetic, nothing to hamper one¡¯s abilities. Even then, centuries of tradition and studies on the matter held that officers should have all scars but a few aesthetically pleasing markings be removed from their flesh.


    It was done to engender a sense of confidence in their soldiers. To tell them that their leaders had seen battle and survived. That they too would survive. This was a practice followed by every level in the chain of command from the Dracones down to the lowliest non-commissioned officer. The only exception to this rule was the soldier who held the post of Master of Instruction.


    His duty was to ensure that they saw him and understood.


    For the few fools who thought him weak because of his scars, he let the physique and skills of a legion veteran do the talking. His powerful legs and hardened bare feet ran distances across the countryside that saw the raw recruits following him vomit. As theywatched him in exhaustion, he''drepeat the featagain and againwith each class until they were all too humbled to complain. A waist, narrow only in comparison to his broad shoulders, weathered strengthening exercises and wrestled trainee after trainee until they were all beaten into submission.The process continued until even the unruliest of neophytes learned to respect the power of his guiding hand.


    Lest he truly break them¡­


    The group before him had been deemed worthy of eventually being allowed to lay hands on a legion weapon. As was now tradition, he called for three shields.


    ¡°This is a Thorsican great-shield,¡± He proclaimed, holding up the round disk of layered ironwood slats, reinforced with the hide and bones of some aquatic magic beast.


    He turned the device about in his hands, showing the handle on the back and the rivetted iron boss in front that had been scrubbed of some fell sorcery.


    ¡°It is the favoured tool of our enemies in these lands.¡± He continued, ¡°Note that the markings on the boss have been removed. Such shields will typically have script detailing a warrior¡¯s history or in rare cases an enchantment meant to aid them in battle.¡± He then tossed the shield to an assistant with a dismissive sniff.


    The assistant then began to lecture the recruits on the possible ways that an enemy warrior might use such a shield, listing its strengths and weaknesses. Acanthus used the time to stroll over to a rack of training weapons and casually selected a wooden quarterstaff. He hefted it in his hands, considering its quality, then returned to the fore. He waited until the other instructor finished before speaking again.


    ¡°This is how an unenchanted shield deals with a blow of great force.¡±


    The assistant instructor set himself in a guard, covering his body with the shield, as he mimicked holding a sword at the ready while preparing to meet a thrust.


    Acanthustook a single step forward, turning his hips and torso as his abdomen and muscled arms flexed.He struck out with the butt of the staff in a seemingly simple movement. The other instructors and a few of the more talented students however, could see the shadow of the Charging Bull combat technique taught to all legionnaires. No magic augmented his body and he withdrew the fullstrength of the blow at the last moment. The effects however, were no less stunning.


    The assistant instructor adroitly danced forward and to one side slightly before contact. He allowed the quarterstaff to clip the left side of the shield turning it in his hand and attempting to deflect the weapon with a controlled push as he sought to advance. Then the remaining force of the blow, heavily mitigated, carried through into him.


    The shield smacked against the man¡¯s arm with an echoing crack and he was sent tumbling to one side as a piece of it snapped off. Only the other man¡¯s experience and the pulled blow saved him from a broken shoulder as he rolled on the ground to bleed off the strength of the impact. His body left a furrow in the dirt as he skidded to a stop having dropped the ruined shield.


    Checking to make sure that the assistant was uninjured,Acanthus turned back to the class.


    ¡°Now that was an unenchanted shield, wielded by a skilled warrior. Thorsicans tend to favour shield enchantments that aid in attacking such as a curse of fettering that would allow them a chance at a counter blow.¡±


    Acanthus fingered the end of the quarterstaff as he continued, ¡°Such tactics favour the individual combat style that the thorsicans prefer, however, against beings that greatly overwhelm them in strength the result is as you saw.¡±


    Bringing the weapon to a rest beside him, he mused, ¡°One might argue that had the shield been enchanted with a protection spell, things might have been different." Nodding to himself, he continued, "In the end it comes down to the fact that the thorsicans favour individual combat.¡±


    ¡°Oh, they can fight in formations,¡± He admittedwith a mildsneer. ¡°They¡¯re shit at it but they know how to do it.¡±


    Continuing he stated, ¡°Their preferred tactic is having their shamans summon demons to aid them in battle. They use them along with war beasts and their iactitantur, the screamers, to bustopen enemy formations to get the kind of battle they¡¯re good at.¡±


    Motioning to the pieces of the broken shield he looked at them meaningfully, ¡°Screamers hit harder than that, war beasts and demons hit harder still. The protective enchantments on a thorsican shield might be able to withstand such a blow but the warriors holding them can¡¯t.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°Even with their blessings, a Thorsican''s focus is on the glory of the individual. One enchantment, one shield.¡± He stressed.


    "In a battle of formations they get rumbled just like instructor Palestrio did just now and scatter the lines.¡± He paused and gave them a nasty grin, ¡°Assuming they don¡¯t immediately die and have their corpses turned into projectiles.¡±


    Judging his moment from the now nervous looks on the faces before him he called forth the two instructors bearing elongated, hexagonal shields. The set themselves in a guard position together as Acanthus continued speaking.


    ¡°These are legion shields, they¡¯re the product of centuries of refinement on countless battlefields.¡± He boasted.


    ¡°But at a very basic level these shields are made using the same materials as the one before.¡±


    Holding up a hand he counted with his thick fingers for emphasis. ¡°Wood anda metal bossreinforced with the hide and bones of a magic beast.¡±


    Sniffing at the recruits in disdain he said, ¡°For you lot, that¡¯ll be bristle-boar hide or ironquill. The real soldiers get wyvern hide.¡±


    Then he gave them a grim smile as he set himself into a ready position, saying. ¡°They also do their best work in the company of another of their fellows because legion shields are designed to work in formation and their enchantments reflect this.¡±


    Acanthus struck at the left shield and hit it with a loud bang. Despite not trying to deflect the blow, the instructor bearing the shield merely rocked back slightly as a faint blue light flickered for an instant. Curiously, the instructor beside him had the same thing happen as well even though he hadn¡¯t been hit.


    Turning back to the murmuring men Acanthus told them, ¡°The protective enchantments on these shields are linked, the strength of a blow to one shieldis shared among them all.¡± Grinning again, he added. ¡°The more of them there are in a formation, the weaker the blow on any one shield becomes.¡±


    Clapping his hands in seeming excitement he continued, ¡°Now let¡¯s get started learning how to use these shields¡­ By getting used to carrying their weight.¡± Pointing to the long logs bordering the training field he smirked.


    ¡°Instructor Callum has some errands to run down at the docks.¡± He said to them pointing at the distant horizon. ¡°You¡¯re going to deliver some wood for the shipwrights and fetch some fish for the Optio¡¯s dinner.¡±


    His joyful smile was gruesome in their eyes, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you don¡¯t have to catch them with your hands this time.¡±


    They¡¯d just have to run the length of the valley, twice.


    <hr>


    Later, dressed in his serjeant¡¯s uniform, Acanthus entered the office of Optio Mabon Wathen. Pausing at the entrance he thumped his chest twice in salute. ¡°Serjeant Acanthus Petronax reporting as ordered, sirs.¡±


    He carefully blinked at the sight of Dracones Uthyr standing in the office with Optio Mabon as the two men peered at a map laid out between them. There was an extremely nervous looking munifex off to one side, standing at attention. At his entrance the red-haired man looked up but it was Optio Mabon who responded. ¡°Serjeant Acanthus, come in, the Dracones has need of your services.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir!¡±


    "Looks like it was time to earn another scar."


    The Dracones looked at him squarely and nodded with a smile when Acanthus met his eyes without flinching. ¡°Ah, yes, Acanthus. You were assigned to light duties after you lost an arm putting down that demon the raiders unleashed last year, yes? How are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. That flying brute was a tricky one, caught me with its tail just as I killed it, I¡¯d have walked it off if it wasn¡¯t for the acid. I¡¯ve had enough time to recoverand I am fit for duty.¡±


    Uthyr laughed ruefully, ¡°Glad to hear it, if only I had more of you. I hope Ariana wasn¡¯t too upset about what happened afterI hadpromised to stop sending you home to her in pieces?¡±


    Acanthus grinned. ¡°If there were more of me, I¡¯d have to share my wife. Ariana¡¯s a strong woman sir, she had my arm regrown and me tending the farm by the end of the month. Not that I minded, I got to spend the time withBedwyr.¡±


    ¡°Your son¡¯s growing well I hope?¡±


    ¡°Strong as a bull sir.¡±


    ¡°Good, good.¡± Uthyr answered, "I hear we''re getting a delivery of salted fish from the markets. I''ll have a barrel sent over to Ariana witth some pressed olives and wine from my stores."


    Acanthus smiled wordlessly in thanks.


    Then Uthyr asked him. ¡°I¡¯ve also heard that you were born in the Hiberian territories, how¡¯s your fieldcraft?¡±


    Acanthus nodded slowly, ¡°I was raised on an estate in the outskirts of Sardon, spent my youth hunting bristle-boars with my father and brothers. I originally joined the legion as a scout. Some things don¡¯t leave you sir. My Da scouted for the Red Dragons under Aureolus Ambrosius, The Red Drake himself, he taught me everything he knew.¡±


    Uthyr¡¯s grin was sharp as he shared a glance with Optio Wathen.


    ¡°Just what I wanted to hear.¡± He remarked. ¡°I have a job for you Acanthus. Munifex Lewys here tells me he knows a footpath used by hunters to get through the mountains to our north.¡±


    Acanthus¡¯ eyebrows rose. That could be bad if their enemies discovered it, he was beginning to think he knew what his Dracones needed from him.


    He was proven wrong by Uthyr¡¯s next words.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already had the path scouted and have begun setting up a fortifications to guard it at a narrow pass along the trail.¡± The Dracones¡¯ eyes gleamed with excitement as he pinned Acanthus with a fervent stare. ¡°What I want from you Acanthus, is for you and a detachment of soldiers to guard a group of Conclave sorcerers while they build me a road.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that was so much worse.¡±


    <hr>


    Myra led Myrelin to what appeared to be a temple built of stone and wood. He grinned when he recognised the familiar aura coming from the aspen tree planted in the courtyard before it.


    ¡°Hello again, Mother.¡± He murmured softly.


    The tree¡¯s leaves shivered.


    Beside him, Myra dipped her head and uttered a quick prayer before hurrying through the temple doors leaving Myrelin to follow after her. The main room of the temple had been designed for use as a hospice in keeping with the nurturing aspect of the Goddess Naermid, as the chanting priestess called his mother. He shrugged to himself, mother had always been mother to him.


    Backless benches had been pushed together and covered with clean linens to form beds. Four injured men and one woman lay moaning upon them. Most waited with wounds dressed with poultices and bandages while a green robed priestess pressed a glowing light over a sucking wound in a man¡¯s chest as she repeatedly chanted.


    Myra made a choked sound as she looked at the other side of the room where a pair of acolytes wearing black robes wrapped a form in light brown fabric. Visibly gathering herself, she went forward to lend her aid to the priestess. Washing her hands in a bowl of blessed astringent, healing light sparked to life between them as she joined the woman in prayer over the dying man.


    Rather than joining them, Myrelin instead took a moment to quietly focus. For the first time since he left the safety of his mother¡¯s grove, he drew back the shutters that protected his inner eye and looked at the world. Normally, his mystical senses were limited to intuitive impressions more closely associated with his sense of touch. Now though he could seestreams of light of a hue indescribable by words. If pressed to describe the colours he saw, perhaps he would say it looked like life, growth and ecstasy with subtle undertones of death, decay and violence.


    The lights swirled thickest about the altar and the aspen tree outside the temple, welling up from the earth like water from a spring. He knew without seeing that the source of the lights flowed from the forest itself, giving and taking life. Faint threads were drawn into the praying women, joining with their own light before the blended mixture was passed into the man.


    The beauty of it made him want to weep but he fortified himself. Closing his inner eye, he recalled his teachings on the human form. Comparinghis knowledgeto what he had seen of the injuredbeforehim, he reached out to them with his magic. A faint whisper coming from the door beyond caused a smile to slip across his features as phantom lips pressed against his brow speaking words that he echoed quietly.


    ¡°Bod yn Dda.¡±


    About him the pained moans of the injured gave way to relieved sighs.A cool wind stirred the temple as if the world sighed with them. Broken bones eased into place and knitted as torn flesh began to mend, expelling poisons and debris from wounds. The priestess looked up at him sharply as Myra exclaimed with joy.


    Myrelin had already turned away, walking toward the shivering aspen tree and the myre-bird sitting perched among its branches.

 Forest Road

    She had watched in interest as the two arrived on her sanctuary¡¯s shores. The child that was more than he appeared, the spirit that was more than it seemed. She remembered how the creature had defiantly held her gaze, such arrogance for one requesting a favour. In any other circumstance, she may have sought to chastise it before banishing the creature from her isle, but the child, oh! The child!


    The light of his soul was something she¡¯d never seen before, it was so much brighter than the others and the colours within, the seed germinating at its core. It was as if she looked upon a dream made flesh. The realisation of that thought was enough for her to understand just what she beheld. The shroud of power woven about him and the guardian spirit poorly pretending to be a myre-bird would have been enough of a clue even had her sight somehow failed her.


    The Guardian watched her warily as she wove a form of flesh and blood. It did not fear her, she knew, even in the seat of her power where her strength eclipsed its own. A battle between them would result in a pyrrhic victory for her given their natures. It was strong enough to wreak havoc upon her sanctum and escape her wrath intact if not unscathed. She would be left vulnerable with a new enemy to watch out for, two, if her guess at the entity¡¯s patron was correct. However, it wouldn¡¯t need come to that because of the child, oh! The child!


    As her newly formed fingers clutched at the reed basket in their delicate, ivory grip, the two immortals came to an understanding. Gently, she lifted the sleeping babe to her bosom and her finger stroked his cheek as soft lips instinctively latched onto a pink nipple. The sensation left her shivering in joy as she gave her blessing freely there and then on that pebbled shore bordered by dark waters.


    The Guardian watched her imperiously with its golden eyes. It turned its head hither and thither in stark contemplation. Seeing something that pleased it, the creature issued her an imperious nod. Its jet-black beak suddenly expanded into a great fanged maw that issued a simple proclamation in a tongue of crushing boulders, dark silence and fiery retribution.


    ¡°YOU¡¯LL DO.¡±


    She paid no heed as the spirit took wing and faded into the forest. Its gaze could still be sensed, watching them, an unspoken promise she had no intention of testing. Her mind had already turned to the task at hand. She softly sang to the babe as her thoughts laid out what needed to be done. A home for shelter, a garden for food, a song to soothe.


    The soothing song came easily, though a firm reminder was given to her retainers that the chorus should hold no undertones of deathly rest. Instead the refrain touched upon the promise of new life and growth. Her subjects shivered their leaves in excitement as the lesser spirits shared in her rapturous delight. Budding flowers glistened as boughs groaned in synchrony, parting to allow sunlight to push back the gloom. Daintily she stepped forth, cradling the babe as she marked off the perfect spot for the new seedling¡¯s nursery.


    Oh, a child! A child!


    The chiming call echoed through the blissful memory as it faded, leaving behind the form of a youth meditating upon a leaf-strewn stone bench. Branches swayed in the wind as if reaching down to cradle the one sitting below. With his eyes closed, Myrelin smiled as the aspen tree beside him hummed a whispery, shivering melody.


    Oh, a child! A child!


    <hr>


    Derwyn Pews, Acolyte of the Second Rank struggled to control his breathing as he performed a moving meditation. The intricate movements incorporated a series of stretches in carefully held poses and deep, measured breathing. They were performed in synchrony with deep gusty breaths timed to pulsations deep within his soul.


    Unseen, an ethereal aura expanded from within him reaching out into the aether. Faint motes of magical essence wandered across the immaterial boundary of his aura only to be caught like fireflies in amber. Having reached as far as it could go, the aura contracted inward dragging the scattered lights with it. The motes were drawn deep within his soul gathering together, shedding minute impurities and being refined by his sense of self until what was left condensed into a single scintillating bead of quintessence.


    The bead floated within the core of his being for a moment before diffusing into a varicoloured haze of power that flowed out of his soul. It circulated through Derwyn¡¯s mind and body before returning to his soul again. He¡¯d always found the process of respiring magic to be a wonderous sensation. It was strange soothing cool combined followed by an aching burn that permeated through him before giving way to a feeling of euphoria and invigoration. In some ways it felt even better than sex if not for the fact that he couldn¡¯t dwell upon the experience. The energy had scarcely completed a second circulation before Derwyn¡¯s aura expanded again, expelling the impurities, fragments of power rejected by his identity as he began the process of gathering magic again.


    He¡¯d once overheard a legion instructor say that training to use magic was like exercising a muscle. His conclave mentor had explained the concept in greater detail using far more complicated terms which meant the same thing in the end. Personally, Derwyn preferred the instructor¡¯sallegory over talks of psycho-symbology and autohypnotic, metaphysical soul-body interactions. He wasn¡¯t an unintelligent man but many of the things the legion taught him were so new and astonishing that the part of him that remembered being a mere crofter¡¯s son latched onto the simpler words.


    To begin, petty magic was something that most people were capable of to some degree. Often times it was an ability manifested during a frustrating or stressful event. A petty spell could allow a man to run faster when being chased by a predator, cause wounds to clot and heal without corruption or find one¡¯s way to food and shelter when starving and lost in the wilds. Most people hardly even realised what they were doing was magic. It was something instinctual and, in most instances, merely a shade beyond what was possible without magic. In the world they lived in developing such abilities were the only way most people were able to survive to adulthood.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The method that his imperial instructors taught involved using magic to manipulateand carry out tasks at the verylimits of their ability. For the soldiers of the infantry this was a series of outrageous feats of physical strength and stamina that slowly but surely stepped into the realm of the superhuman. Men and women like Derwyn who early on showed a marked talent for manipulating their petty magics externally were given different tasks.


    Their mentors instead directed them to use petty magic to perform certain jobs daily. Where the infantry recruits ran for miles carrying heavy loads like pack mules, those of the conclave busied themselves projecting sendings, tending forge fires, patching damaged structures or in the more advanced classes laying simple enchantments on legion gear like making boots resistant to wear.


    A common exercise involved levitating stones and shaping them into different forms. Derwyn¡¯s time as a new recruit had seen him shape countless pavers until it seemed his eyes would bleed. Once exhausted the neophytes would perform a resting meditation meant to passively restore their magic and encourage their bodies and souls to grow stronger. Time and continued practice would eventually see them increase in ability until eventually after a year or two of effort most were able to carry out the exercise with a chunk of stone weighing 144 libra for a full day without rest.


    Upon achieving this feat, neophytes were confirmed as rank one acolytes of the first circle and taught the first of the moving meditations that he was performing. The first circle was where the legion conclave began to differ from the hedge witches and wizards of his birthplace. It was encapsulated within a simple dogma held as truth.


    Meditation, exercise and practise made for stronger sorcerers.


    The training system of the legion¡¯s mystical conclave was quantified using a system of circles which were further subdivided into ranks. It was a policy established through the works of imperial sorcerers who over centuries had worked to investigate and develop hypotheses put forward by the even more ancient Hellani philosopher kings, or so he was told. By the standards of the legion, most barbarian magic practitioners who commanded notable power unsupported by the aid of a spirit be they divine or infernal, ranked within the lower six divisions of the twelve ranks comprising the first circle.


    Few and far between were those who completed their first circle and gained the ability to use the major incantations of the second. Such were men and women held the power comparable to a junior officer of the legion. Rarer still were sorcerers of the third circle and higher who possessed the qualifications to dictate terms to kings or found dynasties in their own right. He¡¯d heard that within the far-off core territories such individuals lived lives of luxury as studs and brood-mares for nobles when not anchoring the empire¡¯s defences against its rivals or dealing with some calamity, mystical or otherwise.


    Easing out of his meditative trance, Derwyn eyed his leader. The man was a second circle adept who was in the process of laying down a Maior Sanctuarii enchantment over a line of foundation stones. The stones were set in a wide and shallow trench a hundred paces long. What was to become a new section of imperial roadway was steadily being worked on by the scores of acolytes following in the man¡¯s wake laying Derwyn''s dreaded pavers.


    Judging from their progress, Derwyn decided that he¡¯d have enough time to get a meal and some rest before it was his turn again on the rotation. The meditation session may have been invigorating, but his time in the legion had taught him to rest while he could. As he turned to leave, baying howls rose up behind him, causing a grimace of distaste to cross his features. His feet carried him even faster toward the safety of the barracks and cook house.


    ¡®Fucking forest!¡¯


    <hr>


    Acanthus nodded in approval when a scout¡¯s sending relayed the news he had been expecting. There was a pack of dire wolves heading toward the unfinished road and work crew. It was now up to the guard force to protect them. There wouldn¡¯t be enough time to redeploy the traps that had been set but that wasn¡¯t a problem. There¡¯d be more attackers later, there always were.


    The thing about the Magna Sanctuarii was that it didn¡¯t physically prevent magic beasts from entering, it dissuaded them. The spell preyed upon the creatures¡¯ primitive instincts to avoid wandering deeply into the territory of a more powerful magic beast. The inside of the valley up to the foothills and shore was as forbidding as such a thing could get to these creatures.


    However, lesser magic beasts were actually drawn to such areas as living in the very outskirts provided security from the more powerful of their kind. Such creatures were often wary that their incursion might accidentally provoke a response from the territory''s owner. When the legion had been in a defensive posture this population of magic beasts had been seen as an advantage. Armies trying to bypass the fortress at the mouth of the valley would be swarmed by hordes of lesser magic beasts. Unfortunately, this also meant that themundane and mystical commotion caused by the road crews was drawing a near constant stream of attacks on their guards.


    Acanthus and the other serjeants of the guard force had been using the whole thing as a training exercise. The group under his command were primarily made of green soldiers with a few veterans of the occasional Thorsican sea-raids to fill things out and keep their juniors alive. This was to be a blooding for the new soldiers to help ingrain the legion tactics. Losing the men to rabid beasts in any significant numbers before the new offensive the Dracones was obviously planning would be counter-productive.


    The lesser magic beasts were not a problem with veterans anchoring the lines but there was occasionally a beast or two that required Acanthus¡¯ personal attention. An almost certainty with the incoming a pack of dire wolves. The pony sized beasts always followed an alpha. A creature likely too strong for even a veteran in the higher ranks of the first circle to defeat. That one his men would leave for him to deal with.


    A reverberating howl split the air as the wolves entered the clearing. Their charge stymied by the spears projected beyond the shields of the front rank, the creatures split off to the sides losing only one of their number. The expected sneak attack from the flanks came in the form of a grey blur leaping from the canopy of a tree. A trio of javelins thrown by a sixth rank veteran defeated the gambit. The unenchanted iron heads failed to penetrate the beast¡¯s hide but carried enough force to smash the disposable weapons into unrecognizable pieces and drop the wolf into reach of a serjeant who dispatched it with casual ease.


    Acanthus smiled lazily. Magic beasts were smarter than mundane animals but their tactics could be predicted by those with experience. The alpha wasn¡¯t the female howling in the rear of the pack. It also wasn¡¯t one of the beasts waiting in the shadows at their flanks. The founder of the Reman Empire took a wolf¡¯s head as his standard for a reason and Acanthus had placed himself at the rear for that very same reason.


    So, when his shadow twisted into a fanged maw that clamped onto his leg, he simply grinned in answer and stabbed the magic beast in the eye with a glowing hot spatha before the entire limb was ripped off.


    ¡°Hello, Mr. Fur Pelt.¡± He cooed.


    He decided that he¡¯d make this one a rug.