Alistair's mother clutched Talthon's arm, her voice filled with worry. "Why did you have to agree to this, Talthon? There must be another way!"
Talthon met her gaze, his jaw clenched tight. "There wasn't, Mother. I couldn't surrender our land to that tyrant. He only wants to conquer and rule, not care for the people."
His mother's eyes welled up with tears. "No, Talthon, please. Don't do this!"
They walked out of the imposing throne room, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them. The weight of the decision pressed down on Talthon, his anger barely masking his fear.
A soft voice startled them. It was the young woman, the one General Ecolier had held captive.
"You... you saved my life," she stammered, approaching them with hesitant steps. "I thought I was finished, but your choice... it satisfied the king, and now we're free! Thank you." She bowed deeply, her hand fluttering to her stomach.
Alistair's mother offered a small, relieved smile. "There's no need to thank him, dear. You're safe now, that's all that matters." Talthon glanced at his mother, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but remained silent.
As they walked away, General Ecolier watched from the shadows.
"Your Majesty," Ecolier said, his voice filled with confusion, "why did you let him go?"
Thassalor, his face twisted in a cruel smirk, leaned back on his throne. "Ecolier," he drawled, "this is all part of the plan. Relax, and watch the game unfold."
Ecolier furrowed his brow, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "A plan..."
"Think, Ecolier," Thassalor urged. "Use that head of yours."
After a moment, Ecolier's eyes widened. "Ah! It has something to do with Corvus, doesn't it?"
Thassalor's smile widened. "Excellent! You finally catch on."
"Is this Corovus the one I'm thinking of?" Ecolier asked, his voice laced with surprise.
"Precisely!" Thassalor boomed, his laughter echoing through the chamber. "You see, Ecolier, you underestimate my brilliance."
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Ecolier conceded with a smile. "You are far more cunning than I ever imagined."
King Thassalor, a smug smile plastered on his face, watched Talthon leave the palace. His mind buzzed with a twisted anticipation. "You've fallen prey to my trap, Talthon," he thought. "But are you strong enough to handle what I've planned? Only time will tell. If you can overcome this challenge, then perhaps you are a true warrior after all."
Talthon, surrounded by the king's soldiers, moved with a focused determination. His mind raced, formulating a plan. "How will I navigate this?" he thought, closing his eyes for a moment. He stopped abruptly, the soldiers halting beside him. His face etched with worry.
Talthon opened his eyes and addressed the soldiers directly. "Listen well, guards of Thassalor," he declared, his voice firm. He paused, ensuring he had their attention. "Deliver a message to King Thassalor. Tell him I require his army by tomorrow evening. Additionally, I need a messenger dispatched to the kingdom of Corovus, to the very person Thassalor has challenged to fight."
The soldiers exchanged surprised glances before a single soldier stepped forward. "Your message will be relayed to His Majesty," he said, a hint of respect underlying his words.
This soldier then turned and addressed the villagers who had gathered, relaying Talthon's instructions. Joy flickered across their faces initially, but it quickly morphed into fear and anger. As the soldier explained the conditions of their "freedom" under Thassalor's rule, some villagers grabbed whatever weapons they could find and lunged at the guards. Panic flickered in the soldiers' eyes as they scrambled to defend themselves.
Frustration crackled in the air like static electricity. Talthon watched his once-peaceful villagers crammed into the designated area, their faces etched with a mix of fear and defiance. A young woman, Elara, who often helped Talthon train the village children, approached him, her eyes blazing.
"Talthon," she hissed, her voice tight with anger, "how can you stand there calmly? They've taken our homes! Our freedom! They think we'll just accept this?"
Talthon placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "Gyra, I understand your anger. But violence won't solve anything. We need to be strategic."
Gyra scoffed. "Strategic? They're armed and mocking us! We're treated like prisoners!"
A burly farmer, Garek, slammed his fist against a wooden post. "Exactly! We can't just sit here like sheep!"
Before Talthon could respond, a commotion erupted at the edge of the designated area. A young villager, barely a teenager, named Finn, darted towards the guards, a rusty shovel clutched in his hand.
"Let me go!" he screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. "I won't be your prisoner!"
The guards, tall and imposing, laughed amongst themselves. One of them, a man with a cruel smile, shoved Finn back with ease. Finn stumbled, the shovel clattering to the ground.
Gyra's scream tore through the air. "Leave him alone!"
A ripple of anger went through the crowd. Several villagers surged forward, muttering threats. Talthon's heart hammered in his chest. This was exactly what he'd feared.
"Everyone stop!" Talthon roared, his voice echoing across the clearing. The villagers hesitated, their anger warring with fear.
"We won't achieve anything by fighting now,!!" Talthon continued, his voice calmer but firm. "Trust me, there's another way. But it requires patience."
Gyra glared at the guards, her fists clenched. Garek and the other villagers grumbled, but slowly backed away. Finn scrambled to his feet, shame and anger twisting his face.
The cruel guard from before swaggered forward, a sneer playing on his lips. "Seems your little friend here doesn't understand the rules," he mocked, his gaze sweeping across the villagers. "Anyone else feeling rebellious?"
Talthon met the guard's gaze with steely determination. "There will be no rebellion," he declared, his voice carrying a quiet power.
Alistair's mother, tears welling up in her eyes, grabbed Talthon's arm. "What will we do now?" she cried, her voice laden with despair. "My son Alistair is missing, and we are facing this chaos!"
Talthon, burdened by the weight of his missing son and the looming battle, squeezed his mother's hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, Mother," he said, his voice calm despite the internal turmoil. "Nothing terrible will happen. Everyone, please calm down. Tomorrow, I will deal with everything. There will be a battle, yes, but I won't fight. I'll strive for a peaceful resolution."
A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, bathing Talthon and his mother in a warm glow. His expression remained resolute, a flicker of defiance hiding deep within his eyes.
Suddenly, a booming voice shattered the tense silence. "Hey!" A soldier appeared at the entrance of the wooden palace. "You, Talthon, the king's guard inform you that your request for the army has been accepted. The king will provide food, water, and shelter for your troops. Now, follow me." The soldier's tone was harsh, devoid of any compassion.
Talthon, along with his mother, followed the guards, their confidence buoyed by a sliver of hope. After a short walk, they reached their designated area – a small wooden house with a farm nestled beside a trickling stream. In the distance, they could see the soldiers escorting villagers with a mixture of sadness and defiance etched on their faces.
"The king seems to have kept his word," Talthon muttered, glancing at the approaching villagers.
"Just keep moving," the guard behind him barked, his tone devoid of respect.
Talthon followed the guard's instruction, his face stoic. They arrived at the wooden house.
"Here's your place," the guard said, his voice tinged with a hint of warning. "Food and water will be delivered shortly. Don't even think about escaping. Your request for the army and the meeting have been forwarded to the king. Head inside, it's getting dark." He turned and walked away, leaving Talthon and his mother alone.
Back in the palace, a satisfied smirk played on Thassalor's lips. "So, Talthon plays my game," he chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "He may have requested an army, but let's see how he handles what I have in store for him."
A guard, kneeling before the king, awaited his orders.
"Now listen well," Thassalor commanded, a glint of malice in his eyes.
"Deliver a message to King Corovus Kein," the guard began, reciting Thassalor's instructions. "Tell him..."
Thassalor leaned forward, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the kneeling guard chimed in, his voice trembling slightly. "I understand your message clearly. I will leave with another guard immediately and reach Corovus Kein's kingdom by morning."
General Ecolier, standing nearby, added a chilling warning, "Make sure you carry out this task flawlessly. You know the consequences of failure."
The guard gulped, his fear evident. "Yes, General, I understand. I'm leaving now." He scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the palace.
"A brilliant plan, Your Majesty," Ecolier declared, a hint of admiration in his voice. "With this, your obstacle will be eliminated, and victory will be yours without a fight."
King Thassalor rose from his throne, his movements purposeful. With a flourish, he opened the massive doors of his treasury, a cavern overflowing with riches – gold and diamonds plundered from countless battles. An avaricious smile stretched across his face as he gazed upon his hoard. It was a testament to his power, his ruthlessness, and the relentless pursuit of conquest that had defined his reign.
He scooped up a handful of shimmering gold, the coins cascading through his fingers like glistening grains of rice. Reaching out, he thrust the gold into the open palm of General Ecolier.
"Why, Your Majesty?" Ecolier stammered, bewildered by the unexpected reward. "This is unnecessary..."
Thassalor chuckled, his eyes glinting with something akin to respect. "This is a token of my appreciation, Ecolier. A reward for your unwavering loyalty and service. You are a pillar of my kingdom, a testament to its strength. These coins are but a small symbol of the value I place on your contributions."
Ecolier, still bewildered but undeniably pleased, accepted the gold with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I am honored by your trust and generosity. You will not find a more loyal servant in all the land."
"Now then," Thassalor boomed, his voice regaining its commanding tone, "prepare the army for tomorrow's meeting with Talthon. Select the finest soldiers, warriors whose loyalty is unquestioning and whose skills are unmatched. Fulfill his demand for troops. Leave nothing to chance."
"Yes, Your Highness!" Ecolier knelt once again, his voice brimming with obedience. "It will be done as you command."
"Excellent!" Thassalor declared, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He turned his gaze towards an unseen figure, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, Talthon," he murmured, the smile on his face morphing into something far more sinister. "Let the games begin." The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, dripping with a dark promise of betrayal and bloodshed.
-----
A cacophony of sounds filled the Sunstone Citadel Forest – the shrill cry of a parrot, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and the rhythmic tapping of a stick against a tree. A young deer grazed nearby, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. It was Alistair, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"I must be on the right track," he muttered, scratching his head for a moment. He unfolded a crudely drawn map, his eyes tracing the route he'd painstakingly sketched. "Approximately eleven miles more through this forest, then a mile past that, I'll reach the sea. I can swim across the river and escape this cursed area."
A flicker of anxiety crossed his face. "Hold on," he mumbled, his eyes widening. "There's a Thassalor army camp near the river crossing. Sailors stationed there. They'll be stronger than me, that's for sure. I need a plan to deal with them before I attempt the escape."
Alistair carefully studied his map, formulating a strategy. With a determined nod, he tucked the map away and hefted his sword, the wood rough against his palm. He clutched the walking stick in his other hand, a makeshift weapon against the unknown dangers ahead.
Suddenly, a rustling sound echoed from behind him. He whipped around, heart pounding in his chest. "Just a deer," he sighed, relieved. "Hopefully."
A wave of loneliness washed over him. "Father, Mother, everyone from the village... gone," he whispered, his voice thick with despair. Memories of his family – playful laughter, warm embraces – flooded his mind. He yearned for their comfort, their guidance.
A guttural growl ripped through the peaceful forest, shattering Alistair's reverie. He spun around, his breath catching in his throat. Terror welled up in his eyes as he peered into the thicket. Two glowing orbs emerged from the bushes, growing larger with each passing second. A monstrous creature, unlike anything he'd ever encountered, stepped into the clearing – a Smilodon, a saber-toothed tiger, its massive form radiating raw power.
Its ferocious growl vibrated through the air, sending shivers down Alistair's spine. The enormous fangs gleamed in the fading light, a terrifying testament to the predator's killing power. Alistair's legs trembled, his grip tightening on his makeshift weapons. Fear, primal and cold, gripped his heart. This wasn't a lion or a tiger; this beast was a nightmare brought to life.
"What is that?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "It looks… it looks like it'll tear me apart! What can I do? He's huge! And those teeth… will I die here? No… I have to survive! But how?" Alistair's mind raced, desperately searching for an escape plan. Faced with a predator unlike any he'd ever imagined, could Alistair find a way to outsmart his attacker and live to see another day?
A cacophony of sounds filled the Sunstone Citadel Forest – the shrill cry of a parrot, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and the rhythmic tapping of a stick against a tree. A young deer grazed nearby, oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. It was Alistair, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"I must be on the right track," he muttered, scratching his head for a moment. He unfolded a crudely drawn map, his eyes tracing the route he'd painstakingly sketched. "Approximately eleven miles more through this forest, then a mile past that, I'll reach the sea. I can swim across the river and escape this cursed area."
A flicker of anxiety crossed his face. "Hold on," he mumbled, his eyes widening. "There's a Thassalor army camp near the river crossing. Sailors stationed there. They'll be stronger than me, that's for sure. I need a plan to deal with them before I attempt the escape."
Alistair carefully studied his map, formulating a strategy. With a determined nod, he tucked the map away and hefted his sword, the wood rough against his palm. He clutched the walking stick in his other hand, a makeshift weapon against the unknown dangers ahead.
Suddenly, a rustling sound echoed from behind him. He whipped around, heart pounding in his chest. "Just a deer," he sighed, relieved. "Hopefully."
A wave of loneliness washed over him. "Father, Mother, everyone from the village... gone," he whispered, his voice thick with despair. Memories of his family – playful laughter, warm embraces – flooded his mind. He yearned for their comfort, their guidance.
A guttural growl ripped through the peaceful forest, shattering Alistair's reverie. He spun around, his breath catching in his throat. Terror welled up in his eyes as he peered into the thicket. Two glowing orbs emerged from the bushes, growing larger with each passing second. A monstrous creature, unlike anything he'd ever encountered, stepped into the clearing – a Smilodon, a saber-toothed tiger, its massive form radiating raw power.
Its ferocious growl vibrated through the air, sending shivers down Alistair's spine. The enormous fangs gleamed in the fading light, a terrifying testament to the predator's killing power. Alistair's legs trembled, his grip tightening on his makeshift weapons. Fear, primal and cold, gripped his heart. This wasn't a lion or a tiger; this beast was a nightmare brought to life.
"What is that?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "It looks… it looks like it'll tear me apart! What can I do? He's huge! And those teeth… will I die here? No… I have to survive! But how?" Alistair's mind raced, desperately searching for an escape plan. Faced with a predator unlike any he'd ever imagined, could Alistair find a way to outsmart his attacker and live to see another day?
The Smilodon stalked forward, its powerful muscles rippling beneath its thick fur. Alistair knew he couldn't outrun the beast.
He wasn't fast enough, and the dense forest offered little room for maneuver. His mind raced, searching for his father's lessons on hunting and survival. But nothing in his experience prepared him for this encounter.
(:: For Readers: The Smilodon, also known as the Saber-toothed tiger was a large predatory cat, It was characterized by a long canine tooth and powerful jaw that was used to take down large prey such as horses, bison, and even mammoths.. Despite its resemblance, the Smilodon was not related to tigers and modern cats. Its large size and fierce hunting style made the Smilodon one of the most dangerous predators of its time. ::)
Alistair backed away slowly, trying to keep the Smilodon in his sights. He scanned his surroundings, his eyes darting for anything that could be used as a weapon. A fallen tree branch, a sharp rock, anything that might give him a fighting chance. But the forest floor was bare, offering no solace.
The Smilodon let out another earth-shaking growl, its patience wearing thin. It crouched low, preparing to pounce. Alistair knew he had to act fast.
Alistair's legs trembled like leaves caught in a storm—fear, raw and primal, clawed at his throat. "No," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "I have to fight back. If I don't…" He couldn't even finish the thought. This monstrous beast, with teeth resembling daggers and eyes that burned with hunger, would tear him to shreds.
The Smilodon stalked him, its massive paws leaving deep imprints in the soft earth. It paced back and forth, a predator toying with its prey. Alistair's breaths came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew time was running out.
Suddenly, a surge of determination replaced his fear. "If I have to die," he gritted his teeth, "it won't be without a fight!" He reached for the sword at his waist, the familiar weight grounding him in the face of overwhelming terror.
With a guttural roar, the Smilodon lunged. Alistair, fueled by adrenaline, surged forward. He didn't try to outrun the beast; he knew it was futile. Instead, he aimed for a desperate gamble – a thrust towards the creature's throat. He then remembered he had a sword within Him. It was a slim chance, but it was his only hope.
The world seemed to slow down. Alistair could see the glint of sunlight reflecting off the Smilodon's fangs, and smell the musky stench of its fur. He could almost feel the beast's hot breath on his face. Time stretched, each heartbeat an eternity. Both eyes Meet with strong anger. Alistair removed his sword and leaped with a roar in the fate of survival.
Will Alistair manage to land a lucky blow and slay the beast? Or will the Smilodon overpower him, ending his desperate fight for survival?