Alleron sighed as he stepped out into the street, feeling the crunch of the frost-crusted snow beneath his feet. What he would have given for a few more nights of drinking and singing! He could still hear the muffled sounds of revelry through the door of The Hanged Maiden behind him. But his task was done, and Calen and the others would no doubt be drawing close to Liga by now. He needed to be in the saddle by dawn's light to meet them in time. Calen would have his ships, and Alleron would be aboard them when they left.
He loved Drifaien with all his heart; it was his home, and it always would be. But the empire's hold was too strong, they took too much, and his father was all too content to live under their steel boot. 'The Wyrm Slayer'. That was a man Alleron had never known; those days had passed while he was still but a child. Now, Lothal Helmund was a brooding drunk who cared more about holding his power than he did protecting his people. He feasted while those in the outer villages starved, he hoarded the Drifaienin army in Arisfall while the wyrms and Uraks made the roads all but untravellable, and he sent boatloads of Drifaienin furs to the North with little coin coming back the other way. Anything to keep the torc around his neck. To him, it was a sign of power; to Alleron, it was a collar fit for a slave. Alleron had no doubts his father would have turned Calen over to the empire the moment he discovered who he was.
Calen still had a lot to prove. Only time would tell if he was someone worth following. But if he could bring the empire to its knees, then Alleron would follow him to the void and back. And if Alleron died doing so, all the better. A beautiful death it would be. The bards would sing songs about the Draleid, of that much he was sure, and he would be a part of those songs.
Snow fell heavy as Alleron walked the city, glistening flakes drifting through the pale light of the moon, coating the slate rooves and carpeting the wide streets. A weight sat in his heart at the number of souls that lay huddled beneath awnings, curled up in porches, and crammed together in the small alcoves that nestled into the sides of buildings, the orange glow of small fires glittering against the snow. They were not all simply drunks or beggars, people who had gambled their livelihoods away. These were families: men, women, children with barely a blanket between them. Since the wyrm attacks had become more frequent and the Uraks had raided in larger numbers, people had begun to flock to Arisfall from the outer villages. It was difficult enough to live outside of a city in the Eversnow, but with travel being so dangerous and the constant fear of attack, many families had abandoned their homes for the chance of protection. But this was the protection they found. Many of them would not even last the night; the cold would carry them silently to the void while they slept. Alleron had seen enough frozen bodies to know this.
There was simply not enough space or work within the city's walls to accommodate the number of refugees that flooded in every day from the outer villages. And his father was more than content to let them freeze to death in the streets – fewer mouths to feed. Alleron allowed his gaze to linger on the refugees, letting the shame fill him. They were his people. They deserved better than this, and he would see that they got it.
The castle of Arisfall was an immense thing, set upon a rise at the rear of the city and backed up against the sheer mountain walls. Its slate-grey towers stretched high into the sky, their conical rooves built to prevent collapse beneath heavy snow. Torches flickered all along the battlements, which were manned day and night as though the Uraks could breach the city at any moment. Alleron couldn't keep the anger from bubbling in his stomach as he thought of all the good that could be done if those soldiers were sent to keep the villages safe or to guard the caravans of food that were raided day and night. What good were the soldiers manning the walls of a castle that already stood behind walls? He shook his head, his breath misting out in front of him.
"Who goes there?" A voice called as Alleron reached the main gates of the castle.
"Alleron Lothalson, of Helmund."
There were a few moments of silence as Alleron awaited a response, the sound of footsteps crunching against snow. A tall man with blonde shoulder-length hair and a thick knotted beard of gold and brown stepped out from the stairwell of the gatehouse, a coat of mail tied at his waist by a leather belt, fur draped over his shoulders, a spear clutched in one hand, and a wooden shield strapped to his back. "Alleron, by the gods it is good to see you back."
"Leif, it is good to be back. How goes it here?"
The two men pulled each other into a tight embrace. It had been weeks since Alleron had left Arisfall, furious with his father's decision to leave the outer villages to fend for themselves. Weeks could be a long time when wyrms and Uraks roamed the lands.
"Aye, it is quiet," Leif said, a grim look on his face. "Your father has been in a rage since you left."
Alleron nodded, furrowing his brow. His father seemed to be perpetually in a rage, so that was not news. But if he was in enough of a fury for Leif to think it worth mentioning, then Alleron would be smart to tread carefully.
"Come," Leif said, turning back towards the courtyard that lay between the main gates and the castle's entrance hall. "My shift is nearly over, and it's not as if there is much point in me standing on that wall freezing my balls off anyway." Alleron could see the grin beneath Leif's knotted beard. "So tell me, how went the patrol?"
Alleron's throat tightened as he and Leif walked through the main courtyard. "Not well…" he said, exhaling through his nose, a sickly feeling in his stomach. "Only myself, Alwen, Gudrun, Sigrid, and Heldin returned."
"I am sorry, my friend. May Achyron guide them to his halls and may Heraya bless their souls. Did they die good deaths?"
"Aye, with swords in their hands and courage in their hearts."
"There is not much more a warrior could ask."
"There is not."
The warmth of the castle's entrance hall washed over Alleron as he and Leif stepped through the doorway. The warmth sent a tingling sensation over his skin, eliciting an involuntary sigh of relief. No matter how used to the snow a man was, the warmth of a hearth fire always felt like home.
An enormous red carpet stretched the length and breadth of the entrance hall, a white spear in front of a wooden shield with a steel boss woven into its centre – the symbol of Drifaien. Two staircases ran against the walls on either side of the entrance, jutting out to the side and then upwards to the second floor. Along the walls, arch-shaped alcoves holding brass lanterns alternated with crimson tapestries that fell from ceiling to floor, depicting battles of times long past. Here and there servants darted about in white and red tunics, some carrying baskets of food, some blankets and bedclothes, some simply trying to appear busy.
The castle had been Alleron's home since he was a small child. He had known many warm moments within its walls, mostly thanks to his mother, and many dark nights, mostly thanks to his father.
"I will go to see my mother. Walk with me?" Alleron asked. Leif nodded, following Alleron up the stone staircase to the right.
"I am sorry," Leif said as they turned down the long corridor that led towards the gardens. Alleron's mother always spent her late nights in the gardens – she had since he was a child. "I would have gone with you if I could have."
"There is nothing to be sorry for, my friend. The choice was not yours, and in truth I am glad you were not there."
Leif grabbed Alleron by the shoulder. "Why do you shame me so? You do not wish me by your side, staring down the beast?"
"I do not shame you," Alleron said. "You could not come, as my father decided. And now that I know the fate of our journey, I am glad you were not there. You are like a brother, and I would not see you dining in Achyron's halls just yet."
Leif gave a short nod. "Forgive me. Being chosen as a guard captain does not suit me. The longer I stand on those walls, the more I see things that are not there."
"You were forgiven before you asked, my friend. But my mind has deserted me. The others, have they returned from their patrols to the other villages yet?"
"Audun and Destin returned from Kolnsfjord about a week past with a few scrapes and bruises, but they are all right." Leif's tone took a sombre note. "We have not heard from Fell, Kettil, and Baird."
"Don't lose hope," Alleron said. "They drew the shortest stick. Harling and The Hearth are over a month's journey from here. Were their party back already, I would be worried."
"Will I see you before the rise to break the fast?" Leif asked as they reached the doors to the guards' quarters.
"Aye, though I will be gone shortly after." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a tightly wrapped scroll secured with a piece of twine. "Open this when the sun sets tomorrow, not before. Understood?"
Leif nodded, taking the scroll, running his hand over its surface. He slipped it into his coat pocket and pulled Alleron into another embrace. "What are you planning?" he whispered in Alleron's ear.
"You will see, my friend."
"And why can I not just simply open it now?"
"Do you trust me?" Alleron asked, pulling back to look Leif in the eyes.
"Like my own flesh and blood."
"Then wait."
With that, they said one last goodnight before Leif stepped through the door into the guards' quarters. Alleron continued down the hallway, through the main hall where his father kept his 'throne', and out into his mother's garden at the back.
Growing anything in Drifaien required skill. Many of the crops that filled the farms had been cultivated over generations to withstand the extreme cold and snowfall, but almost nothing grew that wasn't green or brown. Alleron's mother's garden was the only place he remembered truly seeing colour within the boundaries of Drifaien. Even when he and his company travelled all the way to Illyanara, he rarely saw flowers as beautiful as those his mother grew in her garden. Orlana Helmund's garden was filled to the brim with blooms of all shapes, sizes, and colours. The plants ranged from knee-high to towering stalks that swept overhead with flowers of pink, blue, orange, purple, red, and every other colour he could imagine.
The garden was bounded by two long stone walls that ran almost a hundred feet, with thick panes of glass set into them at precise intervals. The roof was built at an angle, in the same way as the tower tops – slanted to prevent snow build-up. Long panes of glass were set into the roof, each about four feet wide and ten feet long. 'To allow sunlight,' his mother told him when he was a child. 'Nothing grows without the light of the sun, my dear Alleron.'
Cast iron chandeliers hung from the midline of the roof, though Alleron did not remember the last time he had seen a single candle alight in their grasp. Changing them was just too difficult. Most of the light and warmth in the room came from the cast iron sconces that lined the walls and the oil lamps that stood atop pedestals throughout the long room.
He found his mother at the centre of the garden, nestled into a long, brown leather couch, book in hand. Her black hair flowed down over the fox fur that adorned her shoulders. His mother was a beautiful woman; Alleron held no uncertainty in that regard. But what was more, she was kind and intelligent. It was she who taught him to read, write, and count numbers. The entire design of her garden was of her own mind. Somewhere to keep the heat in and protect the flowers from the elements, but allow them to drink in the light from the sun at the same time.
"It is the stag who waits to drink last," Alleron said, his mouth drawing into a smile as he approached his mother.
"That avoids the waiting wolf," Orlana replied. She beamed as she slid a thin strip of wood-backed leather into her book, dropped it on the couch, then pulled her son into a warm embrace. "Don't you do that again." Orlana leaned away from Alleron, drawing her eyes level with his. "Do you understand me?"
"You know I cannot make that promise, Mother. The people need protection, and I will not let them fight alone."
Orlana frowned, running her thumb down her son's cheek. Her frown softened. "You remind me of your father when he was young."
Alleron grunted, pulling his cheek away from his mother's hand. He knew her words were meant as a kindness, but comparisons to his father were not the ones he wanted to draw. "Your garden still thrives, then?" Alleron said, moving away, rubbing the vibrant red petal of a shoulder-high flower.
"He was a good man, Alleron." Orlana never did play games. It was not her way. She was always straight to the point, like an arrow to the heart. Alleron liked to think that he got that same quality from her.
"I'm sure he was," Alleron said with a sigh. "But seasons change, leaves fall, their colours fade, and they crumble."
"He is still your father." Orlana rested her hand on Alleron's shoulder, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And his eyes see far."
Alleron turned towards his mother, once more pulling her close, feeling the same comfort she had always given him as a child. "The winds are changing," he whispered. "I do not know how long I will be gone."
"Where do you go?" Orlana asked in a hushed voice.
"To fight."
Orlana leaned back, a glint in her eye from the light of the oil lamps. A smile touched her lips before she pulled Alleron into another tight hug. "If Achyron takes you to his halls, let it be while you fight for what you believe in."
A warmth filled Alleron's chest at his mother's words. "I will come back."
"I know you will. Now, go. I have more reading to do." Orlana pulled her hand up to Alleron's cheek once more, letting it linger there for a moment before she once again took her seat on the leather couch, book in hand, reading away as if he weren't there.
Alleron thought to speak, to tell her how much he loved her. But instead, he strode from the room at the sight of the solitary tear rolling down his mother's cheek. His mother was a proud woman, and he would not do her the disservice of watching her cry. All he could do was make sure he came back to her.
Alleron's footsteps echoed through the main hall as he left his mother's garden. Dark red tapestries hung the length of the walls, two on each side of the hall. Each of the tapestries held embroidered depictions of animals in brilliant whites and blues: a wolf, a stag, a bear, and a frostkat. All four of the animals were native to Drifaien. The hall was lit by two blazing hearths set into the wall on either side, in between the tapestries.
"You have returned."
A shiver ran down Alleron's back at the sound of his father's voice. He turned to see the brooding figure of Lothal Helmund sitting on his throne, a tankard in his left hand. His father hadn't been there when Alleron had first walked through the main hall – he was sure of it. Had he been listening to Alleron and Orlana talking? Surely not. One of them would have seen him.
"I have," Alleron said, turning to face the throne, a twist in his gut. He had hoped to not see his father on his short visit home.
"And how went it?" His father stood from his throne, the contents in his cup sloshing as he approached Alleron. "How was your little adventure?"
"The villages at the base of Mount Helmund are safe – for now." Alleron made to leave, but felt the firm grip of his father's hand wrap around his forearm.
"And what of the soldiers who went with you? I heard word that you entered the city alone. Hours ago, no less. Were you not planning to come and see your father? Or was it just that mother of yours? Will I have to teach her some respect?"
Alleron's voice lowered to a growl as he drew his eyes level to his father's. "If you touch a hair on her head, I will break your bones."
"Strong words," Lothal said, a deep rasp in his throat. "For a child who leads men to their deaths just to prove his father wrong."
Rage burned through Alleron as his heart thumped and the blood shivered through his veins. A cold silence hung between them, neither willing to break eye contact. Gritting his teeth, Alleron again turned to leave, only to feel his father's hand wrap around his wrist a second time.
"Be careful, my son." Lothal's words were weighed and measured, his eyes fixed on Alleron's. "I cannot protect you if you stay on this path. And you are incapable of protecting anyone."
Alleron held his father's gaze for a few moments, then shook his arm free and stormed from the hall.