“You have some interesting routines. Your speed is something to behold,” she said slowing her pace and he walked beside her.
“You saw my routine?” asked Erroh, ignoring the delicate smile in her deep red lips.
“Aye,”
“Oh.”
He thought about the stream. He wanted to argue that the water was coldest in the morning.
Eventually they reached a plateau and from there, Mea proudly presented her home to Erroh. It was impressive. The land was lush and green with many rows of varying crop patches. The house itself was long and wide though not terribly high. Its wooden walls only hinted at a few years age. He imagined them thick enough to endure the north’s unpredictable weather. Strong oak would last a lifetime and the thatched roof was impeccable. She obviously took great pride in its upkeep. Was this the type of house he should build? The only other structure was a two-storey barn, though there were foundations for a third smaller shack between both buildings. A large wooden fence encircled the farm and the only entrance was a barely worn roadway no bigger than the width of a cart. Thick clusters of trees concealed the rest. It was quite the Alphaline sanctuary. Erroh followed her through the trees, wondering if he may very well have walked past without noticing.
“Jeroen will want to meet the young male, who kept his mate away for an entire night. You had best behave,” she said, appearing to take great delight in his sudden fear. “Don’t worry at all, he’s a gentle little soul,” she promised.
“Why am I here?” he asked carefully. It was a fine question; he’d worked on it for hours.
Before she could answer, two magnificent hounds came bounding from an open doorway, they barked excitedly as they raced towards the Alpha. They were delirious in their welcome and when they stood on their hind legs, they were almost as tall as she was. Satisfied with their licks, they turned to him and growled in primal “Rip your fuken throat out,” growls. Despite himself and his love for hounds, he took a nervous backwards step.
“Whisht,” hissed the female and both dogs ceased their threats immediately. Erroh relaxed for a few breaths until an impressive male appeared from the house and stopped in his tracks. His brown beard and matching hair were immaculately cut. His shoulders were broad and sturdy and he matched her age. His fists were clenched and he wondered if they were capable of shattering bone in one swing. Erroh clenched his own rather small hands. It was simple instinct.
“You look tired Mea,” he called disapprovingly. “And I see no fruits from the hunt,” he said pointedly.
“He chased my kill away,” she argued pointing to Erroh, smiling a smile that could topple mountains. Luckily, she directed it at her powerful mate and not at Erroh, who shuffled from foot to foot uncomfortably as the taller figure looked through him.
“He’s good with a sword. I’m going to sleep for a while,” she said lightly and strolled in through the doorway, the hounds followed.
“Kept her out all night did you?” he asked accusingly and walked closer scrutinising Erroh’s ragged appearance with his brown eyes. He crossed his large muscled arms and waited for the proper reply.
“I had no idea sir,” Erroh replied. It was the right answer and the bearded man smiled and shook his head.
“Aye, Mea is light on her feet,” he admitted and offered his hand. “My name is Jeroen,”
“My friends call me Erroh,” he said quietly.
Silence.
“Your name is Erroh and you are going to the city?” Jeroen asked.
“Aye,”
“That’s quite interesting.”
He presented himself as a farmer but Jeroen emitted raw strength in every movement, like a subdued warrior taking joy in creating, while patiently awaiting the next great war. He gave a fine tour of his farm pointing out every vegetable patch, each head of livestock, their value and the next extension or two they were planning. Erroh found he immediately liked the man. It was hard not to.
“There is a bed here for you tonight,” he said when their feet touched the chippings of a crude sparring circle. He gestured to the barn and Erroh was wise enough to accept his offer graciously. This was no rustic tavern out in the wastes.
“If you’re going to stay, you best make yourself useful,” he said. His tone was less that of a farmer and more of a master.
Just Erroh, of the Road
“When you meet my oldest son Tye, you can spar with him,” Jeroen said casually, hammering the thin post into the ground. Erroh nodded, holding the offending piece of wood as steadily as he could. He’d suspected the reason he was asked to stay was not for simple labour; they required him to be a challenge for their offspring. A young Alpha’s education was constant testing and they obviously saw something in Erroh. Jer swung the large gate of the sty. It creaked loudly and halted after a foot. He cursed and pulled at the post until the gate swung freely. “You don’t speak much do you?” he muttered, though not unkindly.
“I know my place,” replied Erroh. He really did and until he was certain there was safety in this place then he dared not speak too freely. They moved up along the enclosure, quietly fixing any unstable posts and as the hours passed, the land darkened and the air grew cooler.
Announcing himself with a careless leap over the farm’s boundary wall, Tye graced everyone with his presence. He was a few years younger than Erroh but old enough to wield a blade. Sharing the same bloodline as his parents, Erroh suspected he was quite proficient a swordsman already.
No problem friends, I’d be delighted to fight your Alpha kin.
“Who’s the lowerline?” Tye hissed. He did not meet the eyes of Erroh. Such things were apparently beneath him. He did however, look him up and down, and if he was impressed with what he saw, he said nothing. Erroh remembered his father warning him of the disrespect some younger Alphas held. A harsh life learning the way of the sword was likely to give any wild youth certain delusions of grandeur. Still though, most grew out of it. Tye was delighted to learn of his new sparring partner, if only for one bout. His hair was wild like his mother’s but Erroh could clearly see both his parents’ good looks in the child. He would break hearts in the city no doubt. Or at least claim his reward. He sported a thin line of hair above his lips. It was a youthful and endearing attempt at adulthood. His eyes burned with excitement and passion. He had little fear for Erroh.
Both combatants followed Jeroen to the wood-chipped arena. Throughout the back of the homestead were crude dummies, straw targets, and racks of swords and shields. This was the territory of warring Alphas. Any wandering fool was certain to see this and it was here that Tye would have received his education.
“Apparently our wandering friend from the road is quite capable with weapons,” said Jeroen to his son. He lit a few torches carefully around the sparring ground. It added wonderfully to the atmosphere. As if there were two gods about to enter the fray.
“Apparently the road is dirty,” teased Tye. It was more than passion behind those eyes. It was a burning sun of rage and aggression. He needed to work on some of his jests though. This was certainly something Erroh was willing to pass on.
“Show respect,” growled Jeroen, recovering two sets of wooden sparring blades from the rack. His eyes gleamed with excitement. Apparently, there was nothing like some violence with your firstborn and a stranger to get the juices flowing.
“I’m merely stating fact,” the child muttered back petulantly. His eyes caught Erroh’s and he grinned. Knowing you are capable of great things could be a curse, Erroh thought. Having children was probably a curse as well.
“Did you practise today?” asked Jer.
“Not yet,” hissed the young Alpha, limbering up. Erroh did the same though with a little less vigour.
A sleepy eyed Mea appeared from their home, bearing a cup of steaming liquid. Offering none to anyone present, she merely stood watching both her son and guest stretch. She was still as radiant as before.
Erroh watched the child warm up and wondered how far t
he teachings between master and son had reached. Certainly, the child would best any man even at this young age already. It was a small matter, Erroh was quietly confident in his own ability. He knew the measure of his opponent, regardless of blood or standing in the world. This was exactly why his parents had invited him into their home. They could evidently see what so few others could. Perhaps if he didn’t bathe as frequently, he wouldn’t stand out as much.
The younger one cast aside his armour and under shirt. Despite his youth, his upper body had developed well under a heavy routine of physical training. His father must have pushed him to the limit, as was the way.
“I’ll only hurt him a little, mother,” he jeered proudly. His demeanour was outlandish and crude but Erroh could see the concentration forming on his face. All fun and games aside, an Alpha wanted to win. Always. In everything they did. A simple instinct to be the best, for their masters demanded it of them. In truth, a life dragged towards perfection was difficult to cast aside once away from a master’s watching eye. Erroh was not against a little friendly competition himself.
Tye had nearly come of age but he was not ready for the road. To send him out into a broken new world just yet was irresponsible. Not for him, but for his victims, and there would be plenty. Perhaps in a few more seasons he could begin his march and the road would finish his education. It would show him respect. It would show him humility. It would show him how to bluff. It would show him how to win.
“Never underestimate your enemy Tye,” warned Mea taking a seat near the arena. The hounds sat obediently by her side, she patted them gently but her eyes never left the combatants’ preparations.
“He only uses one,” she called to her mate.
“He carries two blades on his back though,” replied Jeroen, holding two sturdy wooden swords in each hand. His shoulders dropped a little bit. “I thought he dual wielded,” he muttered under his breath. He sounded deeply disappointed. He tossed one of the sparring swords to Erroh and dropped the other aside. Tye reached for his own wooden piece and after checking the balance, began a quick warm up routine.
“You really don’t fight with two blades?” Jeroen asked once more. His tone was both hopeful and pleading.
Erroh’s father fought with two “Clieve” but he himself chose only one sword. He wasn’t strong enough to wield two weapons as menacing as those. He wasn’t against using a shield in his other hand though. He’d been quick to learn that he didn’t like being hit in combat. He shook his head and started to strip his shirt off. Mea leaned up against her mate and whispered loudly “I really like this part.” She smiled that smile of hers and Jeroen replied with some incomprehensible primal growl. She looked into his eyes and gave him a quick wink. Tye prepared himself for battle by impressing the world with deadly blows to countless invisible enemies. His speed was incredible. His body was a blur of movement and grace. What speed and agility he would have when he came of age. A sobering thought.
They stepped into the ring to face each other. The crunchy feel of the ground underneath and the fresh aroma from the chipping was almost homely.
“We appreciate you doing this Erroh,” Mea said quietly from behind. Jer nodded in agreement. Aye, they knew all right.
“Do you need a shield shitpants?” called the excited youth. It still wasn’t the finest jest but at least he was consistent. Erroh caught the irritation in Jeroen’s face. Underneath the beard, he may have been covering a prophetic smile.
“Please ignore the manners of my darling first born,” Mea said loudly.
“Hurt him but not too much,” she whispered so only Erroh could hear. She was lovely. For a moment, he feared the Cull a little less.
“No shield Tye, but thank you for the offer,” said Erroh. Certain he would need no shield. He was but a child after all.
“Go furrow with the swine,” Tye sneered. The jest was crude and swift. Much better little one.
“Best of luck to you too,” Erroh offered anyway. This battle was not life or death. Merely pride and a lesson were at stake.
It was likely this was not Tye’s first skirmish with a wanderer. It was even likelier that he had bested them all comfortably as well. This natural confidence had given him a dangerous belief in himself. It was not the fault of his parents; it was their duty to arm him with the abilities to survive in this world, to achieve great things, to be the best little Alpha he could be. It was probably hard to learn restraint when everyone except your parents were terrified of you. The other reason could be that Tye was just a little shit.
“Erroh, what do you see before you?” Jeroen asked.
“I see a talented young Alphaline. Raw, overconfident, but still a dangerous foe,” Erroh replied. This pleased both parents. Erroh knew his place. He wasn’t above complimenting two fierce warriors about their offspring.
“And need I ask you, oh great pride of mine?” Jeroen asked.
“I see another smelly barbarian of the road, father,” replied Tye. Jeroen shrugged and stepped away from both fighters.
Tye didn’t hesitate. He charged at Erroh from the very start. His strikes were fierce and each crack of clashing wood echoed loudly throughout the farm. Onwards he slashed and lunged with terrifying speed. His father had instructed him well. The young one was relentless in his pursuit of a hit and Erroh blocked the strikes as they landed. Left then right, then a feint, then a right again. He was swift, smooth, and controlled, childish enthusiasm at its finest.
Erroh retreated under the barrages to the edge of the sparring ring, Tye pushed his attack on, and the fight quickly burst out into the courtyard. What were boundaries in war anyway? Erroh took it all in his stride. He had spent many years under the tutelage of his father studying many forms of swordsmanship, and he could avoid the attacks before they hit. That said, Tye’s attacking form was very different to those he studied. It felt awkward, incomplete, yet wonderfully devastating. He never countered. He was happy to defend and learn.
Faster and faster the young Alpha moved, throwing everything into his attack, and it was exhausting to defend against. A bead of sweat rolled down Erroh’s forehead and Tye, believing his opponent was tiring, pushed once more. He charged forward and lashed out repeatedly, eagerly awaiting the blow that would strip down Erroh’s defences. He was exceptional and Erroh retreated further from the never-ending onslaught. The child would be elite. There was no mistaking that.
Just like Erroh.
“Enough Tye,” Erroh shouted suddenly, spinning away from an attack, holding his guard. His arms burned from the constant blocking and his pride stung from resisting the urge to counter. “You’re a fine swordsman but you have no chance of breaking my defence,” he warned. Their skirmish had brought them closer to the warm glow of the house and Erroh could smell warm food cooking. Enough violence, time for supper. He could see his opponent’s parents watching him closely and he relaxed his stance. He lowered his weapon and stabbed the wooden tip into the ground.
“Take the draw,” he offered carefully. He even bowed. The child would have been wise to accept the offer. He would have been wiser to recognise a superior swordsman too.
“He’s exquisite, for his age,” Erroh said, to the watching parents. His eyes however, never left the figure of the beaten Alpha. No, not beaten. It had been a draw after all. Erroh hated draws as well.
Tye’s stance remained. “This was no fight,” he hissed bitterly. “You’re a fuken snake, slipping and ducking from every blow,” he spat. “A coward’s form.”
Erroh shrugged. He had hoped the child would see what was in front of him but alas, the youth was still lost in the moment. The red mist clouded his vision. Erroh knew that red mist well. It sometimes stole good sense from young Alphas, and the older ones as well. Sometimes an Alpha couldn’t win. Sometimes that truth was difficult to take.
“Know your place,” warned Jeroen, stepping towards his thunderstorm of a son but Mea laid a hand gently on his shoulder. “Leave him be, Jer,” she said quietly, tuggi
ng him gently back. “Tye’s just not as good as he believes himself to be,” she suggested.
Moreover, sometimes a mother just wants to see some manners put on her child.
Thank you for that Mea. Erroh gripped his sword and waited for the inevitable attack. The young Alpha did not disappoint.
“You are good, despite being from the blood of a whore,” Tye growled. It was a fine jest and it served its purpose. What did Tye know about his mother anyway? A flash of anger filled Erroh’s mind. Tye leapt forward with blade raised. Erroh met the slash with such power, that the young Alpha stumbled backwards, arms flailing with a dumbstruck look upon his face. He managed to last a few more seconds, defending wildly as Erroh struck back with a force he had not shown before. In one fluid movement, Erroh disarmed the little shit, by means of smashing his sword in half. Wood broke a lot easier than most metals, especially expensive ones. The follow through was a swift satisfying punch into the face of the juvenile. He probably shouldn’t have done that. Tye fell to the ground stunned, blood already seeping down his nose. Erroh stepped back, waiting for the outbursts from the child’s parents.
“Well fought Tye,” Mea mocked in delight. Jeroen stood over him and offered a rag to stem the flow.
“Doesn’t look broken. Go, and accept the defeat like a man,” he ordered, reaching down and pulling his dazed apprentice to his feet. Tye nodded and the blood began to cease its steady drip. Holding the reddening rag to his face, Tye muffled some words of congratulations. In one fell swoop, his confidence was tapered nicely. He should have taken the draw.
“What do you see now darling?” asked Mea, looking at her wounded kin.
“I see another Alpha,” replied the young boy dropping his head.
“Aye, you do,” replied Erroh quietly passing the sparring sword back to Jeroen who in turn returned the weapon to its rack. Mea succumbed to mothering ways and checked her child’s nose. Satisfied that he needed no medical treatment, she let him pick up his shattered weapon.
Spark City Page 5
