“How could you not slay the beast? If you failed, this will come back to haunt us all!” Millarth complained loudly in the midst of the feast, tossing his drinking horn from him as though it were filled to the brim with poison, rather than fine local wine. “Why else would any of ye three come here, especially if enemies if ye have not fulfilled any of thy duties to the people of Estria!?”

  His words had a chilling effect upon all of those present, with Wigstan shouting ‘here, here!’ in support to his sister’s disgust, who whispered in a hissing voice to him, only for him to hiss back at her. Seated as they were at the far end of the table, apparently having been demoted there by order of Morcar for the first time since their childhood, this had led to many glowers from the lord’s nephew in the direction of his ‘honoured-guest’. Not that this at all concerned his host, even if it unnerved Gwilherm a little, just as the tart words of Millarth did.

  “Bah, the dragon will be slain, you need not fear Brother Millarth,” Ealhstan prophesized at that moment eyes alight with promise and certainty this drew the attention of several others. His voice for its own part could barely be heard above the great din in the feast-hall. Many of the peasants had been, notably Gwilherm noticed with some measure of approval, permitted to eat amongst the house-guards.

  “How could you possibly know, such a thing?” The deacon retorted furiously, as he curved a single brow at him.

  “Faith, I have a great deal of it in our young friend here.” Ealhstan explained whilst he drank deeply from his drinking horn with a sigh of pleasure.

  “Uncle, what of how he lied?” Wigstan complained loudly, with an approving nod from the deacon.

  “Yes, and is it not fitting that I have offered him my friendship rather than courtesy, venison in place of mutton and wine rather than cheap mead?” Answered the patriarch of Falsveal, “As to yourself Millarth, you are the representative of the still absent old Falton Archdruid of Sudlulton and Estria.”

  Without a word Millarth departed, taking with him a small portion of those feasting in the great hall of the lord of Falsveal. Insulted and a little tipsy from all the wine, Gwilherm might well have given pursuit to give chase after the old man, and to properly set him aright about his place, as a deacon, however Morcar restrained him.

  Though not the physically mightiest of men in Falsveal, Morcar still had some sort of presence, a strength in spirit no matter how diminished it was. “Never you mind him, lad, Eadwin would not have.”

  “And what would you know of Eadwin?” Gwilherm hissed from between his teeth.

  A small burst of laughter escaped from the lips of the older noble, “More than you know, Gwilherm, more than you know.”

  *****

  The rest of the evening passed swiftly, so that Gwilherm who had imbibed far more than his companions, and who did not have half so good a head for wine as they had to be aided to bed. Honoured more than either of his two friends were, with his own straw-bed in a luxurious chamber that he did not later remember having reached he was to sleep for a great deal longer than they. Ealhstan as he later learnt, was placed in the castle chapel, likely in what was a not-so veiled attempt to convert him (the real jest was to take place several days later, when it was revealed he already did believe in the faith) whereas Vladin was left in the main-hall. Given how he was given a guided tour by the chaplain, Brother Cendric the next day of the original stone foundations, he was not terribly upset, as the two struck a friendship early in the morn’ whilst others slept on until noon. As to Remus, he would have been left in the main hall, were it not for his having slipped into the room, before the door was closed, so as to leap up onto the bed, in order to cozy up to his master’s side.

  For his part, Gwilherm awoke late the next day, with a servant bursting on in with Ealhstan, both of them arguing loudly about the best way to cook venison. “You shan’t be boiling the blood of a deer and simmerin’ it in it as though it were a spice!”

  “Aye but you can, dear young fellow, it can not only be done but it is far better than using that there spice you adore so much from the Continent- on that matter how does it ever reach this place at all, if all are too frightened to come here to trade?” The old man shouted in a fury which only made the skull of his young ‘pupil’ feel as though it were going to burst apart.

  “Some lad by the name of Jules or Julius or some such nonsense from Noren?ia, his pa is some big Archdruid and he trades in all sorts of goods, mostly furs from the Continent.”

  “He seems foolhardy; does he have his own boat?”

  “No he rents it from some merchant o’er in the town of Lukia-”

  “Lu?ia,” Ealhstan corrected him swiftly, without the slightest hesitation not that it bothered the other man whom he was arguing with.

  “Yea exactly ‘dat, stupid youth but he ‘as made a plenty o’ gold and silver off his trade,” The servant stated with a loud laugh and a belch that hinted that he had been drinking some in the midst or just before the argument.

  “Seems to me he is poaching off the locals more like it.”

  “If you were to see ‘im, he is poaching more from the local girls if you catch me meaning,” the cook said with a significant movement of his eyebrows, one that drew a sigh from the man with whom, he was bickering with.

  “I am afraid I do, now on to waking this ‘little girl’ so to speak, from her precious rest as there is much for him to do with his day,” The enchanter stated as he sniffed a little disapprovingly, as though the youth had committed some great offense in his eyes. “How you could be sleeping in on such a day is beyond me.” A growl from the dog drew down the old man’s ire upon him also, “You also, now off the bed you, less I grab that wine-chaser.”

  The threat was not enough, as the dog was soon threatened with wine being poured on his mane; he threw himself off the bed with a glower towards the enchanter who rolled his eyes at him in return.

  “Beyond me also, to be quite ‘onest,” Added the one servant irritably. “I’mma cook not a pedagogue.”

  “What is so important that, you both come to me screeching louder and more vociferously than a whole flock of dragons?” Gwilherm demanded furiously, unable to comprehend the purpose that the two of them bursting into his chambers could possibly serve.

  The servant shrugged his beefy-fat shoulders, whereas Ealhstan corrected him, “A pride of dragons- good lord, I have never-nor do I think it wise to call them anything remotely resembling a bird-flock. No, rather they are a pride much as a lion-pack can be called such if far less deservingly of such a moniker given the majesty of Vé Drago-Father’s children.”

  “Wherefore did you ‘ear such a thin’?” Asked the other man curiously, a single brow rising so visibly it appeared to disappear in his shaggy hair, for this servant was the hairiest, and fattest servant that Gwilherm had ever set eyes upon. His clothes were beer-stained and he waddled rather than walked. He could not have been younger than forty, as his hair, eyes and beard all brown with a dash of grey thrown in.

  “In my youth, now never you mind that, we have a young lordly knight here to awaken,” Ealhstan retorted evenly before they tore the bed-coverings off the young noble who protested this action and demanded to know on who’s authority they did this. To which the enchanter and cook hooted and laughed in response, both equally amused. “It was lord Morcar who ordered us up here, now do hurry you have a hunt to attend to.”

  *****

  The hunt was an exciting affair for the young man, who had had many a chances with his good-brother the King, to have experienced such an event in the past. His eagerness for the horse given to him, and the lance earned him an approving nod not only from the likes of Falsveal but also the man’s pretty niece Mildburg, who had accompanied them. This had angered Elena who had refused to accompany them, and had sneered at him early in the morn’ on his departure.

  Where the daughter of Morcar had been displeased by his lie, and continued presence of the brother of Queen Elena, her cousin Wigstan was livid. He mocked Gwilherm throughout the hunt only to grit and bare his teeth as a lion might, when he bore witness to the manner in which Mildburg flirted with him and traveled a-top the same horse. In any case, he soon gave Wigstan true reason to fulminate when he overtook him in the hunt, and slew the bear that Morcar had marked out for the warriors to hunt.

  It was not only Gwilherm who excelled, but Remus who threw himself into the chase, biting and snarling at every beast he could track, sniffing at the air when not in combat, and when he was, he barked, growled and snarled at the opposing animal regardless their size. His courage, and ferocity had already made him head of the local pack, whereupon he proved his worth in the local forest, to not only the hounds of Falsveal but her men, who admired him and praised his worth.

  “You are a true warrior, and heir to brave Eadwin fair-haired Gwilherm!” Morcar cheered pleased as though he were the youth’s father, rather than the slayer of that very man. “If only-” And now a shadow crossed over the face of the old man, and he became surly as he was wont to do, whenever he was reminded of his sons. “You, Wigstan cease your scowling and help us to prepare to move the bear! I wish him to be prepared with the two boars, for dinner.”

  “Is this to be the last feast that Gwilherm spends amongst us?” Wigstan asked pointedly, only to earn for himself a furious glower from his uncle.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “Of course not you fool, he is my guest!”

  “I would prefer to leave, to regain my own halls,” Gwilherm interceded earnestly, irritated by the insistence that he was a guest and not to leave.

  “Of course you shan’t leave my lands just yet, not if you wish to avoid the assassins of Millarth, whom I do not doubt has already written to other lords to have ye killed.” Morcar warned seizing his arm, “No ye must stay near me lad, and I shall do all in my power to dissuade them from marching upon you.”

  Hardly more than a prisoner, or so he thought the bitter youth became once more depressed as he had been in his sojourn in Auldchester. His misery such that Mildburg took pity upon him, and attempted to speak in comfort to him later that evening, just as Ealhstan did yet neither succeeded in elevating his mood.

  Where they were kindly, Vladin had little good to say to him, having enjoyed his time in the company of Cendric and that of the vivacious lady of Falsveal, “Why cling to misery, Gwilherm? You have less reason to be irascible, most of all today when the good lord of Falsveal wishes to honour ye as though, ye were his son?”

  His words were uttered shortly after the feast which was shorter than that of the previous day. His lack of sympathy earned him angry words from his friend, “Have you forgotten? Are we not prisoners and hostages, therefore how can you be so calm, Dwarf?”

  “Because,” Reminded the eldest of his traveling companions, “I recall well, the taste of the previous night’s food, and wine, nor have I forgotten how there was talk from the beautiful ?lffl?d that Morcar does not go a day, without seeking to confess his sins to Cendric the chaplain.”

  “Still, all I see here is evil,” Gwilherm complained proudly, refusing to believe his friend.

  “Because the evil exist within you, and you project it outwards,” Rebuffed Vladin sharply.

  “I at least, do not fancy a maid I shall never have and who regards me as little more than a pet!” He ground out from between his teeth, full of anger and hurt at his friend’s words, he knew the moment he uttered the words that they were wrong.

  The pain that flew over the face of Vladin was such that for a moment, an apology lurched itself up to the throat of the noble. Before he could say anything though, the Dwarf leapt to his feet and stormed out of the hall, leaving the melancholic youth to wallow in his guilt.

  *****[

  In the following days Vladin refused to speak to him, or to speak in his defence, as angry as Elena was towards him, with it being Ealhstan who next preferred to reprimand him for his suspicion of all those who inhabited the town of Falsveal. With Mildburg by this time as weary of his presence as his other friends were, even if she continued to defend him from her brother, whom she appeared to have naught but scorn for.

  “We are not all enemies of Réalwaldr,” She had informed him six days since his arrival there, as she sat by a fire as Morcar had wished to take them, Elena and a good number of those who lived in his halls outside, upon a four-day hunt. His hunger for venison really an excuse, to sit beneath the stars with his youngest daughters, and precious ?lffl?d, and to recount ancient histories of the land of Estria, many of his tales reminiscent of those that Eadwin had told Elena and Gwilherm themselves in their childhood. “Why, I bear no great ill-will to you or to those of your house and never have.”

  “Aye, but what of your uncle?” He had challenged, unable to believe in the finery which his rival’s words were cloaked in.

  “He does not think of you as an enemy, but as a comrade and his only hope for repentance.” She said with a great deal of pity in her eyes, as she looked across the fire to her uncle, who was in the midst of recounting the tale of Cormac the Hero of the First Wars of Darkness. A hero who was said to have defeated the armies of the Dark Elves on the isle of Bretwealda, before he crossed the northern sea to the lands of the Northmen, to extinguish their menace there forever, though it meant he was to never return.

  It was a tale that Gwilherm had always loved, and still bore a great passion for and could see it was a favourite of his host, and his kinsmen also.

  Though it would not be until the eighth night that he was to be reminded of his old life, as Millarth joined Morcar for dinner for the first time since the prior week, with it being Wigstan who his horn emptied and refilled so many times that, even Ealhstan had lost count challenged Gwilherm. Taunting him from the end of the table, he cried out drunkenly to the apparent shame of Mildburg, and his uncle.

  “Gwilherm, Gwilherm, Gwilherm I hear of naught else save your exploits in the past days, where once I heard of naught but of my nine lost cousins,” He slurred out earning for himself a dark look from Morcar.

  “Silence nephew!” Hissed out the lord, his thin chest huffing with dark-rage as it always did every single time he was reminded of his sons.

  “Save where they were all bold- even young ?lfheah,” At the mention of this particular name ?lffl?d burst into tears, dropping her clay spoon with which she had been scooping soup with only to flee the hall where her appeared as lost and uncertain as she. Save for the youngest daughters who began to weep also, this caused Morcar in turn to tremble and froth with rage as he glared foul murder upon his nephew who was too drunk to notice. “And yet, I shan’t but think that they at least had the dignity to never learn to harp!”

  “Wigstan you go too far-” The man’s own sister attempted to intervene, thinking to shield her brother from the wroth of their uncle and his favoured-guest.

  “You are drunk,” Enjoined Elena softly from where she sat to the left of the harpist, having been placed there if against her will, at every dinner by her father despite her continuous protests (the youth himself had been placed to the old man’s left himself). Next to her, several of the dogs that she had been petting, Remus included began to growl, as they were always prone to doing when near Wigstan. None of them much cared for him, a sentiment he apparently returned with a great deal of interest.

  “I am right though! What sort of warrior is known more for his harp, than for his sword-arm?! He fled the dragon-”

  Suspicious as he knew not how Wigstan had come upon this piece of knowledge, Gwilherm looked now across the hall to Ealhstan who hid his own expression behind his own horn. Seated amongst the servants and guards he adored so much, the enchanter was more at ease there than amongst, the high-nobles of Morcar’s table. The accusation that lay behind his eyes as he glowered at his friend was too much for the other man to endure, as he continued to evade his gaze. Later he learnt that the man, had not told Wigstan a single thing, but rather had told Cendric who had let it slip to the nephew of Falsveal’s lord.

  A wicked thought came into the spirit of Gwilherm, as he studied the faces of those around him. He knew his own skill with a harp, knew his own voice to be the finest in Auldchester though it had long been the subject of jests, amongst the knights of Aymon, and huscarls of ?thelwulf. This in mind, he called for a harp in spite of the best efforts by Morcar to stop him, as he gripped the bronze harp brought to him by one of the servants. Holding it close, as he stood before the fire aware of the effect that it blazing behind him could have, upon all those who gazed upon him, he began his song.

  “Long-tailed Lovan fled far a-field,

  Little knowing was he of danger it was reveal’d,

  Wrong was the deed that bled him,

  Brittle was the dog whose master was thereafter grim,

  Wherefore Eadmund rode about Auldwoods,

  For deep ran his love thus he went on many a-tours,

  Thrice more death struck the kennel-livers,

  Vice bore deep into Vendrak’s flesh,

  Twenty and twain youths journeyed o’er Erebus’s rivers,

  Empty wert all houses where many a-tears ran fresh,

  ‘King! King’ call’d they of Westliscia,

  Wise was the dark Wyrm,

  Hide fierce as diamonds though they did squirm,

  Mighty Eadmund met fire with steel,

  Flighty Ziu the hound-king upon his heel,

  Great was Ergath’s hunger,

  Greater still his gold-plunder,

  Swiftly struck he, still swifter didst his foe strike,

  Smote before Westlidreon’s gates,

  Ergath fell forthwith Ziu nose-high not far a-pace,

  Argaroth dwelt thereon Vendrak yet went thither,

  Wroth fill’d his soul thus he didst slither,

  Smoke about his maw, he thus sought Ziu the king-hound,

  Path a-flame Vendrak came near to be Eadmund’s mound,

  Lured by gluttony’s curse and foul wroth,

  Thither raced Ziu from the jaws of Argaroth,

  Moor’d wert Eadmund’s foundation upon blacken’d soil,

  Bitter was he at King’s toil,

  Flicker but briefly did snake-eyes,

  Twice more the blade struck prior to the worm’s demise!”

  When the song came to its inevitable end, Gwilherm who had sat before the great fire in the middle of the great feast-hall, with his eyes fixing themselves but briefly upon Wigstan’s before they drifted to meet those of Morcar, then his daughters and at last upon Elena’s. The lady captured his gaze, and did not release it for some time. Gwilherm coulud not help but be captivated by her, so that in a whirl of heated emotions to change his song near the end, to emphasize the love that had lasted between Ealdmund and his Queen.

  Something moved behind the eyes of the heiress of Falsveal, some sort of move from pain and anger to a heat that he had seen but a handful of times in the past. Pleased, he at last tore his gaze away to find to his bewilderment Morcar devouring in large gulps from his horn beer, where Wigstan glanced between his cousin and their guest with a jealous expression.

  “Shall I sing more? Or mayhap ye have heard enough?” Gwilherm taunted the other man mockingly, recalling how he had used a similar tactic to mock ?thelwulf, a man whom had taken the mocking song as poorly as Wigstan did.

  The other man could do little more than sip at his wine furiously, where Morcar drank down his own drink in the manner of a man, who sought to drown the evening out.

  The rest of the evening passed in what appeared to be a flash of light, with Gwilherm towards the end of the evening requested by Elena and Ealhstan, “Escort the lord to his chambers.”

  Much as he might have liked to protest, Gwilherm was too tired, too drunk once again to protest in any serious manner. The mood of his host proved fairly infectious for most, what with how he was roaring with laughter, singing badly and otherwise belching in such a manner that made him appear ridiculous, his guest shared none of his bemusement.

  The stairs led up to the second floor, where there were almost half a dozen chambers strewn about to either side of the corridor. Morcar’s chambers were one of the grandest, being at the complete end of it, with the walls of the corridor decorated with tapestries that depicted the founding of Falsveal. Along with the passing over of the ‘Throne-Giver’ for his uncle, with the slaying of Eadric Réalwaldr’s slaying in the midst of the battle outside Falsveal almost a hundred years prior. These tapestries initially annoyed Gwilherm, who now felt nothing whenever he looked upon them, his eyes fixed upon the wooden-door at the end of the hallway.

  The bare wooden floor of the hall beneath his booted-feet creaked irritatingly to his ears, as he crossed it with Ealstan holding onto the old man’s other side.

  “Wygmund… Osmund, Oswald… and… Eadgye… ?lfthryth…” A whole retinue of almost two dozen names continued to drip from Morcar’s lips, as he turned now to weeping.

  “What is it he is saying?” Gwilherm asked confused, not understanding the meaning for the weeping, he repeated his question a moment later.

  It was Elena who answered her throat tight with grief as she answered, just as the door opened to them, “My brothers and sisters, as well as my cousin, Ethella, the one whom Balthrorth tore down our keep for just before he devoured her before us all.”

  It was a sobering statement, and at that moment as ?lffl?d helped them to tuck Morcar into bed with the coverlets and fur rising up to his chin in an instant thanks to Ealhstan that Gwilherm was overwhelmed by pity.

  “No man should ever be made to sacrifice and bury his children, most especially when consumed by such love.” Ealhstan remarked, as they walked away from the chamber of the old man. “Mayhap, the return of Elena was the first sliver of hope, he ever felt in many a years.”

  As he put his back to the chamber of the great lord of Falsveal, the tears and cries of the man he had once despised more than any other still in his ears, for the first since his childhood, Gwilherm felt hate and anger depart. They were loathsome bed-fellows, and terrible companions to keep. The youth was more than content to see them go, leaving in their wake a great swell of pity. It was then that he knew his duty, knew he had to do what no other man had ever accomplished; it was he who had to slay the terrible Balthrorth.

  https://ko-fi.com/the_brothers_krynn you can decide the donation if you should want to give one.

  https://www.patreon.com/c/thebrotherskrynn