Four years passed and Bodry continued to make sporadic visits, although they became more sparse the longer time went on.

  “I must become strong,” said Tristan to himself. He hopped back up onto a narrow tree trunk that was laying in the woods and continued his sword practice. He spun, jabbed, slashed, and thrusted his wooden sword until he thought he would faint from hunger. And then he kept on going. Again, and again.

  Some days Uncle Bodry would show up unexpectedly for supper. Mildred would quickly switch from her monotonous low-energy routine to a chipper, more lively version of herself. Tristan would sprint to him, leaping into his arms and giving him a big bear hug. Those bear hugs turned into smaller hugs as he got older. But the excitement was still the same.

  Uncle Bodry had known Gareth Blackthorn very well. In fact, he often told Mildred and Tristan that he knew Gareth better than his own brother.

  “Many moons ago, I served as the Steward of Castle Rarington while your father was filling the role as Lord Commander of the King’s Army,” Bodry said. “It was a marvelous time. I hardly had anything to do--and was paid a pretty coin for it!” King Tarren was young in his reign at the time.

  Bodry had been asked by Gareth to go with him on his expedition north to Northrock to hunt the Orc-eel, but it was King Tarren who had denied the motion. He could not be without two of his closest advisors. Gareth was the great warrior of the two, and King Tarren had personally requested that Gareth oversaw the trip.

  “Take any man with you but Bodry, my Yeomen, and my Kingsguard. Those stay here in Windem for my security. The Knights of Windem are here at your disposal, Gareth,” said King Tarren.

  There were other visitors that came around once and again, but most not as well received by Mildred. There was one visitor in particular that incited strong emotions within Mildred whenever he paid a visit. Thankfully, since Tristan had turned fourteen, those visits had been rare to the point where he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him.

  That man was Elric Drakonstone.

  Perhaps it was guilt from before Gareth had died. Perhaps it was that he simply reminded Mildred too much of her dead husband. After all, Elric had been Gareth’s right-hand-man the same way that Gareth was the closest man to the King. Elric had been with Gareth at Northrock and seen him die…had played a direct role in Gareth’s death. That, of course, was unknown to anyone besides a small handful of men who had been there that day in Northrock.

  There was one visit in particular that had spelled the end of the arbitrary visits from Elric. It was a warm, summer day. The season’s flowers were in full bloom and everything was green. The Twin Hills stood proud with their flourishing grasses and the woods behind Mildred’s small square house were thick with brush and teeming with wildlife and small critters. Tristan was in the back chopping up wood. The summer wouldn’t last forever and Mildred planned to have piles of firewood stacked so high and so wide that she wouldn’t have to fear her house running cold during the harsh winter that was surely to come.

  Down from the steep slope of Twin Hills came Elric, a smug look across his face. Usually these visits resulted in Elric forcing himself upon Mildred until she could not stand it anymore, and she was forced to bed Elric just so he would be contented and leave. She put up with it, but just barely.

  There was a loud rapping on the door. Elric slammed his fists hard, nearly knocking the door off its hinges. Mildred opened the door, a startled look on her face.

  “Everything okay?” asked Mildred, a concerned look spread across her face.

  Elric chuckled, his eyes squinting with amusement. "Well..." began Elric, "Everything is okay now." The smell of stale ale was in his breath.

  “Loosen up," began Elric. "Let's visit for a bit. It's hard work out there rounding up the King’s cattle...sending men to hold dishonest lords and vassals accountable.” Elric brought a finger under Mildred's chin, slowly lifting her face to become level with his. “It’s hard work.”

  “Why are you rounding up cattle?" asked Mildred, batting his finger away from her chin. "That’s farm work.”

  Elric flashed a grin, pushing past Mildred and allowing himself inside without answering Mildred's question.

  Elric’s was in heavy black armor, donning his war gear. Dried blood crusted at the corners of his breastplate. He held his helmet like a baby, his features dark and his skin fair. He paced the small hut, looking for nothing in particular. He picked up a husk of corn, turned it over in his hand, and then placed it back where he found it.

  “Took Gareth’s place as Lord Commander," said Elric, pausing briefly to look at a few miscellaneous items. "Busy spot to be in, I’m learning. And Gareth was quite good at it. He sure had the citizen’s approval." He paused, looking at Mildred now. "Never been a Lord Commander as respected as Gareth before…but I’m trying.”

  “Well, good for you," said Mildred. "I wasn't aware you were named Lord Commander."

  “Yes…good for me," said Elric. An awkward silence passed.

  “You ought to get out more, Mildred," said Elric, desperate to fill the silence. "Visit the Citadel, browse the shops. Celebrate with the kingdom during holidays and festivals. It’d be good for you…and for him,” Elric glanced toward Tristan, who was outside chopping wood.

  “I don't need your suggestions on rearing a child,” said Mildred. "We're perfectly happy here."

  “I'm your new Lord Commander," said Elric. "And, as such, I ought to command some respect for the things that I impart on you. I made time out of my day to come here." Elric grit his teeth, his face was now inches from Mildred. Veins were bulging from his neck and forehead.

  “You'll never escape Gareth's shadow,” said Mildred, taking a step back. Elric came closer, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her closer.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Gareth has left me no shadow,” said Elric, his face twisted in derision. "What is his legacy now? The Lord Commander who fell in Northrock like any other fool who dared hunt the Orc-eel?"

  Mildred slapped Elric across the face.

  “You witch,” said Elric. He returned the favor, slapping Mildred so hard that her nose began to bleed. Mildred staggered from the slap, slamming into the wall and bumping her head.

  “This visit has gone to hell. I think it'd be best if you were gone," said Mildred, slowly rising to her feet. "Gareth would’ve been ashamed of you. He would've killed you if he'd ever know about us...what you did to me...what we've done in the past.” Mildred shied away, seeing the anger rise up in Elric's face again. "You'd best be going. And don't ever come back."

  “What happened to us, huh?" exclaimed Elric. "What happened to you and me? I’ve tried to give you space, but it’s been ten years, Mildred. Ten years! I’ve had women begging me--no, pleading me--to bed them for a night. I’ve said no, and turned them away." Elric paused, stammering now as tears welled up in his eyes. "I’ve waited. And I've waited.” Elric paused, his eyes meeting Mildred's.

  Mildred knew that was a lie. Elric slept around with anything that breathed, especially since Gareth had died.

  Elric continued, “Even with Gareth around, you still preferred me. He was tied up. He was never home. I was the one who kept you company and kept you warm. It was me. He could never--”

  “--no. Stop right there,”

  “Shut up, you witch--” growled Elric.

  “You manipulated me. You went behind Gareth's back. He was a loyal, and truthful friend who gave his life to serve the King. And you're just one of the lucky ones who made it back, when everyone knows it should've been Gareth. Not you."

  “You’ve got bite, Mildred, I’ll give you that. But I’m the Lord Commander now. I can send men to take this home whenever I want. I can burn this place to the ground, if I wanted. I can have you brought before the King for treason, if I want. Then what would Tristan do? Hm?” Elric had shrugged his shoulders, and he kept them there. His eyes were wide and his face smug.

  Mildred stared back at him, fire and hatred burning in her eyes.

  “Now,” began Elric as he locked the door. “Shall we get this over with? Now that you’re done with your tantrum?” Elric began to slide his heavy armor off his legs and kicked his boots off to the side. His feet stunk up the house immediately. Mildred felt herself become light-headed.

  Tristan waited outside the door, unsure. He had heard raised voices and a few loud noises. There was only one hole from which one could look into the house, and that had been covered with cloth. Besides, it was too high up on the wall of the house for Tristan to look through. But he knew. Even at the tender age of fourteen, he could sense it. Something was wrong. His Ma did not want Lord Drakonstone here, Commander of the King’s Armies.

  Tristan went and gathered his wooden sword, practicing a few strokes. It had been quiet inside the house for nearly ten minutes now. He figured he’d prepare himself in case he needed to defend his Ma when Elric came out. His floppy, curly hair popped up and down as he twirled and thrusted. Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, the door handle turned. The front door opened. He heard the hushed sobs immediately, but the first face he saw was Elric’s. He did not look upset. In fact, he looked quite content with himself. This confused Tristan. Hadn’t he been cross with his Ma moments ago when they were shouting?

  “What did you do to my Ma?” asked Tristan, mustering up as much bravado in his voice as he could. He held his sword out in front of him, point first, like he had seen the Knights of Windem do in the arena during tournaments. He had only been to one before, but it had made quite an impression on him (along with all young boys who get a chance to witness such an event). He imagined a claret cloak billowing out behind him, hemmed down into place but big metal shoulder plates that made him look buff and strong. Elric’s armor had been sloppily pulled back on. His face snarled into a lousy smile that made Tristan feel uneasy.

  “I did her every bit of good that your father used to.” That made Elric laugh to himself. He laughed hard. “She needed that, but she’ll be sore for the next few days. That’s normal, so don’t worry if she seems a bit slower movin’ than usual.” Elric said these words as if it were the most casual thing to have happened that day. It reminded Tristan of when Bodry assured him the weather would turn warmer soon but he’d have to brave a few more weeks of the bitterness of winter.

  “How’s that, lord Drakonstone?” Tristan’s head was tilted curiously, his sword slowly lowered as he contemplated whether he was being fooled or not. He didn’t know for sure and he did not want to make a fool of himself. After all, he was standing before the Lord Commander of the King’s Armies.

  “Me and your Ma…” Elric paused, getting ready to settle himself back in the seat of his horse. He hoisted his scabbard and sword belt up onto it. “We’ve always been close. She misses your father so I just helped her calm down a bit, that’s all.” He gave an artificial smile that last half a second, and then hoisted himself up onto his horse. It gave a neigh and lifted it’s head from the grass that it had been cropping.

  “You did something wrong in there, and I know it.” Tristan’s face tightened and he took a step toward Elric. “Ma’s cryin’, and she never cry unless she really mean it.” Tristan now stood a couple paces in front of Elric’s horse, not intending to let him get away.

  “Now now, Tristan. That is no way to address your Lord Commander. You’re soon to be sixteen, and then you’re eligible to fight in the king’s armies if the borders start to get ugly. I want you to see me as…” Elric brought a hand to his chin, staring off into the sky as if waiting for the words to appear to him up in the clouds, “Ah, I’ve got it! Your Lord Commander!” Irritation was visible in his voice for the first time. He yanked on the reins. “Like I said son, take care of your Ma, she won’t be movin’ around too easy for some time.”

  Before he could send his horse into a trot, Tristan charged at Elric. Tears were flowing down his cheeks. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. He didn’t know which of those he felt strongest but he felt the urge to fight. “Bastard!” he shouted as he charged. He’d heard a boy on the other side of the Twin Hills use that word before. He liked it.

  Elric lifted a hefty boot from his seat upon his horse and smashed into Tristan’s chest, knocking the wind from him and sending him sprawling onto the ground. Tristan gasped for breath. He felt like he was paralyzed. His back was seized up. His lungs were tight. Tears blurred his vision.

  “Take care! Your father would be proud.” Elric spurred his horse on and trotted away. He went up and up, over the steep side of Twin Hill where he then disappeared shortly on the other side. Those last words had come out so casually, but they hurt the worst. It had not even made sense. What was there for Tristan’s father to be proud of? His clumsy efforts to protect his Ma? He had failed there. It was a simple insult, but it cut deep like broken glass.

  Tristan lay in the grass, unmoving. His vision started to return as the tears died away. His back pain remained, and shortly later a headache plagued him until he was seeing spots. His Ma stayed inside, in too much agony to check on Tristan. He wondered if she had heard any of their interaction. The door was still open from when Elric had opened it to leave.

  As Tristan lay in the grass, looking at the sky, he made a decision. Not only a decision, a promise. A promise to himself. If he ever saw Elric Drakonstone at his front door again, he would kill him. Plain and simple. He would be as dead as his father. But first thing was first, he needed a better weapon. A wooden sword wouldn’t do much against…against what? Elric’s boot? Elric was just stronger. And Tristan had come on far too obvious. He would wait for him. Prepare for him. He would hide in the woods or behind a tree with his wooden sword sharpened. He would find a rock and use it as a chisel until the tip of his wooden sword but no longer a square, blunt end but a sharp and deadly spear-tip, like the Knights of Windem sometimes used in tournaments.

  Tristan lay there in the grass. A light breeze shook his hair gently. A soft smile spread over his face. At least he had a plan now. He would worry about the consequences later. Perhaps he could flee the country. Brantly was neighboring Windem and they had a lot of land. He imagined himself speaking to someone with the thick, impossible-to-understand accents of the Brantish folk. “Yeah, that would work,” he whispered to himself. He had almost forgotten about the shooting pain that shot up his back.

  That was the last time Elric visited Mildred for quite some time. The next time he visited, Tristan and Mildred were long gone.