Kryndor’s Jewel part 3

KING ALTREUS

Northern Wildlands

“Father Irkin has requested a cleaning.”

I lift my gaze from the sword before me, intrigued by the High Priest’s revelation.

“Father Irkin?” I ask, lowering the polishing stone. “The most promiscuous priest in this horde? That one?”

Just when I thought I had seen and heard it all.

The High Priest clears this throat. “Those are mere rumors, my king. Father Irkin is a man of the white hides and would not indulge in such fleshy desires.”

I shake my head and slide the stone across the blade once more. “Is that so? Please enlighten me. What is this new bible you priests are reading? Because last time I had the displeasure of walking past Irkin’s tent, I heard some strange prayers. Few words and plenty of moans.”

He clears his throat. “Nevertheless… he has requested a cleaning.”

“And he shall have it.”

Though I hardly think Irkin will see through this commitment. A cleaning ensues castration. It is the only way one can become a High Priest and entrusted with insurmountable power.

Only two priests in this horde have undergone a cleaning, and they have been rewarded with secrets that not even I am privy to.

While Irkin loves power, he loves his cock even more.

“What of your cleaning, my king?”

I chuckle, amused by the absurd question.

I’d run myself through before agreeing to my own castration.

Many horde kings have had a cleaning, as it is the only way to protect their position, preventing anyone from challenging them for the throne.

But I will never go to such measures. That brings me here, outside my tent where I sharpen my blade and prepare for a challenge.

Every year, I am challenged. I walk into the Forest of Roa and walk out bathed in blood, leaving a body behind in the forest. It’s always a brave, albeit ambitious young man that has recently joined my horde and has few friends to warn him against challenging me.

One year, two brothers walked into the Forest of Roa to face me. I hunted them and left their bodies behind as an offering to nature.

I can still hear their father’s sobs when I arose from the treeline alone and bloody.

I do not look forward to the challenge; to claiming life. Every year, it is a period of mourning for me.

“Why not breed a female? Birth your heir and proceed to have your cleaning. It is the only way to end the challenges.”

The High Priest tells me the same message every year. He insists that I am a good king and I should secure my position for twenty more years to come.

But I’m just as guilty as Irkin. I love to vrell. What good is power if I don’t have a cock to vrell with?

“The answer is no. What of your visions? Do they still plague you?”

“I—“

A young scout comes barreling across the clearing. He pants and points to the south with a trembling finger. His hide pants are muddy at the knees, as if he fell.

“My king, riders approach the camp!” He rasps.

This is alarming. I'm not expecting visitors from another horde. And everyone knows to send word before approaching a horde.

“How many? Were they flying a flag?”

“There were no banners, only two riders. A male and a child.”

I sheathe my sword, appreciating the sharp sound of the blade and the weight at my side.

I walk to the southern tents, turning heads as I go, women sensing the disturbance and reaching for the children that play around the baskets of beans that they’re sorting.

I whistle for my men to organize as I scan the incoming riders.

I tap my fingers on the grip of my sword before grasping it tightly when I realize what beasts the riders straddle.

Those beasts are not native to the Wildlands. They’re a rarity, found only in a land I’ve worked hard to forget.

Kryndor. My homeland.

These riders came from a long ways.

My knuckles and teeth ache as I watch them dismount from a distance.

“Is that a…” mutters one of my men.

Yes. Standing beside the tall male figure is not a child. It’s a full fleshed woman.

A lowdweller, I realize with peaked interest. She is hundreds of miles away from the safety of the underground city that they colonize.

What the vrell is a lowdweller doing in these parts?

Just when I thought I had seen it all…

“I’m riding out,” I growl, displeased by the mystery these two pose.

These riders are unwelcomed. They smell of trouble. They smell of my past, which I have long buried along with a dozen bodies in the Forest of Roa.

Kryndor is dead to me, and these two will be dead too if they bring me unpleasant news.

Within minutes, I’m saddled and riding to intercept the strangers that have stopped atop a hill to canvas the area.

They’ve seen the camp, and they know better than to approach it.

Four of my men follow me, armed and ready for my commands.

I yank my beast to a stop when I get close enough to recognize a familiar face.

The male has violet vrelling eyes identical to mine. The one window to my past that I cannot erase save for gouging my own eyes out.

It’s my brother. My blood.

Prince Ravore of House Akron is here in the flesh, looking as angry and miserable as ever.

I never thought I’d see him again.

I scan the distance, searching for Varkon perhaps foolishly because I know he’s at the palace ruling Kryndor.

Seeing no hint of him, I move my eyes to the girl—the woman. She is so small, it is no wonder the scout assumed she was a child.

I’ve only seen a handful of lowdwellers before, since they did not frequent the halls of the palace. I don’t know how to picture them, but this woman certainly puts them in a bright light.

She is beautiful. Young and vibrant, her figure hidden beneath hides, arousing the imagination. Her dark hair is short around her shoulders and unbound. It is curiously curled at the ends, as if unsure of which texture to adapt.

Her hands are small like the rest of her, but they don’t look soft. They’re roughened by a life of labor.

She is nothing like the noble women I grew up surrounded by.

Her eyes are unafraid. She stares at me with the same interest, as if she does not know what to make of me just as I don’t know what to make of her.

“Turn around!” I roar at them. “Leave at once.”

“You will have me!” Ravire shouts back. “I’ve traveled for two weeks to reach you!”

“You are nothing in this wilderness, Prince Ravore! You are out of your element and out of your territory.”

“You—“

We are interrupted by galloping hooves. The lowdweller is charging at me.

The daring, unruly, suicidal girl!