(read first Flayr)

Flayr woke up to the sound of clanking swords. He dressed himself in clothing and exited the tent. The memory of the girl was partially gone but the memory of her still lingered in his mind. It had been ten days since her death and the burial seven. He tied his shirt and lugged himself over to the fire. Flayr watched his father at the opposite side of the fire. A row of tents in a circle lined the fire and at the forepart of the fire was a small field for training. Dried blood was still stained on the ground in front of him.

The girl was just ten, she had presumably followed him through the forest to talk to him. But ended up saving him. Her name was Daniella, a hunter’s girl, a quiet and kept to herself child.

His father stood next to the fire lugging a steel claymore sword, named by the royal Claimond family, his blood relatives. He spun his wrist and jabbed his blade towards the opposing swordsman wielding a less fine sword. The swordsman brandished his sword and struck back, but his father deflected and rammed his blade into the man’s side. He turned to see Flayr watching and signaled him to approach.

Flayr stepped over to his father and into the practice field. His father tossed him the sword and Flayr reached for the hilt. The sword was lighter than most and slightly longer. He raised the sword up and drew it back. His father waved him towards the swordsman. Flayr hastened towards him and rammed his side into the man sending flying back, stunned. The swordsman lay on his back with his sword laying next to his head. “Finish him,” his father roared. Flayr raised his sword and sunk it into the soft dirt next to the man’s head.

His father patted him on the shoulder and smiled showing his rotten teeth. Suddenly a peasant came rushing up behind them holding a roll of paper.

“My lord,” the peasant said gasping. “My lord.” He nodded towards Flayr. “A letter has come in from the North Capital.” He handed Flayr’s father a thin piece of crisp paper.

“When has this happened?” He asked nervously and vexed.

“Just an hour ago,” he answered. “I came from the other camps.”

“They ask for an alliance, they already know we’re aligned with the South,” his father said concerned, shaking his head. “We must do something.”

Flayr looked puzzled back in forth from the peasant to his father. “What has happened?” He asked.

“A tragic ending of Lorton Stronghold,” his father said. “The South has made a mistake doing this.”

“What?”

“They ambushed the Stronghold, slaughtering all, even the innocent,” he continued. “Even then we can’t break our alliance with the South.”

“Yes we can, we can to whatever we want,” Flayr opposed. He frowned and threw the sword to the ground. “We don’t have to support them for everything, right or wrong.”

His anger flared and the memories of the girl came seeping back into his mind. But he pushed them away. The peasant bowed and stepped back. His father took him by the shoulder and led him off towards the forest. They trekked through until they came upon a small cave out lined in ancient signs he couldn’t identify. The entrance was dark and humid but further in it became cold and wet.

“But they’re wrong, you’d support a king who slaughters new born babes?” He questioned.

“Sacrifices must be made in the war,” his father replied calmly. “I made an alliance with the South when I was young and gullible. Before we did no sins, but now we are no longer young, but killers of men. I will fight for the South, what will we do if we battle with the North? They are out numbered by hundreds of thousands…” He paused to hack his lungs out. “Remember, son, us of the Wild Lands never break our promises.”

“Who are you any more?” Flayr whispered in disappointment. The man he once knew years ago was gone, replaced with a brutal, fiendish one.

“In here,” his father pushed him into a smaller chamber, ignoring his words. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” He pushed open a small stone door leading into a dark room. A round stone table sat in the middle.

“This is where we establish our battles,” he said. “Come.”

A map carved of stone and pieces of rock sculpted into little human like figures.

“It’s about time you know,” his father said. “You reached manhood years ago.” He picked up a piece and fiddled with it in his hands. “These are figures of our men, imagen a troop of a dozen soldiers, and a dozen troops of bowmen for this one.” His father raised a rock figure with a man painted holding a bow on it for him to see and nodded. “These are our opponents the ones in blue. We are red, the blood of the sky, always the conquerors.” He smiled.

“Every man should go on a quest to prove his full maturity,” his father stated. “You have yet to achieve this.”

“I will,” Flayr proclaimed, all he wanted was to prove he was as equal as his brothers, and accepted by his father as worthy.

“You will, you will…” his father paused. “You’ll go with the griffin, Angel.” Angel was a giant griffin, with fiery wings and a large white beak. He had a long brown tail and two eagle claws in the front and lion’s feet in the back.

“Go to the South and bring them a message, they have our full support.” His father sneered, he knew he couldn’t disobey his father, and he knew Flayr didn’t approve of this matter. It was a test of alliance, if he was really for the Wild Lands or if he would come back a betrayer. His father put his fingers in front of his mouth to hide the malicious grin. Flayr turned his face, hiding the rage as his face boiled, and his temper simmering.

“It will prove your allegiance to the tribe,” his father said.

“I’ll go,” he said reluctantly. “I won’t dishonor you.”

*

Flayr led Angel out of the large shed with a leash around her neck. His father led her across the field as Flayr got on. “Don’t disappoint me,” his father warned with a grimace on his face. He led them to the edge of the shore and cut the rope off. Flayr put his feet in the stirrups and held onto Angel’s neck feathers. His father smacked him on the back and pushed Angel forwards. The tribe stood behind him, waving up and saying their farewells.

“I bid thee farewell,” a couple yelled. “Farewell. Anon.”

Flayr took hold of his mother’s hand and squeezed it for reassurance. She stepped back and watched him go. His eldest brother and his younger brothers stood next his mother. His father stood alone in the front.

Angel stretched her wings and soared into the clouds. They glided through the safety of the clouds, past the long stretch of river that expanded miles into the sea, then past the South Island which was in between the Wild Lands and the South, and over the frost. They past the deep forest to their right and through the desert.

The heat hit them from above the clouds. Angel shook her feathers and slowly began to dip forwards. Below them was three tiny figures. They were slowly traveling across the desert. But they soon became silhouettes in the horizon.

The heat baked them in the sun. Flayr reached into the bag on the saddle to reveal two sai’s. A triple bladed small sword, shiny and sharpened as thin and cylinder as his finger. His father must have put them there.

The city was located just ahead. It had monstrous walls reaching dozens of feet high and several feet thick. The outer wall was a giant circle and the inside wall was a smaller circle.

Angel dipped down and plummeted towards the wall. Flayr felt a shiver go down his spine and the adrenaline rushing through his brain. He held onto the feathers of Angle’s neck as they flew down to the ground. She tilted her wings up and steadily slowed down in front of the gate. The wind gave them a little bit of coolness and wiped the sweat off his face.

Flayr relaxed and took a deep breath, his heart racing. He lifted a small flag with the Claimond Flag symbol on it. The doors gradually opened revealing a small city. Angel hesitantly walked in. Pillars lined along a long thin street heading to the castle. The city was colorful and made of stone and sand. The pillars were sand colored and painted red and orange. Angel walked up the street and up a few flight of small stairs.

The second door was made of gold and led into the second city and the castle.

“Good day sir,” he said to the knights.

“No one calls me sir,” the knight said spitefully. “Who are boy?”

“I cry your mercy, but I have an urgent message for the king,” Flayr continued. “Please it is very important.”

“Let me ask again, who must you be lad?” The knight questioned.

“I am Flayr Claimond of the Wild Lands,” Flayr answered with a little pride.

“Of course ya' all have stupid names like that,” he scoffed. “We will take you to da’ king, under one circumstance.” The knight spit out a wad of tobacco.

“I don’t take request from peasants like you,” Flayr said. “I’m a prince.”

“Well you’re not gettin’ in then,” he said.

“What do you want?”

“I want that shirt of yours,” he said. Flayr loosened the strings on the collar and pulled off his sweaty rag of a shirt revealing his thew. The training on the field back home gave him strength. They led Flayr into the castle and through winding halls until they came upon the throne room. Angel was left tied to a pillar back in the city.

*