Aric:the warrior of shadow and flame

– Whispers o

At eight years old, he had grown lean and tall for his age, legs carrying him faster than most grown men could run. His misma

s, bred for steel as much as he was. They carried sticks,

alled, panting. "Slow

gh he could run until the sun died. He reached the clearing fi

" he de

later, collapsing onto the grass wi

red," one muttered

ng how to answer. He was

were heavier, his reflexes sharper. The other boys groaned and joked about h

erent. And

great hall, the differen

were his captains, men scarred by war, drinking and speaking in hard voices. Aric sa

he cou

one captain said. "Villagers swea

pricked. A

cup. "Toren Blackfang's sigi

herwise. That he has returned from exile.

words when elders thought him asleep. Toren Blackfang - the rival his

ey eyes burned. "No ghost haunts these lands. If Toren Blackfang

his golden eye flickered in the torchlight as t

an found Aric in the yard, still swing

the Wolf rumbled, le

weat dripping down

eyes studied hi

e, chest heaving. "Wh

r's equal in strength and cunning. But unlike your father, Toren's heart was black as pitch.

ned on the hilt. "He'll c

softly. "And if he does

gleamed in the moonligh

Listen to me, Aric. You are strong, aye - stronger than most men already. But strength alone does

e, unflinching.

fire - and for the first time, he believed him. The boy tru

r cloak fluttering in the wind. She stared north, e

climbing the stones

see?" he as

e a shadow moving. Old rivalries stirring. And a bo

. "That's me

ed faintly. "You

stubbornly. "If I'm different... i

u carry two legacies in one heart. Your father's steel, you

prove them both. I'll be stronger

"Perhaps. But strength draws enemies as blood draws wolves

er him though th

tiny was not a game of swords in the yard. I

e was Toren

ens, the barracks, even the market square beyond the gates. Peasants and soldiers alike muttere

nk every word. His steel-grey eye burned with pride when they praised his father, y

r summoned him to

e sight of him still made Aric's heart leap. Kaelor was the Ironblade, undefe

tance," Kael

father had given him. He bent his knees, placed his

he blo

shed back, but each time he found his footing again. The clang of steel echoed thr

e boy's trembling arms, at the sweat dripping down his pale face, at the u

breath

f you hear about - Toren Blackfang - was once my equal. Perhaps my better. I defeated h

owed. "Yes

oulder. "Remember this. You must wield both strength an

after Kaelor left him in

only Kaelor w

ways shimmered with faint firelight, even when no torches burned. The Witch-Queen of the So

Aric one morning, when the w

obe

ches - the wind against your skin, the scent of the earth.

. warmth. A spark beneath his ribs. His golden eye burned even behind cl

ved. "Good. You he

gasped, his small hands glowing faintly as if light burned beneath

his fingertips - just for

his eyes

that?" he

did. But be wary, my son. Fire is not a toy. It is hunger. Once unleash

deep within, a part of him thrilled at the po

s movements carried Kaelor's precision but also a strange fluidity, almost unnatural. A

son," Mira murmured, a

elvara's too. Fire and steel i

e low. "He will be tested sooner than

haft of one of his great axes. "Then let him com

s clouded, as though she saw s

ht, Aric

her. Around him shadows writhed, voices whispering promises and curses.

in a voice that

When your father falls, I will

at, his hand burning hot

not tel

training blade once more, and for th

never