A E Johnson

by alice johnson

  the man he was now, always trying to prove something.

  Her long brown hair was always neatly packed into a

  tight bun. She always opted to wear dark clothing, her

  shadow like appearance fitted with her title of chief

  adviser.

  “I still think you’re being hasty.” Her disapproval

  of Brenin’s actions was all he had heard since leaving.

  Brenin wrinkled his brow as he sat up. Brenin

  laughed the comment off. “Hasty.” Looking from the

  window of the carriage the green speckled grass

  pushed through the orange dunes as they came closer

  towards the castle Marrion. “Well, excuse me if I’m

  trying to impede the worsening of their assault,” he

  mocked.

  Afie pressed her wrinkling lips tightly together, she

  too looked from the window to the approaching

  barbican of the castle Marrion.

  “I know,” she quietly agreed with Brenin. Her

  scoffing tone was low as she waved her head towards

  him. “Harris Bearwood though?”

  Her questioning did not worry Brenin, he was sure

  of himself. “What do you know of him?” He turned

  back to Afie. His head raised with wonder.

  Afie looked back to Brenin, she began twirling an

  emerald ring on her finger. “Born of Xencliff, my

  knowledge of him is little, the taverns and Xencliff

  pornes all know him, they call him The Commander.”

  Her eyes relaxed and lowered, she looked to the ring

  on her finger. “They say he is a shadow of war, every

  hard battle we have he seems to turn up, somehow, he

  never asks for payment.”

  Brenin raised his brow, he wrinkled his nose and

  sat up straight. “How does he fund his travels?”

  “Plenty is known about his family,” explained Afie,

  she slowly leant down, her elbows rested on her lap.

  “His mother, Riah, she married King Waron, little is

  known about his father, he isn’t Waron’s son,” she sat

  up straight, “of course, if he were then this would be a

  different kind of worry for me.”

  Brenin sat straight, he gazed from the window as

  they came onto the barbican of the castle. The

  towering fortress stood as a grey power on the land.

  The calls of crows guided them towards the castle

  courtyard. The gatehouse was alive with guards as they

  came running into the courtyard, the king had arrived

  in Marrion.

  “Your disapproval of the Xencliff king often

  concerns me,” said Brenin, his voice held a quiet

  concern, “eventually, we will need their armies, and if

  they consist of soldiers the likes of Harris Bearwood,

  this war is as good as won.”

  Afie laughed, the very thought of the war being

  over with the help of Xencliff amused her. “The

  people are nothing but pornes, philanderers of the

  most despicable nature, with Xencliff on side, all we

  would have is hardened soldiers, and not in the way

  we would want,” her mocking forced Brenin to laugh.

  “This is why I bring you with me, I always seem to

  forget just how entertaining you are.”

  The courtyard was surrounded by a large

  mezzanine, a small stone staircase took them to the

  keep. Afie opted to head straight up the grey stone

  stairs and towards one of the many guest rooms in the

  heart of Castle Marrion.

  Brenin on the other hand, thundered up the stone

  stairs. Grey stone walls echoed of an ancient past, lost

  long ago. Brenin’s fast footsteps pounded across the

  corridor of the mezzanine; he made his way towards

  the master’s room.

  Without a thought, Brenin burst into the room.

  Stepping through the dark wooden door, Brenin stood

  in the dimly lit room, a desk to his right was neat, a

  simple quill and some paper was all that sat upon the

  desk. The walls were lined with bookcases, filled with

  old leather-bound books. Through an archway

  towards the back of the room was a large four poster

  bed, lined with orange flowing lace curtains.

  Shock suddenly took hold of his face as he saw a

  young beautiful woman, naked in the centre of the

  room, the pert young woman gave an audible squeal as

  she saw them burst in. Instantly, she tried to cover

  herself.

  Shirtless, a young soldier stood behind her, his belt

  was unbuckled, his piercing green eyes glared towards

  Brenin. It was clear he was favoured by the fairer sex.

  His long black hair framed his face, he had an ecru

  skin tone, but the tiny scars on his skin told the stories

  he clearly was not willing to tell, a lifetime of struggle

  shone from his troubled face. His strong chiselled jaw

  line was clean shaven, he took care of himself. In his

  youth he had seen many battles, he had been shaped

  by war; his perfectly shaped body reflected the self-

  discipline he had charged himself with, his high

  cheekbones gave the real sense of Xencliff, a look of

  exotic attraction spilt from him.

  Brenin felt strangely uncomfortable. The very man

  he was here to see had been described perfectly to

  him, hundreds of times, but as he now stood before

  him, the battered warrior, he had heard so much

  about seemed to exude a sexual strength, a tenderness

  seemed to cloud the battered young warrior. He

  quickly took the woman’s wrap dress and ran towards

  her to cover her.

  Brenin stood sure, Harris had taken it upon

  himself to take over the battle of Marrion.

  “Can I help you?” Harris abruptly asked.

  Brenin replied in a satirical tone, “I would hope

  so.” He turned to allow the woman some privacy.

  Running to the bed at the back she threw her wrap

  dress around her. “I assume you’re aware this is the

  Castle Marrion, this room is only to be used by the

  commander?” affirmed Brenin.

  “I am aware of this!” said Harris, clearly annoyed

  with the intrusion. His smile seemed forced as he

  asked, “And you are?”

  A smile of great pleasure grew on Brenin’s face, he

  asked in a low tone, “Where is your commander?”

  Assuming the woman was now dressed, he turned to

  face Harris.

  “Dead,” he hastily replied. He relaxed his posture.

  He was a man of confident youth; many rumours

  surrounded the young Harris Bearwood, and Brenin

  was there to uncover all he could. “The last one was

  killed at the last turn. Lister, the Sonnin commander,

  has asked me to replace the commander, until another

  is sacrificed.” His twisted smile seemed to be filled

  with a secret knowledge that he was the man for the

  job.

  Brenin’s brows furrowed and released. His body

  tilted towards the young soldier. “So, Lister must think

  highly of you,” he held a high tone. His arms caught

  behind his back. “Are the council aware of this?”

  Harris walked towards a drink’s cabinet beside the

  bookshelves; he took two glasses. “L
ike they give a

  shit,” he softly said, hunching his shoulders. “They

  know I’m here, but the feckless cretins don’t seem to

  bother with the war anymore, so long as their pockets

  are full,” he proceeded to pour the drinks.

  Brenin saw a chance, and took it, he flicked his

  head up as he asked, “And what of Brenin?”

  Harris raised his brows and looked to Brenin; a

  smile grew from the corner of his mouth. “Nice try,”

  he nodded with approval. Brenin was trying to be

  cunning, Harris appreciated his attempt. “Sire,” he

  gave a slow wobble of his head. “I know who you are,

  but why you’re here, I’m yet to work out. My father,

  he used to saddle your horses,” he revealed with a hint

  of pride in his voice.

  “You’ve been rather elusive, Harris, difficult to

  find, your past is hard to detect,” Brenin seemed

  impressed with Harris. Harris instantly looked up; he

  handed a glass to Brenin. “Your mother Riah, married

  to Waron Chen Lu, of Xencliff.” Brenin took the glass

  and ambled towards the desk. The young girl

  remained in the shadows. Brenin lowered himself into

  the seat at the back of the desk. “When your father

  died,” Brenin looked down, his eyes spilt with a

  reminiscent flood of memories, “such a shame, he was

  a good man,” he lifted his head; “when he died, I

  know you and your brother were taken to the palace

  of Xencliff. Records on you are scarce.” He leant

  forward and placed his glass on the desk, having not

  taken a single sip. “Why is that?”

  Harris walked towards the bed, taking his black

  tunic he began to dress, he buckled his belt as he

  replied, “Eric, Eric Bearwood, of Xencliff,” he made

  his way back to the desk, “my father, our home was

  taken, by the vile scum I fight today,” he slowly sat

  opposite Brenin. “Odalis and I hated the palace of

  Xencliff, nothing but extravagant bullshit to hide the

  iniquitous, seedy delights of Waron.” His brows raised

  as he took a large drink from his glass. “Needless to

  say, I did learn a lot from Waron.” His voice softened;

  memories flooded his mind. “I was never destined for

  palace life.” Harris leant over and took his boots close

  to his desk. As he put his boots on, he explained. “I

  learned more when Odalis left, he opted for service

  with the Cronnin army, I was too young, left behind, I

  was a little shit in the palace of Xencliff, of course

  Waron is known to have no male heir,” he raised his

  brows to Brenin, almost as though he was gossiping,

  “nine wives and not a single son, he took me under his

  wing, but I was just a little shit, never behaved, never

  one to do as mother said, I finally had enough when

  my mother set me to work with the pornes, so I

  travelled.” He sat straight; his smile widened as he

  spoke to Brenin. “I did learn more than I thought in

  Xencliff, the women there are…” he looked to the

  woman stood by the bed. “Vigorous,” he carried a

  raised brow and wide smile. Harris looked to the glass

  sat by Brenin, he was yet to take a sip. Harris reached

  over; he took a sip from Brenin’s glass. “It’s

  moonshine, won’t kill you,” he mocked.

  Brenin gave a slow, low nod. “This is where you

  became elusive.” He reached for the glass and took a

  small sip. Moonshine happened to be his favourite.

  “Until you showed up and ended Blodmoor, and

  Portsmere,” he gave a nod of approval. “I have heard

  of you.”

  “Then why ask?” Harris sat forward in his chair,

  curiosity was something he was well known for, he

  always had a need to know all he could.

  Brenin mirrored Harris, he too sat forward and

  asked, “During your travels, I have nothing but

  blotches of information, I know all my commanders,

  but you,” he raised his brows to Harris. “You, I am yet

  to figure out.” His tone was pressing.

  Harris sat back, he relaxed in his chair. He flicked

  his hands up. “Firstly, I’m not a commander,

  secondly, I have nothing to tell, I kill the bastards, I

  don’t ask for payment, or title, what’s the issue?”

  Brenin leant back in his chair. “How do you fund

  your exploits?” he blatantly asked, “you are not paid as

  a mercenary.”

  “The lowest form of scum,” Harris softly replied,

  he hated the mercenaries, “I can assure you, not a

  single mercenary will ever walk among these ranks,

  only good men and women, loyal to Cronnin.” Harris

  tensed slightly, the king was asking all the right

  questions, but he had little to tell. “During my travels,

  I earned a title, a nickname.” His smile grew, the

  young woman stepped further into the room.

  “We call him The Commander, Sire,” she softly

  said. Her gentle tone was one of compassion.

  Brenin raised his brows, he gave a quick shake to

  his head and said in a deep voice, “You’re not a

  commander.”

  The woman stepped forward, she was sure to be

  slow, this was, after all, her king she was speaking to.

  “He’s our commander, Sire, before he joined the war,

  Harris was the one protecting the taverns,” she looked

  lovingly to Harris, “he was never a porne like me, he

  was a gentleman, the Atlanti would often cause issues

  in the taverns, Harris always seemed to be there,” her

  smile grew towards him. Brenin could see the sparkle

  in her eye, a strange bond between her and Harris

  showed clearly on her young face. “Always when we

  needed him, always in a dark corner, from the

  shadows he would rise,” she carried a pride in Harris.

  Harris sat further back, his chest thrust out, he

  raised his brows as he placed his fist under his chin to

  lean, glaring towards Brenin with a sure grin.

  Brenin’s eyes widened. “Well–” Brenin struggled

  to find his words, he puffed his cheeks. “I’m lost,” he

  sighed.

  Harris rolled his eyes; he took a deep breath. “I

  spent my time in the taverns, my father always used to

  say, to find a fight, find passion, the volatile

  relationship between him and my mother taught me a

  lot. Waron loves his fiery women, hence, he married

  my mother.” Taking another drink, he waved the

  woman over to him. He took her hand in his and gave

  a loving kiss to the back of her hand. “You can leave,

  thank you,” he softly said to her. Turning back to

  Brenin, Harris explained, “When I left Xencliff, I left

  to find Odalis, we both hated the place, apart from the

  obvious exchange in bodily fluids, I hated the place,

  long story short, I left, spent a long time in taverns,

  killing random Atlanti, fucking many, many women,

  mostly I didn’t even have to pay, that’s where I earned

  the title of ‘Commander.’ I found Odalis among the

  camps of the red army.�
� His eyes drifted to the floor.

  “And?” asked Brenin, he leant further forward. He

  was enthralled with Harris’s story.

  Harris raised his eyes to his armour, which stood

  proud on a manakin towards the back of the wall

  beside his desk. Brenin turned to see it. Slowly he

  stood, horror seemed to take hold of him. He touched

  the strange leather scales on the arm of the armour, a

  feel of solid velvet. Brenin muttered, “Lizard skin, so

  the stories are true.”

  Harris took another drink from his glass, this time

  he finished it. “I arrived at the camp, Odalis had

  joined the red army, the dragons of old lit the skies

  that night,” his voice was soft, a pain was in his voice,

  his eyes drifted towards the armour, he glared towards

  it, the memory of that night was strong in his mind. “I

  saw Odalis, he could see me riding towards him, I

  tried to stop him, it was too late…” Harris seemed to

  struggle. “The dragon, took him from the ground,

  plucked him like a defenceless fucking grape, and tore

  him in two, it had no heart, no feeling, it saw me,

  screaming like a frightened fucking child, it threw his

  head at me.” He looked to Brenin, who listened

  intently. Harris gave a menacing laugh, “Can you

  believe that?” His eyes drifted towards the desk. He

  folded his arms on the desk in front. “I couldn’t let it

  live, it took down half our army, I’m of Xencliff, born

  of anger, I took the bastard thing with one shot, none

  of them thought to go for the eyes,” he explained as he

  shook his head.

  Brenin slowly walked back towards the desk.

  “Don’t make a habit of killing dragons, Harris.” He

  slowly sat and glared towards Harris, waiting for him to

  finish. Harris began to run his finger around the rim of

  his glass. “Harris, what happened after that?”

  Harris broke his silence, he looked to Brenin with

  a furrowing brow. “Not long after that, I used the

  scales to fund my time in the army, dragons do malt;

  however, the hard scales underneath are stronger,

  lighter, I used a solution, formed the scales for my

  own armour, and sold the rest.”

  Brenin shook his head as he sat back. “Why not

  just join?”

  It was a well-paid position, but Harris had other

  plans. Harris leant back. “Freedom,” a gentle tone