Alfrothul

Chapter Four-Alfrothul

Alfrothul opened his eyes to the blinding light of the noon sun shining through the window of his room. He blinked quickly to adjust his vision to the brightness then swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up, allowing the silk sheets to drop from his body. He stretched indolently, flexing each hardened muscle in turn. Long szen of battle training had given him those muscles, along with the scars that ran along the outside of either arm from the wrists to the elbows. He remembered that fight vividly: a training session become deadly when his opponent had pulled live blades. Alfrothul had emerged with scars; his opponent had lost his life.

“Sir, are you awake?” a soft voice called through the door. He grunted, knowing that his maid would hear it and proceeded to unlock the door for her. She scurried in, a little black woman in the grey servants’ uniform, and rushed to throw back the curtains to the remaining covered window. Alfrothul narrowed his eyes as yet more light streamed into the room.

“Blasted sunlight,” he muttered, not really meaning it. “Hurts like a knife in the eyes.” The maid gave a soft reassuring noise, a blatant attempt at soothing him. He sighed gently, relaxing with a conscious effort. The woman moved around in the background, although his ears barely registered the noises she made.

“Alfrothul, my good man,” a deep voice boomed, not twenty feet away from the warrior. The owner clapped a heavy hand onto the other man’s shoulder, startling him slightly. “Come, get your lazy body out of your rooms and venture outside for once. The day is fine, the birds are singing and the servants are working the fields. Is there anything finer?” Alfrothul restrained himself from making any mention of the Sun Lord’s charge; if the men of his rank had known the true depth of their warrior lord’s dedication to his god they would have been very antagonistic. Instead, he gave the redhead who had spoken a tight smile and turned to look out of the now opened window.

“It does seem like a fine day, Heolostor. Give me a mark at most to wake fully, and I will join you.” The man nodded respectfully to Alfrothul, who was his commander and, with a sharp turn, left the suite. They had been friends for nearly five szen, even after Alfrothul had been appointed commander of his family’s armies one szen ago. He was only eighteen when that had happened, but after ten szen of training he had been more capable than many men who were far older than him. Even Heolostor respected his abilities, despite the fact that the older man was half again as old as him.

“And if I am not just the perfect figurehead for them then I do not know what I am,” he muttered, feeling slightly hurt. “That’s really all they need me for; we haven’t had a war in over fifty szen.” Sun Lord grant that we never have need for another, he thought silently, not daring to trust it to words. The men under his command were anxious for a battle, clamouring at him every time word came of one some countries away. And every time he managed to hold them back by reasoning that by the time they arrived at the site the battle would be over.

With a slight shaking of his head, Alfrothul broke out of his thoughts. He dressed quickly, not noticing that the maid was still in his rooms and, after throwing a light jacket over his shoulders, strode out of his room, heading for the bathing rooms. He washed his face and hands neatly without splashing a single drop of water on his clothes then, with a flick of his fingers to dry them, departed. He marched outside to meet up with Heolostor, the strikes of his boot heels ringing loudly in the silent halls. Not for the first time was he grateful that he was a younger son. His elder brother was cut out to be a lord but Alfrothul himself had been far too interested in the fighting arts since his youth to concentrate on the running of a holding. Instead, he had been allowed to indulge in his interest, to the point where his teachers had reported him so proficient that they could teach him no more. In response, Alfrothul’s father, Lord Irfan, had sent his son to the most prestigious battle training school known for two szen. When said son had returned he had been ready to take charge of his family’s warriors, and his father had been happy to oblige. Now Alfrothul was known for his training methods and for his battle knowledge, although he had never had to prove their worth.

A/N; This chapter took me forever because I got hung up on the part just after Heolostor left. Hopefully that doesn’t happen again although, knowing me, it will. I think Alfrothul and Isadora will meet soon, like in the next two or three chapters.