Alric’s Dilemma

Alric sat near the fire, his gaze distant as he cleaned his sword. The steel glinted in the firelight, reflecting his eyes.

He glanced toward Torik, who was leaning against a wagon. The years hadn't dulled the man's stubbornness, though the scar along his jawline and the stiffness in his movements hinted at the price he'd paid for it.

"Still awake?" Torik's voice cut through the silence.

Alric smirked faintly, though he didn't look up. "You're one to talk. Or is brooding part of your leadership style now?"

Torik's chuckle was dry. "Leadership's just another word for cleaning up after other people's mistakes."

The barb hung in the air, but Alric let it pass. He sheathed his sword, leaning back against the log. "You're gambling on that boy, you know. House Lirian won't play your games for long."

"Maybe," Torik admitted, his tone guarded. "But they don't scare me."

Alric studied him for a moment, his smirk fading. "They should. You think they're just going to walk away if you stall long enough? They'll burn this place to the ground, and when they do, they'll take more than the boy."

When Torik didn't respond, Alric stood, brushing off his tunic. He wandered toward the edge of the camp, where the treeline loomed like a dark curtain. His thoughts churned, his instincts clashing with guilt.

He'd been in this position before, watching a group edge closer to destruction while weighing his own survival. Back then, he'd made a choice, a deal with a noble that had saved his life and lined his pockets but cost Torik more than Alric cared to remember.

"Can't fix the past," Alric muttered to himself, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. "But the future's still mine to shape."

His gaze shifted toward the path leading out of the camp. Striking a deal with House Lirian was tempting, they valued loyalty, even if it was bought. Recruiting a band of mercenaries to protect the camp was another option, though it would cost him dearly.

As Alric turned back toward the camp, his eyes caught movement near the treeline. Kain sat there, his wooden staff resting across his lap. The boy's silhouette was tense, his posture radiating exhaustion.

Alric approached slowly, his boots crunching softly on the dirt. "Not much of a sleeper, are you?"

Kain glanced at him, his expression guarded. "Didn't know this place came with a bedtime."

Alric smirked faintly, crouching beside him. "You're not like the others here. You think ahead, plan your moves. That's good. But it won't mean much if you don't learn to pick your battles."

Kain didn't respond immediately. He looked out at the dark forest, his grip tightening on the staff. "And what do you do? Run away when it gets too hard?"

Alric's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Sometimes running is the smartest move you can make. But only if it leads you somewhere better."

He straightened, his tone cold. "Learn that lesson fast, boy. Because if this camp falls, no one's coming to save you."

As Alric walked away, Kain watched him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. He didn't trust the man, but Alric's words lingeredin his thoughts.

Alric walked to the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on something. Torik approached him. He stopped a few feet away, studying Alric's posture. "Thinking about leaving again?"

Alric exhaled softly. "No, not leaving. Just figuring out what happens next."

"And you think running off is going to fix that?" Torik asked, his voice low. "You don't trust me, and I sure as hell don't trust you."

"Trust isn't the issue," Alric replied. "You need people who know how to fight. People who don't crumble at the sight of a noble's banner."

Torik's smirk flickered faintly. "And you just happen to know where to find these people?"

"I know enough," Alric said simply, his eyes narrowing. "I've dealt with Lirian's kind before. I know their weak spots. If I can pull together a few men who've got something to lose, we might have a chance."

Torik tilted his head, weighing Alric's words. "And what's in it for you? You've never been the type to do charity work."

Alric leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping. "I know what it's like to owe the wrong people, Torik. Maybe this is me evening the scales."

For a moment, neither spoke. The fire crackled softly behind them, casting long shadows across the clearing.

As Alric turned toward the treeline, Torik called after him. "If you're not back in time, don't bother coming back at all."

Alric glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He disappeared into the shadows, his steps fading into the night. Torik stared after him for a moment before letting out a soft, bitter laugh. He muttered to himself, "Should've known better than to trust a gambler."

As the night deepened, Torik stood alone by the fire, his thoughts heavy. The men in his camp were restless, scared. House Lirian's shadow loomed large, and now Alric's departure left a gaping hole in their defenses.

But his gaze lingered on Kain. Torik didn't trust Alric, and he didn't trust the boy, but he wasn't ready to give either of them up. Not yet.

The sun rose, its pale light filtering through the trees and casting long shadows across the camp.

Kain sat near the fire, the wooden staff balanced across his knees. His eyes were fixed on the flames, but his mind churned with thoughts of escape. Alric's departure had changed the dynamic, fewer eyes, fewer weapons, fewer obstacles.

Torik emerged from his tent, his movements stiff. His gaze swept across the camp, lingering on Kain for a moment before shifting to his men.

"Up!" he barked, his voice cutting through the morning silence. "We've got work to do. No more dragging your feet."

The bandits scrambled to obey, some moving to check the perimeter while others prepared their weapons. Torik walked toward Kain, his smirk faint but present.

"You're up early," Torik remarked, crouching beside him.

Kain didn't look up. "Couldn't sleep."

Torik chuckled, a dry sound. "Good. Means you're paying attention. The ones who sleep too easy don't last long out here."

Torik watched Kain for a moment.

"Get up," Torik said abruptly, standing. "We're sparring again."

The clearing had become a makeshift training ground, the bandits forming a loose circle around Torik and Kain. Torik handed the boy a staff, his movements deliberate.

"Same rules as before," Torik said. "No holding back."

Kain gripped the staff tightly, his muscles already tensed in anticipation. The memory of the last training session still lingered, but so did the flicker of pride he'd felt when he'd pushed through the pain.

Torik didn't wait. He attacked with the same relentless speed, his strikes sharp and precise. Kain blocked the first few blows, his movements more controlled than before.

"Better," Torik said, sidestepping a swing and countering with a quick jab to Kain's ribs. "But not good enough."

Kain stumbled, but he didn't fall. He adjusted his stance, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Torik's movements.

This time, Kain didn't just react. He started to anticipate Torik's strikes, watching the way his shoulders shifted, the faint tilt of his head before a swing. He sidestepped one blow, countering with a swing of his own that grazed Torik's side.

The bandits muttered amongst themselves, a few nodding in approval.

Torik's smirk widened. "Good. You're starting to think."

Kain didn't reply. He pressed forward.

Torik blocked a high strike, spinning the staff to knock Kain's legs out from under him. The boy hit the ground hard, the air rushing from his lungs.

"Lesson two," Torik said, standing over him. "You're not as clever as you think."

Kain gritted his teeth, pushing himself up. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it. He grabbed the staff and faced Torik again, his jaw set.

By the time the sparring session ended, Kain was drenched in sweat, his arms trembling from exhaustion. But he was still standing, his eyes burning with defiance.

Torik nodded, tossing his staff aside. "You'll do."

The bandits dispersed, their murmurs carrying hints of respect for the boy who had lasted longer than any of them expected.

Kain collapsed onto a nearby log, his chest heaving. The young girl who had been watching from the edge of the clearing approached, a canteen of water in her hands.

"You're getting better," she said softly, handing him the canteen.

Kain took it, his grip firm but his eyes distant. "Not good enough yet."

As the camp returned to its routine, Torik stood at the edge of the clearing, his gaze lingering on Kain. The boy's progress was undeniable, but so was the weight of what lays ahead.

Far away, Alric moved swiftly through the woods and in the back of Alric's mind, a single thought lingered: Will I even make it back in time?