Alric’s Choice

The forest was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that promised peace. Alric crouched low, his eyes tracing the faint impressions of boots in the damp earth. The tracks were fresh, hours old at most.

He pressed two fingers into the dirt, frowning at the weight of the prints. These weren't scouts playing it safe. They were moving with a purpose, and their numbers weren't small.

"Damn it, Torik," Alric muttered under his breath, rising to his feet. The faint echo of a scream earlier had unsettled him, but now it was clear: House Lirian wasn't just sniffing around. They were closing in.

Alric moved through the underbrush, his footsteps barely stirring the leaves. He'd followed the trail for hours, slipping between shadows as he pieced together the movements of Lirian's forces. They weren't far now, a mile, maybe less.

He stopped near a small ridge, where the forest opened into a narrow clearing. In the distance, the flicker of torchlight glinted through the trees. He counted quickly: two torches, maybe three, with figures moving deliberately around them. The faint clinking of armor and weapons reached his ears.

Alric's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, his jaw tightening. Too many. Even if he tried to engage, he'd be overwhelmed in minutes.

He crouched lower, his mind racing. Lirian's men were moving steadily, tracking something, or someone. And if they reached the camp before Torik and his bandits were ready, there wouldn't be a fight. It would be a massacre.

Alric leaned back against a tree, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword. He'd known Torik for years, long enough to see the man's flaws. Torik was ruthless, cunning, and willing to bleed if it meant surviving. But he wasn't invincible, and Alric wasn't sure he trusted him to pull off whatever plan he thought he had.

So why the hell am I still here? Alric thought bitterly. He could have walked away days ago, slipped into the shadows and left Torik to his fate. The thought tempted him now, but something held him in place.

Maybe it was the debt. Or maybe it was the lingering guilt, the memory of the betrayal that had shattered their partnership years ago. Either way, Alric couldn't bring himself to leave. Not yet.

As Alric debated his next move, a faint sound reached his ears, the shuffle of boots on leaves, the low murmur of voices. He pressed himself flat against the ridge, his hand tightening around his sword as two figures came into view.

They were Lirian soldiers, their armor battered but serviceable. One carried a torch, its flickering light casting shadows across his face. The other held a crossbow, as he scanned the forest.

"You sure this is the right way?" the first soldier asked, his voice impatient.

The second nodded. "Tracks are fresh. They can't be far."

Alric tensed, his grip on his sword shifting. He could take them both, quick and quiet, but it would draw attention. And if there were more soldiers nearby, it would only make things worse.

Instead, he stayed still, watching as the soldiers passed. Their voices faded into the distance, swallowed by the forest.

When the soldiers were gone, Alric exhaled slowly, his pulse steadying. He turned back toward the path leading to the camp, his expression grim.

Torik's not ready for this, he thought. And I don't have time to wait for him to figure it out.

The idea came unbidden: seek help. Not for Torik, but for the bandits who didn't deserve to be slaughtered in a fight they couldn't win. Alric's old connections might still hold weight, mercenaries, deserters, anyone willing to fight for the right price.

But leaving now meant risking everything. If he didn't come back in time, there might not be anyone left to save.

As Alric made his way back through the forest, the air grew colder. The faint sound of laughter,low and guttural, reached his ears, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned slowly, his hand moving to his sword. The forest behind him was empty, but the feeling of being watched was unmistakable.

"Great," he muttered. "Beasts or worse."

Without another word, he quickened his pace, the distant glow of the campfire his only guide.

The path back to the camp felt longer than before, each step weighed down by the thoughts swirling in Alric's mind. The forest around him was alive with faint sounds, branches creaking in the wind, distant animal calls.

Torik's plan, if there even was one, would falter. Alric had seen this before: overconfidence, the belief that a single cunning move could topple forces far superior. Torik's charisma and strength worked wonders on bandits, but they wouldn't stop a disciplined force like House Lirian.

Alric tightened his grip on his sword as he moved through the underbrush. He hated the feeling building in his chest, a gnawing mix of dread and obligation. It's not my fight, he told himself, the thought repeating like a mantra. Not anymore.

The forest's oppressive silence seemed to amplify Alric's thoughts, drawing him deeper into memories he'd tried to bury. His steps faltered, and he leaned against a tree, the bark rough beneath his gloved hand. The faint rustle of leaves above blended with the echoes of voices from years ago.

The first time Alric had seen Torik, they were barely more than boys, scraping by in the harsh world that chewed up the weak and spat them out. Torik had been a whirlwind of energy and determination, his eyes sharp with a fire that didn't dim even in the face of death.

Alric had been huddled near the ruins of a crumbling village, his stomach empty, his ribs pressing against his skin like knives. A group of older boys had cornered him, their laughter sharp and cruel as they rifled through his belongings. He hadn't fought back; he hadn't known how.

Then Torik appeared.

"Hey!" Torik's voice had cracked, still carrying the high pitch of youth, but it was filled with a confidence. The older boys turned, sneering at the scrappy figure standing before them.

"You looking to get your ass kicked too?" one of them sneered.

Torik didn't flinch. "Maybe. But I'll take a piece of you with me."

The older boys laughed, but it was uneasy. Torik was small, but there was something about the way he held himself, the way he stood with a dagger clutched in his hand like he'd fought a thousand battles already.

When the biggest of the boys lunged at him, Torik didn't hesitate. The fight was fast and brutal, and Torik's moves weren't polished or clean, but they were effective. Blood was spilled, and by the end, the older boys were gone, leaving Alric staring in awe at the boy who had just saved him.

"You're welcome," Torik had said, flashing a crooked grin as he wiped the blood from his dagger. "Next time, fight back."

From that day on, Alric followed Torik like a shadow. The boy who had saved him became a beacon of strength, someone who seemed untouchable despite the harsh world around them.

As they grew older, Torik's boldness only sharpened. He led their group, first a ragtag band of orphans, then a small crew of mercenaries, into fights they had no business surviving. And somehow, they always did. Torik's plans were reckless, but they worked. His fearlessness inspired loyalty, even when the odds seemed impossible.

Alric could still see the young Torik in his mind, standing at the head of their group, his dagger raised high as he charged into battle. He hadn't just been brave; he'd been unshakable. The kind of leader people were willing to bleed for.

And Alric had bled for him, more times than he could count.

But everything had changed the night Alric made the deal.

The memory was vivid, seared into his mind like a scar. Their crew had been cornered, pinned down by an ambush that Torik hadn't seen coming. Alric could still feel the heat of the fire, smell the iron tang of blood as the enemy closed in.

They were outnumbered, outmatched, and Torik had been fighting like a demon to hold the line. Alric had known then that if they stayed, they would die. Every single one of them.

So he'd done what he thought was necessary. He'd gone to the noble leading the ambush, offering information, promising a retreat in exchange for their lives. It had been a gamble, but it worked. The noble pulled his forces back, and Torik's crew escaped with their lives.

But Torik had seen it differently. To him, it wasn't survival. It was betrayal.

"I trusted you," Torik had said that night, his voice cold and sharp as steel. His face was bloodied, his eyes burning with fury. "We fight, we bleed, we die together. That's the deal. And you broke it."

Alric had tried to explain, but the words had sounded weak even to his own ears. "I saved us."

Torik's expression hardened. "You saved yourself. Don't pretend it was for me."

From that moment on, the bond they'd shared had been fractured. Torik hadn't killed him, perhaps out of some lingering sense of loyalty, but the weight of his hatred had been enough.

The memory faded, leaving Alric staring blankly at the forest ahead. He ran a hand through his hair, his chest heavy.

Torik wasn't that boy anymore, the fearless, reckless leader Alric had admired. The man he'd become was harder, colder.

And yet, I'm still here, Alric thought bitterly. He pushed off the tree, his jaw tightening as he continued toward the camp.

No matter how much he wanted to leave, no matter how much he hated what Torik had become, a part of him still saw that boy from the ruins, the boy who had saved him, who had taught him how to fight, how to survive.

And that part of him couldn't let go.

He couldn't stay. Not if he wanted to live. Torik was gambling with lives, and Alric knew how that kind of gamble ended.

His fingers brushed the edge of a small pouch tied to his belt. Inside was the last of his coinenough to buy some time, but not enough to buy an army. Still, there were people out there who owed him favors. Mercenaries, deserters, anyone desperate enough to take on House Lirian if the price was right.

If I leave now, I might make it back before they strike, he thought. But if I don't…

The image of Kain flashed in his mind, the boy's sharp eyes, his quiet resolve. Kain wasn't like the others. He wasn't a killer, not yet. Alric shook his head, cursing under his breath. "Damn kid."

When Alric reached the camp, the bandits were scattered, some resting, others sharpening blades or checking gear. Torik was nowhere in sight, likely planning the next move.

Alric moved through the camp like a ghost, his steps silent as he gathered what little gear he had. His sword, his cloak, and the pouch of coin, all he needed to slip away unnoticed.

As he passed the cages, a faint whisper stopped him.

"You're leaving."

He turned to see the girl sitting near the bars, her eyes sharp despite the exhaustion etched into her face. She wasn't accusing him, nor was she pleading. It was a statement, delivered with quiet certainty.

Alric hesitated, his fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. "I'll be back."

"Will you?" she asked, tilting her head.

Alric frowned. "Why do you care?"

The girl shrugged, leaning back against the bars. "Because if you don't come back, we're all dead."

Her words lingered as Alric walked away, the faint glow of the campfire shrinking behind him.

The forest swallowed him whole as he moved quickly and quietly, his pace steady but purposeful. His thoughts churned as he calculated his next steps. There was a mercenary outpost not far from here, tucked into the shadow of a crumbling fortress. If he could reach it by morning, he might find someone willing to fight.

But mercenaries weren't known for their loyalty, and coin only bought so much. Alric would have to convince them this fight was worth their time. He cursed under his breath. "Hope you're worth it, Torik."

The outpost loomed ahead, its wooden palisades and crude watchtower silhouetted against the rising sun. Smoke curled lazily from a campfire within, and faint voices reached his ears.

Alric squared his shoulders, his expression hardening. He didn't have time to doubt, and he didn't have time to fail.

This is the only chance they have.

The dawn light barely pierced through the dense clouds as Alric approached the mercenary outpost. The palisade loomed ahead, its jagged stakes casting long shadows on the rocky ground. Smoke curled from within, and faint sounds of clanging steel and harsh laughter filtered through the heavy air.

Two guards flanked the gate, their mismatched armor telling a story of battles fought and won—or simply survived. Their hands rested on their weapons as Alric approached.

"State your business," one growled, his eyes narrowing.

"Looking for Garik," Alric said evenly. He reached into his pouch, pulling out two silver coins and tossing them to the ground. "Got a proposition for him."

The guard caught the coins with a practiced swipe and exchanged a glance with his partner. "Inside. Don't waste his time."

Inside the outpost, the air was thick with tension. Mercenaries lounged around campfires, their eyes following Alric with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. A few murmured among themselves, their words low but not subtle.

At the center of the camp, Garik sat behind a broad wooden table in a tent dimly lit by an oil lamp. His massive frame seemed to fill the space, his scars gleaming faintly in the flickering light. A wicked-looking axe leaned against his chair, its blade still stained from its last use.

Garik looked up as Alric entered, his single good eye narrowing. "You're not one of mine. Speak fast before I decide you're not worth listening to."

Alric stepped forward, meeting Garik's gaze without flinching. "I've got a job for you. Lirian soldiers, fifty men, moving through the forest. They're after a camp, and they'll be here next if they're not stopped."

Garik leaned back, his expression unimpressed. "And why should I care? Lirian's got no reason to waste time on this scrap heap."

"They're clearing the forest," Alric pressed. "Bandits, deserters, mercenaries—it doesn't matter to them. You don't stop them now, you'll be fighting them on your doorstep soon enough."

Garik's smirk was faint, but his good eye gleamed with amusement. "And you think I'm going to risk my men for some noble's pissing match? You've got to do better than that."

Alric hesitated, then stepped closer. "You want better? Fine. I'll offer you something no one else will."

Garik raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Go on."

"I'll stake the camp's supplies and spoils," Alric said. "Everything they have, gold, weapons, food—when we take down Lirian's men. It's yours."

Garik chuckled darkly. "You're betting someone else's fortune? That's bold, even for a liar."

Alric's jaw tightened. "Not just theirs. I'll throw in my own, gear, coin, whatever I have. And if we fail, you can take my life too. I won't run."

The tent fell silent, the weight of Alric's words settling in the air. Garik studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"You'd risk all that for a camp of bandits?" Garik asked, his tone curious. "What's so special about them?"

Alric didn't answer immediately. His thoughts flickered to Torik, to Kain, to the broken pieces of a bond that refused to die. 

Garik's smirk widened into a grin, jagged and predatory. "I like you, stranger. You've got guts, even if you're stupid. All right. I'll give you twenty men. But if this turns into a shitshow, you won't make it back to the forest line."

Alric nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Fair enough."

As Garik barked orders to his men, Alric stepped out of the tent, his chest tight. The weight of the gamble pressed heavily on him. The supplies weren't his to wager, and Torik wouldn't take kindly to the deal. But it didn't matter. Without help, the camp was doomed.

The mercenaries began to assemble, their gear clinking as they prepared for the march. Garik approached, his axe resting on his shoulder, his grin faint but sharp.

"You lead the charge," Garik said. "No running. No hiding. You prove this is worth my time, or you'll wish Lirian got to you first."

Alric met his gaze, his expression hard. "Deal."

The sun hung low as the mercenaries set out. Alric walked at the front, his sword strapped tightly to his side. Every step felt like a countdown, the weight of the promise dragging at his heels.

I hope you're ready, Torik, he thought bitterly. Because if this doesn't work, none of us are walking away.