Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 17.2: A wicked curse

Cw: for death, gore, blood, violence and strong language

-------------------------------------------------------

Woolsmere Court, after the battle.

Several ships bobbed in the darkened port of Woolsmere. With the midnight sky stretching high above, it was almost a serene sight.

These boats, however, were not decorative. They were war boats, laden to the brim with ammunition, catapults, weaponry and all manner of devices. They had carried hundreds of elven soldiers all across the sea, from Nerea to Woolmere, ready to unleash their fury.

It hadn't been necessary.

The elven troops, commanded by a Nerean general, had found almost no resistance. A few hundred human soldiers, woefully unprepared, put up a pitiful fight. In a manner of hours, they had been slaughtered, and the remaining few had surrendered. A turquoise flag embossed with twin snakes had been planted on the duchy's capital, at the duke's home.

The Duke hadn't even been present. He'd fled with his tail tucked between his legs, like a coward. His second in command, Earl Hawthorne, had disappeared, and it all pointed to foul play, evidenced by the ransacked state of his home and the blood coating every corner.

Torin wasn't surprised. He didn't expect much from human lordlings who couldn't even wield a sword, much less defend their lands. It was shameful behaviour. Even the snootiest of the elven nobles knew more pride. Even the weakest link was leagues above these supposed human generals.

He arrived at the duchy's capital to find a few soldiers milling around the estate, setting up the tents of what would soon be their home base. Human land, finally back to where it belonged. To Faerie.

He made his way into the manor, grimacing at the gaudiness of it all. Most of the furniture had been removed, surely taken by the duke in his haste to flee, but even still, the tackiness of it was present. Gold, marble, gilt and pomp. Human greed in all its splendour.

The manor was rather empty, cold in a way that signalled it had been several weeks since its inhabitants had abandoned it. Save for the elven camps set outside the vast perimeters, the area was empty. The Nerean general had planted the flag on the ground and hastily returned to Nerea to debrief his Queen, leaving the estate all for Torin.

He ambled through the darkened halls, leisurely winding his way up to the top floors. There he pushed his way into what appeared to be an abandoned parlour. White sheets covered a few bulky armoires and armchairs, making the figures look like ghosts as the fabrics fluttered in the breeze coming through open windows. It was a pitiful sight.

He yanked the cloth covering a large piece, revealing a delicate table. It would have to do. He unstrapped his bandolier and dropped it on the table, before ambling over to a large window overlooking the grounds down below.

From up high, he could see the lights from the camps set up, as well as a few fires made to cook and keep warm. The expansive terrain stretched far and wide, for acres and acres. Surrounding the lands was a sky-high wall, the reason they'd chosen this particular estate for their home base. Up on the battlements, he could see a few elves keeping watch, already setting up their weaponry.

Torin raked his dark gaze over the lands, a sharp smile pulling at his lips. After centuries, Faerie was finally taking back what belonged to them. Reclaiming the land. Today, he had bathed his sword in the blood of his enemies and made a sacrifice to the Gods. Even at midnight, the red of the sky signalled the Gods' approval.

The click of boots sounded down the cavernous halls, alerting Torin of incoming visitors, but he didn't bother to turn. He simply scoffed in discontent.