Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 26 - Grafting

393 B.C.E. - Northern Valleys of the Tasurian Peninsula, Base of the Shaper Mountains, Summer, Month of Quintilis

From His Memory

The slash of claws across his belly glanced off the armor, shredding the bronze plate but failing to scratch the scales underneath. Falx easily ripped through the throat of the wolven shaper, ignoring the claws and fangs. Another body slammed into him, sending him reeling toward another shaper, this one some sort of furry bear. He dispatched him just as simply as the others. More bodies piled in, and blood, fur, and sweat flew through the air in a macabre whirlwind.

Falx danced his deadly battle. He took blow after blow, none fatal, none lasting longer than a moment before the unlucky shaper died under his sword. The shapers were weaker but faster, having foregone armor. Perhaps they couldn't acquire enough bronze, but more likely, they knew that bronze did nothing against Tasuri claws.

During a lull of the battle, Falx pulled his own armor off in disgust. It marked him as the Warlord, as the Fyrrin, but he no longer felt any pride in his House. He no longer felt anything other than rage and despair.

With a roar, his demon threw himself back into the fight. Blood. Fur. Fangs and claws. It was almost boring.

—

Falx watched the scene before him as the sun rose above the hill. The rebel shaper corpses were raised over the city gates, now decorated with scum courtesy of the Fyrrin Warlord of Rune. Wandering over to see the city from another vantage point on the hill, he lifted the jug to his lips, his attention caught by a steady stream of carts and wagons leaving through the eastern gate. Tribute being taken to Rune. He grimaced at the sheer number of carts. The Senate was trying to bleed him dry as punishment.

"Have we completely emptied the city of valuables, then?" Tems wry voice spoke from behind him.

Falx grunted in agreement before taking another swallow of the bitter drink. The terms of surrender had allowed the deposed Acerian chieftain of this village and his family to bring valuables as they fled. While they could take much of their wealth, the other denizens of this place were not so lucky.

"You're giving too much away, Falx," Tems murmured as he, too, watched the parade of wealth.

"We can't take this with us, Tems." Falx's latest campaign was nothing more than a bloodthirsty conquest of land. There was no time to ensure the valuables were kept under Falx's control.

"And the slaves?" Tems asked cautiously.

Falx closed his eyes and drained the jug. His demon hissed in agony. Slowly, he inhaled, embarrassed when it was shaky. "I will inspect them. Then send them away."

"To Rune?"

"Yes."

"You need to stop this bleeding of resources, Falx. We need money, not just the loyalty of your legion."

"It doesn't matter," Falx rasped. He grabbed another jug. He hadn't allowed the chieftain to bring his stash of drink. That, at least, Falx had claimed for himself. He didn't think Tems would give a fuck. "This is who I am, Tems. Nothing but a sword and claw for my father to use until I die bleeding on the battlefield."

"It's that female," Tems snapped. His fingers, tipped with wicked claws, curl into fists. "She ran from you, Falx, and now you've given up."

Rage surged forward. His demon snarled, frothing at the lips. "Given up what?!"

"A life that you control," Tems roared. "You think she's dead, Falx? She's out there somewhere. You've conquered the whole of the peninsula. When you find her, will you chain her to you?"

"Yes," Falx bellowed, his demon thrashing against his control. "On her back. To my bed!" His deepest fear kicked him in the gut. His female wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead, so he refused to entertain the idea. No, his greatest fear was his Flammatia had run north to the shapers beyond the mountains.

"The bed your father owns!" Tems yelled. The noble male's scales hardened just a heartbeat before Falx's claws sank into Tems's throat. Despite the threat to his life, Tems managed to say, "You need to rule, Falx, or your father will kill her."

Falx let go of Tems abruptly. "He won't."

"He thinks you're obsessed."

"I am."

"Then you must rule. You must control the peninsula. Please, Falx. Come back to us."

Falx let his eyes slide closed again. He just... didn't give a fuck... but if his Thania were still out there...

"Falx," Tems called his name quietly.

"I can't control him, Tems," Falx finally confessed. "Every day, he presses on my control. I fear letting him have even a speck of control."

"Is that why you nearly died yesterday?" Quintus entered the tent, a scowl on the taciturn male's face.

"Hardly," Falx scoffed.

"You went in without your belators, Falx," Quintus said quietly. "If you die, then your female will be alone, at the mercy of any who find her."

"Including your father," Tems pointed out.

Falx shakily opened the new jug. "He's searching for her, isn't he?"

"Yes," Tems replied bluntly. "He's keeping you busy here in the north while he searches the remaining Acera villages."

"He will kill her," Quintus said in a low voice.

"I won't allow him to do that," Falx snapped.

"Then we break with Rune," Tems said shakily.

"No," Falx growled. "It is your birthright."

Tems laughed a hollow laugh. "Useless." He grabbed the jug from Falx's hand. Too drunk to care, the Warlord simply picked up another. "I don't want to rule over a dead city filled with dying people."

In silent commiseration, the three sat drinking heavily around the small meal Marcus brought.

"If we do this," Falx muttered, steady despite the copious amounts of drink he had consumed, "then we need reassurance that we will never betray each other."

Tems snorted. "Speak for yourself. You will throw Quint and I away in a heartbeat for that pretty red-head."

"Yes," Falx agreed. "She's prettier than you, fucker."

"Smells good," Quintus grunted.

Tems snorted again, this time feeling a burn as the alcohol stung his nose. "We find your female. I take over Rune. What does Quint get?"

Both males blinked blearily at the General. In a voice so low he almost couldn't be heard, Quintus muttered, "I just want a family."

"Brothers, then?" Tems said. He picked up one of Falx's spare knives and cut a smooth line along his forearm.

"Brothers," Falx agreed, taking the dagger to his own skin before extending it to Quintus.

The General took the knife, staring at it blankly for a moment. "I have no wealth. No House."

"Brothers," Falx insisted, pointing his clawed forefinger at the General's face.

Quintus drew the sharp blade against his arm. "Brothers," he agreed.