Karma (m/m)

Chapter 1

Wolfgan was patrolling the frontiers of Hull, nervous calloused hands twitching, sharp unkind eyes scanning the fences and limits, waiting for a threat that never came. His stallion was huffing, trotting angrily, looking for trouble as much as he was. They made a formidable pair. His hands were bloody from the bear he helped to hunt, but the adrenaline was still pumping in his veins, fierce believers of an invisible enemy.

The only threat to the country nowadays was the occasional ice bear and packs of giant wolves that plagued the villages closer to the mountains. No war, no battles. Wolfgan spent the last seven years making himself known as the scarier warlord to ever been born, and it paid in respect and fear from his enemies. He didn't need to be here to kill these animals, his soldiers could very much deal with it, he came just for fun. Besides, he knew people liked seeing him around. It gave them the feeling of protection he was glad to provide.

He shifted his attention, without moving his gaze from the horizon, to the fast trot of a horse in the distance. He knew it was Villa without even looking, the man was always desperate on a horse, always worried for some reason. The heavy breathing got closer and Villa tried to scream his message but choked on his own words.

The soldiers accompanying him chuckled at the screeching voice coming from the pale, clumsy guard. He chuckled too at the thought that Villa could be a southerner. He was mighty small for a hullian, with his six feet. Wolfgan had prohibited him from fighting, but he insisted on being at least a messenger or a domestic guard.

"Siath, we've captured the whores in the north gate," he panted. "But Gaghald and Kalifar caught a spy between them, from the south!"

Wolfgan huffed like an old lion to the stressed messenger, and his warriors relaxed when did so. If Wolfgan wasn't worried, than no one else was. He nodded from his tall black stallion and the messenger bowed and joined the end of the party, still looking wild but tamer now under his watch. That boy needed a man, but he was very resistant to Kalifar's advances.

Kalifar was a good captain, but Gaghald was a little brainless and despite being his second in command, only gave him headaches. There were no spies from the south, he snorted to himself, only curious little wayward soldiers, sticking their noses in somebody else's business. Wolfgan liked to give those southerners to one of his men, warriors tended to like those pretty mithlornians, and it was amusing to see them trying to escape the clutches of a hullian. Some of them ended up liking it, but usually it scared them so bad they either broke or ran away to spread nasty rumors about Hull.

Good. He didn't like to look soft.

He called the small party of soldiers he'd chose to patrol with him, and headed back to the fortress. His fortress. His castle and his frontiers and histerritory.

His grandfather was the first barbarian to challenge the old tribe and create an actual empire. Some followed willingly but it took them years to convince the rest old tribe to join them.

Wolfgan was born right in this new, different transition. With time, everyone began to notice the advantages of having a home that you couldn't carry on your back. Twenty-five years old and carrying on the old man's legacy, being the warlord of an established territory, he found he liked it. It was great to have a place to call yours, after all. Homes that put roots on the ground and demanded you to look after.

Despite a lot of talking between his soldiers that the wild life was something to miss, Wolfgan found he liked looking after.

But a fight now and then wasn't much to ask for. These days he only had these petty barbs to solve and wild animals to kill.

Getting closer to the fortress, he took a second to appreciate the building. He had a castle, the Goligan Castle, and it was a new acquisition, but rarely used by himself despite it being his official home. He did like it better than the fortress, but the emptiness usually left him uneasy. Not the emptiness of the castle, but of company. Soldiers, maids, whores... They weren't good company. It had been impossible to get his father out of the old fortress and into the Goligan Castle, so despite the old man rarely leaving the library where the portrait of his deceased spouse hanged on, Wolfgan slept a lot in there. Poor vaderka.