Chapter 7

The stench of blood lingered in the air as Lord Aldric Templeton, Earl of Norsewood, surveyed the area. Scattered on the ground surrounding him were orcs' dead bodies, cut and slashed by his mighty sword. It had only taken a mere ten minutes to annihilate the lot, and despite the intense fight in that short time frame, he did not feel satisfied.

They were too easy, this lot, unlike the ones residing in Blackfield which were more of a challenge for him. It was either that, or he was too strong.

Aldric, however, humble warrior that he was, had never considered himself strong. If he couldn't lay waste to the behemoth and its minions residing in Blackfield Dungeon, he was nowhere near as powerful enough as he'd like to be.

"Looks like we've killed them all."

Aldric turned his attention to Vincent Taylor, his best friend, and nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"This lot is not even worth a warmup," Sir Theo Wakefield said, wiping blood from his sword with a rag. "Shall we clean up and then set up camp for the night?"

Aldric nodded.

Two hours later, the three men sat around an open fire, eating grilled rabbits and hot soup. Though a bit tough, the meat was quite nice when sprinkled with salt, a rare and expensive commodity in Athol. The soup, however, was the usual bland flavor. Even adding salt didn't help, which was not unexpected.

Putting his bowl down, Vincent eyed Aldric and said, "If we're moving at this pace, we'll reach Bedford within the next four to five days. We'll be arriving earlier than expected."

Aldric nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"Are you planning on going straight to Bedford Manor and claiming your bride?" Vincent asked.

Aldric said, "The earlier we get to Bedford, the earlier we can return to Norsewood."

Aldric had no desire to waste time leisurely traveling from one town to another like most nobles. It had been enough, having spent three weeks in St. George, the capital, as he had been summoned by King Henry after a year-long battle at Forddon. He had much that needed to be done back at Norsewood. His people needed him. His land needed him.

Now that he had received a very generous reward—five chests filled with gold coins—from King Henry for his trouble in exterminating the Tasal's army, he'd be moving on to the next phase of his plan—cultivating more land, improving housing for his people, and training and hiring more soldiers to conquer Blackfield Dungeon. He had a score to settle with the dragon that had massacred half of his people during a dungeon break four years ago.

"It still boggles my mind why King Henry offers you a bride," Vincent said, a frown on his face. "Even one from the Bedford bloodline."

Theo snorted. "The Bedfords are a despicable lot. None have served the kingdom for generations. It seems wealth speaks louder than action in the kingdom's court."

"Politics is not my forte and I will be keeping my hands, and mind, out of that," Aldric said. "I personally don't mind receiving a bride. As long as she is a nice girl, that is all that matters to me. Saves me the trouble of finding another."

Indeed, he needed another. He was the lord of his own land, and despite already having an heir in his eldest son, he needed to reproduce one or two more before his five years were up. He wanted them trained as warriors to protect their land and people when he was no longer around, as the Templetons in generations past had done, as he and his brothers were doing.

Vincent chuckled. "I very much doubt any girl from the Bedford bloodline is nice, Aldric. I've heard rumors Lord Bedford's two daughters, Lady Calla and Lady Iris, are very beautiful, but apparently, their beauty is only skin deep. It is also unlikely Lord Bedford would have agreed to this bond between you and one of his daughters. You do know you are known across the nation as the infamous, cold-blooded Earl of Norsewood? I doubt those girls would want to be wed to a man with such an ominous title. I can bet you with my boots they're freaking the hell out right now and working on a plan to get out of presenting you a bride."

Aldric, his face a hard mask, said, "They can do what they want. I'm merely doing my part on King Henry's order. If we arrive at Bedford and there is no bride waiting for me"—he shrugged his broad shoulders—"we'll return to Norsewood empty-handed and leave Lord Bedford to deal with King Henry when he hears the news."

Vincent burst out laughing. "Oh, my, you're very nonchalant about this, aren't you, Aldric?" He rested his chin on his hand and said, "What if you happen to chance a glance at Lord Bedford's daughter and fall instantly in love? Wouldn't that be sad that you fall for your bride, but she has no intention in accepting you?"

Ignoring Vincent's teasing, Aldric put down his now-empty bowl and raised his gaze to the sky. "Looks like it's going to be another clear night." He stood. "I'm going to wash up." And then he was gone.

Vincent shook his head. "I can never get through to him when it comes to the subject of love."

Theo snorted. "Aldric is not a romantic. You of all people know that best."

Vincent nodded, a smirk still playing about his handsome face.

Alone in the river in the depths of the woods, Aldric, naked, rested back against a boulder and closed his eyes, his mind reeling.

Bride, eh? He had one, but she had died giving birth to the twins four years ago, on the day of the dungeon break, when monsters had burst out of Blackfield and slaughtered any living being in their path.

He saw it again in his mind's eye, flashes of scenes from that horrid day. In their master chamber of Norsewood Manor, his wife Caroline was in labor, her screams echoing loud across the hall. Outside, hordes of monsters erupted into the village. Orcs, goblins, dire wolves, basilisks, and the dragon—the one and only behemoth, the king of the dungeon.

He had left Caroline in the hands of the midwife and the servants and charged off into the battle frenzy below to save his people. The fight had been hard and intense, with his sword slashing and slicing against monsters' skins and blood spurting out in the air, some landing on his face and clothing. He, along with his men, had slain thousands of monsters that day, and when he had thought they had gotten to the end of it, the almighty dragon appeared, flying high in the sky. With but a breath of its mouth, the town was engulfed in flame and numerous bodies were laid waste in the aftermath.

Fighting a powerful dragon was no easy feat, but Aldric had managed when the dragon planted its claws on Norsewood's ground and intended to end all life that existed on the land. With his sword, Aldric charged, his feet quick and the swings of his sword swift and precise, though he could not put a scratch on its hard scales. At the end of the grueling endeavor, Aldric had found himself under the dragon's claws and its mouth opened, intending to roast him alive. But being one to never give in even when in sight of death's door, he created himself an opportunity when there was none and grabbed his sword. He had thrust the blade with all his herculean strength straight into the dragon's eye before any breath of flame could be emitted, causing it to roar and topple back before fleeing with the sword stuck in place.

Severely injured and exhausted, he had returned to the manor to find his wife giving birth to twins. In his arms, Caroline had died that night due to complications and severe blood loss.

He opened his eyes and ran his fingers through his wet gold mane and then gazed up at the sky once again, thinking of Caroline, remembering her gentle smile.

He moved, and once again, a jab of pain pierced through him. He drifted his gaze down his scar-adorned, chiseled body to his side where a large, ugly wound still existed from the dragon's claws.

As a Templeton, with blood blessed by Isaris, the Goddess of Strength and War, his physical body was strong, robust, and resilient. Every male of the Templeton bloodline had herculean strength and injuries healed fast. This one from a dragon's claws, however, did not, and it was affecting his health.

Though he could endure the intense pain and still go on an all-out battle day and night, he knew there would come a day when he'd deteriorate completely.

Healing? He had tried that many times during the past four years. Had the honor of having an eminent high priest of a healer serving the king's court cure him, too, but it was to no avail.

"I regret I am of no help, my lord," the high priest had said. "A dragon's claws injury is death in and of itself. There is an ancient poison, and it is spreading to other parts of your body. If this was on a normal man, he'd have died within days. But with you, my lord, you'll have at least another five years to live."

"Five years," he said, lightly touching the wound. "So little time, yet so much needing to be done."

Indeed, there was much that needed to be done, raising his children and watching them grow included. His eldest son Jonah, currently ten, would be barely fifteen, and the twins Abigail and Alexander, currently four, would be nine by the time he breathed his last breath. What a sad thing that'd be to not be able to see them mature into adults and have families of their own.

Not one to brood about his forlorn future, Aldric was determined to make the most of the next five years. There was no help that even the most celebrated healer in Athol, one that was blessed by Adona the Goddess of Light, couldn't cure him. It was his fate, and as a mere mortal, he could do naught but follow what had already been set.

Despite his misfortune, Aldric nevertheless couldn't wait to return to Norsewood and be with his children. He missed them dearly and wanted desperately to be with them. He missed his family and friends and the lush vastness that was Norsewood, his land.

From now on, he vowed there'd be no shortage of food and warmth for his people. With the rewards from the king, his people will be well fed and well looked after. There'd be joy and laughter, and Aldric, with a rare smile on his lips, couldn't wait for that to happen, unaware of the betrayal, devastation, and horror he'd soon set his sight on once he returned to his beloved home.