The Stronghold

Aranmere

"Heave!!, you fat headed i***t", the harsh instruction was shortly followed by the sharp sound of a whip striking bare flesh. The air was cold, the ground hard and the whip unforgiving. Byrus prided himself on being one of the most ruthless slave drivers. He constantly meted out terrible treatments to slaves placed under his charge. Some could argue that it made a case for his efficiency when given jobs of this nature but surely, that didn't explain the joy on his face as he tore open the backs of his slaves with his long leather whip.

"I will get this gift to my lord Fallon before darkness falls and I don't care how many of you die in the process", he grunted. His trusty whip dripped with blood from the open sores on the backs of the men under his charge. The men knew what defiance meant. The kings road all the way from Dresden's keep had borne witness to the deaths of many a slave who had wished for the persistent assault of his whip to end. To Byrus's whip, there was only one answer, "keep pushing" and pray the destination be reached soon enough. Then again, slave lives didn't count for much as most of them were deserters or prisoners of war. Many a hand brandishing whips similar to Byron's numbed their conscience by choosing to believe they were doing their kingdom a great service by subjecting these men to the worst form of treatments. 

The destination in this case was Aranmere, the largest Kingdom in the South. The cargo was a huge sculpture of king Fallon, the ruler of Aranmere. This kingdom was the major stronghold of the south majorly due to it's wealth and military strength. Noblemen from all over the city often sat thinking of new ways to win King Fallon's favor as it was synonymous with acquiring wealth and power. As some noblemen plotted to win favor, the others made plans of their own but perhaps they weren't as kind in what they hoped to achieve.

The ropes strained as the wagon creaked but moved steadily forward. Byrus was pleased. They had made excellent time in their journey from the keep. He managed a half-smile and shifted his weight to the other foot. His men eyed him, trying to figure out what was going on his head but he'd be damned if he let these men know how much money they just saved him. He climbed onto the wagon and reached for a drink. "I do think we could make it into Aranmere today. The slaves are of a much better breed than the last batch", Tobin, the captain of Byrus' men said, trying to ease the tension in the air. For all he knew, Byrus had been shifty since they left Dresden's keep. He hadn't said a word about it despite discussing almost everything with Tobin. In a way, Tobin was hoping for answers from his master.

"You might be right, My boy. They aren't so useless after all", Byrus signalled for Tobin to come sit with him as he spoke. Tobin got onto the wagon as quickly as he had been beckoned, his curious eyes narrowing onto his master.

"Dark times are coming my boy", Byrus continued as Tobin came to sit with him. "I fear the wolves are already circling while we drink and make merry".

"what wolves are these?, the noblemen?", Tobin had a deep raspy voice, one that at times sent chills down the spines of even Byrus himself. To Byrus, this was one of Tobin's more preferred features. He demanded as much unquestioned loyalty and service as he could muster from all the men who served under him; guards and slaves alike. Tobin's raspy voice among other things ensured he had nothing less than that from these men.

"I will not burden your young ears with what I have learned, but know this, Aranmere might not be my home for much longer" Byrus poured out drinks as he spoke, taking absolute care to avoid Tobin's probing eyes. The man had come to know him too well over the years they had spent together and he could get him to talk if he pursued this for much longer. Byrus was determined not to let that happen. He was already in enough trouble as it was at the moment. 

"You speak so strangely, my lord, Did something happen while we were at Dresden's keep?", his beady eyes were still narrowed on his master hoping for the least bit of eye contact between the two. The truth or an explanation of some sort would be much easier to get to when he was looking in his Master's eyes. "Have a drink and say less, we'll be in Aranmere soon and I'll have your head if that impotent oaf Calias gets to the palace before me". Tobin reached for the drink, recognising that the threat wasn't to his competence in discharging his duties but to his continued line of questioning.

"Of course, My lord", he stuttered, gulping down the contents of the cup and stepping down from the wagon. Brandishing his masters whip, he shouted at the top of his voice, "Heave!!!". The men grunted at the renewed assault on their backs but were somewhat relieved as Tobin's strokes felt like tickles compared to Byrus's. 

The palace was an illustration of splendour and wealth, No expense had been spared in the construction of Aranmere's seat of power. It sat like a jewel at the centre of Aranmere, prominent and proud. Heavily decorated with the insignia of house Fallon, it paid silent homage to it's current occupants. The Duridi, the King's elite guard aggregated in large numbers on the palace grounds.

The commonfolk in this kingdom rarely come face to face with the Duridi, they were the most fearsome warriors in all of Aranmere and took their orders directly from the king. Several generals had tried to sway the King's judgment into granting them control of the Duridi to no avail. King Fallon was as stubborn as he was cunning and had several reasons for keeping command of the Duridi to himself. He was keenly aware of the fact that he was yet to boast of an heir to his throne and this dissuaded him from taking any risks which may put his throne in jeopardy.

Giving up control of the Duridi was too dangerous a move for a king without an heir. Without an heir, tongues had begun to wag in his court and he knew plans were being made for HIS throne. Plans which were nigh treasonous. Such was the political world in Aranmere. Nobody would dare lay claim to the throne while he was alive and he needed to be absolutely sure of that. If that meant clinging to every piece of military might he could find, then so be it. 

Garbed in their red spiked armor and helmets with battle axes strapped to their backs, the Duridi were both pleasing and terrifying to behold if ever there could be such a feeling. The leader of the Duridi was a man called Tarek. He was a man of very few words, charismatic and very proficient in armed combat. He was responsible for moulding the Duridi into the elite fighting force they were and for that, king Fallon had granted him leadership of the Duridi. Stories had been told of the battle of Gronenfrig and the madness with which Tarek slaughtered those who sought to do the king harm. The stories described how men ran from his battle cry and his bloodied axes and how a witch had possessed him with a demon to turn the tide of the battle. A lot was told in the tales but very little was known about the true events of the battle. 

He had never spoken about the battle since he fought in it. A lot of people had doubted the stories because of his reluctance to share his experiences but one thing was for certain, nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of Tareks axes whenever there was an altercation.

He marched routinely along the palace ground, supervising and inspecting. The Duridi were thoroughly drilled in the virtues of discipline and service but that was of little matter to Tarek. He knew first hand how men could fall into laziness if left unchecked. The king and the royal family trusted him entirely with their safety and he would be damned if anything was going to put that trust in jeopardy. The days of Gronenfrig had come and gone but the appetite for battle still inflicted him deeply. He was not going to find any battles here from the looks of things, so if keeping busy meant keeping these men on their toes then they best get used to having him constantly burn patches onto their bodies with his fiery gaze. And of course, by now they were. The men of the Duridi trusted Tarek and owed more to him than they did the king. Fallon knew this and took utmost care when dealing with Tarek as his fealty to the throne was of utmost importance.