Chapter 2 – War, death, and The White Lion

In the months that followed, Arla and I shared passionate nights, and even after she became pregnant just a month later, our lovemaking only grew more tender as her pregnancy advanced. Nine months after our wedding night, Lady Arla Tor’Riken gave birth to a baby boy. His pale blue eyes, olive skin, and tufts of silver-white hair marked him as an heir to my line.

To celebrate our son, Dario Tor’Riken, the White Cub of Vel’Loren, a grand feast was declared. As the years passed, we were blessed with two more lion-born children: a daughter named Mera and a son named Durant. Adored by our people, Arla’s grace, beauty, and intelligence made her a beloved figure in our lands, which prospered under our rule. My father grew frail, so he handed over many of the administrative duties to me.

The kingdom's feudal structure was as follows. The Del’Mari Territory was situated in central Tell’Dora, bordered by the great Northern Ocean to the north, The Ada’Lucian Republic to the West, Firoa to the South, and the Gurssian Alliance to the East. The governing regions of Del’Mar were divided into five. The rich agricultural valleys of the South, the mineral-rich mountains of the East, the bustling trade ports of the North, and the West with its vineyards and culturally rich history. The fifth region was the Crown Lands, which was the administrative and industrial heart of the realm.

The duchies and their ruling houses were as follows:

The South:

Tor’Ruk Valley – House Tor’Ael

Era’Token – House Ko’Era

Du’Tora – House May’Shire

The West:

Gha’Shael – House Dia’Nez

Ja’Vez – House Cor’Toza

Lu’Mana – House Jaz’Vez

The North:

Nor’Fazen – House De’Rollo

Kor’Haven – House Var’Shan

Ost’Naben – House De’Golan

The East:

Gor’Esky – House Min’Koz

Tor’Khal – House Nev’Zen

Tor’Est – House Pet’Rov

The Crown Lands:

Har’Lund (Home of the Royal Capital) – House Du’Warru (Royal Family)

Har’Ost – House Kath’Aris

Har’Nor – House Du’Praal

Har’Su – House Ku’Taal

Har’Est – House Du’Vaal

In total, there were sixteen great houses of the Del’Mari kingdom, ruling over sixteen duchies. The events that would lead to the Del’Mari civil war were set in motion soon after my marriage.

Tragedy struck the realm when the old king, Gerald Du’Warru III, died in his bed from illness, leaving the throne to his heir, Gent Du’Warru II. The kingdom welcomed the popular heir to the throne, and all expected a prosperous reign. However, it was not to be; just months into his reign, a devastating fire swept through the Royal Palace, claiming the lives of Gent, his wives, and all five of his children.

The people of the capital were shocked by the tragedy. More than sorrow was fear and uncertainty. The next in line to the throne was not beloved but reviled and hated. With Gent’s passing and the absence of direct heirs, the crown passed to his sister, Gida, a woman widely known for her bitterness and vengeful nature; many whispered that she had played a role in her brother's death, though no proof was ever found.

What followed were the years of the tyrant, Gida Du’Warru. She passed harsher laws, raised taxes, and instituted a draft, swelling the ranks of the Royal Guard. Many of the great houses resisted the new laws, especially the peacetime draft. The discontent simmered, and many whispered that Gida needed to be replaced. She had not yet wed and had no heir. Around the time of my second son's birth, Gida announced she would marry Duke Orin Kath’Aris.

Duke Orin was a cowardly weasel of a man who was as ambitious as he was devious. Marriages were not permitted between ruling lords. In the few cases this occurred, the lesser land would go to an heir, and the marrying lord or lady would forsake their claim and lordship. No ruling lord or lady would consider giving up a Duchy even to marry the ruling monarch. A drastic change to this norm was the Queen’s decree that House Du’Warru would absorb the lands of House Kath’Aris as part of the marriage agreement.

This was a severe overreach by the Queen, and many more lords spoke of holding a council of the great houses to vote for a new monarch. A council was never called, however, but instead came the darkest moment in the realm’s long history: the Black Wedding—the massacre of the remaining members of the Du’Warru household.

Gida, the Black Queen, her moniker after this terrible event, orchestrated the slaughter of her remaining family members, their spouses, and their children. The details only became apparent years later, but apparently, it was right after the queen left the feasting hall when her Royal Guard and retinues of Duke Raven Du’Vaal entered the feast hall and murdered every member of House Du’Warru and any guest who tried to stop it.

The devastation extended beyond the royal family. Many of the great houses were intertwined with the crown through marriage, and nearly half of them lost sons, daughters, and grandchildren in the slaughter. High-ranking nobles who attended the wedding also met a tragic end. Duke Travian of Reapers Rock, Arla’s father, was among them, struck down while trying to protect his daughter, the bride of the Queen’s youngest brother, only a few years prior. Others, such as Duke Lucias Du’Praal and Duchess Uthia Ku’Taal, were taken hostage, ensuring their houses' forced loyalty, as they controlled territories bordering the Crownlands.

The massacre sent shockwaves through the realm, shattering alliances and casting suspicion across noble families. Gida’s unbridled cruelty not only claimed lives but also fractured the kingdom, sparking the first signs of rebellion as grief and fury spread through the surviving houses.

While open rebellion and civil war seemed almost unavoidable, some strong leadership sought to address the issue legally. Duke Grendal Ko’Era of Era’Token sent ravens to the southern houses, calling for a great council to discuss a southern response to the queen’s madness.

Normally, such leadership would have fallen to Duke Travian, but his untimely death meant his son, Duke Lourell Tor’Ael, a young man of just twenty-five, now held the reins. Though capable, he did not yet command the same respect as his father. The Earls of Tor’Ruk Valley honored their oaths and joined the Duke and rode together to the council at Era’Token. Our house guard prepared, and we set out from Reapers Rock.

Upon our arrival, there was confusion over the absence of Earl Portshy Hur’Jaal, the lord of Val’Gordahl and master of Crisper Rock. Val’Gordahl, in stark contrast to Val’Loren’s splendor, was a stain on the duchy—mismanaged into ruin by the Hur’Jaal family, whose inbred offspring were known for their lack of intelligence and honesty. However, they often compensated with cruelty and greed. Lord Hur’Jaal had fallen ill and could not attend, sending his regrets and vowing to support any decisions made in his absence.

Our delegation included Lord Verry of Val’Toren from House Dir’Athon, Lady Cyrell of Val’Ethal from House Tyr’Shin, and Lord Morsden of Val’Orthal from House Di’Shar, as well as Duke Lourell and my father and me, representing House Tor’Riken. The group, consisting of over two hundred knights and men-at-arms, set off for the To’Ruk Mountains, traveling through the Gleaming Pass.

What we encountered there was nothing short of treachery—a carefully orchestrated ambush intended to slaughter the lords of Tor’Ruk. In the first moments of the battle, my life changed. Duke Lourell was the attacker's main target; four crossbow bolts struck him, and he died before his body hit the ground. My father was struck by a bolt to the eye and fell in his saddle. His horse reportedly had charged off a cliff in the chaos. His body would later be found bloated and half-eaten.

After the initial volley of bolts and arrows, the chaos and brutality, our forces were caught out of position to provide an adequate defensive line. Though the soldiers of the various houses fought valiantly, it became clear that retreat was our only option.

Lord Morsden, shouting for retreat, was silenced by a bolt through his throat. Blood erupted from his neck in a grotesque bloom. I commanded my guardsmen to fall back, as did the remaining Lord Verry and Lady Cyrell, but our attackers anticipated our retreat, cutting us off. Both Lord Verry and Lady Cyrell were knocked off their horses, and I lost sight of them. My household captain and I, in a desperate attempt to survive, veered off onto a narrow goat path, leaving the ambush behind.

My Lion Born lineage made me stand out like a candle in a dark room, which made me an easy target. Several riders beset us, and I took a bolt to the side. The pain threatened my consciousness, but fear kept it at bay. Eventually, my luck ran out, and my captain and I were cornered in a close-off alcove. With the only hope of escape being on foot, I bit through the pain and directed my captain to the slope. He shook his head, “Run, my Lord, I will keep them as long as possible.”

There was no time to argue; I ran. All I could hear was the furious screams of my men dying and the final defiant shouts of my captain. My pursuers were persistent, and I was finally cornered, exhausted, and bleeding out. The fools chose to engage me rather than let me bleed out, and I was able to strike four of the rogues down before the final rider blindsided me and crushed my knee with his mace. I roared in pain and collapsed, bloodied and broken, awaiting the final blow.

Instead of a quick end, the insufferable git wanted to insult me first, “The mighty Dorian, The Everlasting, The White Lion of fucking Vel’Loren. Look at you now. Dying and bleeding like a common git. Not so great now, are we, lordling?”

I looked at him, and to my surprise, I recognized the bastard; it was the bastard son of Lord Portshy. “Ah, if it isn’t the bastard of the Sister Fucker? So, this treachery is your inbred father’s doing?”

A scowl appeared on the man’s face. “That’s right, lordling, a bastard will strike down the “great” Dorian of Val’Loren. From now on, I will be great. Bratly, the Lion Slayer they’ll call me.”

I laughed at his hubris. “You? Great? A bastard from an inbred line of layabouts and thieves. What do you know of greatness? You strike me down, wounded as I am, while I slaughtered your companions like sheep—you lot, like filthy hyenas, weak and pathetic, attacking a wounded lion. No, you will never know greatness. Even after today, you will be known as either a coward or a liar. You know why?”

He snarled, “Why is that, lordling?”

I spat blood onto the rocks. “Because everyone will know that a pathetic swine like yourself would never be able to beat me.”

The toothless villain smirked, “Well…you will never know now.” With that, he raised his mace. I closed my eyes, awaiting the blow that would crush my skull. My final thoughts went to my beautiful wife and the children she had given me. Instead, what followed was a thunderous roar and the cries of my attacker, “No, no, no.”

Opening my eyes, I saw the man drop his mace and run, but it did not save him. Over my head flew a massive beast, cream-white in color, a blur. It was so fast. The creature chased down the fleeing man with ease and proceeded to maul the man to death mercilessly. It was not quick, and his screams finally ended with a sickening crunch. When the beast turned towards me, I finally saw what it was. It was a Tur’Rouk, a Silver Lion that gave the mountains their name.

They were thought to be extinct; they were deemed too dangerous and killed off centuries ago. Yet here one stood, blood-faced and staring its cold stare right at me, the beast’s most likely next prey. What happened after this, I am not certain, as the blood loss and pain finally made me lose consciousness. My memories of this moment are shrouded in pain, fear, and heavy blood loss. I only vaguely remembered several instances where I swore I was being dragged somewhere by the beast. Something I could never prove.

What I remember vividly was the fever dream that overtook me. I perceived a grand white marble hall darkened and abandoned but for a figure on a throne at the very end of the hall. I recall moving towards the dais; my injuries were gone. Once I was several feet away from the raised platform, the figure became clear enough to make out. It was an impossibly tall woman with alabaster skin, glorious in appearance, wearing a revealing white dress with silver hair flowing in waves down her back. Her golden eyes, those of a lion, stared at me for long moments before she spoke a simple phrase. One I will never forget.

“Aye far lethale, tor maya dal ortho, charto.”

Although I did not understand the words then, I would much later discover that they were an ancient form of Ar’Kodean, the language of our ancient ancestors; the people who inhabited the valley so long ago that almost none of their history remained. I would later receive a translation.

“Son of the lion, the ancient blood has chosen you!”

After that, there was only darkness. Instead of death, I awoke in a straw-roofed hut. As the fog of my unconsciousness faded, I shot up and screamed, “Father!”

My sudden movement startled a young girl, probably only twelve years old, at my bedside. We stared at each other for the shortest moment when she ran through the hut door and shouted, “He is awake! The Lord is awake.”

I did not have to wait long before a man I knew rushed through the door. It was Alderman Farrow, an honorable man of Val’Loren, who governed the village of Klibel. Upon approaching me, he bowed, “My lord, we thought you would never wake.”

My eyes widened. “What day is it?”

The man looked worried. “It is the fourth day of Irune.”

It had been more than a week since the ambush. I looked at Farrow; his face was blanketed with concern. “Alderman, tell me everything.”

I was apparently found unconscious but otherwise completely uninjured in a field near the village, which was situated on the slopes of the Tu’Rok Mountains. According to the alderman, my sword, a gift from my father, was even sheathed in its scabbard next to me. As for the Duchy, the news was harrowing. An army under the banner of House Hur’Jaal had laid siege to Harvest Hall, while another host had beset Reapers Rock.

“What about the other Earls? Any word of Lord Verry and Lady Cyrell?” I asked, worried.

“No news, my lord.” The Alderman replied.

“What is the situation at Harvest Hall? My family?” I asked, fearing the answer.

“The lady still holds the castle, my Lord. She is safe behind the drawbridge, and the house guard is with her, but siege engineers have been seen constructing a large wooden structure. It will not be long before there is an assault on the keep.” Farrow described the grim situation.

I took everything the Alderman said in and already formulated a plan. Under the circumstances, my mind should be consumed with emotion, worry, and stress. But I felt amazing. My mind was clear and sharp, absorbing details in the surroundings I normally would not even observe: the crowd forming outside, the grunts of oxen, and the web of a spider in the far-left corner of the hut.

I was not sure what, but something had changed in me. I felt in control more than ever before in my life. I was intimately aware of the speed of my heartbeat; in the same instant, I knew I could slow it down or speed it up at will. I could sense every vein in my body, every muscle, and every organ. I could feel the energy of life within my groin, the sparks of thought firing in my brain, and every detail of my clothing touching my skin. With all this information, I was not overwhelmed; I was just aware.

I observed all this while taking in Farrow’s news. And even before he mentioned my wife’s situation, I already formulated what I would do next.

“Alderman, are you loyal?” I asked bluntly.

The man bowed again, “Yes, my lord!”

“You have thirty-two horses, as I recall?”

The man thought momentarily, “Thirty-one, my lord; a wolf ate the older mare…”

“That is good. I will need a quill and paper. Afterward, organize riders to the other villages furthest from Harvest Hall; two per village is best. I will send with them orders for the Alderman to raise the militia; each able-bodied man and woman capable of swinging a weapon or firing a bow must gather at Able’s Watch. From there, we move to break the siege, first at Harvest Hall and then at Reapers Rock. Do you understand?” I ordered.

The man nodded, “Tilly!”

A stout woman came into the hut. “Yes, Alderman?”

“Take the lord to my office; he will need ink, quill, paper, and wax. Provide as much as he needs.” Farrow commanded, to which Tilly nodded, “Yes, Alderman Farrow. My Lord, if you would follow me.”

I grabbed my sword and headed out. I was greeted by a crowd of onlookers with worried faces. I took but a second to form a response, “People of Klibel, people of Val’Loren. My father is dead.” There was the cry of distress, but I quieted them with a held hand, “I am Dorian Tor’Riken; as heir to Val’Loren, I am Lord of these lands. My wife, the lady Arla, is at this very moment besieged by the snake that is most likely responsible for my father’s death. Will you stand with me to repel this invader? Will you show our enemies what happens to those who threaten our peace?” A roar erupted from the crowd.

I nodded. “Good. Every able-bodied man and woman must answer the call and gather what weapons and provisions they have. We have two days’ worth of marching to Able’s Watch. Alderman Farrow will give you detailed instructions. We leave at first light on the morrow.”

The group looked at each other, their will strengthening with direction from a well-loved noble: “Be encouraged, my people; Val’Loren will triumph. These vermin have struck at us like cowards, and like cowards, they will flee before our anger.”

The crowd had now doubled in size and cheered loudly.

I turned to the Alderman, “Alderman Farrow, see it done; I want a report by this evening. Have the riders gathered in front of your office by noon!”

The missives to the other Aldermen took time. Still, much faster than I could’ve managed before—details of each village, reports of provisions, tools, weapons, and the number of hunters, populations, and livestock were all available to me as if I had the lists in front of me now. These were reports I had skimmed over, not even taking the effort to put them to memory, but they were there, readily available to me.

My handwriting was neat and quick, providing detailed instructions on the number of men I expected from each village and the provisions required. If the records in my mind were accurate, I could rely on assembling a peasant force of over two thousand mixed spears, five hundred archers, and three hundred horses. Only a fraction, around two hundred, would be trained soldiers.

Val’Loren had been at peace for over a century. Our wealth had drawn in bandits, but the villages were adequately fortified and equipped for such a threat. Several patrols of twenty-five strong riders were active and patrolled the lands, but I had no inkling of their current status. Each village also had a marshal with a retinue of trained guardsmen.

If Earl Hur’Jaal knew what he was about, he would have sent raiding parties to secure the countryside. Klibel was on the outskirts, so it might have been overlooked. Unfortunately, I would only know the full state of my lands within the next seventy-two hours. I could only hope that the forces I gathered would be enough to overcome the army that snake Portshy somehow scraped together.

The fool must have received substantial support. His lands could barely afford a herd of sheep, never mind an armed warband. Of course, it was a worry for another time, but seemingly, with my mind as sharp as it was, I could contemplate the issue in depth without affecting the very words I was writing to the other Alderman.

Something of importance had indeed happened to me in the mountains, and what it was would remain a mystery. I would, however, gladly use my improved physical and mental faculties. With all that was going through my mind, I spared a thought for my wife and my children. Hold on, my dears, I’m coming.

On the third day, we arrived at Able’s Watch. The army of Val’Loren had assembled! To my surprise, members of my father’s retinue who had survived the ambush arrived, along with villages from the North. Several of the patrol regiments also joined. I would learn that the patrolling knights had kept the enemy from ransacking the countryside and were involved in several skirmishes over the past week. They had also organized many of the peasants into a resistance force. The people of Val’Lorel had answered the call of their new lord. Our army now numbered over four thousand with a detachment of armored knights and light horses. This was something I could work with.

Our war council was quick as I laid out my plans. We would assemble in the fields west of the castle. Usually, this would be an exposed position, but only if your enemy held the high ground of Harvest Hall. At ground level, a hill obstructed the field; the enemy would not have clear visibility of that area. We would march the infantry around and approach the besieging army from the South-West. Given the army's very peasant appearance, the Earl would think it a poorly equipped force, a mob to be dispatched.

The trained guardsmen, armed with shields and spears, would hold the front line, with archers providing support from the rear. The light cavalry would sweep behind and deal with the enemy crossbowmen, while the knights and I would lead the charge into the rear of the main force. The villagers would not hold long, so our flanking maneuver and timing needed to be perfect.

I was given the horse, armor, and lance of a knight who fell in one of the skirmishes during the week, so I would not go into battle with only my bloodied travel attire.

For the record, I wish to note the men and their forces for this battle. Captain Illanis commanded the guardsmen and infantry. Sir Reynalt was the Knight Commander and served as my sergeant as I led the heavy horses. Master Parvin was a veteran soldier who was given command over the light horse division.

We arrived not a second too soon. The reported siege engine was a large wooden tower. The besieging force was already pushing the structure to the moat's edge. Flaming arrows could be seen flying from the castle walls into the structure. It was to no avail as the large siege engine reached the moat and started to tip forward. The enemy sought to create a bridge/ramp unto the battlements.

The massive structure fell forward as the soldiers on the battlements shouted in alarm. With a loud collection of creaking sounds, the structure fell forward, slamming into the outer wall of the castle. The sheer bulk and velocity of the impact sent a large portion of the battlements flying into the courtyard. The besieging forces stormed into the structure's interior as soon as the dust settled. Like some twisted wooden tunnel, it would deliver them straight into the keep.

I turned to my captain, “Order the infantry to advance. They need to be as loud and make as much noise as possible. The enemy must be drawn in.”

Captain Illanis placed his hand on his heart and bowed, “As you command, my lord.”

I then turned to Sir Reynalt, “Let’s move. Master Parvin, lead your forces ahead. Remember to engage any light horse you find, but your goal is the crossbowmen and archers. They will tear up the infantry if they are not dealt with.”

“It will be done, my lord,” the stout man said before he turned to his men. “You heard our lord; let’s ride! Yah!” He shouted, and the horsemen departed.

The next few hours would determine the future of House Tor’Riken and the fate of the Val’Loren people. We rode at a gallop, our speed slightly behind the light horses. Normally, carrying so much armor and the heavy lance would have strained even my well-developed physique, but since the fever dream, my body felt different. The effort was almost nonexistent. My balance on the unfamiliar horse was exceptional and done without a sliver of concentration.

Through my legs, I could feel the horse’s movement and anticipate her more than ever before. My body was like a coiled snake, ready to strike with precision and power. The feeling was exhilarating but also compartmentalized, as I was even then developing contingencies for possible battle outcomes. The only part of my mind that had no answer was the part praying for the lives of my beloved and children.

Soon enough, the roars of the infantry could be heard, followed shortly by a counter-roar by the besieging army. Those sounds were soon overshadowed by the sound of both lines meeting in the charge. The sounds of steel on steel rang through the night, accompanied by screams of pain, fear, and anger.

Parvin’s men had rounded the bend, where they were met by the enemy’s light horse division, who most likely sought to flank our infantry. The clash was quick, and Parvin was focused. He allowed his men only a single charge before leaving the enemy to turn back for a second charge, only to be met from the rear by a company of fully armored knights.

My lance shattered after impaling a rider's back, leaving me with a sword and shield. Pravin’s force did their task well and cut down the surprised crossbowmen at the rear. The path was now open for the knights to smash the enemy. Our forces were bathed in the light of the many torches carried by the enemy army; some of them even turned to meet our charge, but they were the light infantrymen dressed to follow the main assault. They fell like sticks before our charge.

Panic and surprise spread through the enemy forces, while the people of Val’Loren equally felt renewed anger and rage. The battle devolved into a melee, and I cut down scores of the enemy swine. Their attacks seemed so slow as I parried multiple foes, opening their veins just as easily. Enemy after enemy fell before my wrathful blade. Soon, the enemy learned to fear the sight of my silver hair and cold, heartless gaze.

The enemy started to rout as it became clear that the battle was going our way. Looking to my men, I shouted, “Parvin, take half the militia, chase them down, but return before daybreak”

He nodded and turned. “You heard the lord kill them all.”

The young villagers armed with billhooks, pitchforks, and axes chased after the fleeing foe with a roar of anger.

“Sir Reynalt, Captain Illanis with me,” I shouted.

We dismounted our horses and rushed into the siege engine. Some soldiers were still inside, awaiting their turn to disembark. I cut them down where they stood. Arms, legs, and heads were parted before me. I carried with me the rage of a berserker with the focus and precision of a practiced warrior. These foul men had dared to trample on my home and threatened my family. They would pay for it with their lives.

The tunnel of the siege engine became increasingly slippery with the blood of our enemies, but it was their blood, not ours! Conscripted fools from a failing Duchy, sell swords, bandits, it did not matter; they could not match the valor and skill of trained knights or my furious vengeance.

Soon, we reached the rubble of the destroyed section of the outer wall. We descended, and in the chaos, we found the enemy and the outnumbered Val’Loren soldiers caught in a melee; some of the invaders were attempting to break down the doors to the inner courtyard. We charged the enemy rear and cut our way through them.

The previously beleaguered Val’Loren soldiers saw that reinforcements had finally arrived. They roared in defiance and fought with renewed vigor against the invaders. Together, we pushed back the invaders, and I cleaved a path to my target, Lord Portshy Hur’Jaal. He was surrounded by several of his inbred kin; their disfigured faces were like monsters from a nightmare. They would soon learn that their own nightmare had arrived.

“For Val’Loren!” I screamed as the knights of my house, house Tor’Riken, reaped vengeance on these poor fools. The house guards, with their Lord returned, fought with increased vivacity. The tide had turned, and they felt it. I cut a swath of death before me until nothing was left before me but the spawn of house Hur’Jaal.

Pure shock, then fear, covered Portshy’s face. “No, no. You are dead. You can’t be here.”

“Oh, but I am, bastard. I am here to claim your head and that of your inbred runts.” I growled as I stalked towards them.

He stumbled back in fear, “What are you waiting for? Cut him down, cut him down.” The ugly man squealed to his even uglier kin.

They rushed at me, their form showing at least some training in the art of combat, with four of them attacking me at once; my former self would be hard-pressed to overcome them. The man who stood before them now, however, effortlessly dodged, parried, and counter-attacked. My supporting knights guarded my back.

In their sluggish movements, I could easily pick out their vulnerable spots. Armor, like anything, could not cover everything. The neck, armpits, and hamstrings were all exposed, and with the precision, speed, and strength I was gifted in the mountains, I cut them down. The last one I decapitated in a flawless horizontal strike that my trainer would be proud of but most likely would still criticize.

The deformed head of Portshy’s eldest son rolled to his feet. “How?” The desperate man moaned. “How is this possible?"

I growled, “Did you honestly think that my house, which has stood for a thousand years, would fall to the likes of you?” I looked at him like grim death incarnate. “No!”

With that pronouncement, I swept my blade low and removed the man’s feet. He fell, screaming in surprise and agony. I looked upon my foe as my men gathered around me. “My lord, the courtyard is clear. To secure the castle, we will need access to the inner bailey.”

“First, staunch the lord’s bleeding; use fire; it will be quickest. I want him in the dungeons by the night's end. Then, organize our forces outside. Secure the town and ensure there are no more enemies in the area. Then, set up a camp; we will recover and move towards Reapers Rock as soon as possible. Interrogate this mongrel and discover what he knows. Find out as much as you can, but keep him alive. As for the door to the inner bailey, leave that to me.”

My men moved to carry out my orders, with only a handful of knights serving as my escort. Looking up towards the inner battlements and removing my helmet, I shouted, “I am Dorian Tor’Riken, son of Garler Tor’Riken, the rightful lord of these lands and the master of this keep. I demand you open this gate immediately.”

A conical helmet peered over the edge of the battlement, and an expression of recognition plastered the man’s face. “It’s Lord Dorian. It’s Lord Dorian, open the gates.”

A cascade of “Open the gates” could be heard in the now quieter night air.

Soon enough, the large door creaked upwards, followed by the metal gate in front. What greeted me were dozens of my household guards standing at attention on either side of the portcullis.

Each one of them placed a hand on their heart as I passed, their faces tired but relieved. As I entered the courtyard, I was greeted by my chamberlain, Jolus Garthum, and Sergeant Marron Fold, who was in charge of Harvest Hall's defense.

The chamberlain spoke first, “My lord Dorian. You are a sight to behold. We feared the worst when word arrived of the ambush and your father’s death.”

I nodded at both of them, “It is good to see you too, Jolus, and you, Marron. Where is the Lady Tor’Riken? Where is my family?”

“They are held up in the hall, your grace, along with your family guard.” The sergeant replied. “I have not yet sent word, as I wanted to see you myself.”

“Thank you, captain. Please see to the cleanup. I want the castle completely secured. Gather the townsfolk if needed to break down and remove that blasted siege tower. Make sure the materials are gathered in organized piles. I cannot tolerate such a vulnerability in our defenses. Also, look to our dead and our injured; the people of Val’Lorel rose to our defense, and we must honor their sacrifice. Work with Sir Reynalt; he commands the knights; he is at your disposal. I know the men have had a hard go at it, but we have no time for rest.” The two nodded to each other before I continued, “You have done well, sergeant, and I will not forget how you protected my home. But there is work to be done. I will leave it to you to organize our men and get it done.” I said, clapping the man on the shoulder.

“Ai, your grace, I will see it done.” He said, bowing slightly.

“Good. Jolus, walk with me.” I said as the chamberlain, and I made my way to the hall.

“Any news on the state of the realm? Any news about the other houses in Val’Loren? The Southern Dukes?” I asked as soon as the captain moved to attend to my orders.

Jolus nodded, “As soon as we received word of the ambush, we notified Duke Grendal. His response was concerning. The queen, it appears, had foreseen possible resistance from the Dukes of the South as well as the East, West, and North. It would seem she has allied herself with several unhappy minor lords to sabotage efforts and create as much chaos as possible. To my knowledge, none of the great keeps of the South are besieged save that of Reaper Rock, but there have been reports of raids, skirmishes, and some small battles.”

I frowned, “If Portshy was here, who would be besieging the Rock?”

The chamberlain frowned, “It is Lord Harven of House Tyr’Shal and his wife, Lady Harlow.”

I looked at Jolus in shock, “Duke Travian’s sister? What is she thinking?”

The chamberlain nodded, “She is claiming the right to the late Duke’s lands as the oldest living heir. The problem is she is not. The duke’s three remaining unmarried daughters still live; by law the Duchy passes to Lady Cylvia. It seems Lady Harlow is determined to commit nepoticide to secure the Ducal seat for herself. Even when she is married and no longer eligible.”

“Not if the queen backs her bid,” I said.

The chamberlain looked at me. “That is possible; I cannot think the Lady would act alone without such assurances.”

“With Tor’Ruk Valley a possible ally to the queen, she would be able to attack the remaining Southern Duchies from the rear,” I replied.

My mind raced over the possible implications if the queen succeeded. “Regardless, we will need to come to the aid of my liege lord's family. Send a raven to Reapers Rock. The army must recover, refill its ranks with men from the town, and then we march unto Reapers Rock as soon as possible. I also need word sent to Baronies of House Dir’Athon, Tyr’Shin and Di’Shar. Whoever is now lord or lady of those lands needs to send their support. Do it tonight; I need to set a timetable for our march. Also, organize additional provisions. The soldiers will need better weapons and armor. Empty the armory but keep records.” I ordered.

Jorlus bowed with a proud smile, “It will be done, my lord.”

He departed as I approached the guards on either side of the grand hall. With surprised looks, they opened the grand doors. At the far end of the hall was my beautiful wife, with a six-month-old baby boy in her arms, my two-year-old daughter, and my four-year-old son.

Fear was quickly replaced by joy as my family rose.

“We have won!” I declared.

“Father!” Dario cried.

“Daddy!” Mera cried shortly after.

They ran into my blood-soaked arms, and I kissed them furiously.

Tears streamed down their faces. “We thought you were dead, papa.” Mera cried.

“Nah, takes more than some rogues to take your father down,” I replied.

“I knew you would come for us. I knew it…I…I knew…” Dario broke into sobs.

“Of course!” Arla said behind the children, “Your father is Dorian, the White Lion of Val’Loren. And I think he might get another title after tonight with all that blood on him.”

“What? No hug from my dearest wife?” I said, letting go of the children who themselves were smeared with blood, to Mera’s horror and Dario’s amusement.

“Not a chance. This is imported Darlegion silk. Go take a bath, and I will gladly greet every part of you.” She said, with her love and affection showing brightly in her blue eyes.

“Mom,” Dario moaned.

Ignoring her son’s ignorant complaint, she turned to the maids, “Your lord needs a bath; make it happen, drag him if need be.” She said the last part while looking at me. “Sarah, take the kids to bed.” She said while handing Durant to the wet nurse.

“But mommy…” Mera complained before Arla interrupted.

“No buts, the hour is late. Your father can tell you all about his adventures at breakfast.” She admonished, brooking no further argument.

She then turned her perfect face to me; the imported Darlegion silk dress she was wearing was as alluring as it was expensive. “As for you, my lord, I will await you in our chambers. It has been a trying time, and I need some comfort.” She placed her dainty finger on my nose, the one spot which was not covered in blood. Smiling warmly, she wrinkled her nose and addressed the maids, “Ladies! Do be thorough. Our lord has seemingly not had the chance to bathe in a week.”

The three maids curtsied, “Yes, milady. My lord, if you would come this way.”

The maids were indeed thorough but gentle. My wife had hired them the first week in Harvest Hall. With only two men living in the castle, there was little need for maids such as these. I had always seen to my own cleanliness, but I had to admit that being washed like this after a hard-fought battle was preferable.

The maids saw to their duty, drawing my bath, removing the bloody knight’s armor, bathing me and dressing me in the robes of my House.

I headed for my bed chambers, which were guarded by two household guards who saluted me with hands to their chests. As I entered, I immediately saw my wife standing in front of a large gilded mirror, combing her hair over her left shoulder.

She looked up in the reflection and smiled at me.

“Husband.”

I smiled and replied, “Wife,” as I walked towards her. She was wearing an elaborately decorated wood-green satin robe that was open at her front, exposing the inner slopes of her large breasts and her bare quim at the center of her wide hips.

I came up behind her and kissed her on the exposed neck, to which she closed her eyes and hummed slightly. Already, my member had started to engorge and was settling in between her ass cheeks. My right hand slipped around her and under her robe, cupping her left breast. I was rewarded with a sigh of pleasure. Three pregnancies had taken their toll on my wife’s body. Her breasts were bigger but not as firm as they once were. The skin around her midriff was also looser, and faint traces of stretch marks were visible.

Her honeypot was not as untouched as it had been on our wedding night, but a blooming flower rather than a budding rose of a virgin. I sampled it with my other hand, gently caressing its folds. I smiled as I felt the dampness of her arousal. “Oh gods, I have missed this.” She said, slumping her head backward onto my shoulder. The tension of the last week faded from her body under my expert touch. We stood there, my hands unlocking her ardor like an expert key maker. Soon, she was panting, dropping the comb onto the fur carpet.

Her right hand grabbed her unattended breast while the other slipped into my robe and sought out my engorged member. She took hold of my cock and stroked it gently, not to get me to climax but for her own enjoyment. To feel the power that my member held in preparation for what she knew was to come.

I worked her quim and nipple like I knew her body, which I did very well. After several years together, we did not let the bounty of our youthful bodies go to waste. Our purpose had been to refill the rooms of Harvest Hall with children, and we took that matter seriously. She started panting even louder and gasped when feeling the time was right, I plunged my thick fingers into her quim. She was so wet now, and my timing was rewarded by a loud groan of pleasure followed by a verbal confirmation, “Oh gods, Dorian, don’t stop. You know my cunt so well…pleeee…please don’t stop.”

I chuckled, “You love it when I finger fuck you, don’t you?”

She sighed; she loved talking during sex. It was an essential part of our coupling. “Oh, gods yes. I love it so much. Your touch…huhhh…you touch me so deep…iiiit, so perfect.” Her grip tightened around my cock.

I gripped her breast a little tighter, pulling on her nipple with just the right amount of roughness. She gasped, “Oh gods, yes…oh fuck…so good.”

“That’s because you're mine,” I said, tugging slightly harder on her nipple, her gasps of pleasure making my cock throb under her gentle strokes.

“You belong to me; your body is mine. Your tits are my playthings, your quim my domain. And I will make you cum when I decide.” I emphasized my point by gently flicking her now hard little nub.

“Oh fuck.” She quivered beneath my touch. “Yes, my lord. I am yours; I belong only to you…my protector, my lover…my lord!” She gasped in between her words. Her body shook. She was ready; with a twist of my wrist, I curled my fingers into her special place inside her.

“Then cum for me!” I whispered with authority as I furiously worked my fingers over that special spot inside her quivering quim, while rotating my thumb over her clit.

“Oh fuuuuuuuck.” She cried out as her pussy clamped around my fingers and unleashed a flow of her sweat nectar. Her juices flowed over my hand and down her inner thighs. Her body spasmed as a jolt of lightning struck her. I did not allow her a release. Instead, I held her tight, extending her climax until she begged. “Please, I cannot take any more.” I released her pleasure centers, and she went limp as her climax subsided; I held her up gently, caressing her body.

She turned her head to me, and we kissed for a long moment before I felt her shake. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed slightly, “I thought you were dead! When I heard of the ambush and that you were hurt…I…my heart stopped. I swear I would have died right there if not for Mera crying for her daddy.”

I turned her around and embraced her. “I am here, my love! They could not keep me from you!”

She pulled back and looked at me, seemingly remembering something. “I am sorry, my love. Your father…”

I touched her face. “Shhhh, not tonight," I pleaded. I did not mention that my improved mental faculties allowed me to grieve for my father every moment of the last few days. My marvelous new expanded thought processes allowed me to fully focus on pleasuring my wife, forming military plans, and remembering every moment I ever shared with my father. Instead, I diverted the topic, “I will tell the children tomorrow, and we will mourn as a family. But tonight, I need to be with you.”

She looked at me with love and understanding and nodded. I kissed her and gently brushed off the robe from her shoulders. The fine silk flowed over her body like water as it pooled at her feet. I picked her up by her full ass and carried her to our bed, laying her down gently. I spread her legs and crawled in between her legs and sucked at her cunt, lapping up the juices she expelled in her ecstasy only moments before.

It was sweet, like watered-down honey; the smell was that of the musky sex of a woman. Satisfied I got every remaining drop, I lifted her legs wide and placed my throbbing cock at her entrance. She took me without resistance, and I guided my shaft deep into her, her lips kissing my pelvis where I could feel some of her juices flowing down over my sack.

She cupped and rubbed her breasts before her hands gripped the sheets roughly. My cock stretched her wide; I kept it deep in her, relishing the feel of her most sacred depths. I savored it, the warm center of pleasure where only I may dwell. I pulled back slowly and hammered my cock back in.

She cried out in pleasure, “Oh fuck. Yes, yes, I love your cock so much.”

I chucked as I grunted, “I love how your pussy grips my cock!” I emphasized the last word with a deep and powerful thrust.

“Ohhhhh, yes, only your cock can…urgh…enter my…may enter my…oh gods…oh fuck…don’t stop.” Her words were a jumbled mess, which only increased my thrusting.

Soon I was hammering away at her quim, her eyes rolling up into her head while her big tits jiggled wildly at the ferocity of my fucking. Her body quivered, and her pussy filled with juices once more as she reached another climax.

“Oh fuuuuuck, again…yes yes yes…oh fuck meeeee!!!” She cried.

I hammered in one final thrust as her body quivered with the crescendo of another blissful high. I gently thrust my cock in and out of her until she recovered. Then I pulled out and flipped her over onto her hands and knees.

“Present!” I ordered.

On her knees, she lowered her upper body and lifted her pussy, presenting it from between the firm globes of her ass. I bent down and enjoyed her taste once again; she whimpered as I licked and sucked on her abused quim. Then I gently slapped her right ass cheek to a surprised gasp. Placing my cock at her entrance, I grabbed her hips and thrust deep once more. Taking her from behind gave a different pressure to my cock that added to my pleasure.

Throughout our lovemaking, new marvelous sensations overtook me. I was able to connect with her, feel her body as I felt my own. I could sense the extra blood flow surrounding her sex, the thudding of her heart, the jolts of signals sent from her nerves up to her brain. I could feel the pleasure sensors of her body respond to my thick rod sliding against them with each thrust. It felt as if I could experience both my own and her pleasure to an extent. All of this was processed in one of the many compartmentalized thought processes.

She cried out in pleasure as her hands gripped the sheets as her next climax was building. My sack slapped hard against her clit with every powerful thrust as I hammered into her. Her excess juices, expelled by my bulbous head, ran down in rivulets along her thighs and along my sack.

Licking my thumb, I placed it on the little rosebud of her ass and gently pushed it in. Her head shot up, and she looked back at me with desire. She knew what to expect and loosened her sphincter to allow my thumb in. “Oh yes, fuck my little hole.” She squirmed.

“Oh, I will, my lady. But first, I will fill your womb with my seed!”

“Yes, please, I want it. Fill my womb!” She begged.

I grunted as I neared my own release. I thrust furiously, my sack tightening, and the moment nearing, I cried out in triumph and slammed my cock deep into her, “Take it, take it all!”

“Yes, oh it feels so good…oh another one yes.” She was rubbing her clit vigorously, and her cunt clamped down, constricting around my shaft. I unleashed a torrent of my cream into her; the excess with no place to go but to squirt out from the tight lips of her spasming pussy. Her raised ass quivered, her sphincter pulsing around my thumb.

Again, my expanded mind sensed the uncountable amount of microscopic tadpole-like creatures swimming with haste in the torrent of cum I unleashed. The fluid was full of life-giving energy as it raced towards my wife’s womb. I felt her body’s reaction. I sensed her womb housed an “orb”; it was pulsing with life. I knew that this was what would create new life.

I looked at my wife with new wonder, enjoying the moans of post-climax release. As we both recovered, I pulled out my spent cock from her cum-soaked hole. She moaned more, a satisfied sound, “So fucking good! I can feel your cum filling my womb.”

I loved this woman. “Come suck me clean, my love.”

She eagerly turned around and sat on the bed, grabbing my cum-soaked cock and eagerly licking it clean. She licked my balls, my shaft, and my head, taking it in, her large blue eyes looking up at me with adoration. She got me hard quickly. Stroking her head, I gave another order: “On your back, with your head on the edge. I want to claim your throat.”

She giggled with excitement like a young girl receiving a treat. She quickly rotated her body and lay flat on her back, her head hanging over the edge of the bed, her dark wavy hair flowing down to the floor. She gave me a saucy look. “Fuck my mouth hard, my love. Don’t hold back.”

Licking my lips, I placed my cock at her lips; she adjusted her position, and my manhood glided into her throat, which stretched and bulged as I pushed ahead.  

I enjoyed it slowly, caressing her cheek as I guided my cock in and out of her pharynx. I picked up speed and built a steady rhythm as she squeezed one breast and strummed her clit.

Even though I had just filled her quim with my cream, the sight of my cock bulging her throat, the feeling of her full lips gripping my cock and her beauty in submission to me, drove me to the edge.

“Oh fuck, yes. Take my cum, drink it all…do not…waste…a fucking…drop!” I exclaimed as I thrust deep. My seed erupted out of my member, filling her with my essence.

I watched intently at her cock stuffed throat, gulping down the copious amounts of seed I dumped into her. She crooned softly around my cock, enjoying the taste and pleasure she gave me. I gently pulled free when I was sure the last of my seed was released. As she was, she grabbed my manhood before it completely left her mouth and sucked longingly on the tip, draining even the very last drop of my cum.

Releasing me, I stood back as she just lay there, wiping a sliver of cream from her lips and placing it on her tongue. “So good. Mmmmm, I love the taste of your cock.”

I chuckled, “And I love the taste of your tight cunt.”

She rolled up the bed and placed her head on a cushion. She reached her arms towards me, “Come lie with me.”

I smiled at her, crawled onto the bed, and she snuggled into my arms.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” I said, enjoying the tender moment.

“For saving us, for coming back, for not dying, for fucking my brains out, for all of it.” She said, a slight edge in her voice.

I held her close, feeling her breasts at my side. “I am your husband. It is my duty to protect you. Beyond that, you and our children are a treasure to me beyond counting. No duke, king, or emperor will stop me from protecting you.”

She sighed, “I know those words are not idle. I feel the truth of those words in my heart.”

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. “So where is it?”

“Where is what?” I replied.

She lifted her head and looked at me. “The bolt wound? When the survivors returned from the attack in Gleaming Pass, they said you had taken a bolt to your side. I see no scar. Were they mistaken?”

I shook my head.

“Then where is it? I do not see the scar. I…” She stopped and looked across my chest.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

“You had a scar from your youth. I know it intimately. But it is gone. It was not the type of scar that would vanish. What happened to you?” She asked urgently, uncertainty clouding her beautiful face.

I looked at her and, without hesitation, told her everything: the wound I suffered, the chase, the lion, and the fever dream. I explained my waking at Klibel without injury, the urgency of gathering an army, and the race to break the siege. I explained my increased mental faculties and physical abilities and how they allowed me to easily cleave through my enemies and manage several lines of thought simultaneously.

After I finished, she remained silent for a long moment. “Something changed you. That dream—do you know what the words mean?”

I shook my head. “I do not.”

Her face was pensive. “And your mind, you said you could feel every part of your body.”

“It is like a hyper-awareness. It feels so true that I cannot imagine not having this level of control of my body. Even with you, I can sense more of you. Your confusion right now is tangible. I can sense it. I can sense your mind, the sparks of energy that are making pathways as you listen to me…I can feel…” At the last word, I felt something deep within her and placed my hand on her chest.

I felt her body, the small elements within her dying and reproducing. I could feel her womb welcoming my seed. I could feel the life energy inside her receive my own. The melding of male and female energies was, again, fascinating. I could feel her age, every scar, and every stretch mark. I could feel her body’s sealed healing nodes where scar tissue had formed, where the skin had stretched, and where it had lost its elasticity. More so, I could feel the life source deep within her. It was something I knew on an innate level; I could affect it; it was open to me to give; what I did next felt almost instinctual. As easy as passing water to a thirsty friend. I let something of myself flow into her.

The result was miraculous; she gasped as her body flowed with renewed energy, surging into forsaken, damaged parts of her. The stretch marks on both her stomach and breasts healed as the respective loose skin tightened and firmed. The slightest worry lines that had gathered on her face evened out. Within her, various repairs took place; she had a small mass slowly growing in her liver that dissolved away. Lesions on her stomach wall closed, and the faintest amount of grey material in her eye faded away. In moments, my wife looked young, vibrant, and flawless.

With a gasp, she asked, “What did you do to me?”

“I cannot be sure, but I believe I shared with you what I received in the mountain, in the fever dream,” I said. Are you well? Did it hurt?” I asked out of reflex, knowing it was completely the opposite.

She laughed, “I have never felt so good in my life. I can feel everything, even in my womb…I can feel life…we will have another child.” She said in wonder.

I placed my hand on her womb. “I know, I felt it also.”

Joy filled her eyes as tears streamed down her face. “This is amazing! What does it mean?”

I stroked her face. “Whatever it is, I believe it is something momentous. I believe it will change everything.  Before I shared this…energy with you, the small parts within you, in your blood, were constantly dying, and new ones were being made. Now, that cycle has stopped. The small parts within you have stopped dying, and there is also no excess being created; there is…harmony and balance. Of course, I cannot be sure, but I think we both have stopped aging.”

She looked at me in wonder. “What does that mean?”

“It means that a much larger and greater life awaits us. I do not think I was given this power for nothing. Deep in my heart, I know that I was chosen for something," I said softly.

“Chosen for what?” she said, worryingly.

“I cannot say. But whatever it is, will you meet it with me?” I asked, staring deeply into her eyes.

Determination and purpose filled her eyes. “Always!” she declared.