Satisfied?
Of course he was, he just got himself a killer, a warrior that had been trained for one purpose - to take lives.
Thavarel was content with Kaelen's performance. He was ready to settle the Masters for the boy.
"Kaelen, you go with him. You belong to him now," Master Rovan said. This was the first time he had ever said a word to Kaelen. And his first word was a transfer of ownership.
Thavarel saw something in Kaelen, something growing. He had noticed the glimmer of bloodlust Kaelen had exhibited in the fight. And he was going to capitalize on it.
"You ready to go, Kaelen?" Thavarel asked, in that commanding tone that came with years of experience.
"I am yours now, so I go where you go," Kaelen replied, fastening his worn-out boots.
"We'll need to get you new gear as soon as we can," Thavarel started speaking again. "No soldier of mine dresses that way."
Kaelen was dressed in simple linen trousers - roughspun cloth stiff with old blood - and worn-out leather boots. For the first time, he noticed how poorly dressed he was compared to Thavarel.
"Let's go," Thavarel said, motioning towards the gates of the camp.
When they got to the gate, Kaelen stopped for a couple of heartbeats, staring at the gate.
He had never left here once since he came in. He turned back and stared at the whole camp in painful silence - the sleeping quarters, the training yard, the trail, and the dueling ground - where he had taken the life of the only person that mattered to him.
Kaelen knew he should be happy to leave. But he wasn't. He felt nostalgic; his heart ached - burning with gentle pain, like a longing for the past.
Kaelen felt like he was betraying someone - his father, maybe... or Soren, who gave his life for him to live.
"I'll miss you, brother. Dad, guide me through," he said quietly, like a whispered prayer. Then he stepped out the gates.
---
"General!!!" a small unit of about twelve soldiers chanted as Thavarel stepped out.
"Where is Marek and the boys? They followed you inside," one of the twelve, named Silas, asked.
"They are dead," Thavarel replied.
"Dead? How?" Silas asked again, shock filling his voice.
"I killed them," Kaelen replied bluntly - no emotion in his voice.
Silas paused, the words hitting him like a blow to the gut.
"You... you are what, fifteen?" Silas asked in utter disbelief. "These are seasoned warriors we're talking about."
"Yet he did," Thavarel replied to Silas. "He proved himself... he's going to be part of us now." Thavarel proceeded to mount his horse - a black stallion that stood proudly.
"Kaelen, take Marek's horse," Thavarel said to Kaelen. "We ride for Vol'tari. For home."
All the soldiers cheered, then mounted their horses.
Not Silas, though. He still looked at Kaelen, different emotions running across his face.
---
The sun was settling slowly,casting golden rays all over the plain lands. A trail ran through the middle, a trail made from years of horse hooves and carriage passage.
The wind was blowing gently, caressing smoothly all exposed skin. The air was humid, the scent of pollen grain and horse dung filled it.
Kaelen sat alone eating dried deer meat. He and his company have been riding for three days now. There were headed to sea, to get ship back to Vol'tari.
Further down the trail, a small covered carriage rolled slowly over the dirt, its wooden wheels creaking soft beneath the weight. A girl sat by the open window, chin resting in her palm - watching.
Isolde.
Only ten, but her eyes missed little.
She saw the soldiers before her parents did - men in armor gathered by the roadside, dust rising where their horses stood, flicking their tails against flies. Most of the soldiers were loud - laughing, drinking - but one sat apart.
Quiet.
A boy, no older than fifteen, sitting cross-legged on the dirt, chewing dried meat. His head was down, but somehow... Isolde felt him watching. Like a wolf sitting still in the grass, waiting.
"Who are they, Papa?" she asked softly.
"They look like fighters," her father replied. "Stay in the carriage with your mum." He knocked on the carriage door, motioning them to stop.
"My king," the guards around the carriage said in unison, bowing at Isolde's father.
---
Thavarel turned as the carriage door opened. A man stepped out. His face... familiar.
"General Thavarel," the man said calmly. "Didn't expect to see you here."
Thavarel stared for a moment. "King Aldric Ravaryn... of Caer Thalyrian. Didn't expect to meet you either."
The soldiers around them stiffened, glancing nervously - all but Cedric, the king's guard. He stood steady, silent.
Aldric gave a small smile. "Strange place to meet a Vol'tari general. No banners. No warning."
"Just passing through," Thavarel said. "No trouble."
Aldric's eyes flicked to Kaelen, then back to Thavarel. "You travel with strange company."
Thavarel shrugged. "Training new blood."
Aldric raised a brow. "He looks young."
"Old enough to kill," Thavarel replied.
Aldric chuckled dryly. "I hope you keep him leashed. We've done good trade with Vol'tari. I'd hate for that to change because of... accidents."
"No need for concern, King. We have no reason to cause trouble."
Aldric gave a slow nod, looking once more at Kaelen - thoughtful, measuring. Then he turned back to his carriage.
"Safe travels, General."
"And you, King."
The moment passed. The wind blew again.
Cedric's eyes followed Kaelen as they rode off.
---
]