Chapter 9

Beta Troy

In Shadowguard, a slave auction is about to commence. Twenty-five children between the ages of five and fourteen, stand side by side in a row, with their hands tied with rope. They’re bruised, dirty and malnourished. A man walks toward a small cage and a growl emits from it.

Excited, and shocked, the crowd is divided between those who view the children as commodities, and those who view them as animals to be feared.

The auctioneer drags the young boy out of the cage and demands he stand; the boy is so fatigued and weary; he keeps falling over into the dirt. I’m disgusted, but must know the fate of this poor boy.

After lunging at the crowd of spectators, the auctioneer punches him hard in his stomach, winding him, and knocking him over. Making eye contact with this young soul, defeat and grief blaze in his eyes.

‘A real genuine wolf pup! Not just an ordinary wolf pup! This one has Alpha blood. He’ll be the strongest farm hand you’ve ever had,’ the auctioneer announces loudly. ‘The bidding will start at eight gold!’

‘NINE GOLD!’ Someone yells.

‘TEN GOLD!’ Another yells.

‘ELEVEN GOLD! Final offer,’ the first man says.

The second man, annoyed, recounts the coins in his hand to see if he can bid more.

‘FIFTEEN GOLD, and I will take him now!’ I yell, disgusted by this barbaric scene playing out. The crowd are shocked and surprised, and they step aside, as I push through them and throw a bag of gold coins into the auctioneer’s outstretched hand.

The man holding the boy tells me he comes with the chain.

‘Thanks, but that won't be necessary,’ I say, scooping the boy up, and carrying him away.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, spotting a middle-aged woman, digging in her front garden, not far from me.

‘Hello,’ she says warmly, and smiles.

‘Is there a river or bath house nearby?’ I ask.

‘Yes, near Bramblemore. You can get to it via the forest border,’ she says kindly, eyeing the boy, and going back to her digging.

Reaching the river, I put the boy gently on the ground and swing my backpack down off my back, handing him the bread and the cheese I have brought with me. He takes it gratefully, and scoffs it. I dunk my drinking pouch under the water, and let it fill before taking it back over to him so he can have a drink.

‘Thank you,’ he whispers, sculling the water, clearly dehydrated.

‘I’m Troy. You’re safe with me and I will not harm you. You can wash yourself in the river if you want to. Or rest and regain your energy.’ I tell him, smiling. He yawns, and his eyelids close. He rests his head on my lap before he falls asleep. I throw my travelling blanket over him and let him sleep.

‘Are you feeling better?’ I ask him, when he wakes. He nods; he looks a lot better than earlier; not as pale or as forlorn.

‘What’s your name? I’m Troy, the Alpha King’s Beta,’ I say, holding out my hand to him.

‘The Alpha King’s Beta? Wow. I’ve never met anyone from the royal pack before,’ he gushes, before adding, ‘I’m Zayden. Alpha Ezra of Mystic Pride was my dad,’ he says, sadly.

‘Was?’

‘Some soldiers came and killed everyone in my village,’

‘I’m so sorry kid,’ I tell him, truly heartbroken for him.

‘What is the Alpha King's Beta doing on human land?’ He asks.

‘I'm on a special mission. How did you end up at the

slave market?’

‘The soldiers who killed my parents sold me to it,’ he explains, with a straight face.

‘I’ll keep you safe. Your father was a good man. Not much older than me. I met him many times at Alpha meetings.’ I hold him, and let him grieve, as he cries into my chest a while, before he calms down. He sniffles; I pat him on the back and assure him everything will be okay. He strips his clothing, discarding it in a heap next to my pack, and runs into the river to wash himself. I throw him a washcloth, and a plain bar of soap. Afterwards, we make camp for the night. I outline my mission to him; giving him only diluted information. I inform him he is my new assistant and will serve as communications between Alpha King Damon and I. Zayden is very excited to be part of my mission, and asks many questions about Alpha King Damon.

‘Is your mate at Moon Crest Castle? Does she look after pups? Or does she fight with the warriors?’ Zayden asks, curious.

‘My mate, Amy, and my pup died, when she was giving birth to him, eight years ago. He would have been around your age if he lived,’ I say, a neutral topic for me now, after such a long time.

‘I'm sorry,’ Zayden says, sympathetically.

‘It's okay. Sadly, we have much in common.’ I say giving him an empathetic smile.

‘Maybe we can be a family,’ he says, optimistically while smiling.

‘Maybe we can,’ I smile, returning his optimism.

King Fenris

Commander James and half of my soldiers return to the training field, exhausted, and victorious; we have successfully conquered Mystic Pride and Darkpaw. We have lost some men, but this is a huge victory for us, and I am pleased.

‘A princess you say? With the power of air and flame? With rare beauty, and eyes of violet?’ I say, intrigued, from inside a tent adorned with furniture.

My men nod, adamantly assuring me they speak the truth.

‘If this is true, having her by my side would benefit West Wallow greatly,’ I say, tilting my brandy glass on an angle on the arm of my chair; the contents subsiding, while I ponder the idea.

Sir Hugo returns and hands Commander James a bunch of signed scrolls. Commander James take the scrolls over

to a small table, looks at them, and tallies up the numbers.

‘We’ve been to every village Commander, and have

recruited more men,’ he tells Commander James, before standing in front of me.

‘My King,’ he says, bowing.

‘My King, if these numbers are correct, your army will be thirty-five thousand men,’ Commander James says, triumphantly.

‘Good work, Sir Hugo. I knew I could count on you to increase our numbers,’ I praise him, and he nods.

I relay my soldiers’ encounter with the Forest Princess to Sir Hugo, and he guffaws at it.

‘What hogwash! It's nothing but a male fantasy; a magical princess with powers and beauty,’ Sir Hugo says, rubbishing the tale.

Everyone else is stoic and serious; registering the expressions on their grime-encrusted faces, Sir Hugo composes himself. The soldiers inform Sir Hugo it’s true; that they all saw her; that she summoned fire with her hands.

I recall my grandfather’s stories from when I was a child. The tale of the Enchanted witches, sprites and orcs it has been a tale in every generation. My men, stand around with their hands on their hips awaiting my next instruction.

‘Do you all recall the tales, as children, about sprites, witches and orcs?’ I ask my men, swigging the contents of

my glass before my squire refills it again.

‘This alleged Forest Princess could be a sprite – like the

ones in the stories,’

The tent buzzes with chatter, and the toing-and-froing of differing opinions among the men.

‘Find her and bring her to me,’ I say, indulging in the possibility this tale could be true. My men nod in agreeance; sans Sir Hugo who stands with his arms crossed, unamused.

‘Sir Hugo!’ I say, watching him dithering.

‘Yes, my Lord,’

‘You’re to track down this girl and bring her to me. If she is alive, I offer her safe lodgings at my castle during this war,’

‘Surely not, my Lord?’ He asks.

‘Most certainly,’ I say. I’m not being flippant; I glare at him.

‘And if I find her and she refuses to come? Or if these alleged powers are true?’ He asks; a hint of fear in his voice.

‘Then restrain her with iron cuffs and bring her by force, iron is meant to be a weakness against the sprite, it will diminish the power she welds,’ I say.

Sir Hugo leaves the tent and follows my other men, who are already well across the field.