Alarik's Crusade

Chapter 30: Majad's Challenge

Farmund realised it was the first time he had been alone since Edda’s death. And what a way to spend it; still marching, but this time in an even less direct path, marching out for the sake of marching. It seemed to him that the captain needed a moment to reflect over his… whatever the man deemed this point in the journey to be. Perhaps that’s what the man needed the time for - just to decide how he saw it.

His feet ached. By the gods of the forge they ached. His life in the military had taught him to see pain as an inconvenience that could be mastered and dismissed, and he had pushed well beyond his limits time and time again during this journey, but now, having no direct place to go but away, it seemed to all catch up to him. Feeling he had earned it, he sat and relaxed.

He removed his boots. They were terribly worn now, the soles of them so thin that he felt every individual stone beneath his feet as he trotted through the rainforest. He placed them at his side, removing the small dagger he had with him - the blade dulled from hacking into the earth to dig Edda’s grave.

There were perks to the rainforest, at least. The land itself was beautiful. The canopy above was heavy, but the sun still found a way to pierce through the veil. The wildlife, while often infuriating, was varied and colourful, so far removed from the singular colours of his upbringing’s land. For someone who had grown up on a humble farm in some backwater corner of the empire, and his early life spent planning to never travel beyond it save for trips into town, the journey was so strange as to appear almost otherworldly.

He fell back into the soft ground of fallen, half-rotted refuse, embracing the damp chill of the ground beneath him and listening to the chirps of animals and gentle dancing of the leaves. Peace, if but for a moment.

“I would bet that your crusade thinks you could kill me.”

Farmund flipped himself up onto his feet in one swift motion, incredible for a man of his size, setting himself into a defensive crouch and scanning the rainforest for the voice that felt like it could have come from anywhere. He cursed himself for letting his guard drop. Kneeling down, he searched for his dagger only to find that it had been taken. His boots, what was left of them anyway, were mercifully left behind.

“Not like the dagger would have helped you.”

Muscles tensed, he turned slowly, his eyes searching and finding nothing. The rainforest, aside from the strange voice that was oh so close to him but still unseen, was quiet, in the same way the frogs back home would silence themselves as he passed through the meadows. This was not some trick of his mind, but a threat that was very real.

“How can you hope to protect what you love when you cannot protect yourself?” His own dagger flew from the rustling trees behind him and landed near his feet, embedded in the soft ground of fallen leaves and debris. He picked it up slowly, still searching, still crouched, although now he was fearing he’d hardly have a chance to use it if the situation escalated. His sword was across the river.

“Show yourself,” Farmund said quietly, still listening for footsteps. “I’ve had enough of your taunts.”

The voice did as he instructed. From behind the trees came Majad, mask still covering his neck and mouth, his blind eyes full of intensity as always. “And you call yourself a ‘protector’,” he said snidely. If he carried any weapons they were hidden well by the folds of his robe. Farmund stood up straight, coming to his full, intimidating height, but it seemed to bother Majad not in the slightest. “Stop embarrassing yourself. An animal, puffing out his chest. If I wanted you dead, I would have slit your throat while you were so carelessly dozing in a rainforest full of death and danger.”

Farmund went red in the face. He had never in all his time in the military felt so vulnerable. There was a small part of him that wished to strike out at the man anyway, just for the chance of it. However, he had learned long ago that any force that carried itself as boldly as Majad typically had a reason for being as confident as he was. He kept his dagger aloft but made no move.

“A wise choice,” Majad said with a smirk.

“What do you want?” Farmund asked flatly.

“I come with an offer.”

“Out with it,” he said, although choosing simply to leave this conversation and letting the chips fall where they may was becoming an attractive prospect.

“Strength,” was all Majad said. The wind grew stronger as he said it, rustling the leaves above him. Farmund was certain it was fortunate timing, but the man was such a mystery he could hardly be sure.

“I have strength,” Farmund said. He had never met a soul who had questioned that.

“Ah, but not enough to save her.” Farmund furrowed his brow but made no other movement. A smile crept slowly upon Majad’s face, a look of self-satisfaction. “And you didn’t lunge at me then, even as I prod. Well, I must, if I may, give myself the accolades. I read you just… just perfectly. And to think we wondered if you’d try to gut me right then.”

“We?”

Majad waved a hand dismissively. “No matter. What does matter is giving you the strength to be able to protect those you care for. I’m sure some still remain. The captain you seem to hold some manner of respect for.”

“He’s a good man. Let him be.”

“Threat? Demand?” Majad asked. Farmund gave no reply. “Just a statement, then. What I offer is simple.” He took out a flask, on the outside similar to the others, but containing within it a vivid orange fluid, as viscous as tree sap. He dabbed the slightest hint of a drop onto his finger and licked it away. “This right here is a very powerful elixir. Had you drank from it earlier, even the might of the river would have bowed to you. You could have walked to the very centre of the rapids and walked across the water as if you were a giant in stride. But alas…”

“You can keep your elixirs,” Farmund said, giving the same dismissive wave he had received earlier. He turned on his heel and began walking back to his captain.

“There are others…”

Farmund didn’t stop.

“The Khorsuli girl. You don’t care much for her, but you do not wish her dead. And the captain, well, he can hardly hold himself up let alone travel on his own. They’ll need you. This,” he said, holding the elixir out in front of him, “this will help you.”

Farmund still carried on. If he was going to be stabbed in the back, so be it.

“So that’s it, then. You’re willing to condemn them to die because of what? Pride? Belief that you’ll be able to carry on without my assistance? How far has that gotten you?”

He gripped the dagger tightly. He toyed with the idea of turning and flinging the weapon at Majad.

“I can tell what you were thinking,” Majad said with a grin that said that not only was he confident he was right, but that he took an immense amount of satisfaction in it. There was something he didn’t like about the big man. Perhaps just a warrior’s pride, thinking it would be good to have his mettle tested now and then.

“And what was I thinking?”

“You thought to kill me,” Majad said, the serious accusation done without a hint of fear. “And you know… the irony of it all… take this elixir and you’d perhaps stand a chance.” Farmund kept walking. “What then if I were to strike at them? At your captain? At the girl?”

Without turning around, Farmund stopped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” Majad conceded. “It would be against my kind and caring nature. But there will come a day where your Vanderik pick a fight you cannot win. The world is vast, and you must know there are empires larger than yours beyond your borders. What then? How would you feel if you could not protect those you care for… again?”

Breathing heavily, Farmund gripped the dagger more tightly. It would almost be worth it anyway. If he was killed then the Vanderik may just come to burn this forsaken rainforest to cinders, Majad along with it, and the world would be better off for it. And yet, what he loathed the most was that he knew he had a point beneath all his taunting. The fear he spoke of gripped his every waking moment. It always had. It didn’t die with Edda’s passing, but merely shifted unto to next.

“What does your elixir do, then?”

If Farmund could see Majad’s self-satisfied smirk it may have been enough for him to throw the dagger right then. “Did I not already say? It promises strength. Strength you have never known. Of course, it comes from somewhere… you’ll grow in power, but also size. If you think you need a great supply of meat now, you’ll-”

“We have plenty of fish remaining.”

“Well, well, then aren’t you in luck? Here,” he said, tossing him the small flask filled with the thick, orange liquid. “The power to protect all that you love! You could be the very gates of Vanda alone, protecting the empire itself, if you so pleased. All you need is a taste. But I must caution you - a taste - that is all. A drop is enough to send you to heights beyond your imagination. Take more than that, and you’re taking your life in your hands.”

“Edda,” Farmund said. “Did you give any to Edda?”

“The woman had hardly any need for strength-”

“Don’t toy with me. You came here because you wanted to offer me this, for reasons I do not know. You don’t want me dead, and if you push me far enough one of us will be.” He pointed the dagger at Majad’s heart, who did not back up an inch from the blade. “Did… you give… Edda… an elixir?”

“I gave her one, yes. It was to have her find the confidence you robbed from her. To have her develop a belief in herself that she couldn’t find while beneath your wing. I gave her what you couldn’t, and she desired it so strongly that it spelled the death of her. What does that say of you, ‘protector?’”

Farmund pulled the dagger back and thrust it forward again with as much force as he could muster, but Majad was quick. His thin frame danced and wove as easily as the shimmering leaves, and in spite of all the power behind Farmund’s swings, not a single blow landed. Majad slapped and kicked and taunted him back, ducking and feinting with such effortless quickness his body more closely resembled a liquid than a fighter. Soon, Farmund was breathing heavily, his face and arms red from Majad’s hits, held back as they were.

Finally, the thinner fighter slipped his foot behind the giants and used his weight to topple him backwards, landing him armour and all heavily on his back. He began to push himself up, but Majad held him down with his foot on his chest. “Do not feel ashamed,” Majad whispered. “This was no fair fight. I’ve been blessed,” he said, waving at Farmund with three elixirs dangling from in between his fingers. “Make another attempt at another Hashadi again, and I will personally take the heads from you and whatever is left of your party.”

With that, he left Farmund on his back in the rainforest, and the sounds of the animals gradually returned as if they had never left. It had all happened so quickly that it seemed to almost be a dream, and very well could’ve been had it not been for the exhaustion in his muscles and the pain in his face and arms.

Worse yet, what Majad had said was the truth. He had failed, because he was weak. And if he continued to fail, there would be more death, more despair, more to weigh on his heavy heart.

They would need his strength.

There were so many dangers in the rainforest.

The flask shifted with his quickening pulse.

Edda, falling beneath the water.

The weight of the river pushing against him.

His farmhouse set ablaze.

His parents, butchered at the hands of renegade Khorsuli.

No amount of his power was ever enough, no matter how much he had. He saw that today.

A single taste. Hardly enough to see. He held the lip of the flask against his finger, tilted it to wet the end, and put it back down. The edge of his finger was tinted orange with the vivid, viscous liquid. He stared at it for a moment, wondering if he was being duped by the man, worrying that perhaps Majad’s greatest strength wasn’t in his physical prowess but his ability to manipulate.

His body went into a full sweat. He was to do it now or never, knowing he would never do such a thing in front of his captain. The captain who still waited, unfocussed and vulnerable… Quickly, he licked the liquid from his finger.

Then he thought of the dangers again, the risks, the terrible feeling of powerlessness… and repeated the process once more.