Chapter 2 #2
A hargon beast moved up beside him, steam snorting from its nostrils. The hargon were favored by warriors. They were large, muscular animals, with tough, black, leather-like skin, sharp horns atop their heads, and spikes down the back of their long necks. They also breathed fire when riled.
“You and your mighty sword win again, Kavon.” Colm Mal Kor smiled at Kavon.
“The tale of this night will spread through the great hall this evening. It will morph until everyone talks in whispers of the great Warlord Kavon Mal Dor who slew the entire vicious raiding party with a few strokes of his famed sword, Tanir.”
Kavon hefted Tanir, studying the long blade of his sword. It had been crafted straight and true, but was more ornately carved near the hilt. A warrior’s sword. His father had been by his side when it had been made.
The memory of his father carved through him. Kavon pushed the pain aside and nodded at his friend. “But of course.”
Colm shook his head, his dark hair swinging around his rugged face. “Cocky doesn’t suit you. You’re too damned serious all the time.”
That was what responsibility did to a man.
Kavon turned his head, and in the distance caught the lights of his estate.
The solid bulk of his sprawling home glowed with lights in the night.
It was carved from the lustrous dasanite rock.
To the east, he saw the verdant farmlands his people worked, and to the west, the pointed spires of the Grimore Mountains in the Darken Wilds.
The Wilds were a dry, rocky place that could test a man to the limit.
They were home to all manner of wild darken beasts, and most people avoided venturing there.
Thankfully the beasts rarely left the Wilds, preferring the drier climate.
He could just make out the distant glow of his nearest mines that produced glittering gems, as well as ore for the metal from which his sword was crafted.
His land straddled the sharp divide between the lush fertile lands good for farming, and the barren, but mineral-rich, Wilds.
It made his land some of the most valuable in Markaria.
He was now one of the wealthiest warlords.
For a hard, long decade, he’d fought and worked to restore his family name.
After his father’s murder, Kavon had trained, expanded the mines, restored the farmlands, and worked secretly to avenge his father.
A muscle in Kavon’s jaw ticked. Now, he was getting close to completing the final steps in his plan.
“Too damned serious,” Colm said again, with a shake of his head. “You’re thinking of your ‘grand plan’ right now.”
Kavon slid his huge sword back into the leather scabbard on his back. “This is an argument you’ve waged many times before, Colm. You know the importance of what I’m working toward.”
“I’m just worried you’ll achieve your plan and find you’ve sacrificed too damned much for it.” His friend sighed. “You’ll join us for an ale, though?”
“Of course. Ale and food.”
Colm’s brows rose. “And maybe a woman? That’s the only pleasure you’ll allow yourself. I saw you take that lovely little dancer to your rooms after dinner last night. I would have thought plowing yourself between those supple thighs would have eased your tension.”
Kavon grunted. Any enjoyment from the brief interlude hadn’t lasted long past emptying his seed. He raked a hand through his hair. “You know I’m preoccupied with finding Durendal.”
Colm released a long breath. “It is a worthy quest, Kavon. One that would give glory to the Mal Dor name…but it’s a myth. A legend from the beginning of our people. I’m not sure anyone can find it.”
Kavon’s mouth firmed. “I will.”
Colm shook his head. “I’ve known you since we were boys, and I recognize that look.
You’ll give it everything you have. That is how the legend of the great warrior, Kavon Mal Dor, has spread across Markaria.
And will continue to do so, like his father before him.
” Colm inclined his head. “I’ll see that the girls are returned to their families. ”
Kavon mirrored the nod. “Thank you.”
After his friend had left, Kavon lifted his gaze. The stars overhead were bright now, and the first of Markaria’s moons was just pulling itself over the horizon.
By the warrior, he missed his father.
Colan Mal Dor had been a big man with a gregarious nature and a booming laugh who could also be deadly and unyielding in a fight. He’d run his land with a firm but gentle hand, building up the farming, and providing a home for anyone who wanted to join Clan Mal Dor.
But one cowardly act had stolen Colan away from all of them and forever tarnished their family name.
By instinct, Kavon’s gaze moved south. He saw the distant twinkle of lights.
The home of Drog Mal Sull—all-around bastard, and the murderer of Kavon’s father.
Kavon’s hands tightened on the reins, and his hargon shifted restlessly. “Easy, Tarm.”
Drog’s family had always been bitter rivals with Kavon’s. A feud so old, its origins were murky. Some said it started with their great-great grandparents, caused by a slain brother, or a kidnapped sister who’d been returned round with child.