Arsolas

Chapter 1- Eviction

BAM! The tree splintered as a steel blade hit against the bark. Then swung again, lodging itself back into the oak.

“ARGHHH!” Arsolas growled in frustration, wiggling the weapon free.

He was almost always outside, except for sleeping. Training all day in the blazing sun, his skin a deep rough tan, and his build sturdy yet slim for strength and agility. CREEEEAK-WUMF. The tree went, tumbling down with one final blow. Arsolas breathed in from exhaustion with the effort, wiping sweat from his forehead. He usually wouldn’t be pushing himself this hard on regular days. Today he was irritated.

Arsolas got a letter from King Flint, of Errandia. To summarize what he had to say, the King was taking a massive Boot, and kicking him out of his property. All kings want is more territory to roam, extra resources, and build up their lousy economy. That’s the reason why we have wars.

Arsolas walked back into his cabin with a huff, slamming the door shut behind him as the sun descended from the sky. The boy laid his weapons down on his weaponry rack, taking a dagger and heading over to the Mirror. Arsolas checked himself out for a good while before taking the blade, and sawing at his jaw length hair until he found it fit.

“Not too shabby.” Arsolas smirked back at his new reflection of his short messy brown hair, sheathing the blade by his side. Just as he was about to plop down on his mattress, there was a loud knock at the door.

“Rusty nails…” Arsolas groaned in annoyance at the disturbance. He walked over to the door as the person behind called out firmly,

“King Flint is here to speak with you!” That made Arsolas pause momentarily before opening the door slightly.

“Yes?” He simply said. He had an idea this was about the eviction they had on his cabin. A well built guard stood outside, and straightened up as the door was unlocked, mechanically moving to the side for the King.

“Arsolas Senor. Son of Travis Senor I gather.” The king spoke, scarlet ropes the colour of blood dragged after him.

“Yes. He was the best swordsman maker, I reckon you even hired him once.” Arsolas responded as politely as he could muster, opening the door more as the king came into view. He almost forgot to bow, but he did so, bowing smoothly in respect.

“Your highness.”

“Rise.” King Flint hummed in approval at his bow. Arsolas rose

“You’re here because of the eviction, aren’t you.”

“Yes, and no. I had sent a spy out here a while back. And I say, I am quite interested in your fighting skills, young Arsolas.” King Flint tilted his head stepping forward with a calculated expression.

“You sent a spy here? And what are you getting at here?” Arsolas eyes narrowed and he fixed his posture, making sure to check his tone.

“I want you to join as a warrior with my soldiers.” The king shrugged like he was hiding the whole continent behind his back. Arsolas narrowed his eyes slightly, skeptical of his explanation.

“And if I refuse?” Arsolas tried. He had no plan on joining the king’s army and becoming another one of his zombies to control.

“You don’t have a choice here. You will, and that’s an order.” The king almost immediately said, his tone colder than the Rajhor palace up north. Arsolas tensed, then acted fast. He slammed his door and dashed to his weapon rack, grabbing the sword his father had made for him and positioning himself in a battle ready position. The king’s soldiers crash down the door with weapons drawn, heading straight towards Arsolas. Swords clashed metal with metal, Arsolas giving powerful blows to the soldiers until he couldn’t keep up. Once Arsolas noticed that he was faltering. With a swift motion, he leapt to the roof beams and clung on with his hands. Steadily, he scrambled up to the roof hatch making an escape.

“He’s getting away! Quick, Surround the house!” The General yelled to the troops. Arsolas rolled out onto the roof, wasting no time to slide off and tumble to the ground.

“Oof,” He cried as he hit the solid ground.

“There! Hurry now!” A warrior shouted out, pointing at Arsolas’s downed position. Arsolas’s eyes widened and threw himself back onto his feet, but it was too late. “Ha, gotye’ now, ya rebel.” The warrior cackled. He had a strong accent that Arsolas couldn’t quite place where from. The brute kicked Arsolas back down, then before he got time to get up, he was knocked out cold by the soldier’s un welcoming fist.