Here’s the next part of Serasi. Hope you guys like it.
The jester pranced around in front of him—throwing balls in the air and breathing fire. Lorias sat in his throne, propping his head in his hand. He glanced at his father—he was having a deep discussion with a member of his council. Lorias sighed and rolled his eyes.
A guard burst into the hall and bowed before them. “My lord, Oron! We have news.”
“Leave us,” Oron commanded, waving an impatient hand at the jester.
The jester bowed and left the room. Lorias straighted in his chair.
“What is it, Macklin?” Oron asked.
“The Serasi have been found, my lord,” Macklin said, approaching the thrones. “They have a camp of no more than a hundred people just outside of Lorn.”
“Lorn? How have we not found them before now?” Oron demanded.
Lorias was listening intently now.
“They’re well hidden,” the guard replied. “And protected. Felon knows how to keep away from us.”
“Felon.” Oron spat. “That girl is nothing to us—a minor inconvenience at best.”
“A deadly inconvenience,” the guard muttered audibly. “She took out fourteen of our scouts a few days ago.”
“We shall see,” Oron said. “You have men in place?”
“Yes, my lord, five hundred men will be there in three days,” the guard said. “Seven hundred more in five.”
“Good.” Oron sat back in his throne. “We shall see how Felon’s little army fairs against twelve hundred men.”
Lorias watched as the guard bowed again, and left the room. His father reclined in his throne.
“You will accompany me to the site, Lorias,” Oron said, turning to look at him. “It is time you learnt what it means to be king.”
“Yes, father,” Lorias replied.
He rose from his throne, bowed to his father, and left the hall. Walking down the long corridor to his room, Lorias thought about the Serasi. They were a group of warriors who hated the King; they wanted to murder the King and rule the land in their own way—using violence to get what they wanted. They were a stain on the purity of his father’s rule.
At least, that was what his father told him.
Felon was somewhat of a mystery to him—he knew little about her other than her name, and the fact that she was the leader of the Serasi people. He pictured her sitting on a throne made from the bones of her victims—ruling her small army with an iron fist. In truth, she scared him. He had been taught that women were not powerful—were not made for fighting. They were for child-bearing and cooking. Felon was different.
If the stories were true then she was as good, if not better, than any soldier in his father’s army. Lorias was a good soldier—he was strong and brave, ready for any battle. Yet still Felon scared him. Growing up, he had nightmares of her sneaking into his room and murdering him while he slept. Even at the ripe age of eighteen, the last thing he wanted to do was meet her face to face. He hoped the soldiers would kill her before he was taken to the camp.
He reached his room and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His room was large and grand—too grand for his liking. He stripped out of his clothes and climbed into the bed. Blowing out the candles on his small table, he turned to stare up at the canopy above his bed.
He was not looking forward to the following morning.