Chapter 6
Francis stared at the warchief, who looked disheartened after having cursed. “I’m sorry, why is my request such a bad thing?”
Glitvall crossed his two arms and leaned back in his oversized wooden chair. “The skill you are desiring isn’t one that most talk about or even know. It has three different names or variations, and each one is almost impossible to acquire. The one you’re seeking is often referred to by names such as regeneration or a lesser version. Life Well is the legendary skill you’re seeking and acquiring it has been… impossible.”
“What… why…” Francis was lost for words, confused by what the large man was telling him and the general's belief that this was where it could be learned. “Then why did Stenson say that if I came here, you could help me acquire it?”
A large finger scratched the warchief’s nose as he frowned. “How many times have you died?”
“I don’t have an exact number, but thousands,” Francis replied. “I’ve come from nothing, fighting against people and beasts that were far stronger than me, putting in the time and effort to get every skill that I now have as well as the gains I’ve acquired for my body and mind.”
He could see the look of shock on the barbarian leader’s face. Those brown eyes blinked a few times at the number given.
“You say thousands,” Glitvall said, leaning forward. “What would drive a man to endure such things? Power? Wealth? Women?”
“My brother,” Francis replied immediately.
“Your brother?”
Nodding, Francis massaged his eyes for a moment with his fingers. “I have a brother… a half-brother, but one I consider the only real family I have. You know how the nobles work in our kingdom as well as the birth order?”
Glitvall snorted as he nodded. “A foolish thing, but yes, we are all aware of it.”
“I’m the ninth son,” Francis replied.
“The ninth son?” Glitvall repeated. A few seconds later, he burst into laughter, rising from his chair and started pacing in the small area of the tent. “A ninth son! With this kind of power?! How, when, I need to know everything!”
“Because you want to be entertained or because you’re going to help me acquire what I came for?”
The warchief paused his movement, approached Francis and kneeled. Their eyes were at the same level, almost as Francis sat in the chair, leaning backward.
“I asked ‘why you do what you do?’ because I need to know the fire that warms the heart of a man who claims he can do what you do,” Glitvall said. “To have a chance to grasp what you seek will not be easy. Many men and women have tried, spending their whole lives suffering and never tasting the sweetness of success. Yet their reasons were all… selfish. You, Francis, have a spark inside you that I can see and feel. Even though you are young, you carry yourself with confidence that most wouldn’t have unless they had lived. It is obvious you have died as many times as you have to have gained that.”
The general took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reaching out with his massive hand and setting it upon Francis’s shoulder. “I have trained many warriors and tamed beasts. I rule a nation that is dying, fighting a foe like nothing we have ever seen. Every clan leader is here, working together, a feat that hasn’t happened since the great war, because we all know the cost if we don’t. Even worse, our hope to hold out lessens by the rising of the sun each day.”
Francis felt the large hand squeeze, not one meant to crush, but to announce its presence and confer something simply.
“You, boy, may be what Stenson says you are,” Glitvall stated. “We have prayed to Korvald, the Winter Father, that we might endure as he does. The Hearth Mother, Verla, has not given us the warmth that we seek, yet we will not let our fires go cold. Like Skarn, the Iron Gale, we will be the storm that our foes face and not end until the life of every one of my people is gone. And when that moment comes, our prayers to Nyrla is that she will carry our souls and reward us for the honor we have earned.”
The large man pulled at a leather cord around his neck, revealing a piece of broken tusk wrapped in leather.
“This is the symbol for Korvald,” Glitvall stated. “Most outside of our kingdom do not know what this means or how special it is. You will learn what it means to bleed and not fall. Like Korvald, you will be forged of ice, bleeding from every step you take, cracking from that which strikes, yet not shattering or dying. You, Francis Lancaster, will face a test far worse than any you have ever known before, and you must decide right now if that brother you say is the reason you do this is worth that which is about to come.”
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Laughing, Francis rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, but that… speech… was funny.”
Glitvall leaned back, frowning. “You mock the truth that I speak?”
Francis slid his chair back, moving away from the warchief and stood. He then undid the rest of his clothes, pulling off his shirt and pants until he stood there almost naked before Glitvall. “Look at me. There are no scars on my body, yet I have been burnt to death, my skin flayed off with lightning, and frozen so that chunks of muscle shatter at a single touch. I have been poisoned, beaten to death, had my head ripped off, as well as bitten off. The ways in which I have died would make most warriors run away in fear. My own father has killed me, my other brothers have tried to beat me, and yet I stand here untouched on the outside.”
A few tears fell as Francis spoke. He tapped his chest where his heart was. “Inside… I carry those scars, but the love I have for my stupid brother, Michael, is what drives me. He saved me, helped me learn what love was and is the only family I really have. I will die for him ten thousand, or a hundred thousand times or more if that is what it takes to ensure that he lives.”
Francis was getting worked up, his voice growing louder, and he moved closer to the kneeling warchief. “So don’t tell me I’m going to suffer in ways I can’t imagine. I’ve already faced Kerhi and had her rip my heart from my chest.”
A smile formed on Francis’s lips when Glitvall’s eyes widened. “But don’t worry. When she turned, showing off her prize to all those gathered around the circle of frozen dirt, I slid my sword into her spine, paralyzing her from the waist down before I died.”
Francis shook his head, chuckling twice before leaning his face so close to the older man that he could butt heads if he wanted to. “Don’t think I’m some coward or believe I won’t give everything I have. What you should do is fear who I am because there’s one thing you and Stenson have to realize and wonder when I’m not nearby.”
Glitvall’s hand came forward, slowly and pushed Francis back, allowing the older man to stand. A frown formed as the warchief stood, and he shook his head a few times.
“You don’t tell us everything when you return,” the warchief stated.
Francis nodded. “I’ve been fair, honest and tried to do right by Stenson,” he replied. “I know the man is playing a game, trying to use me as a weapon or some tool. I was bothered by it… angry at first when I realized that, but then I also figured out why he was doing it. Stenson cares about the Kingdom. I care about my brother. For both of us to see each of those things survive, he needs me to defeat his army and yours. After that, I have no doubt I’ll have to go help with the other kingdoms as well.”
“That is no small task,” Glitvall said. “And you feel up to that task? One that would crush any other man?”
“I have no choice,” Francis replied. “If I don’t, then my brother will be gone and that is not something I can live with. Especially if I have the power within me to keep him alive.”
A full set of teeth appeared as Glitvall smiled before clapping his hands a few times. “You, Francis, are a man like no other… Stenson is right. And you are right. I am… in awe of one so young who has conviction like you. Very well. I will do everything I can to help you try and acquire this skill. Just know the warning I gave earlier wasn’t me trying to scare you. I was being truthful. Our land is harsh. Children, adults, and elders die every day without war because it does not coddle the weak. No one cares who is born first or in your case, ninth. All they care about is strength.”
“So what do we do now?” Francis asked. “When can we start?”
A sigh came from Glitvall as he pointed at the stack of clothing behind Francis. “Get dressed. There are still a few things I need to learn and I need you to promise me you’ll try to be honest each time you return.”
“I’ll do my best,” Francis said, still not moving toward his clothes. “But I cannot promise that I won’t leave things out or attempt other paths by changing what I say or do between them.”
The warchief’s head bobbed a few times. “I can accept that from you. Now get dressed. You need to tell me everything you’ve faced so far and where you are right now, skill and stat-wise.”
“That could take a while,” Francis stated. “Surely you’re not going to want to do this same song and dance every time we meet?”
Shaking his head, Glitvall moved to where his chair was and sat. “No. I’ll tell you what to say, and then show me. That will prevent me from needing to earn your trust. Knowing those three words means more than you can imagine. But for me to understand what you can become, I need to know where you have been.”
Francis nodded and then retrieved his clothes, happy to put them back on, as the small fire in the tent didn’t completely stop the cold. “Where do you want me to start?” he asked.
A large hand waved in the air, a sign that the warchief didn’t have a particular spot in mind. “You have obviously had this talk with Stenson multiple times. I’ll trust you to know where to start.”
Chuckling, Francis nodded, quickly getting dressed and retrieving his seat.
“Well then, I guess I’ll start at the beginning. Back when I was a baby…”
A deep grunt came from the warchief and Francis laughed, knowing that regardless of how many times he died, Glitvall was going to be a bit more entertaining than Stenson ever was.
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