They set up a small campfire to withhold against the desert cold. The men weren't ready to chase after Daurgien, and he was already gone, disappeared into the night.
The campfire crackled, casting flickering shadows over the gathered group. The air was thick with tension as Jolthar stood before Daus, his piercing gaze unwavering.
The elder's shoulders slumped, weariness etched into his face, not just from the fight but from the weight of the truth he had carried for decades.
Jolthar broke the silence, his voice cold and steady. "I think you owe us an explanation, Jarl Daus."
Daus hesitated, his eyes darting to Sgard and men of his tribe. Sgard, who had stayed behind during the battle, was now helping the warriors. Around them, the tribe's warriors nursed their own injuries, their faces grim but relieved to be alive.
At Jolthar's words, Daus let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, I know him. Daurgien… He was my brother."
The admission sent a ripple of surprise through the group. Lysandra and Sgard exchanged stunned glances, while the knights stiffened, their expressions darkening.
Jolthar remained neutral, his arms crossed over his chest. "Your brother?" he repeated, though his tone held no surprise. "Go on."
Daus rubbed a hand over his face, his exhaustion evident. "It was decades ago," he began.
"Daurgien was next in line to become Jarl. My father chose him, despite me being the elder son. He believed I was unfit to lead… thought I was too irresponsible because of my drinking habits. I was angry, humiliated. I thought I deserved the position more than him."
He paused, glancing up at Jolthar as if gauging his reaction. Jolthar's face remained impassive, his sharp gaze boring into Daus. "And?"
Daus hesitated, his voice faltering. "I… I made him leave the valley. I convinced my father—"
Jolthar's tone cut through like a blade. "Don't lie to me, Daus. You're holding something back."
His expression hardened, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "I don't care about your petty squabbles or your past grievances. But if you don't tell me the truth right now, we will leave. And then you can deal with Daurgien alone."
The threat hung in the air, and Daus's resolve crumbled. His gaze shifted to Sgard and Lysandra and then to the warriors who now looked at him with suspicion. Realising he had no choice, he straightened, though his face was pale.
"Fine," Daus said, his voice low and filled with regret. "I'll tell you everything."
Daus took a deep breath before speaking, his words heavy with shame. "I hated Daurgien. Not because of anything he did, but because of what he represented—the better son, the better leader. I couldn't stand the thought of him taking what I believed should have been mine."
He paused, swallowing hard. "So I schemed. I sent my wife at that time to him and told her to seduce him. When it was done, I forced her to claim he had… violated her. To further ruin him, I manipulated his own wife, convincing her to accuse him of using his position as Jarl to take advantage of the tribe's women."
The group was silent, the weight of his confession sinking in. Lysandra's eyes widened in disbelief, her hand tightening around her sword's hilt. Sgard stared at Daus as if seeing him for the first time, his face a mixture of anger and disgust.
"You… you used your own wife?" Sgard whispered, his voice trembling with outrage.
Daus avoided their eyes, his gaze fixed on the ground. "Yes," he admitted. "It was the only way to ensure my father would turn against him. When the accusations came, my father had no choice but to exile Daurgien. He left the valley in disgrace, and I took the position of Jarl."
The silence that followed was deafening. The warriors, who had fought bravely under Daus's leadership, now looked at him with a mix of betrayal and revulsion.
Jolthar, however, remained unmoved. His face betrayed no emotion, though his mind raced. This wasn't the first time he had encountered leaders who betrayed their own to secure power. To him, Daus's treachery was just another example of the corruption he had come to despise.
Finally, Jolthar spoke, his voice calm but icy. "I didn't come here to mediate your family drama, Daus. My only concern is the safety of the tribe's women and ensuring that Daurgien is dealt with. That's all."
Daus flinched at the coldness in Jolthar's tone, but he nodded. "I understand. Whatever my sins, I won't let Daurgien destroy the tribe. I'll do whatever it takes to stop him."
He smirked, "Funny you say that; you are the reason this happened to your tribe in the first place."
Jolthar turned away, his cape billowing slightly in the desert wind.
As Jolthar walked away, Lysandra approached him, her face troubled. "Jolthar," she began hesitantly. "Can we really trust him after hearing all that?"
Jolthar glanced back at Daus, who sat alone, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. "Trust has nothing to do with it," he said. "He's a means to an end. And right now, we need him as much as he needs us."
Lysandra nodded reluctantly, though her expression remained conflicted.
She saw how Sgard sat frozen; his expression showed how the news disturbed him. She went to him and sat beside him, trying to comfort him. Though she had been a member of the tribe, she had no longer had any ties with it, so she wasn't much troubled by the sudden news.
For Jolthar, the path was clear: deal with Daurgien, save the tribe, and leave the valley behind to sort their own affairs.
The petty squabbles and dark secrets of the tribe were not his concern. He had faced worse, and this was just another battle in the grander scheme of things.
Despite his exhaustion, he moved away from the crowd as he looked around for any trace of Daurgien; he followed in the direction where Daurgien escaped.
Jolthar's sharp eyes hadn't missed a crucial detail. The faint traces of a viscous, dark liquid glistened on the ground—a trail left behind by Daurgien's wounded form. It was faint, but unmistakable, and it oozed with a malevolent energy that made Jolthar's skin crawl.
"Daurgien's blood…" he muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes as he studied the path.
Jolthar stood at the edge of the group, his sharp eyes scanning the ground in the dim torchlight. His drake, Maelruth, shifted beside him, snorting softly.
The faint trail of blood he had tracked through the desert sands was growing harder to follow, but his instincts and his sight were able to help him focus on the faint traces of the blood as it was corrupted by gods blood. Follow current novels on NoveI-Fire.ɴet
Turning to the group, he announced, "I've found a trail. It's faint, but it's there. If we follow it, we might find where Daurgien is hiding."
The warriors, weary from the battle with the scorpions, exchanged uncertain glances. Some looked at Daus, who sat apart from them, tending to his wounds, his face shadowed with guilt and exhaustion. Others looked to Jolthar, whose commanding presence and decisive actions had begun to overshadow their leader's authority.
Once preparations were complete, the group followed Jolthar, with Maelruth leading the way. The drake's powerful strides made navigating the shifting dunes easier for the group, though the oppressive silence of the desert night seemed to weigh heavier on their spirits.
Among them was Belan, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions. She had always prided herself on her strength and skill, but seeing Jolthar in action had shaken her to the core. His power was not natural—it was something more, something divine.
Daurgien's mocking words still rang in her ears: "Do you think your goddess would approve of this?"
Belan was now certain Jolthar carried a goddess's blessing. That explained his incredible prowess in battle, the unearthly bond he shared with Maelruth, and the unwavering aura of confidence he exuded. But the revelation only hardened her resolve. If Jolthar was truly blessed by a goddess, then she needs to grow even more stronger than him.
Her desire to grow stronger burned brighter than ever, fuelled by the jealousy and admiration Jolthar inspired. In her heart, she made a vow: she would surpass him, even if it meant striking him down.
The group pressed on through the night, their torches casting long, flickering shadows over the dunes. Eventually, the blood trail led them to a canyon, its jagged walls looming ominously in the moonlight. The group descended cautiously, their footsteps echoing faintly in the still air.
The oppressive darkness seemed to close in as they walked deeper.
At the bottom of the canyon, they found a narrow tunnel. The trail of blood led them inside, and though the space was cramped, the group squeezed through, their weapons drawn and their senses alert. The space was narrow and long enough to make them feel cramped. The drake had a hard time moving through the narrow space. But Jolthar guided the drake through the tunnel.