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Post by longstevo on Sept 21, 2008 11:16:49 GMT -5
“…bring this one back…”
Words echoed off the dark, hollow walls of infinity. Most words were inaudible in this empty existence, indistinguishable from the deafening silence that filled this place. In every direction, there was no direction. Every foot of this empty existence was as non-descript as the next. Despite the fact that one could feel himself exist, this world felt completely hollow.
“Oh, sweet Mother, I ask this of you…”
More words pounded eardrums, and yet more senseless mumbling. These words had no source, they simply rang forth from the darkness. They roared, as loud as a stampede, and yet were soft and quiet at the same time. They made no sense, and the words that were distinguishable seemed to be nothing more than jabbering.
Suddenly, heavy pressure was felt on a face. But it was not threatening. A soft and warm sensation came over. Easing and calming, the sensation lasted. An existence began to take place. Slowly, the words pounding in this echoing cave of nothing began to calm themselves into a steady rhythm, and more words could be heard. The utter darkness slowly began to recede to and give way to light. A shroud was lifting from this world.
“Earth Mother, I beg this of you. Send life back into the heart of your servant,”
More feels began to take hold in a feeble brain. Cool grass licked at the back of arms as a breeze soothed burning skin. But in contrast to the existence of nothing, the freedom that was offered by the abyss was yanked away and replaced by a horrible trapping of constriction. Limbs were rendered immobile and all movement was forcibly prevented. But not all returning feelings were terrible.
The soft pressure on the face manifested itself as soft, caressing hands. If the violent feelings trapping him in his body scared him, these hands calmed him, making him welcome the light that was slowly filling his black world.
“Earth Mother,” the senseless babbling of echoing voices disappeared, replaced instead by the praying of a woman. And the words were soft, calming, and seemed to be only inches away from this man’s existence. “Earth Mother, fill his heart with life once more, so he may serve your great world valiantly as he did before. Instill honor and respect in his mind, so he may make wise choices. But most of all, fill every inch of his being with love, so he may see the greater things in your world. Earth Mother, give life back to Sirion Sunrunner…”
--
Only seconds after he heard his own name, his eyes flew open, and all the vibrant details of his surroundings exploded into his once-dead eyes. Deep green leaves and branches giving him shade from above, allowing the deep blue of the cool afternoon invaded his feeble brain. He cried out as the sheer intake of information was too much for his resurrected mind. He shut his eyes quickly. But he caught a glimpse of beauty in that instant. Something so beautiful he forced himself to endure that torture once again to simply take see what exactly it was.
A lovely face hovered above his, smiling warmly. Blonde curls cascaded past this woman’s shoulders, tickling his bare chest. The sensation of her soft hair on his chest exploded in his mind, and he felt as if he were reeling from the crazy tickling that she was causing him, but he remained motionless. Her features were those of an angel, and her soothing hands caressed his face once more.
“Emma,” he tried to open his cracked lips and say her name in his dry and dusty throat, but it came out as little more than a garble. She smiled and held her finger against his mouth.
“Don’t speak, for you are not fully healed,” she said. In addition to all the details of his surroundings, memories came flooding back. Memories that were triggered by his love’s face were the first to come rushing back. In addition to the memories of events and people, the smells and sounds of those memories pounded his brain even more. He remembered the musty smells of the barn in which he worked as a young man when he first met Emma. The sweet smell of the hay, the smell of the livestock and cedar wood that made the frame of the barn. Laying on the grass once more, he simply looked into her eyes, and the two relived those memories between them.
But it could not last. She rose to her knees and placed her hand on his chest. A strange tingling sensation became present, and it slowly increased from tingling to pain.
“You will live,” she said to him, “But the Mother is not done with you, so you must go back to sleep,”
“No!” he tried to say, and attempted to reach for her, but his arm was still immobile.
Smiling again, she said, “You will sleep once more, and when you wake up, you will be alive. But I will be gone. Maybe one day in the future, we will see each other again.”
Fear and anxiousness, new feelings to his new body, racked his heart. He did not want her to go. She kneeled and bent to him and kissed his lips lightly, and when she rose, Sirion was once again unconscious.
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Post by longstevo on Sept 23, 2008 19:35:40 GMT -5
Sunlight once again invaded Sirion’s vision. He blinked, yet his blurry vision refused to clear itself. He reached up to rub his eye, and found that he could move. But instead of a warm, fleshy forearm, the cold steel of a war gauntlet conked into his face. Jerking his head back and blinking away the fog, he saw his arm fastened in a gauntlet. It led to the bright red sleeve of a shirt, which wrapped its way to his shoulder, which sat under a gleaming steel cuirass. Looking down his whole body, he saw that he was completely dressed for battle, to include a Royal Guard standard issue long sword.
His mind reeled for a moment. What was he doing in the war-garb of the Royal Guard? It was his first assignment in his long fighting career. He enlisted in the organization at age nineteen after leaving Emma. The service had done him well, giving him a solid launch pad in which to begin his career in war. But that was twenty years ago. What was he doing? And where was he?
Looking around, he found himself standing in a non-descript forest clearing. Stretching only about fifty yards in each direction, he noticed no roads or trails leading to or from his location. Nervously, he stroked the hilt of his blade. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. Whirling around, he saw a man in tattered clothes swaying warily on his feet. Sirion instantly recognized him.
He had never known his name, but the face of the man had haunted Sirion’s dreams for as long as he could remember. Their first and last time seeing each other had been on some forgotten battlefield in some unimportant skirmish between the Royal Guard and a rebellious native nation. Sirion had forgot the political details, but he had never forgotten the visceral ones.
Without warning, the man arched back and his guts spilt onto the grass in a red and yellow writing mass. Spitting up blood, he collapsed to the ground. Sirion remembered all too well on that fateful evening, as he looked on with no emotion. His enemy’s fatal blow had been a long slash to the abdomen, disemboweling him immediately. That man was the first he had every slain. Since that day, the man had been burned into Sirion’s brain. He walked over to the dead man just before the body vanished.
Sirion’s heart jumped in his throat. What sort of devilry? He yanked his blade out of its sheath and whirled in a circle. Somehow, in his mind, the appearance of his first kill did not alarm him. But when the body disappeared, it sent him into a panic. But another man from his past suddenly appeared before him.
This man had been his second kill, only moment’s after the first. After spilling the guts of his first opponent, Sirion had spun to his left to confront an assailant from that direction. It was simple, all he did was slide the blade through the second man’s chest, and it was over. In the clearing, the second man crumpled in a heap.
And so it was the man after man, soul after soul manifested itself before the fallen knight, as if to haunt him. He finally calmed his actions and watched, but his heart was beating faster with every one of his dead to appear. Until finally two men appeared at once. Each was adorned with a vibrant green cloak, and their young faces belied their identities.
Panaan and Elhorn. The two Pass Rangers who’s lives were taken by Sirion in the North Gate rebellion. They were of his own blood, and he and spilt it. The two men’s faces were emotionless, even as they drew long swords. Sirion fell to his knees. He had killed them, but he had taken no pleasure in it. It had been so hard to live with afterwards. Many a night was spent sobbing, living with what he had done.
But the two rangers seemed more than willing to exact revenge. Seeing what was about to transpire, a tear found its way down Sirion’s cheek, as he leapt to his feet to defend himself. But as soon as swords began swing, Elhorn and Panaan disappeared.
The next man appeared. William. The fearsome warrior had accepted him into his faithful ranks of the Northern Resistance, before Sirion was captured and betrayed him before the William’s siege of Edinmarsh. He remembered the two leaders meeting before the battle, and Sirion taking the opportunity and breaking the law of war and slaying William on the spot. William’s dead face did not smile before disappearing.
Sirion stood alone. The clearing was empty. Remaining on guard to fight, Sirion looked about. The woods surrounding him appeared as dense as a wall, and traveling through them seemed useless. His eyes searched for some way out. He looked to his left and studied hard. Then he looked to his right. Flying towards him in a flurry of steel was a slain man from his past. Sirion did not know the identity but went on the defensive. In a matter of seconds, the apparition was dead again.
From behind him flew another ghost. It was Panaan this time. Sirion ground his teeth together as he readied for the attack. He parried Panaan’s first strike and shoved the sword deep into his friend’s chest. Almost immediately, Elhorn flew in from his right. Sirion caught him with an elbow to his jaw, before drawing the sword across his side, killing him.
The whistling of a sword in the air alarmed Sirion as William swung down with his mighty claymore. Sirion ducked and jabbed forward, sending his sword through his heart. Sirion watched the man fall away to nothing and doubled over. A searing pain in his chest began to manifest itself. He clutched at his steel cuirass and yanked it off. The dark stain of crimson blood showed itself even against the red shirt he was wearing. The blood flowed freely until it began to change. Red blood slowly darkened, until a sort of black ooze seeped from a hold in his chest.
Crying out, not from pain or rage or fear but only because he felt the need to do so, he ripped the shirt from his shoulders, letting the black liquid fall freely down his front. Looking up, he was startled to see one more familiar face in front of his.
It was the strangely elegant face of Balir. The vampire commander who had slain him outside of Szaran. With a face twisted in an evil smile, the vampire reached back and jammed his entire hand into Sirion’s gaping chest wound.
The pain was unbearable.
--
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Post by longstevo on Sept 24, 2008 20:22:08 GMT -5
Sirion flailed against the pain in his chest, but the vampire was gone, as was the forest and his entire surroundings. His world was thrust back into nothingness. But the pain remained where Balir had ripped his chest open. Struggling to grasp at it, he felt his arms pinned down.
“I will always be with you…”
Emma! Her voice rang clear in his head, a bolt of sunlight shining through a rainy storm. Opening his eyes, he saw a blood red sky and green trees reaching for it. He was on his back, looking up. He looked around for his love, but she was no where to be found. Looking again, he saw four figures kneeling above him, looking down at him. Panaan, Elhorn, William and Balir peered at the suffering Sirion. Two held his arms down, while Balir reached into his chest again with a bitter laugh.
Sirion screamed at the top of his lungs as he felt the beast clench his heart in its fist and squeeze.
“Relax, my love,” Emma once again spoke to him, but it did not calm the pain this time.
“But it hurts!” he cried to her. Looking through the tears of pain, he saw only the four figures from his past gathered around him. Emma was no where to be found.
“I know, sweetheart, but it is necessary,” she answered him.
“It hurts so bad!” he sobbed. He felt his strength fading from the utter exhaustion he was putting himself through.
“Sirion. You must listen to me now,” Emma’s voice remained soft, but she became serious, instead of soothing. He looked for her again, and this time the figure on his right became Emma. Her beauty once again took hold of him, and all else was forgotten. She caressed his face. “Listen, my love,”
He nodded as she continued, “I will always love you. You must know that. You must also know that you have been given a wonderful gift. Air will once again fill your lungs, and blood will run through your veins. Treasure this, and treat it as though it may end without warning, for I know not how charitable the Earth Mother is. Live to the fullest and assist the needy, as you once did. Darkness lurks around many corners, but with even a small glance of sunlight, it is gone. Live your life that way, dear. Live for me,”
“Don’t leave me,” he murmured, “Stay with me,”
She smiled as the red sky began to fade along with all his other surroundings, “I love you,” her voice trailed off.
--
Sirion felt himself come to, but unlike his most recent memories, this existence felt more real than the others. His conversations with Emma, the bodies in the clearing and pain, he realized they were simply dreams and nightmares. He was alive. He opened his eyes.
He found himself in a room. It was a simple room, but not an empty one. And the thing he noticed most overall was the fact that this place immediately felt…peaceful. He had lived his life in so much fear, anger and death, that he had become accustomed to it. He had forgotten the feeling of peace. And yet he found himself in the middle of it. Taking a closer look at things, he took stock in his surroundings.
He found himself lying on a bed of satin sheets. The silky gold nearly felt like water cascading over his body. A soft shirt of a similar material covered his chest. A small oaken table sat the right of his bed, and an elegant pitcher of water sat on it. Silk drapes hung over the single window in the room. He could not see outside, but the sun was trying to force its way through the thin fabric. The singular door on the opposite wall from him was covered by another golden silk drape. It appeared as if there was no door to his room, just an entryway. Looking at the ceiling, he noticed the walls were decorated with an elegant design carved into the wood. The twisting, curling vines and branches were a signature design of one specific race in this region.
“Elves,” he mused to himself. With that, he attempted to sit up.
Pain like he had only experienced in his nightmares exploded in his chest and reverberated throughout his very being. He tried to cry out, but the wind was knocked out of his chest with the pain. He clutched at his heart, and found a bandage covering the wound he dreamt about. He lay still, and the pain slowly subsided. With quick, ragged gasps, he pondered how he was to move with the wound being so fresh.
“Good morning, friend,”
A melodic voice called softly from the doorway. Looking up, Sirion saw an elf standing in the doorway. But it could not be. He closed his eyes and opened them again. And sure enough, yet one more figure from his past stood before him.
“I must still be dreaming,” he croaked, his dry through constricting the words.
“No, you are fully awake,” the elf smiled slightly and walked towards the bed to pour a small glass of water for the man. “You’ve been under for quite a while, Lord Sunrunner,”
Sirion feebly reached for the glass when it was offered, but grimaced at the pain. The elf smiled.
“Your wound is still fresh, as is mine,” his empty hand brushed against his own chest, “But we elves heal faster than you humans do,” The elf gently lifted Sirion’s head up, and raised the glass to the man’s lips, allowing him to drink a small sip. Sirion looked with his eyes at the elf, still unsure of what he was seeing.
“You do remember me, don’t you?” asked the elf, looking down quizzically, “We fought in our final battle together, you and I. Against the fiend, Balir?”
Sirion nodded before speaking, “Valandil of Nargothrond.”
Valandil smiled, his white blond hair tied back behind his head.
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Post by longstevo on Sept 25, 2008 17:19:42 GMT -5
Sirion struggled to sit up once more before surrendering to the pain and falling back. He took a breath before asking, “What happened?”
A shadow seemed to fall over the elf’s face. He looked down at the spot where Sirion’s bandage was covered by the shirt and frowned. “What do you remember last?”
Sirion’s brow furrowed as he stared hard at the wall. He mumbled to himself as he recounted his last memories, “I remembered riding down a road…meeting you…Szaran, the vampire commander…and…” his voice trailed off. Looking back up at Valandil, he motioned that he remembered no more.
The elf nodded, “We fought valiantly, the four of us. Unfortunately, you were the first to fall. You were met with a dagger through your heart. Only moments after, your stout friend, Durric the dwarf, was killed,” Valandil continued and recanted the entire tale to Sirion. He told of the masked men, Garron’s past, and the mercy kill before finally being slain himself. Garron stayed silent and listened to it all until Valandil finished.
“So how did we get here?” he asked warily, “And where are we, exactly?”
Valadil sat on the edge of Sirion’s bed, “You rest in the elven city of Lor Elesna. You were carried here by an elven patrol on their way back from Szaran. I do not remember the journey. But it has been told to me that a human female happened upon us after our deaths. Using her abilities and praying to an ‘Earth Mother,’ she healed us. She could do nothing for our friends, however. After ensuring that we could survive a while, she went my brethren who were tending the sick at Szaran. They quickly took me and began tending my wound. But she had to convince my healers to take you as well. They finally agreed, and took us both here to where we have received the best the elves have to offer in terms of healing,” he smiled slightly.
Sirion thought a moment, “Emma. She was who saved us,”
Valandil only nodded, “She left after we were taken in by my people. Apparently, she made quite the impression.
The two sat in silence for a span while Sirion soaked it all in. Valandil finally stood and said, “I will leave for now. You need to rest. I will return after a time and tell you of this place. Until then, please, rest.” He seemed to float out of the room, his own silken gown barely brushing the flood.
Sirion turned all the new details over in his head.
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Post by longstevo on Oct 3, 2008 19:03:00 GMT -5
“The war still rages across the West,” Valandil stated glumly. He sat alongside Sirion’s bed and kept him company. He wasn’t sure why, but the elf seemed to have taken a liking to him. In the two weeks since we awoke, Valandil had been by his side nearly every waking hour. Even when the elven surgeons came in to check on his wounds, the elf stood by.
Valandil clenched his fist, “The Western cities of man have stood valiantly against that dark army of…demons. But they splash over your rock walls like the ocean against the shore. I fear this world is doomed. ‘Tis only a matter of time before they begin crawling their way east, and find us here,” He waved a hand towards the door, “The human cities are not faring well. Our latest reports say Highwood, Silvenwater, Carsus, North Gate, Aethewall, I believe Aranmoor and Corathymr have succumbed to Lord Vincent’s forces. The casualties must be staggering. Only a trio of cities stand firmly against the monsters,” he paused.
Sirion, who had been silent during the entire conversation, asked, “Those three?”
“Ah. Zeldora, Radima and Edinmarsh.”
Sirion sat up sharply at the mention of his former kingdom. The pain sliced through his chest and he fell back, gasping. Valandil reached for him. “My friend, relax,” he looked closely at Sirion, “You have a history there, yes?”
Gasping against the pain, Sirion nodded.
“My friend, we have been alive for nearly two weeks, and we still hardly know of each other. Tell me of your life in Edinmarsh. Sirion eyed him, sighed and launched into his entire life story. He left out the part about the betrayal in the Pass Rangers. And the guerrilla fighting with William. And the betrayal of the brave commander on the field of battle. And his illegitimate son with Enora. When it was all finished, he essentially gave reasons for the leaving of the Rangers to the inheritance of royalty. Valandil listened closely the entire time, even asking questions here and there. When Sirion was done, Valandil told of his own life.
--
Three weeks had come and gone, and although Sirion was alive once more and was surely supposed to feel grateful, he did not feel as such. For over a month, he sat in the bed, being waited on hand and foot, bathed and cared for by elves. They seemed not to mind. They were polite and seemed grateful he was there in their city. But he yearned to be on his feet again. So one morning, before Valandil arrived, Sirion tried to get to his feet.
Clutching and clawing his way up, he forced himself to sit upright. Grinding his teeth, he swung his legs out from under the sheets and over the side of the bed. He was expecting pain in the chest, and that he did receive. But he wasn’t expected the protests from his formerly dead joints and tendons. They screamed their displeasure, causing him to cry out. He stopped and listened. No one seemed to hear him. He wiggled to the very edge of the bed, and slid off.
His feet hit the floor with a solid thunk. But he still leaned against the bed. Using what strength he had left, he pushed himself off and onto his feet. He swayed a bit, but quickly found his balance. He took a step towards the door. Very good, his stance was solid. He took a second. So far, so good. And within a minute, he was standing in the doorway. Reaching out, he pushed the sheet hanging in front of him aside.
His breath caught in his throat when he saw what lay outside his door. Vast and vibrant green and brown was the first thing to register. Within moments, he realized they were trees. Massive trees that rose nearly five hundred feet in the air were all around him. Their huge branches created a ceiling-like canopy over the entire elven city. He found himself standing on a wooden walkway with arm rails skirting the causeway. Frowning, he looked at his cabin, and realized he wasn’t standing in front of a ‘stand-alone’ building, but it was connected to something much bigger. Looking straight up, he found his little house was built right into the side of another huge tree. Staggering back into the guardrail, he guess the circumference of the tree to be seventy feet all around. He couldn’t guess the height, because like all the others, the trunk shot upwards into a sky of green.
Shaking his head, he looked over his shoulder towards the other side of the guardrail. It was only then that he realized his cabin wasn’t on solid ground. In fact, his walkway was nearly one hundred feet above the ground. With a cry of surprise, he whirled around towards the world outside. The quick movement caused his wounds great pain, and he fell backwards against the smooth wood of this cabin.
At that moment, Valandil strode around the corner, his light footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden planks. “M’lord! What are you doing?”
Sirion didn’t answer, but asked, “We’re up a tree!”
Valandil only smiled at his friends bewilderment, “Yes, dear Sirion. You are in fact, up a tree,” He spread his arms wide, “Welcome to Lor Elesna. My home of nearly one hundred years.”
--
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Post by longstevo on Oct 8, 2008 18:11:01 GMT -5
A ferocious bonfire burned into the night sky as nearly two thousand elves ate, sang, and danced around it. A glorious feast was thrown in the name of victory, and everyone came to celebrate. So weary of war, the inhabitants of the city were happy to just have one evening of freedom. Many of the elves that enjoyed the nights festivities were young. The elders sat back and watched and smiled, remembering days of their youth. Sirion moved from table to table alone, as he had lost his comrade in the throngs of people. He sought out the messenger, seeking answers. He finally found him, sitting next to the King of the Elves, Lord Haradriel.
Sirion pressed his fingers to his forehead and knelt, bowing to the king. “Arise, Lord Sunrunner. You are a friend here, and that is unnecessary,”
Standing up, Sirion saw the king smiling warmly, “Valandil has kept me aware of your progress. We are honored to have been a destination in your interesting journey,”
Sirion arched his eyebrows questioningly, “Ah yes, we know exactly who you are, Lord Sunrunner, Ranger of North Gate, Rebel of the North, Prince of Edinmarsh. Your deeds do not go unnoticed in our eyes.” Sirion cast his eyes to the floor. “Look not on the ground, my good man, for your life has been one of honor. Be proud and stand tall. Now, what would you ask of me?”
Sirion took a step forward, “My lord, I would ask for details pertaining to the defeat of the army of demons,” he paused, “As you know, I have spent many days fighting them, and would like to know,”
“Ah yes. Of course. We learned today that mankind, men, had discovered the weakness of the demons that had threatened to overrun our world,” the king motioned to the bonfire, “Flame! The demons were susceptible to fire. It was strange our alliance did not come across that before. So it was, in the last stronghold of mankind, Edinmarsh, this last and desperate stand took place,”
Sirion perked up at the mention of his former kingdom. King Haradriel continued, “Surrounded by an army of nearly twenty thousand, King Robert and his general, the Great Lord Jacqueline and their allies of Zeldora and Carsus, with their supplies quickly dwindling as was their ranks, used fire as a last resort. Reportedly, flaming cauldrons of oil were the first test. It was marked with a resounding success. Then, without delay, flame was added to all of the city’s defenses. Their walls were literally drenched with gas and oil and lit ablaze. Edinmarsh burned for over a week, I’m told. But with the walls on fire, the demons could not mount them. And every soldier’s blade was coated with oil and set ablaze. Imagine!” the king spread his arms wide, “A flaming city manned by a thousand soldiers with swords of fire! Amazing! It is the story of legends.”
The messenger, who had been watching Sirion intently, interjected, “It was then that Vincent’s army was broken. Protected by a wall of fire, the catapults of Edinmarsh came to life, throwing fire and brimstone as far as the eye can see! The entire prairie the establishment sits on was burning. The creatures were caught in the encircling fire, and perished,” he clapped his hands as he finished his story.
Having no words to say, Sirion bowed politely and thanked the king for his words. He retreated to his cabin, refusing the festivities of the evening.
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Post by longstevo on Mar 4, 2009 9:37:56 GMT -5
Sirion stood on the wooden pathway overlooking a serene pond. The music from the festivities echoed between the trees, bringing him from his thoughts and back to reality. Staring into the dark waters, he could see no moonlight, as the canopy from the massive trees blocked out all the sky. Still, the water seemed to glow ever so slightly with a soft illumination.
Without warning, his world exploded into pain, a searing gash ripped across his chest. He doubled over, gasping for breath. Clutching his chest, he felt warm blood streaming over his fingers. In horror, he looked up only to see a Demonic Rage inflicted vampire staring over him with his beating heart in its twisted talons. A maniacal laugh drowned out the music from the elves and thundered its way past Sirion’s eardrums and into his brain.
And then, as soon as the pain had come, it was gone. He was left alone in the cool damp forest, no vampire, no pain and no blood. He rushed to the pond and submerged his head in the cold water. It felt soothing to him, as his body was hot from his experience. Raising his head slowly, he let the water stream from his locks of hair and trickle down. He felt suddenly as if he were not alone.
Although the feeling caught him somewhat off guard, he felt as though he needn’t fear. Turning on his knees, he saw a figure behind him. With a few strides, it stepped out of the dark shadows and into the mysterious glow. It was the elf, Valandil.
Dressed in a royal blue robe, the elf seemed to float above the grass towards Sirion, who still lay in a crumpled heap on his knees. Valandil gently knelt beside him.
“The trees here, they are special,” he began to say, “Their bark secrets a sap that is very sweet to the taste. In addition to us using it to sweeten our meals, an interesting little creature also desires its flavor. A small beetle, very difficult to see, feeds on it. But he brings friends. Millions of these insects feed on the bark, and they emit a soft blue glow when their bellies are full,” Valandil waved his hand, “As you can see, the feast is good tonight,”
Sirion barely heard the elf’s words. The images from his nightmare were still vivid in his mind. Unconsciously, he reached up and felt his chest to make sure it was still intact.
“You’re having strange visions. Ones of pain and death, of fear and agony, and your own death is replaying itself in your head, yes?” asked the elf quizzically.
Sirion’s head snapped up, “How do you know this?”
“Because I am experiencing the same,” Valandil sat down, “I see those masked warriors rushing me, before I am pierced with a blade. And the pain is very real for a moment or two, and then it is gone.”
A moment of silence passed between the two before Sirion asked, “Why? Why are we to be cursed this way?”
Valandil only shrugged, “Our priests and clerics believe its remnant from the magic used to bring us back. Your friend, this…Emma, seems to work in mysterious ways, indeed. We are blessed to have a second chance in life, but payment for that seems to be that we are damned to relive our deaths until the end of our days.”
“Your priests say we will suffer with this forever?”
Valandil shrugged again, “They do not know. Some think that once we are healthier, our minds will vanquish the memories. Still others imagine that this is to be our burden,”
Sirion looked back into the pool and fell silent.
--
Lord Sunruuner stood before King Haradriel in the king’s royal chamber. It was unlike King Robert’s chamber in Edinmarsh. In one king’s room, gold and jewelry hung from the walls next to old and new weapons of war. Art and other tapestries decorated the hallways. In the elven king’s room, however, grew close to one hundred different varieties of plants and flowers. The strong aroma of the lush plants was welcome to Sirion’s nose. The king, wearing a blue robe with a crown of vines, stared worriedly at Sirion.
“Your body is not yet healed, my son,” he began, “I do not think leaving is such a wise idea. You need rest,”
Sirion knelt down before the king, “My lord. You have been most kind. But I fear my life is taking me in different places. My feet grow itchy, for I have not rest in one place for very long. This is a beautiful city, and a wonderful forest, but I am afraid my life belongs on the road,”
The king nodded thoughtfully as Sirion continued, “I understand that I have been given a gift; a gift that I cannot fully comprehend. But I know that it is one that cannot be taken lightly. Once, I was a man of good who did no wrong. My road has faltered more than once, but with my second chance, I need to do the most with it. I intend on traveling, and simply seeing where my road takes me,”
The king stared deeply into the man’s eyes. A few moments went by, causing Sirion to shift somewhat nervously. Haradriel put a thoughtful finger to his forehead and winked.
“I had a feeling this day would come. Fortunately, so did a friend of yours. Valandil foresaw this coming and requested permission for me to release him so he may travel with you. With your blessing, he will accompany you and assist you in your self-appointed task, if you wish,”
With that, Valandil stepped into the room behind Sirion. The king continued, “I see that your paths are merged for quite some time to come. It is always a mystery with what life has in store for you, but from what I can tell, you with both be bonded together for the foreseeable future.”
The king spread his arms wide, “Go now, in whatever direction your heart takes you. My men will accompany you to the edge of my forest, if for nothing else than to make sure the two of you can ride horses. Go now and live in peace.”
--
The horses pawed the ground nervously and bucked their heads as the caravan grew near to the edge of the forest. One dozen horses marched in line down the road towards the edge of the Alerion forest. None of the horses had even ventured outside of the protection of the trees. War horses they were not, but they served very well the purposes needed inside Lor Elsa. Sitting atop their strong backs were Sirion and Valandil. Having secured their release from King Haradriel, they meant to use it to the fullest extent. Neither really knew what that meant, but they knew they were given an extraordinary gift with their second chance at life. Each had sinned in his own way, committed crimes or otherwise done things they knew better than to do. They meant to give back in thanks to the Earth Mother, Emma, and themselves. Still, with that mission statement, they knew not where to begin, but they knew it had to begin somewhere in this big world.
The caravan ground to a halt. Sitting on ten of the horses sat soldiers of King Haradriel’s personal guard. Clad in tightly woven shirts with flowing emerald green robes, they appeared almost as divine gods instead of elven warriors. White blond hair fell around their shoulders, and a small, simple crown sat stop each their brows.
“My friends,” the captain of the guard raised his hand in farewell, “Fare thee well. If ever you should need anything, do not hesitate to call upon us.” He shifted his eyes to Valandil and smiled, “My brother, watch the waters of which you sail carefully. Many hidden dangers and concealed threats await your path. Stay thy blade when you must, and swing with ferocity when needed,” the two elven warriors clasped hands and squeezed tightly.
“Until we meet again,” said Valandil.
--
The two travelers followed a windy road that followed a ridge southwards towards the Ambian Sea. Sirion didn’t know where they were going, but he was happy to be on the road again. Traveling underneath overcast skies, he wrapped his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. He wore specially woven cotton from elven weavers, and a thin leather vest kept the cold from sapping his warmth. The cloak was little more than a common traveler’s cloak. He cast a glance to Valandil. He wore similar clothes, except his cloak was the emerald green of King Haradriel. Neither carried large weapons, but Sirion suspected Valandil would not venture far from his homeland unarmed.
He looked to Valandil a second time. The elf stared straight ahead, eyes focused on the path ahead of them. Suddenly, he turned to meet Sirion’s eyes.
“Gloomy day, yes?”
Sirion looked away. He was indeed right. The ridge top snaked to the west and offered a bird’s eye view of the landscape to the east. “Aye. That it is,” he studied the vast valley that lay before them. “What is that?”
He pointed to the vast plains that seemed to unroll before them like a massive carpet. But these did not look like normal plains or meadows. Valandil cast a single glance to the east before averting his eyes back to the road. “What lies before you is known as the Grey Waste. I suggest never entering there,”
The two horsemen rode side by side. Growing stronger by the day, Sirion’s original personality was beginning to reform. And one of his most persistent traits was curiosity. “The Grey Waste? I have heard that name in murmurs in more than one tavern. Why is it named such?”
Valandil looked out of the corner of his eye at his companion, “Well, look at it.”
Sure enough, the plain’s color was that of a rotting corpse. Cast as far as the eye could see, the sickly gray color was not broken up by even one healthy straw of grass. In fact, the more Sirion studied, the more he realized that the entire region below their ridge was little more than gray dirt.
“Yes, yes, I see that it is gray. A region does not get a name like the Grey Waste without having some sort of baggage…” Sirion attempted to lead Valandil into another response. He succeeded, although the response came reluctantly.
“A millennia ago, a wizard who’s name shall not be repeated here was cast out of the College of Alchemy. Allegedly using his ‘arts’ to reanimate the dead, and so doing broke the Code of Magery. Banished from the academy in Az’getha, he sought refuge on the mainland. During that time, the Waste was the site of a bustling trading community, named Threyarch,” the elf shifted nervously, wringing the reins tightly in his fists. “During his flight from the island of Az’getha, he perfected his magics, and by the time he arrived at the gates of Threyarch, he had massed a sizeable army of undead. The peaceful community stood no chance. Every soul inside was extinguished,”
Sirion looked out over the Waste. Any possible sign of a town was gone. Valandil continued, “Among Threyarch’s ruins, the wizard built from those broken stones a new community, a refuge for dark magic users. And flocked to him they did. It did not take him long to amass a small army of black wizards. And with each new wielder, the city grew. Each mage needed his own tower for his own practices, apparently. And they built their walls with solid ebony black stones. And so the Black City of Wizardry was founded,” Valandil’s voice trailed off.
Sirion waited a minute, and not receiving a continuation of the legend, prodded just a bit more, “But he did not sit idly, did he?”
Valandil’s head jerked with his response, “No he did not,” he snapped. Agitation was obviously building inside the elf, but it was not aimed at his comrade, “Once he had massed an army he deemed sizeable enough, he rose the undead and marched upon Lor Elesna. He hardly took us by surprise, as when he first arrived the forest watched him and alerted us as the situation transpired. But he moved quickly and set fire to the woods. Between attempting to put out the fires and defeat an undying foe, my elven forefathers were greatly overburdened. They nearly lost. In fact, for a short period, things did not look well at all. We elves demanded that the College of Alchemy assist us with their outcast. They agreed, and sent a small group of wizards ashore from the east. The Black City saw this coming, and sent a band of Necromancers to combat them. It was a glorious fight, but one that the black wizards won. The effects of all that magic cast can still be seen on this land. The region is known as The Dark Morass. ”
“Our brothers from Lanelar marched from the south to add another front to the war, but it just wasn’t enough. And so King Urgenheil, King Haradriel’s grandfather, prayed the Forest Mother. He asked of her to assist them in defeating the common foe. But with her trees burning, she was helpless. Unless an ancient ritual was performed. If he were to sacrifice himself in the name of her, the power that he wielded as King of Elves would transfer to her, and give her the power to banish them from the face of the world. And so he did,”
“And with her newfound power, the Forest Mother caused a mighty earthquake in the area of the Black City. The ground essentially opened up and swallowed the city whole. With his city destroyed and with his power base gone, the mage and his minions were easily defeated. To ensure that this would not happen again, the Forest Mother placed a curse upon this land. Disease and pestilence dwells in the very soil. Nothing will grow here for two thousand years, she said. And we elves have been monitoring this land for every year of the last millennia. That time is almost up. It will be interesting to see what happens here. Know that the elves will be watching,”
Valandil took a breath, “Now, lets talk about something else, shall we?”
The two pulled their horses off the road along the Ash River. The road wound along the river for most of its length, skirting the Grey Waste and giving it a wide berth. Pine trees were sporadic, although scrub pine and sage brush were prevalent. Their hearty root systems seemed to have been strengthened throughout the ages to survive in the Waste’s soil.
The horses made their way to the gurgling water and drank. The two riders had put many miles down during their first two days of traveling. Although there still were not many words traded between the two souls, each of them felt a bond forming individually. Sirion sat down and leaned against a tree. He looked at the two horses, then at Valandil, who sat beside him beneath a neighboring tree. The two looked at each other, and simply nodded. They didn’t talk because they felt no reason to. Siron had pondered on this for much of the travel.
He theorized that when their hearts were restarted after death, some functions of their mind were not repaired properly, or still needed time to heal. And he mused that the spark in one’s mind that required constant interaction with other beings was dimmed, if not extinguished in each of their skulls. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t talk, or didn’t want to. They just didn’t feel the need to.
Valandil rose and began gathering tinder for a fire. The sun’s rays were beginning to fade from the sky, and ominous clouds were gathering in the north. Sirion looked towards the storm, and figured it would miss them, although it might get windy that night. The ranger stretched his legs out before him.
That night, sitting in front of a healthy camp fire, Sirion felt like speaking. “Why are you here?” He was taken aback just a bit by the bluntness of his comment. Apparently, the whole section of his brain responsible for speech and conversation needed some exercise. Valandil’s eyes rose and met Sirion’s gaze before answering.
“Well, I suppose I feel the same as you do. I feel that I’ve been given a gift with my second chance to life, and I wish to live it to the fullest,”
Sirion nodded, “I understand. But surely you could do that within the confines of your dear forest. Surely life would be easier for you there,”
“Yes, it would be. But I did not say that I wanted an easy life. Maybe I spoke wrongly,” he paused and thought about his words carefully, “There are people in this world who are suffering, and they need help. Surely, I can assist in this world as it rebuilds after the war,”
Sirion nodded again before staring back into the fire. He poked at the flame with a stick before taking a question from the elf.
“Tell me, m’lord. What are you doing here?”
“First, my friend, do not address me as ‘Lord,’” Sirion smiled at Valandil. In a split second, he thought that this might have been the first time he smiled since being resurrected, “And second? What I’m doing here is traveling,”
“Ah yes, friend. But to where? Where are you going, and what do you hope to accomplish? Who do you hope to find? Why are we on this road?”
Sirion stared intensely into the fire. The heat began to crisp the edges of the bark on his stick and slowly, fire inched its way up towards his hand. He tossed it into the pyre casually and thought another minute. “I don’t know really. For I’ve never been on this side of the continent. As far east as I’ve ever traveled was Edinmarsh. Now here I am, close to three hundred miles from there…”
“Closer to four,” winked Valandil.
Sirion shrugged, “Very well. Four hundred miles from home. I am without compass, nor purpose of direction. Tell me, where do you suggest?”
Valandil knelt in the sandy dirt. With a twig, he made a rough sketch of their little corner of the world. “If we continue on this course, we will run into Sarenton at the mouth of this river. That is the closest town to our south. Esteria is a short ways west from there. If we skirt the coast and continue south, the road will take us to Lionsgate. And from there, we would be traveling through a peninsula that is known as the Holy Gate. Lionsgate on the west coast and Griffin’s Keep on the east side make up the Kingdom of Lord Hughes de Meravax. Those lands are ruled by his knights. If one is not loyal to his God, there is no admittance allowed,”
Sirion creased his brow and leaned forward, “I’ve heard of this Lord Hughes. Is he not a tyrant, ruling his people with cruelty?”
Valandil shook his head, “Not for the people of his own faith. To them, he holds a near saint-like status. But to non-believers and infidels, yes, he holds no mercy,”
As the two travelers were focused intently upon the map, a twig snapped just outside of the firelight. In a flash, the elf was on his feet. Sirion was not so quick, but he too jumped up.
The figure behind the disturbance spoke, “You travel our road, and you will pay our toll. One hundred gold pieces will suffice, I think,” the gleam of a flat blade reflected in the firelight.
Valandil spread his arms wide, “We are but simple travelers. I am afraid we carry no coin,”
“That’s too bad,” said the bandit.
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Post by longstevo on Mar 6, 2009 14:11:22 GMT -5
Sirion stood facing the bandit, who was still standing in the shadows. Valandil stood just behind Sirion and to the side, both allies sizing up their enemy. The stand-off was taking far too long for the bandit.
“Don’t try anything heroic, fools. You’re surrounded. My men with arrows will turn you into a pincushion. Make this easy and pay the toll!” he shouted.
Valandil strained his ears into the dark night. As an elf, he benefitted from heightened senses. He could hear what a human could not, and see what a human could not. Also unique to his species was advanced agility and dexterity. In fact, many wise men considered the elf to be the superior species. But listening this night, Valandil could hear nothing.
“You lie,” he boldly challenged his opponent, “You are alone. Make this easy on yourself, and walk away. Trust me, that would be in your best interest.”
Siron’s eyes flicked back to the elf, questioning the decision to blindly call out a bandit in the night. The tension between the three could be cut with a knife. The bandit remained silent.
With his elven ears still perked and his night-seeing eyes piercing into the shadows, Valandil saw the bandit move suddenly, and he heard a bowstring being stretched as an arrow was nocked into place.
He pushed Sirion to the ground as the arrow took flight, screaming towards the two. It sounded to Valandil like an eagle screaming in after its prey. After his human companion crumpled in front of him, Valandil followed suit, and the arrow flew harmlessly into the night.
“Damn!” shouted the bandit. Another arrow was being prepared.
In an instant, the elf was on his feet, springing towards the bandit. The second arrow was launched forward, but with the hurried shot it was wildly inaccurate. It disappeared into the night as well. Valandil closed the distance to within thirty feet, but the bandit was still concealed. He heard the bow clatter to the ground and a dagger was yanked free of its sheath.
With agility that was nearly impossible, Valandil dove to his right, and while he made contact with the ground and rolled, he reached out and grasped a fist-sized stone. Upon regaining his feet, he reared back and launched it into the shadows. The rock flew true and collided into the bandit’s cheekbone. With a cry, he fell unto his back.
Valandil was upon him in seconds. His dainty and elegant hands were thrust into the man’s throat as he pressed a knee into the bandit’s chest. “Stay quiet!” the elf hissed. With strength that could not have come from his small frame, Valandil pulled the bandit to his feet and thrust him forward, marching him to Sirion and the campfire.
Sirion was dusting himself off as his friend and companion came forward and produced their enemy. Valandil threw him to the ground. Coughing, the bandit writhed beneath the two, shielding his face with his hands. “Don’t kill me!” he screamed. Sirion knelt down and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. He let it rest there a moment, enough for the bandit to calm just a little. He lowered his hands from his face.
The bandit looked to be little more than nineteen years old. Stringy brown hair clumped with grease fell into his brown eyes. His round face was caked with dirt and a smattering of pimples belied his youth. Sirion stared deep into the boy’s eyes, and he saw no evil, just fear.
“Boy. We ought to kill you for what you’ve done, for you surely tried you best to do the same to us,” Sirion looked to Valandil, “Even though your best was pretty sorry,”
The ‘bandit’ looked to the ground in shame. Sirion began to question him, “What are you doing out here?”
The boy sniffed before replying timidly, “I’m just trying to make a living, mister,”
“By stealing from and murdering others?”
“No!” he said emphatically, “You were supposed to just leave your coin near the fire and flee,” he lowered his head again.
“That is stealing. I assume you’re new at the job?”
“Yes,” the boy mumbled, “You’d have only been my second.”
Sirion nodded, “Your lack of experience is obvious. What is your name?”
“Bill,” said the boy quietly, “I used to live at a farm west of here. But that was before the war.”
Sirion and Valandil shared a look between them. Frowns crossed their brows before the ranger turned back to Bill, “You mean the war against Lord Vincent?”
Bill nodded and looked up at Sirion, “My family was killed, so I came East, seeking a new life. Did the war displace you, too?”
Bill’s youth was evident in his eyes as he looked to the two travelers. Sirion nodded and looked away before answering Bill’s question, “Yeah, one could say that.”
The ranger stood and adjusted his gaze to the stars above. Bill remained on his knees and touched a finger to his cheek, where a bruise was beginning to form. Valandil kept his eye on the boy, but reclaimed his seat by the fire. “What should we do with him?” he mused, more to the campfire than to Sirion. Nervous, Bill’s eyes shot between Sirion and Valandil.
The ranger turned back towards the elf. He simply shrugged. He had no desire for a tag-along. But he feared that leaving the boy to his own means might spell danger for himself or another person. Many other travelers would not have been so hospitable, and Bill would have ended up tied, gagged, and thrown in the river, or worse. Sirion turned and strode off into the shadows and returned with Bill’s weapons. A shoddy bow with a frayed string and a rusty, dull dagger were the boy’s weapons of choice. The fell with a clatter in front of the fire as Sirion dropped them.
“Is this all you got?”
Bill nodded and wrapped his arms around his legs. Valandil reached out to examine the bow. He turned it over in his hands and with a disapproving look, he said, “This bow is absolutely terrible. Even if you’d managed to hit me, I probably wouldn’t have even suffered a scratch.” With a flick of his wrist, the elf tossed the bow into the fire.
Bill hung his head. His night could not have gotten any worse. His attempt at banditry had gone terrible, and now he was getting dressed down by his ‘victims.’ And now they were insulting his equipment. He knew that it wasn’t of any quality, but it was all he had. “Listen, sirs, if you just let me go…”
“Ha!” Valandil interrupted, “And let you go about holding up other travelers? I think not. We ought to cut him up into little pieces and feed him to the fish,” Valandil winked at Sirion as Bill’s mouth hung agape.
“Nah. I think we should hang him from the tree and wait for the crows to find him and peck out his eyes,”
“No…” Bill mumbled. He was beginning to shake.
Valandil nodded, “That does indeed sound tempting. But I have another idea. My people know of a way to completely disembowel a man while keeping him alive. We can do that and bet on how long he survives.”
“Interesting. We could also tie him to the back of our horses and drag him down the trail, tearing the skin right off his back.”
Bill jumped to his feet, “No! No! I beg of you, please spare me!” he pleaded as he fell to his knees, “Don’t kill me! I’ll never do it again, I swear,”
Sirion smirked a little. While he was not excited at the prospect of another traveler, especially one so young and dependent, he could not in good conscious leave the boy here to his own devices. Maybe, he thought, this was his god’s way of testing his resolve. Maybe this would be his first step to giving back.
“Get some sleep,” he commanded, “You’re coming with us to Sarenton. You’ll find work there, and start your new life on the right foot,” Valandil only nodded his head thoughtfully, “Until then, we’re tying you to the tree so you don’t get some funny idea.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bill clasped his hands and bowed deeply.
--
The highway crossed the Ash River in three different place, including a small bridge and two other crossings. The three ended up on the west side of the river and had to climb the hills just north of Sarenton. As the two horses crowned and began their careful descent, the rooftops of the port city glistened with sunlight. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys and several wagons were entering and leaving the highway. The tall masts of ships docked at port punctuated the early afternoon sky, and the teetering form of three other ships out at bay rocked gently with the waves. The Ambian Sea stretched out to the horizon, glittering in the sun. In short, this town was completely untouched by war. Sirion couldn’t help but smile.
Valandil reached out and put a hand on Sirion’s shoulder, “My friend. I do not know how well I may be welcomed here. The people here have been known to feud with the elves of Aelorea, and I may be mistaken as one of them. Perhaps I should stay outside and wait for you to finish your business inside…”
Bill piped up, “Oh no, mister. There’s lots of elves inside Sarenton! One of them runs a famous diner inside. The people love him!” Sitting in front of Sirion, he had to look back around himself to see the ranger’s reaction. Sirion simply shrugged at Valandil, who was glowering at Bill. Bill shrunk back into his saddle. Sirion simply grinned and jerked his head towards the city, beckoning Valandil to follow.
--
The first thing Sirion noticed about Sarenton was that it was relatively unprotected. There were no twenty foot walls surrounding the perimeter. There were no guards on site, no access gate or artillery defending the town. In short, the entire city was little more than a huge cluster of houses and cabins. He wondered if there was even any organized defense force, such as an order of knights, or army, or some sort of judicial band to keep the order. Nobody impeded their progress as they passed the first house on the dirt road leading to the heart of Sarenton.
The houses were simple and non-descript. The same could be said for the people. Commoners seemed to be pretty much the same no matter what town a man traveled to. Oxen and cattle were led from outside to the market, as were other livestock. Men and women traveled back and forth, on some sort of business or another. The three riders maintained their mounts and slowly trotted down the main road.
“There! That’s the place,” exclaimed Bill, pointed to a decent looking building sitting on the corner of the main drag and another side street, “That’s the restaurant the elf owns.”
It was named The Sea’s Offering, and looked to be a rather quaint little joint. Sirion had been subjected to the rumbling of Bill’s belly for most the duration of the trip. He asked the boy if he was hungry, and was answered with an excited ‘yes.’ Sirion then asked if Bill had any coin on him, and Bill sheepishly produced a sack of about twenty coin.
“Good, then you’ve just bought yourself dinner,” stated Sirion.
--
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Post by longstevo on Mar 8, 2009 20:52:34 GMT -5
A thick cloud of smoke hung low inside the Sea’s Offering. A hearty fire roared in the hearth, warming the handful of patrons inside. The walls were decorated with various landscape paintings of scenery near and far. Sirion’s eyes lingered on a mountain range painting titled “Northwind Peaks.” Several deer head hung from above the fireplace. A serving girl drifted from table to table. She seemed to be under the influence of as much ale as some of the patrons. The three travelers sat in a corner and watched, waiting for the tavern wench.
When she finally did meander over, the three had had time to look over the menu, if that was what one wanted to call it. Carved into a thin wooden tablet was four choices for meals. “Sandwhich, porkchop, lampchop, steak.” Sirion frowned as Lahey, the name the girl identified herself as, looked expectantly at them.
“What’s your special today?” asked Bill eagerly.
“Nice to see you again, hon. We’re out of everything, but we can slaughter a lamb out back if you like. Just got him today!” Lahey smiled as if she had something to do with it. Valandil stared hard at Bill.
“Been here before, have you?”
Bill sank low into his seat. Sirion piped in and placed the ‘order.’ “Just give us whatever you got. But make sure to cook it. And three ales.”
Saying nothing, Lahey turned on her heel and retreated to the kitchen. Sirion turned to his direct left to face Bill, “Have you been here before?”
“Maybe…I don’t really remember…”
Sirion reached behind Bill’s skull and pressed his thumb into the pressure point right behind the boy’s ear. He cried out in pain and gripped the edge of the table. Two men from across the room took a concerted interest into the ruckus and stood. Valandil shot them a look and shook his head.
“You’d better be straight with me, boy. For I tell you what, if you’re lying to us, we’ve got more than one way to make your life a living hell,”
“Alright! Yes, sir! I have been here before. I lived here a short time when I arrived. I stowed away on a ship and this is where we docked. I scratched out a living for a month before hitting the road. I…I used to work here,”
Valandil raised his eyebrows, “You worked in this joint? This…Sea’s Offering?”
“Aye. It was a dump then, too,”
Sirion shook his head, “Is this food going to kill us?”
“No!” Bill perked up again, “Its actually quite good.”
Valandil leaned forward, “What exactly is this owner’s name?”
At that moment, the loud baying of a lamb was heard just outside the window before being cut short suddenly. Dinner wouldn’t get any fresher than that.
Bill turned his attention back to Valandil, “His name is Tavariel. He’s nothing but a drunk now, but legend has it he used to be a fine warrior.”
--
Sirion pushed open the doors to the Sea’s Offering. The taste of the salty lamb meat clung to his gums, and despite three lukewarm ales, he couldn’t rid himself of the aftertaste. He guessed his comrades felt the same. But one question clung to his mind more and more. The longer he spent with this boy, the more he didn’t like him. He had to find something to do with Bill. It was then his eyes fell upon a piece of paper nailed to the community poster board hanging on the outside of The Offering.
It read: ATTENTION ALL YOUNG MEN! DO YOU HAVE THE DESIRE FOR A LIFE OF ADVENTURE? DO YOU DREAM OF DAMSELS IN DISTRESS AND FIGHTING FOR HONOR? DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO FIGHT WITH SWORDS, AND AXES AND SPEARES AND BOWS? COULD YOU LIVE AS A KNIGHT?
IF THIS SOUNDS LIKE YOU, TRAVEL SOUTH TO LIONSGATE. SERVE AS A KNIGHT IN THE ARMY OF LORD HUGHES OF MERAVAX. BECOME A FOOTSOLIDER, A MOUNTED CAVALRY RIDER, OR AN EAGLE-EYED BOWMAN. IF YOU DESIRE A LIFE OF ADVENTURE, THEN THIS LIFE IS FOR YOU.
Sirion thingyed his head to the side. A knight? He looked sideways at Bill. Nah, he couldn’t be a knight. Or could he? Standing about six feet and very lanky, he would need to bulk up, but the knight training regimen would do that. Would he have the discipline? Only time would tell. Sirion caught Valandil’s eye and nodded to the paper. Taking only a second to read it, the elf nodded. They looked at Bill, who was looking down the street at something.
“Bill,” the boy’s head snapped around, “Where is a decent place to spend an evening?” Without hesitation, the boy pointed at a tavern down the street. The ranger looked at the sign outside the window just once before returning his gaze to Bill incredulously.
“The Bed Louse?” he growled.
“What? I don’t come up with the name! Its really decent, honest!”
Shaking their heads, Valandil and Sirion turned and walked down the street.
--
The next morning, the three comrades were on their way south. It was close to a two day’s ride to Lion’s Gate, but Sirion wanted this over with. They had spoken to Bill about their plan, and he put up no objection. He didn’t seem overly excited, but a tiny bit of curiosity seemed to come over him. The idea of him serving as a knight was something that hadn’t come to him before.
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Post by longstevo on Mar 11, 2009 17:17:02 GMT -5
The ride down to Lionsgate went fairly quickly. Lacking the funds for a third horse, Bill continued to share a horse with Sirion. The restless boy seemed to tire from the road, and for that Sirion was glad. They rode most the time in silence. Just as the trio departed Sarenton and hit the north/south intersection of the highway leading towards Liongate, a sign caught their eye. It read:
GRAND TOURNEY TO DETERMINE THE KINGDOM OF LYRNA’S CHAMPION! COME ONE, AND COME ALL AS MEN, FIGHTERS AND KNIGHTS BATTLE EACH OTHER IN AN EPIC STRUGGLE TO WIN THE HEART OF THE PRINCESS! APPECIATE KING HUGHES GRACIOUSNESS AND FEAST ON FOODS FROM THE RAREST OF LANDS, SEE CREATURES ONLY KNOWN IN MYTH AND LEGEND, AND EXPERIENCE THE CULTURES OF FORGOTTEN PEOPLES! COME AND EXPERIENCE THE TOURNAMENT OF THE KINGDOM OF LYRNA, JUST SOUTH OF LIONSGATE!
The advertisement for the tournament had excited Bill and sent him into a flurry of questions before finally falling to sleep. Valandil and Sirion spoke quietly as the horses trotted down the road about the tourney, and it was decided that, having nothing better to do, maybe they should stay a while and partake in the festivities. After decided, they continued in silence.
The glittering sea stretched out to their west, sparkling like a carpet of sapphires in the afternoon sun. The highway wound through the coastal hills and offered some spectacular views, which the two adults appreciated in silence. An island could be seen rising up from the sea many miles offshore. After a brief discussion about it, Valandil could not remember the name, nor if any persons called it home.
A forest rose from the east and as they traveled south, the woodline rushed quickly the road and threatened to overrun it. But it didn’t and instead offered welcome shade from the unforgiving sun. They passed another sign advertising the tourney nailed to a tree. Sirion pondered the event. He had never been witness to one, and it sounded quite interesting. Although he didn’t buy the poster’s claims that seemed to make it sound like an ‘epic struggle,’ he assumed that it’d be fun anyways. And surely Bill would enjoy himself.
The road made a sudden turn to the west before rounding out again and revealed the first indication of Lionsgate. But instead of houses and huts of a small and quaint little village, massive stone walls seemed to explode from the ground. If Sarenton was completely unfamiliar to Siroin in its lack of militarism and security defenses, Lionsgate was the complete opposite. The granite walls rose from the ground nearly fifty feet in the air. Flags of half a dozen colors flew in the breeze. A barred iron gate hung suspended above the arched entryway, which was guarded by a dozen armed soldiers in formation. Spiked barriers lined the road for nearly one hundred yards in front of the front gate. The granite walls stretched into the ocean to the west, and disappeared into the thick trees to the east. Only about two hundred yards of it were visible. The place was obviously a fortress.
As the two horses made their way around the obstacles in their path, they approached the contingent of men near the gate.
“G’day, sir!” called out the man in charge. Dressed in light chainmail, a sleeveless robe fell from his shoulders to his feet. Pure white in color, it was almost blinding to look upon. A green circular symbol punctuated his breastplate. A leather cap adorned his skull, and rough leather pants were worn with leather boots. It was a lightweight combat uniform. Fully capable in light skirmishes, the ensemble would lead to a quick death in heavy combat. But looking over the man, it was obvious that he could have worn much heavier armor very easily. This lightweight gear was surely only worn because the kingdom was at peace. The sergeant continued to welcome them. “May I ask your business, gentlemen?”
Sirion smiled and nodded, “We are here to watch the tourney,”
The sergeant of the guard smiled back, “Of course, and you’re just in time. It begins tomorrow, two hours after sunrise. Please, travel down this road for five miles and you’ll see the tents. You can’t miss it. And welcome to the Kingdom of Lyrna!”
--
The Kingdom of Lhyrna. Sitting along a hilly and forested peninsula that jutted out into the Ambian Sea, it provided fertile farmland for three major cities, and approximately twelve smaller villages. The cities included the garrison settlements of Lionsgate and Griffin’s Keep, and the capital of Lhyrna. The total population of the kingdom hovered around thirty thousand. Most of the populace stayed in and around the main cities, but many people worked the land with farms and livestock. Lhyrna provided a simple, yet safe existence.
Of course, the Kingdom was not famous for its farms or cattle. The most famous export of the kingdom was men. Not slaves, nor men of labor, nor prostitutes, but knights were the export of highest demand. It has been said that one Knight of Lyrna was equal to five or maybe even six other fighting men. On their eighth birthday, the young boys of the Kingdom begin their training. But they do not start with fists and violence. No, the first prerequisite to be a Lyrnian Knight was to be intelligent. If the child cannot grasp the extended study material by their eleventh birthday, they are disqualified from the knighthood.
Their study material includes advanced language training, both their own and a foreign tongue. Their arithmetic was oftentimes more advanced than wisemen and sages. Their alchemical and science skills sometimes rivaled that of civilian scientists. And in addition to brain and metal studies, they began training their physical bodies. For a mind that is as sharp as a whip cannot function as a knight, if the body is weak and broken. So from that eighth birthday, often times by their ninth, the young knights are running dozens of miles a day and lifting weight that far exceeds their young bones. Many children become broken, but only the strong prevail.
On their eleventh birthday, the young knights are thrust into a world that revolves around violence. Taken away from the cities and into a training camp in the middle of the Avrin Forest, they remain there for three years, learning the ways of the knight. Dismounted battle, mounted riding and weapons training fill their daylight hours. Most of their time is spent inside armor of some sort. They receive training on lightweight leather to heavy plate mail. They become proficient in all of it. The weapons they train on include arsenals from every armory across the globe. Their main weapon and main stay, the longsword, becomes their best friend. But included in their training are axes, maces, flails, spears, daggers, halberds, pikes, bows and arrows and crossbows. This was designed for if a knight were to be disarmed in combat, he could easily pick up any weapon he finds and use it efficiently. And they did so famously.
Many critics of the knights said them to be little more than a mercenary organization, selling their men to other warring countries. But the knights did not see it this way. Only a man born in the kingdom was eligible to become a knight, so any victory won by the Lhyrnian Knights was a victory by the Kingdom itself. If one followed this mantra, nearly three thousand military victories could be accredited to the flag of Lhyrna. The knights fought for their flag and their flag only, despite the flag of the king commanding them.
--
Sirion, Valandil and Bill trotted down the road and left Lionsgate behind them. The highway bypassed the main city, so none of the men got a good look at the establishment. But from what Sirion could see, most of the buildings were made of brick walls and thatch roofs. Stone towers reached for the sky, offering a strategic view over the Avrin forest and Ambian Sea. Despite the civilian touch, it was without a doubt, a military base first.
But, just as the sergeant had said, five miles down the road revealed the tourney tents. The two horses had joined with slower moving caravans with other travelers making their way to the festivities. As the road turned and revealed the tents, a cheer arose from the other two dozen or so travelers, bringing a quiet smile to Sirion’s face.
Approximately twenty tents were assembled in a large prairie between the western coastal mountains and the Valaire River, which ran south and emptied into the sea. The tents were all colors, from white and red striped, to black and purple. Each one was a different color and gave a very cheerful atmosphere to the event. Horns and drums could be heard as a band was practicing for the main event tomorrow. The entire tourney appeared to take up nearly fifty acres of land. Another seventy or so surrounding the tents seemed to be travelers and visitors here to experience the festival. Even Sirion found himself getting somewhat excited to be here. Looking at Valandil, the elf seemed to have the same spark in his eye.
As they got closer, it was getting more and more difficult to see, as the sun was beginning to set below the mountains. “We ought to find a place to stay tonight,” said Sirion, looking around at the fifty or so people traveling with them, “Space in this field may be hard to come by.”
“We have no supplies, barely any money for supplies, and nothing really to our name,” stated Valandil, “I fear this may be a cold night,” Sirion nodded in agreement.
--
The stars were out that night, just pin pricks in the dark shroud above the kingdom. Valandil and Sirion sat near a small warming fire they’d built. Their horses stood, tied to stakes just behind them. Bill had left them shortly after their arrival. He had said he was going to the ‘tent city’ to see the sights. Apparently, the king was throwing a banquet in the knight’s honor. Music, shouting and cheering could be heard from the tents, which sat only two hundred yards or so from the men.
The ranger and the elf sat on the cool grass making small talk when they heard their names in the dark. They immediately recognized the voice as Bill’s. They called him over, and in the darkness and trying to see through their neighbor’s camp, it appeared as if the boy’s arms were full. Peering into the darkness, they could not see what it was. As the boy came into the firelight, Valandil immediately shook his head.
Bill threw down three blankets, a bag of food and a sack of coin. Sirion looked at the boy’s bounty, then up and Bill himself. He asked with a flat face, “Where did you get this?”
“I…uh…acquired them?” stammered Bill. Sirion stood to his full height in an attempt to intimidate the young man. It worked.
“Okay! Okay, I won them gambling,” Bill looked away sheepishly.
“Gambling? With what? Where?”
“Many tents over, towards the tourney. As I was coming back from the big tents, I saw some boys playing cards. I had a couple of coins in my pocket, so I joined in. And I won!” After seeing the skeptical looks from his elders, he exclaimed, “Its all legit! I promise!”
Sirion looked at the items on the ground, then up at Bill, and back to the campfire. He couldn’t help but crack a smile, “Ok, boy. You did well,”
The praise brought a large smile to Bill’s face. He handed a blanket to the elf and the ranger each, and sat down with his own. Still brimming with pride, he built up the courage to ask his companions, “So, sir, will you tell a story of your fighting days?”
--
Two full grown, two thousand pound horses raced towards each other and full speed, one black, the other white. On top of each was a fully armored knight, clad head to toe in steel and iron. Each one held a wooden lance level at the other. As they sped closer and closer, the roar of the crowd got louder and louder. And the second before impact, the crowd fell silent.
Simultaneously, the riders exploded in a shower of sparks and splinters of wood. Each lance broke into a thousand pieces, and the rider of the white horse was sent flying from his mount, crashing into the ground. The crowd went wild. The rider of the black horse reached the end of the jousting ring, he circled around and raced past the crowd in his ‘victory lap,’ lifting his broken lance high in the air. The crowd loved it. He returned to his stable crew and his squire took the reins of the steed and led them away. The crowd looked anxiously for the next show, and they only had a few minutes to wait.
This was just the first round of the jousting tournament. Each day held another round, until the final championship match on the seventh day. The king didn’t want to hold all the exciting events on one day, but he used the most crowd pleasing event first to kick off the tourney with a bang.
Sirion, Valandil and Bill managed to find seats in the stands, offering them an excellent view of the ceremonies. The king himself had come out and offered a few encouraging words to the contestants, thanks to the travelers who had come, and a few other comments to raise the excitement level. Sirion immediately took a liking to the king. It was easy to see why he was so popular with his people.
After seven preliminary jousting rounds, the master of ceremonies called for an intermission, and announced the next event. It was a bow and arrow competition where archers shot at bales of hay from various distances. It was another crowd favorite, but not nearly as exciting as the jousting. Sirion and Valandil took a moment to stand and get a refreshment ale.
“Exciting, yes?” Sirion asked his elven friend.
“Aye, it is. We don’t have such…physical events in my land. And I must say, it is entertaining,” The two made their way through the tents and midway, marveling at caged lions, elephants, and other beasts of faraway lands. Dancing women from the deserts of the south sashayed in their elegant robes and skirts. Large barbarians from the North juggled axes. Gnomes from their homeland, wherever that was, rode back and forth on unicycles. There were hundreds of people vying for everyone’s attention, and it made for a hellacious walk through the circus.
But one man calling out caught the ears of the two travelers. They caught the last part of his spiel, but it wasn’t enough to give them details. They sought out the man as he began again.
“Taking volunteers! Volunteers needed to step into the ring against the best the realm has to offer! Do you think you have what it takes to combat a Lhyrian Knight? Prove it! Sign up for the open house battle today! The fight will take place on the fourth day of the competition! If you last, rise through the rounds and make it to the championship fight, where you will face last year’s champion, Lord Agnand de Montbard!”
“You should do it!” shouted Bill above the noise of the promenade. The ranger and the elf looked at him.
“And why should we do that?”
“Because you guys are killers! And according to those stories last night, you obviously know how to handle yourself. Plus, they’re offering prize money. And we need money,”
Sirion looked at Valandil and shrugged, “The kid has a point,”
Valandil only shrugged back, “Its been a long time. Surely, we’re pretty rusty,”
--
The trio walked quickly from the tent city and back to their camp in the field, led by the ranger.
“I can’t believe it,” mumbled Sirion. He motioned back to the elf and Bill, “How did I let myself get talked into this?”
The coordinator of the Duel Event, which is what that event was called, decided that Sirion and Valandil, since they were signing up together, would make a great pair. So the two of them would fight against two knights. Wooden weapons would be used, but Sirion was sure that wouldn’t make things feel any better. Since signing up, the sheer immensity of what had just transpired began to hit him. He was sure they were going to be beaten like a red headed step child. They had three days to train up and work the rust out before jumping in the ring. In short, they had no time.
They had borrowed two wooden swords from the coordinator. Sirion meant to find a patch of land away from the attention of others and start working out the kinks. Of all things, he didn’t want his pride of all things to be ruined in front of the entire Kingdom of Lhyra.
--
Sirion marched out beyond the tent perimeter of the festivities with Valandil and Bill close behind. When they finally reached a distance which satisfied the ranger, he turned and raised his sword. For dramatic purposes, he shouted, “Defend yourself!”
He lunged at the elf, swinging the wooden sword in a wide arc. Valandil leapt back and countered immediately with his own swing. The wooden blades collided with a hollow ‘thunk,’ and the fighters reeled, regaining their composure. Sirion grasped the blade with both hands and brought his sword down hard, but it swung wildly inaccurate to the left. Valandil saw an opening and thrust towards the ranger. The blade bounced off Sirion’s shoulder.
The ranger frowned. His skills had diminished greatly. This was the first time he’d touched a weapon since the day he was killed. He needed to shake off the rust, and there was a lot of it. The two friends sparred into the evening, splitting most of the rounds, but Valandil emerged as the clear winner. But Sirion felt his old moves coming back to him. The sword was beginning to feel comfortable in his heads, despite the blisters and calluses beginning to form. They left the field feeling better about their chances, although they were sure they didn’t stand much of a chance.
--
The next day, the trio meandered through the promenade aimlessly, taking part in the festivities that were offered. Games, small competitions, and fortune tellers all tugged at Bill’s young enthusiasm. He had gold to spend, as he had proved his worth in more than one card game. He left his elders, promising to be back to camp by sunset. Sirion watched his disappear into the crowd. Conflicting feelings began to combat themselves in his heart. He had begun to take a liking to the young lad’s company. And his ability to ‘acquire’ items in these card games had proven useful during their stay here. He had won so much, he had money to buy a spare tent from another traveler, and now the trio needn’t sleep under the stars. And he had stopped being to obnoxious, or Sirion had just grown accustomed to it, he wasn’t sure.
--
Day after day of exciting events had thrilled the viewers to no end. The jousting tourney continued, and the crowd never seemed to tire of the high speed explosions to wood and iron. Neither did they bore with the other tests of skill and endurance. One particular event featured a large spinning wheel rotating parallel with the ground about twelve feet in the air. A mounted knight would try and collect as many rings hanging from the wheel while his mount circled the structure. Other events filled the morning hours until it was time for the “Open House Battle,” yet another crowd favorite.
Sirion and Valandil had reported to the staging quarters, where they met the coordinator for the fight. While the two were briefed and armed, the first fight was taking place. The roar of the crowd was deafening, and the coordinator had to shout just to be heard.
He explained the rules to the two and gave a brief history of their opposition. Apparently, these men were fresh from the training camp in the Avrin forest. That was good because they had not had time to fight in any other land and gain experience. It was also bad because these young men would have something to prove. The crowd exploded with excitement as their Lhyrian knight beat his opponent and with barely any effort, picked up his quarry and tossed him into the mud. Beaten, embarrassed, and sore, the fighter gained his feet and exited the pit.
“And now, hailing from the wild lands of the North, a mystical ranger and a saavy elf step into the ring. They challenge William and Godfrey, two of your own, to a battle of the senses, strength, and courage. Let’s have it for the primary round of the pairs competition!”
The master of ceremonies spoke into an empty funnel, broadcasting his voice over the already dull roar of the viewers. He knew how to work the crowd, and they quickly flew into a frenzy. Sirion’s heart jumped all the way into this throat as the stress began to gnaw at his senses. He looked at Valandil, and the elf looked more calm than ever. He offered a small smirk and a head nod, and the wooden gates surrounding the fight pit were opened, and the two warriors were ushered through.
Standing opposite the pit, nearly fifty yards away, stood two Lhyrian Knights. Obviously William and Godfrey, they looked identical in their hardened leather armor. The coordinator, during his explanation of the rules, explained that both teams were given the same set of armor, to offer a fair fight. It covered the chest and the back, thighs and biceps, but purposefully left open spots underneath the arms and down the side, the neck, the groin and the backs of the knees. This fight was more about finesse and skill than blind brunt and brawn. The four men advanced to the middle, their boots sliding in the sopping mud.
Each wore a hard leather cap that was tied beneath their chin. It would protect from any head blows, but was open to the face. It allowed Sirion to size up their quarry. They looked little more than twenty years, clear blue eyes piercing through black war paint. But the veteran ranger caught a glimpse of something behind the bravado façade: fear. It was in that glimmer, that Sirion knew they would be victorious.
Sirion lunged toward the knight on their left, but stopped and leapt back. The knight braced himself for the attack with his own wooden sword, but was caught off guard by the feint. It was in the instant Valandil attacked instead from the unprotected right flank. He smacked the knight across the arm with his wood blade and followed up with another strike against the thigh. The knight recovered and adjusted his defense, parrying two other hits.
The second knight focused on Sirion, and let loose with a devastating barrage of thrusts, jabs, swings and slashes. Sirion relied on his sword experience, blocking and deflecting each one. The crowd was on their feet as they watched an excellent fight unfold before them.
Valandil worked his way to the opposite side of the pit, dividing the two knights into single combatants. He knew he was utterly outmatched in size and strength, but knew he was more agile than his opponent. Inside of going toe to toe with his huge knight, he danced and leapt around the large man, causing the powerful swings to fly wildly through the air. Valandil watched as his quarry quickly tired himself. Nearly five minutes of this went by, and the elf watched the knight grow impatient, then careless. With one particular sloppy swing, he left a vulnerable opening to the elf. Valandil ducked the slash and came up with his blunt blade and jabbed it into the ribs of the Lhyrian Knight. The big man immediately collapsed and clutched his side. He knew the rules. He had lost.
“The magical elf from the North has defeated his opponent!” the MC’s commentary was met with boos.
Valandil looked to see how his friend was faring. Sirion was more than holding his own, but found it difficult to gain the upper hand. He was matching the knight swing for swing, but the talented swordsmen left nothing open for the ranger. That changed when Valandil crept up behind the knight, grasped his face and jerked his head skyward, exposing his soft neck. The elf rested his wooden shaft against the knight’s jugular. The knight nodded and patted Valandil’s forearm, and the elf released him. The knight fell to his knees in the mud. They had lost.
The crowd was dead quiet when the MC announced, “The Lhyrian Knights have fallen this day. Defeated by the wild men from the north, their skills proved to be useless against the savvy skills of the elf. Come again! Watch these winners fight again tomorrow, in round number two of the pairs competition!”
A hearty round of applause arose from the crowd in respect to Sirion and Valandil. They were not the crowd favorites, but the people could appreciate a good fight, and that is what they got. The two knights jogged to the middle to meet their opposition. Despite being trained killing machines, their life was ruled by chivalry. The larger of the two offered his hand.
“Good, clean fight gentlemen. I am Godfrey de Lhyria, and it was a pleasure,” he said with a wink.
“As it was for me, William de Hamfort,” said the second. Sirion and Valandil smiled and took the knight’s hands and gave them a hearty shake.
“Well met, my friends. I am Sirion Sunrunner of North Gate, and this is Valandil of Nargothrond,” announced Sirion.
The knights smiled back, “Meet us tonight after the feast near the promenade. I would be honored to drink with you,” said Godfrey.
“You shall see us then,” said Sirion.
--
Bill had hardly been able to contain his excitement has his friends exited the ring, “You guys are awesome!” he cried. He wasn’t the only one offering congratulations either. Apparently, even in the home field of the knights, there were still some viewers who appreciated an underdog. A crowd had gathered, offering their hands.
It took nearly an hour for the crowd to disperse. Another fight had begun which quickly yanked the fans attention back to the ring. Sirion and Valandil retreated to their tent to tend their bruises. They sent Bill to the ice shed for a few buckets of ice to cool their wounds.
--
That night, the three ventured into the tent city. Sirion was amazed at how this place seemed to not sleep. There was always something happening, some show or play or performance. They passed a jester dancing on a stage with puppets. A small band of horn players performed elsewhere. Two toddlers dueled with wooden sticks, and had attracted a respectable audience who cheered every successful hit.
The feasting tent sat in the center of the tent city. As they ducked inside, the warm and spicy scent of roast turkey invaded their nostrils. They immediately grabbed a plate and made their way to the serving line. After going through, they found a spot at the table and began to eat.
“There they are, just over there!” they heard a man shout above the sound of the people enjoying their dinner. They looked up to see Godfrey and William making their way towards them, ales in hand. They sat down across from the three and smiled. “Well, look who we found! The heroes of the tourney!”
Sirion only shook his head, “It was a good fight gentlemen. And it simply went to us this day. Tomorrow could be very different,”
Godfrey slid their two ales across the table to the victors, and William called a serving girl over for more.
After a long draught on the ice cold liquid, Godfrey said, “Tell us of the North. We have not traveled but inside this kingdom. That may change soon, but we know virtually nothing of the outside world,”
And so the men talked into the night, telling of great elven cities and mighty fortresses in the north. They spoke of bravery and fallen friends, and battles between men and battles inside their hearts. And the wide eyed knights, barely older than Bill, listened to every word.
--
The next Open House fight took place much like the first. Facing off against two larger knights, Sirion and Valandil divided their forces, taking them to opposite sides of the ring. Sirion was first to fell his opponent, jabbing him sharply in the ribs. He rushed to Valandil’s aid, although he hardly needed it, and smacked the sword into the back of the other knight’s knee. Then he rested his sword against the knight’s neck. The crowd cheered for them. That afternoon went much like the previous, dipping various body parts into buckets of ice.
Their faces were beginning to become recognizable. Wandering through the midway, people either greeted them or scowled, but there were many more friendly faces than not. People were here to enjoy themselves, not to cause a disruption. They met their new friends Godfrey and William for dinner once more. And this night, the younger warriors told of their training in the Avrin forest. The tales impressed Sirion. He thought about his days in the Royal Guard, when he was their age. These knights were ten times the warrior he was. The only thing that distinguished him from them was experience.
They had gathered a respectable income for winning the two matches. They were awarded with two hundred and fifty coins for the first, and five hundred for the second. They immediately used the gold to purchase weapons from a merchant for their travels. Sirion selected a gleaming long sword with a black leather handle and a glittering gold hilt. He also purchased a curved dagger for his belt. Valandil bought much the same load out, but his blade was thinner and more elegant. He also bought a bow and a quiver of arrows.
After making their way through the midway and enjoying their evening, they retired early to rest for the final day of the tourney and their championship fight.
--
The championship fight didn’t take place in the medium sized fighting ring on the outskirts of the tents. Instead, the jousting rink was modified and stripped of its racing lanes and converted into a huge gladiator ring. It spread out in front of a huge grandstand, giving access to hundreds of people. Next to the jousting championship, the Open House championship was the event that drew the largest crowds. Close to one thousand spectators were gathered around the large pit, expecting an epic fight.
Lord Agnand de Montbard was last year’s singles champion. But, upon hearing the buzz about the two strangers from the north, decided they offered a better fight. He convinced his close friend and brother, Sir Arthur de Montbard, to join him in this year’s fight. As the master of ceremonies introduced the defending champion team, the coordinator gathered Sirion and Valandil outside of the door.
“Gentlemen, come here,” he said quietly, “Are you ready for this?”
The two warriors nodded. Sirion tightened down his leather cap. “Okay, you must listen closely. You two need to fight hard, but you must lose this match.”
Valandil looked at him sideways but couldn’t speak before the organizer continued, “You are facing two of the highest ranking knights in this land. Imagine if they were to fall to you, a couple of outsiders. Their credibility would be stricken, and their honor would be shot. These lords must win!”
Sirion understood. With the mix of political and social implications, he only nodded before adding, “But we’ll still be compensated the same? One thousand to each?”
The coordinator smiled and nodded, clasping his hands in front of his mousey face, “Yes, oh yes. As long as the fight lasts at least ten minutes from the first strike. A horn will sound at the top of every minute. Good luck, men!”
Sirion and Valandil only looked at each other. “Let’s give them hell,” Sirion muttered.
--
Lord Agnand and Lord Arthur were no bigger than Godfrey or William, nor were they any more intimidating if it weren’t for the air of authority that flooded the ring as they entered. The master of ceremonies was introducing Valandil and Sirion, but he may as well have been whispering for the deafening roar of the audience. The two pairs stood on opposite sides of the ring, unable to hear the commands. Finally, a shrill horn sounded from above the viewers, and the fight was on.
Agnand and Arthur pressed forward, shoulder to shoulder, wooden swords in their outside hands, shields forming an impenetrable wall to their center. Sirion and Valandil, each lacking a shield, would need to be light on their feet in order to last in this fight. They each split and lunged at the outsides of the knights, trying to draw them out, but it wasn’t working. The two knights stayed back to back. Sirion paced in front of Arthur, just out of sword’s reach. Without warning, he feinted to the right, then jerked back to the left and rushed towards the shield. He slammed his blade against the thick wood. ‘There,’ he thought, ‘that will start the timer.’
But Arthur went on the offensive. He advanced quickly, with Agnand staying right on his backside, facing Valandil. Sirion was dealt a series of crushing blows, and it took all of his strength just to keep the sword in his hand. After a triple play of attacks, Sirion rolled to his right and to safety.
It was Agnand’s turn, and Arthur faithfully checked his six, keeping security behind his brother. But with each attack, Valandil quickly ducked and dodged each strike. Agnand thrust to the left, and the elf danced to the right. Agnand jabbed to the right, and Valandil ducked back, just out of reach. He took position on the knight’s left.
The first horn sounded: one minute. Sirion was shocked. It had felt like this was taking forever. The venerable moving fortress that these knights formed was invincible. Their only hope of surviving and not ‘killing’ the knights was to play chicken with them. And that is what they did.
For seven more minutes, the warriors tangled lightly with each other, as if they were doing nothing more than feeling each other out. It was in the final two minutes when all the excitement happened. Valandil once again dodged a blow from the left. He ducked to the right, but with a silent signal from his brother, Arthur came circling around from behind, catching the elf completely off guard. Valandil had no sooner planted his feet from his leap to the side, and he looked up only to see the wooden sword flying through the air. It hit him so hard in the chest, it knocked the wind out of him, despite the armor. Arthur simply tapped the elf’s neck, signaling his defeat.
Arthur and Agnand shifted their strategy. Now they separated, giving Sirion a dual front to defend. They moved to his left and to his right. There was nowhere for the ranger to go. The ninth horn sounded, giving him the signal that he need only survive for one more minute. He glanced at Valandil, kneeling in the mud. He would get no help from his friend.
The two knights advanced as once, like two massive walls closing in. Sirion sprinted forward a ways, taking away their advantage of a two fronted assault. He was damned if his method was going to be running around the ring like a coward, and he turned and faced the imposing knights. He stood only feet from Valandil, so he reached down and took the elf’s sword. When he faced he knights again, he saw they were only twenty feet away. With a grunt, he sprinted forward.
He ducked low and slashed towards Arthur. The wood connected on leather, but Sirion brought the blade around and slashed at Agnand, again, he met leather. The knights were bringing their blades down at him now, which he defended skillfully at the same time. He rolled away before coming back in, hard. He knocked away Agnand’s sword with his right sword and thrust with his left. The blade came in true, narrowly missed the shield and tapped the knight’s chest. It was armored, but the message was clear: just that close.
But it didn’t matter. The fight was over. Just as Sirion leaned to the right to duck away, he was met Arthur’s shield flying right into his face. The impact knocked the ranger off his feet and onto his back in the cold, wet mud. Arthur smiled and tapped Sirion’s neck with the sword point, just as the ten minute horn sounded. The crowd exploded with excitement as the knight sheathed his blade and reached down to help the ranger off his back.
Sirion took Arthur’s hand gratefully and shook it when he was back on his feet. Valandil approached and was offered the same hospitality. Chivalry ruled the land in this kingdom, and the people loved it. They were screaming even louder as the men shook hands than when their champions defeated the men from the north.
--
Back in their tent, Sirion and Valandil were soaking their joints once more. Bill was busy packing things up. They were to leave the next morning. Tonight was the final event of the tourney, the jousting championship, and they intended to be there. But in the meantime, they were taking a moment to rest.
That evening, they were afforded a seat near the king’s court as a reward for their performance in the tournament. Lord Hughes, as one might imagine, sat in the center of the grandstand, with his queen and princess to his right, and his men-at-arms to his left, which included Lord Agnand and Sir Arthur. The king was a seasoned man of sixty, but bore no ill effects of age. The years had been kind to him, despite his time as a knight. Also seated with them were a few other trusted dignitaries, and Sirion and Valandil sat on the end of the line of eight or so men. They had shaken the hand of the white-haired king, but had little time for pleasantries, as the event was about to be underway.
Two armored horses pawed the ground on either end of the jousting ring, the same pit where Sirion and Valandil had been defeated early in the day. The anticipation was thick, and the excitement buzzed through the crowed like electricity. Then each knight walked out of their tent, followed by their own respective squire carrying their gear. They mounted and raced past the grandstand for dramatic effect. It worked. The crowd roared as their heroes paraded around the ring. The master of ceremonies was having a heyday working the crowd into a frenzy. Even the king was on his feet applauding.
Just as the two jousters readied themselves for their charge, something caught Sirion’s eye. There, at the bottom of the stand, he caught a disturbance in the crowd. Squinting, he tore his eyes from the mounted knights in front of them to study what it was. He saw a hooded man running up the stairs, shoving his way through the crowd, making his way closer. Just then, a fully armored knight appeared where the man had entered the grandstand. The guard shouted at the king, but his voice was inaudible above the roar of the people. Sirion looked at the knight, then back at the hooded man who was ever so closer to the king. Fixated on the games, the king and his entourage were oblivious to what was happening.
Finally, it dawned on Sirion. This man meant the king harm! He must have got past the knight at the bottom of the stairs and lost him in the throng of people. Sirion sprung into action. He pushed a royal dignitary to his seat as he turned to the right and begun to rush to the aid of the king. Having no choice, he pushed his way through the VIP guests until he reached Agnand and Arthur. They were also fixated on the games, and shouted as they were rudely pushed to their seat by the charging ranger. Just as he reached the king, the sire raised his hands in front of his face in a vain attempt to defend himself. The assassin reached Lord Hughes at the same time.
Sirion grasped the king in a strong embrace and turned his back to the assassin in an attempt to defend the liege from harm. It worked. The assassin’s dagger was already thingyed back to strike, and it came forward without mercy, burying itself into Sirion’s shoulder. The ranger gritted his teeth against the pain and fell forward onto the narrow aisle way, pinning the king to the ground. Cries of confusion and despair emanated from the people close by. Judging by the sounds just above him, Sirion guessed that Agnand and Arthur had disarmed and subdued the attacker. Gruff hands gripped the ranger by the jacket and yanked him up. Sirion cried out in pain, but didn’t let go of the king.
“My friend! It is safe! Let loose the king!” Agnand’s voice thundered in the ranger’s ear. He loosened his grip, and Lord Hughes stumbled forward. In a flash, a cloak was thrown over the king’s shoulders with a hood masking his identity. A small contingent of guards, led by Agnand and Arthur, hurried off the grandstand and away from the festivities, leaving Sirion alone and bleeding. He jumped at the sound of the jousters crashing together and the ensuing cheer rising from the crowd.
Sirion fell backwards into a seat. Many people were unawares of what had just happened. But one person noticed: the princess. The attacker had rushed by her to reach her father, so she had seen everything. The queen had departed with the rest of the guards, but the princess stayed behind. She looked woefully at her father’s savior. Sirion looked up and caught her gaze, “Go!” he shouted. “Go to your mother and father!” She turned to leave, but looked back and shouted above the people, “Find my uncle tomorrow. He shall see to you!” With that, she turned, and was on the heels of her king’s guards.
--
Valandil pressed a wet rag against the ugly laceration. They were back at their tent, retired for the night. Sirion told the story a couple times to Bill and Valandil, making sure his recollections were straight. The elf concentrated on his healing work, attempting to mend the broken flesh. Bill, or course, was the opposite. He was amped up because it was his friend who had saved the king. Sirion only grimaced against the pain.
--
The next morning, with his shoulder patched up real well, Sirion made his way to the king’s tent. The tent city had already begun being broken down. Tents were collapsed , poles and canvas were being laid out. But one tent was being untouched: the king’s. The guards saw Sirion approaching through the cleanup crew and motioned him closer. “The king would like to see you,” said the guard.
He opened the flap of the tent to let the ranger inside. As he stepped inside, he was almost suffocated by the strong incense burning inside. Candles and torches provided the light. He took a few more steps inside, admiring the tapestries and other art that adorned the tent walls. The inside was mostly clutter free, which was pretty impressive for a tent.
“Step forward, my son,” it was then the ranger saw the king step from his personal tent room behind this one and presented himself. Then Sirion was aware that they were not alone. Four armed knights stood behind the ranger. For good reason, though Sirion. He clasped his hands behind his back so the guards may see them.
“And I understand you were the one to save me last night?” the king’s demeanor was soft and gentle. He reminded Sirion of a caring and loving grandfather. His white hair was not long, and his beard was trimmed. Soft, flowing robes fell around the king’s ankles. “And you were the man who advanced to the final round of the dueling championship?”
Sirion took a knee and bowed his head, “Yes, my liege. It was I responsible for both of those,”
The king nodded, his eyes smiling but his face remaining stoic.
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Post by longstevo on Mar 17, 2009 6:36:08 GMT -5
“Rise, son of Northgate. Your services to this kingdom have been immense,”
“My liege, I have only been here but a week, and have only accomplished one deed…”
“Aye, but you saved my life, and if you’ve already forgotten, I’m the king,” Lord Hughes said smartly, “In any other kingdom, you’d be branded a hero,” With a thoughtful ‘Hmm,’ Hughes turned to a table to his right and began pouring a cup of tea into a small cup. He looked at Sirion and offered him a dish. Sirion took the cup of steaming tea.
“But I’m afraid our standards in this land are much higher than others. That is why we have the most skilled fighters in all the land, do you think so?”
Sirion began having mixed feelings about this Lord Hughes. He seemed very quiet and modest on one hand, but in the next conversation, the king was becoming quite braggart about his warriors. The ranger decided to play political ballet with the king.
The ranger bowed once more, balancing the tea sloshing in the dish, “That is a quite a staunch statement, sire. To think your men are the best in all the lands? Surely there is some race of people who’s skills equal your own?”
The king’s somber expression drilled into Sirion, “And on what basis to you claim that, Hero of Edinmarsh?”
Sirion blinked. Hero of Edinmarsh? How had the king known about him. Sirion could only think that Lord Hughes had people to dig up any history on this man taking his tourney by storm. Fair enough, he decided.
Sirion put up his free hand, “In no means do I mean offense, my liege. But this kingdom is but a small corner in this vast world. A claim such as the one you make must surely be backed by factual evidence?”
The king nodded, “Yes. You want historical evidence, yes? In our hallowed halls in my castle in Lhyrna, we have documentation on three thousand conflicts, disputes, battles and wars the men from this kingdom have taken part in, fought in, and died in. Each of these conflicts were decided by Lhyrnian blood. If that is not enough evidence for you, open your ears, Lord Sunrunner,”
Sirion cupped the tea dish with both hands, preparing for a lecture. The king was not getting impatient or angry, but was getting anxious to get his point out to the foreigner that his mean were the best. “Our boys, our future generation are put through the most rigorous training schedule starting at the age of eight. They are intelligent, smart and wise beyond many men’s years. So, when it comes time for the hammer to drop, and the lives of men will be decided by the few, my knights have the mental capacity to decide on what is the right thing to do!” The king raised a clenched fist.
“And when it is proven that they can use the brain inside their skull, they are then taught for nearly seven years how to pound someone else’s brain outside their skull! They are trained until they are masters of every known weapon on today’s battle field. From sticks and rocks to crossbows and artillery. How many men do you know capable of that?”
“Is that enough, or do you want personal accounts? Fine, we can do that too. King Fadaline of Noriya wrote an account of how the Knights of Lhyrna were pivotal in their mountain defense against the barbarians of the North. Chancellor Agnew of Ravillus has said that without the Knights of Lhyrna, their fortress would have fallen during their border dispute one hundred years ago. And even as recently as earlier this year, Lord Sunrunner, have we made significant contribution to this world. Prince Hector of Carsus wrote how my knights essentially defended the walls of that city by themselves against that horrid mutant army of vampires. Senator Arandale of Blackport wrote on record that one knight hailing from this kingdom is equal to five of any other fighter he’d ever seen.
“And those are just the disputes of men! Remember the legend of the Black Serpent of the Al Sharaqi Desert? Can you guess who’s men put that beast to a final sleep in his black spire of a prison? That is why our captains wear the insignia of a fallen dragon. History is on our side, my friend,”
The king rapped his knuckles upon a wooden table, “And if that weren’t enough, I could show you stacks of requests sitting inside a drawer in my chambers. Requests to deploy my sons and brothers into battle against enemies we care nothing for. That is not what is important, though. What is important is that leaders all across this world recognize the superiority of my knights, and are requesting them to change their fortunes of war,” the king clasped his hands. “Is that enough, Mr. Sunrunner?”
Sirion simply nodded thoughtfully, “Upon listening to you, and thinking about what was said, I agree, that you host the most feared fighters in this land. The simple name of your knights strike fear into the hearts of all enemies. Your history in this world is set, and destiny will remember you well,” Sirion could take this debate in one hundred different ways, but he no longer wished to debate with the king, “Your men must be the best,”
With another thoughtful ‘Hmm,’ the king turned towards room and disappeared before returning again with something in his hands, “I trust your wounds are taken care of?” he said, with genuine concern crossing his face.
“Yes, my lord. My companion is a skilled healer. I will be fine in a few days,”
“You must know that you have my eternal gratitude for what you did,” said Lord Hughes, “But I’m afraid your role in this adventure is not yet over, my son.”
Sirion frowned and thingyed his head, “My liege?”
The king sighed, but not from frustration, “In our land, we are ruled by our one God. He works in mysterious ways, and talks to us through prayer. And I have prayed many times during this last night,”
Sirion set his teacup down upon the table. “I’m not sure I follow, my lord,”
The King set down the golden amulet he had carried from his room, “During intense interrogation, the assassin bit on a capsule of poison he had hidden in his gums. He died instantly, so we learned nothing from him. But he was wearing this around his neck. And I’m afraid this is all we have to go on. Have you seen this symbol?”
The golden circlet measured approximately three inches in diameter. A gold ring formed the border and inside the border was an intricately carved skull sitting below a blazing star. There were no words, nor any other images. Sirion turned the symbol over, but found nothing on the backside.
“King Hughes, I am not personally familiar with this symbol. But I have seen in the pages of tomes during my studies. If memory serves me well, it belongs to secret organization of men who control a system of puppet governments throughout the land. Supposedly their ultimate goal is balance in the world, and in order for that to happen, some powerful kingdoms must be manipulated. And in order for some governments to be manipulated, their leaders must be…removed. And I believe the only verified account of anyone claiming this secret society hailed from Khamir, a coastal city on the eastern edge of the Varghani Desert.”
King Hughes nodded, “My scholars have come to the same deduction,” he gently took the circlet from Sirion’s hand.
“Now, my king, you said my role is not yet over. May I ask what you mean?”
The king looked at Sirion from the corner of his eye, “My son, as I have said, I have prayed to my God for most the night. And in his visions he sent me, I am to send a small force of knights to this Khamir. I have sent knights there before, and there is still a small contingent based there. But, interestingly, you appeared in these visions. And while you were not meant to lead my men, you take an integral role in exposing this band of men who think they can play God!” The king clenched his fist again before relaxing.
“So, I ask of you, Ranger from the North, will you accept this request for your services? As I said before, it is not of my doing, but of my God. He intends to use you in some degree,”
Sirion stared at the king. Why should he assist this king? He had no stock in the Kingdom of Lhyrna. It didn’t really matter to him whether or not the kingdom survived or fell. And this mission would take him to the far ends of the earth, and it was probably a dangerous mission. And besides, he had to report back to…
Nowhere. He took a mental step back. He had nowhere to be, nowhere to go, and really nothing to do. There wasn’t any reason why he shouldn’t accept this mission. Having a lack of words at the tip of his tongue, he simply shrugged, “Why not?”
--
Four months later
Weeks upon weeks had passed, most of them at sea. The band of forty knights were crammed into two frigates. The rear ship held most of their supplies and pack animals. The voyage was blessed with good weather for most the trip. They made time quickly and were approaching their port of call. The horizon had just come into view, a thin black line along the southern edge of the sky. Punctuating the sky was the tall masts of both ships, and each flew the snow white banner of the Kingdom of Lhyra.
Sirion climbed out from the under deck, sunlight assaulting his eyes. Squinting, he peered in all directions and noticed the land in the distance.
“Land ho!” called the sailor in the crow’s nest. Almost immediately, Bill came flying out from under the deck. He strained his eyes against the glaring sunlight and frowned.
“I thought we were closer than that,” he muttered, before returning to his quarters in the bowels of the ship. Sirion smiled to himself and began pacing the deck. He passed a sailor who nodded politely while he went upon his duties. Glancing aft, he marveled at the second ship, sailing just behind them only three hundred yards or so. The huge structure seemed to defy all logic and physics, as it cut through the calm wake effortlessly. The massive hull rose out of the ocean and climbed to a height of twenty five feet before giving away to forty feet of mast. Large, billowing sails were stretched to their maximum length, appearing to be large, protective angels flying low to keep these holy men from harm. The standard of the Kingdom of Lhyrna flapped angrily in the stiff breeze. The symbol was famous across the lands. A silver blade sitting vertical on a field of snow white backed by the wings of a dove signified the use of peace through the use of violence. A blue border formed the edge of the flag.
Turning back to the midship, the strong wind whipped the edges of his cloak around his knees. He pondered upon his mission. Led by Lord Agnand, this small contingent of forty knights and himself and Valandil were to meet with Sir Geoffrey Bissot at the knight’s holdings in Khamir, the port city of Ameristan. From there, a plan of action would be discussed regarding the pursuit and/or capture of the persons responsible for the assassination attempt on King Hughes. It was made clear that the ranger and the elf were to be kept out of the King’s affairs, although they were to be briefed and included on all missions. Neither of the two had any qualms with that, although it only led them to question their involvement of the mission even further.
He thought about where they were going. He had heard of the land of Ameristan in stories and legends. If the tales were true, it was a land of magic, mysticism and wonder. There were tales of spires and towers stretching to the clouds. Statues of heroes of ages past lined the streets, posing for battles long since won. And beasts of unimaginable character were tamed by man to do their bidding. And if that wasn’t enough, the food was so tasteful and full of flavor, that some people were rumored to travel here for the food and drink alone. It seemed to be a wondrous place indeed.
But it was also a place of death, poverty and despair. For in many societies across the world, there were several levels of wealth, from the rich to the poor. This was not so for this region, as there were the incredibly rich, and the incredibly poor. There was very little middle ground. And when there was incredibly poor, there was potential for crime. Crime ran rampant through many of the towns until the mercenary organization named the Fleteu Miire was stood up, and they chased the criminals out into the desert, where they formed bands of bandits and brigands and preyed upon wandering travelers.
And if the bandits and thieves didn’t kill a caravan, the environment would. The mid day heat soared to above one hundred and thirty degrees. It was enough to kill a man in mere hours if he did not have adequate water. The rolling sand dunes and dusty ridges offered little chance of natural water, and only the foolish found a suitable home here. Hermits and recluses inhabited caves and other dwellings, but were outcast by society for their differences. It was truly a no man’s land.
Sirion wondered how this could be as Khamir grew ever larger in the horizon, its glimmering golden spires growing taller with each passing minute, its glory becoming more and more evident.
--
The ship rolled lazily into port as the last rays of sunlight reflected off the endless ocean. The sailors scurried back and forth from one end of the ship to the other as they readied her for docking. The landing crew on the dock also moved with a purpose, as the two large ships nestled up gently to the port. The procedures went off without a hitch and the catwalks were soon connected to the dock. Within an hour, the men and their equipment were off the ship and gathered near the shore. The horses and other large objects were taking a tad longer. As they fidgeted with their bags, a man approached them.
He wore a vivid blue jacket over a nice shirt with riding pants and boots. A thin beard clung to his face and he smiled when he asked, “Is there a Lord Agnand de Montbard present?”
“Aye, and here he is,” answered Lord de Montbard, “It is great to see you once again, my friend.”
Sir Godfrey, who was also assigned to this mission, sidled up to Sirion to explain things, “The man who just approached is named Geoffrey Bissot, and he was a well respected knight in the kingdom. He was injured in the Noriyan Campaigns and his fighting days were done. They appointed him as a lord in command of the knights in this region,” Godfrey shrugged, “We’ve had a medium sized contingent of men here for nearly one hundred years. They’re kept here as a peace keeping force, and they constantly assist the Fletue Miire in their raids against the banditry problem in the sands. Lord Bissot has served with honor and all knights hold him in great esteem,”
The two leaders made small talk for a minute before Lord Bissot announced, “Allow me to show you to our complex. I’m afraid it isn’t much, but there should be enough room here for you all,”
They were led down the main street nearly four blocks to an astounding structure. High walls blocked it off from the rest of the foot traffic on the street, and twenty foot towers rose up at each corner. Sirion thought it looked more like a prison than a knightly compound. But none of the knights seemed to be bothered. The Lhyrian banner flew from each tower and fluttered in the soft breeze coming in from the sea.
The walk from the port to the Lhyrian compound proved to be as much of a culture shock to Sirion as he expected it to be. Tall buildings made with tan, earthen clay stood two or three stories, lining the streets and creating a venerable alley. Mules, horses and strange creatures called ‘camels’ pulled carts up and down the street. It was no market, but throngs of people made their way from one place to another anyways. Palm trees grew sporadically on street corners and in private gardens, their wide palms offering much appreciated shade during the afternoon hours. The ranger from the north couldn’t see much from the town during his short walk, but he did notice the people.
Dressed in long and flowing robes, men and women both dressed in loose fitting clothes in an attempt to defeat the sun’s rays. The local people were a dark skinned race from spending their lives in the desert. Some wore turbans, or semaghs, or other cloth wrapped around their heads. Many women he passed wore veils to hide their faces. He couldn’t understand this custom, and noted to ask Godfrey during a spare moment. Every person seemed to study the knights with dark eyes. He couldn’t see a smile in the crowd as every other man seemed to glower at them as they passed. The knights took no notice and kept their eyes forward as they marched to their compound.
Upon reaching the iron gates, four fully armored guards allowed them access. The interior of the compound looked much like the street. It was obviously a different environment than the temperate region of Lhyrna. The evening humidity tried to suck the breath out of each knight as they studied their new quarters. The compound stood four stories tall, most of the rooms being barracks for the men. The forty new knights added to the forty knights already stationed there. They learned later, that half of that force was currently serving along the wall between The Citadel and the open desert to the west.
As the men were settling in, with Sirion and his two other companions selecting bunks near the corner, the ranger asked Godfrey about this ‘Citadel.’
Apparently, nearly five hundred years ago, the Varghani people lived in an elaborate city in the middle of the desert. They were able to do this in part due to a lush oasis that spring forth from the unforgiving desert sands. They made their fortunes on the land and became a major trading hub in the middle of the desert. But, almost two hundred years after the founding of their city Varghan, they simply disappeared. The sands seemed to rise up and swallow the city whole, its walls, buildings and people. The cities of Khai and Abbala sent armed men down to investigate the disappearance and were besieged by scores of undead. They retreated and fought the demons off, but they were subjected to raids and attacks nearly every month after that. The city of Abbala, in an attempt to defend its borders, built a stone wall running north to south from the Ambian Sea and effectively blocked off the entire west side of the continent in an effort to stop the undead. It worked, and in addition to that, officials built a massive fortress atop a single hill just on the east side of the wall and called it the Citadel. From that day forward, a garrison of 1000 men, including knights, soldiers and other men-at-arms were stationed there to defend the eastern side of the continent.
But, nearly one hundred years ago, the undead problem stopped. The zombies simply disappeared. With surging courage, the armies of Khai began venturing south to uncover the city of Varghan once again. Becoming greedy, they began preying on caravans bound for Abbala. Little by little, the city of Khai became hostile to Ameristan, and now the Citadel stands guard against a much more human enemy. The Lhyrnian Knights were enlisted to assist in the standoff against the Khaians.
Godfrey yawned after telling the stories of the history of the region. He smiled when he saw Bill sleeping upon his bedmat. Sirion was leaning forward, anxious to hear more, but the knight was finished. He bid the friends farewell and walked to his end of the open bay barracks. Valandil took the upper bunk of the dual bunk sleeping arrangements. Sirion sat down on his own. They made small talk for a brief moment before retiring for the evening.
--
The next morning, they woke up early before much of the knights. The elf and the ranger dressed in casual wear and stepped outside. Bill was gone, and they figured he had ventured out into the town. They hoped it was safe. They stepped into the compound courtyard and noticed the iron gates were open, guarded by four armored knights. Deciding to take a stroll, they exited the Lhyrian compound, nodding to the men-at-arms.
“This is quite a strange world,” began Valandil, “I must say it reminds me nothing of my home in Lor Alesna,”
“Aye,” answered Sirion, “Even my home in North Gate, although I can name similarities, is leaps and bounds away from Khamir,”
The meandered down the road taking in all there was to see. Dogs ran through under their legs, chased by a group of children. Laughing, they barely took time to notice the men in their way. Bumping into them, they raced off after their pet. Sirion smiled to himself. Looking at Valandil, he saw that his friend was not enjoying himself nearly as much. He studied for a moment, and saw why.
A group of young men passed, angry eyes glaring at Valandil. The elf was only too anxious to return the gaze. Two other men walked by, older this time, but with the same expression. The elf’s fists clenched as he stared back. This went on as they made their way close to the market. They could hear the sounds of trading and bartering as the approached covered awnings where merchants could sell their wares at stands.
“They know not of your kind,” muttered Sirion to his friend. He deduced that the reason for all the unwanted attention was because none of these people had ever laid eyes on an elf. And a reaction all too familiar to mankind was to hate the unknown. So Valandil began his struggle of persecution in the southern deserts. The two decided to turn around and return to the complex. By the time they had reached the iron gates, a small band of men numbering just over twelve had begun to follow them. Fear began to claw at Sirion’s heart. Relief washed over him as they ducked inside the gates of the compound, safe. They heard the guards behind them, “Move away. There’s nothing to see here,”
--
Later that night, Sirion stood on the dock with his two friends. Valandil looked out to sea, and Bill kicked at a nail that had loosened itself in the planks. Sirion stared hard into Valandi’s back.
“You don’t have to,” the ranger said softly, “There could be a place for you here,”
Valandil turned to face Sirion, “You and I both know that isn’t true. These people have never seen my kind here, and therefore they fear me. And you know what that emotion brews. I am going to solve this problem before it even becomes one,” he motioned back towards the compound, “There is nothing for me here anyway. This is not my mission, Lord Hughes is not my king, and this isn’t my problem. These solid knights…they don’t need me.”
Sirion looked into Valandil’s eyes, “But I might. You’ve been nothing but a friend since I’ve met you. And now, you’re really all I have,”
Valandil shrugged, “I am sorry, Sirion. But I can see the outcome of my staying here. And it isn’t good. Two things will happen, and I think you know what they are,”
The elf was right. Sirion knew full and well what the two outcomes would be. Either Valandil would be killed, or the elf would snap and hurt someone, maybe even kill. Sirion nodded silently. “And so it is,”
The elf nodded in return, “So it is.”
He looked back out towards the sea and noticed the Lhyrian sailors preparing their ships for their return voyage. It would be a long trip back. Valandil reached out and grasped his friend’s hand, “I shall return to my home, but do not think I will be idle. There still remains much work to be done in cleaning up since our most recent war. My people will need a hand with that. And this lad,” he patted the ruffled hair of the young Bill, “I think has a future as a sergeant with the Lhyrian Knights,” Bill nodded and smiled, but a pang of sadness pierced his gaze.
“Aye. I see that future as well, young Master Bill,” said Sirion. Final farewells were said and the elf and the boy walked toward the ship. Upon reaching the deck, they each turned and waved, leaving their friend behind in a world they did not understand. And Sirion watched them go, becoming a smaller object as they disappeared in the blaze orange evening ocean, suddenly feeling very alone.
--
But for alone as Sirion felt, he was far from it. Beside the dockworkers and sailors nearby, there was one soul that peered at him from behind a shadow. She didn’t intend on being fully invisible, but just being out of sight. She drew herself close to a wall and ignored a man and a woman walking by. When they passed, she pulled her shawl tighter around her face, concealing her identity. She watched the man from the north say goodbye to his friends and waited for him to finally turn and leave the port after watching them float off into the ocean. When he finally turned, she took a moment to herself to size him up.
He looked to be close to forty, if not over. He very well could have been older, but he was in great shape. He was not overly muscled, but his slender frame possessed great strength. It was easy to tell that from the way he carried himself. His hair was cropped short and a short sleeved shirt clung to his damp skin. A dagger hung from his belt and loose leather pants clung to his legs. He wore sandals, forgoing the more standard wear of boots from the north. He appeared to be a healthy man through and through, and very capable of handling his own. As he walked back towards the compound, she moved to intercept him.
--
Sirion turned his back on the ocean and slowly made his way back to the compound. He kept his eyes on the stones in front of him, not feeling like looking around at much of anything. He traversed the wooden steps leading to the street and turned right towards the Lhyrian building.
“Excuse me?”
A woman’s voice called to him softly. He jerked his head up to see who was speaking. A woman stood in front of him, her eyes sitting nearly the same height as his own. Her face was concealed by a shawl, but her eyes caught his attention and held it. Her blazing blue eyes pierced into his soul, and he could not tear himself away from her gaze. She was dressed in a simple white robe and used a lacy shawl to keep her face hidden. When Sirion finally found it in himself to speak, he muttered, “Yes, m’lady?”
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Post by longstevo on Mar 25, 2009 12:39:58 GMT -5
--
The woman eyed him intently before reaching up and removing the shawl from her face. Stark beauty like Sirion had only seen twice before in his life was revealed. Tanned skin gave the woman’s complexion an olive tone. Hair black hair was tied into a pony tail, but concealed in her robes. Full red lips were set beneath a prominent, but not overwhelming, nose. Her features were exotic, but she was obviously not of Amaristan. Something about her seemed familiar, but Sirion was sure he had never seen this woman in his life.
“Good evening, m’lord. ‘Tis a fine evening for a walk, yes?”
Sirion tried to turn and walk down his original path, “Um…I really should be going,”
The woman reached out and grabbed the ranger by the arm with a warm smile. Delicate but strong fingers gripped into his muscle and tugged him back, “I really wish you would come with me, m’lord. It is a fine evening in the air, but soon, it will be a very dangerous evening here in the streets.”
“I do not usually make habits of traveling with strange women. May I have your name?” the ranger asked sternly.
She replied, “Very well. I am Alice St. Clair de Lyhrna, daughter of King Hughes of Lyhrna, the ruler of that land,”
Sirion took a step back, “A princess? Of the king? What are you doing here?” It was then Sirion knew why she looked familiar. Princess Alice would have been the sister of the much younger princess he saw in the tourney after the attempt on the king’s life. They certainly shared family traits.
She replied in a hushed tone, “Yes. I am the second in command here in Khamir. I was reassigned after being prepped for a tour near your Edinmarsh, Lord Sunrunner, but I was never deployed there. And so I am sent here. Will you walk with me, or will you refuse?”
Sirion frowned, “How do you know me so well?”
The grip on his arm tightened. Princess Alice looked around, her sharp eyes invading every dark corner and alleyway. She was getting nervous, “Come. We must get back to the compound. We can talk there. The night is not safe here,”
She started down the street, but he stopped, “How do I know you’re with the knights? You’re dressed as a local…”
She opened the front of her robe ever so slightly, revealing a vibrant red tunic of the royal color, along with the standard of King Hughes emblazoned on the front. Only the royalty of the kingdom were permitted to wear red. Satisfied with the proof, Sirion followed the princess down the street.
--
As the two hurried into the compound gates, there were already shadows lurking behind the street corners. Despite the city’s immaculate appearance during the day, the streets apparently belonged to the creatures of the night after the sun went down. The gates were shut and locked behind them.
“Come with me,” said Alice, and she led him deeper into the military complex, past the barracks and past the mess hall, and into a library. It was lit with candles and the bookshelves sat about half full. The frail little priest in the corner needn’t have reached very far to grab the highest book. “Wait here,” she said as she moved to the old man and whispered into his ear. He nodded and shuffled out of the room, giving the two privacy.
“Will you sit?” asked Alice, offering a chair against the wall. Sirion sat down and noticed the chill of the evening creeping in. The princess shrugged off her concealing robe. Her vibrant red tunic hung from her shoulders over a black long sleeved shirt. Black pants were bloused into leather boots. Gone was her modest, conservative cover, replaced by a completely feminine and royal appearance. It was clear she was not from Amaristan, but a proud woman hailing from Lhyrna. She tossed her robe into a corner and faced Sirion.
Sirion frowned and gripped the arms of his chair, “Why have you brought me here?”
She sat down in a chair across the room and faced him, and her face darkened slightly, “To speak with you. As I said before, I am the assistant commander here, second only to the venerable Lord Bissot. And therefore, the status of the fighting men is my business, as are all…visitors. Lord Agnand has briefed us on your company’s reason for your partnership with us. And frankly, I do not agree with it. The king’s reasoning is lost unto me, but it is his wishes,” she paused and looked towards the door. All was still. She continued, “I see your friends decided to depart. Where are they going?”
Sirion took a mental step back. Without even giving him time to prepare, Princess Alice had put him on the defensive. He straightened his back and sat stiff and professional, as he was speaking with royalty, “Ma’am, they are returning home. They decided this mission was not their calling, although the younger one wishes to serve your kingdom,”
Alice squinted and leaned forward in her chair. There was something about this woman that Sirion couldn’t put his finger on. She was different than most royalty. She was gruff, rugged and didn’t possess an ounce of daintiness, as most princesses did. He still couldn’t see why, “You keep interesting company, m’lord. A man, an elf and boy? What are your reasons for your company?”
Sirion retold the story of him getting injured and arriving in Lor Elsa. He skipped the part of being resurrected. He told of them finding Bill on the road and their travels south. Alice listened intently and sat quietly when he answered.
She finally stood, grabbed her robe and on her way out the door, lifted an accusing finger at the ranger, “As I said, my forces are my concern, and right now, you are a major concern. I don’t know you, and therefore, I can’t trust you,” she turned to leave before looking back and with a smile and wink, added, “Don’t take it personal,”
--
The next morning, the knights were called to muster just before sunrise. Gathered in formation in the courtyard, all sixty men stood erect in their light riding armor. Their head and eyes straight forward and not moving a muscle. Sirion stood in the back by himself. Lord Bissot and Lord Agnand had called the formation to address their men. When they came out shortly after, the chief sergeant called the men to attention and saluted the officers. Sirion noticed a third officer standing just behind Lord Agnand. He couldn’t see who it was, but he wasn’t nearly as large as the leader. Agnand stood by while Bissot took charge of the formation. The sergeant returned to his ranks.
He put the men to ease and studied them for a moment. He couldn’t help but smile while looking them over. Sixty of some of the finest men he had ever lain eyes on. Most were tall, although there were a handful of shorter knights. All were broad shouldered and muscle bound. There were no regulations on personal appearances, as there were in many armies, so some of his men wore beards or had long hair. In fact, they looked to be a sort of a ragged bunch. And Lord Bissot liked it that way.
“Men! I don’t need to tell you that we have been attacked. Our beloved king has had a close brush with death, but by the grace of God and the quick thinking of a friend of Lyhrna, he survives!” the men cheered, “We have one man to thank for saving our lord, and he is standing behind you. Lord Sunrunner, will you come forth to be identified?”
This was unexpected. Sirion stepped forward awkwardly and made his way to the front of the formation. Another loud cheer arose from the men as they voiced their gratitude and approval. Lord Bissot whispered into the ranger’s ear, “Go and stand with Lord Agnand, son. You are a greatly respected man, here,” Sirion obeyed and turned to Lord Agnand, and it was then he could see the third and unknown officer.
It was Princess Alice. She stood only up to Agnand’s shoulder, but was every bit impressive and intimidating as her male counterpart. She caught his surprised gaze and only winked.
Lord Bissot continued on his speech intending to rally his troops. He gave a brief rundown of what could be expected in the immediate future. He was sending half of the sixty knights present to bolster the force of twenty knights at the Citadel. The remaining thirty would remain here and search the city for information on this secret society who were accused of the assassination attempt of the king. Sirion was to be part of that group. After a rousing twenty minute speech, the men were released for the day. It was customary for the knights to receive a day of furlough before being deployed anywhere.
Lord Agnand put a heavy hand on Sirion’s shoulder shook the ranger’s hand with the other. Lord Bissot strode up to the three, “Well, Lord Sunrunner, shall we ready you for your first mission?”
--
The blazing sun was beginning its descent into the sky. Sirion ignored the heat as he walked down the street. A hooded cloak concealed his identity and also concealed him inside the crowd. The edge of the hood rest just beneath his brown, allowing his prying vision to pierce into the busy marketplace. There must have been nearly one thousand people in the small market his early evening, and moving amongst them was proving to be troublesome. He pushed his way through it, however, and came within eyesight of his objective.
There was a fish stand on the right hand side of the street. A couple of dozen people were crowded around it, shouting offerings and bargain deals for the seafood. The merchant was shouting above his patrons, either refusing offers or accepting them. Just past the fish stand, in front of another stand selling clothing, stood a guard from the Fleteu Miire guard company. Looking around, the guard caught Sirion’s gaze and nodded slightly. There, that was the first sign. The ranger ducked into an alleyway and watched the guard make his way toward the fish stand.
The guard had no trouble making his way through the crowd, as most of the people gave him a wide berth. But as he passed the fish seller, the guard went out of his way to bump into a man standing in line. That was the second sign. The man the guard had brushed against was now his target. Dressed in a faded blue shirt and tan pants, the dark skinned man only glared at the guard before returning to the merchant. The Fleteu Miire man continued down the street.
The day before, Lhyrian spies had uncovered a man who had suspicious dealings with other strange men in Khai. After putting more research into their work, they decided there was enough evidence to apprehend him as a suspicious person. But, despite their resourcefulness, they couldn’t keep tabs on him. The knights contacted the Fleteu Miire, who provided five men to watch him throughout the city the next day. The signal for the tradeoff between the FM and the knights was brushing against him in front of the fish stand. It worked. Now the man was Sirion’s charge, and the FM’s participation in the deal was done. They would be paid before the week was out.
Sirion stood there and watched his target. The man looked all around him nervously, and when his shifty eyes darted toward Sirion, the ranger ducked back into the alley. Finally, the man bought his fish and walked out of the market. Sirion was close behind, but always keeping a distance between the two. With his non-descript cloak, the ranger blended in easily. Even when his target looked at him directly, it was not enough to spook the man.
Sirion followed the man across town, dodging his prying eyes and keeping his identity hidden. He had several close calls where he thought he had blown things, but the man in the blue shirt didn’t seem to notice. Finally, the chase ended with the target entering a small house.
Sirion walked by the house, reached up and took off his hood. That was a sign to a Lhyrian spy that this was the house were the suspect had entered. The ranger walked two blocks down and waited. Within minutes, six fully armed Lhyrnian knights jogged down the street and assembled in front of the man’s house. One positioned himself in front of each of the three windows, and the sergeant knocked on the front door. There was no response. Sirion’s instincts perked and he ran down the alleyway that ran perpendicular to the alley next to the suspect’s house. As Sirion reached the other street, his instincts were proven correct. The man with the blue shirt was running away from his house at a full sprint. He must have escaped through a back door. Without wasting a moment, the ranger lunged forward and sprinted after him.
The crowds were much thinner on this street than the market, and Sirion could run down the middle of the dirt road without being hindered. Everyone he passed watched him go and wondered what the commotion was about. The ranger paid them no mind and kept his legs churning, his brown cloak flapping behind him. He was making good time and rounded a corner.
He saw the man in the blue shirt bent over, his hands resting on his knees, clearly out of breath. His eyes bulged when Sirion flew around the corner. The suspect turned to flee again, but Sirion was faster. He leapt into the air and tackled him to the ground, smashing the man’s face into the fine dirt. With ease, he lifted the man off the ground and slammed him into the nearest brick wall. The suspect coughed, his face covered with dust.
At that moment, the knights came around the corner. “A fine job, my man!” called the sergeant.
--
That night, Sirion sat in silence next to Godfrey and William. The three had become close. With Valandil and Bill gone, Sirion found the two knights were quite likeable and very similar to himself in many ways. Although both men towered over the northern ranger, they gave him ample respect, as they had seen his fighting ability first-hand in the tourney in Lhyrnia. They sat outside with ales in hand, retelling stories of old between long pauses of silence.
A man walked around a corner, and it was easy to see Lord Agnand had arrived. The three jumped to their feet, but retook their seats when the lord waved his hand, dismissing their attention. “Sirion. Will you come with me?”
The ranger tapped the mug against the table, “I shall return, if it is so allowed, my friends,”
“Aye, a fine evening to you,” replied Godfrey.
Sirion followed Agnand away and into the lord’s study. As they entered the brightly lit room, Sirion could see a handful of high ranking knights hunched over a table. Lord Bissot nodded to the two newcomers. Princess Alice, the senior sergeant and a few others looked down at a map of their region. Also scattered about the table were various paperwork and notes. Sirion had no way to see what information the intel contained.
“My Lords Agnand and Sunrunner, please come in. We have much to discuss,” Lord Bissot addressed them, “I’ll begin with our findings earlier this day. The suspect apprehended this afternoon, named Hamir Fakeek, was discovered to be involved with a suspicious society, as was suspected. However, it was not the group we were looking for, but this group,” he rattled off a title that Sirion doubted his could pronounce himself, “has very close ties to the society we are seeking. Mr. Fakeek would not relinquish their name, even in death,” Sirion’s eyes darted to Lord Bissot, who returned his gaze sharply. Lord Bissot added quietly, “I assume you have little experience in the arts of interrogation, my lord. Sometimes things get…messy,”
Sirion only returned his eyes to the table and Lord Bissot continued, “But our friend did tell us that the group is not one that claims to have a central building or facility where they meet and conduct their business. Their operations are very mobile, always meeting in a different place each time,”
Princess Alice spoke up, winking at Sirion as she began, “Our sources put another member of this ‘sub-group’ here, at New Hope. He is said to be a high ranking individual. We will send a rider out tomorrow to meet with our men already on their way down to the Citadel to keep an eye on things. Also in the morning, a small task force will depart and leave for New Hope,”
New Hope. It was a medium sized town sitting just east of the Citadel and the wall. The fortress was originally built to protect the town. When Varghan fell, the only other city in the southern region of the desert was New Hope. It grew very quickly, and now hosted a good share of the commercial trading and was considered a hub in the flowing sands of the Varghani Desert.
Alice continued, “This task force will include Sirs Godfrey, Obo, Willaim, Frederick and Aran. Lord Sirion, you will be come along as well. I will command this force. Lord Sunrunner, I am placing you in charge as the senior sergeant of the men. Your experience in the administration of war greatly outnumbers most of the young knights. Do you have any qualms with that?”
Sirion, taken aback, simply shook his head, “No, m’lady,”
“Good. You are hereby titled as an Honorary Knight of the Order of Lhyrnian Knights. Welcome to our ranks,” the group applauded and shook the ranger’s hand. All were smiles and nods of approval and embraces of welcoming.
“Now, Sergeant Sunrunner, get your men briefed and prepared for travel in the morning. We move at day break,”
--
A week had passed and the newly knighted ranger was on his way south with his men. They had boarded a ship and sailed from Khamir to Abbala and set south from there. After landing, and a day to ready their equipment, the men had left the gates of Khamir’s sister city and headed south.
He and his five other knights, as well as a squire for each, rode horseback in full battle armor. Still having no weapons or armor of any kind to his name, he was issued a full set of armor as well as a compliment of weapons of his choosing. He found the armor to be heavy, stifling, incredibly uncomfortable and bulky, but knew that with the weaknesses in mobility, it made up for protection. A helm rested on his head, a steel cuirass was strapped to his chest with arm and shoulder protection, and steel greaves protected his legs. Each piece of armor was linked and jointed at the appropriate joints, allowing as much movement as it could. A full shield rested on his horse’s left side. For weapons, a steel long sword hung in a scabbard on his left side, with a dagger on his right. His right hand gripped a seven foot spear, which rested in a stirrup for support. Looking at him, one would never know he was not of the Order.
The other knights wore identical armor. In fact it was impossible to tell who was who from the small band of warriors. Resting over each of their breastplates was a snow white sleeve-less surcoat that draped from their shoulders to their knees. It did a number of things, from concealing their armor, to identifying them as a knight of Lhyrnia. The blue sword was sewn into the front of the coat for identity reasons.
Sirion swayed on his steed as the horse stumbled on some particularly difficult terrain. The desert was as perilous as it was unforgiving. His band was making their way along a rocky canyon with cliff walls rising from the desert floor nearly fifty feet above them. It was a small canyon with a wide floor, but each man knew the dangers of the choke point, nonetheless. The path allowed no other way to traverse the danger spot, as it was the only passable way in a huge field of rocks and other sharp stone.
The knights’ eyes darted back and forth as they searched for anything that looked out of place. There was nothing out of normal against the red rock that formed their surroundings. There were only outcroppings of sandy stone, a few stands of scrub pine and the occasional little alcove cut into the cliff face. All seemed peaceful. Sirion kicked his horse into a trot upon seeing the end of the canyon just ahead. The others followed suit. It was then that their worst nightmare came true.
Arrows seemed to fly from the blue sky itself, cutting through the air with whistling zips. Most clattered upon the desert stone, but one embedded itself into the left flank of one horse, and another buried itself deep into the shoulder of a squire named Nathan. The young man cried out and let his shield fall.
“Ride! Get to the end of the canyon!” commanded Sirion. Each of the twelve horsemen kicked their steeds into action, but not before a second volley of arrows was launched from their left. Each knight grabbed their shield and raised it up to protect themselves. Several arrows ‘thunked’ into the thick wood harmlessly. But three more missiles found horseflesh. The beasts cried out in their discomfort but rode forward anyways, as they were as much warriors as the men on their backs.
Sirion saw the end of the canyon in sight. The steep wall to his left slowly lost altitude and evened out with the rest of the desert. “Form up!” he shouted, and within seconds, eleven other horsemen were on his left and right. “Sir Godfrey, you take the men on the right and flank our enemy. You men on the left, you’re with me. Come! No attack on these knights shall go unpunished! Ride!” Sirion lifted his spear high into the air and spurred his beast forward. The animal snorted in response and lunged forward, speeding towards the men who shot at them, four other raging steeds behind him.
Sirion’s horse charged forward over the rough ground, seeming to pay no heed to the dangerous footing. Sirion’s eyes were searching, hunting, knowing that their enemy lay hidden in these rocks. He looked down into the canyon and saw a Lhyrian shield laying on the ground. He knew then they were in the right spot. Almost that same instant, a man jumped out from behind a rock, an arrow knocked in a bow and leveled at the ranger.
Instinctively, William reared back and sent his spear slicing through the air. It flew in a perfect line and drove through the archer’s belly. He let loose his arrow and it flew wildly into the air, without harm. A second man appeared from the rocks, and Sirion treated him to a similar fate. His own spear cut through the air as if it were an over-sized arrow and penetrated the man’s chest with a sickening thud. Yet a third man jumped out of what looked to be a hole in the ground, clutching a scimitar. Sir Aran was closest and didn’t need to direct his mount what to do. The war horse leapt forward and quartered away, giving the knight the opportunity he needed to thrust downward, impaling the man through the chest. He fell in a heap when Aran yanked his spear free.
“Dismount, and search the area!” ordered Sirion. The five knights clambered down from their steeds and unsheathed their swords. “Stick close, and watch each other’s backs,”
When they began walking forward, it became obvious that this was no random spot these bandits had selected. Beaten walking paths led from prominent lookout points to a central location right behind a large boulder. It became clear that these bandits were praying on caravans, and this was their base of operation. And as Knights of Lhyrnia, it was their duty to stamp out evil wherever it was found, including on well traveled roads.
Sirion kept his shield raised high, expecting an attack at anytime. He didn’t have to wait long. With a loud and angry cry, a fourth bandit came flying out from his cover. His mace smacked into Sirion’s shield. The impact reverberated through the wood, but the knight on Sirion’s left jabbed his blade deep into their enemy’s neck, collapsing him instantly. Then another bandit appeared, and another, followed by another. It seemed the entire camp was now alerted to their presence. Sirion ducked down low with a man to his left and right. “Hold steady!” he cried.
The bandits rushed forth wildly, without abandon or discipline. Sirion saw this was going to be an easy fight. The knights attacked as one, catching the marauders off guard. Each of the five knights selected a target, stepped forward and hacked at their enemies. All of the bandits fell in a spraying arc of blood. A second wave jumped out, brandishing weapons of every sort. They also became easy prey for the well trained knights. One particularly large man rushed towards Sirion, swinging his short sword wildly. Sirion simply raised his shield, blocking the strike. He countered with a slash from his right. He was surprised when the bandit parried his blow. Sirion came back with a quick jab, but the bandit dodged that as well, coming back with his own attack.
Growing tired of the game, Sirion deflected the attack with his long sword, and brought his shield forward with startling speed. He smashed the steel edge of the shield against the skull of his opponent, sending him sprawling out across the ground. The former ranger stepped forward and buried his sword into the man’s chest.
He looked about and saw all bandits slain. He ordered his men to go inside and clean out the rest of the marauder den just as he flanking team arrived.
“Have we missed the fun?” asked Godfrey, eagerly.
“Aye, I’m afraid you have, although it wasn’t much fun, really,” answered Sir Aran with a smile as he turned towards the opening of the bandit retreat.
Princess Alice leapt from her horse with Grace, following the lead of the other knights of the flanking crew. She did not follow her men into the gaping maw of the cave, but approached Sirion and unstrapped her helm as she did so.
“Very well done, Sergeant,” she smiled at Sirion.
“They were just a simple group of bandits. Nothing too challenging,” he answered.
“Nonetheless, this puts you in a good light with your men. You didn’t hesitate and were quick to action. And if they men don’t think of you in an even better light than they already did, I will say that I sure do,” the princess smiled again as she turned away to tend to her horse. She wore identical armor to everyone else, forgoing the dragon symbol that traditionally marked officers from soldiers. On a caravan such as this, wearing markings that made one stand out as an important person was suicide.
Godfrey was the first out of the bandit’s den, “All clear, sir!”
“Is there anything of any importance inside?” asked Sirion.
“Nay. It is what it is: just a bandit’s den…nothing,”
“Very well, take a moment to tend to your horses and rest in the shade. We mount up in ten minutes,”
--
Later that evening, when the night was struggling to reclaim the land for its own, the band of fourteen riders meandered down the road that cut straight through the wide desert. The squire Nathan’s arrow wound had been treated, and he continued to ride.
According to Alice, there was an oasis nearby which would offer water and shelter. They planned to make their camp there for the evening. But while they made their way down the road, Princess Alice let her horse fall behind and catch stride next to Sirion.
“Tis a fine evening tonight,” she murmered.
“Aye, that it is,” replied Sirion, a little surprised that she’d take time to make small talk with him.
“Tell me, Sir Knight,” she paused and put a dramatic emphasis on his title with a mischievous grin, “have you spent a lot of time in the desert?” she thingyed her helmed head to the side as she waited for a response. Her beauty shone through the heavy steel helmet, and Sirion found himself peering deep into her stark blue eyes.
“I’m afraid my travels have not taken me into such environs, m’lady. Most, if not all, of my time has been spent in lush, timbered mountain ranges. That is where I am most comfortable. Although I did travel along the edge of the Khazrani Steppes once. And while they looked similar in appearance to this, I think, they were not cursed to be constantly baked by the sun,”
Alice chuckled a bit, “Yes, I do understand that. I remember my first time seeing this land. It held so much wonder for me at the time. The people were new, the places were magnificent, and there is so much mysticism here, and so much history and lore. This place truly is magical,”
“Seems like a lot of death to me,” muttered Sirion.
Alice feigned gasp, “What is that supposed to mean?”
Sirion gave her a crooked smile, “Oh, I don’t know. The entire reasoning for this Citadel we’re going to is steeped in violence, first from the undead, and now from your neighbors to the west. I’ve been in country less than a month, and I’ve already spilled blood. And remember the night we met? You said yourself people weren’t to be on the street at night, something about ‘creatures of the dark.’ If I didn’t know any better, I’d be more than happy to leave this place to hell,”
Alice squinted at him, but her smile belied her true feelings, “And I suppose our corner of the country is ruled by peace? Or your homeland? Remember, my friend, you used to make your living slaying people,”
Sirion winced at the mention of his days in the Pass Rangers. It was true, his mission in life was to protect the innocent, and that including destroying those who meant harm to the weak. “That was not the same,” he began, but Alice interrupted him.
“You may dress a dog up as many ways as you like, but at the end of the day, it is still a dog. Yes, you killed to protect, but you still killed. And one could say that because of that, your homeland is shrouded in violence. You see? Mankind is like a scourge, and wherever the far-reaching fingers of our race touches, violence follows soon afterwards,”
The words didn’t sting, but he didn’t like being preached at nonetheless. He took this moment to try an offensive, “And what can you say about your own nation? As far as I understand it, the nation of Lhynia doesn’t export farmed goods, livestock or other traditional market items, but you sell your young men to the highest bidder,” Alice continued to stare at Sirion while he went on. He wasn’t frustrated or angry, but spoke with a calm manner, “If two nations who are at war with each other and emissaries from both nations contact you for the services of your fighting men, you take the offer of the highest bidder. You don’t care the reasons for the war, or who is standing for right, all that matters to your king is the gold behind the offer. Am I not correct?”
Alice smiled slightly as she lean forward in her saddle, “I never said, m’lord, that I’m against violence. I believe that was your line…?” She winked again, “Yes, we profit off of death on the battlefield. But we are not the only nations to do so. What is the difference between us, sending our men into battle under another nation’s banner, and the city of Aranmoor, who make large profits selling their famous crossbows across the land? Just because one nation offers their sons as instruments of war, it doesn’t make us any better or worse in the eyes of the world. Besides, if you’ve noticed, the land our beloved kingdom sits on is not friendly for agriculture. So our export has become soldiers,”
Sirion sat in silence and thought about what was said. They rode in silence for a while. The remaining sliver of the sun cast the sky into vibrant oranges and reds, and the small outline of palm trees could be seen nearly two miles away. They were close to their destination for the night.
“And what of you, Princess?” asked Sirion after a long period of silence, “You are royalty, so why do you wear the armor of a knight? Shouldn’t you be sitting on a high and mighty throne somewhere, taking delight in the finer things of life?”
Alice laughed only a little bit, “Who’s to say that I am not experiencing the finer things in life? The camaraderie and brotherhood formed between fighters is something that cannot be replicated anywhere else,” she paused, “Besides, I am not the first born, and therefore, the throne will never be mine. My older brother is in the wings to be king. You have not met him, he’s serving in the north as of now. But you did meet my younger sister, Belinda, yes?”
Sirion nodded before she continued, “She will sit in the palace and take part in the finer things, as you put it. She will be pampered and waited on. She will become spoiled and prone to tantrums, and because of that, people will grow to dislike her and whisper behind her back. Her friends will depart her side, and before long, she will find herself alone. Don’t be mistaken, there will always be servants and waiters, but her friends will be gone,”
She adjusted herself on the saddle before she spoke again, “But myself, I have formed friendships that have been forged in the fires of combat. I have come to know some people and have grown with them as if they were my own brothers and sisters. I have traveled to far-away lands and met many new persons. I know how the world works and I choose to struggle for my survival. I understand that at each meal I need to be thankful, and I know that each friend is a true blessing. I have found that I can choose to sit alone in the compound and friends will seek me out, because they enjoy my company. My sister cannot say the same,”
The next words were formed and rolling off of Sirion’s tongue before he could even stop them, “Do you not think your presence is sought because you are easy on the eyes?”
Alice, shocked, feigned another gasp and laughed, “Sergeant Sunrunner! How dare you!”
Sirion felt his face flush underneath his helmet, and was glad for the protection it offered against the princess’s gaze.
--
Once the traveling party had tended to their horses for the night, a fire was started, but many of the men retired for the evening. They curled up beneath blankets, or simply laid out underneath the stars. Many great stories were told that night, some of bravery, others of cowardice, and many of humor. One by one, each knight retired for the evening, and the last two persons around the fire were Princess Alice and Sergeant Sunrunner.
They stared into the dying blaze quietly before Sirion broke the silence, “M’lady, you keep dropping little bits of information about me, and about my past. You knew of my time in Edinmarsh as well as my service in the Pass Rangers. How did you come about this information?”
Alice smirked and poked at the fire for a moment, “Lets just say, part of what we do is keep tabs on all known paramilitary forces in the region, as well as current fields of open warfare. Your rangers were known about by more than just us. You were famous in the region, if you don’t’ remember. And your time in Edinmarsh was known about for a couple different reasons. You were involved in that skirmish between that kingdom and the Northerners, right? And after that, the great demon army of Vincent swept across the land, engulfing your city. In the reports we have, you put up a great defense, but disappeared soon after. We had thought you had died. And somehow, you ended up on our doorstep,” she watched Sirion’s eyes closely, “What happened to you? How did you end up in Lhyrnia?”
It was now Sirion’s turn to stare into the fire, and he didn’t answer for a long while. What was he supposed to say to that? ‘Oh yeah, I was killed by a demon-vampire overlord, but brought back to life by elven priests. And after that, I just decided to travel.” She wouldn’t understand. No one would. He looked up and saw her ice blue eyes staring at him, waiting for an answer. He only shrugged, “Life has many unseen surprises, does it not?”
“Damn straight,” she said.
“Lets just say I’ve made more than one unexpected turn on this journey called life,”
--
Alice St. Clair sat in front of the campfire just after dark. Her knights were telling tales of their past fights, and she interjected with a tale or two when it seemed fit. Her new sergeant remained quiet for most of the night, although he seemed to take great interest in hearing the stories of the younger knights. Highly involved, he laughed when a joke was told, and stayed somber when the memory of a comrade fallen was retold. Alice smiled within herself seeing her knights accept the ranger from the north as one of their own.
She took a moment to study him. He was proving to be somewhat of an enigma. In her experiences, when she attempted to befriend a man, there were usually two different outcomes. First, the man in question usually bent over backwards for her. She never appreciated it, and many times had to assure him that with personal friendships, rank means nothing. And the second most popular outcome was the man usually tried to morph the friendship into a romantic relationship. That caused great sadness in her heart, because when she had to explain that things weren’t working that way, it caused a divide between the two, and the friendship was lost.
Her willingness to be close to her troops and get down with them on a personal level portrayed the image that she was somewhat of a tease, flaunting herself to achieve things that otherwise wouldn’t be possible, like loyalty from troops, or special requests from seniors. But to her soldiers, it was nothing like that. Her personality was adhesive, and her troops fought harder for her than any other leader they’d had. She made them feel important to her, and they were. She cared for each and every soul under her command.
Her friendliness tabbed her to be too personable, too weak, and willing to bend the male’s will to please the woman at any time. This led to many rumors about her personal intimate life. The rumors numbered in the dozens, although absolutely none of them were true, and her men would fight anyone saying otherwise. In truth, she had one true love in the past, and she had lost him in battle. She made a vow to herself that it would not happen again, and decided not to pursue her feelings until her serving days were over. Her men knew this, and the told the truth to those spreading other stories around, and they often righted the truth with their fists.
Tonight, she sat alongside Nathan, the young squire injured in the day’s ambush. She brushed his hair to the side as a loving mother would, and checked on the dressing on his shoulder. He thanked her before retiring for the evening. That left three around the fire, herself, Godfrey, and Sirion. She was pleased to see Godfrey and Sirion becoming fast friends. She wasn’t in Lhyrna during the tournament, so she hadn’t seen the duel between the two, but she had heard about it this night over the open flame. It seemed as though the two men were evenly matched. As Godfrey told another tale of one particularly bad storm at sea, she took a moment to admire this new sergeant who was still so new to her.
He sat directly across the fire from her. His dark eyes seemed to be hollow embers in the night. A bit of scruff clung to his face, and his hair was getting longer from the first day she’d met him. It was no longer clean cut, but a little shaggy and slightly curly. It gave him somewhat of a boyish look, if it weren’t for the years of wear and tear on his face. She was told he was just over forty, but here in this poor light, he might have been mistaken for fifty.
He wrapped a cloak around his broad shoulders, and when he adjusted his position from time to time, his sleeveless shirt betrayed his highly muscled arms. Alice couldn’t help but notice the many scars that decorated his taunt flesh. He caught her eyeing him once, and gave her that crooked little smirk he was so good at. She was glad that she had been wrapped in a cloak herself, so no one could see the shiver run up her spine.
And this added to the mystery that Sirion presented her. He created conflicting emotions inside of her. The quiet stranger from the north was different from her other soldiers, in that he resisted her attempts to be personable, but at the same time, seemed to be reaching out for someone. She had seen it in his eyes, when she caught him staring off into the horizon, that there was something about this man, something dark in his past, which still had demons battling in his heart.
And so she studied him from across the fire and watched his face as he said goodnight to his friend. She could see that Sirion was a man that held his friends close, and anyone who wasn’t in his small group was treated with great suspicion. But it was easy to see that there was something wrong inside. And this also contributed to her moral crossroads.
She wanted to help this man. He needed assistance in whatever he was dealing with. Perhaps he had been involved in a particularly nasty battle, and those ghosts hadn’t left him yet. Or perhaps the atrocities witnessed in Lord Vincent’s war still weighed on his mind. Or maybe there were other demons chasing him in this world. Whatever it was, it was clear Sirion couldn’t do it alone. But, on the same hand, it was not Alice’s place to step into another man’s business, as long as he could function efficiently, and she knew that.
And then there were…other feelings that he brought to the surface, feelings that hadn’t been felt in a very long time. He stirred within her emotions that she had learned to disconnect from her heart. And she didn’t know why. She spent her entire life around men such as him, and he was really no different than any other muscled brute she surrounded herself with. But there was something she couldn’t identify that made him different. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t from Lhyrnia, and offered a different taste of the world. She thought about different reasons that she felt him so admirable and attractive. She didn’t think him to be physically attractive, but, sitting here in the firelight, she found him incredibly handsome. She found herself lost in his eyes as their darkness fought against the dying flame of the fire. And for a short moment, she felt herself longing to be sitting next to him, embracing him with protective arms.
She broke herself of that spell as her heart jumped. She was unsure of what had come over her. This was not what she had promised herself. She was the princess, but more over, she was the commander of this expedition. So she decided that she had best leave him be, and keep a buffer of space between them.
She gathered her things to retire for the evening, but as she turned, she said to the ranger, “If you need anything, Sergeant, please don’t hesitate to call on me,”
He simply nodded.
--
More than a week later, they found themselves less than two days ride from New Hope. But also coming into view was the Wall separating the Varghani Desert from Amaristan. It stood nearly twenty feet tall and was made of smooth brick. Guard towers punctuated the wall every two miles, although they were deserted and unmanned. The desert had changed very little, otherwise. Gone were the rocks and scrub trees, replaced by flat sand instead. The horses pressed on, craving water, but seeing none. Alice knew this route well, and knew there to be another oasis only six hours away. They would arrive in the early evening.
--
The princess was right about the time and distance that was needed for them to reach the water. The horses barely allowed their riders to climb down before rushing towards the cool pool. The knights and squires both unhooked the saddles and gear, before shedding their own equipment. Everyone took a moment to relax for a while and let the heat subside before any preparations were made for anything else.
That evening, another fire was burning with rabbit roasting over the spit. The mood was hearty as the band camped within sight of the imposing Wall. The men laughed and played a card game near the fire. They were enthralled with their game and were only interrupted by the clang of steel just outside the tropical trees. They stood to see what the commotion was.
“Is that it? Is that the best you have to offer?”
A young squire named Stephen swung his long sword again at another squire, Frederick. Frederick, who appeared to be two summers or so older, blocked the strike easily and thrust Stephen backward. Frederick went on the offensive, and by this time, the knights and other squires had formed a circle around the sparring session, and many were cheering the boys on. The young men ate it up, and attacked each other with renewed vigor.
Stephen came in high, but it was easily anticipated by Fred. He parried and countered low. Stephen used all his effort to block the attack, and once he had done so, spun around and brought his blade singing at ankle length. Fred leapt back and pounced toward Stephen again, bringing his blade from up high. Stephen simply rolled to the side, regaining his feet quickly. Frederick went on the offensive again and attacked with a flurry of quick strikes meant to put his opponent on a high speed defensive with the hope that he would open up a weak spot, allowing a quick ‘kill.’
But Stephen was a talented swordsman. He parried each thrust like an expert, and shoved Fred away with a kick to the gut. Stephen went on an offensive of his own, but of a different kind. He focused on power strikes, more than fast and quick jabs. He brought his sword down in a mighty swing, and before he lost the momentum, kept it sailing through to the right, and then to the left. It was an imposing attack, and one that Fred had trouble defending, for each parry he attempted, the sheer force of Stephen’s strikes nearly rattled the sword from his grip.
Sirion watched on intently, and saw the boys putting more and more juice behind each swing. He saw the flat of their swords were not always what was striking, and each squire was getting more and more serious in their fight. The sergeant decided to cancel the mtach before someone got hurt.
“All right, you lads! A fine fight!” a cheer rose up from the knights, “Now, get you some rest for we’ve still a long ways to go. And damnit, Obo, get those rabbits off the spit, you’ve cooked them to a crisp!”
--
Two days later, just as Lady Alice had told them, the buildings of New Hope rose from the shifting sands directly in their path. As they approached the town, Sirion took note of some prominent features of the settlement. It appeared to be a somewhat large city. But like Sarenton, it was not a walled city, so it was open to any and all who wished to enter. Some buildings were tall, such as buildings of worship and religion, and there were many of those. Most other buildings only stretched to three stories or so. There were many domed buildings, and the ranger wondered about the purpose for that, if there was some sort of architectural reasoning for it, of it that was just a popular design for this region.
Several herds of various livestock were scattered out from the town, and Sirion noticed that there was indeed some rough grass growing here. It must be just enough for the animals to live on. But the town itself was not was demanded the most attention. Sitting only three miles away to the east was the massive Citadel.
Rising up almost one hundred and fifty feet, the main tower of the Citadel jutted out from the central complex straight upwards. Scattered around it was nearly thirty buildings of military importance, and surrounding all of that was a massive wall that matched the wall running from the Ambian Sea south. It was all made of jet black stone, giving the structure an intimidating factor. Sirion guessed the total area of the complex that was The Citadel to be nearly two square miles. A guard tower, made in the shape of the main tower, was situated on each corner, and one more between each of them. With eight towers rising fifty feet into the air, and one large tower rising three times that, it was easy to see why the residents of New Hope felt safe in their proximity to the Citadel. As they rode by, Alice noted that nearly two thousand soldiers inhabited the place at any one time.
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Post by longstevo on May 19, 2009 9:15:37 GMT -5
The road forked, leading to both New Hope and the Citadel. The lead knight took the road to the fortress, leaving the bustling town behind. On the way, they passed several caravans bound for the marketplace and other merchants. It took just less than an hour to reach the front gate of the imposing monstrosity.
Sirion noticed the gates were manned by the armed forces of Amaristan. Instead of the bulky armor of the knights, they preferred the lightweight chainmail tunics and hoods. They were lightweight, but they were quick and agile, and were renown for their horse abilities. Their undershirts were a vibrant green, and a curved scimitar hung from their belt. They welcomed the knights with curt nods.
Upon entering, Princess Alice addressed her men, “I must report to higher. Remain in the vicinity, and I’ll return with further instructions,”
--
Two hours later, the princess strode out of the Lhyrnian fortress inside the Citadel. Her men stood gathered around at the foot of the stairs leading from the main door. Most of the men had stripped off their weapons and armor and were relaxing while they could.
“Suit up, gentlemen. We’re going on a raid,” she commanded. While her men reequipped, she gave them a rundown of their mission. They were originally supposed to go into New Hope under the guise of simple travelers and merchants and weed out information under cover, but upon their arrival into the Citadel, it was discovered by Lhyrian sources that a contact of the secret group Meliendes Dye was residing in a house in New Hope. That secret society was thought to have connections to the assassins group who were suspected of attempting to kill the king.
“So we have to move light, and we have to move fast. Mount up!” ordered the princess as she buckled down her helm. She looked at Sirion with a parting glance, and he nodded to her, understanding the mission at hand. In minutes, only the knights were upon their horses. The squires would stay back and secure their equipment and get them settled into their barracks. Seven horsemen with spears thundered out of the gate, racing toward the town.
--
The raid would have to move with lightning speed. There was nothing covert about seven Lhyrian knights moving into the town’s limits, and within minutes of their arrival, word would most likely spread to their suspect. Their goal was to beat the information to their man. Princess Alice led the way, as she was the only one who had been inside New Hope, and knew for sure the house’s location. It was near the butcher’s shop, on the southern edges of the town. As they neared, the knights split off the road, and circled to the south. They pounded through little shanty villages and scattered shacks, upturning carts and making pedestrians jump out of their way. Alice looked back and cursed. The dust trail they were creating could be seen a mile away. They would need to move faster. She kicked her steed, urging more from her already exhausted beast.
Sirion was riding in the rear, and marveled at the princess’s riding skills. She was moving expertly through difficult terrain. He pushed those thoughts from his mind. There would be time to admire later. Right now, he needed all his thoughts on the mission at hand. He watched the lead horse cut away to the left, and charge into the edges of the city. Just as his horse rounded the corner, he saw her horse cut to the right, down another dirt road. As he brought up the rear and rounded the turn, her horse reared up and the princess threw her spear down into the dirt.
That was the signal. All seven knights threw down their spears and leapt from their steeds. Sirion, Godfrey, Obo and Aran sprinted to the front door. Alice, Frederick and William rushed to the rear to break into the back door. Sirion waited for them to disappear behind the corner and counted to five. He then stepped back, lunged forward and kicked the front door off its hinges, sending it flying into the house. Godfrey rushed inside, sword in hand, followed by Obo and Aran.
Screaming and yelling erupted immediately from the inside. A woman and child began shouting, and the knights were yelling over them, ordering them to the ground. A man rushed forth, brandishing a small dagger. He was not fat nor slender, but somewhere in between, and stood at just an average height. His black hair was shorn, and a beard decorated his face. Fear was not present in his eyes, only anger and hatred.
Godfrey swung forward with his blade and smacked the man across the skull with the flat of his steel sword. The man went flying to the side in a heap. A much younger man, presumably the oldest son, stepped into the main room, fists clenched, with the same hatred seen in his father’s eyes. Sirion simply leveled his long sword at the youth and said menacingly, “You stay there, lest you end up worse than your father,” the young man didn’t move, except his white knuckled fingers.
The man on the floor attempted to regain his feet, but was met with Godfrey’s armored fist crushing into the back of his head. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Just then, Alice and her two knights rushed in. They pushed the son to the ground, and forced his hands behind his back. He cried out in pain, but was ignored.
“Very good. That’s him. Let’s get him loaded up and back to the fortress,” Within minutes, their suspect was out the door, tied to Aran’s horse, and each knight was mounting their steed. On his way out, Sirion turned to see inside the house. The mother was on her knees, her crying face smothered into a small child she clutched to her chest. A second small child held on to the folds of her robe, fear and confusion in her eyes. The oldest son was back on his feet, with even more hatred in his eyes than there was before. Sirion looked away and left.
--
Late that night, Imir Abu Fashir was tied to a wooden chair in the bottom of a non descript dungeon deep below the surface of the Citadel. Coarse ropes bit into his wrists and ankles. His clothes had been removed, so he sat naked, in this dark and dank cell. He had awoken like this after being knocked out in his own home earlier that same evening. Cursed knights! They always had a way of ruining things. He knew that he was not innocent, but his family did not. His heart went out for them, for he knew that he would not see them again. He struggled against his bonds, but they were tight.
He knew he was not innocent because he knew his hands to be bathed in blood. As an operative in the organization Meliendes Dye, he had been personally responsible for the righteous killings of nearly twenty men and women. Righteous killings, revenge slayings, assassinations…they were all different names for the same thing. His organization had one purpose, and they were good at it. The name of their secret society was somewhat well known, but their ties to the Hashashini were utterly unknown. Imir smiled within himself.
He took pride knowing that the knights would not discover what they had captured him to tell. He knew of the botched assassination of the King of Lhyrnia. And he knew that the knights of the same king would come looking. He didn’t know just how quickly they would find him. He was given zero time to prepare. He was unable to make his final arrangements for his family, set final records straight with his command…and unable to place the poison pill inside his gums.
The little pill sat down in a hollow carved out into an operative’s gums during initiation. The suicide pill sat inside of it, and if a man was captured, they would simply dislodge the capsule and bite into it, and the poison would kill its taker instantly. Imir knew that ending his own life would be much more difficult, and painful without it.
But the thoughts of what the knights would not discover brought him pleasure once more. He was sure the knights were aware of the Meliendes Dye, and he suspected they were somewhat aware of a greater organization above his own, but he was certain they did not know of the Hashashini. They served a much greater goal than he, and although the Meliendes Dye was known to be a much lesser group of men, he was proud to have served in the overall plans the Hashashini had laid for this world. He chuckled to himself.
Imir heard footsteps coming down the hall. His interrogation would begin quickly. His pride rose up in his throat. He would not allow the infidels their satisfaction of torture and his cries for mercy. He was sure they knew he would not talk, but they would put him through great pain nonetheless. He would need to end things now if he was to foil their plot.
As the footsteps padded closer, Imir stuck his tongue out of his mouth as far as he could. He paused. He knew there would be great pain in just a few seconds, but he thought of his father, and his teachings to the young Imir. ‘My son, there is nothing greater than to die in service to the great lord of the Hashashini. He is a father to all of us, and tells us that if we sacrifice our earthly bodies in his service, we will be rewarded in the afterlife, and our families need not worry about struggling for themselves for the rest of their time on this earth.’ His father’s voice echoed off the empty dungeon walls. Imir took a large breath, thought of his family once more, and bit down as hard as he could.
--
Godfrey, Sirion, Agnand and Alice walked to the slimy stairs leading the cell of their prisoner. They had briefed a plan of action of how they would talk to their suspect. They hadn’t planned any torture that was too terrible this time. They would save that for later. But, nonetheless, Godfrey carried a large sack of interrogation ‘tools.’ He never took a lot of pleasure from using them, but they did get the job done, and effectively. The knight didn’t really mind the blood that followed, but the screams unnerved him a bit.
The four rounded the final corner and approached the cell in silence. Agnand fumbled with the keys, and the clinking of the metal sounded deafening in the quiet dungeon. The great Lord inserted the key and unlocked the door, pushing it open with a creek. The four knights went into the room and stopped in their tracks.
Imir’s chin sat glued to his chest, blood pouring out of his mouth and down his front. The large chunk of meat that was his tongue sat on the floor. Blood was continuing to run down his shirt and pool beneath him. Alice cursed under her breath.
“Damn,” muttered Agnand.
--
“Their life expectancy isn’t long once we get our hands on them, is it?” quipped Obo as the task force of knights were informed on the previous evening’s events.
“It’s clear they’re hiding something. For one to desire to end his own life just to protect the knowledge in his head is proof enough that what is inside that skull is valuable. We need to find another operative,” said Sir Aran.
“I agree, but we don’t just find an operative. They were well undercover, and it was all our spies could do just to find the two we did,” answered Godfrey.
William paced the large hall that acted as their base of operations, “Maybe we ought to go through with the original plan. We take up guises as simple merchants and try to work in through that way. We place a mole into the organization and get information from that route,”
Sirion shook his head, “Nay, our identities are compromised after our raid. We are well known to the people now. There will be no undercover for us,”
They addressed their concerns and pondered what should be done for nearly two hours. Alice finally called a recess for the morning, and ordered them to regroup after the lunch hour. She stood from the table, “Sergeant Sunrunner, will you join me for a moment?”
--
CHAPTER 7 THE DEATH OF A KING
That very moment, hundreds of miles away, King Hughes of Lhyrnia sat in his chambers with a steaming cup of tea. The old man leaned back in his chair, the old leather groaning in protest. He stared deep into the shallow pool of amber liquid and pondered his life. Many things had been said over the years about his ability to rule his own kingdom, and many of them had been true. Lots of things were said that were less than gracious, but he took them with a grain of salt as he did with most criticism.
After all, he was king, and there were few kings in this continent. He would rule his land as he saw fit. But strangely, his mind wandered to deeply moral territory. He thought of his conversation with the ranger Sirion Sunrunner. It had not been the first conversation of such topic. Many critics had come to his door, or written a letter, or called the king on his ‘warmongering.’ After all, in fact, if there were no conflicts in the land, there would be no need for his famous knights. And if there were need for his knights, there would be no money coming into his kingdom. So, in order for his land to survive, the Lhyrnian knights would need to be out and about, fighting other men’s wars.
And so it was said that the king himself was responsible for playing sides between nations of poor alliance, stoking the fires just to cause war and create a need for his knights. He shook his head as he thought about all the lies told against him. He had never purposefully lobbied for war against any country. It was the simple truth that as long as man had a need for money and power, there would be other men lined up to take it. His preferred his men to be used as simple peace keepers, but for as long as man grips the hilt of a sword, there will be other men willing to use it.
He also thought about the points that the ranger had brought up. The Kingdom of Lhyrnia had no essential exports to contribute to the world other than fighting men. But was that such a crime? The famous swords of the North would have no buyer if there was no need to spill blood. His men could be understood on the same plane. Some countries didn’t have the means to provide men to fight for their land, so they paid handsomely for the Lhyrnians to do it for them. Were the countries that made a good chunk of their income with weapons sales any less guilty as he? The man and the sword can kill just as easily as one another, but one lives and breathes, while the other is nothing more than a cold piece of steel. He saw no error in his ways.
Just then, there was a noise at his window. It didn’t startle him, for he was almost expecting it. The sound was not loud, just a rustle in the silent night. As Lord Hughes calmly looked to find the source, he noticed the curtains were swaying slightly. He leaned back in his chair, noting that it was a still night with no wind. He sighed deeply.
He sat forward and took his cup of tea and drank a small sip of the hot liquid and set the cup back upon its dish. The strong taste of peppermint from distant lands danced in his mouth. He thoroughly enjoyed the foreign tea, and with a passing thought, remembered that it came from the land where he had most recently deployed troops, Amaristan. And suddenly, his nose was filled with the scent of cinnamon, also native to the same desert country.
Lord Hughes’ eyes opened wide as he sat back and gripped the arms of his great throne. His mouth went dry. “It is time, then,” he said quietly.
There was another rustling behind him, as a voice answered, “Yes, milord,”
The king sighed and continued to stare straight ahead, “After so many years, and hundreds of great battles, I am destined to die alone, victim to cloaks and daggers,”
The male’s deep and smooth voice with a hint of an accent, answered, “You have fought many wars bravely, Great King, but as is the destiny of many great men, the sun has set upon your life with ill fashion. Your deeds have caught up to you, and it was just a matter of time before this had to happen,”
The king’s head fell, but he did not despair. He knew his time was upon him, his God had told him that it was nearing, and he was going to be allowed a place in the Great Hall. “And so I shall go, but know that this fight we wage in your homeland will not end. I fear it is in my kinsmen’s hearts to avenge my death. I hope you understand this will only be the start,” the king’s voice held no threat, nor did it shimmer with hate or anger. He was simply stating facts of how things would be.
“That may be so, but I have my orders, Lord,” replied the desert dweller’s voice. The king did not turn to face his ‘guest.’ The outsider spoke again, “Many years ago, before you were old enough to grip a sword, your father and my grandfather fought in the deserts outside of Khalid. I do not know if your father ever told you of this fight. They fought for many hours, but in the end, your father emerged victorious. With my grandfather defeated, and on his knees awaited execution, your father displayed incredible honor in allowing my forefather to live, saying he had not seen such honor in an enemy in over one hundred battles. With that mercy bestowed upon my family, we became in debt to yours. I ask you now, do you wish for my family to grant you this favor? I have with me ways that can make this painless. Upon your word, it will be done,”
The king thought for a moment, knowing exactly what story this man was talking about. The aroma of cinnamon became very strong as the man crept closer to the king’s back. Lord Hughes finally answered, “No my friend. I have made my living by the sword, and I shall have my death be by the same,”
The man standing behind the king sighed, “Very well, Oh King. I had hoped that you would wish that this be painless, for it brings me no pleasure to do this. Just know that the Hashashini holds you in great respect,”
King Hughes nodded, “And I hold your organization in the same regard, Assassin…”
--
Princess Alice burst into the room where the rest of her knights were gathered, going over potential plans of action and some guises they thought might work. Their attention yanked from what they were doing, they awaited their leader’s remarks.
“We have a new mission,” she stated flatly, “We must put the quest for the Assassins on hold. A liege baron who’s estate sits to the west of the Great Wall has sent a report that his land has come under siege of wildmen from the south. They quickly overcame his men-at-arms and have surrounded his keep. He sent word by courier requesting assistance,” she paused before adding, “And he’s a personal friend of Lord Bissot, and therefore, he is a high importance person. We leave immediately. Gather your weapons, and expect a fight.”
--
Early that afternoon, two hundred men left the Citadel heading south and west toward the baron’s estate. His name Derrick of Gladenmire, and beside being a friend of the commander of the southern forces, he was a generous contributor to the kingdom itself. It put his status in very high regard with the king, and therefore, the cost of the knights for his personal reasons came at a highly discounted mark.
Princess Alice and her small task force of knights spearheaded the force. Sirs Sirion, Aran, Godfrey, William, Obo and Frederick rode at the head of the column, followed by fifty other knights of Lhyrnia and fifty cavalry soldiers of Amaristan. Also included in the group were an assorted array of men-at-arms loyal to the causes at work. The ride would take nearly a day to complete, and as dark wholly reclaimed the landscape, the small force halted for the evening and set up camp.
Sirion knelt next the fire along with the other six had grown to become quite close. He had quickly grown to like Godfrey and William from the start after their round in the tourney. Sir Aran was quiet and withdrawn, but was fiercely loyal to those he held dear, and Sirion had appeared on that list very quickly. He made his friends feel warm and welcome, but his enemies were shown no mercy. Obo was the joker of the bunch, always looking for a way to insert a joke or lighthearted comment into any serious situation. But as much humor as his personality brought to the table, his sword arm meant more. Many a life had been taken by his ruthless hand. Sir Frederick was much like Aran. He didn’t talk much until something needed to be talked about, but he was brilliant when it came to organizing plans as well as architectural setups. He could see easily how a structure was put together, and could quickly devise ways of bringing it crashing to the ground. And then there was Princess Alice.
She was an enigma to him. On some days, she was overly friendly with her warm personality, which caused him to shun her. He didn’t mean to be so cold against her, but the thoughts of his two former lovers still remained fresh in his mind. And he didn’t even begin to think of her in that way, but throughout his entire career, he had always served with men. His only close interactions with women had been Enora and Emma, his two loves. So he found himself unfairly pushing her away in fear that his emotions might fail him once more, and it doing this, he was failing to seal together every piece of that team. And he could see it in her dealings, as well.
When he got that way, she had quickly learned to just leave him be. But he found that when he had pushed her into those modes, it was hard to warm the ice she had encased herself in. She usually came around in a couple days, allowing herself to work with him again, but it would be soon afterwards, he would shrink back into his shell, and the process would start over again. This night was one of those nights.
There had been an incident in the Citadel where she had called him to walk with her alone to discuss possible courses of action. They were walking along the causeway surrounding the massive tower when they stopped facing the west. She commented on the sunset, and that was enough to send Sirion spiraling into his pit of remorse for himself. He was about to approach her about it, but the baron’s distress call had got to her first.
As he continued to stare into the fire last that night, there was one person missing from their circle, Alice. But she was soon to present herself from a meeting she had attended from the leaders of the other factions in the small army. She strode up to the fire and kicked Sirion lightly in the leg. “Come with me, knight,” she said coldly. He rose to his feet amid raised eyebrows and quiet snickering. He rolled his eyes at his friends and followed his captain into the desert night. As soon as they had walked far enough away so the firelight could not touch them nor could their voices be heard, Alice turned towards Sirion.
“What the hell is going on?” demanded the Princess. Sirion stood motionless, slack jawed at Alice’s blunt approach the conversation. She only appeared to be a black silhouette in front of the distant campfire. She stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for him to respond.
“Uh…I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he started, but she cut him off.
“Listen, Sergeant. Right now, you’re part of a tight knit team, and you’re doing nothing to help things. We draw our strength upon the personal relationships we form between each other. Each of those men near the fire are like my own brothers, and I their sister. You’re sitting as the black sheep in this ‘family,’” she used her hands to put dramatic emphasis on the last word. She continued in her terse tone, “I don’t know what happened in your past life, but if you can’t man up and put that behind you and start playing as part of this team, then I don’t need you and I’ll request to have you reassigned. Do you understand?”
Sirion let his hands hang to his sides and said nothing. The Princess waited for a moment or two before she said coolly, “I’ll let that sink in. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning,” she turned to leave before Sirion reached and gently grasped her arm. She didn’t resist and let him turn her towards him again.
“Milady, its…” he paused, looking for the right words. They didn’t come, but he stumbled forward anyways, “Its…complicated,” he withdrew his arm, and Alice crossed her arms, but not in an aggressive manner. She was waiting for him to speak, patiently.
Inside, he was wrestling with personal demons that refused to come to the surface calmly. He shut his eyes against what he was feeling before spitting out a meager excuse for his distant behavior, “I understand that your leadership style is to befriend your men. I believe that is a wholly successful tactic. I’ve used it once or twice in my day,” he breathed deeply, and debated where he should take this conversation. He could take it one way, and be safe. But, a second way called to him, one that would have him telling the truth, about his past in addition to his intimate feelings…
“But many of my leaders, and friends, have been killed, so I have tried not to make such a habit of befriending my comrades-in-arms, much less my commanders,” he opted to take the safe approach. His personal feelings would remain locked inside. Would they be forever banished? At that moment, he just didn’t know.
Alice uncrossed her arms and patted her knight on his shoulder in the most comforting way. It melted Sirion’s heart in an instant. “Trust in us, Sirion Sunrunner. We will not fail you,” she squeezed his shoulder tightly before turning to rejoin her men. Sirion stood in the darkness for a moment or two longer, watching the princess. When she arrived at the fire, she turned back to him, and beckoned for him to join her.
--
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Post by longstevo on May 19, 2009 9:18:37 GMT -5
Early the next morning, the rocky canyon where Lord Derrick’s keep was looming was surrounded with Lhyrnian fighters. The canyon itself was quite wide, reaching a distance of nearly two miles. It followed a healthy stream as it flowed south for who knows how long? Because of the healthy water flowing out of the rocks, a lush oasis had sprung up from the harsh, red rocks of the southern Varghani Desert. Lord Derrick had chosen to build his keep here when he traveled by the gorgeous paradise on a caravan once. He used the low standing keep as a vacation home, and just happened to be here when the wildmen came rushing from the south.
Princess Alice sat upon her snow white horse at the spearhead of the column. It was decided last night that she would lead a quarter of the force into the heart of the oasis and directly to the lord’s keep. Commander Justin Talilison, a renowned knight in the kingdom, would lead a third of the remaining forces to the west, and another third would go the east. The final third would remain at the entrance of the canyon to cover their backs.
The knights needed no motivational speech, for they knew blood would be spilled this day, and that was more than enough motivation. The princess silently drew her sword, pointed it to the sky, and charged down the canyon.
--
Sirion gripped the reigns of his steed tightly in his left gauntlet, and held onto his spear in his right. He followed closely behind the princess, trying to vie for position with the men on his left and right. The hoof beats were deafening as fifty fully armed Lhyrian knights mounted a full battle charge. Sirion’s heart beat in his throat, as he found the experience to be utterly exhilarating. He had done battle many times before, but never had he taken part in a cavalry charge. He found it to be thrilling.
The keep swept into view, peeking through the dense rainforest that punctuated the harsh landscape all around it. Finally, the rough road leading to the squatty keep came into view, as well as its perimeter wall.
The wild men were still camped out in front of Lord Derrick’s keep, and it became quickly apparent that the small castle’s destruction had been whole. The stone walls still stood, but it was obvious the place had been ransacked. Carts were scattered across the ground, boxes and baskets were strewn out from the front gates, and various other pieces of debris littered the surrounding area. Here and there a body lie motionless, as did the carcasses of farm animals and other livestock. Thick, black smoke rose into the sky. And among all of this, the wild-men from the south still picked through every piece of wreckage, searching for something of value. The knights cut into them like a lion tears into a deer.
Spears were launched into the air, most of them finding their targets with solid whacks. The sparsely clothed southern men wore little more than robes and other loose fitting clothes, and armor was non-existent. Their dark skin, tanned from their lives in the sun, was soon spattered with blood and other sorts of gore. Their resistance was meek and best, and all together worthless. It was a slaughter.
Sirion’s horse rounded the final corner in the road with the rest of the knights. He saw the burning castle and readied himself for the worst, knowing the so called ‘wild-men’ of the north to be formidable warriors, surely capable of defending themselves against this small cavalry charge. This was not the case of these southern wild-men. The first enemy in his sights was crouched over a barrel, looking for something. A spear from one of the knights flew high. The man looked up, his eyes as wide as stones, and they grew even wider as Sirion punched his spear into his chest as the column thundered by.
The armored horses pounded into the camp, creating a confused and lawless riot. The wild men grabbed anything that could be used as a weapon in a vain attempt to defend themselves. Sirion stabbed forward with his weapon again, impaling another enemy. He repeated this several times. With each death he inflicted, he would yank the spear point from the corpse in a flying arc of blood. He thrust forth again, the blood from the previous victim still dripping from the razor sharp steel. Five men fell to his spear.
Alice rode at the head of the column, leading the lethal charge. The enemies that managed to dodge her own deadly spear were trampled underneath her mount’s hooves. As soon as the knights completely surrounded the castle, more and more enemies rushed forth from both the tree lines and from inside the keep, attempting a meager defense of the building. The wooden doors of the front entrance were closed before any Lhyrnian could enter inside. For the time being, the knights needed to secure the outside.
Alice lifted her spear to the sky, just as Commander Talilison’s forces exploded from the forest. Another fifty knights added to the fog of war. The wild men’s slaughter was complete.
Sirion thought the battle was in its final throes, and that was where he made a mistake. He relaxed. Alice’s column had halted just inside the treeline, secure in seeing their comrades mopping up the barbarians on the opposite side of the clearing. At that moment, a surge of enemies rushed forth from the trees. Reaching up, they grabbed as many knights as they could and pulled them from their mounts.
Sirion felt a pulling on his left side, and before he could react, he was twisted off his saddle and slammed to the ground. His spear went flying into the air, and the shield connected to the left side of the saddle disappeared. He tried to push himself off the ground, but he could not move his left arm. It took him only a moment to realize it was twisted in the reigns. His helm was twisted on his head, and he couldn’t see who had besieged him. All he was aware of was the shouting of men in a language he didn’t recognize.
And then there was silence, and a hot, sticky liquid drenched his entire front. The smell of blood was instant, and reaching up with his free hand to adjust his helmet, he saw his attackers lying on the ground, decapitated. Godfrey and Alice sat on their mounts in front of him, looking down at him.
“I don’t know how you fight in the North, my friend, but in our ranks, we prefer to stay on our horses!” Godfrey called down to him, patting his steed.
Sirion grinned as he regained his feet, freeing his hand. He collected his spear and shield and secured them back to his saddle. “Come,” he called, “We need to open these doors!” He motioned two mounted knights to him. He called for some rope, and it was provided. Sirion rushed to the front gates with the rope. Alice called for her men to dismount. They knew that fighting inside the castle would be cramped, and their horses would count for nothing.
The taking of the doors happened very quickly. Sirion tied one end of the rope to the doors, the other end to the two knight’s saddles. He shouted and slapped the horses on the flank, and they were off. It surprised Sirion to see just how weak the doors were, as they came flying from their mounting brackets instantly. He marveled for a minute at just how well his plan worked. But he didn’t have too long to gloat upon himself, as the remaining barbarians came rushing forth from inside.
The ranger’s blade was out of its scabbard in a flash and buried into the gut of the first man who reached him. He yanked the sword out and hacked into the next wild man. The deep gash cut from the collar bone and halfway into the chest. His victim remained on his feet until Sirion kicked him away, revealing another enemy behind him. He thrust forth, sliding the sword point hilt deep into the man’s chest. His last breath escaped in a gasp, and he fell away. It took a mighty effort, but Sirion dislodged his sword trapped by the man’s weight. Just as it came free, another enemy came rushing forth.
Sirion moved to defend the strike, but the sword had not yet come free. He released his blade and brought his hands up to engage the barbarian in hand to hand combat, but instead the attacker’s head simply exploded. Sirion brought up his hands to defend himself once again, but this time from flying brain matter.
When he brought his hands down, William was standing behind the headless wild man, with bits of scalp and hair embedded in his mace. The big man simply winked, before bringing the blunt weapon down in another crushing blow against another assailant.
Within ten minutes, every single Southern Wild Man was destroyed, the besieging force relegated to bodies and pieces of bodies. There were a handful of fighters who had surrendered, and they were met with a quick slash of a dagger across the throat. Not one was allowed to live.
Princess Alice rallied her men, “The good Lord Derrick keeps a refuge underground as a safe area for times such as this,”
Commander Talilison spoke up, “I request permission to extract the baron, milady. I only see it fair, as your men got most of the killing,” he smiled meekly, holding his face shield up to he may address the princess properly.
She smiled, “Of course Commander. Retrieve the lord and bring him to me. Sergeant Sunrunner,” she looked at him, her ice blue eyes shining bright through the dirt and grime, “Take a squad and make a patrol around the perimeter and make sure nothing surprises us,”
“Yes, milady!” Sirion found his horse, remounted, and was happy to see William, Godfrey, Frederick, Aran and Obo all mounting their horses behind him, following him on his patrol.
--
Two days later, the armored column arrived at the Citadel. Added to their ranks were Lord Derrick and his wife, and their two teenage daughters. They rode in their own personal carriage, and guarded by nearly two hundred fighters, they were probably the safest people in the entire continent. It was decided that they would retreat to New Hope and send workers to retrieve their things at their keep, or what was left of them.
The Southern Wild Men had thoroughly destroyed the small castle. The interior was torched, and many sections of the wall had fallen. The servants and waiters residing there for Lord Derrick’s comfort had either fled or been killed. The keep was lost, and soon, the desert jungle would rise to reclaim it.
That evening, after a hearty dinner where many cheers and calls to victory were shouted, Sirion found himself growing antsy. Amid the commotion in the Citadel’s Great Hall, he kept seeing the faces of the fallen. He wasn’t haunted by any of their fallen knights, as they had achieved victory with nary a scratch, but the twisted and contorted faces of his enemies flooded his visions.
It started fairly early in the evening, when he had just finished his meal. Laughter was abundant, and one knight even leapt upon the table and begun to dance to the merry band playing in the corner. This was greeted with more laughter and cheers, and many people had taken to the dancing around the great dining table. Princess Alice sat at the head of the table, smiling and jesting with the rest of her men, but always keeping the air of royalty about her.
It was soon after the dancing had started that one of his fellow knights had come upon Sirion from behind unexpectedly and clamped his hands on the ranger’s shoulders. Startled, he jumped to his feet and whirled to face an attacker, and when he did, he saw the mutilated face of the man who’s skull was crushed by William’s mace. Sirion jumped back, poised to strike. His friend, drunken as he was, didn’t notice the defensive posture and continued to advance to smother Sirion in an embrace. The disturbance went unnoticed in the jovial atmosphere in the Hall.
Taking a breath, Sirion massaged his face with his hand and stared at the floor for a moment. He decided he needed some air, and excused himself from the festivities. He left through a back door, but unbeknownst to him, his departure was not as discreet as he had hoped.
Within minutes, he was up on the causeway surrounding the huge main tower of the Citadel. He walked along for a few moments, taking in the large arid landscape around the community. He pondered for a minute how anyone could bear to live out there. Stopping, he leaned against the chest high wall that acted as a guard rail against the sheer drop of one hundred feet below him. He lowered his head as a cool breeze whispered through his hair. The calm wind was a welcome relief against the agonizing heat of the sun. Even though the day was well on its way to nightfall, the rays of the day were still ever so hot.
“Good evening,” the voice startled Sirion yet again and he jumped slightly. He jerked his head up to see Princess Alice gliding towards him. Her female voice was like golden silk flowing fresh off the loom, and did wonders to put the warrior’s mind to ease. He looked at her as she approached, and marveled yet again at her beauty. He averted his eyes quickly, so as not to be caught looking.
She wore a black gown with vivid, dark blue highlights running down the side. She wore a light vest of vibrant green, inlaid with gold. She bore the colors of her kingdom proudly. Behind her flowed a dark cape with more golden symbols and designs. Her black hair was pinned back with elaborate pins, creating the façade that she was almost wearing a thin crown. She came to a stop a few feet away from him, her dainty hands covered with calluses and nicks from her time in the field. To Sirion, she was more beautiful than the orange-golden sunset that was splashed across the sky.
“Evening, milady,” nodded Sirion, who looked at her and quickly looked back to the sunset.
Alice grinned mischievously, “Well, shall we try this again?” she winked, and it was an obvious reference to the last time they were both standing very near to this spot with a lovely sunset.
Sirion only smiled, but kept his eyes on the sun, “I’ve always wondered, at the end of the day, if the sun looks upon this world and is pleased, or disappointed in what it sees,”
Alice turned towards the sun and matched Sirion’s posture, leaning against the wall, hands clasped in front of her, looking towards the west.
Sirion continued, “I think about it, and how many good deeds were witnessed on this day? How many evil deeds? Surely, no man will ever know, but the sun sees all,” he let his voice trail off, noting that he was beginning to ramble.
Alice waited a moment before answering, “I believe my God, or the sun, if you so prefer, looks to man with each morning with His heart filled with hope for the coming day, and it is up to us not to let Him down. It is so easy for a man to wake up and go through his day subversly and without effort, but it takes hard work for a man to do the right thing,”
Sirion took a serious tone on the conversation and interjected, “And did we do the right thing today?”
Alice looked at him blankly before replying, “Of course. We saved a baron and his family,”
Sirion countered, “That is true, and I am grateful for that, but we left countless fathers, sons, brothers and lovers lifeless in a jungle that will soon be forgotten to man. How many more families go to sleep this night knowing that their husbands and fathers will never come home?”
Alice didn’t hesitate one bit before answering, “I have been posed that question countless times, and my answer is always the same. The law of war across this land dictates that one is free to choose his life as he sees fit, not taking into account Lhyrnia and any other mandatory military nations. But the general rule is that if one chooses to live by the sword, one must also be ready to die by the sword he lives by. That is the simple way of things,”
She readjusted her stance to face her sergeant directly before continuing, “It is within a person’s heart to wield the power that flows through the blade correctly. If they choose to use that justice for good, then so be it, and nations do not have quarrel with them. However, if one chooses to use the same sword for greed and power, then they have declared war on all peace loving countries in the world, and their life is forfeit upon the blades of warriors like us,” a moment of silence passed between them before she reached up and squeezed Sirion’s shoulder and added, “Those men chose to use their blades for evil, and they have paid for it with the ultimate price. That is the way of things,”
They stayed like that for several moments. Sirion took great solace in the comfort his commander was offering. He looked into her vivid eyes for a moment and felt himself unable to tear away from her gaze. She smiled slightly, and he felt himself twitch at his mouth, offering a goofy, half-smile. Alice chuckled and reclaimed her hand.
“You’re so interesting, Sirion,” he paused at the mention of his first name. She took no notice, “I see you interact with the other men, and it is obvious you are no stranger to working and fighting with other men,” she emphasized the last word, “But when I come around, you are a completely different person. And don’t think me stupid, but I know it has something to do with the fact that I’m a woman,” she smiled curiously at him with her head thingyed slightly to the side. The breeze kicked up again, blowing her black locks over her shoulder.
Sirion knew what she was trying. She was attempting to get information out of him, words that he was not ready to tell her, but he found himself talking anyways. He tried to stop halfway through, but her piercing eyes would have none of it, and he found himself talking endlessly, despite his objections.
“Throughout all of my travels, service and places worked, I have been around men, so I have grown comfortable in their company,” he went on to briefly tell her about his military service record, noting that each organization was strictly male, “With the exception of one group of knights out of Kherash. They were headed by a Lady Jacqueline. My dealings with her were brief however,” he talked a bit more about his military days and a few dear friends he had served with. It was a blatant attempt at avoiding what was really at hand, but Alice was persistent.
“That shouldn’t mean you should treat all woman with coldness, Sergeant,” she smirked, “There’s something else, something you’re not telling,” she looked towards the sun, which was now little more than an orange sliver above the bare horizon.
Sirion sighed, “It does not matter much, milady,”
Alice lowered her face, but kept her eyes on Sirion and inched closer, “You may call me Alice, when we are not in the presence of the men,” she said in a low voice.
Sirion shifted his feet uncomfortably, but maintained her eye contact, “I cannot do that, ma’am. It goes against all regulations and courtesy of any military order,”
“Ah, but the number one rule in any military order is to follow the orders and commands of one’s superiors,” she crinkled her eyes, “And that means, you are ordered to address me by my first name when the men are not present,”
Sirion simply shrugged his shoulders and grinned, “We’ll see,”
She smiled and restarted their earlier topic, “You’re beating around the bush, Sirion. You’re not telling me things. Do you have a problem with me?”
Sirion simply shook his head, “No ma’am. You are a fine military commander and friend,” the last word simply fell from his mouth. He had no intention of using it, but when it did come out, he had no regrets about it.
She raised her eyebrows at the word and smiled, and a moment of silence passed. It was clear neither of them were sure where this was going, but they each were sure where each other’s feelings lay. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, and the two continued their stare down.
Without words, Alice reached for Sirion’s hand, but thought better of it and let it fall back to her side, but not before her fingers brushed his. Her face flushed and she turned away. His own heartbeat was speeding, and little beads of sweat were forming along his hairline. He knew where this was going, and he desperately wanted it to reach its destination, but a pang of realization shot through his heart at that moment and jolted his conscience.
The whole reason behind his timidness with this budding relationship was the fact that his first love, Emma, was still alive. Although she had died and given herself to the Earth Mother, he wasn’t sure if she was still in a state of existence where she would be allowed to love and be with him. He had been holding out for her, but as he understood it, if she left him after bringing him back, she could not be with him.
But that wasn’t the biggest thing. In fact, he thought of his only other true love in his life, the woman named Enora he had copulated with in Edinmarsh. He remembered them meeting when he was serving a prince underneath his father. Their relationship had started rough, but had smoothed out in the end, and they had become very fond of each other. And he remembered the day he had left for North Gate, and was cast out by his father for a second time in his life. He remembered embracing Enora tightly and seeing that she was carrying child.
The realization hit him like a stampede. He was a father. He was shirking his duties as a man in not going back and taking his family in and raising his child. Suddenly wracked with despair and embarrassment, he turned away as well. He had gone from simply confused to totally without direction.
He took a step forward, away from Alice, and took another one. He looked down towards the other end of the causeway and thought he could be down there in a matter of minutes, with the door closed and away from her beautiful face. He could be in the stables in less than twenty minutes, and be away from here forever. He knew not where he would go, only that he had to get there soon.
“Sirion? Where are you going?” asked Alice, her voice soft and fragile in the evening breeze.
He didn’t answer, but continued to look down the causeway. It would be so easy to just leave. But he turned around and looked at her. The last remaining rays of light shot out from over the horizon and shone against her back, casting her in a golden halo as she faced him. She smiled slightly, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle that stood before her. As much as she tried to piece them together, they only confused her more.
Finally, knowing that there was no way he could go, he fell back against the main wall of the Citadel and slid to a seated position. He stared at his cloth boots, toes pointed in the air. He rubbed his knees and looked at the ground. “I’m not an innocent man, ma’am,” he began, “There’s pieces of my past I’m not proud of, but if you truly want to know, you may have a seat, and I will tell you,”
The princess quickly slid down beside him within arm’s reach. She drew her knees up against her body and gave all her attention to him. And he told her everything. He told her about his days working on the farm and meeting Enora. He told her about enlisted in the Royal Guard. He talked about serving in this military or that army, and finally falling in with the Pass Rangers. He explained the debacle with Ian the vampire and the fall of the Rangers and his exile to William’s barbarians. She listened as he explained his participation in the campaigns against Edinmarsh, and finally being captured and turned to serve his father as Prince and Commander of the Edinmarsh Army and his final betrayal of William on the battlefield. He told her of Enora and the child he left her carrying. As he reached this part of his story, a tear made its way down his face, and he didn’t try to hide it. He talked about his second exile and taking up traveling with Sir Mejere and linking up with a dwarf in Highwood, then traveling north amidst the raging war against Lord Vincent’s armies. He moved on to meeting Valandil and his battle with the vampire commander.
And then came the big story, the twist, the real shocker. He told her that he had been slain, and despite her obvious looks of confusion, he continued telling his story, explaining that he knew nothing until he woke up in Lor Elesna, being tended to by the elven healers, and his dreams of Emma
She didn’t move away from him as he had feared, but she squinted hard into the fading sky. She looked back at him and started to say something, but stopped before the words came. Then, she reached for Sirion, not bothering to ask for permission, and undid the buttons on the top of his shirt. She easily unbuttoned the top three buttons and gently pulled the shirt open. She looked him in the eye before the advanced, and he simply gave a small nod in response.
She rose to her knees to examine her chest, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkening light, she saw the jagged scar punctuating his muscular chest. She gasped and brought her hands up to her mouth and she stared at the ugly, thick and red line running the length of his collar bone to his sternum. “How did…?” Words completely escaped her. She stared in shock at the wound, and moved her eyes back and forth from his chest to his eyes.
“And then I departed with Valandil and traveled south, and you know the rest,” he said quietly.
Alice swallowed hard and reached out, gently feeling the scar and ran her finger down the entire length, “You should be dead…” she murmured.
“I was,”
“But you’re here…?” she obviously didn’t understand, but what could he do? He didn’t understand either.
He looked at her hard and said, “Now you know why I remain distant. This would surely have come up otherwise, and the confusion you feel would only be that much more intense. This is why I remain unattached, so the heart break I’m starting to feel never comes searching for me,”
She withdrew her hand and stood up, “I’m sorry, Sirion, I…” her words failed.
Sirion saw what was happening. This woman had made her life dealing death and healing those who had barely avoided it. She knew a fatal wound when she saw one, and this scar was certainly that. The fact that he had tasted death, but was brought back was an idea she was completely unfamiliar with, and therefore, was scared of it.
“Alice, please sit down,” he used her first name, hoping that it might calm her. It didn’t.
The princess turned to leave, but looked back at him, “Sirion…” she said his name quietly.
“Princess, please…don’t,” he pleaded with her quietly.
He was sure he saw a tear in her eye and she finally turned away from him, her gown flowing in the breeze. He didn’t even watch her go.
--
The next morning was awkward to say the least. Sirion woke up in the men’s barracks where he had crashed late that night. His comrades remained in their beds, passed out from too much alcohol the night before. He knew his men well. They fought hard, and they played hard. He looked for his shirt from the night before and donned it over his shoulders. Slipping on his shoes, he opened the door and left.
He walked down the halls of the Citadel aimlessly and found himself at the Great Hall. Servants were busy tending to the mess left from the night before. As he wandered in, he casually grabbed a loaf of bread left over and sat down. He reached for a mug in front of him, and seeing it was half full, smelled the draught inside. Sure enough, it was ale, although it was warm, flat and bitter, he used the brew to wash down the dry bread.
He sat there for nearly an hour, slowly pulling apart the crusty loaf and chewing on it until his saliva wet it down enough that he could swallow it with a swig of nasty ale. His thoughts were his own, but nearly all of them wandered around what had happened last night. He shook his head in his stupidity. He should have lied and told her some story that wasn’t true. But at least he could take solace in the fact he was truthful. Strangely, that wasn’t very comforting to him.
As he pulled apart the last piece of bread, he looked up and nearly choked at what met his eyes. Alice stood on the other side of the Hall, watching him eat his breakfast. He stopped mid-chew and stared, not sure what to expect. They looked at each other for a long time, and finally he swallowed his bread. He stood gingerly and said faintly, “Good morning, milady,”
She said nothing but continued to look at him. Finally she said quietly, “If you’re finished, will you come with me?”
Sirion immediately dropped the last piece of bread and set the ale down. With slow, deliberate steps, he rounded the edge of the dining table and drew closer to her. Her expression was unreadable, her emotions locked tightly inside. But he notice her eyes were slightly red and puffy, as if she had been crying. Concerned, he reached for her. She gently took his hand his hers and lowered it back to his side. “Not here,” she murmured, “Follow me,” With that, she turned and made her way down the hall.
The two rounded a few corners, and found themselves in front of the princess’s chambers. Looking up and down the hallway, Alice noted that it was clear, turned the lock and allowed them both inside.
Sirion took a moment to look around. Her chambers were not unlike her father’s back in Lhyrnia, but it lacked many of the golden trinkets and other collectables. There were a few paintings on the wall, all of them portraying great knights in her nation’s history. The lobby room led into a bedroom and a couple other side rooms. Alice didn’t advance inside, but simply stood in the center of the room, her back towards her visitor.
She finally spoke, “Now I guess it is me who does not have words,” she began. She turned and looked at him, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She tried talking again, but her words failed. She clutched her hands in front of her and kept her eyes trained on the floor.
Sirion nodded, “It is fine, my Princess. I will leave the premise at once,”
“No!” she jumped to life and reached out for him before returning her hand, “I do not want you to go,”
Sirion reached his hand out and grasped hers. He squeezed it firmly, “I understand that you cannot grasp why I still draw breath, and that it unnerves you. I wish I could explain it to you, but I fear I am just as confused as you. I do not know why my heart still beats, but I can assure you, I am not undead. I am very much alive, with real feelings and pain,”
Alice looked up at him. She reached out and took the opposite sides of his shirt and unbuttoned it as she had done last night. As she pulled the shirt open for a second time, the sight of the ugly scar caused her to grimace. It was thick and dark crimson, the edges of the horrible thing pulled at his healthy skin. Alice couldn’t take her eyes off it. She ran her fingers down the scar once more, forcing herself to stay where she was. And then she leaned in close to Sirion’s chest and leaned her ear against the wound. She pressed it against the scar firmly enough for her ear to hear the air rushing in and out of his lungs.
Then she heard what she was praying for. Sirion’s heartbeat thumped in her ear in the steady pace of a very healthy man. She listened for nearly one minute, and when she was assured that he was, in fact, living and breathing, she pulled away.
“As I said,” Sirion said quietly, “I don’t know how, but I am alive,”
Alice smiled slightly, “I…I don’t know what to say,” she began.
“You mustn’t say a word. But now you know, that your sergeant is indeed a human,”
She chuckled just a little, and she was back, the adorable, smiling face of the object of all his admiration. He took a moment to take in her beauty before he nodded and said, “Good day, dear Princess,”
He turned to leave, but Alice reached for his arm. She looked up and him and asked, “Where does this leave us?”
Sirion’s heart jumped in his throat. He knew exactly what she was getting at, but was completely unprepared for the bluntness of the question. He faced her slowly. Their eyes locked, and suddenly, there was the same intensity between them as the night before. Suddenly gone were all the issues with his scar, and the fact that he was once dead. The only thing in the world to them was each other. Sirion only shrugged.
And then she was in his arms, wrapping him in an embrace so strong it couldn’t have possibly have come from a woman of her frame. And his strong arms pulled her closer to him than one would think possible. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he was just as content to rest his chin atop her head, the scent of the native cinnamon drifting faintly from her.
They stayed like that for a minute or two, a thousand emotions and thoughts racing in their own minds. Then she looked up at him, her face just inches from his. They shared another intimate gaze between them, and she smiled sweetly. Neither of them wanted to be the first to move, and then the moment died. Sirion gripped her upper arms and pushed her back to arms reach. Both of them were breathing rapidly, but neither knew exactly just what to do next.
“Um…” she stammered, brushing a bit of hair from her face, “I don’t really know the rules about this,”
Sirion nodded, bringing his arms back to him and buttoning his shirt, “Neither do I, and that is why I must leave now,”
“Wait, I don’t want you to leave,” she said softly.
“I know, Alice,” she smiled when he said her name, “But you need to think about what is happening here,” he stopped himself. “I’ll be with the men, if you need me.”
Alice nodded, knowing he was right. She stepped forward and placed her hands on either side of Sirion’s face and brought herself to him, kissing him lightly on the cheek, “Now get to work, Sergeant,”
--
The next few days were a blur for Sirion. He couldn’t remember anything he did that was outside of Alice’s presence. They winked when in passing, and when they were apart, they longed for each other dearly. As far as he could tell, the men did not suspect anything between them. And this is what wracked Sirion’s heart.
He knew the two of them were kindling a forbidden love. It went against all codes of conduct for a superior officer to become involved with a subordinate soldier. And that fact that Alice was royalty threw in another twist to the situation. He didn’t know the laws of the kingdom regarding this. He was sure that her marriage was surely arranged, as was the custom in many kingdoms. He knew it best to forget about the romance before it gained steam, but he could not leave her from his mind.
The Council of Lhyrnia gathered one evening, consisting of the Princess, Lord Agnand, Lord Bissot, Commander Talilison, Sir Arthur and several other high ranking personnel in the Lhyrnian royal court. The soldiers were not invited to attend, leaving Sirion on the outside. The council’s subject was to be what should be done regarding the Hashashini and the continued threat to the good king back home.
Sirion took his men into the courtyard for some combat drills, and they spent the afternoon dusty and sweaty, sparring against one other in various exercises. Late in the afternoon, just before dinner time, Princess Alice came out to speak to her men. They gathered around her, and she passed Sirion a lingering glance. Her message was taken; I miss you.
She told them that the council had decided to send a small task force, much like the one originally organized to for their mission in New Hope, to Khai and conduct covert operations to dig out any leads on the whereabouts of the fabled Hashashini fortress. Further action would be decided after that.
The problem with the entire threat against the king was that no one in the kingdom really knew for sure where it came from. The symbols found on the assassin in in Lhyrnia surely led their search to this region of the world, but after that, the search went cold. They had captured men in both Khamir and New Hope that pointed towards the organization Meliendes Dye, they were sure that the organization was not the be-all, end-all of the assassin threat. Rumors and legends of the secret brotherhood called the Hashashini flowed across the deserts much like the shifting sands, but the knights were not sure if the group even really existed, much less responsible for the attempt on their king’s life.
The Hashashini were rumored to live and operate in a hidden fortress in the mountains somewhere in the western Varghani Desert. Their ranks were unknown, and it was not sure if the group was simply a group of men pulling the puppet strings of lesser, or if they were a much larger force of men and commanded their own army. Many political killings had taken place over the past thirty years, and in nearly every case, their name was whispered in the shadows. But that was not enough to prove their existence, and believers knew that was the way they liked it.
Prince Alice continued to tell them the details of the small group of men that would go to Khai and operate covertly, but she wasn’t sure if any of the men before her would fill the ranks, or if any of them would go at all, she flashed a look at Sirion during the last sentence. She told them to relax and get some rest, and she would have answers for them tomorrow.
--
The men cleaned their weapons quickly and readied themselves for dinner. There was not a festive feast as there had been a couple of nights ago, but a large dinner was planned. Sirion sat in his place next to Godfrey and William and conversed with them lively. When he was finished, he noticed Princess Alice excuse herself from the head of the table and seemed to float out of the hall. As she passed Sirion’s place on the opposite side of the table, she glanced into his eyes, and with a simple wink and a flick of the head, her message was understood; ‘Follow me in a few minutes.’ The gesture went unnoticed, and when several minutes had gone by, he excused himself as well and exited through a different doorway. It didn’t take him long, and he was outside of Alice’s door. He didn’t need to knock, as her door was whisked open and he was inside.
Before the ranger even had time to close the door behind him, Alice was in his arms, mouth pressed against his in a passionate kiss. Taken completely off guard, he allowed her to kiss him for a moment before pushing her back.
“Good evening to you, ma’am,” he breathed, “May I ask what that was about?”
“I am tired of hiding, my love. I need to be with you,” she blurted, “We can make this work,” she advanced to him again, but he held against her, his big arms on her shoulders.
“Alice, I think you know as well as I that if we were discovered, my future in this kingdom would not be very good. I do not know all your laws, but in many kingdoms I’m familiar with, if a person of royalty is found to be involved with someone who isn’t, usually it calls for the taking of one’s head,”
She cast her eyes downward, “You’re right. I know they would not take your life, but you would surely be cast out,”
“There is only one way this can work, dear,” the mention of a possibility brightened her eyes, and she waited for an answer.
“Come away with me. Leave this kingdom and everything behind. We can start a new life in a new land. Opportunity is abundant all over the land. Name a place where you would like to live, and its yours. That, we can do,”
Her eyes widened with excitement before falling, knowing that she would be required to leave her beloved kingdom behind. Sirion knew that she would not leave, but thought to throw that option out there nonetheless, in the off chance she would agree. She caught his eyes again, “I can’t,” she said softly.
“I know, it was just an idea,” he answered with a smile.
“Something will work out,” she muttered, not keeping full faith in her own words.
This time, it was Sirion who kissed the princess, and she fully relented all resistance, if there ever was any in the first place. They stayed like that for several minutes, relishing the feelings of sharing one another. He pulled her close, and she let him. They stayed together for the duration, and the night was theirs.
--
Sitting in a lighthouse along the shore just east of Khamir, along the point of land that jutted into the sea, Gerald Hastingborough jerked his head back as he nodded off to sleep. The daylight was bright, but it did nothing to keep the young man of barely twenty awake. He had been working nearly twelve hours now, keeping watch on the coast. His friend, Evan Winks sat next to him, dead asleep.
He belonged to the organization Fleteu Miire as part of the coastal defense branch, but despite the fancy name, everyone knew it was a sham job. It was his duty to simply report to his sergeant of any naval traffic that passed his point of land. And the sergeant would simply log the information in a journal. Any observations that were deemed ‘unusual’ were sent up to higher, where they were assessed, and often discarded. The main mission of the special branch was anti piracy, but the levels of pirate activity had not dropped since they were put into action.
Out of sheer orneriness, Gerald kicked Evan in the thigh. The other young man jumped away, and upon seeing there was nothing happening, he punched his buddy in the leg. Smiling and shaking his head, Gerald returned his attention back to the ocean.
He grew quite tired of staring into the same stretch of ocean day in and day out. He was no stranger to the sea, as he was born and raised in a town far east of here along the coast, but he had no idea just how boring it could be. Sometimes, he would go days without seeing as much as a single sail off the far distant horizon. Sighing, he picked up his looking glass and made yet another scan of the flat, blue skyline.
Starting out, things remained unchanged. He began along the western edge of his sector, pausing for a moment upon the far off spires of Khamir before bringing his glass eastward as the land fell away and was replaced by the ocean. Afterwards, it was nothing but blue. He continued scanning until he reached his northern sector.
He stopped. Something caught his eye very far out to sea. He rested his elbows on the edge of the barrier and strained hard to see what it was. He began to make out the shape of a ship. Sure enough, the more he studied, he could make out the hull and the billowing sails. They were so far away, they couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. Gerald knew because he lowered the glass and couldn’t spot them. He took a moment to find the ship again, but once he did, he paused again. There were two ships. He squinted into the glass, and then spotted a third, and a forth.
“Wake up, get the journal,” said Gerald quietly to Evan, who grumbled some sort of complaint at the command.
By now, Gerald’s eyes were stretched wide, as he then counted a fifth and a sixth ship. It seemed like the ships were simply appearing out of the distant haze. The boy couldn’t see any details on the vessels, but two more just seemed to shimmer into existence. He knew they weren’t actually appearing out of thin air, but the sheer distance made them appear so.
“Cancel that, you’d better fetch the sergeant,” said Gerald quietly.
“Why? What’s going on?” asked Evan.
“Just get him,” by the time Evan descended the stairs, a full dozen ships had been spotted. Gerald noted their direction of travel appeared to be southeasterly, and thinking quickly, he knew the only large ports in that direction were Khamir and Abbala. Curious, he strained into the looking glass again and noted that three other ships had appeared. That brought the count to fifteen. The lead ship was getting closer, albeit slowly, and Gerald focused on that one.
The ship was more or less featureless, appearing to be a frigate or larger. There was no country flag flying, and the sails were hung at full mast for maximum speed. They were obviously in a hurry, but it was impossible to tell why. Then Gerald noticed, that it was indeed flying a country’s flag. The snow white of the banner blended into the white sails. He stared hard as the details of the banner came into view, showing to him a vertical sword with vivid green wreathes arching out in either direction.
The boy gasped slightly as the sergeant climbed the stairs, “What is it, Hastingborough?”
“Look, sir. North, at three hundred and forty five degress,” the sergeant took the glass from him and put it against his eye. He looked hard for a matter of seconds, scanning the horizon for himself. He said in a low voice, almost to himself, “The Kingdom of Lhyrnia sails to war,”
--
Steel clashed outside in the Citadel’s practice courtyard. Godrey swung his mighty broadsword at the defending Sirion, and the blades clashed again. Sweat ran in beads down the large Lhyrnian’s forehead, but he pressed on the attack. In a series of crushing blows and strikes, Sirion was backed against the stone wall that formed the perimeter of the practice rink.
“Halt!” cried William, and Godfrey immediately relinquished his assault. He smiled through his thick beard and offered Sirion his hand, to which the sergeant gladly took. The two men embraced and exchanged pleasantries before going to opposite sides of the ring, where their friends were split up.
Sirion had divided the team in half and pitting one against one, and had announced that the team with the most mano a mano victories would get the rest of the evening off, while the losing team would relieve the squires of their stable cleaning duties for the evening. The veteran knew that men would practice fighting only half speed, unless some sort of motivation was introduced. He just saw that first hand at the business end of his friend’s blade, and in truth, it was a place he wished to not be near any time soon.
“Good fight, gentlemen,” commended William, but added grudgingly, “And the victory goes to Sir Godfrey,”
Godfrey let loose a hearty laugh, but added nothing in words. William unsheathed his own longsword and leveled it at Aran, who was stepping into the ring opposite him. “I hope you’re ready for this, lad, for I have no desire to return to squire duties,” With that, he lurched forward, blade singing through the air. Aran defended himself easily. Sirion stepped into the referee’s spot, keeping a close eye on the fight, making sure to cease the battle before any injuries could occur.
The men fought until the night fall, battling one another until even the torchlight was not enough to keep their blades easily seen. Sirion called the fight off. The final score was seventeen victories to fifteen. The men on Sirion’s team called foul, but grudgingly accepted their defeat. The squires were on hand to give over their shovels and rakes, and the knights were subject to goodhearted jesting from the young men.
Princess Alice had appeared late in the fight to admire her men, as well as her own man. When the fight was broken up, she called Sirion for a meeting. This was met with more calls of unfair and foul, as the leader of the losing team appeared to be shirking on his promise to assist in the cleaning of the stables.
“What is this?” shouted William, “You will lead us in times of victory, but when we fall, who is the first to leave?”
“Aye!” agreed Obo, “You leave us to tend the stables ourselves? As I recall, it was you who wagered us against them. And now you leave us?” both men razzed Sirion with smiles.
Sirion smiled himself and shrugged, “Milady? May I join my men in our humble defeat?”
She laughed before adding sternly, “Get to the stables Sergeant, lest I grow angry with your lack of motivation,”
Sirion nodded and turned to leave, but not before a lingering gaze into his lady’s eyes. But, unbeknownst to him, their gestures of their fondness were beginning to be seen by others. Sir Godfrey, while gathering his gear, noticed his two leaders, and even he could see the electricity between the two. He silently turned and retired his equipment, keeping his thoughts to himself.
--
“You smell like horses,” commented Alice, as she wrinkled her nose as Sirion entered the council’s antechamber.
Sirion ignored her comment and made a quick visual sweep of the room, making sure they were alone, and quickly strode up to her, kissing her deeply. She giggled and pushed him back, “Not here,” she whispered. He only grinned and persisted, but she grew serious and held her hand up and against him, “I have serious news,”
Sirion fell quiet and leaned against the table where plans of war were created. She walked to the opposite and sat on the thick wood. “The Council has made their decision of who will make up the task force going to Khai,” she paused before adding, “We are to remain here, the men too. They have decided to send another force,”
Sirion frowned thoughtfully, “Who will lead them?”
“Commander Justin Talilison,” she answered.
“He is a fine commander,” Sirion remarked. She nodded in agreement.
“I know that,” she said, “I know the mission is in good hands, but…I feel…left out. I feel as though I’ve been passed over. I was beginning to feel more of a personal connection to this mission than I had. Obviously, it was my own father’s life who was threatened, so I hold a very great degree of personal interest in this,”
Sirion nodded, “And that, milady, is probably why they’ve taken us off of this mission. Your personal interest in our success could very well drive us on to victory, but, on the same coin, it could lead to some rash decisions, and ultimately, our defeat.”
She nodded, knowing he was right before he continued, “Also, you, I and the men have worked extremely hard in the last couple months. Let us take this time off and just recover. Lord knows we need it,”
She nodded thoughtfully and smiled. She made her way to leave the room, “I’ve more meetings to make, so I must be off,” she kissed his cheek, “Thank you, Sirion,”
--
CHAPTER 8 THE BIRTH OF A WAR
A couple of weeks had passed, and no word from Khamir nor Abbala. The Council was preparing their return to large port city and leave one council member here in New Hope to administer affairs in the absence of others. Sirion and Alice continued their romance in secret, despite the fact that Godfrey was becoming well aware of what was taking place. He had not brought it up to anybody as of yet.
The small group of covert knights had begun their long journey to Khai. They departed as peasant travelers, wearing the rags of commoners, yet carrying the weapons of an army in their wagons. Their mission was quite unclear, but they were scheduled to meet with a Lhyrnian spy upon their arrival, who would outline their mission more clearly. Alice and her men spent the first week to themselves, simply relaxing and spending time soaking in the oasis springs in and around New Hope.
One late evening, while sitting in a public pool, Godfrey and Sirion found themselves alone together. The sun was set, and the air was quickly cooling. Sirs Aran and Frederick had recently departed in search of some local cuisine. The Amaristan people were friendly and hospitable, but they made no secret in wishing for the Lhyrnians to leave. But, as long as someone has coin, many people will find a place for him to stay.
Sirion stood to retrieve his towel from a bench, but Godfrey spoke up, “Hold, my friend. Will you stay a few minutes longer? I’ve something I wish to speak of,”
Sirion frowned, but not out of anger, “Of course, my friend. Speak your mind,”
Godfrey looked away, formulating his words carefully, “Forgive me for the topic I wish to bring up, but something has come to my attention, I wish to discuss it with you,”
Sirion nodded, “Very well, what is it you speak of,”
Godfrey looked back at Sirion and stared him straight in the eye, “Please, milord, do not be angry with me for this, I only bring it to your attention in your best interest,”
Siroin was beginning to see where this was going, but decided to let it play out.
“Ah…you see…I’ve…” Godfrey began stammering on his words, and finally, he simply spat them out, “It has become obvious your interest with the princess has grown greatly as of late, and she seems to be more than simply your commander,”
Sirion knew it was coming, yet sat up straight in the water anyways, “How have you come to this knowledge,” he leveled at his friend.
Godfrey sat up straight as well and put his hands up in front of him, “My lord! Please, I do not quarrel with your actions, I only wish to make you aware, your movements are not unnoticed, and it may not be a long time before someone does disagree with what you are doing. And I assure you, my friend, the consequences will be dire for both you, and the princess,”
Sirion sat back, but did not relax. He knew his friend was right, but his heart told him otherwise. He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed to come to him.
Godfrey sat forward, water still dripping off his thick beard, “I just wanted to be the one to tell you, my friend. I have no wish to see any ill will come your way,”
Sirion nodded, but stared off into the distance. A morale conflict was raging in his head. He did not have much time to ponder it, however.
A single rider on horseback galloped through the street, calling out an announcement. His distance kept his message from being heard, but he quickly closed the gap, shouting his message to any who would listen. When the rider came close to the public pool, Godfrey stood and called to the man, “Ho, there rider! What message are you bringing?”
“The Lhyrnian king rides for New Hope! He brings with him a legion of knights!” the rider yelled down towards the two men, and then he was off, a clattering of hooves followed him down the road. Sirion and Godfrey stared at each other in disbelief.
--
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Post by longstevo on May 19, 2009 9:19:51 GMT -5
The Council of Lhyrnia stood at the front gate ready to greet their king. Agnand, Bissot, Arthur, and Alice all were thinking the same thing; “What could have made the king assemble such a force unannounced and ride for this part of the world?” That was the first question on their minds. The second was how it went unnoticed until Lord Hughes was nearly right on their doorstep.
Flags and banners flapped gently in the soft breeze. Soldiers and knights lined the road leading to the grand entrance to the Citadel, standing at arms, ready to salute their leader. It was eerily silent; the only sound was the breeze whistling through ears. Princess Alice stood alongside her comrades, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her father. It had been nearly three years since they last saw each other. And although the two did not leave on bad circumstances, Alice always wished she had made the effort to travel back to her homeland to visit. Her mind was whisked back to the present, as she took solace in the fact that she was have time for her father now.
Horns sounded in the desert evening, and somewhere, a great drum began to pound, announcing to the entire approaching column of their step pattern. It was a grand sight, seeing nearly five hundred men stepping all in time, their gleaming plate mail reflecting the last rays of sun back into the atmosphere. And leading all his glorious troops was the King himself.
He sat upon his famous horse. The snow white steed had seen nearly as much combat as the old king had, but the horse refused to show its signs of age, and possessed the build and ability of a horse half its age. A coat of chain mail fell around its knees, and emblazoned upon the side of the set of armor bore the standard of Lhyrnia. The horse, known as The Captain, usually held its head high and proudly, as he took great pride in being the personal steed of the King himself. But, this night, the proud horse hung its head low, but marched on nonetheless.
That was the first sign to Alice that something was not right. The horns sounding in the desert night lacked their normal shrillness, and the beating drums lacked their soul-shaking bass. As the men marched forward, she noticed that they drug their feet, just a little bit. It was if these men were beaten and drug across the sea and forced to march here. She knew that was not the men of Lhyrnia. The men from her home country would run a hundred miles before impaling themselves on a spear for their king. And then she saw it: they marched for someone else on this night.
She saw him as the column rounded its final bend in the road. If The Captain lacked his normal heir of pride, the man riding that horse seemed a broken soul altogether. His shoulders were slumped, his head hung low, and he swayed upon his steed, all of these were unacceptable as a Knight of Lhyrnia. But, the fact that the king was not riding at the head of his men was an omen that was not good. Alice’s hands began to tremble slightly as she watched her brother, the Crown Prince, ride towards the Citadel.
“What is he doing here?” “Where is the King?” “Why is…” questions began to be whispered among the welcoming party as Prince Jarod of Lhyrnia approached. The horns sounded one last time and all five hundred men came to a halt. Slowly, the Prince brought Captain to a slow trot and advanced towards his sister. When he stopped in front of her, he dismounted smoothly.
He stood slightly taller than his sister and shared many of her features. Many of their facial appearances came from the same parent. His hair was closely shorn, unlike the long and flowing hair of Alice. He was built like a warrior, with broad shoulders and a strong back. He carried himself well, and his armor fit him like a well worn coat. He was only aged five years more than his sister, but his haggard features made him look nearly fifteen years older. And his face belied what his heart was feeling.
He looked like a man defeated. His face was sullen, his eyes puffy, and he lacked any emotion whatsoever. Alice’s own face grew concerned as she reached up to touch him, but placed her hand back by her side. There would be time for emotion in a short while, this was not the place.
“Brother…” she stammered.
“All hail King Jarod of Lhyrnia!” the announcer riding with the column called out. Two seconds went by as all the troops on the ground processed and understood that request. Then, their blades were unsheathed and raised in the Lhyrnian salute. “King Jarod? This could only mean their beloved Hughes was no more,”
“Walk with me, Sister,” Jarod said as he put his arm around her and began to lead her towards the entrance to the Citadel. The other leaders gathered around saluted individually and offered their greetings. Lord Jarod offered his hand in greetings and clasped the hands of his subordinates with a forced smile painted on his face. It was becoming very clear that the King was dead.
“Come, let us meet in the Council’s chambers. I will say nothing until then,” said Jarod quietly. And with that, the trumpets sounded and the column was released to their officers. The party of leaders disbanded but made their way inside. Alice beckoned Sirion to follow, and he reluctantly brought up the rear.
Once inside the chambers and once the door was shut, the dozen or so men began asking a hundred questions at once. Jarod ignored them and focused on the cold stone floor, letting the agitated voices bounce off his ears without hearing a sound. Then, he looked into his sister’s eyes. He raised a hand, and the crowd fell silent. He looked at his leaders and finally spoke.
“The King is dead,” the gravity of the truth finally dawned on most of the people gathered there. Agnand pressed his hand against his forehead and Lord Bissot simply covered his mouth. Most men simply stood there, including Sirion. Alice stared off into thin air, focusing on a mountain top that didn’t exist.
Finally, a weakened voice asked, “How?”
Then, a new emotion claimed the new king’s face: anger. He clenched his fist and raised it high, “By the blade of an assassin!”
It took only a second for most everyone in the room to call out at once and demand action, damning the cursed Hashashini and places hexes upon the leaders of the same organization.
“They must answer for their crimes!”
“Death upon the desert dwellers!”
“We will march upon their fortress and crush it!”
“We demand action!” shouted Agnand, louder than the others.
The new King stood, still with his clenched fist, “Yes, and action is what will be delivered. You see the force standing just outside of these gates. Two thousand more sail west from here headed for the coastal city of Khai. We will stop at nothing until those responsible answer for their crimes,”
A hearty cheer arose from those gathered. Promises and braggart claims went about, as each man stated what they would do once they got their hands upon the enemy. Alice remained quiet, but let the men have their exaggerated discussion for a moment or two. When she caught a lull in the excitement, she asked quietly, “How will you do this, Brother?” The men fell silent and focused upon her.
Jarod turned and stepped lightly towards his sister. The wear and tear of years of fighting were beginning to take its toll on the thirty-something king. His eyes seemed to be weighted with exhaustion. She couldn’t tell if it was because of the long journey, or grief about their father, or both, or neither. He was relatively unreadable right now. He spread his arms wide.
“We will march forth and crush their fortress with them underneath it,” he said flatly.
“And where is this fortress?” Alice asked. She was fighting hard against the emotions tangled inside her. Her father had passed, and these men had no regard for him, except as using his murder for another excuse for war. She was growing sick of their brazen ways. Not one man had even said anything about Lord Hughe’s passing, instead choosing to discuss battle plans for more death. Her impatience was beginning to seep through her speech.
“Their fortress is hidden in a secret valley in the Varghani Mountains to the west of Khai,” he proclaimed.
Alice stood defiantly in front of her new king, “My lord, are you saying that we simply take our army and march off into the desert? For I’m sure that you have thought about the risks associated with that. One does not simply jump into a war. We need support, supplies and food. Do we have any of that?”
Several men in the room nodded in agreement and looked to Jarod for an answer. Sirion simply kept to the shadows, hoping to remain unseen.
King Jarod, taken aback by the sheer bluntness of his sister’s demands, held out his hands in front of him, “Now, Princess, there’s no need to be hostile…”
“Hostile?” she scoffed, “You brutes are excitedly telling of how you’re going to tear men limb from limb for the killing of our king! Tell me one thing, oh King, do you march to war for the love of your father, or do you march to war for the love of war?” Then she leveled an accusing finger at each of the other men in the room, excluding Sirion, “Or do any of you? Is my father’s murder simply another reason to kill?”
The silence in the room was deafening. It was Lord Agnand who spoke next, “My princess, if I may…” he bowed slightly, awaiting approval to speak. She looked away and nodded. Agnand proceeded, “My King, I agree with both of you. I think we must exterminate the Hashashini from these lands. But, the Lady is right. We cannot simply waltz into the desert and hope to survive. There are not nearly enough oasis’s from here to Khai to support a company, much less an army. We would drink them dry before the second half of our army would reach the water,”
The king thought a minute, “We will extract sustenance supplies from the town to take with us,”
Lord Bissot spoke this time, “My King, the town has nothing as it is. There are no supplies there for us,”
Princess Alice shook her head incredulously, “Have you ever led an army?”
The King stepped forward, “I suggest you speak to me with some respect in the presence of others,” he hissed, “I have led more campaigns in our country’s history than any other commander of my age,”
The Princess nodded, but the sarcasm was dripping from her motions. The King continued, “Now…shall we discuss this plan?” he glared at his sister.
--
Nearly an hour passed. Most of the leaders and the king had agreed on a plan. Although it still included infantry traveling through the desert, that seemed to be a necessity that could not be avoided.
In three days time, a rider would make his way to Khamir and give word for the Lhyrnian armada to begin sailing towards Khai. They would reach the port in about a week’s time. They would begin a naval assault on the city’s coastal defenses, and if things went according to plan, the cavalry and infantry would arrive the day after from the south. A support group, made up of carpenters, builders and other craftsmen would depart the city immediately by ship, and arrive onshore to the southwest of Khai, where they would begin building siege engines and other means to defeat the land defenses of the city. The pincer movement would have the defenses working on two fronts, and if needed, a long term siege could also be implemented.
Alice still did not approve of the plan, but she was outnumbered in a vote. It was decided then, that the dangers of the desert proved too great, only the mounted cavalry would travel by land. The foot soldiers would march back to Khamir where they would board ships, and land with the support group to the southeast of Khai. Alice stubbornly agreed, although she knew the desert would take its toll of victims.
During the planning, Sirion approached the table to offer a bit of advice. Jarod looked at the stranger and squinted, “And who is this?”
“I, my king,” Sirion began, and bowed his head, “am Sir Sirion Sunrunner, originally of Northgate…”
“Ah yes, I’ve heard of you. So, then, why do you wear the colors of my nation?”
Alice interjected, “Your father granted it to him,”
Jarod only nodded thoughtfully and went back to the map lying on the table. Alice caught Sirion’s gaze and her eyes said all the needed to be said: sorry.
--
That night, Sirion strode through the halls of the keep. It was silent out, even the guards were quiet tonight. He leapt up the stairwell leading to his and Alice’s meeting place, the place where this whole journey started. He knew she would be there waiting for him. They had missed the sunset, but the stars were just as beautiful. The cool night breeze kissed his cheek. As he rounded the bend in the causeway, he saw her.
She was leaning against the support wall looking out into the desert night. She wore a loose fitting gown of fine silk and wore her hair back in a braid. Her eyes were clouded by the lack of light, but what was left of the sliver of moon lit up all that he needed to see. He came in close behind her and put his arms around her.
She let him embrace her and pull her tight. She reached up and rested a hand upon his forearm. They stayed that way for a long moment before she broke the silence.
“My father is dead…” her voice was barely louder than the gentle wind. Sirion said nothing, but kept his arms tight around her. He felt her shudder, and he was sure it was not from the night air.
“My father is dead and my brother is now king…” Again, Sirion had nothing to say. He felt her tremble once more, and then she broke down. She started crying softly at first, her shoulders heaving against the impending tears. She had no change against them, and they came with full force.
Sirion turned her around so she could face him, and she buried her head in his chest, sobbing as quietly as she could. He simply stood there with his strong arms around her, her solid rock, as every last bit of energy poured out of her as her despair became complete.
When she was finished, she pulled away and noticed the damp spot on his shirt where her tears fell, tried to brush the spot away softly. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Shh…don’t be,” he murmured.
She looked up at him through puffy and red eyes, “What am I supposed to do?”
“Follow your king, for that is what any loyal soldier is to do,”
She nodded. He knew that wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but it was all he could give her. And she knew that is what she would have to do. She looked back to the distant and dark horizon, then returned to her love and gave him a gentle kiss.
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