Sep. 20, 2009 - Y'all are gonna be so mad at me...
I've decided to go ahead and get it all over with, and tell you what happens next.
This does not mean I'm not gonna finish writing it. I just won't for a very long time.
Chapter 11:
Sorrin and Ganail go to the capital city of Rasnonia, where they witness an Olympics type festival. In one of the games, Sorrin sees an athlete named Sinoril, and immediately has a vision in which Sinoril is wearing a crown. Sorrin recognizes that Sinoril is the Son of Lor, and throws himself at Sinoril’s feet. The Rasnonian authorities arrest Sinoril, thinking that he is in league with the Southern countries.
Chapter 12:
The defenders of Noran Mir are challenged by Imira to send out one of their best warriors to meet a Dur’zac wizard in battle. Mornan accepts the challenge and begins the battle. At first it seems that Mornan would be victorious, but the magic of the Dur’zac proves too strong and Mornan is killed. The Dur’zac wizard destroys the gates of Noran Mir, and the defenders escape by a secret underground passage.
Chapter 13:
Back at the palace, Sorrin and Ganail are eating with the royal family when the Rasnonian king suddenly falls down dead. Prince Elidra immediately accuses Sorrin and Ganail, and they are attacked by the house guards. Naramir and Sarlaim appear just in time to help Sorrin and Ganail escape. Maiela goes with them. Taking a boat to the coast, they sail west to the Island of Gwyllion.
Chapter 14:
The Dorean and Stillwood armies march toward Noran Rimana, the White Tower, and are attacked by Rasnonian Forces. During the battle, King Ailira and King Midas are struck down. After the battle, Ailira tells Sordoin that he is his father, and that he is now the King of Dorea. Midas tells Sordoin to take Aryia as his wife, to bind the countries of Stillwood and Dorea together in peace. The armies march on to Noran Rimana.
Chapter 15:
When everyone else is asleep on the shore of Gwyllion, Sorrin goes inland. He explores the ruins of a huge building, and finds a red spherical stone set into a pillar. A voice comes from the stone, commanding him to, “declare his lineage”. Sorrin says his ancestry out loud, from Saor to himself. The stone then glows a bright red color, and ten white creatures who are too bright to look at appear all around him. The call themselves the Gwylls. Because Sorrin has awoken them from a hundred year sleep, they agree to do something in return for him.
Chapter 16:
The Southern armies arrive at the White Tower just before it is surrounded by an army of Northerners and Dokkalim. The Northerners make no attempt to attack, but instead erect a wooden tower in plain view of the defenders. To the top of this a man is nailed by his hands and feet. Halthinil recognizes him as Sinoril. Panic grips the Southern forces as their only hope dies before their eyes.
Chapter 17:
On the morning of the third day, the Southern forces make a desperate final sortie on the Northerners. They are joined by the Gwylls, who were led there by Sorrin. But even this does not turn back the enemy. Suddenly Rastoran, the leader of the fallen angelic beings called the Rasvanir, appears befroe the wooden tower where Sinoril lies dead. Death in the form of a dragon is with him. Rastoran declares himself the ultimate ruler of Middengarne. Then Sinoril rises from the tower and commands Rastoran to return from where he came from. Then, taking Death by the wings, Sinoril rips them off and destroys Death. One of the wings turns gold, and the other turns black. Sinoril takes the wings and sets them in the sky, like doors. Then he disappears.
• 0 Comments • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link
Feb. 4, 2009 - Chapter 9-10
..............................
Chapter Nine: Royal Captive
Sorrin opened his eyes. It was too dark to see anything, but he knew he had been dreaming. He was back in Saorden, safely back home. . . back home. . . back. . . And he sank back into sweet oblivion.
A rough hand grabbed him by his shirt collar and lifted him up so his feet were just off the ground. He was flung back down. Sorrin wanted to yell, partly in fright, partly in anger, but he couldn't. He was gagged.
"Don't do that!" said a rough voice, "We want him alive for the king."
"He ain't my king, Rasim" answered another voice, "I have no king."
"Still, we're getting paid half a rondora to deliver him alive."
"And you'd be getting the larger half, I don't doubt."
"If you say so, Ranaor. . ."
"Excuse me, Rasim" said a voice that Sorrin realized with surprise belonged to Ganail, "You are sitting right in front of my face, and. . . well. . . I think that fish you just ate isn't agreeing with your stomach very well."
"Oh," said Rasim after a moment, "Sorry about that."
"Thank you," said Ganail, "I must say, you are the most civil enemy I have ever been captured by."
"Er. . . Okay," said Rasim, "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not."
"Neither, it was just a fact. I still despise you. Now, would you please take off my friend's gag?"
A knife slid between Sorrin's face and the gag, and Sorrin's mouth was free.
"Who are you?" he demanded immediately.
"It's okay, Sorrin," Ganail said quickly, "They say they will not harm us."
"And you believe them."
"We are under orders not to harm you," said Ranaor, a little resentfully, "and we won't"
"Where are we?" was Sorrin's next question.
"On a ferry, crossing the Red River," answered Rasim.
That far north. . . thought Sorrin. "Rasnonia?"
"To the King of Rasnonia, actually," replied Ganail, "My goodness, isn't that a beautiful sunset!"
"Sunset?" Sorrin exclaimed, "Why can't I see?"
"Because you're blindfolded. Rasim, do you mind?"
The blindfold was taken away from Sorrin's eyes. Sitting upright, he saw he was on a flat boat floating across a wide river. The far bank was a wide plain, and the opposite bank was wooded. The setting sun sent it's slanted beams through the trees, which reflected off the water and dazzled Sorrin's eyes.
Sorrin took this all in quickly. "What does the King want with us?"
"Think about it," said the man Sorrin took to be Ranaor, "If you heard that an enemy Prince was coming to spy in your kingdom, wouldn't you want to capture him and keep him where you could watch him?"
"So, we're to be prisoners?"
"Aren't you already?" laughed Rasim, "But don't worry, you will be treated well."
The rest of the way they sailed in silence.
They reached the other bank just before nightfall. Sorrin and Ganail, hands still tied tight behind them, were put into luxurious enclosed chairs, each carried by two servants, in the lavish Northern style. Sorrin wondered why they were being treated so well, but he guessed it was because they were both royalty. He had no idea how long they had been traveling, but the next thing he knew he was let out along with Ganail, and they were standing in a small room lit by a few candles and a fire on the hearth. In front of the fire were two high-backed chairs facing away from them.
"Wait here," said Rasim, and he and Ranaor left the room.
Ganail and Sorrin looked around. The walls were completely covered with brightly colored tapestries, not depicting battles like the Southern tapestries, but showed the many gods of Rasnonia. Sorrin was disgusted when he saw the Golden Hand of Lor pictured alongside the Oak of Nare the tree-god, and the thunderbolts of Rastoran above the fireplace. He walk closer to examine the pictures.
"From what I had heard, I thought you would have been an old man."
Sorrin swung around sharply. The speaker was a girl who had been sitting in one of the chairs before the fire. She was small, but looked to be about fifteen. The clothes she wore were typical of Northern nobility, fancy and colorful, as if the maker of them had tried to stuff all the colors of the world into the cloth.
"But I see I was mistaken," she continued, "You are no more than a boy."
"Boy?" he echoed, surprised, "I bet I'm older than you!"
"In age, maybe," she retorted, "But by the way you're arguing, you seem to be only six."
Ganail snorted from where he was looking out a window. The girl smiled and gestured to a wooden table, with game pieces in the shape of dogs and horses scattered on it.
"Do you play Horses and Hounds?" she asked. Sorrin nodded slowly. "Then sit down and play. My name is Maiela, by the way."
"I'm Sorrin Longwalker," said Sorrin as he sat down and began arranging the Horse pieces.
"Longwalker?" repeated Maiela amused, "Do all Southerners have such odd sounding names as you?"
"No," said Sorrin, barely smiling, "It isn't an odd name."
"Yes it is."
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is," said Ganail.
Sorrin rolled his eyes. "Okay then, it is. . ." he began.
"I always win," said Maiela laughing.
". . . Not odd sounding." finished Sorrin with a smile.
"My Hounds have your Horses at bay," said Maiela, a slightly mischievous look in her eyes, "I win."
Sorrin looked at the board in surprise. "How. . ."
The door opened and two men dressed in fine clothes entered, followed by Rasim and Ranaor. The fat, kinder looking one Sorrin immediately knew was the King of Rasnonia, and he stood and bowed slightly. The other one was much younger and meaner looking.
"The Prince Sorrin?" asked the King, "From what I heard, I thought you to be an old man!"
Sorrin laughed shortly, and looked at Maiela quizzically. She was trying hard not to laugh.
"And you must be King Halthinil of Shaddock," said the King to Ganail, kneeling and holding out his hand.
"No," said Ganail shaking the King's hand, "I'm his brother, Prince Ganail. And I do not live in Shaddock, I reside in Linan Nor."
There was an awkward silence. "Ah, yes," the King said slowly, "I'm sorry about that. But war is war, after all."
"Of course," said the younger man, "And war is not Hounds and Horses, right sister?"
"Elidra," answered Maiela, "I don't need to be scolded like a child."
"Nor do you need to be playing like one with Southern scum!"
"Scum?" Sorrin's face grew red.
"Elidra!" the King exclaimed, "Stop this! He hasn't done anything to you."
"He was born, father," Elidra said bitterly. With that he left the room.
"I'm sorry," apologized the King. He drew from his belt two swords; the Sarilan and Ganail's short sword. "You may keep these, just don't use them. You are also allowed to go about the city, but only under guard. One hot-headed act, and I'm afraid I must turn you over to the High Council. We will leave you now to sleep. Goodnight."
The King left, followed by Rasim, Ranaor, and Maiela. Maiela paused at the door. "Hounds and Horses tomorrow, Longwalker?" she asked smiling.
"Alright," said Sorrin smiling back. She left, and Ganail looked sideways at Sorrin and smiled a knowing smile, but said nothing.
Outside, Naramir and Sarlaim stared up from the bushes they were hiding in to the window that Ganail had been looking out of. They would wait. No matter how long it took, they would wait.
..............................
Chapter Ten: Something Big
There was a lull in the siege, and Sordoin went to sit by the well to bandage his sore arm. The Dokkalim were making headway, and already some of them had gotten over the walls and had to be cut down quickly. Their attacks were merciless and hard, and losses were heavy on both sides.
Halthinil came over to the well and took a long drink. Then he looked at Sordoin. "That was not a wise thing to do, boy."
Sordoin looked up from his arm at Halthinil. "I thought you could only speak Sartalish!"
Halthinil smiled. "I listen quietly, and learn fast." The Sartalim sat down.
"It was not wise to do what?" asked Sordoin.
"To attack Imira like a wildcat. If ever you face him in battle, he will use your anger to his advantage," Halthinil took another drink. "He was lying, anyway."
"Lying?"
"About the salt mine part," answered the Sartalim monarch, "Sorrin is most likely in the palace of the Rasnonian king."
"How do you know?"
"If he was captured for the salt mines, they would have taken the Sarilan. It is a privilege of royal prisoners to carry their weapons."
Sordoin felt so much relief he did not notice the pain in his arm. "So there is still hope?"
"What?" exclaimed Halthinil suddenly, leaping to his feet and staring hard at Sordoin. Sordoin backed up against the well in surprise, while the soldiers who were near stopped to listen.
"Are you implying that Sorrin is the only hope we have?" challenged Halthinil, "That without Sorrin all resistance against Rastoran is vain? Think, foolish one, think! It is not a Huwyn prince, nor his ancient blade that will deliver us!" Here, the Sartalim's voice started to waver, and his eyes clouded. "He is Lor's Son! Sinoril will save. Sinoril, a'idah nalda'il omah. Sinoril, a'idah lirnagari."
"Halthinil!" Mornan strode to the well. Halthinil fell to the ground as if someone who had been holding him up had suddenly dropped him. Mornan knelt down beside him. "Halthinil, what does that mean? Who is Sinoril?"
"Sinoril, the mighty one," Halthinil muttered breathlessly, "Sinoril, the. . . "
"The what?"
"Sacrifice."
"No. . ." Mornan said heavily, "It can't be. Not sacrifice. . ."
A horn sounded, and a cheer rose from the soldiers on the wall. But Halthinil and Mornan stayed looking into each others eyes, as if silently speaking. Sordoin looked on intently, and Halthinil's eyes closed.
"Sordoin," Mornan spoke finally, his voice barely audible because of the cheering, which he seemed to have taken no notice of, "It appears that we are the witnesses of a very extraordinary event."
"What event?" asked Sordoin.
"A Sartalim uttering prophecies," answered Mornan, still looking at Halthinil, "Never before has anyone besides a Huwyn or Annwyn prophesied."
Sordoin stood, a wave of confusion sweeping over him. Mornan looked up at him. "Something big is happening," Sordoin said.
"And we're right in the middle of it," Mornan breathed. Mornan motioned for a nearby soldier to take Halthinil into the Tower. At that moment, the gates were flung open and a score or more of armored horsemen poured in with a great cloud of dust billowing behind them.
Ailira ran down the stone stairs that ascended to the top of the wall, his bloodstained sword in his hand. General Nimoran followed close behind. "Midas!" he greeted the leader of the horsemen, "I didn't expect you here!"
"You were right in not expecting us," said the forest king, swinging down from his horse and handing the reins to a stablehand. He looked at Ailira gravely.
"What happened?" Ailira asked with dread.
"Stillwood has been taken by the U'tolga," Midas spat out the last word "The only secure place in Stillwood is Eyriehold."
Ailira stood there stunned. General Nimoran cursed under his breath.
"Ailira," said Mornan after a while, "I feel as if we have been thrown into this, and mixed around into chaos. It would be a good thing to take a day or two and discuss our situation."
Ailira sighed. "Yes, it would help."
A soldier of Stillwood walked up to Midas. His silver helm covered his face, and long golden hair fell in waves behind him.
"The troops are garrisoned?" asked Midas.
The soldier nodded and removed his helmet. Sordoin's eyes widened as he realized that the soldier was a lady. Midas must have been surprised as well, because he suddenly exclaimed: "Aryia! I thought I told you to stay in Eyriehold!"
"They didn't need me," answered Aryia calmly, although she looked down in embarrassment.
Midas sighed heavily. "Very well. I guess it's too late to send you back," he finally said. Aryia brightened.
The sentry on the wall came down and walked over to them. "The enemy has pulled back into their camp suddenly," he said, "They are disassembling their war machines and the campfires are growing more numerous."
"Then that means they will be staying in camp for a day or two," said Nimoran thoughtfully.
"I think we should take this opportunity and discuss what we are to do," said Mornan. He turned and led the way into the Tower.
Once in the Tower, Sordoin had to stand still for a moment to get used to the dark. Then he followed behind Nimoran, feeling claustrophobic under the low ceiling of the entryway which seemed to press down toward him. They turned left and went down a long hallway lit with lamps that hung on either wall.
Above them, Sordoin could hear the hustling of soldiers busy preparing weapons and repairing armor. Now and then a young maid carrying a basket of bandages or a mother with her child would pass them, stopping only to curtsy respectfully. At the end of the hall was a winding staircase, and Mornan led them up. This led up to another hallway where things were quieter. There was a door halfway down the hall, and they opened it and went in.
The room was long, and it's vaulted ceiling rose far above them, supported by tall sandstone pillars. A long red carpet ran along the blue tiled floor and led to a large onyx table, with fifty chairs of the same stone placed around it. They sat down at the table, Ailira sitting at the head.
"Midas," he said, "Tell us all that happened in Stillwood."
"When we left Narcourt," said Midas, "Our scouts kept coming back with reports of a armed company that was far ahead of us. They couldn't get close enough to see who they were, so we traveled faster, taking shorter rests. We passed many abandoned campsites, and from some of the arrowheads we found scattered around we determined that they were the U'tolga.
"With this knowledge we tried our best to get to Stillwood before they did, but when we came in sight of home, we saw smoke rising from the trees. We fought our way into Stillwood, enraged at the damage the the Cliff Rats caused the forest. We were greatly relieved when we found Eyriehold still standing.
"There we made sure the women and children were safely guarded, and we discussed with the Parliament of Elders about what we should do. It was decided that we should take half of the best archers we had and come here to help defend the Tower."
"And for your help we are greatly thankful," said Ailira, "But this news is the most terrible I've heard yet."
"Why?" asked Nimoran.
"Before the North attacked," explained Ailira, "The South had five sanctuaries in which it could defend itself: Noran Mir, Noran Risas, Noran Rimana, Linan Nor, and Stillwood. Noran Mir is under siege, Noran Risas is taken, Linan Nor has no more ships, and now Stillwood is closed to us. If Noran Mir falls to the enemy, only Noran Rimana, the White Tower, is left."
"So," said Sordoin, "If Sorrin fails in his mission, all is lost?"
"If Sorrin fails," said Mornan, "It would take something big to help us."
• 11 Comments • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link
Feb. 4, 2009 - Chapter 6-8
..............................
Chapter Six: Towers of Iron and Engines of War
". . . and so the great King Siason passed, lying on his funeral-pyre piled high on the swan white boat that bore him down the Great River towards the West."
Sarlaim finished these last few verses of his song with a few singing notes on his silver harp. King Ailira of Dorea and his lords who sat around him sat breathless for a moment as Sarlaim wrapped his harp in white cloth and set it behind the great carved oaken chair he sat in. Then the room was filled with shouts of applause and cheering. Sarlaim smiled and lifted his cup to his mouth and took a long drink.
During their rest in Stillwood, Sorrin and his newfound cousin, Sarlaim, had become very good friends. Sarlaim, who was about nineteen years old, was not only a prince, but also a bard, and he knew a lot about the history of Middengarnë, especially that of the Southern Kingdoms. Now that they had arrived in Narcourt, the capital city of Dorea, King Ailira heard of Sarlaim’s ability and had asked him to sing.
Sorrin’s attention was drawn to the wall behind the throne of Ailira. The great hickory panels were engraved with images of the Scourge of the Frontier, where the archers from Stillwood and the horsemen of Dorea played an important role in driving the outlaws and Dokkalim from the Frontier back into their stronghold in the Cragged Mountains. The light from the fire in the center of the room cast shadows across these images, making it look as if they were moving.
"Fascinating, isn’t it?" Sorrin looked up and saw Sarlaim sitting in the chair next to him. He smiled and nodded. Sarlaim made a wide gesture with his hand toward the carvings. "They tell me that it took three years to carve those," he said, "Some of the detail is so small you can’t see it."
"Who made them?" Sorrin asked.
"One of the greatest craftsmen in Dorea, a man named Ninair," answered Sarlaim, "But that was over a hundred years ago."
The women of the Midas’ household, who had accompanied them, came in just then and went among the tables pouring mead into the men’s empty cups. One of them, who looked to be about Sarlaim’s age, came to their table.
"Good evening, Roärya," said Sarlaim as she refilled his cup. She smiled and moved on to the next table, and Sorrin noticed that Sarlaim’s eyes followed her around the room.
"She will be a fit queen someday," said Sorrin.
Sarlaim smiled. "I think so too, cousin," he said.
Just then King Ailira motioned for Naramir, who was sitting next to him, to stand. "Now," he said, "Tell us what news you have."
Naramir took a deep breath and began. "It was seven days before Minarasin Eve, and I was praying in the inner room of the Temple of Lor, for it was my turn to oversee the sacrifices.
"As I was lighting the lamps, I passed into salimin, or a vision, for those of you who know not that term. And in the vision, I saw all of Middengarnë, as if from the sky. And in the North a flame burned. The flame grew larger and larger and from the midst of it came engines of war; great catapults and siege towers, as numerous as the stars.
"I turned my face toward the South, and I beheld the Three Towers, the Towers of Iron, shining like flames in the sun. And against these came the engines of war from the North. But in the North I saw a Man. And a Voice spoke to me saying: ‘This is your Deliverer. This is My Son." And I knew that Lor had spoke to me."
Here Sorrin and Sarlaim looked at one another amazed. It was rare that Lor Himself would speak in a vision. They listened as Naramir continued.
"I came out of salimin, and immediately I went and prepared to leave for Linan Nor. I feared for my brother Mornan, who was at Noran Mir for the feasting. But when I arrived, Noran Mir was under attack, and I was almost captured by the Dokkalim troops.
"But I escaped and made my way north to the castle of King Dain of Saorden. There we discussed what must be done, and we decided to send Prince Sorrin and these two Sartalim brothers from Shaddock here to Narcourt. And from here we go north to Rasnonia, to find our Deliverer."
There was a moment of silence. Sorrin’s mind was racing. He was to go into Rasnonia? He looked at Sarlaim. Sarlaim’s face was grimly set, and his eyes were flashing. Sorrin knew that Sarlaim would follow Naramir to the world’s end, if it was the will of Lor.
King Ailira stood, and whispered something to a servant who was standing close by. The servant left the room. "Naramir," he said, "All that was in your vision was true. Linan Nor and Noran Risas are fallen, that is already known to us. Noran Mir is presently under siege, but your brother Mornan is here, safe in our care." At this Naramir brightened.
"Where is he?" he asked.
"Right here, brother."
Sorrin looked to where the voice had come from. The servant that Ailira had sent out had returned with a tall, fair haired Annwyn. His left hand was bandaged and he limped on his right foot, but that detracted nothing from his royal, and slightly mischievous, manner.
Naramir rushed over to him and grasped both of his hands. Mornan winced. "I’m glad to see you too," he cautioned, "But be careful of the hand, brother."
"I’m sorry," said Naramir.
"I’m sorry to stop this reunion," said Ailira smiling, "But we have a very important matter on our hands. Did your vision tell you what we should do about this?"
"No," replied Naramir, "And I don’t think there is anything we can do, other than trust this Deliverer that Lor has sent us. But my only question is, how are we to find this Deliverer?"
"Naramir," said Mornan, "The Sarilan."
Sorrin almost bolted out of his chair. "The Sarilan?"
Naramir smiled, then he turned back to Ailira. "Your highness," he said, "There is a fact about us Annwyn that not many other people know about. Not only do we have visions, but we also can share them. On my way to King Dain’s castle, I shared a vision with Mornan. I will not tell the whole thing, for visions from Lor are not to be told like common bard-songs, but I will say this. Prince Sorrin, who you see here before you, has a great task before him. It is he who will go into the North, even to Rasnonia, and he will find the Deliverer."
There was a short silence. Sorrin’s eyes met with Naramir’s and were held there.
"But he will not go without help," finished Naramir.
He stepped right in front of Sorrin and drew out from under his cloak the long leather-bound bundle that Sorrin had noticed that night in Bear Tor. Naramir solemnly handed it over to Sorrin. Sorrin stood with it in his shaking hands. He carefully unwound it.
The light from the fire glinted on the polished metal and danced along the golden lettering that ran up the flat of the blade. Sorrin held it as if it would dissolve into dust at his slightest breath.
It was the Sarilan, the sword of Saor, the first king of Saorden. As if responding to the touch of a descendent of it’s forger, the sword took on a distinct golden glow. Sarilan. In the Old Speech that meant Singer.
"Sorrin."
Sorrin looked up and saw that it was Mornan who had said his name.
"Are you ready?"
Sorrin smiled. With Sarilan in his hand, Naramir and the others at his back, and Lor above him, he felt he could take on all the Dokkalim in Middengarnë.
"I am ready."
.............................
Chapter Seven: The Journey Begins
"The time has come. The hour has struck. The South is groaning. West, east, and north, they all hold their breath. The reign of Rastoran is coming here. Read it in the stars. Feel it in the air. Hear it in the crashing of the waves on the western shore. The Human and Annwyn will unite, and the Huwyn will stand victorious. The Gwyllion and the Sartalim and the Children of Losran will answer their call. Out of the north a storm arises, a destroyer is born, a wolf grows hungry, a monster rages. Prepare. Rastoran comes."
The words from Sorrin’s dream echoed in his ears. He had told Mornan and Naramir about it, and they looked troubled. After they had taken council with each other, it was decided that Sorrin, Naramir, Sarlaim, and Ganail would continue the journey north and Mornan and Halthinil would accompany Ailira and his men to Noran Mir.
The sun rose in unclouded splendor on the day of departure. Sorrin was restless as he waited for the preparations of the journey to be made. They would be traveling in simple brown clothes and grey cloaks, with unmarked shields from Ailira’s armory so as to avoid drawing attention from the Rasnonians.
Sorrin strode up and down one of the many corridors in the palace fingering the hilt of his new sword.
He and Sarlaim had deciphered the words written in the Old Speech that ran along the blade the day before. He memorized what it said:
"I am Sarilan, that same blade of old wielded in the aged days by Saor, son of Siason."
"That is a goodly blade you have, my prince."
Sorrin turned around and immediately recognized the powerful frame of his manservant and friend, Sordoin. "Sordoin!" he exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"
"Word came from Stillwood about your journey in the Sundering Plains," replied Sordoin, "and King Dain was somewhat worried when he heard about your encounter with the U’tolga. "So the King sent me to make sure you are alright,"
"Well, as you can see, I’m fine," said Sorrin. "Maybe even better off than before," He added as he gazed down at Sarilan.
Sordoin looked at his young master curiously. The boy part of him had gone, and was replaced by a man. He noticed Sorrin held himself prouder than before, and that his steel grey eyes flashed with a flame of determination. It seemed to Sordoin that he was beholding one of the kings of the Old Days.
Sorrin looked up from his sword. "What?" he asked when he saw the strange look on his friend’s face.
"Nothing," said Sordoin smiling a little, "I was just wondering who you looked more like; your father, King Dain, or that statue of King Rian in the throne room."
"Rian the Traveler?" laughed Sorrin, "If I look like him, then I’ll need a surname like his!"
"Sorrin Longwalker?"
The corridor echoed with their laughter. And from that day on, Longwalker was Sorrin’s nickname.
"What’s this?"
The large hickory door at the far end of the hall opened and Naramir came in. "I’m sorry to stop the fun," he said, "but all is ready for the journey."
"The journey?" Sordoin looked at Sorrin questioningly.
"To Rasnonia," said Naramir, "Sorrin hasn’t told you?"
"Rasnonia?" exclaimed Sordoin, "what’s this all about?"
Sorrin told Sordoin all that had happened the night before, including his dream. Sordoin was silent for a moment.
"If you go," he said slowly, "then I must go too. It is my duty."
Sorrin looked at Naramir hopefully, but the Annwyn shook his head.
"I’m afraid not," Naramir said, "there would be too many of us." Sordoin was about to protest, but Naramir added, "If you want to help your master, go with King Ailira to Noran Mir. They will need all the help they can get against the Dokkalim at the Tower."
"I don’t know. . ." Sordoin began.
"Go with King Ailira, Sordoin," said Sorrin, "you will be of more help there. I’ll be fine."
"Alright, my Prince," said Sordoin smiling, "I guess I can’t watch over you forever."
The time of departure had come. Down the street that ran through the city of Narcourt to the Gate rode the Red Company, five hundred great mounted soldiers of Dorea, each wearing a scarlet cape and a red waistband. At their head rode Ailira, Naramir, Sorrin and the others. No one spoke, and Sorrin was almost dreading the moment when they would be outside the Gate and on their way to Rasnonia, and to whatever fate awaited them there.
Suddenly, Sorrin realized just what was going on. What was he thinking? He wasn’t King Siason the Sailor, or King Saor, or King Rian the Traveler! He wasn’t even a king! Sure he had the Sarilan, but what did he know about wars?
"I can’t do this." he thought. Naramir looked sharply at him and he realized he was thinking out loud
"You can," Naramir whispered to him. Then he pointed to Sorrin’s heart. "Lor is there."
Assured by this simple statement, Sorrin swallowed his fear as best he could, and set his mind to the task before him.
The Gate was now opening. King Ailira and Naramir were the first to go through, with Sorrin following close behind. He breathed deeply when he got outside. There he was, with all things familiar and safe behind, and the dark unknown before him.
The Red Company halted once outside the Gate. Naramir and Mornan rode to the front and did the priestly duty of committing the Company to Lor’s care. Then they rode away, the Red Company on the road to Noran Mir, and Sorrin and his companions to the North.
|
No one spoke for a while. Over his shoulder Sorrin saw the city of Narcourt disappearing in the distance, with the red and gold flags of Dorea flying above the city walls. It would be the last time he would see anything Southern for a long time.
It was about sunset when they reached the edges of Stillwood. Sarlaim took the lead, as he knew every path in the forest by heart.
They had not gone half a mile when they were met by a group of about thirty-five archers. A lady, who seemed to be the leader, stepped forward and bowed before Sarlaim.
“Cousin Aryia!” exclaimed Sarlaim, “Isn’t it too late to be out hunting?”
“Not hunting, cousin Prince,” the archeress answered, rising, “The U’tolga have been prowling outside the forest all day, and we are afraid they have entered.”
“Why did you not attack them?” asked Sarlaim.
“There were too many of them and too few of us. The best archers went with King Midas.”
Sarlaim turned to Naramir. “What now? We can’t very well leave, not with Stillwood in danger.”
“And we can’t very well stay,” answered Naramir, “Not with the entire South depending on us.”
"You go on with your business," Aryia put in quickly, "I can handle the Cliff Rats."
Sarlaim looked at her questioningly. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Your mission is more important, I am thinking."
"Alright," said Sarlaim after a moment's thought, "But if the U'tolga should prove too strong, go to Noran Rimana."
A shout ripped through the quietness of the night. A long arrow brushed past Sorrin's head and stuck into an old oak behind him. There was chaos. The woods were full of the battle-cries of the Cliff-dwellers and the neighing of their mountain bred steeds.
Moving as one and with amazing discipline, the archers of Stillwood formed ranks among the trees and fitted arrows in the strings of their bows.
"Sinid!" commanded Sarlaim in Stilltongue, swinging down from his horse and stringing his own bow. The archers and Aryia drew their bows back.
Sorrin, Ganail, and Naramir got down from their horses and drew their swords, just in time to avoid being struck down by another volley of arrows from the U'tolga.
"Ieah!" The archers took aim. The U'tolga were now in sight. Sorrin tightened his grip on Sarilan.
"Naikaiimai!"
At that signal, thirty-seven black shafted, white feathered messengers of death sped from the strings of thirty-seven bows of yew, and every one of them stabbed home into the heart of a Cliff-dweller. The death-cries rung in Sorrin's ears. He was sure they would turn back.
But still they came on.
"Devils all!" exclaimed Sarlaim, "Why do they not turn back?"
"Shhh," said Ganail, "Listen to what they say."
Sorrin listened. The U'tolga had halted in their advance, and a loud voice called out to them.
"The Saorling Prince! He is what we want!" the voice said. All eyes turned to Sorrin.
"What do you want with me?" Sorrin asked through clenched teeth. His question was echoed by the archers. "What do you want with him?"
"No harm, no harm," answered the voice, "And it ain't any business of the Wood Rats what we want of you."
"Don't trust them," Naramir warned in a whisper. Then he raised his sword and spoke in the Old Tongue. "Lor! Mast os da dar or nimasa aras oras!"
There was a noise like thunder and a blinding flash of white light. The U'tolga's screams shook the trees, and the archers cheered as the Cliff Rats retreated out of the shadows of Stillwood.
Sorrin cheered along with the rest, but was grabbed roughly from behind. A large calloused palm slapped over his mouth before he had time to realize what was going on, and something hard hit him on the back of his head. He sank unconscious into the hands of his captors.
..............................
Chapter Eight: Noran Mir
Sordoin didn't know why King Ailira had pulled up to ride beside him that first day on their way to the Tower of Hands. They hadn't even spoken to each other, other than a greeting and a comment now and then on the unusually dry weather.
But the second day of riding, the king of Dorea was very talkative.
"Your name is Sordoin, right?" he asked.
"Yes sir," Sordoin answered.
"That means Son of the Bear in the Old Tongue," said Ailira matter-of-factly, "do you know the Old Tongue?"
"A little," said Sordoin, "In Saorden, that knowledge is not useful unless you are a priest or a noble."
"Ah, I see," said Ailira, "But you are too short and stocky to be a Saorling."
"I am Dorean by birth," replied Sordoin, "My mother came to Saorden during the famine and worked as a handmaiden for the queen." He held up his right hand and showed Ailira a ring. It was in the shape of a three headed serpent, each head clutching a round emerald in it's jaws.
Ailira looked at the ring closely with a strange expression on his face. Then he sighed. "My wife disappeared during the famine about twenty years ago." There was silence for a moment.
"How old are you?" Ailira asked suddenly, and urgently Sordoin thought.
"Nineteen."
"Nineteen," echoed Ailira under his breath, "Yes, that's about right."
Sordoin looked at the Dorean monarch curiously. It was then that he realized the close resemblance between them. The same square jaw, the same green eyes, the stern nose, the reddish brown hair. . .
"Noran Mir!" The cry from the front brought Sordoin's thoughts back. He and Ailira sped to the head of the Red Company and halted alongside Mornan and Halthinil, who were riding in the same horse. It was the first time he saw the great Tower of Hands.
Noran Mir was more than a tower. There was a single tall wall encircling it, and behind those walls was what might be called a city. The whole thing seemed to Sordoin like a great stormy giant, frowning upon the surrounding land. But what most impressed him was the Tower itself.
It shone in the midday sun, it's four sides each bearing a golden image of a hand. The tall wall surrounding it was scarred with marks of countless sieges, giving it a forlorn yet proud appearance. The wall was lined with scores of armed defenders in shining armor, each one with a flashing sword and a long black bow.
The flags and banners of the noble families and clans who resided in the Tower cast their defiant colors into the air, looking to Sordoin like the fabled Firebirds of the farthest South, all waiting to swoop down upon the enemy as soon as it dared show itself. Sordoin took this all in with an overwhelming sense of awe. Noran Mir, the ancient guardian of Dorea, Second of the Towers of Iron, built by King Dore in ages long gone.
And then he saw the Dokkalim.
Hordes upon hordes of black-clad, scimitar wielding, Rastoran worshipping, bloodthirsty brutes covered the plains around the Tower like a black blanket, screaming hatred at the Tower, and stamping the ground in their impatience for war. They had not noticed the Red Company that had halted right behind them.
Ailira looked at Sordoin. "Ready?" was all he asked.
Sordoin swallowed whatever fear he felt and nodded. He drew his sword and Ailira raised his silver horn to his mouth.
The Dokkalim turned at the sound of the Red Company's thunderous charge. The red banners of Dorea snapped in the wind as if answering the flags of the Tower, and a cheer went up from the defenders of Noran Mir.
Cries of fear mixed with surprised anger sprang from the Dokkalim ranks as they flew into wild confusion. Sordoin saw for a split second a man riding among the Dokkalim shouting orders. Soon the ranks in the back turned and faced the Red Company with pikes outstretched, and the front lines began wreaking havoc among the defenders with their deadly arrows.
The horses were going faster than Sordoin thought possible, and the distance between the Company and the outstretched pikes of the Dokkalim was becoming shorter and shorter, until he could see the angry and frightened looks in the eyes of the enemy. He held his breath and braced himself.
The Red Company flung themselves into the dark mass of Dokkalim. Sordoin hacked savagely anywhere flesh could be seen under the black iron armor of the Dokkalim. His sword hand was covered with blood; he new not and cared not whether it was an enemy's or his own.
He heard the war-song of Dorea ringing above the noise of battle, and with a grim glee he joined in. He felt like a wave in a seething black sea; no, the Company was a red wave storming through and smothering the putrid black sea of Dokkalim, as if it were a purifying fire consuming dross off the sacred land of Dorea.
And just as fast as it had began, they were clear of the Dokkalim horde, and making straightway for the gates of Noran Mir, that were opened in welcome. A few angry arrows followed them in, but they were hastily shot and clattered harmlessly against the stone battlements.
Stablehands came forward and took the horses to the stables, while the Company refreshed themselves at a large well in the center of the courtyard in the shadow of the Tower. It was even more impressive up close, but it was no longer menacing and angry. Now it was like a large mother hen, and the walls were like the wings surrounding her chicks.
Men and women knowledgeable in leechcraft were on hand to see to the wounded. Mornan immediately went to the top of the walls, and Halthinil went his own way, with the curious glances of the Doreans following him. They had never seen one of the Sartalim before.
A tall, middle-aged man in armor with his left arm in a sling, and his long red beard dirty and matted, came forward and saluted Ailira.
"General Nimoran," greeted the King, "You have held them off well so far."
"Thank you, sire," answered the general, "They attacked on the night of Minarasin Eve, and took us all by surprise. I'm afraid they have harvested our fields, without asking our leave." He spat out the last part.
"As soon as the Dokkalim are rid of, your harvest will be repaid double," said Ailira.
Nimoran looked at Sordoin. "Your son?" he asked Ailira.
"No," answered Ailira after hesitating a moment, as if caught off guard. Then, looking around at the soldiers on the wall, he said hastily, "How do things stand here?"
"Well enough," replied Nimoran slowly, looking quizzically at Sordoin and then at Ailira, "The women and children are being kept safe inside the Tower. There is medicine and weapons aplenty, and for food there are rations of dried meat and bread, but as for water," here he gave a short gesture of helplessness, "I'm afraid only one well is left full. The enemy has possession of all the springs outside the wall."
"That is a problem we cannot solve, unless we can dig another well," said Ailira, "Tell me, who is the leader of the enemy?"
"His name is Imira," answered the general, "They say he is the offspring of a Dokkalim chieftain and a Huwyn witch. Such an unholy union is sure to bring forth a monster like Imira the Axe."
"Yes, a monster," said Mornan, who had just walked up, "But it is not because of his monstrousness that we should be wary of him." Mornan looked straight at Ailira. "Imira the Axe now wields Rimastan, the Whisperer."
There was a silence in the courtyard, for every soldier there heard Mornan's words.
"It can't be," said Ailira breathlessly, "Not the sword of Dore! Not the sword that fought at Mass Rin and at the Scourge of the Frontier! It couldn't have turned to the evil side!"
"Never fear, Ailira," said Mornan, laying a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, "The day approaches when light shall be shown to the blind, evil will change to good, and things bound will be loosed. The day comes when all things are to be redeemed."
It was the first time Sordoin heard a prophecy.
"Sir!" A sentry from the wall called down to Nimoran, "The enemy is calling for an audience with you!"
Ailira and Nimoran looked at each other. "We'll be right out," called the general to the sentry.
The dusty plains were dotted over with the dead bodies of fallen Dokkalim, and these were shoveled aside to make way for Imira and his general Hisarasin. Ailira and Nimoran met them before the gate, dressed in the finest armor available. Sordoin stood a few steps behind the Dorean King.
"Ailira," said Imira in a mocking salute. He was dressed in a dirty black coat that trailed on the ground behind him. Rimastan was at his side.
"Imira," said Ailira nodding slightly.
"I had no idea you had a son," said the Axe gesturing to Sordoin. Sordoin wondered why everyone was mistaking him as Ailira's son.
"Why did you call this parley, Imira?" asked Ailira ignoring that remark.
"To show you how pathetic you really are," replied Imira stepping forward, "Hisarasin. The shield, if you please."
The Dokkalim general grunted and held out a plain shield, bearing no markings. Ailira and Sordoin looked at it shocked. It was the shield Sorrin had taken from Ailira's armory.
"You see, Ailira," said Imira, "Sending a mere boy to Rasnonia is not a smart move."
"What have you done with him?" Sordoin demanded, his hand going to his sword.
"He is now on his way North," sneered the Axe, "Probably will wind up in a salt mine or the galleys. . ." He was cut short. Sordoin had knocked him to the ground and was holding him in a strangling grip about his throat. Hisarasin grabbed Sordoin by the back of his neck and hurled him away with a gurgling roar.
Imira stood and shook his fist at Sordoin, who was lying on the ground groaning. "Fool!" he shouted hoarsely, "Try that again, you son of a. . ."
"Is that all you had to say, Imira?" Ailira snapped as he and Nimoran helped Sordoin to his feet.
Imira spat at them and turned away cursing. Hisarasin took one last hateful look at Sordoin, and then followed his master. The three Doreans ran back into the gate.
The siege began again.
|
• 0 Comments • Post A Comment! • Permanent Link
Feb. 4, 2009 - Towers of Iron: Chapter 1-5 (WARNING: Verrrrry Long)
Chapter 1: The Whisperer
The moon was just rising, and it’s mournful face gazed down on Noran Mir, the Tower of Hands. No face looked over the battlements, and there were no sentries at the gate, for this was the celebration of Minarasin Eve, when no one need fear danger. Even the wind seemed to blow gentler than usual for autumn. Within the walls of the Tower, the people feasted and danced.
A tall, thin person stood just outside of the surrounding woods, staring at the Tower with hatred in his eyes. Then he turned and strode into the wood.
The path he took was one that many people would have avoided; it was believed to be a haunt for wraiths and ghosts. But for this man, whose name was Imira, this path led to something that would change everything forever.
He was met by two Dokkalim, each with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. The Dokkalim resembled Humans, except they were taller and much stronger. The Dokkalim stopped Imira.
"Simiror," they said in unison.
"Simira," Imira gave the countersign. The Dokkalim let him pass.
Imira walked into the camp, and went straight to a tent that was set up in the center close by a great fire. He lifted the heavy canvas flaps and entered. Inside there was only a table with a plate of half-eaten food on it, and a cot in the corner. On this cot lay Mornan, the Annwyn prince of Linaar.
"Stand up, filth!" shouted Imira.
Mornan obeyed, but slowly. He stood still and smiled. "Lovely evening for a walk, eh Imira? Did you enjoy the sight of the great Tower of Hands lit by the autumn moon?" He tucked a strand of stray hair behind his ear as he noted the slight look of surprise on Imira’s ugly face.
"So you’ve been following me again have you?" questioned Imira after a while. "You must remember something, Mornan. You are a prisoner in my hands. It is time you acted like one."
"I guess, then, that you should set more than one guard outside the tent." retorted Mornan.
Imira frowned, but then he smiled scornfully. "I have some news for you," he said. Mornan braced himself for what was sure to come.
"Our troops," continued Imira, "Have taken all the ships in Linan Nor. The Tower of Faces has fallen, just as the Tower of Hands will. But there is a quandary," Imira paused, a slight look of annoyance crossing his face, and then he continued.
"Your brother, Naramir, has escaped, along with a very valuable weapon. With this weapon, he might, just might, be able to resist us. But luckily, we have something to bargain with." he pointed at Mornan. "Something very dear to him."
Mornan let this all sink in. Then he said defiantly, "My brother will never give you the Sarilan."
"Ah," Imira raised his eyebrows, "You know the sword. Then you will also remember that Sarilan has a brother, forged on the same day, in the same forge. Surely you know it’s name."
Mornan nodded. "Rimastan, the Whisperer."
Imira smiled. "Yes, the Whisperer," he said, throwing his cloak back, and drawing a sword from his belt. It was long and thin, almost delicate looking, but Mornan knew that it could hack through the thickest armor.
Mornan gazed at the ancient blade that was still gleaming as if it was new. For a moment he thought of all the battles that Rimastan had fought: the Battle at Mass Rin, at Noran Rimana, and the Scourge of the Frontier against the Dur'zac.
He thought of all the kings of old that wielded it. There was Mornsinil, and his son Sinana. Even Dore, brother of Saor, used it against the Dokkalim at Mass Rin. And now it was in the hands of the enemy.
All of a sudden, time stopped. Mornan’s senses dulled a little. He was no longer standing in the tent. He was on a wide plain. It was raining, and there was no sunlight anywhere. He noticed two people were fighting before him. He looked closer.
One of them he recognized as Imira, and the other was a boy, no older than seventeen, with auburn hair and the fair skin of the Huwyn people. His armor was that of the Saorlings, and his shield bore the markings of the family of Dain. He was wielding the sword Sarilan. The boy and Imira fought hard, each bringing the other within inches of death.
Imira and the boy stood apart for a moment to catch their breath. The boy said something to Imira, but Mornan could not understand what he said. Imira gave an angry shout and leapt at the boy. Sarilan and Rimastan met in a flash, and the blade of Rimastan was shattered.
Mornan came out of the vision smiling. Imira watched his face with uncertainty mixed with fear. He knew that when Mornan’s eyes were half closed he was seeing a vision, which the Annwyn people are renown for. "You will fall," Mornan said slowly, as if savoring each syllable, "Oh yes, you will surely fall. The strength of Lor is on our side."
Imira struck Mornan across the face with the back of his hand. "Don’t you say that Name again," he snarled. He then turned on his heel and stomped out of the tent.
"Hisarasin!" he called. A great Dokkalim came out from a group around the campfire and grunted a salute. "Hisarasin," said Imira, "is all ready for the attack?"
"All is ready," said Hisarasin, "The troops are assembled just outside the woods, as you ordered."
"Then," said Imira, "Remember your allegiance to Rastoran, the Maker of Shadows, the great Snake of Shades. Order the advance."
"Yes, master," said the Dokkalim. He drew his great scimitar and blew a great blast on his horn that he carried at his side.
A shout went up among the Dokkalim troops. The siege on Noran Mir, the Tower of Hands, had begun.
........................
Chapter 2: The Hunt and the History Lesson
Prince Sorrin rode up the hill with his shoulder length auburn hair flowing behind him and his hunting spear ready. Occasionally he would bend low to the ground to find what he was looking for. Boars run light, and this one was no exception. It seemed that though the ground was wet and soft, the hoof prints were becoming more difficult to make out.
He laughed softly to himself when he thought of the other hunters searching in vain in the woods for the animal that he was about to claim as his own. He fingered his trumpet hanging at his side and then stopped. No, he wouldn’t signal the others. He would bring it in himself.
His happy thoughts were short-lived, for when he arrived at the peak of the hill, he saw one of his father’s sows grazing contentedly at the grass. He dismounted from his horse, and picked up a small rock.
"What are you doing here?" he said, tossing it at the pig. "Go back home and stop ruining the hunt!"
He was suddenly aware of someone behind him. "Talking to animals now, are we, young Prince?" laughed a voice.
Sorrin turned and saw his manservant, Sordoin. "It’s not like that, Sordoin," he said. "I thought I was chasing a boar."
"Well then, it’s a good thing you know the difference between a boar and your father’s best sow," said Sordoin, still laughing under his breath. "You might have killed her and brought her to the dinner table all proud and victorious-like."
Sorrin said nothing, but turned and looked toward the west, where the sun was just rising up from behind the tall hills, casting a long shadow across the valley. Stories of this place filled his mind and he forgot all about the hunt.
"Sordoin," said Sorrin, "Remember the story that Ristan the Bard was telling last night?"
"'Twas no story, my prince," Sordoin answered, "Every word of it was true."
"I know," said Sorrin, "Could you tell it again?"
Sordoin sighed, but then nodded. They dismounted and sat down in the grass.
"In ages long past," began Sordoin, "Lor created the heavens, and set it in motion. And He also made His servants, the Vanir, of whom the most powerful was Toran. Then He created Middengarnë, and all the animals and plants. After all this was done, He made two beings He called Man and Woman, and they were the King and Queen of Middengarnë, robed with light and gifted with a healing power. But in the heavens, Toran and some weaker Vanir rebelled against the rule of Lor. So Lor banished Toran and his followers to Middengarne to be judged by Man. Toran's name was changed to Rastoran.
"But Rastoran did not appear before Man to be judged, and he took on the form of a golden crown. Woman found the crown one day and took it to Man. They wore it, and it made them feel powerful. The first few days went by normally, but after a while they became so obsessed with the crown and the feeling of power it gave them that they soon forgot to worship Lor, and all their admiration was for themselves.
"So Lor took away their robes of glory and their healing gift because of their idolatry, and sent them to work endlessly in the fields of Middengarne, from which they once ate freely from. Then Lor created two other beings to take the place of Man and Woman. One was called Annwyn and the other Annwyna. They were clothed in the light of stars, and the gift of prophecy and foresight was given to them. Their hair was golden-silver and their skin was white. But their glory did not last long, for soon they too fell to the temptation of the golden crown. So Lor sent them away to live with Man and Woman, but He allowed them to keep their gifts of prophecy and foresight.
"Man and Woman had two sons, one was Ransinora and the other was Sasora. They also had a daughter named Sinana. And Annwyn and his wife had a son, Salimin and a daughter, Roara. Ransinora married Roara, and their descendants are called the Huwyn. Lor created wives for Sasora and Salimin, and all their sons till three generations lived. And Man, Woman, Annwyn, and Annwyna still lived during the third generation, having children. The Humans, Children of Annwyn, and the Huwyn built a city and called it Rismosia.
"And Lor created one hundred people called the Sartalim, who had sea water in their blood. They were a short, dark skinned folk, and stubborn in their ways. They fell to the allure of the Golden Crown sooner than the others, and Lor banished them to the Island of Shaddock. There were three chieftains over the Sartalim: Wila'ibah, Lida'iahn, and Lialoahn.
"And after this, Lor made two other races: the giant Gwyllion, and the strong Dokkalim. The Gwyllion worshiped neither Lor nor themselves, and because they didn't worship Lor, He sent them West-Over-Seas to the Island of Gwyll, and there put them into a deep sleep. The Dokkalim did not worship themselves as the others had, but immediately turned to worship Rastoran directly. And Lor punished them and sent them north over the Red River, and they built a city called Tewaron in the shadow of Mount Zarrmaiz. They have been an evil menace to all people to this day.
"The city of Rismosia was destroyed by an earthquake, and all the peoples dispersed. The Humans went north into the forest of Stillwood, and some went beyond to Rasnonia, which is named for the rasnon trees that grow there. The Annwyn went south and settled in a land of green valleys and hills, and they called it Linaar. And the Huwyn people stayed in the ruins of Rismosia, under the leadership of Siason, the son of Rian the Traveler, the son of Sarana, the son of Ransinora.
"Siason had twin sons, named Saor and Dore. Saor and Dore became the leaders of the Huwyn when Siason died, and they each led the Huwyn to build their own kingdoms. Saor and his followers went west and settled in a land they called Saorden, and Dore and his followers went east and settled in a land they called Dorea. Saor, Dore, and the Annwyn king Horanas, made a alliance with each other, and built the three Towers of Iron: Noran Rimana in Saorden, Noran Mir in Dorea, and Noran Risas in Linaar."
Sorrin once again scanned the horizon. The sun was just cresting the peaks of the far hills. "The name of this hill. . . What does it mean?" he asked.
"Mass Rin," said Sordoin gravely. "The Hill of War. Here, long ago, a great battle was fought between our ancestor, Saor, and the Rasnonians. There was ever a enmity between the Rasnonians and us Saorlings."
Sorrin nodded and looked west at a mountain, shining blue above the green hills.
"And that is the mountain where Saor is buried?" he asked.
"No one knows for certain," replied Sordoin. "Saor died right after the battle, and it is said that he was either buried there or he was set in a boat and sent down the Red River."
"And what became of his sword, the Sarilan?"
"It was given to Horanas, the Annwyn king of Linaar, for saving Saor’s son Raliminan, who is your grandfather."
Just then, a horn sounded. Sorrin slapped his forehead. "The boar!" he cried. "The others must have found it." Then, wheeling his tall bay around, he galloped off to find them.
.............................
Chapter 3: The Visitors
Sorrin caught up with the rest of the hunters at the bottom of the hill. The lead hunter, Eltair, was standing over the dead boar with two of his own spears stabbed deep into its flank. He laughed when he saw Sorrin and Sordoin.
"Well now," he said, "Where have you been? You must remember, my prince, to follow the instructions of those more experienced than yourself. Did I not tell you that boars have longer strides than common pigs?"
Sorrin nodded. He was about to say something when a man rode up on a horse.
"Prince Sorrin," he said, "Your father wishes to see you immediately. All the rest of you, gather all you have killed and bring them back. Hurry!"
Sorrin and Sordoin followed the messenger back to Sorrin’s father’s castle. It was situated between two tall green hills, and behind it lay the Forest. Two great watchtowers flanked the entrance into the castle walls, and their tops were crowned with guards. Sorrin dismounted in the courtyard and a stable-hand took his horse. He immediately went to his father’s room.
His father was standing beside an open window, gazing northward with his hands folded behind his back. His sea-grey eyes, usually proud and strong, now were troubled. Beside him stood a tall person whose long black hair and pale skin told Sorrin that he was an Annwyn. Sorrin cleared his throat.
"Ah, there you are," said Sorrin’s father, "How went the hunt?"
"One boar was brought down," answered Sorrin, "But not by my hand."
"Hmmm," said the king, "You must pay more attention to Eltair’s instructions from now on. Sorrin, this is Naramir, the King of Linaar. He will be staying here for a while."
Naramir bowed, and then extended his hand to Sorrin. Sorrin shook it, but when he looked at the hand he almost dropped it. The hand was bright red, as if it had been burned. Naramir saw his look of surprise.
"It was like that when I was born," he said, "My name, Naramir, means Red Hand." Then he turned to Sorrin’s father. "You have done a good job raising him, Dain. He looks fit enough to fight a battle."
"Yes," said King Dain smiling. Then his smile faded. "He may have to in troubled days like this."
Sorrin looked at his father. "What trouble?" he asked, "Have the Dokkalim been sighted?"
King Dain laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. "You will find out tonight, son," he said, "Now, go you and see to it that the preparations for the feast tonight are being made. Or have you forgotten it is the night of Minarasin?"
"I have not forgotten," said Sorrin smiling. Then he bowed to his father and the Annwyn king and left the room.
The whole castle was busy with the preparations for the feast, and Sorrin had to go outside to keep out of the way. He sat by the road, just a little way from the castle gate with Sordoin. He wondered what his father meant by ‘troubled days’. No messengers from the borders had reported any trouble, and no Dokkalim had been seen for more than half a year. But then there was this Annwyn king, Naramir. Maybe there had been trouble in Linaar and he was asking Dain for help.
A shadow fell across the ground where Sorrin was looking. He looked and saw two little black-skinned men who barely came up to his waist. They both had long, black, braided beards and swords in their belts that would have been a dagger to Sorrin.
"Excuse me," said one of them, "Is that the castle of King Dain?"
"It is," said Sordoin, still looking curiously at these strangers, "Who are you?"
"My name is Ganail," the little man answered, "And this is my brother Halthinil, the king of the Sartalim."
"Sartalim?" repeated Sorrin, surprised.
"Sartalim, yes," laughed Ganail. "What is your name, boy?"
"He is Prince Sorrin," answered Sordoin.
"Ah," said Ganail, "So you’re King Dain’s son."
"Yes," answered Sorrin, "What brings you to Saorden?"
"My brother received an message from the Annwyn king, Naramir, to come here at the time of Minarasin. We also have some important news for King Dain."
"I will take you to the castle, then," said Sorrin standing, "Follow me."
King Dain was just as surprised as Sorrin was when he saw the two visitors, and he asked them many questions about themselves. Halthinil could not speak anything but his native language, but his brother and Naramir acted as translators.
"What is it you wish to tell me, sir?" Dain asked Halthinil.
"Linan Nor dil dahm a’iyahm dil a’idah Dokkalim innil."
"He says that Linan Nor has been taken by the Dokkalim army." translated Naramir.
Dain started at this, but then motioned for Halthinil to continue.
"Nil sahoslah bitahill am a’idah binymahill og Rastoran. A gahin Rastoran tall thonah dahinah mahicha’i."
"He says his people live in the darkness of Rastoran," translated Naramir, "And that he fears Rastoran will come here next."
Dain groaned."It is all too true," said Dain, "Too true. And even the Tower of Faces has met it's end."
Naramir laid his hand on Dain’s shoulder. "It is time, Dain." Then he turned to Sorrin. "You must come with me," he said. And then to Halthinil and Ganail. "You also must follow me."
.............. ...........................
Chapter 4: Trouble in Bear Tor
"Where are we going?" asked Sorrin. He was riding his tall bay beside Naramir on a great grey stallion. Lialion and Halthinil were just behind them on two small ponies from King Dain’s stables. Everyone had a sword from the armory of Dain hanging at their sides.
"We must go across the River into Dorea," answered Naramir, "And then to Narcourt, the king of Dorea’s castle."
They rode on in silence for a while. Then Sorrin suddenly remembered something.
"That doesn’t mean we’re going through the Sundering Plains, does it?"
"Yes."
Sorrin shuddered. The Sundering Plains was a wasteland, dry and bare, with no water for miles in any direction. The Plains were surrounded by high cliffs where a robber band called the U’tolga lived and swept down on travelers. "Is there no other way?" he asked.
"No other way."
"What about the U’tolga?"
Sorrin thought he saw Naramir smile. "They will not harm us," he answered, "Though I have no doubt they will try to."
Sorrin wondered how this Annwyn could be so calm. The stories he had heard of this place still scared him. But he decided to trust Naramir.
Looking westward, Sorrin saw the sun setting behind the distant hills. "Shouldn’t we stop somewhere for the night?" he asked.
"Good idea," said Ganail from behind, "My brother and I are getting tired of riding. Sartalim were not meant to ride horses, for we are a sailor folk."
"Bear Tor is not too far ahead," said Naramir, "We will stay the night in an inn that I know of there."
It had grown dark by the time they reached the town of Bear Tor and the lights of the town in the distance made them realize just how tired they were. They spurred their horses on faster.
The inn Naramir had spoken of was directly in the center of the town. The light streaming through the windows and the good smell of roasting meat made Sorrin forget all about the U’tolga.
Inside a great fire was blazing in the fireplace at the far end of the building. There was a two rows of tables on either side of the room, and they sat down at the one closest to the fire. A group of men were sitting at the further end of the table talking and glancing around at them. Sorrin guessed that they were Northerners by their olive colored skin and slightly slanted eyes, probably from the small border-kingdoms around Rasnonia. Ganail glanced at them.
"I like not the looks of those men," he said quietly, "It seems I saw them mingled in the ranks of the Dokkalim at Linan Nor."
"I share your feeling," replied Naramir, "And I think it would be best for us to keep our true identities secret." He raised his hand to signal the innkeeper.
It was then that Sorrin noticed a long leather-bound bundle that Naramir carried under his black cloak. Naramir saw what Sorrin was looking at, and he quickly drew his cloak over it. Sorrin decided not to ask about it.
As they ate the food that the innkeeper brought them one of the Northerners, who obviously had quaffed one too many mugs of the innkeeper’s best ale, yawned loudly and said he would go up to the room he rented and sleep. The innkeeper heard this and reminded the Northerner that he must pay for the food and drink he bought.
The Northerner grumbled as he dug in his money belt and handed the innkeeper two copper coins of Rasnonian currency. The innkeeper looked at the coins disgustedly and demanded to be paid in Saorden coin. The Northerner scowled and drew a long dagger that he had at his side. The innkeeper, who was a small timid man, shrank back.
When Naramir saw this he stood and drew the sword of Annwyn make that was given to him by Dain. "Come," he said to his companions, "We must not sit idle while foul deeds are done in Saorden!"
At this Lailon and Haltinil sprang up from their chairs with their swords in hand and attacked the Northerner without warning. Sorrin also stood beside Naramir and drew his sword.
The other Northerners sat speechless for a moment watching the two Sartalim fight while their comrade did his best to keep them away. But he was drunk and they were of a race who despised any evildoer terribly, and within a moment the Northerner was dead.
There was a flash of steel, and Sorrin saw that the other Northerners had come to their senses and were advancing towards them. The innkeeper ran and hid in a corner.
Sorrin studied the Northerners. There were about six of them, and although two of them were a little unsteady on their feet they were for the most part strong warriors and battle-worn. Sorrin had rarely ever been in real combat, and he knew that this would be a hard test on his strength and skill.
He sent a silent prayer upwards to Lor, the King of the Universe, and recalling a trick he learned from Eltair the hunter, he thrust his blade without warning behind the leader’s shield and into his stomach.
The Northerners watched in horror as their leader crumpled to the floor. Then they gathered themselves together and rushed at Naramir and Sorrin, not noticing that Ganail and Halthinil had crept up behind them. The two Sartalim attacked with the ferocity of wolves, and before any blow had been struck two Northerners were down.
The remaining three threw away any thought of death and fell upon the Southerners. Sorrin found himself face to face with a brutish man who seemed twice his own strength, and Naramir was busy with another. Sorrin found that although his opponent was strong, he was also full of ale and was beginning to get careless. The moment he let his guard down Sorrin’s sword was between his ribs.
Sorrin saw that the Sartalim brothers were doing well with their man so he turned to help Naramir. But he stopped when he saw that Naramir and his foe had ceased fighting. The Northerner smiled grimly.
"Tired, friend Annwyn?" he sneered.
"No," answered Naramir. But he was breathing hard.
Still smiling, the Northerner shed his cloak, revealing an iron breastplate. "It seems you’ve underestimated my armor," he said, "No weapon, however sharp, can pierce through this."
"Nay, friend," said Naramir straightening, "It seems you’ve underestimated my blade!" And with that he lunged forward with his sword and hacked through the armor. As the Northerner lay dying at his feet Naramir said, "So shall it be to anyone who dares challenge an Annwyn blade."
The innkeeper came out from where he was hiding. "Now," he said trembling, "You must go immediately. There are many more Northerners about. You must fly quickly!"
"Right," said Ganail as he wiped his sword which was sticky with blood on his dead opponent’s tunic, "But first we must clean up this mess, lest our worthy innkeeper be caught with dead Northerners under his roof."
They wasted no time in straightening up the tables and chairs. Then they dragged the bodies to a nearby lake, and there threw them in. The innkeeper met them with their horses. It was late, but no stars could be seen because of the clouds that had gathered. The rain was beginning to fall.
"I’m sorry things turned out the way they did," he said, "These Northern monsters are all over the place these days."
"It will be hard times for everyone," said Naramir, "It is no longer safe anywhere. I advise you to get to the White Tower as soon as you can."
"No," said the inkeeper smiling, "Bear Tor is my home, and here I will stay. Farewell, now!"
And he stood there in the thickening rain, watching them as they rode away.
..............................
Chapter 5: The Sundering Plains
The sun rose and shined down upon the four travelers at the edge of the Sundering Plains. The air was stagnant and foul. Sorrin looked over the great rocky expanse that lay before him with dread. Even the horses stamped uneasily and chomped at their bits. At their feet run a small, narrow stream from which they had filled their water skins. There was enough to last for three days.
Ganail was the first to speak. "It seems like a sea," he said, "A sea of land."
"And from what I hear," said Sorrin, glancing at Naramir, "We can expect storms. Called the U’tolga."
"Now, Sorrin," said Naramir, "You must not fear the U’tolga. We will be safe." He looked up, as if studying the sky. "Alright," he said, "Let us be off." And so they began.
Now, I will not try to tell you what happened over the course of the next two days, other than that Sorrin saw nothing of the U’tolga, because the days were long and nothing happened. The Plains seemed to go on forever.
On the morning of the third day, Naramir was the first one to wake. Halthinil had been on watch all that night and had fallen asleep. Naramir went to the saddle packs and got out a water skin. He began to measure out the water rations for the four of them when he realized that there wasn’t enough water in the skin. He turned back and searched for another one, but it was nowhere to be found. After looking some more, he was forced to face the truth: They had run out of water. Their food supply had diminished the day before.
Naramir sighed and measured out half rations for each of them, using up all the water they had left. Then he stood and looked north. In the distance the Cliffs of the U’tolga loomed high, and to the west of the Cliffs Stillwood spread out in a green expanse. Naramir knew their only hope was to reach Stillwood before sundown without being caught by the U’tolga.
Naramir saw Sorrin was stirring from his sleep. Sorrin sat up and blinked. Naramir handed him the cup of water. Sorrin looked at it.
"This is the last of it, right?" he asked grimly. Naramir nodded. "Shouldn’t we better save it?"
"We’re no further than two miles from Stillwood. If we can make it there we’ll be alright."
"Stillwood? I thought we were going to Narcourt."
"We can’t go directly to Narcourt," answered Naramir, "To do that we would have to cross the U’tolga Cliffs. The safest route runs between Stillwood and the Cliffs. The closer we are to Stillwood, the safer we are."
"Why are we safer close to Stillwood?" asked Ganail who had just awakened and was studying the outline of trees which was faint in the distance.
"Because," explained Naramir, handing a tin cup half full of water to Ganail, "The men of the wood are enemies of the U’tolga, and I am a friend of their king."
Ganail looked ruefully at the small amount of water in his cup. "I would give almost anything to see the ocean again," he said, "In Shaddock we have more water than we know what to do with."
"I would give almost anything for the cool pools back at my father’s castle," said Sorrin as he emptied his cup and held the water in his mouth, savoring it.
"Ha!" exclaimed Ganail suddenly, "I saw your great pools the day we started out. Young prince, some day you must come to Shaddock. Then you will see real pools! Oceans and oceans of them!"
"Stop!" laughed Naramir, "There’s no use in making us thirstier than we already are. Now wake your brother. We must be off soon."
A minute later they were mounted again and on their way. Sorrin looked around anxiously. In the two days that they had been traveling in the Plains he had not seen any sign of the U’tolga, but he was half expecting to be caught between the shoulders by the javelin of an unseen enemy. But, aided by hunger and thirst, he soon stopped thinking about the U’tolga and turned his thoughts toward Narcourt.
"Control your horse, Sorrin!" shouted Naramir.
Sorrin was brought back to the present and he realized that his horse was tossing his head and trying to turn away from the path. Sorrin tried to correct him, but soon all the horses were doing the same. Sorrin looked around to see what could have made them panic. At first he could see nothing but when he looked in the direction of the cliffs, he saw a great cloud of dust rising.
"Is that a dust storm?" he shouted to Naramir, pointing in the direction of the cloud. Naramir looked.
"No," Naramir answered, "There’s no sound of wind. I do believe, Sorrin, that we have a storm of U’tolga on our hands!"
"Then we must make haste!" shouted Ganail, "But how do we get these thrice cursed horses under control?"
"We must blindfold them," said Naramir. He quickly tore off a piece of his cloak and tied it around his horse’s eyes.
Sorrin, Ganail, and Halthinil followed his example, and soon they were galloping towards Stillwood. Although they were exceeding any speed they thought the horses capable of, the horses of the U’tolga were mountain bred, and if they were fast in the rocky cliffs and canyons they were even faster on the flat Plains, and soon the shouts of the U’tolga could be heard over the galloping of the horses.
Sorrin saw Ganail looking back to him and yelling something, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then he heard a harsh yell from behind him. He turned and saw a U’tolga warrior just behind him on a small horse. He was swinging a large iron studded mace in his left hand.
Sorrin turned and tried to spur his bay on faster, but the poor animal was going as fast as it could. Sorrin’s heart skipped a beat when he heard a loud crack and felt his horse sink down. He was thrown forward over the horse’s head and landed face first into the dust.
For a moment he lay on his back senseless, but he revived just in time to dodge a blow that was meant to crush his head. He stood and drew his sword. The others had been unhorsed also, and their horses were struggling to their feet. Several mounted U’tolga circled round them.
The man who had unhorsed Sorrin was now dismounted and came at him at a slow pace, swinging his deadly cudgel with deft skill about his head. Sorrin drew back steadily, keeping his blade between him and his enemy. Behind him he could hear the sounds of steel clashing against steel as his companions battled enemies of their own.
The warrior looked at Sorrin, as if measuring him up. Sorrin tried to swallow his fear and look unafraid as possible. Then he realized that the he was facing a boy probably no older than himself. He also realized that the boy had an almost scared look on his face.
For a moment Sorrin felt pity for him, but when the boy leapt at him he shook that thought out of his head. The boy was his enemy, and he meant to kill him.
Sorrin parried the blow and turned it aside. Then he thrust his sword forward, but the U’tolga blocked that with equal skill. Then their fight began in earnest. Many blows were dealt between them, but none of them were more than mere scratches. The U’tolga wielded his mace with such strength that Sorrin worried that his sword would shatter in pieces.
Then, when Sorrin felt that his strength would give out, he sent a prayer up to Lor, asking Him to guide his hand. At that moment Sorrin swung his sword with all his might at his enemy. There was a loud crash and a shower of sparks as Sorrin’s sword shattered into pieces. One of theses pieces struck the U’tolga in the eye, and he fell backward, dropping his mace on the sandy ground.
Sorrin seized the mace and stood poised to strike over his fallen enemy. The U’tolga stared up at him, his right eye closed and bleeding. Sorrin raised the mace. The U’tolga stiffened, waiting for the blow. Sorrin hesitated.
He remembered the night at the inn when he had killed the Northerner almost without thinking. But afterward he had remembered the look of stricken horror on the Northerner’s face as Sorrin’s blade bit deep. Then he knew what he had to do.
He flung the mace away from him. "I cannot kill you," he said to the U’tolga, "Thief though you be, I cannot kill you."
The other U’tolga were coming closer and Sorrin turned away and ran to where his companions were calling his name.
But before he left he heard the U’tolga warrior call out: "I will not forget!"
Sorrin and the others mounted their horses and quickly galloped toward Stillwood. The U’tolga were very close behind them by now, and black javelins sped past their ears. Stillwood loomed closer and closer. They were almost among the trees when a thick, dark cloud of arrows sailed over their heads. Looking back, Sorrin saw many U’tolga fall from their horses with a white feathered shaft sticking in their hearts.
Sorrin, Naramir, Ganail, and Halthinil all brought their horses to a halt. Out from among the trees marched a group of men, dark and tall, all dressed in grey with black cloaks, and each had a bow of yew with a quiver of white yard long arrows slung on their backs. The leader stood in front. The only thing that set him apart from his followers was a silver chain with a sapphire set in it hanging from his neck. He stepped forward with his right hand outstretched.
"Ea linaim," he said sternly in his native speech, called Stilltongue, "Who are you who brings the Rats of the Cliffs to the very gates of Stillwood?"
"Why, Midas!" exclaimed Naramir dismounting, "Do you really not remember me?"
Midas looked hard at Naramir for a moment. Then the stern look on his face softened. "Naramir!" he cried, "Either the years have changed your appearance or they have changed my eyesight! By the stars, we’re both getting old. Come, you are welcome in Stillwood. But who are these with you?"
"You should know Prince Sorrin, the son of Dain, already," said Naramir as they were led down a wide path among the tall, grey oaks of Stillwood, "His mother is your cousin. These other two are King Halthinil of Shaddock and his brother, Prince Ganail."
"And what business have you in the Sundering Plains?"
"None whatsoever. We are on our way to Narcourt and the Plains happened to be in the way."
"Narcourt? Is there trouble on the borders?"
Naramir hesitated. "There is trouble," he said, "Linan Nor has been taken by the Dokkalim."
"What?!" This came from a man who walked alongside Midas. "Those sons of maggots!"
Midas looked sharply at this man. "Sarlaim!" he said, "Even Dokkalim are creations of Lor. Do not talk so evilly about Lor’s creation." But even he looked terribly angry.
"We will see that you get safely to Narcourt, Naramir." he continued, "And Sarlaim my son will go with you wherever you go afterward. He has been rather restless for the past two months."
Sarlaim said nothing, but Sorrin could see that he was smiling.
