Damiynn
Fantasy Author
Prologue
The smell of blood and sweat clung to everything in the lower levels of the slave pits. Lord Richard couldn’t keep it from permeating his nostrils as he waded through the stench. It was everywhere, he didn’t mind, it was a small price to pay if he was right. He wasn’t sure though and that thought burrowed through his insides like a worm coring through an apple.
The slave’s temporary keeper carried a long pole, pointed at one end and he jabbed it in between the bars of his cell.
“Get ye up! Go on, get off your lazy ass and behave yourself, someone is here to see you.”
Through the bars, Lord Richard saw the tall figure stand, bald headed and scarred. Although his wrists were manacled and all he wore was a burlap shift that could barely be called a cloth, he moved like death’s shadow, dark and forbidding. Now, unlike in his younger years, when Richard had first known him, he was a killer with no conscious other than to survive. A man who had lost his honor and had no moral compass.
How had he ever come to this? Lord Richard realized he knew the answer as soon as the thought crossed his mind and it saddened him. In a way he could also be this man locked in the cell. How would he be now if he had been present at the Night of Sorrows when his sister was killed.
Dried blood covered the slave’s face, neck and chest, it still dripped off the manacles he had used to kill his opponent. He definitely looked nothing like the man he remembered, but, he knew it was him.
“Raise your head damn it so that the good lord can see you.” The stick shot out, but just before it caught the bald headed man in the chin, his hand snatched the end, stopping it cold, moving like a viper striking its target. It was followed by a voice, more like a low angry snarl, “If you touch me again with that thing, it will be the last thing you ever touch.” It was said with such a sense of cold menace that even Lord Richard shivered a little.
The slave in the cell released the staff and it hung in the air for a few a moment, quavering, then it fell to the stone floor with a loud clatter.
Lord Richard almost allowed a smile to touch his lips as he watched the exchange, Bertravis Liolbane might be a slave now but he still had the same commanding presence he remembered from their past meetings. He was grateful for that, it meant he still had his spirit in spite of everything. You might be able to take the man out of a leader’s role, but you would find it hard to take the leader out of a man.
“Please, raise your head,” Lord Richard asked, his voice also carrying a tone of command but only enough to be sure he didn’t offend.” In a way this man, this slave in a cell, still outranked him.
A haunted mask, that barely resembled a face lifted to meet his eyes. It was a haggard shattered remnant of the bold and brave one that he had once known. One thing was still the same, the eyes that met his. In spite of their haunted look, that made them appear as if they had seen every specter in a graveyard, it was still him.
“How long will you fight?” Lord Richard asked calmly. “No matter how long it is, no matter how many times you think you should die, you can never atone for what happened, it happened, and if you haven’t died by now, Bertravis, I’m sure the gods don’t want you to.”
“Why are you talking about this?” growled the man behind the cell door. “I am a slave. Nothing More! You couldn’t understand you were not there and never speak that name again to me, that man is dead! A disgrace to the realm who is better off dead and forgotten.”
“I know why you fight,” stated Lord Richard gently, his voice still even and calm. He knew that not just anything would bring this man away from the edge of the brink where he stood, but he had just the right thing, the perfect bait to earn his help.
“If you agree to quit this nonsense and come with me, I promise on my title as Highlord that I will give you a reason to live again someday. A reason that will help you regain your lost honor, a thing you will need to fight, no will want to fight for.”
“All I fight for is dead,” countered the fighting slave inside the cell.
“Yes I know, they all died that night, of that almost all are certain,” returned Lord Richard carefully concealing his words in a lie.
Suddenly the slave’s bloody hands shot out, grasping the cell door’s bars, turning white knuckled hot as they squeezed. “Almost all, what do you mean by that,” his harsh voice growled. “None lived, none survived except me!”
“And you can’t die. Have not been allowed to die here or anywhere else,” Lord Richard solemnly countered. The haunted eyes of the slave’s met his, dark brown staring into steel grey.
“I know you have tried, have been trying. It won’t happen. The gods are not going to let it happen, not while you are needed, not while you still have vows to fulfill as part of your old station. Richard saw the hostile retort springing to the slave’s lips and quickly cut it off. “Come with me, live with me, swear oaths of fealty to me Bertravis Liolbane and I promise you with all my heart that someday I will give you a reason to want to live again. A reason I am certain of, Lord of the Winds.” Lord Richard allowed his voice to trail off. There was a noticeable silence after in the holding pits, a quiet sort of tension that gripped the room in a tight fist.
Finally the hands holding the bars released them, and slipped slowly back inside of the cell. Richard saw the head lower and heard.
“You have my oath Richard Daverge, I will follow you until you give me a reason to want to live again.”
Lord Richard turned and eyed the holding slave’s keeper. Suddenly his presence seemed to fill the room, reminding the man that this was indeed the Highlord of Castlekeep. “Forget all that you have heard here or you will be the next one fighting in the pits. Free him, get him out of those rags, give him a sword, and have him meet me out front.”
The holding cells keeper bowed his head quickly, saying, “As you wish my lord, so shall it be immediately.”
Lord Richard turned away from the scarred and bloody fighting slave who had once been the protector to the king and queen and walked outside, hoping that he could keep this and everything else secret until the proper time came. Simon would have to take care of the keeper, he hated ordering the death of an innocent, but the fate of all outweighed the life of one.
* * *
Aiden Farnor scrubbed a hand through his sandy red hair. Once, long before he started commanding the sentinel guard and walking Castlekeep’s stone walls it had been bright red. That had been before the salt and spray off the ocean had taken its toll.
Listening to his men grumbling over the minute things he had found wrong with their equipment during his snap inspection he stared out from the heights overlooking the dark waters of the Eversea, remembering, allowing a ghost of a smile to play over his lips. Once, as a young sentinel, he too had grumbled in the same manner.
Dark storm clouds had swept in during the early evening and now they obscured the moon and stars. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see much past the edge of the Keep’s high walls. An odd noise caught his ear and he turned, staring upwards into the surrounding blackness.
What was that sound? Glancing about, he looked at the other guardsmen patrolling the smooth paths on the thick walls and saw that none of them looked like they had heard anything. Aiden’s head jerked upwards again as if pulled by a string. There, again, louder and more distinct.
This time, several other guardsmen stopped and looked up into the dark sky over the great keep. It sounded like voices were whispering in the wind.
More guards started turning their heads, each craning his neck as if he were half deaf trying to hear a whisper from across a large room.
Suddenly the black clouds filling the sky over the city parted and the full moon shone through illuminating the sky with silver light.
“Morid’s black hand!” shouted a guard near Aiden, invoking the name of the god of death in stunned awe.
“Black night!” cursed another, the color draining out of his face like water through a sieve.
Several hundred black hulled Elvynn Warships were spread out along the length of the city’s sea wall, filling the sky. To Aiden’s eyes they looked like gigantic eagles about to swoop in upon an easy kill. In a few moments they would be completely over the unsuspecting city.
“Sound the alarm!” screamed Aiden, his throat clenching tight, a ball of ice filling his stomach. “We are under attack! Sound that damn alarm! Castlekeep is under attack!”
Several sentinel guardsmen scrambling for the iron bar fell over themselves in their haste until finally one of them seized the gong. The legendary two thousand year old bell that most had forgotten about, that had never been rung before began tolling, a haunting hollow tone that echoed over the sleeping city.
Looking up and seeing the Elvynn warships crowded with bodies lining the rails, Aiden knew as he unsheathed his sword, it was too late. Taking in a deep breath, he shouted, “Ready arms! He knew it was too late but it was his duty. Defend the wall or Castlekeep would fall.
The smell of blood and sweat clung to everything in the lower levels of the slave pits. Lord Richard couldn’t keep it from permeating his nostrils as he waded through the stench. It was everywhere, he didn’t mind, it was a small price to pay if he was right. He wasn’t sure though and that thought burrowed through his insides like a worm coring through an apple.
The slave’s temporary keeper carried a long pole, pointed at one end and he jabbed it in between the bars of his cell.
“Get ye up! Go on, get off your lazy ass and behave yourself, someone is here to see you.”
Through the bars, Lord Richard saw the tall figure stand, bald headed and scarred. Although his wrists were manacled and all he wore was a burlap shift that could barely be called a cloth, he moved like death’s shadow, dark and forbidding. Now, unlike in his younger years, when Richard had first known him, he was a killer with no conscious other than to survive. A man who had lost his honor and had no moral compass.
How had he ever come to this? Lord Richard realized he knew the answer as soon as the thought crossed his mind and it saddened him. In a way he could also be this man locked in the cell. How would he be now if he had been present at the Night of Sorrows when his sister was killed.
Dried blood covered the slave’s face, neck and chest, it still dripped off the manacles he had used to kill his opponent. He definitely looked nothing like the man he remembered, but, he knew it was him.
“Raise your head damn it so that the good lord can see you.” The stick shot out, but just before it caught the bald headed man in the chin, his hand snatched the end, stopping it cold, moving like a viper striking its target. It was followed by a voice, more like a low angry snarl, “If you touch me again with that thing, it will be the last thing you ever touch.” It was said with such a sense of cold menace that even Lord Richard shivered a little.
The slave in the cell released the staff and it hung in the air for a few a moment, quavering, then it fell to the stone floor with a loud clatter.
Lord Richard almost allowed a smile to touch his lips as he watched the exchange, Bertravis Liolbane might be a slave now but he still had the same commanding presence he remembered from their past meetings. He was grateful for that, it meant he still had his spirit in spite of everything. You might be able to take the man out of a leader’s role, but you would find it hard to take the leader out of a man.
“Please, raise your head,” Lord Richard asked, his voice also carrying a tone of command but only enough to be sure he didn’t offend.” In a way this man, this slave in a cell, still outranked him.
A haunted mask, that barely resembled a face lifted to meet his eyes. It was a haggard shattered remnant of the bold and brave one that he had once known. One thing was still the same, the eyes that met his. In spite of their haunted look, that made them appear as if they had seen every specter in a graveyard, it was still him.
“How long will you fight?” Lord Richard asked calmly. “No matter how long it is, no matter how many times you think you should die, you can never atone for what happened, it happened, and if you haven’t died by now, Bertravis, I’m sure the gods don’t want you to.”
“Why are you talking about this?” growled the man behind the cell door. “I am a slave. Nothing More! You couldn’t understand you were not there and never speak that name again to me, that man is dead! A disgrace to the realm who is better off dead and forgotten.”
“I know why you fight,” stated Lord Richard gently, his voice still even and calm. He knew that not just anything would bring this man away from the edge of the brink where he stood, but he had just the right thing, the perfect bait to earn his help.
“If you agree to quit this nonsense and come with me, I promise on my title as Highlord that I will give you a reason to live again someday. A reason that will help you regain your lost honor, a thing you will need to fight, no will want to fight for.”
“All I fight for is dead,” countered the fighting slave inside the cell.
“Yes I know, they all died that night, of that almost all are certain,” returned Lord Richard carefully concealing his words in a lie.
Suddenly the slave’s bloody hands shot out, grasping the cell door’s bars, turning white knuckled hot as they squeezed. “Almost all, what do you mean by that,” his harsh voice growled. “None lived, none survived except me!”
“And you can’t die. Have not been allowed to die here or anywhere else,” Lord Richard solemnly countered. The haunted eyes of the slave’s met his, dark brown staring into steel grey.
“I know you have tried, have been trying. It won’t happen. The gods are not going to let it happen, not while you are needed, not while you still have vows to fulfill as part of your old station. Richard saw the hostile retort springing to the slave’s lips and quickly cut it off. “Come with me, live with me, swear oaths of fealty to me Bertravis Liolbane and I promise you with all my heart that someday I will give you a reason to want to live again. A reason I am certain of, Lord of the Winds.” Lord Richard allowed his voice to trail off. There was a noticeable silence after in the holding pits, a quiet sort of tension that gripped the room in a tight fist.
Finally the hands holding the bars released them, and slipped slowly back inside of the cell. Richard saw the head lower and heard.
“You have my oath Richard Daverge, I will follow you until you give me a reason to want to live again.”
Lord Richard turned and eyed the holding slave’s keeper. Suddenly his presence seemed to fill the room, reminding the man that this was indeed the Highlord of Castlekeep. “Forget all that you have heard here or you will be the next one fighting in the pits. Free him, get him out of those rags, give him a sword, and have him meet me out front.”
The holding cells keeper bowed his head quickly, saying, “As you wish my lord, so shall it be immediately.”
Lord Richard turned away from the scarred and bloody fighting slave who had once been the protector to the king and queen and walked outside, hoping that he could keep this and everything else secret until the proper time came. Simon would have to take care of the keeper, he hated ordering the death of an innocent, but the fate of all outweighed the life of one.
* * *
Aiden Farnor scrubbed a hand through his sandy red hair. Once, long before he started commanding the sentinel guard and walking Castlekeep’s stone walls it had been bright red. That had been before the salt and spray off the ocean had taken its toll.
Listening to his men grumbling over the minute things he had found wrong with their equipment during his snap inspection he stared out from the heights overlooking the dark waters of the Eversea, remembering, allowing a ghost of a smile to play over his lips. Once, as a young sentinel, he too had grumbled in the same manner.
Dark storm clouds had swept in during the early evening and now they obscured the moon and stars. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see much past the edge of the Keep’s high walls. An odd noise caught his ear and he turned, staring upwards into the surrounding blackness.
What was that sound? Glancing about, he looked at the other guardsmen patrolling the smooth paths on the thick walls and saw that none of them looked like they had heard anything. Aiden’s head jerked upwards again as if pulled by a string. There, again, louder and more distinct.
This time, several other guardsmen stopped and looked up into the dark sky over the great keep. It sounded like voices were whispering in the wind.
More guards started turning their heads, each craning his neck as if he were half deaf trying to hear a whisper from across a large room.
Suddenly the black clouds filling the sky over the city parted and the full moon shone through illuminating the sky with silver light.
“Morid’s black hand!” shouted a guard near Aiden, invoking the name of the god of death in stunned awe.
“Black night!” cursed another, the color draining out of his face like water through a sieve.
Several hundred black hulled Elvynn Warships were spread out along the length of the city’s sea wall, filling the sky. To Aiden’s eyes they looked like gigantic eagles about to swoop in upon an easy kill. In a few moments they would be completely over the unsuspecting city.
“Sound the alarm!” screamed Aiden, his throat clenching tight, a ball of ice filling his stomach. “We are under attack! Sound that damn alarm! Castlekeep is under attack!”
Several sentinel guardsmen scrambling for the iron bar fell over themselves in their haste until finally one of them seized the gong. The legendary two thousand year old bell that most had forgotten about, that had never been rung before began tolling, a haunting hollow tone that echoed over the sleeping city.
Looking up and seeing the Elvynn warships crowded with bodies lining the rails, Aiden knew as he unsheathed his sword, it was too late. Taking in a deep breath, he shouted, “Ready arms! He knew it was too late but it was his duty. Defend the wall or Castlekeep would fall.
