The crowd cheered loudly and chanted, “Dryden! Dryden! Dryden!”
“Ha! Is that all you’ve got? Please, is there a man who is not here to waste my time?” he mocked, scanning the crowd.
Dryden was a formidable opponent, who reminded Vartan of the muscular build of a stallion. Fighting him was not going to be easy for anyone, let alone an untrained boy, but blood pounded in his temples at the challenge.
Vartan charged toward the crowd, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Get out of the way!”
Everybody quickly moved aside, with the exception of a few unfortunate folk knocked aside by his horse. Vartan leapt roughly through the crowd, and drew his father’s sword, pointing it at Dryden’s face. The shine of the sword lit up the knight’s skin.
Dryden raised one eyebrow, not showing any signs of intimidation at Vartan’s actions as he stared down his new opponent, “My word, what do we have here?”
The Royal guards in pursuit of Vartan stopped in their tracks when Dryden slowly raised his hand for them to halt.
A guard spat out his words in Vartan’s direction, “Our apologies Sir Dryden, but he has no paperwork of nobility to speak of and charged his way through the gate. This impostor has no right to be here!”
Resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, he paced while he spoke softly, “That may be so, but he did manage to outsmart the two of you, didn’t he? I do admire his courage and none of these men were worthy of their entry today.” He pointed at an injured group of men resting nearby. “Why don’t we have a bit of amusement? That is a very nice sword you have there, what is your name boy?”
“The name is Vartan, and I come seeking knighthood.”
The crowd laughed and began chanting “Fight, Fight, Fight!”
Dryden grinned, raising his right hand to ease the crowd down.
“Well Vartan, if you have come here to prove something you have your chance. If you manage to push me out of this circle or force me to submission, I will ask our great king to grant you your knighthood, but I cannot promise you anything more than my word to request, the decision lies with our king, Arman.”
The crowd chanted, “All hail King Arman!”
Vartan smiled and the crowd erupted in cheers.
Dryden paced around the boy, toying with him as if he were prey and responded loudly, “However, there is a price for your entry to this fine event!”
He spoke through a wide grin, “If you lose and I manage to push you out of this circle, or force you to submission then you shall hand over that big shiny sword of yours and will be promptly thrown out on your rear. After all, you have not been granted entry to our fine city, have you? Guards, are you satisfied with those terms?”
The guards looked at each other, excited at the prospect of the battle and shrugged and responded in unison, “Agreed!”
“And you Vartan, do you accept my terms?”
Vartan took a deep breath and cocked his head, contemplating the offer.
He breathed deep and demanded bravely, “If I lose then I will leave my sword and get thrown out on my rear, but my horse and other possessions come with me.”
Dryden roared with laughter at the impertinent young boy. He shrugged as if he cared not, “Agreed.”
Vartan rested his own hand on the hilt of his sword, turning his body to an angle away from the knight before responding, “Then I also agree to the terms!”
The crowd went wild with excitement.
Above, King Arman Saber took interest in the gathering and excitement below.
“Then let us begin!” yelled Dryden.
Both men stared at each other and held their positions, waiting for the other to move. Vartan’s heart pounded like a hammer to his chest. He felt as if he was choking from anticipation and breathed deep in an effort to calm his nerves and focus.
Dryden impatiently drew his sword with a loud metallic ringing sound resonating through the crowd, ran toward Vartan and swung hard to the right. Spinning to his left, Vartan avoided the incoming blade cutting through the air beside him and returned to his stance.
Dryden mocked him, dancing around the arena with an imaginary partner on his arm. “Ha! You think dancing with me will save you? Where did you learn how to fight… the village of the arts?”
The crowd laughed with him.
Vartan grit his teeth and ran toward his enemy, pretended to begin to swing left and spun his sword around to come up into Dryden’s mid-section.
The surprise move paid off.
Dryden barely managed to block the incoming blow and was momentarily caught off balance. Seizing the opportunity, Vartan continued his onslaught with a hard kick to the knight’s side that sent Dryden to the edge of the arena. Shock and adrenaline rushed through the teenager for being able to land such a blow on the knight. The crowd gasped loudly at the sight of their champion taking such hits.
I can defeat him, thought Vartan.
Dryden recovered quicker than Vartan had anticipated and he was not prepared for the knight’s retaliation. Pain hit his senses sharply when he was struck in his side, and he fell, winded, to his hands and knees. Vartan saw a flash of light as a fist connected with his face and he dropped hard to the ground.
Coughing and spluttering, he spat blood to the dirt.
“It appears there is indeed some fight in you, young boy. But you are not ready for knighthood. Why don’t you stop now, hand over your pretty sword and be on your merry way?” he asked with a smile.
Vartan stood up straight and wiped the blood from his mouth. He shook off the dust from his pants and readied his sword shakily.
Dryden’s face turned grim as he demanded, “Come now, don’t be stupid. Give up.”
No, I will not give up! I cannot leave now with my tail between my legs.
Vartan’s lips quivered as he stared down the knight and snarled, “I do, not, yield!”
A large group of perched lemon birds squawked as if something in the air disturbed them and they quickly disbursed into the blue sky.
Dryden looked up to King Arman, who hesitated for a moment and then nodded to continue the bout.
Dryden kicked forward to send dust into the air and spun around, sending his sword to Vartan’s left, which was blocked solidly with enough power to produce sparks. He continued the onslaught of attacks which were all defended bar one. Dryden carefully turned his sword on its side to hit Vartan hard in his ribs without cutting him.
“Never leave your torso unguarded,” he grunted, lowering his sword a little.
Vartan, without thinking, began to answer the knight. “You are right Sir Dryden, that would be…” his words were interrupted by a solid sweep kick to his legs and he found himself airborne.
As if time slowed down, he watched as a lemon bird flew gracefully overhead. It’s slow, rhythmic movements were beautifully calming before Vartan’s body smashed into the ground again. He could hear Dryden’s voice ringing in his ears over the cheers of the crowd.
Dryden chuckled and his voice wavered as he shook his head, “Never let your opponent distract you or make you drop your guard.”
Vartan groaned with pain, and he knew that he had nothing left to fight with. He attempted to stand once more and his arms were visibly shaking from his burning muscles.
“I… will… not…” began Vartan, his face painting a clear picture of his pain.
Dryden picked him up by the arm and helped him to a wooden seat nearby.
“By the gods, are you trying to end up dead?” he asked, staring into Vartan’s eyes. “I don’t know if I should think that you’re brave or foolish, but you cannot continue fighting.”
The guards approached and picked up Vartan by the shoulders. They began to drag him toward the gate and Vartan’s head dropped in defeat.
I failed, he thought.
“Halt!” yelled King Arman as guards cleared a path for him through the crowd. Everyone immediately bowed down in the presence of their king and silence surrounded them.
&
nbsp; “What is your name?” asked Arman.
Vartan wheezed with breathlessness as he weakly spoke the words, “Great… king of Greenhaven… my name… is Vartan.”
“Vartan, from where do you hail and what in the name of Marithia are you doing here? Aside from taking a solid beating?” he asked, looking over the boy’s body.
Taking a moment to steady his breath, Vartan grunted as he shook himself free of the guard’s now weak grasp, and dropped down on one knee.
“Your highness, I am a mere farm boy. I lost my brother… to a shadow demon in the woods. I want nothing more than to be a knight to protect our people, to protect the great king who stands before me and to fight the Forces of Darkness that oppress us!” he proudly proclaimed, before spitting blood onto the ground and gently rubbing his aching ribs.
The king pondered for a moment, considering his options before he turned to the crowd. “What we have witnessed here today is incredible courage and I grant you that… but knighthood does not come easily, or simply because it is asked for. But before I continue, I believe Dryden has earned your sword.”
My father’s sword! Vartan thought, his heart pounding at the thought of losing it. An idea suddenly revealed itself in his mind as if implanted from another source.
“Great King, I never intended on giving this sword to anybody else but yourself. I had no other way of proving my worth without agreeing to Sir Dryden’s request. The sword, is a gift for the king that I long to serve,” he replied desperately.
The king’s face was full of surprise.
Vartan placed his sword in both of his trembling hands and gestured for Arman to take it.
“You brought this sword here, for me?” he asked, wielding the sword with his right hand. When he held it in his grasp, his blood warmed and the diamonds momentarily glowed. Blinding light from the sword appeared to cast onto Vartan’s face and Arman heard one word in his mind.
Talonsphere…
The king was momentarily stunned, staring blankly at the sword. What does this mean? Is this a trick? He asked himself.
Dryden’s concern was unmasked in his high pitched response, “My king, are you alright?”
The crowd began muttering amongst themselves.
This is no trick, and our binding is always fated to happen. We are the keepers of the sword of destiny and you are our new master. That boy is born of dragon’s blood, and he is the boy of the Talonsphere prophecy.
Arman stared at the hilt of the sword as he realised that the two figurines were animated and speaking directly to him in unison.
“By the gods!” he exclaimed loudly, taking a few steps back, staring at the hilt of his sword.
Stay calm wise king, only you can hear us, speak to us only with your mind, they said.
But you are moving, can anybody else see you? He thought.
“Give the king some room,” said Dryden, helping Arman to the same seat Vartan previously sat in.
Gasps and whispers could be heard from the crowd. The people were concerned about their king, it was not like him to behave so strangely.
As our bearer, our true forms are revealed to you… all others see only what we want them to see, which is nothing more than you saw before you held us, they answered.
You see the destiny of this boy. Can you show me the destiny of anyone? You can read my mind? By the gods… what do I call you? He asked himself.
We can tell you, our bearer, the destiny of anyone except that of our true master or of anyone who shares your blood. You can call us both by the name Tahlie, as you will never be able to tell us apart, they teased.
Their diamond eyes lit up once more and a beam of bright light shone on Dryden.
A great war looms on the horizon and a horrible evil will kill many of your people. Your knight, Dryden will play a great part in defending their lives and he will always be loyal to the throne.
Arman stood up resolutely, drawing his existing royal sword and embedded it in the ground before him. He sheathed his new sword, his heart racing with hope and excitement.
I must protect and train this boy and his identity has to be kept secret.
The king spoke proudly and resolutely, “Dryden, take Vartan to the stables and get him started on learning to see to our horses. But first, take him to one of our healers. I want him in good shape for his knighthood.”
Knighthood, thought Vartan with a smile drawing across his aching face. The guards grunted with annoyance as they returned to their posts.
Dryden nodded dutifully, heading toward Vartan.
“Welcome to Greenhaven, Vartan, and be careful what you long for because you just got it,” King Arman said with a smile.
“Your highness, I thank you from the depths of my heart, and I will not let you down,” he replied, before dropping to the ground weakly.
Many years later in Trahoterra, Vartan’s body stirred as he relived the memories slowly returning to him. Trisa kept a moist rag on his forehead, the steam of the magically heated water rising in the air above them.
His mouth opened and screamed, “Arman!”
Trisa fell back in fright, dropping the cup of healing potion to splatter on the ground.
All of the dragons in Trahoterra heard his cry. One by one, they flew to the caverns to check on Vartan, hopeful for his long anticipated return. Trisa worked tirelessly on his recovery and she was beyond exhausted. His wounds had healed, but it was his spirit that she had little power over.
Realising that he hadn’t awoken and that it was only a dream, Trisa pounded her fists into the ground in frustration, began crying and laid her head on Vartan’s shoulder. She spoke through sobs, “I have doomed everyone in Marithia! There is nothing more I can do, and the Blood Red Moon prophecy has already begun. I am not worthy to call myself a healer.”
Chapter 4 : Rise From The Ashes
“When you see hurt in the eyes of a stranger, do you feel pity or compassion for who stands before you?
Vartan and I were destined to meet, and I cannot shake the feeling that I should find him again.
Do we send ourselves blindly in the path of danger in the name of faith? Or does faith lead us to where we belong?”
(Makya, She’Ma’Ryn trader)
Anakari was only 19 years of age, which was relatively young by anyone’s standards for a sorceress. She was of elven appearance, and her unique features made it challenging for her to fit in at a small village on the outskirts of Marithia. Many human boys had taken an interest in her and showered her with gifts, but she refused their advances. It was a mastery of magic that she longed for… not a family life.
She was tall with a slender body. Her hair was pale, almost silver, and drew envious looks from the other girls. Her sapphire coloured eyes were like jewels on her pretty face, but were contrasted by a small tattoo of a crescent moon on her forehead; a symbol of her occupation and apprenticeship to her human master wizard, Aldorus.
Aldorus discovered Kari, her name shortened through affection, abandoned and starving when she was no more than a year old. Raising her as if she was his own daughter, Aldorus took her into his home and discovered that she had quite a talent for magic. When she was of age, he apprenticed her into the arts.
She longed for adventure and to discover the world beyond her village. She loved Aldorus, but his grand dream for her to take over his duties when he was gone was not the life she felt destined for. The recent events of the Blood Red Moon prophecy had distressed the entire village, and she felt a calling to begin her journey and find her real family.
The only clue she had of her families' existence was a flawlessly crafted elven necklace in the shape of a unicorn head, with rubies set into it for eyes. On the back of the unicorn was one engraved word, 'Daessar’. This necklace was all she had on her when Aldorus found her. It was the only link she had to her mysterious family.
She stared at the name, wondering at the strange familiarity of the word.
She quietly whispered to herself, “
Daessar,” biting her bottom lip as she always did when she was deep in thought.
Kari breathed deep and took one final look at the only home she’d ever known. The shelves were full of mementos of years gone by that induced an overwhelming sense of nostalgia inside her. Leaving a letter on Aldorus’ favourite bench, she carefully tiptoed out to the stables with a heavy pack full of supplies. Her heart pounded inside her chest like a drum with the anticipation of what may lay ahead of her and equally stung with the sadness of leaving her familiar grounds behind.
Marithians still hoped for the Talonsphere prophecy to be fulfilled, but their faith would be tested by the turning wheels of the Blood Red Moon prophecy. Like the Talonsphere prophecy that they believed would save them from the Forces of Darkness, the underworld had their own belief that their seers had predicted for thousands of years. It was written in dark scripture that a girl of both darkness and light would destroy all living creatures and rule under the shade of the Blood Red Moon.
Kassina, daughter of a high priestess sorceress and vampire king, was believed to be the girl of their prophecy. The wheels of the prophecy were finally set in motion by the countless fallen souls at the battle of the Elven Woods, and there had been new reports of clouds raining blood on the lands at nightfall, under the eerie glow of the burgundy moon.
The dark scriptures stated that once enough souls had been captured and reanimated in the underworld, then the protective barrier separating Marithia from the underworld plane would grow weaker and would gradually become one with the underworld, starting with the Blood Red Moon and blood filled clouds.
The balance of souls had greatly tipped to the underworld’s favour and Marithia began the horrid plunge into darkness. The sun still rose as a beacon of hope and served as a continual reminder of what they all stood to lose, the impending doom that all living creatures face, and what had to be done to stop it.
Queen Andrielle did everything she could for her people, human and elven alike. Many souls perished on the battlefield of the Elven Woods. The few survivors journeyed together to the badly damaged Elven City of Veldrenn to recoup, and rebuild it as the new fortified home of the resistance.
Legends of Marithia: Book 2 - Darkness Rising Page 3