The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1)

by Samuel Rikard

  He drew his cutlass and slowly walked inside, looking for any sign of his family. Reaching the nursery, he peeked through the cracked door. The room was silent, save for his weight under the occasional loose floorboard. He pushed the door open, finding the cradle overturned. His heart pumped faster and faster, sending fear down his spine.

  Lying on the floor near the spilled blankets, he noticed a torn piece of his wife's favorite dress bunched up. A small amount of blood had dried next to it. Not enough to suggest death, but certainly injury. A pain stabbed through his heart. Snatching up the light blue fabric, he clenched his fist around it.

  Closing his eyes, he felt a rage he’d never known build inside him. Overflowing with pain, a single thought echoed in his mind. The scent of the fabric filled his nostrils with memory of his wife. A hatred burned inside him, fueling his desire for revenge. It didn't matter if they simply scratched her. They caused her pain and that was enough to evoke his wrath.

  Tucking the ribbon into his sash, he opened his eyes and stormed up the stairs.

  Without slowing, he lifted his leg and kicked the sturdy door, sending it off its hinges. It flew across the room, shedding bits of the wooden frame. He opened the wardrobe and looked inside, finding his quarry.

  He snatched the gray leather armor from its wire stand and slipped it overhead. With a quick tug, he tightened the pull cords along the sides and tied them off to prevent loosening. He recalled wearing it only once, the day he was named captain. His captain’s words echoed in his mind. 'Every good captain needs a suit of armor. Ye never know what life’s gonna throw at ya. One day ye may be sailin’ the seas. The next, ye have to sell yer boat and take up arms. It’s always handy to have a good set of armor.'

  Forcing the memories back, he pulled the hem down, hoping the shoulders would abandon their training and form to his present shape. As he ran his hands across the brigandine, the numerous studs lining both sides scraped his fingers. The once shiny steel circlets were now dull and slightly corroded from years in storage. Brushing them one last time, he adjusted the straps, making sure he could move properly. Opening the wardrobe drawer, he removed a thick leather belt and strung his sheath and pouch on it. He threw it around himself, catching the tail. Looping it around the buckle, he tied a hench knot and let the tail drop down between his legs. Adjusting his gear, he sheathed the blade and set off for the docks.

  Resting in his high-backed oaken chair, the harbormaster glanced out the side window of the dock house. Fear crept into him with the sight of the armored captain. The man had a look about him, demanding attention and more so, caution. Pushing himself up with the polished armrests, he grabbed his staff and made for the door to meet the clearly enraged man. Stepping out the door, he silently prayed to Corin, hoping the encounter would pass easily. He paused on edge of the dock, awaiting the man's approach. He had a look about him that would frighten the common man. Something in his eyes told him to run, but he couldn’t. It was his job to interact with the captains. Besides, that primal rage Gareth emanated wasn’t a guarantee he wouldn’t give chase.

  “Merrick, what’d the creatures look like?” Gareth demanded, dropping all formalities.

  The old man was shaken by his demeanor. He tried to speak the words but they wouldn’t leave his mouth. “Capt-- ”.

  Abandoning all tact, he shouted louder than intended. “What’d they look like?” He could feel his anger rising.

  “I-- I didn't get a good look, sir. They were hard to see. Like they were always standing in shadows. You-- You might ask Adrian Blakner over at the bakery, he barely got away from them last night. If anyone got a good look it'd be him.”

  It wasn't much of a lead, but it was better than nothing. Gareth turned and briskly strode toward the bakery. He passed several boarded up shops. The few citizens he passed along the way gave him a wide berth. Finding the small shop on the east side of town, he glanced at the charred siding. It seemed the place had caught fire at some point. The storm more than likely had some hand in putting it out. With little care for the people nearby, he burst through the door, demanding answers. “Adrian, I need to know what the creatures look like.”

  The boy behind the counter was barely old enough to run the shop. He jumped at the loud bang, backing away from the large man barreling toward him.

  Lost in his purpose, Gareth grabbed hold of his tunic and pulled him over the counter. “I need to know what the creatures look like.”

  The young man began to speak but was so frightened he couldn’t get the words out.

  Slamming him into the wall, he hoped to jar the boy's memory. He had no time to wait for an answer. Pinning him in place, he dropped a hand and slapped him across his cheek, more alerting him than causing pain. “Speak!”

  “I-- I saw th-- them.”

  Gareth heard a trickle of liquid hit the floor. Glaring into the shop keep's eyes, he spoke in a slow quiet tone, “What’d they look like, boy?”

  He shook, uncontrollably, choking on his words. “Th-- They were black, their skin wa-- was black. So-- some of them had long hair, others had short. They had magic, th-- they could disappear in the dark, like hide inside it-- they used the night to get close and then attack. They would appear and-- and-- ” he starting crying, uncaring that he’d wet himself. “They-- They took my mother.” he sobbed, letting the tears roll freely down his cheeks.

  Gareth shook him, attempting to regain his attention. “What kind of weapons did they have?”

  The young man looked puzzled at the question, staring into the anger-filled eyes. “They had all kinds of weapons, mostly swords but-- but there were others.”

  “How many of them were there?”

  He began to sob again, “There were-- There were hundreds of them, they came out of nowhere, took what they wanted and disappeared as quickly as they arrived. Please, that-- that’s all I know.” he begged, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Gareth released him, letting him fall to the floor. Without a word he turned and stormed from the bakery.

  Chapter IV

  The Last of the Dalari

  Rays of sunlight beamed down through the trees at the edge of the small town of Winterhaven. Spring flowers stood tall through the dense grass, displaying a wide variety of colors. Each and every one stretched up in response to the sun's warmth. Laughter echoed across the clearing, finding its way to a boy standing at the edge of the forest road leading into the settlement.

  Ravion waited patiently, watching over his siblings. His brother and sister played in the distance, paying no attention to the world around them. With a sigh, he felt the weight of his ten years. Instinctively, he rested his hand on the pommel of the dull short sword hanging from his hip. He couldn't explain why, but he enjoyed fondling the aged weapon. This was the first time he'd been allowed to carry it outside his training. It made him feel proud and slightly untouchable. Glancing over, he checked on the two younger children, recalling the days when he was able to play as they did. Instead his were filled with training in the ways of the sword. Any breaks he was allowed involved babysitting the younger two. It wasn't all bad though, they gave him time to reflect on his training. Though too much reflection grew old quickly. He admired his sister, sitting among a patch of flowers. She split the stems, lacing them together to make a beautiful spring necklace, among other accessories.

  Despite her innocent appearance, she was naturally gifted in the ways of combat, as all dalari were. She had an aptitude with daggers unlike any he'd seen before. It wouldn't be long before she'd be required to sacrifice her play time as he had.

  Shifting his attention to his brother, he searched the forest's edge for the child, just out of his toddler years. The dark-green tunic was hard to see among the grass and leaves, but he found him. The child wandered the far edge of the grove, beyond the treeline. Ravion recalled the numerous times he'd marched across the grove to reclaim him, each time reminding him to stay in sight. He knew the youngling was testing his limits, wandering off a bit fa
rther than he was supposed to. Though he was true to his nature. He wouldn’t be dalari if he hadn’t expressed a desire to explore the world. But he would have to be careful. He didn't understand how easily he could get lost in the forest. Calmly shaking his head, he counted the minutes until he would have to retrieve him again.

  Returning his thoughts to his training, he pulled the sword from its short leather sheath and stared intently at the blade. It was discolored from age, but held a brilliant, polished surface. He ran his fingers along the edge. It was rolled from years of use without sharpening, if it had ever been sharp in the first place. Several nicks were embedded in the forged iron, marred where it contacted another blade. Despite its less-than-ideal condition, he was proud of the simple weapon. And he vowed it would be proud of him one day.

  A familiar sound echoed in the distance. The slightly pointed tips of his ears twitched, catching the noise. Sheathing the blade, he turned toward Winterhaven. Several pillars of smoke billowed from the wooden structures in the distance. Fear and excitement rushed through him. He'd trained since the day he was able to hold a weapon. If this wasn't the opportunity he needed to prove himself, he didn't know what would be. He glanced along the path, ensuring the way was clear. It would take some time to get back, but if he ran he could close the gap in a few minutes. His mind made, he turned toward his sister, watching her run toward him. “Alexzandra, something’s wrong! Stay here and keep an eye on him.”

  Hearing his words, she froze and turned to head back to her flower patch. Glancing over at the youngest of the three, retook her seat.

  Ravion turned and ran as fast as he could. In the blink of an eye, he'd crested the hill and disappeared from the grove. Atop the hill, the sounds of battle, an extremely large battle, assaulted his ears. He heard the familiar clank of swords all around him.

  Smoke rose from homes and shops. Bright orange flame licked the layered wooden shingles atop the sloped wooden roofs. They were turning black from the heat, ready to burst into flame.

  He felt sick to his stomach, like he’d eaten something bad. The only home he'd known was under attack. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. Ignoring the pain deep within him, he moved forward, using the outlying buildings for cover. They seemed to be the only ones that weren't ablaze.

  Several armor-clad figures, wielding graceful and well balanced weapons, swarmed the far edge of town. They surrounded the townspeople, cutting them down with ease.

  He was too far away to make out who they were but they were clearly winning the fight. He had to get home and find his parents. Drawing his sword, he slowly made his way through town, hoping to avoid being seen. The tailor's shop was just ahead, having suffered minor charring along the siding. It seemed the fire had been put out before it consumed too much. He quickly made his way around the corner and entered. The building was abandoned, everything remaining in its proper place, suggesting the tailor and his family simply left.

  Ravion grabbed a large patch of tan linen, noting the resemblance in color to that of the dirt roads outside. Throwing them overhead, he tied them off to wrap around him like a over sized robe. It would be too bulky to fight in, but perhaps he could get closer to home before they saw him. Testing his reaction time to disrobe and draw his sword, he carefully made his way from the shop and turned down the narrow alleyway. He inhaled softly, clearing his mind, the first thing he'd been taught. His vision began to focus and zoom. He was at one with his surroundings. He felt faster and stronger, like he was connected to the world around him.

  Making his way from the alley, he spotted the attacking figures. They'd killed nearly everyone and now were checking for survivors. He'd have to make sure they didn't see him. Placing his back against the wall, he stood as still as his body would allow. The tall, slender monsters resembled humans but their ears were severely pointed. Realization set in. He knew what they were and why they were here. He closed his eyes, attempting to force the story from his mind. His family's origins, and more importantly, their reason for living among the humans wouldn't help him. He understood why the alfar continued the tradition for so long, but how they had been discovered was beyond him.

  He felt his focus fading. He couldn't allow that to happen. With another deep, steady breath, he calmed himself and returned his focus. Waiting for the intruders to pass, he slowly, carefully made his way through the village, avoiding those that would kill him for the mistakes of his ancestors.

  ***

  Ravion made his way through the streets. His face paled at the sights before him. The dead or dying bodies of the residents littered the ground, left where they'd fallen. Their attackers had abandoned them and moved on to another part of town.

  This was no simple hunt for the last of the dalari. This was extermination of anyone they met. This was genocide.

  He turned the corner, looking up toward the house atop the hill. He couldn't see it yet, but he couldn't see the signs of fire, either. Much of the smoke had settled, leaving the streets foggy and dense. Hopefully the alfar hadn't bothered taking the hill. His father built their home with the intention of its defense in mind. Anyone attempting to take it by force would undoubtedly suffer heavy losses. He continued up the small hill, spotting the roof of the wood cabin. To his relief, it remained free of flame. The momentary victory faded to worry with the sounds of battle straight ahead. They were louder than ever, echoing inside his mind. Several bodies covered in thin, yet sturdy leather armor lined the curved road, having fallen during their trek. The fletching of his father's arrows protruded from the numerous bodies. Emotions twisted inside him. Many of the alfar were lost in the approach, but from the sounds of the continuing battle at the peak, at least a few made it through.

  He hurried up the hill, assessing the situation. Frozen in the sight, a crowd gathered in front of his home, encircled around a single man. Ravion gasped, seeing his father, his longsword outstretched and ready to attack.

  The elder dalari took in everything and nothing at the same time. Sweat rolled down his forehead, his long golden-brown hair pulled to a tail at the back. He stood with his feet a short distance apart, hands placed one above the other, locked around the extended handle of his longsword. He remained still, waiting for something.

  Several of the alfar rushed in, striking in perfect unison. Their target proved too skilled to handle one on one. If they were to take him down, they'd have to strike as one and overpower him.

  Ravion watched, frozen in fear. His father was everything. Nothing could best him. But against so many, how could he hope to succeed? His fear settled, watching the group fall before his eyes, their deaths a mystery to him. He hadn't seen his father move, let alone strike the outnumbering opponents. Another group followed, suffering a similar fate.

  The remaining alfar closed in on the lone dalari. Many of them suffered moderate wounds, but the blood loss hadn't affected their ability yet. They perished as quickly as they approached, leaving just over half a dozen to finish the unharmed, but exhausted warrior.

  Ravion moved closer. The attackers were too busy to worry about him. He kept his eyes forward, but made sure to listen behind him. He couldn't help his father if they were able to sneak up on him.

  The battle shifted with the thinned numbers, leaving large gaps between the alfar.

  His gaze darted to a body, unlike the others, lying crumpled just outside the door of his home. His mother's cold, lifeless eyes stared back at him, void of the love she'd shown him for as long as he could remember. A fresh pool of crimson fluid ran in streams down the stone walkway leading to their door. “No!” Unable to stop himself, he charged toward his father.

  The elder dalari brought his sword up, blocking a potentially deadly blow. “Ra’dulen, get your siblings and retreat!” Without pause, he spun the blade around and thrust deep into the attacking alfar's chest. With ease, he redirected back to his neutral stance, ready for the next advance.

  Ravion came to a stop several steps from his father. Why did he tell h
im to retreat? I can help. I've been trained for this. He didn’t know what to do, he wanted to return to the grove as his father had commanded, but he also wanted to help against so many intruders. He took another step toward his father.

  Using the distraction to their advantage, the alfar rushed in, bringing their blades down in all directions. The familiar ring of steel on steel sounded out, echoing into silence. One by one the alfar dropped their weapons joining their brethren on the blood-soaked earth.

  Ravion stared into his father's eyes, frozen at the sight. The silence was deafening. As if the drums of war were inverted and pounding in his chest. The long space between beats consumed him. His gaze shifted to the blade protruding from his father's chest. A red stain soaked into the cloth, expanding around the wound. Did they used me as a distraction? Why didn't I listen? Is this my fault? He hadn't realized he was continuing toward his father. Stopping a few steps away, he felt the tears trickle down his cheek. The wet streams pouring down his face made him feel numb.

  The elder dalari fell to his knees, helpless to his murderer towering over him. He looked up, pleading to his successor. “Teradun, please-- ” he coughed, blood spurting from his mouth, “Please, spare my son. He’s just a boy. I know you’re following orders, but allowing a single child to live cannot make much of a difference.”

  The alfar glanced at the boy. He didn't look like much. Scrawny and dirty with a dull short sword.

  One child won't make a difference. But when he ages, with the training he's undoubtedly been given, he'll make a formidable opponent. Not to mention he'll most likely seek revenge for this day. Is it worth having to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life? The dalari are near immortal and extremely resourceful. He may not find me for a thousand years, but one day he will find me. Returning his attention to the dying dalari, he made his decision. “Don’t beg, Marquel. It’s unbecoming. Your family has evaded us far too long. Standing orders set forth by Emperor Jullien declare, 'All dalari must die.' You know this.” A smirk stretched across his face. He was taking joy in his assignment. He Placed his booted foot next to the embedded sword. Giving a hefty kick, he pulled the blade free and spun around, lowering the razor edge to the correct height. The sword passed through Marquel's neck with little effort, causing a small amount of blood to spray from the wound, spattering across the boy's face.