The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1)

by Samuel Rikard

  Kane sat atop his horse, taking in the sight of the grand city. He'd been here before, but it always made him feel small in comparison. It was by far the largest city he'd ever been to. And here people knew his name. I am Kane, High Templar of the Tower of Magi. He chuckled to himself at the title. Such a frivolous thing. Little better than a wax stamp. It speaks of position, nothing more. Though it does have a way of granting access to an audience not normally within reach. Returning to the task at hand, he recalled his reasoning for the trip. The words played in his head once again. Army of dreu-- searching for something.

  In the distance, he could see the outline of an amazing fortress. The shadows of the fading light made it glow like a beacon of hope. Spurring his steed, he closed the distance, urgency on his mind.

  The fortress had a large wall built around it with several sentries patrolling the ground. Two armed guards stood on each side of the barbican. The drawbridge was lowered, granting access to the structures on the other side. A heavy portcullis stood open, serving as a secondary gate comprised of a steel lattice. The heavy gate rested between two layers of stone and was held up by large chains, keeping the massive steel from sealing itself into the ground.

  Kane slowed reaching the wood planked ramp. While it stood open, he didn't need the guards attacking him over a simple miscommunication. “I bring message from The Tower for Master Remle De Leon.” His horse fidgeted, unhappy with the sudden stop.

  One of the guards waved him entry.

  Kane obeyed and led the horse through the grand opening. Continuing up the road, he came to a stop at the fortress doors. He dismounted and handed the reins to the groom, in waiting. He straightened his armor and marched up the stone stairway to the barred doors.

  The guards stood erect, waiting for him to announce his intention.

  "I am Kane, Sheriff of Aldridge and High Templar to The Tower. I require audience with Master Remle De Leon."

  "This way, Master Kane." The door creaked open, allowing him entry.

  One of the guards led him through the doors and into the reception hall.

  "Master Kane, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave your weapons and wait here." The guard rang a bell mounted to the wall and turned back the way he'd come.

  He unbuckled his weapon belt and laid it on the rack, ensuring both his shortsword and dagger were easily accessible if required. He unhooked the leather strap, securing the greatsword to his back and laid it down beside his belt.

  A moment later a thin man, wearing a blue robe with silver inlay stepped into sight. “Ah, Master Kane, I presume?”

  “Yes?”

  “The Tower sent word of your arrival. This way please.”

  So they can send message that I'm headed this way but they can't relay the information themselves to save me a trip? He silently vented his frustrations but followed after.

  They passed through several hallways and large rooms until they finally reached a grand hall.

  The floor was made of silver marble with a blue rug running the length of the room. Matching tapestries hung from the walls. The far end had a four tiered dais, alternating between silver and blue. The top was set with an aged throne made of polished oak and encrusted with several gems arching over the head rest.

  Remle sat in the throne, his flowing blonde hair radiated the last glimmers of sunlight through the stained glass windows above.

  Kane followed his escort toward the throne, stopping several steps away.

  The court mage bowed before the city's lord, holding pose in wait for the warrior to follow suit.

  Realizing his mistake, Kane quickly gave a respectful bow and stood, waiting permission to talk.

  The mage stood and announced his guest, much louder than he needed to. “Lord Remle, may I present Master Kane, Dreuslayer, Sheriff of Aldridge, and High Templar to the Tower.”

  Without word, the mage turned and disappeared down the blue carpet, leaving Kane alone with Remle and the several servants silently performing their various task along the sides of the room.

  "It's good to see you again, Kane. What brings you to my city?" Remle asked, his fingers interlocked in front of him. He peered down at the man, recalling their previous encounters.

  “My lord, a group of scouts were sent to Tresengal to discern the motives behind the Dreu assault on Maradar Keep. We received one message but it was cut short. 'Army of dreu, searching for something.' was all the magi were able to discern.” He took a step closer. “My Lord, may I speak freely for a moment?”

  The fair-haired man nodded his approval.

  “What troubles me more-- they were able to storm the capital in under a day. Even if they were attacked completely by surprise, they should have been able to hold for at least a month until reinforcements could arrive. That tells me two things. The Dreu are extremely well organized. And they have something at their disposal that we haven't seen before. And now, my Lord, a question I pose to you. What’s stopping them from directing their attention here?”

  Remle leaned back in his throne, keeping his hands in position. "I understand what you're asking. I’ll prepare my army for war and have them at the ready if these vermin should they crawl from their hole in the ground. You may inform your brothers, Shadgull stands with them."

  Kane bowed once again, dismissing himself. The last rays of light gleamed through the skylight, reflecting on an emerald green gem, set in the top of the throne. He paused, inspecting the stone. It was just like the others, but there was something different about it, something familiar. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he acknowledged the lord once again. “It will be done, my Lord.” Respectfully, he half turned to prevent presenting his back to the ruler. It was a long ride back to Marbayne and he needed to return as quick as possible.

  ***

  The forest of Evinwood stood taller than every other forest in Dalmoura. The trees were nearly twenty foot wide and the undergrowth was thick. The sheer size of the vastly unexplored lands made it easy to get lost in. Event the canopy, far overhead, blocked out direct sunlight, making direction hard to navigate.

  The two soldiers pressed on, careful to prevent damaging the overgrown vegetation.

  Krenin squeezed between the low hanging vines, stepping into a patch of moss. He searched in all directions, amazed by the sights around him. He’d never traveled through Evinwood before, making the trip a completely new experience to him. The thick growth hindered his movement due to his thick, muscular frame, but he managed, amazed by the next strange looking plant he stumbled upon. “Malakai, Look at this one.” He knelt down next to a large pod, resembling an open pistachio shell with several thin whiskers protruding from the edge. The inside was a deep pink pedal, covered in tiny bumps that smelled of fruit. He pressed his meaty finger against the whiskers, pulling it back just in time to see the plant slam shut. He let out a child-like giggle, watching it slowly open up again.

  Malakai was somewhat less enthused, he'd encountered the myrkalfar on many occasions. Their pompous attitudes made him dread meeting with the tall, slender folk. While he was able to travel the small trails much easier than his larger counterpart, he still found the forest cumbersome compared to a cleared road. He desperately wanted to pull his blade and chop a path, but if they came across the treefolk-- It was one thing to hack your way through a familiar forest. But to do so in alfarian territory was asking for trouble. He watched the half-orc poke the plant again, lost in glee with its response. “Leave that thing alone. You don't know if it's poisonous. Last thing I need is to be draggin' your ass through this forest.”

  Krenin stood, wishing he could play with it one last time. Following after his friend, he glanced around in search of other unseen wonders. “You seein' anything?” His short tusk make the common tongue hard to pronounce.

  “Trees!” Malakai replied, clear annoyance in his tone. He stopped, staring dead ahead.

  “You not lookin' hard enough--” He walked into the back of Malakai, cutting his words off. The sudden stop
startled him, causing him to jump back. His feet got tangled around one of the many vines littering the forest floor. Losing his balance, he crashed down, landing in a patch of briars. “Ouch, Why you stop?” He rolled over, trying to get up without the thorns digging in.

  "What business does a human and a half breed have in the forest of Evinwood?" The brown haired myrkalfar stared down his arrow, trained on the swashbuckler. Three others stood at his side, their bows drawn and ready to fire.

  “We bring word from Marbayne. Kane of the Tower asked us to speak with your king about the recent Dreu threat." Malakai replied, trying to keep his irritation from showing.

  The myrkalfar lowered their bows. "Follow us, We'll lead you to our commander. He'll decide if you have audience or not." They turned and easily passed through the trees showing no trouble in doing so whatsoever.

  Malakai rushed after them, slowed by the foliage. How are they able to move like that? One moment they were there and the next, they were gone. He raced after them, catching a brief glimpse just long enough to tell him he was headed in the right direction. Surely they're toying with me. I've no doubt I wouldn't see them at all unless they wanted me to.

  Krenin ran to keep up, finding it hard to stay on his feet. It was like the forest was conspiring against him in his hurried pace. Tripping for the third time, he barreled through, letting the vines and ivy obstructing his path tear against his larger form. He slowed, seeing Malakai just ahead.

  The swordsman stepped through a rather thick patch of brush and into grove of sorts. It still had its growth, but it would be much easier to travel than the forest itself. He spotted the myrkalfar at the far side, waiting for them, clearly annoyed by their lack of respect for the forest and their slow movement.

  They traveled unhindered for quite some time, coming to a small clearing. The trees remained thick and tall, forming a natural wall around them. The canopies offered a great amount of shade, but allowed plenty of light through. It was as if the area was grown to perfection. Even the forest floor appeared as if the leaves naturally fell someplace else, leaving the bright green grass to flourish in the grove.

  The brown haired myrkalfar reached behind him, pulling a thin, white horn with a leather strap attached to it. Pressing it to his lips, he blew, angling the opening toward the sky. It echoed out sounding more like some kind of animal call than a horn.

  A few moments later another myrkalfar stepped through the trees and into the grove. He wore black leather armor with several studs, placed to give the appearance of a dragon. He spoke to the others in a language neither could understand.

  Malakai couldn't help but get lost in the unknown language. It was as if he were singing an ancient song of loss and sorrow, with a brief flicker of hope.

  The others nodded and stepped through the wall, disappearing from sight.

  The dark armored myrkalfar approached the two, giving a slight bow of respect. "Greetings, I'm Jaklus Motin Afar, Captain of Evinwood. My men tell me you bring word from Kane of the Tower. Judging from your garments, I wouldn't assume you to be in The Tower's service. This means you're more likely Dreuslayers." He cocked his head, curiously, seeking validation.

  "You're correct. I’m Malakai Torne and this is Krenin. Kane asked us to meet with your king to discuss the recent Dreu incursion. As I'm sure you're aware, they recently attacked Tresengal and have abducted it's lord. We sent a group to discover what the Dreu are after but they were apparently killed before they found much."

  Jaklus nodded. "I know of the men you speak. They passed through here not long before the Reaping of Maradar. Aldulrien has already declared that the Dreu must be purged. Order has been given and if your people are going to march, you may count us among your number." He turned to leave them.

  Malakai reached out grabbing the alfar's arm.

  He glanced down at the hand securing him. His warning evident in his eyes.

  Realizing his mistake, Malakai released him, gesturing his apology. "I'll inform them upon my return. Which I was hoping you might be able to help us with. My friend and I have been having a bit of trouble trekking through your forest. With your aid, there's less risk of breaking anything you hold dear."

  ***

  Hurried footsteps echoed through the fortress of Shadgull. Servants, advisers, and lords alike turned toward the entrance of the great hall in search of the commotion.

  A scrawny messenger entered the room, running as fast as his feet could carry him. His brow was drenched in sweat and his tunic flopped from the movement. "Master Remle! Master Remle!" he shouted from across the room, continuing toward the seated lord.

  "What is it Reginald? Catch your breath." Remle looked upon the man. His excitement must mean something big. I hope the Dreu haven't made it past our defenses. Such a feat would prove disastrous. He waited patiently for the man to continue.

  Out of breath, the messenger stopped at the base of the dais and bowed awkwardly. "Master Remle-- The Coalition of Countries has decreed that you are to be crowned King of Dalmoura. They're on their way here now to deliver the coronet." He panted heavily, unable to contain himself.

  "King is it? Well, I suppose we should prepare for their arrival." Remle clapped his hands, giving the silent order.

  Servants went to work preparing the throne room for a banquet.

  “You're dismissed, Reginald. Stop by the kitchen and get yourself a meal and drink.”

  The messenger bowed a second time, holding positon. “Thank you, my Lord.” He stood and turned to leave.

  Remle listened to the footsteps softly approaching his right side. A familiar voice flowed from them.

  “King or not, are you sure it’s wise to hold celebration when our outlying towns are being attacked?” Eric made his way around the dais, stopping in front of the throne. His freshly pressed silver and blue tunic sparkled in the sunlight beaming through the overhead windows.

  “My son, you’ll learn one of these days that even the most dedicated soldier needs time to unwind every now and then. A man fed on duty alone, while valuable, will eventually fall prey to his passions. In simpler terms, a man pushed too hard will deteriorate over time, leaving the shadow of the man he once was.”

  “Forgive me, father. But I don't believe it wise to leave such things to chance. Keep the men happy, yes. But why push them to that point when there are other options?”

  “What options do you speak of? We're at war. The only options we have are to fight or flee. And I've too much invested in this land to simply abandon it. My father and my father's father, and his father before him sat upon this throne. As you one day will. It's our job to ensure our people have a safe home. That's what it means to be a Hero. Heroes Gate wasn't built by the men from the north. It was built by us, by our bloodline. When the options were much as they are now. Our ancestors chose to stand and fight, that's the only reason we have this home. That's what being a leader is all about, son. It's choosing to build a shield so your people have the protection they deserve.”

  “I understand. What if we find a trinket that will help?”

  “What kind of trinket?” Remle stared down at his son. He's clearly not ready for the throne. These foolish notions of acquiring magic treasures is proof enough.

  “I've heard rumor of a dagger that has the ability to give its owner unlimited power. Something like that could ensure the kingdom’s survival throughout the ages.” He reached into his pouch, retrieving a worn piece of parchment.

  “Son, sometimes I fear my position here has clouded your understanding of the common man. Magic is not the answer. It has its uses from time to time, yes. But it’s not us. We come from simple folk. To go gallivanting off on some quest for this dagger that probably doesn’t even exist would place our lands in further turmoil, especially when the Dreu attacks have moved so close to our front door.” He pulled his golden locks into a tail and tied it off. “Think on it, son. I'm sure you'll find the answers you're searching for.” Remle placed his crown atop his head and si
gnaled the steward.

  An aged man approached, wearing nobleman's garments of the house colors. “Yes, my Lord?”

  “Have the stable boy gather my horse. I feel like going for a ride.”

  Eric glanced down at the crumpled sketch of the wavy dagger. Taking a deep breath, he wadded it up and stuffed it back into his pouch. One day, old man. One day I’ll have the crown and you’ll listen to what I have to say.

  ***

  Shadows darted through the darkness, dancing in and out of each other. The clank of sword echoed off the mossy cave walls. Hundreds of dreualfar swarmed, each one trying to get at the two figures holding them at bay.

  "You'd think you'd insulted their mothers with the way they're coming at us." Ravion said through labored breaths, deflecting another blow from the constant barrage.

  "I did." Gareth laughed. The spike on the bottom of his shield was planted, holding firmly against the waves of dreualfar swarming upon them. Gareth swung his mace wildly, bashing several with each swing.

  The two battled with an unnatural presence against the seemingly unlimited number.

  Ravion yelled across the clank of swords, knocking the attacking blows away from him. "Do you ever think before you make your presence known? I mean, it's not like we're out numbered or anything." he said sarcastically, countering for another attack.

  Gareth laughed, bashing the head of another dreualfar. "Usually-- no, it doesn't matter how many there are. I'm going to kill every last one of em'."

  "And me along with them." Ravion retorted.

  "Nah, you're too pretty to fall to these ugly bastards." Gareth laughed, tightening the grip on his shield. He yanked the spike free, kicking the metal barrier outward. It collided with his closest attackers, launching them into the approaching sea of dreualfar. Several more rushed forward, filling the void created by the swipe. Gareth stabbed the bottom mounted spike back into the ground, making sure it was set. He dropped his mace, letting it dangle from the leather strap around his wrist. Reaching under his shield, he pulled a clay flask out of its leather band. "You may want to shield your eyes, pretty boy!"