Legends of Marithia: Book 1 - Prophecies Awakening: Uncut and Extended Second Edition

by Peter Koevari

  “Keep up the bombardment, but don't stop moving! Fire and move forward before firing again. We have them on the run!” She turned her attention to her golem. “Glaucus!” she barked. “Start clearing those trees!”

  Glaucus grunted as he made his way to the burning wall of trees ahead of them. With a horrible cracking sound, he tore the first burning tree in his sight from the ground and held it up in the air. He turned to Kassina with a look of confusion on his face. She smiled back at her summoned pet as she calmly relayed her order with an ominous voice. “Every tree you rip out, throw it ahead of us as far as you can. The elves can keep their treasured trees."

  Glaucus grunted as he took a few heavy steps back. The surrounding army steadied themselves from the shaking ground. Glaucus swung the giant burning tree behind him and then launched forward. The tree tore through the air like a burning spear, flying in the direction of Veldrenn.

  Andrielle returned her vision and turned to Karven with a paled face. “We need to get ready for battle, now—and we need dragons in the air,” she said, with a slight hint of panic in her voice.

  “And why do you need my dragons in the air already?” asked Karven warily.

  The canopy of the city shuddered loudly. A burning tree crashed through it and smashed violently into one of the houses below. The screams of the elves within were blood-curdling as they began to burn alive. Elves and humans rushed to the water wells in a vain effort to save them.

  Andrielle pointed to the burning building and cried, “That’s why! Please, great dragons, help us stop those trees before more of us get killed."

  Karven snorted jets of fire, nodded and took flight with great strength, sending dirt and leaves flying into the air.

  “Exeunt omnes,” chanted Andrielle. The canopy of trees burst open with a resounding roar, as if they were longing for her command. The city was filled with a high pitched vibration that sounded as if it was coming from the trees around them.

  “Dragons! The time has come for us to take to the skies and honour our alliance. Let us move to the skies and defend Veldrenn!” ordered Karven.

  The dragons took flight and sent a surge of wind over the city. Everyone ducked for cover as the dragons ascended into the sky. Their clothes flapped wildly in the whirlwind.

  “Good luck, Karven!” yelled Andrielle.

  “Good luck to you, too, Andrielle,” responded Karven, before the formation of dragons filled the night sky and almost completely blocked the moonlight.

  A second burning tree hurtled through the sky towards the city. Karven soared to it with great speed, catching the tree in his claws with a smooth roll of his body. Strips of bark burst from its surface as his grip took hold.

  “Dragons, grab yourself a tree and let’s show them how bitter their own medicine tastes,” cried Karven.

  The dragons all blew a burst of fire in acknowledgement of Karven’s order and flew powerfully in Kassina’s direction, ready for war.

  Andrielle sat in her room, sharpening her sword with great haste. Her door creaked open as she felt a presence enter and close the door behind them. She breathed deep as she turned to face her intruder, her shaky hands revealing her fear.

  "My queen, you summoned me?" asked Dryden softly.

  She turned to him and stared at him with watery eyes. After a silent moment, her lip quivered as she began to cry. "Is this really happening?" she wept.

  Dryden approached her gently and hesitated before daring to take her in his arms and hold her close to his chest. Her words came in quick breaths between sobs. "Look at me! I need to lead us into war and I am falling apart. How will I do this? I have never shed blood in my life. Deep down, I am scared stiff. Am I a coward, Dryden? Do I have what it takes to lead them?"

  Dryden reached up and held her chin to bring her face up to his as he looked deep into her eyes. "My queen. If I may, it is because you are scared stiff, and you still stand to lead them, that you are worthy of doing so. Courage is in your heart, and I will be proud to stand beside you in battle, Your Highness. I will protect you and Helenia, and would die for either of you."

  Andrielle looked deep into his eyes and she suddenly leaned in to lay a soft kiss on Dryden's lips before her eyes burst open and she quickly withdrew from his arms. A shudder went through the ground as a burning missile crashed into the city.

  She looked away from him and her face reddened. "Forgive me, Dryden,” she whispered. “You are one of my most trusted friends, and I did not mean to break that trust. Thank you for your kindness, but I need to be alone for a moment. Please, leave me to make ready my sword."

  Dryden smiled. "My trust has not been broken, my queen. I am always here for you, whatever you need."

  He shut the door behind him and shook out his hands to calm his fluttering heart as he returned to his duties.

  Chapter 15: Homecoming

  “I never thought war would be such an awful reality until I stared into its grisly face. To die in battle is often referred to as a heroic act, but I will never understand that. What glory is there in bleeding to death in agony on the battlefield?

  I have no intention of dying at the hands of my enemy.”

  (General Faowind of Veldrenn)

  Vartan dismounted from Nymira and onto familiar grounds, drawing the night’s air into his lungs. Closing his eyes tight, he took in the air through his nose, hunting for the scent of blood. His eyes shot open and his heart pumped wildly when the vision’s memories flooded his mind. The blood, the writing, the bodies, the ropes—all sent cold shivers up his spine and turned his stomach.

  “Vartan, I will hide myself outside and be ready at the first sign of trouble. All you need to do is to call for me and I will be right here,” said Nymira.

  Vartan and Tusdar watched her slowly fade into the night as she mutated her scales and her footprints were all that were left behind.

  Tusdar put a hand on Vartan's shoulder and whispered, “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  “No, thank you, Tusdar,” replied Vartan, patting his companion's back. “This is my journey to make. Search the surrounding area, and yell for me if you find any survivors. Search quietly and carefully.”

  “As you wish, Vartan,” said Tusdar, nodding. He watched as Tusdar began his search through the surrounding farmland, walking carefully with each step. Satisfied that Tusdar was busy with his task, he spun around to face the farmhouse.

  Come on, Vartan, be strong, said Keturah reassuringly. I am right here with you, no matter what happens.

  I need to be able to see, it’s far too dark tonight, thought Vartan.

  He closed his eyes and whispered, “Emitte lucem et veritatem.”

  His eyelids sparkled momentarily as the spell took effect. Today he was going to take no unnecessary chances, and he drew his sword into the night to lead his way. The shimmer of moonlight reflecting off the blade almost blinded his ensorcelled eyes and he shook his head to refocus his vision. Vartan stepped onto his family porch and almost tripped over the rocking chair that was lying on its side. A horse carving rolled off the chair and bumped against his feet. Vartan picked it up and raised it to his face. The memories of his bother playing with the carving when he was still human filled his heart with joy and he allowed himself a smile. “Ah Finn, how you always loved to play,” he mumbled to himself.

  He placed his brother's carving back on the chair and steadied his nerves.

  Things are different, thought Vartan. And if things are different, then maybe my vision was only a dream.

  Vartan allowed himself a smile and approached the door carefully. As the door creaked open, the stench of blood suddenly overwhelmed his senses and stripped the smile from his face. Embers in the fireplace twinkled in his vision like diamonds, and a sense of déjà vu smothered him.

  Vartan frantically ran up the stairs, taking no notice of anything else around him until he stopped short of his parents’ bedroom door. He looked down reluctantly and noticed that a crude blood trail led i
nto the room, under the door.

  No! It can’t be true! he thought. I need to keep my senses sharp, and I can’t do that with this spell on my eyes.

  “Ex viso cantio dispellatur.,” whispered Vartan, and his view returned to darkness.

  Only the light escaping from beneath the door and the dim red glow from the fireplace downstairs granted him sight. The sound of the blowing wind whistled from behind the door. It was then that the creaking of ropes reached his ears. Abandoning all hope, Vartan could only see red as his blood surged through his veins.

  Please gods, no. Let it all have been a dream, thought Vartan.

  Taking a step back, he booted the door open as hard as he could before charging into the room. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright moonlight through the broken window.

  With his sudden entrance, Vartan had barely enough time to notice the silver blade coming at his neck. He dropped onto his back and slid forward on the dusty floor. As if time had slowed down, he watched as the shiny blade flew over his nose and Vartan felt the cold of its steel on his skin before his sliding body halted near the open window under a cloud of dust.

  In the moonlight, Vartan could make out the grey skin of his mother lying dead on the floor. The usually light wooden planks were almost completely drenched in dried blood. Like a startled snake, Vartan turned sharply on his opponent, whom he could just make out. The figure appeared too large to be a woman and was wearing a heavy robe.

  The rage took over his body when he noticed the hanging lump of flesh out of the corner of his eye. The blood dripped onto the floor and rivulets of it trickled into slowly expanding pools.

  “Damn you!” screamed Vartan. “May the gods not have mercy on your soul!”

  He ran at the figure in the darkness and stabbed at him with furious intensity. The man grunted as he barely dodged the attacks; Vartan’s sword met his own with a loud clash of metal. Vartan shouted and kicked the man’s chest with all of his might. As the force of the blow sent the man crashing through the wall and tumbling down the stairs, dust from the broken wall filled the room and made Vartan cough uncontrollably.

  Like a man possessed, Vartan hurtled through the broken wall and down the stairs to see the man crawling towards the door in agony, spitting blood across the dirty floor. His sword lay idle by the fireplace, and Vartan snatched it hastily off the ground.

  “Nobody skins my parents and lives to tell the tale, you filthy animal!” yelled Vartan.

  With a smooth motion, he plunged the man’s own sword through his leg and pinned him in place. The man grunted in agony and his hands shook weakly. He spat more blood from his mouth. Vartan lifted his sword high in the air and aimed it at the man’s still-cowled neck. The man waved a hand with his remaining strength, as if he was trying desperately to gain Vartan’s attention.

  “What could you possibly have to say for yourself before I run you through?” asked Vartan angrily.

  Despite his leg, still impaled to the floor, the man managed to turn over to face Vartan, his quivering hand pathetically shielding him from Vartan’s sword.

  Vartan, is that who I think it is? asked Keturah.

  Vartan dropped to his knees by the man and was overwhelmed with grief. Tears clouded his vision.

  “No! What have I done?” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He buried his face in his hands in anguish.

  Vartan thought back to the vision and realised that he had ignored something. He raised his head and turned to the message written with blood on the wall.

  How does it feel to have killed your own father? Now who is the pathetic one, young knight? Lots of love, Kassina.

  “No!” screamed Vartan, turning to his father who wheezed on the floor. Vartan crawled over to him desperately and felt Nymira’s presence through the open doorway.

  By the gods, Vartan, is that your father? she asked.

  “Nymira, you have to help him,” pleaded Vartan. “Is there anything you can do?”

  He opened his father’s mouth to see that his tongue had been roughly cut out. Fresh blood still oozed from the wound.

  “That damned witch Kassina—what has she done to you?” cried Vartan.

  I’m sorry, Vartan, said Nymira, but I cannot take him to a healer in time to save him from a human’s death. However, this will not be the end for him. He will be born again as a dragon, as will your mother. Nothing on this planet can save him. Where is your mother?

  Leon grunted again as he grabbed Vartan’s sword, placed the hilt into Vartan’s hands, and nodded with tears in his eyes, collapsing his head on the floor. Vartan stepped back in defiance.

  “No, I will not kill my own father. I will not fail my entire family. Not today, not ever,” he cried.

  Vartan, do you have any other artefacts aside from me? asked Keturah.

  Vartan turned to Nymira as the realisation sank in.

  “You said that nothing on this planet will save my father. What if something from another planet will?” he asked.

  Vartan quickly threw his pack to the floor and rummaged through for the objects he obtained from She’Ma’Ryn. As he searched his pack, Vartan found the source of a faint pink glow and when he pulled the glowing object out, he held the golden egg. He smiled as hope now spurred him on.

  You cannot heal your father while he has a sword stuck in his leg. It has to be removed, and you will need to act quickly, said Keturah.

  “Father, I need you to prepare for me to remove the sword. I am so sorry, I had no idea it was you,” said Vartan.

  Leon nodded in agreement and he closed his eyes tight to brace himself for the pain. Vartan grabbed hold of the hilt with both hands and held down the leg with his knee to stop his father from moving unnecessarily. He carefully eased out the sword. Fresh blood spurted into the air and all over his body. Leon groaned with the burning white pain as he clutched at the wound.

  Vartan panicked at the sight of the blood, staring with vacant wide eyes.

  Now focus! said Keturah. The artefact you hold is called an Egg of Life. I have seen these in our world’s equivalent of your City of Wonders. It is incredibly rare and immensely powerful. You need to carefully twist it open and be sure to get every drop into him.

  Vartan lifted the egg to his face and gently turned the two halves until they clicked. As carefully as he could, Vartan pulled the halves apart. There was a slight hiss and the scent of a desert rose filled the air. There was a sparkling pink liquid within the egg. Vartan balanced it precariously in his hands, battling with his nerves to stop it from spilling uselessly to the ground.

  “I need you to swallow all of this. I know your mouth must be painful right now, but it is the only way,” whispered Vartan.

  Vartan used his free arm to help raise his father’s head, and Leon sipped the pink liquid into his mouth and swallowed. Twitches of sharp pain passed across his eyes and he clenched his fists. It only took a few moments for the magic to start its work. Leon’s body began to glow pink, increasing in intensity until Vartan couldn’t bear to look at him. The light was almost blindingly bright.

  The room filled with a high pitched ringing sound that grew in intensity until Vartan had to cover his ears to block it out.

  The light slowly dimmed, and Vartan turned to look at his revived father. Leon was already standing up straight, breathing deep with his sword in hand. He had discarded his heavy robe and stood before Vartan in his slightly torn clothes, the fury in his heart pumping through his veins. He reached into his mouth and found that his tongue had also regenerated and he was once again able to speak.

  Smiling with pride, Leon strode over to give his son a rough but warm hug.

  “Thank you, Vartan,” said Leon. “That cowardly bitch Kassina and her vampire assassins ambushed the house while we were sleeping; they imprisoned us after taking Greenhaven. By the gods, whatever was in that strange egg has returned all of my strength to me!” He flexed his muscles in wonderment. He swung his sword into the wall with the crudely written bl
ood message with such force that the blade stuck, leaving the hilt wobbling in the air.

  “That wench skinned your mother, while the vamps forced my eyes open to watch before they cut my tongue out. I can still hear her screams... how I long for the day to return that favour,” growled Leon, his face full of horror. He turned back to Vartan. “Then they left me here alive and told me that if I were ever to leave the rotting bedroom, the assassins would be waiting for me and turn me into one of those vile creatures. I thought you were one of them when you burst into the room. I managed to find my sword that I had hidden away in case anyone broke in, after they had left. I thought about jumping out the window, but I would have broken my legs."

  His face paled as it dawned on him that he had fallen into a trap, and he ripped his sword out from the wall hastily.

  “Vartan, the assassins are likely still out there and probably waiting to ambush us. Is there anyone else with you?”

  “Nymira?” asked Vartan, as the Dragon Queen slowly shifted her scales back to show herself.

  Leon stared at her in surprise and then immediately bowed down to greet his queen.

  “My goodness, get off the ground, you silly fool, and prepare yourself for battle!”

  “Yes, my Queen,” replied Leon, abruptly returning to his feet as his face reddened.

  A panicked scream escaped the fields outside, and was quickly muffled.

  “Oh no – that was Tusdar!” growled Vartan.

  Vartan and Leon stealthily approached the farmhouse windows, peering out to see if they could locate Tusdar. Nymira pulled her head out from the doorway and looked around to scan the many fields around them.

  Standing in a circle around them were at least two dozen vampire assassins, leering in the moonlight, their black clothes flapping in the wind. One of them wore red jewels on a gold necklace and stood closest to the house with Tusdar held in a tight armlock, a sharp silver dagger held to his neck. Its tip pierced Tusdar’s skin and drew tiny droplets of blood.

  Take down their leader first, and the rest will crumble, thought Vartan as they stepped out of the farmhouse, studying the positions of the awaiting vampires.