Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One)

by Julian Saheed

"Confounded Nyrune," mumbled Ludvic under his breath. "What kind of farce is this weather?" He shook his heavy fur cloak causing the snow to fall off of it in thick clumps. The powdery snow soon covered his body in another layer of ice and he shook his head in resignation. There was nothing that he could do against these conditions.

  The unfortunate gelding that he had procured for his journey walked with a tired head and often grunted its disapproval of the icy weather of northern Feldom. Ludvic had spent half of his life in these lands, but even he had never grown accustomed to the constant snow and rain. In the best of months the snow fell less frequently and the ground was turned to a slush that one could wade through with little difficulty. In the harsher months, it paid to stay indoors as the snowfall covered the earth in several feet of powder and the winds blew so strongly that even the heaviest of individuals could not keep their footing.

  What does that fool see in this land that is so worth keeping? thought Ludvic as he spotted Auldney on the dark horizon. Baldoroff was so stubbornly opposing King Castaneda's demands for a city that was surrounded by perpetual darkness and storms. "As gloomy as a summer's day in Auldney," his mother had always said. Strange, as she had truly loved the city.

  The heavy walls of Baldoroff's capital were covered in the grime and dirt thrown against it during the unending storms. The wood worked in amongst the buildings was stained black, rotting from the constant damp in the North. It was no pleasant site and the people he was heading to meet were no more appealing.

  Rolling pastures that had seen little use fell away to the rocky ground that surrounded the city and soon Ludvic's poor gelding was losing its footing on the slippery stone path. The well fed Honour Guard slid from his saddle and walked the horse the rest of the way. By the time he had reached one of the city's gates he was completely out of breath.

  "Who goes there?" called a guardsman from the top of a battered watchtower.

  "Ludvic Hammerfell."

  A loud shout followed and the gate began to creak open, the rusty hinges grinding together with a terrible screech. Ludvic passed into Auldney and did not bother to speak to the watchman who had bolted down the ladder in hope to see the Honour Guard. The streets were filled with cheerless individuals carrying baskets and sacks. All wore thick fur coats to keep out the chill and high boots to avoid the so common frostbite. A disappointed moan escaped Ludvic's lips as he trudged through the desolate streets.

  He made his way past dark buildings that were simple in design, with as few openings as possible to keep out the cold. The walkways were lined with vendors of all sort. Metal smiths, fish mongers, cabinetmakers, tanners, and everything else that an isolated city such as this would require. Workers called out to him as he passed, offering spices and clothes that would change his fortune. He offered them little attention and followed the path into the city.

  "Ludvic, you old rat," came a call from the side of the street. The Honour Guard turned and found his mood lightening as he spotted a muscular man leaving a baker's stall. He approached Ludvic with a chunk of bread in his hands and crumbs covering his thin beard.

  "Fesvic!" called out Ludvic happily. "What has my little brother been up to all these years?"

  "Living the simple life," he replied.

  Fesvic Hammerfell threw the chunk of bread on the floor and wiped his hand on his black vest. He moved up to his brother and embraced him in a bear hug that took the Honour Guard's breath away. "It has been an age since you have come to visit me."

  "Eight years I believe," confirmed Ludvic.

  "Aye, that sounds about right. So what brings and old fool like you back home," asked Fesvic.

  "Baldoroff," replied Ludvic plainly, his nose scrunching up in disgust.

  "What else," said Fesvic, with a roll of his eyes. "Well, Brother, they have promoted me to Marshal."

  Ludvic let our a raucous snort. "You a Marshal. Dining and cavorting with the wealthy."

  Fesvic threw Ludvic a hurt look. "Well not all of us can become Maloreichar. I do what I can to keep my life as pleasant as possible."

  "And it looks like you've done well," replied Ludvic sternly. "You look more robust than you did when last I saw you."

  Fesvic coughed uncomfortably. On Ludvic's last visit he had found Fesvic lying in a reeking alleyway, in a pool of his own vomit. The Honour Guard had sorted him out and taken the bottle out of his hands. Fesvic had been an impulsive drunkard, thrown out of his home with no coin and no hope. Now, thanks to Ludvic's help, he was a high ranking member of Auldney's army, with responsibility and a level of respect that he had never held.

  "When was the last time that you laid your hands on a bottle?" probed Ludvic.

  "I have not touched a thing since your last visit. I promise you," he replied. "No ale, rum or wine."

  "Good," returned Ludvic. "If I ever see you with a drink in your hand I will give you the last beating you'll ever receive."

  "You are beginning to sound more like our father," commented Fesvic.

  "And you are beginning to look more like our mother," shot back Ludvic with a deep laugh. Ludvic placed his hand on Fesvic's back and motioned for him to walk. They moved down the street and Ludvic listened as his brother recalled the last years of his life. He was proud of Fesvic. When Ludvic had joined the army at the age of sixteen, Fesvic had just been born. At the time, he had regretted not being able to spend time with his energetic brother. But once their parents had passed away and Fesvic turned down a dark path, Ludvic had made sure to set him straight. Now his brother walked proudly, keeping a smile on his face. At least there was some joy to be had in Auldney.

  After Fesvic finished his long winded speech he stopped walking and turned to face his brother with a stern expression. "I know why you are here. With all my heart I advise you to turn around and return to the South. Baldoroff is insane. His madness will cause him to act rashly and, more often than not, violently."

  "I am not afraid of that arrogant fool," replied Ludvic in a resolute tone. "He will listen to my demands and comply if he knows what's best for him."

  "That's the problem," returned Fesvic. "He no longer sees right from wrong."

  "I know you only mean the best, but I must talk some sense into him. Lest he bring the rest of Feldom down with him."

  "Then go and speak with him, Brother. But don't expect much, for a sickness has gripped our old King's mind and he suffers from a severe case of bullheadedness," cautioned Fesvic.

  "This sickness seems to have a preference for those in seats of power," commented Ludvic.

  Fesvic embraced his brother in another hug. "Come see me before you leave."

  Ludvic nodded and watched his brother stroll off in the opposite direction.