The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1)

by Samuel Rikard

  Ravion watched his father's head fall from his body. It handed hard on the ground, bouncing a little before coming to a stop. His fist clenched in silent rage. He felt his knuckles pop in protest. He could not stand for this. His father, his mother, everyone he'd ever know was dead. They would pay dearly for this. He felt a cool breeze blow across his face. He didn't know why but it made him remember his training. His father's words echoed in his head. 'Clear your mind. A clouded mind makes a reckless combatant.'

  Ravion took a deep, but controlled breath, releasing the anger building up inside him. Revenge was not the way of his people. Nor was justice. His people held balance above all others. The scales had finally tilted in his favor. He forced all that was and was going to be from his mind. The only thing that mattered was this one moment. The moment when he would have to kill or be killed. He pushed his thoughts and emotions aside. Lifting his sword, he readied to defend himself.

  Teradun calmly approached the child. He wouldn't be careless. After all the child was surely trained. He'd never met a dalari who wasn't. Stopping outside the reach of the shortsword, he aimed to cut the boy down with his first strike. Like a flash of lightning, he struck, the blade down cracking out like thunder.

  Ravion brought his training sword up at the exact moment to stop the attack. He didn’t know how but his dull sword acted as if it had a mind of its own. His reflexes responded of their own accord, rescuing him from the sting of the alfaren blade.

  Caught off guard, the alfar took a step back, keeping his sword at the ready. How did he move that fast? Pressing again, he brought the blade down, with more strength and speed.

  Ravion felt his arms react. He brought the training sword up to defend. The weaker metal flexed beneath the force of the attack. He heard it snap, seeing the shattered pieces break splinter toward him. He closed his eyes, feeling the jagged shards fly past his face, leaving shallow cuts in his flesh. The blow dislodged his grip, knocking the shattered weapon from his hand. He looked down, spotting the jagged fragments in the dirt beside him. He took a step back, unsure how he was going to survive.

  Teradun smiled, “Your kind is nearly extinct. You no longer have the ability to defend yourself. And when I'm finished, the dalari will be nothing more than a distant memory.”

  Ravion stood defiantly against the alfar. He had to survive. He had to find his siblings and make sure they grew up.

  'A clouded mind makes a reckless combatant!' The words echoed in his head a second time, as if his father watched over him, guiding him in this fight.

  “Your task is for naught. You've spend your life in pursuit of my kind. I may not have been around when your emperor gave this order, but I will not stand by while you commit genocide. I promise you, I'll survive. And I'll find my people. When that day comes, we'll rise from the ashes and remove any trace of this outdated and idiotic order from both our histories. I don't know why you wish us dead but I'll find out. I'm just sad your emperor will be long dead before that day comes.” He took a step closer to the alfar, purposely placing himself within his attacker's reach.

  Teradun felt his blood boil with the defiant child's words. Unfortunately he was too close to effectively cut him down. He would not allow words against his emperor to go unpunished. Bringing his gauntleted fist down, he caught the child across the cheek.

  The impact launched Ravion off his feet. He felt the impression of the hardened leather across his face. For the briefest of moments, he was weightless, flying through the air. His face hurt but it had to feel better than a sword cutting into him. He collided with something hard but forgiving, forcing the air from his lungs. Panic rushed through him, causing him to spasm where he lay. Focusing on his task, he calmed himself, controlling his breathing. Looking around, he found a pile of alfaren bodies beneath him. Rolling from the mound of death, he searched for anything that could help him. The sight of his father's body drew him in. His gaze locked on the longsword lying in the dirt, inches from his hand. Climbing to his hands and knees, he looked around, locating his attacker. Teradun was over fifteen steps away, whereas the sword was just out of reach. Ravion smiled, he had plenty of time to get the sword before the alfar would be upon him again. He launched forward and grabbed the sword. Continuing around, he rolled to his feet, standing with sword in hand.

  The alfar smirked, making his way for the armed child.

  Ravion took a defensive stance, lifting the surprisingly light weapon. It weighed barely half what his training sword did. Raising the blade, he prepared for the next assault. A single heartbeat felt like a lifetime, watching the alfar tower over him. As before, he reacted with pure instinct, deflecting the multitude of blows raining down upon him. He felt a bit of joy watching his attacker struggle against him. He didn't have much of a plan, but this was working. Each unsuccessful strike granted him more time for his next action.

  Sweat poured from the exhausted alfar, swingling wildly, trying to get past the young dalari's defenses. Unable to find weakness in the miniature form, he was rapidly growing tired.

  Ravion felt his strength growing. Even the sweat he'd felt clinging to his skin was fading. He took a deep breath, allowing the calm to flow through him. He was connected to everything and nothing. Like a bystander watching his own body, witnessing the world around him with superior knowledge of its events. The entire battle quickly played out before him. He watched in shock, reliving his father's death, only this time his emotions remained in check. He reviewed everything up to his current point, but it didn't stop there. The battle was moving forward, revealing details that hadn't yet come to pass. The vision, as best he could figure, played to its conclusion. He knew he was still fighting and, judging by the fact that he hadn’t felt any pain, he was still alive. Feeling himself sink back into his body, he deflected a quick jab from the towering alfar, as his vision revealed. Each action played out exactly as he'd seen, the precise moment was coming fast.

  Teradun swung hard, overextending himself.

  Ravion watched the opening present a perfect target, just as he'd seen. Using the opportunity, he thrust the longsword straight up into the leather plates. The blade sank deep with minor resistance. Surely he'd pierced a vital organ. Twisting the blade slightly, he was rewarded in blood, running down the polished steel, showering him in the crimson life-fluid.

  The alfar fell to his knees before the young dalari. His life fluid steadily pumping from the lethal wound.

  Ravion pulled the sword free, taking a step back to keep from being crushed by the large opponent.

  Teradun stared curiously at the child before him. How could a child not only hold me off but defeat me? Unable to take another breath, he fell to the unforgiving ground, his blood pooling beneath him.

  Ravion watched the life fade from the alfar's dulling eyes. He stood victor over the alfar responsible for his father’s death. He watched the life leave his enemy, feeling no remorse, nor pride in what he'd done. It was simply something that had to happen and he was destined to accomplish it.

  ***

  Hours passed, leaving the fading sun a soft glow on the horizon. Several fires burned brightly, illuminating the barren street.

  Ravion knelt down beside the forest road, studying the tracks. There were clearly fresh hoof prints, but that didn't explain where his siblings were. The alfar didn't have horses, so it was unlikely they went to Eastwood. “Alexzandra where are you?” His question was answered with silence. He felt the pain of losing his parents begin to grow within him, and now his siblings were missing. He searched the grove, for what had to have been the hundredth time. The flowers still lay there, trampled and wilting. A few drops of dried blood rested on the stems and petals, but not enough to suggest serious injury. Large, booted footprints covered the area in all directions, but they clearly came from town. Nothing suggested they returned with captives. Even if he knew who else had been here, the tracks were too numerous to locate a single set.

  He glanced up at the final slither of sunlight, disappe
aring behind the trees. “It's time,” he admitted, knowing no one was around to hear him. He pulled a small stone from the pouch strapped to his side. Securing the torch he'd brought with him, he quickly struck the flint rock against his father's sword. The sparks danced to life, finding refuge in the oil-soaked cloth. It flared to life, illuminating the area. He raised it overhead and waved it back and forth, signaling the others.

  A group of just over a dozen children, the oldest one looking to be a few years younger than Ravion, approached, carrying what few belongings they could manage, wrapped up in blankets and old packs. They stopped in front of him, awaiting his orders.

  “The path seems clear. If you walk all night you should reach Eastwood by midday. Tell the guards what happened and they'll make sure you're taken care of. Joshua, Carin, take these.” He handed two of the dull training swords to the oldest of the group. “Hopefully you won't have to use them, but it's better than nothing. Don't stop, don't split up, and don't leave the road. Take the torch. If you have to stop for the night, use it to make a campfire off the road. You don't want to draw unwanted attention, but you also don't want to be caught unaware in the dark either. Good luck.”

  The small group set out, disappearing into the shadows of the night.

  Ravion watched their light shrink in the distance. He couldn't help but wonder if his siblings had already headed that way. Returning to town, he wondered if the children would make it to Eastwood. Short of going along, he'd given them every opportunity to survive. It was on them now. It's for the best. They weren't in any condition to assist me. With a heavy sigh, he lit another torch and tossed it into a pile of straw he'd layered inside the tailor's shop. The fire flared to life, quickly spreading to the walls and ceiling. Within moments it encompassed the bodies within. He watched their flesh char through the inflamed doorway. It was a burden no child should have to bear. But he was the only one to carry it. The children didn't need to face this with him. They'd seen enough already. Their homes were gone. The best he could offer them was a chance at survival. Hiding his exposed flesh from the heat, he stuck another torch into the flame. Carrying it to another building, he tossed it in, letting the flame engulf the wooden structure in a matter of minutes. The alfaren bodies, piled inside, didn't deserve to be laid to rest with their victims. It'd taken the better part of the day to sort and pile them, but it was the right thing to do. Nearly everything he could find to burn was piled with them. It would take a great amount of heat to properly dispose of them, and the fires would be seen for miles but it was better than leaving them to rot in the streets. Leaving them to be consumed by the flames, he returned to the cabin atop the hill. His parents were wrapped in several layers of cloth and laid to rest peacefully in their bed. It wasn't quite according to tradition, but it would have to suffice.

  The once beautiful village of Winterhaven was now barren and dark. The moonlight made the blood soaked streets glow and the numerous pyres coated the ruined village in ash.

  Grabbing his father's backpack, he tossed a few sets of clothes into the bottom. It would have to be rearranged, but first he needed to load up. A slightly larger pair of boots were tied to the side. It would give him something to grow into. He rolled a thick woolen blanket up inside his bedroll and strapped it to the bottom of the bag, to save room. Searching every room in the house, he grabbed anything he thought he might need. The bag nearly overflowing, he continued packing. His father's whetstone fit perfectly into the side pocket, along with the flint stone. Pulling the drawstring taut, he tossed it over his shoulder and made for his parent's room for his final respects.

  “Thank you both for teaching me the value of life and the responsibility of death. I'll uphold the traditions of our people as best I can and honor the balance entrusted to me by my birthright. If I can find our people, I'll do my part to lead us into a new era.”

  He place a silver coin over each of his parents' eyes and turned to leave the room, snatching his father's belt and sheath on his way out. It was too large for him, but with a few simple modifications, it would fit. Locating his father's leather tools, he quickly sized the belt and tossed the smaller tools into the pack. Sheathing the sword, he tested his draw. It was a bit too long to draw smoothly, but he would grow into it.

  The last things he needed were food and coin. It would take some time before he could make either on his own. Stepping into the common room, he pulled a chair over to the hearth and climbed up. The small chest resting atop the wide ledge was filled to the brim with gold, silver and gems. Provided he could manage it properly, he shouldn't have to worry about funds for at least a few years.

  He stuffed the last bit of dried meat and fruit into his bag, and double checked everything, making sure he hadn't missed anything. Time was upon him. It would be daylight soon and he needed to get on the road. Hopefully Alexzandra and Demetrix would be waiting for him at Eastwood. Reaching the door, he grabbed the oil lamp resting on the corner table. With a final look around, he memorized every detail. He'd never see it again and such a memory would keep him going.

  Sighing deeply, he threw the lantern as hard as he could. It shattered, sending flaming oil all over the floor. The cedar shingles were ablaze in moments, burning away his past. Ravion turned and marched toward the forest road, ready to face what tomorrow held. He didn't know where he was going, but if any of his family was still alive, it was his duty to find them. It was a large world and he needed to search as much of it as possible. If nothing else maybe he could find and reunite the remaining dalari. His people needed to be led into a new age, and maybe he would be the one to guide them.

  ***

  The sun was beginning to set over the high mountain peaks. Flakes of white blew all around, landing comfortably on the sleet covered ground. The few trees stood, waving in the breeze of the cool evening air. Among the rocky peaks and thin trees stood a man, young in appearance, but with an aged sense about him.

  Over two hundred years had passed since a young child set out from a burning home to searched the world in hopes of finding anything that would unlock the secrets of his people. Over two hundred years of journeys and quest, in exchange for information. Over two hundred years of puzzles, all leading him to this one place.

  He stood at the mountain peaks looking into the wind. The frozen specks clung to his face, landing in dark contrast to his black cloak and navy blue garments. The sight before him filling his mind, he stared into the distance, feeling the snow and wind surround him. Pulling his cloak tight around his thin frame, he squinted down at the world below.

  Several kingdoms rested as far as the eye could see, each one holding secrets of their own. A long wall stretched across the land, sealing the northern lands from the south with a single outpost in the center. He couldn't help but feel helpless at the sight of the lands stretching as far as the eye could see. But the rumors and information he'd gathered sent him here, to the birthplace of the dreualfar, to the ancient lands of his people before their mistake.

  Ravion held the cloak tight, locking the chilling wind out. He took his first step into Dalmoura, making sure his foot was secure in the snow covered peaks. Again he stepped, each time moving closer to possible answers. His feet firm against the sloping, dangerous ground, he walked carefully, making his way into the strange new lands.

  Near the base of the large mountain range, he came across a weather worn sign, planted firmly in the dirt beside the winding mountain road.

  “Tresengal sixty miles,” he read aloud, wondering how long it would take him to reach the unknown city.

  Chapter V

  Wrath of Dragons

  The sounds of slaughter echoed through the trees, announcing the smell of smoke in the air. It was just beginning to settle, catching the rays of sunlight and layering the grove in a thick cloud.

  Demetrix covered his ears, trying to block out the frightening noise. The screams lingered long after they’d stopped. He could barely see his sister through the smoke. He couldn't hear her word
s but she was clearly screaming at him. A figure appeared behind her, more shadow than man. Demetrix lifted his trembling hand, extending his finger toward the man.

  What's he pointing at? The nearing footsteps caught her attention. Alexzandra spun around, to face the sun-gleamed edge of a sword hovering over her, poised to strike. The keen blade fell, sending a sharp pain through her chest. With a spray of blood, she flew through the air and landed roughly in a patch of daisies.

  Demetrix stood frozen at the spectacle. Is she dead? Who is he? Why does he want to hurt us? He glared at the man, unable to take his eyes off the tall figure.

  The man stepped toward him, his sword in hand, ready to cut the child down, as he had his sister.

  Demetrix watched in horror. The echos of pain and fear began to fade, replaced by the sound of hooves. A rider appeared from the fog, moving quicker than anything he'd seen before. The horseman drew an unusual, dark-colored sword. As fast as he'd drawn it, he brought it down on top of the man.

  The slender figure stood motionless for a long moment. He took a step forward and fell face first into the dense grass.

  The horseman continued on, coming to a stop a few feet past the children. He jumped from his saddle and approached slowly. “Demetrix, do not fear me. My name's Meaius. I'm here to help.” He cleaned and sheathed the wide sword.