The Legend of the Trilidiras © - Chapter 3
Category: Writing and Poetry

Chapter Three

A shadow in the moonlight

As those cold southerly winds blew north across the Peninsula of Bilbareth, a single horse and cart turned off the rocky trail that was known as the Northwestern Road. Slowly the carriage ground to a halt and the prisoner caged upon the back shivered from the bitter breeze and shuddered with apprehension. The two guards, who had drove on relentlessly through the day, now clambered down from the vehicle and made their way towards the rusty gates of the pen. Samuel recoiled with fear as he heard their soft footsteps approach upon the moist grass; the veiled moon and hidden stars made the sound ever more chilling. The gates creaked open and a fiery torch hauntingly illuminated the faces of the guards who had hauled Samuel from his dark cell within the dungeon.

"It's play time," they croaked.

The night before, hours after the cart had made it's hasty exit from the Great City. The guards had halted their journey within the grounds of an old garrison that was seldom used by the King's legion. On that occasion, they had opened the cage gates to see Samuel's limp, naked body, curled upon the carts straw covered base.

"Look at him, pathetic," said Goofy.

"Come on you, out you go," responded Bully. Samuel had had enough travelling time to name his keepers.

"You're letting me go?" He asked timidly, as they unchained his feet and manhandled him to the floor.

"Oh no, we've got many more days of fun with you," they laughed as they closed in on him.

Samuel tried to cower away but he had no place to hide and no strength to run. Bully and Goofy then proceeded to have their 'fun', and beat Samuel within inches of his life. They took turns in seeing who could strike him the hardest and be first to make him lose consciousness, that was the game they were playing and Samuel was not aware who won.

The following morning, they were on the move again. Samuel awoke to find scraps of food at his feet, and a bowl of water within reaching distance; hastily he ripped away at the tough bread with his teeth, and quenced his thirst with the liquid that was discoloured with dirt. They travelled eastwards, towards the direction of the rising sun, which was shielded by the dark clouds that gathered ahead of them. As they advanced, the foul eastern weather brought a torrent of rain that was soon lashing down upon them. The conditions almost immediately became difficult, and the poor beast that pulled the cart found his way hindered by standing water and growing mud. Samuel too, struggled within his cage; he tried in vane to find shelter but could only lie motionless, shivering in the downpour.

By mid afternoon they had reached the crossroads that linked the Great City Way with the Northwestern Road and Southern Trail. These were the three main routes, which led travellers in and out of the Peninsula through the Wall of Eisor. As they approached the junction and turned left to the north, Samuel noticed two riders journeying west. His eyes met those of the elder mans and he instantly recognised the traveller as a Devotee. The gaze was warm and compassionate and through utter shame, Samuel found himself unable to keep eye contact. He felt less of a man now, than he ever had.

Daylight had no sooner turned to dark, upon their second night away from Babushka, when the sound of voices stirred Samuel from an uneasy sleep that he had already drifted in and out of many times.

"It's getting late, how far have we come?" asked the goofy sounding voice from the head of the cart.

"Not yet eighty miles," answered a rough whisper. "It's over forty leagues from the city to the Wall of Eisor, we wont be passing through the Northern Gate for another day yet."

Samuel tried to lift his battered and bruised body but found it weighty and lifeless. Although his hands were free, the heavy chains that clasped his legs together were excruciatingly uncomfortable, and every small movement was accompanied by an agonising groan.

"You know, we could get rid of this scum now, he wont last long out here in this wilderness," said Goofy as he enjoyed the sight of Samuel struggling.

"You heard what the Prince said, ride him along the Northwestern Road until the borders of the forest," answered Bully in his rough croak.

"That could be weeks away, this guys already shaky."

"And how are you going to explain us leaving the road early? The Prince has scouts all over the Peninsula; they'll be watching us. We'll take him to the forest like we were told, besides we can always have some more fun along the way," Bully said as he turned to his partner and let out a cackling laughter.

"Good, my knuckles are itching," sniggered Goofy.

"There's an opening a couple of miles ahead, we'll pull over there for the night." Replied Bully, much to his cohort's pleasure.

Samuel shuddered as he listened. He couldn't take any more beatings and from the cries of the baying crowds in Babushka he had assumed he was being taken to Zalcatar. What was the forest that Bully spoke of?

Samuel did not find the answer to his question that night. Instead, the terrifying sight of the guards closing in on him was his only memory from those hours of darkness. That scene was to be repeated on every night of his journey. Each time the cart came to a stop after the sun had set and the night was cold and lightless, the prisoner would recoil in fear and quiver upon the cart floor. Each beating seemed worse than the last and the thought of the kicks and punches drove Samuel insane with terror as the tears flowed from his blood shot eyes.

On the third and forth days of that evil ride, the previously foul weather subsided. Many miles of rocky cliff tops, undulating green countryside and tree covered hills that were blanketed with ferns, rolled by; on any other journey Samuel would have marvelled at the ever-changing landscape. They pressed on and passed through the Northern Gap of the Wall of Eisor. A few miles further in land, heading eastwards still, they soon approached a junction of seven roads known throughout Bilbareth as The Forks. Each of these seven roads would lead travellers to a different corner of Ramramagad. The guards, knowing their task well, stuck firmly to their route by taking the first turning left. This road, still known as the Northwestern would lead them back towards the cliff tops and around the Gulf of Arbed. From the books that Samuel had read, he knew the Fork's ancient roads were those used to ferry away individuals whose sentence was banishment form the Great City. For a moment he imagined seeing the carts of fellow prisoners wheeling away towards dissimilar fates. Temporarily he felt comforted and calmed by unseen companions, but as the other roads slowly departed into the distance, the lonesomeness and despair that was now all too familiar, set in once more.

The long days and bitterly cold nights slowly continued to pass. The thrashings sustained, and the small remnants of Samuel's spirit began to fade. It was now fifteen days since they had set out from the Great City and although the prisoner did not know it, his ride with his tormentors was soon to be over once and for all. Their two weeks upon the road had seen them travel over two hundred leagues in a somewhat arch shaped direction. From leaving Bilbareth they had journeyed north and westwards through the relatively quiet country of Westmerland and into Sirania, a primordial and once wealthy province.

"There, the forest is just a short distance ahead," said Bully as he pointed into the ever-increasing dark night.

"We've gone far enough haven't we?" Asked Goofy.

Both guards were relieved that their objective was almost complete but now became nervous and overwhelmed by the sight of the ominous shadows of the forests trees; the silhouette of which, was as sinister as its reputation.

Bully paid attention to his colleague and pulled the cart to a stop; both his and Goofy's anxiety now rose as they listened closely to the nightly noises, for it were a strange place and a bizarre night. The distant sounds of the sea to the south had slowly been replaced by the peculiar calls of birds that now flew erratically overhead. The shallow cries of small animals within the undergrowth quietly echoed around them, as though they were warning one another from some oncoming terror, even the beahviour of the horse that had brought them over six hundred miles now became unusual, as he stamped his feet and became distressed. Moments passed, the strange manners of the animals went astray and all fell quiet. Suddenly from the very depths of the earth beneath Ramramagad there came a deep rumbling. Samuel awoke from his bare consciousness and felt the ground begin to shake violently, the vibrations rocked the cart to and fro and for a moment the prisoner thought that the ground was going to open up and swallow him, if indeed he wasn't already dead, and this was all just some part of his passing into the after life. Bully and Goofy held onto the cart for fear of being thrown off, heartbeats seemed to turn into hours as the quake continued, but no sooner had it suddenly begun, the tremors abruptly ceased. Almost immediately, birds began singing in the treetops as though they were hailing the dawn of the day. The two guards looked at one another strangely for it was a sensation that neither of them had ever expierenced before; they were now ever more eager to complete their task and be on their way.

"Let's get him out," called Bully.

"What the bleeding hell was that?" Goofy said not listening to his partner's instructions.

"It doesn't matter what it was, I isn't stopping around here for any longer than I needs too, lets just get this over with."

Goofy didn't need telling twice. He unlocked the cage and found Samuel staring back at him in the moonlight. There was no longer any point in the prisoner resisting for he was now far too feeble. He had been fed very little, the minimum amount needed to keep him alive so the guards could continue to have their fun. Their fun however was almost up and although he didn't know it, death drew nearer to the unfortunate Samuel. Bully and Goofy hauled him off the back of the cart for the final time and threw him to the ground underneath the shadow of the eerie wood. The cold wind whistled through the branches of the ghoulish looking trees and bit sharply at Samuel's naked skin. The howling of the gusts sent shivers down all three men's spines; this was not a welcoming place to be after nightfall. The guards got straight down to work and beat the captive for the final time, their strikes however did not carry as much venom as previous nights as both guards seemed somewhat bewitched by being on the daunting doorstep of the forest.

"That's enough, hold him down and I'll stick him," said Goofy.

Bully grabbed Samuel by the throat and pinned him down to the damp grass. The prisoner struggled and tried to fight back but his weak arms just hung numbly by the sides of his battered body. The moon was unveiled by the passing clouds allowing Samuel to see Goofy draw out his knife from the holder upon his belt, the shiny metal of the dagger blade glared against the moonlight. The reflection shone upon the killers face and Samuel saw his sick twisted smile as he drew nearer.

"What are you doing? This is not Zalcatar!" Squeeled the captive.

"Zalcatar? We never had any orders to take you to Zalcatar. Ride him towards Zalcatar is what we were told. Take him along the Northwestern road for it is long and concealed, and each night beat his scrawny behind until he has no breath left to plead. I will send no word to the steward for I do not expect him to ever arrive there, make it slow and make it painful, do you understand? Oh and we understand, our orders are to kill you!"

Samuel was struck dumb with fear as he smelt the awful stench of Goofy's breath through his broken teeth, and his eyes grew in terror as the knife came closer. He sensed his life drawing to an end and the images of his loved ones flashed one last time through his mind. He was about to give in to death, until a faint cry echoed from the clouds above, bringing a strange glimmer of hope to Samuel's almost lifeless heart. The sick twisted smile upon Goofy's face was replaced by a bewildered expression that resembled fear, as he sensed something approach from behind. Both he and Bully turned to the skies and as they did, a huge winged creature crossed the shining face of the bright moon, turned and hurtled towards them. The soaring god gave out a mighty cry as it bore down upon them with such immense speed and grace that Samuel envisioned it to be some messenger of Henduil himself. The gusts from its colossal wingspan were so potent that they knocked both Bully and Goofy off of their feet, suddenly freeing the stricken captive. More good fortune followed as the murky clouds dulled the bright moonlight and plunged the entire doorstep of the forest into complete darkness. Samuel lay motionless not knowing what to do until a strange unfamiliar voice spoke to him.

"Now you are free...run!"

The voice brought his wits back and he turned expecting to see a friendly face but there was no one but him and the dark. None the less, the words were wise and with all the strength he could muster he picked himself up from the damp ground and staggered into the direction of the forest. Without further thought he started to run as fast as his weak body would allow him. Never once looking back he fought his way through branch, thorn and bush until his strength waned and his weary legs gave way beneath him. He lay there for a moment amidst the undergrowth and could see nothing in the darkness that beset him. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his breath and the thumping of his own heart. He closed his tired eyes, not knowing if he would ever wake again.

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The Legend of the Trilidiras © - Chapter 2
Category: Writing and Poetry

Chapter Two

A secret uncovered

This wisps of black smoke ascended into the distant grey skies, as a gentle thunder growled, nothing more than the slightest rumble of the hungriest of bellies. The white robed man squinted his elderly eyes that lay beneath his flowing grey hair and peered into the far-away gloom.

"We are not far now," he said as he turned his attention back to his task.

He urged his horse forward and together with his younger companion, carefully lead their steeds down the steep muddy track of the rocky mountainside. They descended slowly through the grey afternoon mist and drenching drizzle for a further two miles, before coming across a sizeable shelf that appeared to be the uppermost tip of the dark green forest below.

 "Sir, is this it?" Asked the young escort.

"Let me be certain," said the grey haired gentleman as he dismounted his horse.

He cagily stepped forward and scanned the surrounding scene in wonderment as he checked the noticeable landmarks. He glanced down and opened a tattered, red-sleeved book at its centre pages.

The jagged stone, wrought like Kaylan's tooth

Larissa trees, standing tall and aloof

Overhanging boulders, ready to fall

Tresses of Laven's, down rock they crawl

The home of the last, should now be in sight...

He looked up and felt his heart racing. The stone, the trees, boulders and Laven's, they were all here, this had to be it. He advanced further into the shadow of the tall Larissa trees, and felt heavy drops of rain fall from the large concave leaves above. As he gazed towards the mountain side upon his left, he suddenly stopped and gaped in amazement, for there, cut purposely into the rock face, stood a doorway, dark and lonesome.

His companion raced past and quickly began to clear a path towards the entrance.

"I do not believe it, the myth is true Carlipid," he said with great excitement as he hastily threw stones and debris to the side.

"You mean you doubted me Azius!" Laughed the grey haired gentleman as he helped to clear the way.

Once an opening was fashioned they slowly proceeded. Carlipid led the approach, stopping just outside of the doorway to admire the ancient markings that surrounded the way in. He marvelled at the attention to detail and the patience that must have been required to create such artwork. Time however, had not been kind, and the old language that curved across the archway was now worn and unreadable. When they were ready to enter, Azius lit a torch and handed it to his master. Carlipid took a deep breath and crossed the threshold of the old home. In doing so, he became the first man to set foot in the ancient dwelling for almost one one thousand years.

The flame of Carlipid's torch lit up the rock walls and revealed another opening to their right. They passed through and entered the only room of the abode. The possessions and belongings that had been so hurriedly left behind were scorched and destroyed. The ransackers had done their job well, for little remained intact. Carlipid closed his eyes and pictured the days when the house was occupied. He could see meals being prepared and eaten, a roaring fire to warm the coldest of bodies, a straw bed, soft and comfy to sleep upon, and a desk in the corner were books were written.

"There is nothing left but shards and rubble," said Azius disappointedly.

"Do not fret," Carlipid said as he opened his eyes. Calmly he unwrapped his old tome and once again turned to the centre pages.

The jagged stone, wrought like Kaylan's tooth

Larissa trees, standing tall and aloof

Overhanging boulders, ready to fall

Tresses of Laven's, down rock they crawl

The home of the last, should now be in sight

Run, flee, away, one should now seek flight

The Watchers see all, draw nearer they creep

If catch you they do, forever you will weep

"Come Azius, search quickly, we must not linger," he said as he closed the manuscript.

They placed the flaming torch upon an empty holder that hung upon the wall and hastily searched the room and its remnants. Frantically they rummaged through the charred remains and just when it looked likely that their hunt was to be fruitless, Azius dislodged a loose stone to the side of a once warm and welcoming hearth.

"Sir," he cried with a thrill.

"Let me see," Carlipid whispered as he pushed his companion aside.

Slowly he removed the slack rock and found that behind it, lay several ancient papers. Gently he took them from their long time resting place and blew off the thick dust that had settled over many centuries.

"Bring me the torch," swiflty Azius carried out the order.

Carlipid muttered to himself for several moments as he read the faint words upon the fragile scripts.

"Well Sir, have we found them?" Azius asked, almost unable to contain his excitement.

Carlipid turned and smiled.

"I believe we have," he answered with great joy.

Suddenly, a loud cry cut short their euphoria. Carlipid quickly but carefully rolled up the old papers and cautiously placed them within his satchel. Together they fled the dark dwelling and speedily Azius gathered their horses, whilst the old man pointed to the skies and let out an unexpected volley of laughter.

"Look, the hawks alert us of danger. They appear to favour us," he said with surprise.

But as he spoke, a haunting sound of drums echoed around the mountains.

Boom, Boom, Boom!

The gaze of a thousand eyes could now be felt upon them.

"I suggest that we abondon our planned route. We must go down through the forest, a dark peril awaits in the peaks," Carlipid said calmly but with great fear.

"I agree," approved Azius nervously.

Hurriedly they mounted their steeds and raced away into the thick foliage. Carlipid managed to turn and take one last look at the ancient home before passing out of sight. He smiled with immense fulfilment, for after almost forty years of searching, he had finally found what he had hunted.

They sped on through the forest at great pace; rain sodden leaves brushing against their faces as they hurtled past. Although unsure of their precise course, Carlipid knew that heading down hill would lead them to more open lands and the relative safety of Bilbareth. They rode on through the night and it was not until dawn that they left the fringe of the forest. Later that day, the giant Larissa trees with the looming mountains at their rear, were nothing more than murky shapes in the distance. As they could now afford to relax, they slowed their grateful horses to a canter.

"We should find rest and shelter for the night. Our steeds deserve respite, and I am too old for such hard riding." Carlipid gasped.

"There is a village over the next hill, there is an Inn there if I am not mistaken," said Azius as he studied his map.

"Very well, we shall make for the Inn. But remember to keep our quest secret, I must seek counsel with my chief before we whisper a word of our findings to anybody, and the villagers in these parts will be more than intrigued about our travels," exclaimed the older man. 

That night they had the luxury of fresh water, warm food, and mattresses as soft as snow to sleep upon. Their spirits were soaring and after refreshing their otherwise weary bodies, they treated their selves to drinks in the bar to celebrate the success of their quest. It was a night that Carlipid never thought would come.

The rest of their journey home was relaxing and generally uneventful. Their only hindrance was the foul weather, which had been unrelenting since the first day that they had set foot upon the mountains almost one week ago. As it was now three days since their finding of the ancient dwelling within the peaks, they were nearing home and Babushka. As they approached the cross roads, just west of the Emval Vale, a single horse and cart drew nearer travelling eastwards. It trundled passed upon the wet and muddy road and as it did, Carlipid noticed a young man, naked, sodden and shivering within the cage upon the back. For a moment, the old man caught the gaze of the prisoner's bloodied eyes before the captive shamefully broke contact.

"Do you know that man Sir?" asked Azius intrigued.

"I am not sure, he looks vaguely familiar, like a quiet boy that I have seen many times amongst the book shelves of the library," he answered as his words faded.

There was a momentary silence as Carlipid looked on and followed the progress of the cart.

"Sir, we should be on our way, home is nearly in sight," commented Azius as he tried to recover his masters attention.

"Yes, of course," said the old man as he regained his focus.

They continued on along the now straight and simple road, when at last the incessant rain began to ease. The clouds above were breaking and behind their grey sulleness a tinge of blue sky was visible. Azius greeted the sight with delight.

"The weather looks to welcome us home," he shouted with glee.

"It would appear that the City of Babushka has been showered with sun during our leave. Long may our home remain Great," proclaimed Carlipid.

"Come then, I challenge you to a chase old man," roared Azius. "I will be the first to see the bell tower of our cathedral," he yelled as he raced off into the distance.

Carlipid hollered with laughter, although Azius was theoretically his manservant. Their relationship had developed to be that more likely of a father and son. The elder man was very fond of his aide and light-heartedly gave in by pursuing the younger man along the open road.

Later that day they were back riding along the familiar, busy streets of Babushka. Carlipid breathed a gentle sigh of relief. He and Azius had been on the road for almost two weeks and it was not until now that he felt completely safe and out of danger. The people of Babushka were a naive public and the ancient writing upon the papers that he carried would mean little to the majority if not all.

Soon after their arrival in the Great City, they passed through the gates of Carlipid's fine home in the heart of the capital. Azius immediately took care of their horses, whilst his master prepared himself for an important reunion with his order. He carefully trimmed his thick grey beard that had grown shaggy and unkempt and reflected on his last meeting with his Overseer. Sartorius had not approved of his quest and thought his actions to be be blasphemous and offensive. Carlipid only hoped that his finding would help to discover the truth and change his master's opinion.

As nightfall came, and the late evening sun was beginning to set, ridding the day of its amber glow. Carlipid rushed across the large open square in front of the Cathedral towards a small house upon its eastern plane. As he entered, he was immediately greeted with the sight of eleven white robed men sitting around a circular table.

"Well, the quest chaser has returned," said a man with hair as white as milk, but with roots as black as coal.

"Sartorius," Carlipid said as he amiably bowed.

"And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company? Oh courageous wanderer," Sartorius asked sarcastically.

"I admit that my absence has not been courteous, but it has also not been unrewarding," Carlipid said with great pleasure as he pulled the ancient papers from within his gleaming white robe.

The Overseer's stare instantly met the scripts with horror and disdain.

"Leave us," he said to the rest of the congregation, who in turn looked at one another with mystified eyes as they slowly departed.

Carlipid pushed the scripts towards Sartorius, who consequently lifted them gingerly from the table.

"And what are these?" he asked unflatteringly.

"These are the answers," responded Carlipid.

"These are your answers," Sartorius said as he threw the papers back down.

"I found these in the ancient dwelling of Arkineex, the very same home that is described in the book by Jonba,"

"Arkineex, Jonba! We are Devotee's Carlipid. These names should mean nothing to us."

"They should if we seek the truth," Carlipid said vehemently.

"The truth?" laughed Sartorius. "Henduil is all the truth that we need, he is the one we worship for because of him we are here." The Overseer knew he was in danger of losing his cool so calmed himself by pouring two glasses of strong mead. "Please Carlipid, sit, you must be weary from your travels," he said as he placed the glasses down onto the table.

Carlipid reluctantly sat but felt strangely vigilant.

"You know that as the second oldest and wisest of the Devotee's you are the favourite to take my place when I stand down,"

Carlipid nodded, though he knew the day that Sartorius stood down would be the day he was laid to rest.

"Our lives are not ordinary ones, we devote our time to helping others, to give faith to those that lack it. For centuries our order has been the rock that this country has leaned upon. However the days of our people looking to us for guidance are dwindling. You missed the Prince's wedding when you were away, as Overseer of the Devotee's I should have been asked to conduct such an occasion, but I wasn't, I was not even invited. To be deemed not worthy of celebrating a royal event such as this is an insult to our faction. The power of the Devotee's is slowly fading." The Overseer spoke solemnly.

Carlipid looked upon Sartorius' face and felt sadness; they had been friends for such a long time that it was hard not to feel pity for his superior, but if his own life's work was not to be wasted, he needed Sartorius on his side. As the leader of the Devotee's, it was he who would have the final say as to what action should be taken.

"My friend, I hear your words. But these papers, they will bring the people together once more. Once we translate them in their entirety they will create excitement,"

"For you maybe, but are you sure that you hear my words? The Devotee's faith in Henduil is no longer shared by the people of Babushka, let alone the rest of Bilbareth." Said Sartorius incessantly.

"Please, do me the courtesy of at least looking at them, I do not exaggerate when I say I have risked my life to find them," Carlipid said as he held the papers in front of his leader.

"Very well," said the Overseer as he took them off his understudy.

Sartorius mused over the writings for several moments before finally sniggering.

"Well these are obviously fake,"

"How?" asked Carlipid amazed. "To me they are obviously authentic." He was staggered at Sartorius' obtuseness.

"Appearances can be deceptive," answered the Overseer promptly.

"But you of all people, and your understandings of such ancient writing, should know that these scripts, these papers from the ancient dwelling itself, are no fakes." Carlipid was enraged that his master could dismiss his findings so lightly, so much so that he stood, leaned across the table and thrust the scripts into Sartorius' eye line once more.

"Excuse me?" Snapped the Overseer sharply, shocked and disgusted at his deputies tone. "Know your place. It is not true, and it is preposterous that you could even contemplate such blasphemous matters." He too became angered and the conversation looked like it could erupt into more than heated words.

"Sir, you have seen what I have, these documents are no fakes and you know it." Carlipid said as he took back the papers.

"How dare you stand there and accuse me of being a liar. What you are suggesting stands against everything that we live for." The Overseer spoke so passionately that his face now reddened with rage. He stood and looked Carlipid in the eye and felt his blood boil with fury.

"We must tell the truth, the people have a right to know," responded the slightly younger of the two old men. Carlipid was adamant that what he had unearthed was true, and he was not going to let the matter rest.

"I will hear no more of this," said Sartorius with a wicked growl as he threw on his outdoor gown. "Why do you wish to condemn something so great? This will destroy us once and for all. Do you honestly think that the lesser mortals of this deluded city care about our petty affairs and beliefs? The people of Babushka are weak and pathetic. They already look upon our order of old men with laughter. No Carlipid, these hideous slurs that you have uncovered will wipe out the Devotee's, eradicating the Legend of Henduil, and almost two thousand years of our history. I am not prepared to let that happen." And as the Overseer spoke he snatched the documents from Carlipid's hand, headed towards the door and slammed it violenty behind him.

Carlipid was infuriated; he had never known Sartorius to be so objective. he was aware that his Overseer did not approve of his worthless quest, however his hunt had been anything but insignificant. The truth was there for both men to see. Carlipid's hand had now been forced, his devotion to Henduil had saved his life and coming across something of this magnitude was far too important to dismiss. He placed his quivering fingers inside his robe and removed a further script, which for some unknown reason he had been reluctant to show his mentor. He pondered upon the writing. This script alone is enough.

Sartorius scurried across the stone paved square towards the Bilbareth Cathedral. The earlier fine weather of the day had turned sour and a cold wind blew a fine rain almost horizontally into the Overseers numb face. On reaching the Cathedral, he pushed the large iron doors open and their creaking sent an eerie echo around the ancient church. He hurriedly made his way down the central aisle towards the large altar at the front. Built out of blue and white marble upon a solid stone platform, it was a sight to behold for any worshipper who still held their faith. To the right of the altar, stood a solitary statue of 'The One', Henduil. Fashioned out of pure gold with sparkling green emeralds at its base, it was an awe-inspiring vision to even the most faithless of Babushkan's. Sartorius placed a soft red cushion with yellow hanging threads upon the ground, and knelt before the effigy of his almighty. Upon seeing the ancient scripts, a siege of adrenalin and fear had run through his veins. He had suspected that Carlipid was on to something of great consequence, but the content of the scrolls had rocked him to his core, the end of the Devotee's was now in sight. His flee from his would be successor was no coincidence and as always in times of need he turned to Henduil for answers. As he knelt with his eyes tightly shut and his thought firmly bent upon the ancient words, the scripts that he had just moment's earlier snatched from his understudy's hand, burnt steadily away upon a bed of coals within an alcove to his right.

That night, the rain continued to fall. The biting cold winds from the south picked up and came howling through the narrow streets of The Great City. Emotions in Babushka ran high after an eventful couple of days. Many, after the glorious event that was the royal wedding felt joy and elation; some, after the banishment of a loved one felt utterly heartbroken and shattered; another, after his master had ridiculed his findings felt determined and focused. However, above all of these feelings, there were some that would prove to be stronger. Sartorius remained upon his knees before the statue of Henduil, head bowed and eyes closed; all of his thought was bent upon finding an answer. Anger began to heighten within him, his hatred for those who no longer shared his beliefs, those who he had devoted his entire life to helping, was consuming, even his closest ally, Carlipid, had turned against him and the one whom he idolised. They would all have to pay for their sacrilege; they would be made to believe again for an answer now presented itself. Sartorius lifted his head and his eyes shone like red flame underneath his dark bushy eyebrows. He stood and bowed before the feet of Henduil prior to turning and hurrying away. Each step he took upon the elegant marble floor echoed ominously around the vast hall of the Cathedral. The large iron doors slammed shut behind him and reverberated around the wet streets of Babushka. Sartorius disappeared into the night, what he was about to do would change the world forever.

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The Legend of the Trilidiras © - Chapter 1
Category: Writing and Poetry

Chapter One

One journey ends, another begins

The sun of Ane'arth rises over the lands of Ramramagad, home to some of the most ancient realms of this world. Her gleaming rays of gold illuminate the narrow streets and vast squares of the Great City of Babushka. This thriving metropolis is mans greatest achievement. For over two thousand years humans have dwelt here upon the very edges of the sea, at the western point of the Peninsula of Bilbareth. The city of Babushka was built upon a giant mound by the finest hands of the foremost age, and ever since the first stone was so preciously placed, it has been reaching ever further into the skies. The colossal walls of the city protect the numerous houses of the King and scores of his people, as Babushka is home to hundreds and thousands of men, women and children, all of whom take great delight in being a part of the most marvellous civilisation in Ramramagad.

For this splendid nation, a new day had so beautifully dawned. It was the twenty-ninth day of the third month, in the year 1733, a Saturday, and it was a date that would be remembered forever here after, as King Harod's only son, Prince Greshkin, was to marry. The city rejoiced, heralds called upon singing trumpets, flags flew proudly as they glittered in the dazzling sun, and white streamers floated down to the cobbled streets from every rooftop. Love and joy was expressed by almost all, as the people of Babushka celebrated, unwittingly unaware that the events of this momentous day would help shape the destiny of each and every one of them.

It would be just, to say that not everybody inside the walls of the Great City leapt with exhilaration. News of the day's big events had not yet reached those that were left to rot amidst the dungeons beneath the Royal Castle. Within a dark corner of these damp and dirty cells, lay an uncomplicated man who went by the name of Samuel. With so much alcohol intoxicating his young blood, Samuel did not realise he was dreaming...the aroma of the fresh mid summer flowers breezing in through the open window was as genuine as the girl he watched potter about before him. The suns first light caught her long elegant locks and gave her a crown of golden tresses. Samuel looked on and realised that life could not get anymore perfect. His and Eliza's bond was now stronger than ever, their relationship had flourished almost as well as the first crops of that record-breaking summer. Everything was wonderful, this would be the right time to ask for her hand in marriage. It would be a glorious ending to an almost faultless year...or so this would have been if all Samuel had hoped for had come to pass, unfortunately, it had not and this was not just a dream, a memory from a moment in Samuel's life when everything seemed flawless. This was a dream that belonged to a drunken sleep. A dream he would have wished never to awake from had he known what awaited him.

As Samuel slept in his wet murky chamber, a rodent who had no doubt fed upon many forgotten corpes began to gnaw upon his cold fingers. Samuel awoke with a fright and the startled bloodsucker scampered off in search of a new victim. The young man was more than a little bewildered to wake in such a pit. He was no rabble-rouser, in his previous twenty years he had neither caused nor encountered the slightest crumb of trouble. He had been raised by good respectable parents and had excelled more than most in his education. The dungeons of Babushka were no place for one so gentle as he.

Too cold and terrified to move, Samuel tried to recollect his last mindful moments. Slowly, and somewhat hazily, the memories of recent months began to return. The fights, initially nothing more than tiny squabbles, had begun to escalate. The accusations that had been so sincerely denied had proven to be true. The overwhelming pain of being so cruelly deceived now all too swiftly returned. Samuel remembered everything that he wished to forget.

At first, the aching of his broken heart numbed him from the physical pain he suddenly felt evolve over his battered body. He groaned in anguish as he tried to shift his bruised torso, but his efforts were in vane. The guards had done their work well, his flesh was as shattered as his emotions.

Samuel had been cast into the cells for his drunken antics of the previous night, but he was certain that his actions had not warranted such harsh treatment. The real reason hurt Samuel more than any beating ever could, and that motive was the Prince's wedding. For Greshkin was to marry none other than Samuel's childhood sweetheart and the only girl he had ever loved, Eliza.

Samuel, Eliza and the Prince had known each other almost all of their lives as they were of a similar age and had been school companions throughout their early teens. Greshkin was and had always been, a loud, confident, somewhat arrogant character. Blessed with the body of an athlete and the looks of his most unblemished ancestors, he was the heir to the throne, and he made sure that everybody knew it. Samuel on the other hand had always been one of the quieter boys. Fair haired and fair faced, he lacked the robust presence of the Prince. Throughout his life, rather than causing mischief with other youngsters of his age, he had preferred to spend his time reading and writing. He had a love for ancient stories of magic and myth and marvelled at the courage of heroes in times of need. He would often read his books to his two younger brothers and one day hoped to teach at the school he had once attended. Eliza had been the girl in school whom all the boys desired and whom all the girls sought to be like. To some, she was the most beautiful young lady ever born in the Great City. With her lengthy flowing golden hair and the face of an angel on a bright Sabbath day she turned heads wherever she went, it was even said that her beauty surpassed that of the princesses of old.

Surprisingly to many, it was Samuel who had stolen Eliza's heart as she fell for his kind smile and simple ways, ultimately however, it was these undemanding customs that had become his downfall. Eliza had begun to distance herself from Samuel in the autumn of last year. She had grown ambitious and became increasingly tired of the traditional life that she could see developing, she wanted more and began to long for a life of meaning. Her friendship with the Prince began to evolve and for months she hid her true feelings from her first love. Samuel became suspicious and began to panic, his proposal of marriage that summer had been rejected. Eliza insisted that it was too soon and her response was not at all expected. Weeks passed and increasingly Samuel began to stifle his only love, unintentionally he pushed her away ever more. Eliza now knew that she had outgrown the boy she had once adored. She was no longer in love and love alone was just not enough. She thought she deserved something greater, and marrying a Prince could not be bettered.

Samuel struggled with his drunken stupor as he tried to fight off the pain of his wounds. The night before had been a disaster, a quiet drink in his favourite watering hole, The Dragon's Skull, had turned into a nasty confrontation with the Prince and his bodyguard, Slazeeri. They had arrived at his local tavern to taunt and humiliate him, and although Samuel was not easily roused, the alcohol within his blood had made him lash out. Suddenly, a feeling of intense anxiety began to stir in Samuels's soul.

"Oh please say that I didn't," he whispered to the dark.

Regrettably he had. In his drunken foolishness he had challenged the Prince to a duel on the morning of the wedding, and that morning was already upon him. He trembled as he lay curled like a foetus in the gloom, but still he tried to think rationally.

Did he think I was serious? It was a ludicrous suggestion.

Samuel already knew the answer. Greshkin could blow his own trumpet louder than the heralds could blow theirs. He would relish the opportunity to show off his skills in a public contest, he had been given a chance to humiliate an unworthy opponent.

"Open the gates!" squealed a terrifying voice from somewhere in the dungeons.

Almost immediately came the rattling sound of keys in a metal lock.

They're coming for me

Samuel turned to his right and saw two men enter his cell. They were only visible by the faint light of day that shone through a small barred hole high in the prison wall, but it was enough for him to see them clearly. One was short but thickset, and his twisted features made him look almost goblin like in appearance. The other was much taller, as thin as a rail with a hideously goofy expression.

"On your feet maggot!" ordered the smaller heftier man as he kicked Samuel hard in the ribs.

Scared and shaken, Samuel tried to cower in the corner but was easily dragged to his feet. Immediately he felt the immense pain from his cuts once more, and would have fallen to the ground had it not been for the guards violent grip.

"We got to get you ready for your fight, the Prince is waiting for you," snorted the dopey one hysterically.

They clasped Samuels's hands and feet in chains before hauling him out of the cell, just before they did however, a shrill cry echoed around the dungeon.

"He's coming, he's coming. Henduil is coming. The end is upon us. I have seen it!"

Samuel turned and saw, to his surprise, a frail old man crawl out from the shadows.

"Shut up you old fool. You haven't seen nothing!" shouted the burly guard as he beat the old man around the head.

Then to Samuels's horror he saw that the old man had no eyes. His eyelids had been stitched across the sockets after his eyes were prised out long ago.

"You're going to need more than Henduil to save you," whispered the dopey guard as he chuckled once more.

Samuel knew he was right, the ramblings of a babbling old blind man gave him no optimism.

From the cell, the guards led Samuel through a maze of narrow stone passageways, the likes of which made it near impossible to escape. They strode through the dark before eventually entering a small room upon their right. The guard's freed Samuels's hands and feet and left a maiden to prepare the prisoner for combat.

"How has it come to this?" he asked as the middle-aged woman gently strapped a breastplate to his bruised chest.

She smiled sypathetically as she continued.

"We were so happy," he said as he mused over the good times he had shared with Eliza. "How can she marry him? Why is this happening?" he sobbed.

A tear then fell onto his cheek and unexpectedly the maid immediately wiped it away. Without warning she put a strong caring hand upon his left shoulder and held his gaze.

"Do not fear, sometimes simple people find an inner strength in times of need, maybe this is your time." Momentarily Samuel thought he saw a wondrous radiance waver inside the eyes of a powerful queen as the maid stared at him intently, hastily however she retreated and turned away as of one bashful and maiden like again. Samuel thanked her for her encouraging words and managed to summon a tired smile. In his heart however, he was already a broken man, he had not the skill or valour to defeat Greshkin. His fate would either be death or imprisonment, hope was an indulgence he no longer knew. All of a sudden, both Samuels and the maiden's attention were drawn to the sound of royal trumpets. Not long after their chorus, the bolts of the thick wooden door were unlatched, it creaked open slowly and in marched several tall men. They each wore a long black cloak over the top of their grey garments. Upon their heads they bore silver helms with downward pointing wings to protect their faces. These were the Sentinels, the guardians of the royal family. Forward there stepped a noble looking man who wore no head covering. A small grey beard partially hid his worn face, and aging white hair led down to his tired eyes.

"Come young man, it is time," he said gravely.

Samuel rose and managed to exchange one last smile with the maiden beofre leaving. Yet again he was led through more dark and damp stone corridors. This time however he walked the Paths of the Damned. These were the tunnels that led towards the Collothearte, the grand arena of the city. Squealing men and women were once heaved down these passages so the royals could have their sport, and the sound of their haunting screams could still be heard in these ominous hallways echoing after nightfall.

Eventually, the nobleman's flamed torch brought them to the foot of some steep steps. On either side, upon the rock walls, hung two bronze plaques, engraved on each were the words, Those that pass, return by the will of Henduil only. Samuel took a deep breath, he looked up the staircase and saw upon each step the footprints of those who had walked before him. Further ahead, beyond the summit, he could see the clear blue skies of day and hear the roar of a great host of people. They shouted and cheered and through their muffled cries Samuel could just about make sense of their chants, they called aloud the name of their most beloved Prince, Greshkin, Greshkin, Greshkin! Realisation finally dawned upon Samuel that he was about to play a part in the morning of games before the royal wedding, and not only that, he was in the main event. The hoplessness he felt turned to fear, he frantically glanced around searching for a way out, but on each side of him stood tall, powerful Sentinels, there was no escape. The trumpets sang out loud once more and their petrifying resonance echoed in Samuels's ears.

"Now go on lad, up the stairs into the arena, and be blessed with whatever fate awaits you," spoke the Nobleman solemnly.

Samuel hesitated, the guards pushed him onwards and he had no choice but to reluctantly climb. With each step his heart pounded ever faster, his weighty chest armour grew heavier, and his padded tunic rubbed against his already blooded thighs. By the time he reached the top he was almost crawling. As he managed to step onto the gravel surface of the Collothearte, he was immediately greeted by a deafening din and blinding sunlight, he shielded his eyes with his hands as his sight took time to adjust to the intense glare. The noise was a mixture of cheers and heckles, the adoring applause was for the Prince who had entered the showground from the opposing end. The jeer's and boo's were aimed at Samuel. The natives of Babushka were exceedingly loyal to their noble rulers and had grown to idolize their future King. Anyone who stood against the royals, no matter what the cause, was a turncoat and guilty of the highest form of treachery.

The announcers slowly and humiliatingly paraded Samuel to the tens of thousands in the crowd as the Sentinels led him towards the halfway point of the arena. They spoke of his treasonous deeds and introduced him as a dangerous, untrustworthy villain. Samuel could do nothing but limp on and wince in pain as his uncomfortable attire grazed against his gaunt frame. The baking heat made his legs feel like dead weights and soon he stumbled and fell to the stony ground. The unruly crowd cheered with approval. Immediately he was pulled back to his feet and as he was, he managed to get a good look at the boistorous mob. Shockingly, he saw many familiar faces, people he would see from day to day, those he would call friends and acquaintances, all of which now had a look of loathing upon their face.

Was this really happening?

To his despair, he then saw his family. With all of his strength he tried to reach his mother, father and brothers and they like him tried valiantly to make contact as sturdy guards managed to hold them back. The Sentinels dragged him away and threw him to the floor. Samuel lifted his head from the sandy coloured gravel and saw positioned in the very centre of the Collothearte, the golden statue of Henduil. As he stared at the shining effigy time seemed to suddenly stand still. He then recalled the first time he had heard the most famous story in his people's history. For it was said that Henduil saved the world during the reign of a dark and evil lord, and sacrificed his self to save all others. It was upon this myth that an entire religion was based as the story gave hope and meaning to so many. Samuel however was never a true believer, no matter how many times the Devotees had tried to turn his views. Now, as he looked up at the immaculately kept figure that glimmered in the midday sunlight, he felt mocked, as though this was his punishment for lack of faith.

He finally staggered to his feet and the Sentinels brought him forth to face the King, who sat watching from inside the royal box. Greshkin appeared beside the prisoner and glanced down upon Samuel with a smug smile. Harod took to his feet and stood pompously before his people as trumpets rang aloud once more. The masses fell silent and Samuel quivered at the sight of his ruler.

"So this is the brigand who thinks he is a better man than my son," proclaimed the King.

The horde erupted with laughter, for the scrawny Samuel looked no match for the gladiatorial looking Prince.

"Whatever shall we do with this firebrand?" he asked the public.

"String him up,"

"Banish him from the empire,"

"Send him to Zalcatar,"

The options seemed endless as the zealous rabble yelled their judgements. The King nodded with approval at each proposal before gesturing to the crowd for silence.

"All would be fair penalties. But first, I believe this scallywag has challenged my son to a duel. Is he mad?" laughed the King. "Does he not know that my son is the finest warrior within the realm?"

The congregation cackled once more.

Samuel shuddered as the travesty continued. At that point, he also became aware of a glamourously clad lady sat beside the King. Initially she was concealed from view, but as Samuel bent his gaze upon her angel like visage, there was to be no mistaking her, it was Eliza. The sound of the gloating Kings voice soon went astray as Samuels's attention was focused solely on the soon to be Princess. Guilt was clearly etched upon her face and she dared not lock eyes with her former love.

The daunting sound of the trumpets blared once more and awakened Samuel from his daze. Four servants then towed a cart laden with weaponry out into the arena. Pairs of axes, daggers, lances, maces, spears, swords and other killing devices were displayed upon its sides. These were the weapons of choice, and as the Prince was challenged, it would be his decision to select the armaments. The resolution was not difficult, for the prince excelled in swordplay and instinctively reached for a golden hilted blade. Samuel was given its black handled equal and immediately struggled with the swords burden. The weapons cart was swiftly wheeled away, Sentinels formed a large circle around the combatants and heralds called aloud one last time. Greshkin chivalrously bowed before his father and the stunned crowd gasped at Samuels's insolence, as he stood motionless, frozen with shock. The mob demanded blood, battle now commenced.

The muscular Prince paced menacingly towards his opponent and Samuel fearfully retreated. The ring of Sentinels prevented any chance of fleeing and soon Greshkin was able to rain down his first blow. The powerful swing dented Samuels's chest armour and left him gasping for air as he was thrown to the floor.

"Did she see that?" sniggered Greshkin as the crowd roared with delight.

Samuel tried to crawl away but the Prince grabbed his fair hair and lifted him off his feet, only to punch him with a ferocious left fist and knock him to the ground once more. The onslaught, like the barrage of taunting insults, was unrelenting. The fight lasted for as long as Greshkin desired. This was no even tussle, this was an annihilation. Samuel never stood a chance against a far more potent and talented adversary. The Prince simply wanted to put on a show for the bloodthirsty masses and revelled in their multitude of cheers. His efforts became an overdramatic charade but still carried sufficient weight to crush one so fragile as Samuel. In his ignorance, Greshkin saw this as his chance to prove to Eliza, once and for all, who the better man was. But unbeknownst to him, his soon to be wife saw little of his deeds, for she sat through the majority of the contest with her head held sorrowfully in her hands, too afraid to watch the slaughter that she felt she had caused, those who knew Samuel would not disagree.

The last moments of the fight that Samuel would remember concluded with the sight of Greshkin's brown leather boot rapidly approaching his face. The contest was all but over. Soon after, the triumphant Prince raised his arms in victory as he stood over his rival's unresponsive body. The crowd hollered with delight and the King proudly applauded from the royal box. Greshkin stooped and graciously received his father's approval whilst exploiting the applause from the captivated spectators. The two guards, who had earlier collected Samuel from the dungeons came in to the arena and knelt beside the fallen competitor. They checked for signs of life and were somewhat disappointed to find the defeated contestant showing symptoms of a faint pulse.

"He's still alive," growled the brawny guard as he spat in Samuels face.

"Good," remarked the Prince as he momentarily broke from his celebrations.

"Don't you want him dead Sire?" asked the dim-witted guard.

"I do, but not yet, I want this wretched nuisance to endure more suffering before he meets his end," said Greshkin before proceeding to give the guards their orders.

Once all was understood, the Prince turned to the crowd once more. The announcers hushed the raucous onlookers and the heralds blasted an ear-splitting note upon their trumpets. Greshkin stepped forward.

"Disloyalty results in disconnection. Because of this mans treasonous actions, I have no choice but to send him to the Island of Zalcatar. There he will seek clemency for twenty years. Let us hope that this is enough time for him to repent for his treachery." The crowd bawled with support. "Unfortunately, I have been informed that there are no ships on hand to bare him north. Hence, I grant him safe passage by horse and carriage. Though they may be masses of ill feeling towards this man, nobody shall take the law into their own hands." Declared the Prince.

As he continued speaking, a single horse and cart was ridden into the arena. The carriage that Greshkin spoke of was nothing more than a rusty metal cage fixed to a wooden farm cart that appeared to have seen better days. The guards viciously removed Samuels's broken armour, stripped him to his bare skin and threw his battered body into the mobile cell. There his feet were chained with heavy clamps making movement almost unfeasible.

"Take him away!" announced Greshkin.

Excitement then ran through the crowd as they began to spill onto the busy streets. Masses of hate filled people lined the roads as Samuels cart was paraded through the city like a trophy. The passionate supporters of the royals eargerly through their rotting fruit and vegetables at the captive, who lay naked and motionless, and their decaying apples and tomatoes rained down hard enough to wake Samuel from his loss of consciousness. Screams of traitor, coward and other degrading insults rang through the prisoner's ears as he stirred and tried to shield himself from the barrage of flying crops. As the cart rolled on, Samuel's family and friends frantically strived to pursue. They scrambled through the vast crowds as best they could only to be defeated by the huge swarms of people. Samuels mother could take the ongoing pain no longer and collapsed to the ground in anguish. The sight of her eldest son being brutally beaten and taken from her was too much. Her husband endeavoured to comfort her but he too was overcome with grief. Samuels's parents could do nothing but embrace and weep in the otherwise joyous streets of Babushka. His brothers however, Oliver and Edward, nimbly continued to give chase. They courageously climbed upon the rooftops of small houses and leapt from building to building, only to see Samuel cowering in the coop and eventually vanishing from view. In that moment they vowed not to let their brother rot in the doom that was Zalcatar, if they could do anything to save him, they would.

Throughout the ordeal, Samuel stayed frightfully still. Conscious during the most part, he was too ashamed and terrifed to look upon the appalled masses who taunted him. These were the same individuals, who less than a day ago he would walk alongside in the streets of Babushka, those he had matured with, people he would drink with. It was a fickle world. As they approached the silver gates of the city, the flying vegetation had come to an end, the chants were distant murmors, and the unruly mob had dwindled to uninterested bystanders. Once they had passed beyond the walls of Babushka, Samuel found the courage to look up. In the distance he could see the many striking sights of the Great City. There was the enormous Citadel, its star shaped points stretching out into the cold spring sea, the bell tower of the Bilbareth Cathedral, tolling in celebration. The mighty ramparts of the Kings castle, and lying next to it the Collothearte, the scene of his worst hour. His home was hidden amongst the many vast buildings and thatched roofs but Samuel knew where it lay. He pictured the streets where he had played as a child and his cherished memories of happier days came flooding back, he thought of his family and friends and reminisced about the many good times he had shared with all of his loved ones. He never even had the chance to say goodbye. He bowed his head once more and wept into his blood stained hands. At the tender age of twenty, his world had been ripped apart.

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The Legend of the Trilidiras © - The Prologue
Category: Writing and Poetry

The Prologue

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