Sign of the White Raven: Prologue

Volume 2 of The Chronicles of Aertu is well under way.  Here is the Prologue and I will post the first couple chapters shortly.   I hope you enjoy it.

Julian

Prologue

 Zorekday, Day 18, Haymaking Moon. 8765 Sudean Calendar

The Nameless One sat brooding upon his throne of black obsidian, as he did each day for over four-thousand and fifteen years.  The only light was not light at all, but the blue glow of elvish magic emanating from the chains and wards holding him to the throne and imprisoning him in his fortress all these millennia.  Though no light penetrated his abode, he sensed each passing day with absolute clarity.  The cursed elvish sorcerers assured that in the configuration of their wards.  He looked down to the bare hands at the ends of his armored forearms, bare because they were absent when the elves chained him here and now regrown, sheathed in shining black reptilian scales and tipped with sharp red claws.  All of his skin beneath the ancient black armor now sported the same scales and his unblinking eyes bore blood red irises with vertical slit pupils.  The years gave him ample time to consider the form in which he would return to Aertu and he chose one that would strike terror into the hearts of his opponents. Soon my son will return with Zadehmal and my power will again be complete. He thought back on the fateful day that brought him to his current circumstance.

I step into the light of day from my obsidian stronghold and cross the courtyard, steel clad boots clanking upon the flagstones. The black iron gates swing open upon my command and I stride upon the field of battle.  The armies of elves and men pushed my forces all the way back to my stronghold of Immin Bul.  The ranks of goblins and trolls close behind me and I hear the orders to march forward, bellowed by the captains.  These are all the new breeds I created over the past three decades, the goblins larger and stronger, the trolls smaller and faster and both more cunning than their predecessors.  Breeding my creations to men resulted in new hybrid forms of surpassing ability.  I still have use for the brute strength of the cave troll and the sheer reproductive capacity of my original goblins, but my new creations allow for more advanced tactics on the field.  The halfblood sorcerers I bred from captive elves and men are interspersed throughout the formations, each with a bodyguard of trolls to shield them.  This force will crush the men and elves that dare to defile my realm with their presence.

It’s unfortunate that my elves are still a generation away from completion.  The one-eighth goblin generation should suffice to cull the unpredictable nature of the quarter goblins I have now.  The project is moving slowly because each generation is slower to reach reproductive age than the last.  My son and his cohorts are just now in their teens, still children and unable to wield power.  It will be at least another decade before any eighths manifest their powers.  An army of elves, fighting on my behalf would seal the outcome of this battle.

Clearing the gate, we advance at a trot.  My beleaguered forces fight in disarray before the ordered formations of my enemies.  Countless arrows rain down upon goblin and troll, leaving carnage and blood.  There is fighting on all sides; we are surrounded, but I sense where the enemy is strongest, most likely to push through and we move to intercept.

Clouds form, roiling angry red, as my sorcerers and I call down lightning upon our enemies.  Domes of blue energy spring up to shield them as elves and halfbloods move to defend.  Slivers of blue energy reach out in answer to our attack, slicing through the mass of goblins ahead, but rarely making it through to my advancing force.  I sense all my sorcerers are still with me and now I see the banners of Elvenholm and Sudea straight ahead.  The strongest knot of enemy holds the biggest prize, it seems.  Channels of crimson spear outward from our line, in answer to the enemy’s attack and many expendable goblins and trolls, caught in the crossfire, perish for the cause.

We will remove the head from this insufferable creature known as the “Free Peoples” and it will shrivel and die.  Only then, will my vision for Aertu come to fruition.  The inefficiency of individuals governing their own lives will be over, replaced by my rule.  Everyone will do as they should, no longer burdened with having to choose between right and wrong.  Those who find themselves incapable of compliance, I will eliminate.

As we close with the enemy, the remaining goblins make way or find themselves crushed between the hammer and anvil.  Some even turn on us in their desperation to survive, for my forces to cut down, as they would any obstacle. We stride over the dead and dying, goblins, trolls, elves and men alike.  Trampling boots and blood have turned the rust red soil into crimson mud.  Within moments we are face to face with the massed ranks of elves and men.  My great axe, Zadehmal, sings through the air, shattering armor and shields before me and swallowing the souls of all those whose flesh it touches.  When I gain full dominion over Aertu, all souls will join with me rather than my father, when their mortal life ends.  I feel my strength grow as Zadehmal absorbs the spirits of my enemies.  The carnage yields boundless amounts of the red energy of death and decay, for my sorcerers to draw upon, though I feel that many of their number have fallen by this time.  Meanwhile, I feel the blue energy of life ever dwindling, curtailing the power of my opponents.

I sense victory within my grasp when I see the King of Men and the Prince of Elves converge on my position.  These pitiful mortals think to defeat me with their weapons wrought of elvish magic.  Aleron’s greatsword and Aelwynn’s halberd crackle with blue energy, infusing their bodies and causing their eyes to glow blue as well, just as my own glow with the red of death.  I am death embodied and I will add these two souls to my collection.  I feel all the others writhe in agony as I shout, “Behold, Zadehmal, Cleaver of Souls and the instrument of your undoing!”  I trade blows with the pair, fighting to a standstill, as the battle rages all about us, until the King lands a lucky blow to my left shin, the blade becoming jammed into the steel of my greave.  The gash burns like the hottest flame, though I ignore the pain to take advantage of the King’s mistake.  My axe splits him from left shoulder to right hip, but wait, there is no soul to feed Zadehmal.  The cursed halfblood must have known he was about to die and released his spirit into the blade.  The moment of my discomfiture is enough for the elf to hack my hands off at the wrists.  A scream erupts from my mouth as I witness black blood shoot from the stumps of my arms, only to be cut short by the burning blade passing through my throat, after which everything goes black.

My return to awareness finds me bound to my own throne with elvish chains that burn against my skin, even through the armor.  I bask in the excruciating glow of elvish magic all around, from the wards they used to seal me within my fortress.  My magic can do nothing against these wards, as I long ago gave up the ability to wield forms of magic other than the red.  I find myself regretting the decision, though the red power of death is the most powerful of all the forms, it can do nothing to dispel well constructed wards of the other powers.  Had I chosen to remain a wielder of all powers, like my siblings, I could never have risen to the strength I had just a short time ago, but I could dispel these wards if I still could wield the blue.  There is nothing to do now but work to regain and increase my strength.  Elves and men will rue the day they thought to lock me away.  Someday I will escape these bonds, there is no doubt, and that day will be one that Aertu will not soon forget.

 As he sat, he thought, Zormat now sails to the frozen waste to retrieve Zadehmal.  When he returns, he will use it to free me and together we will conquer Aertu.  I will be nowhere near as benevolent as I originally planned, when I gain dominion over this world.  The men I will enslave and the elves I will destroy, to the last child.  With my son’s people numbering in the millions, I have no use for them, not even as breeders.

If you would like to skip the next two posts and go straight to the first chapter, follow this link:  https://julianbenoit.wordpress.com/2014/04/09/the-fugitive-king-chapter-1/  I apologise for the URL in the first few chapters; I changed the working title, after posting the first chapters, so the URL retains my original title.