Prologue - The Prophecy of the Kings

Thisis a prologue I am working on. help or advice would be greatly appreciated.

 

“Lay the body there,” Chanathan said pointing.

The three men carrying the corpse dropped their burden with a meaty thud to the forest carpet. The men looked disgusted by their task and there was no reverence in the way they dropped the corpse. Blood and gore splattered  their armour, a testimony to the recent battle they had so recently left behind. An owl hooted and one of the men looked around, real fear in his eyes as he scanned the hidden recesses between the trees.

“It’s an owl,” one of his companions told him reassuringly. Only months ago the sight of another man’s fear would have elicited sarcasm or bullying, but after the recent horrors there was a greater bond between these men. Battle brothers was a common enough expression, but only men who had stood shoulder to shoulder in the darkest moments of combat truly understood what that meant, men who had felt blood splash their hands and blades, the pervading stench of blood, sweat and steel in their nostrils, that was how such close bonds were forged.

Chanathan stepped up to the corpse and spat in its eye. The body was that of a man in his thirties. He wore a robe whose colour in the dark of the forest was difficult to decide. It did nothing, though, to conceal the blood stain that marked the deep wound that had killed him.

Chanathan turned on his heel, coming between the trees in file were other Eldric Narlassar. Sorcerers who had fought demons only hours before, fought demons and won against fire, claws, magic and fear. It had been close, but Drachar’s death had finished the bloody conflict and even now, men of the alliance were hunting down krell and men of Trosgarth as they sought to escape. Many of the sorcerers stumbled as they came into the clearing, they were all exhausted but one more act was required to guarantee an end to war.

Ashona approached Chanathan. She looked close to tears, and for the first time Chanathan felt pity overwhelm him. Hs own tears threatened and he choked down his emotions, but could not stop himself from taking her hand. Gratefully she looked up and pressed close to him. In this hour, people needed each other. Victory felt so very hollow, not at all how he had imagined it so many months ago — death still befouled his mind like a toxin.

“Swiftly, we must bind his spirit. It must not be allowed to escape or the demons will crown him their king.”

“Surely not,” Cralan replied. He was an old man, his hair grey and yet he was the same age as their king, Darwyl. But Darwyl was dead, killed by the very man who now that lay at their feet. “How can the demons follow Drachar after all that has happened? He failed them. He is dead and we have killed so many sorcerers that they cannot summon demons — not for a hundred years at least.”

Chanathan shook his head. “You are wrong,” he spat. “He made a pact with the demons, a pact that even death cannot arrest. He has given the demons everything they wanted. Countless souls sent screaming to their world for eternal damnation. If they get His soul too, they will bow to him and call him Lord.”

Ashona sobbed. “Then we have failed!” she said.

“No. Not if we can banish his soul.”

“And how can we do that?” Ashona pleaded. Chanathan looked past the grime of battle and into her eyes. With more affection than he had ever felt before he stroked her hair from her face.

Without replying he turned to the other sorcerers, who had spread around the clearing. They looked a sorry bunch, with blood soaked robes and crimson blades. Some distance away he could hear the army celebrating its victory. Men calling to each other, finding friends and relatives and drinking away the cold fear instilled by Demons. Singing filled the air. Only troops could show such emotion. The men around Chanathan were silent, begrimed with blood and barely able to stand.

“We must act swiftly. Until this night is done his shade will be confined to his earthly body. You there, Carlan, Aswall and Harecht, draw a rune of binding around the corpse. Tarlam and Herest, summon elementals at each corner of the rune. Air, fire and water will do for what we need.”

The men set to their activities whilst the others fell back to watch. The din from the army became background noise. Forest creatures occasionally called out, distracting Chanathan from his musing. What he was planning had never been tried before and he had to think, or doom his men, and himself.

Finally the others were ready. He looked down at the corpse which now lay at the centre of a rune, drawn in the dirt. As commanded, at each corner, tiny elementals glowed, their small voices clear and forlorn, even with all the other sounds around them.

The sorcerers gathered together and the three soldiers hovered to one side. They knew they were witnessing a moment in history and even the sounds of their fellows revelry was not enough to call them away. This was a solemn time.

Chanathan raised his eyes skyward, casting a rune he called aloud, “Lothanal, I summon you to attend.”

Nothing stirred. A breeze caused the trees to sway and for a moment the rustle of leaves drowned out the distant celebration.

“Drachar!” Chanathan called more urgently. “You are summoned to pay for your crimes.”

A pungent smell filled the glade. Unable to help themselves some men stepped back, fear pounding their hearts, like poison coursing through their veins. A silver shape appeared above the corpse, and to Chanathan’s horror a smaller green glow accompanied it. So, the rumours were true and Drachar had bound an imp to himself as his shaol.

“Bind them both,” Chanathan ordered and Tarlam and Herest immediately spoke, casting runes to strengthen their earlier spell.

The glow took shape; the indistinct form of a man. Hollow eyes stared deep into Chanathan’s soul and for a moment he nearly gave up. Ashona squeezed his hand. For a moment he had forgotten her presence and all at once he was glad she was there.

“Foul creature! Abomination!” Chanathan  roared, fury tinting his voice.

The spectre laughed. “But I am one of you,” a ghostly voice whispered, grinding the nerves of all present.

“How dare you!” Chanathan shouted, suppressing a shudder. “You forsook us the moment you looked upon the demon world. Your twisted craving for power has destroyed you, you were banished, you were unmade and unnamed, the sands of your soul stained forever by the blood of betrayal. How dare you compare yourself to us?”

“You forget,” answered the now mirthless voice, “we are all banished. We left our homeland hundreds of years ago because our ancestors dared to look upon the demon world. I am more like you than you would care to admit.”

 Chanathan was stunned into silence. The spectre faded briefly and for a moment Chanathan thought it was gone.

“Bind it!” Prince Ellard commanded stepping forward. “You are a traitor! You killed the King!”

“He killed me first,” the spectre said, his voice sounding like a peevish child.

“Damn you! You betrayed your people! We will not let you find your way to the demon world.”

“But you cannot stop me! I am Drachar! I do as I will and damn you all.”

There was a silence for a moment. Even the revelry seemed to have stopped as though the world was holding its breath.

“But you are wrong,” Ashona said softly. At the start of the war she had been such a gentle soul, but looking at her now Chanathan held his breath at what he saw. Her eyes bored into Drachar’s and her shoulders were set in utter defiance. “We will banish you but not to where you expect to go!

“Prince Ellard, give me your sword. Only one of the seven will help with this spell casting.”

Ellard stepped forward and trusting her entirely he handed his weapon over. It was dull black except for silver runes that seemed to dance along its length. In the presence of a demon it burned blue but the imp, by its master’s side, was a mere ghost, a shaol, a guardian spirit, too faint an echo to truly threaten them now.

“What are you going to do?” Fear  tinted Drachar’s eyes and voice now, and he  appeared to shrink slightly. Only that day had he first cast eyes on these swords and Hanet’s axe. They had killed demons that normal weapons could barely scratch.

Ashona chanted and drew a rune over the blade. Chanathan realised then her intent. The sword amplified the power of the person holding it. The rune was to open a gateway to another world and for a moment Chanathan feared Ashona was opening a gateway to Hell. He did not recognise the rune at first and then comprehension dawned.

Prince Ellard rushed over to take back his sword, but Chanathan laid a hand on his shoulder. “It is all right. She knows what she is doing. She is opening a gateway not to another world but between them.”

Ellard frowned. “The nether regions?” he asked

Behind them Drachar wailed. His form glowed brighter and Tarlam and Herest’s voice became more urgent. An elemental expired, its scream echoing into the night air.

“Help them,” Chanathan ordered and others joined them, summoning elementals to bind Drachar in place. Furiously he struggled and then the gateway was complete, purple and green streaming from it.

“Go!” prince Ellard commanded, laying his hand on his sword. The ghostly shape drifted towards the gaping rent in space. An icy wind gusted, a prelude to the nothingness beyond.

“You shall not stop me!” he screamed. “I will return and then I will destroy you, your children and their children.” The light from his ethereal form was slowly sliced thinner as it progressed through the gaping wound. Then abruptly it was gone. Ashona stopped casting the rune and the rent slammed shut, the scream of Drachar fading away.

Night noises about the forest returned as though the banishment had forbidden sound.

“And what about us,” Chanathan asked? “Lothanal was correct,” even now he preferred to use Drachar’s Eldric name rather than the one he had given himself.”

“We too must leave the world,” prince Ellard said softly.

“How?” Ashona asked.

Chanathan smiled. “There are other worlds. The demon world is but one.”

“I have heard of the dragon world but we dare not go there, even if such a thing was possible,” Ashona replied, looking pale.

Prince Ellard looked at them both in turn. “I have felt a power that could help us to leave this world completely. It is the essence of pure magic and we could hold a gateway open permanently between the worlds, allowing all of our people to escape. We should seek a world without magic where we would do no harm.”

The others looked at him aghast. “Is such a thing possible?” Ashona asked.

“We can but try,” Prince Ellard said. “I will leave in the morning and find the source of this power. I will take two hest of men and will return as soon as I am able.” With that he was gone.

All at once it was too much for Ashona. She sat on the ground as though her legs could no longer support her. Others too started to leave but then paused.

Ashona cried out, “I see it! I see the future. Drachar will return one day, I see the fires, I see the death.”

Chanathan knelt by her side. The three soldiers came over, wanting to help but too afraid to come too close.

Chanathan gently took her face and made her turn to look at him. “We have won; we have banished Drachar’s shade between the worlds. This land is safe now except for by our hand. If we leave, then no harm can will ever come again.”

Ashona stared past Chanathan. He sensed she was seeing into another world now and not theirs.

Her voice was so low that he had to strain his ears to hear her. By his side one of the soldiers gasped. “It is a prophecy,” he murmured in awe.

 

 

When Tallin’s crown once more does shine,

Drachar’s shade will rise sublime,

Three Prince’s royal through time will sleep,

An appointment with destiny three kings to keep,

Trosgarth’s arm across the land will reach,

Of war and famine his army will preach,

And one will stand to oppose his throne,

A king resurrected from within his mountain home,

Of air, fire and water he will be born,

To aid the people when all else is forlorn

 

“Ashona”” Chanathan wailed, shaking her shoulders, “Ashona!” he sobbed.

The light in her eyes dimmed. Of them all, she was too close to her shaol and that had always worried Chanathan. Too close to the spirit world for her own good.

“Ashona,” he tried.

Slowly she shook herself as though waking from a dream. “Thank the Kalanth!” Chanathan said grinning broadly.

Ashona stood and Chanathan helped her to her feet. By their side a soldier made a warding sign against evil, his mouth agape. Chanathan turned to him, “Forget what you just heard. Do not mention it to anyone.” He doubted they would, he had felt the compulsion in her tone.

The man started blankly back. “All of you!” Chanathan commanded. “Forget what happened under pain of death.”

Ashona looked at him bewildered. “Why? What has happened?”

Chanathan looked at her, truly glad she was back. “Nothing. We have won a great battle and darkness has been banished from the world.”

Taking her hand he guided from the forest, towards hope and an uncertain future.

Author's Note

Any help appreciated