I. The Visitor

Castle Vael has never seen the likes of these three.

            Lade had never been inside a castle before.  In fact, before last week, he’d never seen the Inner City. Even his more experienced, older companions had never before stepped foot inside the Audience Hall with its ornate pillars and vaulted ceilings. Not only high walls but strict laws kept the slumfolk in their quarter of the Outer City.

But today Lade was in the castle.

The youth gawked at the intricate carvings on the pillars, the polished stone walls decorated with shimmering banners and intricate tapestries that he imagined could be sold for enough money to feed him and his mother for months.  Giant vaulted doors had been constructed with stunning craftsmanship, half the visage of a lion carved into either side. The crowd of nobles that had gathered for the King’s Court drew Lade’s eye like a fresh cooked meal to a hungry mutt--Lade was hungry after all. A sea of colorful fabrics speckled with gold and jewels on rings, brooches, earrings, necklaces-- he’d never seen such densely packed opulence. If only he were free....

Lade looked down at the iron manacles wrapped around his wrists in disappointment, rustling his chains ever so slightly.  The guard glanced at him angrily and Lade froze in place with a wince.  He did not want to get kicked again.

“Lade!” his friend Tyril hissed.  “Stand up!”

“What?”

“The king rendered judgment! Stand, idiot!”

            Lade shuffled quickly to his feet, a bewildered look on his face. He had a moment to scan the room before he and his friends were yanked forward by their chains.  Everyone was looking at him.  Judging him.  The world felt surreal, soundless, in slow motion. He did not notice his feet as he floated forward, overwhelmed by the shock of it all, staring blankly at the crowd that regarded him with sharp eyes, a doe surrounded by a pack of wolves.  He was dragged into a pen, a wheeled cage for him and his friends, when suddenly the reality of it all came crashing down upon him like an avalanche.  The lock made a loud click as the guard sealed them to their fate.  There was nothing surreal about it, nothing ethereal about those bars, nothing illusory about the growing panic pounding in his chest.

            “You don’t look well, Lade the Blade,” Lade’s third friend, Jor, chided.

            “I’m fine,” Lade said defiantly, “I’m just tired.  You snore louder than a donkey in heat.”

            “It must have been a mating call,” Jor retorted, “because you kept rolling on top of me while I was trying to sleep.”

            “Forgive me, princess, if I kept you awake,” Lade retorted.

            “I’m a prince thank you,” Jor replied.  “Prince of the Stolen Textiles.”

            “More like Prince of the Soiled Trousers,” Tyril interjected wryly, looking at the enormous wet stains smeared along Jor’s pants.

            “You didn’t have to sleep in the puddle,” Jor said defensively.

“Hya!” With the crack of a whip, the horseman spurred the horse forward, and the tattered prisoners gripped each other for support as the pen lurched.  Lade found himself gripping his friend Tyril for support.

They would be paraded around the city, along with the other men condemned that day. Lade’s eyebrows furrowed in displeasure as he remembered the nobles.  All those eyes.  Looking at him.  This was going to be worse.

Tyril and Lade exchanged worried looks. Jor paused for a moment eyeing his two worried friends before deciding to lighten the mood.  Despite the shaky conditions he managed a deep bow.  “Don’t look alarmed m’lord.  A tour of the city on our finest of chariots is customary for honored guests of Kastle Vael. In a few moments we will count you among our most notable visitors to our subterranean penthouse.”

            Lade managed a brief smile before a pile of muck struck the bar of the pen, splattering a mix of mud and horse dung across his face.  Lade glowered menacingly at the jeering youth who had thrown the muck, and then at Jor, who had nearly fallen over laughing.

            “Lade, look out!” Tyril warned.

            Lade turned to see what Tyril was talking about, just in time for a rock, thrown by a child, to strike him square in the forehead.

            “Notable visitors perhaps,” Tyril said, watching Lade rub his bruised head, “but definitely not honored guests.”

            Lade closed his eyes and he touched his bleeding head.  Jor could joke all he wanted, but they were all in serious trouble.

Author's Note

So I'm adding like 5 chapters to the begginning of a story I already started, slowing the pace waaaaaaaaaay down.

I'm actually seriously thinking of deleting this and starting with what is now Chapter 2. What do you think?

Reviews

[Leah]

I love this chapter! I haven't read the next one, so I can't comment on whether or not you should start with Chapter 2, but I'll let you know in a minute! Ha. I did just want to comment and say that this is already interesting. I was looking for a fellow fantasy writer; I can't tell yet if this is going to be fantasy, but it has the workings of it so far!