Chapter 1

Eight heavenly bodies glowed warmly on the black that was the river, as it curved gently out of the bosom of Ælyssum, coming out of the howling Nuna, where Marcus’ gaze was firmly fixed, silent, and facing away from the fire, standing ready on rise above the city. How they called to him, and made his blood boil.

The island city of Gorum hadn’t seen blood in half a century. No war. No revolt. After so long, it had gained a reputation as a quiet city. Along with the cities northward along the Ka plain, Gorum was home to the wealth of the weaves and textiles of Ælyssum, and indeed much of Aurlom, and so was the root of all strife in the region. Though these were the affairs of men, not of immortals, and never had the Ka’an thought it possible for an army to march out of the Nuna Forest.

Lo, Marcus, and the people of Gorum looked on in horror as the marauders marched toward the city, which would not be defended by a wall, a navy, a standing army, or even a militia or a royal guard. What for centuries had prevented roverings and the like from attacking the city, would be traversed in a matter of hours. If ever there was a force that could cross the Nuna River, it would surely be the one which emerged from the the eponymous forest.

Marcus saw the torches looming in the night, but as the legion edged closer, he could tell the marching was not synchronized; mercenaries comprised the infantry, and he knew who was about to lead the attack. Marcus turned to run, when his fire magically grew, and the heat knocked him over. He cried out as if in pain, but as quickly as the fire exploded, it settled, and Marcus rose to his knees uninjured.

There was a face in his pyre, a girl’s, but not one he recognized. Then she spoke, as clearly as if she were a flesh and blood woman seated next to him, and gave him a message from the gods. “I am Anora,” said she, “Lady of Flames.” Marcus kowtowed silently, and Anora continued, “The Glorious Kartak sends ye word, Marcus, son of Dontus of Naek, ”

“Proceed m’lady, I will ear close,” Marcus replied kneeled in the dirt.

“Kartak says that Gorum will not fall, she says that you know as well as her, that Lord Thracius is after you, and only you, and that he will be upon you before dawn, for the elms and a juniper south of the rise have betrayed your position.”

“So I must run.”

“Wait, she says,” Anora interrupted, “You do not yet know in which direction. Lord Thracius has darkness as an ally, and more men than the ones lighting their way from the woods.”

“Then I must take to the west, into the Ehmigh Bay?” he asked, assuming Lord Thracius had come over land.

“Most certainly, but the goddess Kartak asks a favour for her knowledge and your freedom, son of Dontus.”

“Anything,” Marcus replied quickly, “I am her humble servant.”

“Sail to Elan. Go on the wind ‘fore Lord Thracius usurps their king. Liberate the relic in the vault, then ride for Nesteran. Trust the fox, deceive The Hawks, and for Ilyios don’t take wing.”

The fire was going out, and Anora was beginning to disappear, and Marcus exclaimed, slightly uncertain of his mission, “Wait! What relic? Where is Nesteran?” Before the flames were all but extinguished in a breeze, Anora said one final word, “Duck.”

All of a sudden, he heard the whip of metal through air, as if thrown, and immediately Marcus leapt to the right to avoid whatever missile weapon was intended to kill him. He didn’t care to find out what the weapon was, or have the time to ascertain  as he rushed down the slope, set for the harbour, ahead of snarling thick-necked sell-swords, brandishing bronze or iron.

Marcus’ horse, which he had named Spur grazed on the windward side of the hill, but craned her neck when she heard the commotion. At full speed, Marcus bounded up, and landed in the saddle, before she galloped down the hill. Though it was a short ride, it put distance between Marcus and his pursuers, and before long, he and the mare were on a mid-sized cutter, destined for Elan.

He had never seen Anora before; everyone he had ever known had never seen her, the spirit of the flames, having only ever heard stories told through the centuries. Stories of a beautiful woman with the form of a ghost. The trickster goddess they called her, though she was no goddess and she had no power, a messenger or a vessel between gods or sorcerers through the fire, and as old as time. Yet no one had ever said she spoke in riddles.

Marcus wondered why Kartak wanted him to go to Elan, and what relic she wanted him to liberate. Moreover, he didn’t know who or what the fox or the hawks were, or where to find the city of Nesteran, a city of which he had never been made aware. Then he wondered why he should even do as Anora had told him. After all, he was free from harm, where the vicious Lord Thracius couldn’t catch him, and Anora was known for her treachery, and having a secret agenda in the world, how could he know what she said was true? Why should he sail to Elan?

Reviews

[Gre7g Luterman]

Good stuff, but it saddens me that Marcus is having second thoughts on his mission. He did, after all, he did promise Anora anything. Is he not an honorable man?

Apart from that, would love you to change the font to something more legible and break that first sentence up; it rambles!