SciFi and Fantasy Stories: The Dragon Kingdom: prologue and ch. 1(revised)

South of the mighty Verloc mountain range and east of the barren lands of the Ketchook desert lies the atrox atrum lustrum, also known as the ebon forest, due to the fact that it is always in a dusk like state. The most wicked and vile creatures of the realm wallow in its pits. At the heart of the ebon forest a grand and beautiful empire, for those who lived to see it, sat in a large valley. Beautiful as it was, evil oozed from it.

Vile bubbles churned within a large murky pond that took up most of the east side of the valley. Soft beds of black mosses coated the ground, while many varieties of mushrooms sprouted from the moss. In the middle of the valley lies the three palaces of the furvus magicus homo quicum fastigatus auricula. The home of the Dark Elves.

A few stray Dark Elves roamed in and out of the compact iron gate that separated the palaces from the rest of the valley. Most departing took a winding road around the palace to one of the many small towns that lie in clusters around the palaces. The Dark Elves that lived in the towns of huts and wooden lodges were of the middle and lower classes.

The race of the Dark Elves were masters in swordplay and the craft of war. Their tactical and vicious ways had won them many a war. On the ground floor in the east palace many young Dark Elves vigorously trained with a sword master. The savage clash of metal could be heard for miles. At the head of the room, in a large elegant thrown, the queen of the Dark Elves overlooked the training. An Elven slave kneeled behind her intensely polishing the crown of bleached, ornately carved dark goat haunches, scrutinizing every inch of each of the brilliant jewels set into it. The queen tapped her purple fingernails impatiently waiting for her to finish.

“That’s Quiet enough” she said deliberately.

“Y-yes, s-sorry mistress, shall I do your nails now.”

“Fine” she said with a wave of her hand.

The servant quickly sat at the queen’s feet and started to buff her fingernails, blackened by dark magic, with a porous rock. Then she took the liberty to polish the large, lustrous black diamond that sat on a brilliantly silver ring. Though, when the queen started tapping her foot, she finished her work. Childishly she looked up eagerly waiting for praise.

“You are of no more use to me slave, leave from my sight”

The elf slave looked at the exquisite mask that hid all of her mistress’s features except her cold eyes, wondering if this was another of her tests. Then she looked into the eyes of the one she loved, the one who had taken care of her since her birth, the icy blue eyes, which resembled frozen pools of water, the sharp eyes, once so filled with love that now struck her like daggers. The eyes of a demon!

She slowly dropped her head and disappointed she slumped away. On impulse, the queen glanced to her right. A magnificent longsword sat in a clear crystalline case that refracted the light of the room on to the blade. The hilt was elaborately carved from a black dragon’s finger bone and its blade had been forged from its sable colored scales in the burst of heat that had churned within its stomach as departed from this life. The sword glowed faintly with crimson and amethyst dark magic that could only be controlled by the truly evil or the spectacularly powerful. This sword was the pride of the Dark Elves, and no one was to touch it except the queen, who did this on very few occasions, for fear of its powers.

To her left her husband shifted nervously in his thrown, which was cast in shadows only a heads height lower than hers. He was the seventh mate in her reign and was slightly troubled by what had happened to most of the others. Though this fear limited him from doing anything rash, it did not cripple him completely. As the training went on he stared at the glowing sword marveling in its splendor. He chanced a quick glance at the queen. She had not noticed him looking at the sword, he saw with a sigh. He followed her eyes to the battle. She was observing, he knew, that retched warrior prodigy that was in the midst of battle. This warrior differed from the kin who now surrounded him. While the norm for a dark elves hair color was slate gray, brown, and even a few black, the odd royalty had red, purple, green, orange and it was even common that a few had dark blue hair. As you can see they have a variety of hair colors. But the warrior’s hair glittered the silver of a thousand stars, a single braid weaving through it like a stream of molten gold. He was vastly quicker and much stronger than most his age and he was quickly progressing. The young warrior griped two one-handed wooden swords in his hands; their hard, durable blades being perfect for the elves brutal training. Suddenly the battle began.

An attack from his left

He parried, the wooden sword in his left hand holding off the blow. He slid his sword in a backwards arch over his opponent’s blade, forcing the elf’s sword upwards. Then with a sideswipe to the ribs he sent the elf sprawling to the floor. Soon after three more elves took his place. They were easy prey. In a blur of dark arms and wooden swords all of his kin were finished. With his acute ears he heard four padded feet coming toward him. He crouched low and flipped backwards over the two elves that had been rushing him. He landed deftly on his feet and felled the elf on his right with an upward slash. He rotated slightly and brought the sword back down on the other elf, but he was just a fraction to slow, for the elf revised his path and deflected his blow. The elf smiled wryly, overconfident of his self, a trait that would lead to his, and eventually his whole races, ruination.

Swiftly, the warrior dropped the sword in his right hand and charged his opponent. The elf dropped into a defensive stance and, firmly, griped his sword in both hands, thinking how foolish this warrior was. He slowed his run to a jog, and spread his arms wide, opening his defense.

Let him think that I am venerable, he mused his overconfidence will be his downfall.

After careful consideration he lobed his sword at the elf. The elf, seeing it coming let down his defense to knock the sword out of the air. In that precise moment the warrior jumped and outstretching his fist, threw his whole weight behind a blow to the face. Recoiling the elf collapsed under the warrior’s superior strength.

Only one left, he thought.

The last elf was leaning on a wall a few feet away from him, mingling with the shadows until all other elves were defeated. This was the warrior’s only obstacle. He was tall and regal and a few years older than the warrior. He was the only one in all the youth games who would actually prove difficult to defeat. He was, by blood, superior to the warrior in every way and would not be the one to start the combat. Pulling his trim blue hair behind his back, he smirked and turned around. Resentfully looking at the elf, whose name was Hafniu, the warrior picked up both of his swords and began to move towards him, with long noble strides. Starting into a run, he thrust the sword at Hafniu his whole arm and the sword forming a strait line. But Hafniu had predicted this, and sidestepped around the blade, then brought his wooden short sword down on his shoulder with a quick short chop. The warrior collapsed under the blow, but quickly regained his footing. Ebbing, slowly, away he rubbed his sore shoulder. With a purpose he calmly righted himself, and broke for Hafniu. This time he lunged with the sword, and cut the distance between himself and Hafniu in the blink of an eye. Hafniu deflected the blow, moving his sword in a circular movement. This hit the warriors head and snapped the red cord holding his hair. This was his moment. His emerald colored eyes gleamed with determination. His golden braid wiped around in the frenzy as he smashed his sword against Hafniu’s sword sending up a shower of splinters as the sword shattered. Dazed, Hafniu never noticed the warrior as he bent his knees and kicked his legs from underneath him. Standing quickly he put the tip of his sword to the elf’s throat.

“Match” he said, wiping the pieces of wood from his shoulder, his voice, deep and rolling despite his young age, rebounding off the wall.

The room was quiet.

Hushed whispers went through the crowd like a ripple in a pond.

A slow clap, materializing from the thrown, shattered the silence, and soon the whole chamber boomed with the clapping of the elves. Dropping his swords he reached out a hand to help his opponent up.

“I don’t need your help” Hafniu hissed, slapping the warriors hand out of the way.

Pushing himself to his feet he bowed to the queen then sulked away. The warrior, whose hand was still frozen in the air, dropped it to his side and walked in the opposite direction. At the thrown the queen turned to her husband.

“Bittus” she whispered sharply “go, you know what to do.” Jumping to his feet he left, going to the chamber where the magical arts where taught.

“Good day, my queen” the warrior stated as he reached her feet, and bowed slightly.

“And a good day to you my young warrior” her voice sounded muffled from within the mask “how are your trainings going, well I hope.”

“Yes” he said nodding once.

“Then I advise you to go to the magis conclave, you know you need the extra training.”

“Yes my queen” he said, a slight hint of a smile on his face.

As he walked away she called out to him. “And do be careful” she said her voice full of genuine concern.

He nodded and turned, and the queen folded her arms, a smile of pure malice underneath her mask.

“Yes be very careful.”

Although he was almost a master with the blade he was next to useless in the magical arts. While most dark elves were not in complete control of their magic, all could use a moderate amount of magic, given their magical heritage. He was particularly skilled in the art of illusionary magic but the only true magic he could work were magics pertaining to his mind and the growth of fauna. As he walked into the wooden double doors that led to the wizards training chamber he faltered. In the middle of the room the queen’s husband was waiting, grimly, for him. He was a master with both the blade and with magic and although today he was early, they trained together every day. By the look on his face he was still angry with the warrior. A few months ago at nights return, a festival of feasting, dancing and singing of death and sorrow, and of worshipping the gods of the eon, Bittus had found him in the great library reading fables of the “supposedly” great elleeam gods that were praised by their light skinned cousins.

“How dare you defile our gods on their highest night, by reading this, this book of lies. I’ve always known you for a traitor, and now, I have proof” he fumed.

Dragging him by his collar, he led him, through the crowd of increasingly rowdy elves, and to the queen’s bed chambers.

“Halt, who approaches the queen’s bed chamber at such a late hour.” A young guard asked from the shadows.

“It is I, you simpleton, and I approach my ladies bed chamber as I damned well please.”

“Ah, Master Bittus, I am sorry to halt your way, but I wasn’t expecting you ’till after the festival. Was you evening uneventful? You know I haven’t been there in…”

“Open the door!” he yelled, a thick vein throbbing on his forehead.

Stumbling the guard opened the door and moved out of the raging mans way. Once inside he looked around the shadowed room. The room was vacant of furnishings and color, except for the dismal mural depicted all around. All around great battles were occurring, magically enhanced so that the murals were forever moving in a perpetual show. Bittus dragged the warrior through this room and into a dark bedchamber. Then on a door on the left he knocked three times.

“You my enter.”

Bittus opened the door and stepped in bringing the warrior in with him.

“Good evening my beloved, I’m afraid I have bad news.” He said bowing to the queen. “I found the boy reading this” he said handing her the tome.

“Is this true?” she asked after flipping through the book.

“Yes my queen” the warrior said bowing his head in shame.

“Then I am afraid we will have to do something about it. Bittus.”

“Me my lady!” he asked exasperated.

“Yes you, I want you to start training with this boy every day, teach him the way of our people, Sculpt his body into perfect fighting condition, and while your at it teach him the ways of magic, he has a problem learning that.”

“Absolutely your majesty whatever you say.”

And from then on he cursed the warrior for his foul luck.

“Sit” he said through gritted teeth. “Now clear your mind.”

“Claro” said the warrior, willing the magic to him, “it is done” he said with distain.

Bittus glared at him but did not speak until his anger was in check.

“That bolder,” he said pointing to a craggy gray stone on the floor “-destroy it.”

Inhaling deeply the warrior outstretched his hands to the bolder and spoke “Attero calculus.”

Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he struggled to bend the magic to his will. After a few moments of futile attempt the bolder began to rumble and crack.

“Yes” he mumbled, “ I’ve finally gotten it.”

Then all of his hope vanished as hints of green sprouted from the cracks. He lowered his hands in despair for before him the bolder was covered in grasses and flowers.

“No! How could you have failed again?” Bittus yelled, pointing a menacing finger at the warrior.

“What” he said with sarcastic anger “Do you think that it is my fault I was born with this curse.”

“If you only concentrated on my teachings then maybe you would learn something”

“Learn something, LEARN something! All I do is concentrate on your damned teachings and look where that has gotten me. Exactly where I began.”

“I will not be disrespected! Last time that mother of yours was here to protect you, but now I’ll finally be rid of you” he spat.

He dropped the cloak off his shoulders and circled the young elf.

“It won’t matter anyhow, no one will miss you. No one will care. And at the rate that you are progressing in the arts you would never be able to rule this kingdom.” He said raising a hand at the warrior, his words now filled with anger, his body consumed with hatred.

“Admoveo” Bittus said, and the warrior rose from the ground.

Thinking of the counterspell, from one of Bittus’s teachings, he tried desperately to utter it, but it was of no use for his mouth had failed him.

“Adficio vitae vigor.”

Quite suddenly red tendrils of energy started to snake their way out of the young warriors chest. His body trembled. Finding his voice, he roared out in pain as each red snake of energy was slowly ripped from within him. Floating there each agonizingly slow second seemed to take an eternity to pass.

He felt as though he had been there a lifetime, even though only a few seconds had passed, when the door shot open. The warrior faintly heard words being said but he couldn’t comprehend them. A flash! Pure silver energy flew through the air and hit Bittus in the shoulder and left him in a heap. Then he fell.

Thump

The warriors body hit the floor and darkness began to take him. He fought though and did not give in to the darkness.

“The spell has torn him apart, I’m amazed he is still breathing”

“Yes, we had arrived just in time.” A strangely familiar voice said.

He opened his eyes slightly and to his amazement saw the queen, her mask off, leaning over him.

“Do not worry my warrior, go to sleep now,dormio sleep and everything will be all right." She cooed to him pulling her silver locks out of her ebony face and placing a hand on his chest. He began to feel drowsy and this time he succumbed. “You will heal…My Son. Then he faded into darkness.