"The Betrayal of Amaranthe: Chapter 1" by Mercedes A Boggs

Chapter 1

“Lady Ana, Lady Ana,” a small voice called excitedly from behind.  Anastriana Galanodel smiled as she turned to face the golden-haired elven girl running up to her. 

“Lady Ana,” the child exclaimed, her sky blue eyes sparkled and wisps of hair like shimmering flaxen threads fell loose from her long, ribbon-tied braid.

“What is it, little one?”  Ana laughed at the child’s exuberance.

“Mother said I could walk up here with you.  If that’s okay,” she added quickly.

“Well, of course it is,” Ana smiled.  “I could always use a good set of eyes to keep watch.”  She playfully tapped the little girl on the nose before turning to look back over the line of people she was guiding.  The little girl’s mother smiled appreciatively when Ana’s emerald eyes met hers. 

Ana turned and studied the trail ahead of her brushing ringlets of her chestnut hair from her face.  It was well traveled, covered in footprints of man, horse, and livestock; and wagon tracks crisscrossed the wide dirt path.  She didn’t expect problems on a trail such as this, not even the pluckiest ruffian would strike on such a heavily traveled path.  She would be able to guide the people into Lynara within two days, one if the weather held.  From all appearances, it would be a quick journey.  The sky was an endless blanket of azure blue, cloudless and perfect.  Its tranquility was engulfing, lulling the mind and framing the gently sloping hills in serenity.  A light breeze, perfumed with fresh pine and honeysuckle, floated in from the southwest tickling the lush green trees as they fluttered playfully in the golden midday sunlight.  Ana patted her gray mare that walked calmly beside her and sighed as she tucked her hair carelessly behind her graceful pointed ears; she loved the forest and felt truly at home within it. 

The sun was just sinking below the horizon as the group of travelers arrived at a clearing.  “We’ll be making camp here,” Ana announced to the group of people following her.  “Elan.”  She called to her trusted companion, and he answered her beck with a short nod before striding toward her.  The untethered ends of the thong that held back his blond hair flitted in the breeze brushing his face as he walked.   His usual serious mien seemed sterner still as he peered down at her intently with his deep brown eyes.  Ana smiled as he neared tilting her head up to meet his gaze.  “Elan, please take some of the men and collect wood for a bonfire.  Miryam and I will set up the tents.” 

“My lady, we shouldn’t stay here.  Something’s not right.”

“Look at them, Elan,” she said turning to peruse the travelers settling into the makeshift campsite around her.  Fallen trees and rocks had been turned into seats from which the weary rubbed tired feet.  “They’re exhausted, and the next town is hours away.”

“Yes, my lady; but I feel our safety’s compromised here.  Can you not sense it as well?”

 Ana looked around past her group to the forest beyond.  The last rays of sunlight flickered and flashed off the forest green leaves like the fading embers of a dying fire.  Birds took wing from their perches seeking their nest for the night.  Ana inhaled deeply again seeking to find a clue on the air, but only the scent of the sweet fragrant honeysuckle even dared to mingle with the overwhelming perfume of pine.

“The air is a heavy,” she said turning back to Elan.  “But other than that, everything seems fine. Perhaps you’re trying to quicken our journey to be rid of our travelers sooner?”  She questioned with a smile.  “I know a certain group of ladies has been hounding you since Damarisk. You wouldn’t be anxious to see them go, would you?”

“Those are not ladies, despite the titles they may bear,” he frowned.  “And though I am anxious to be rid of all three of the darling bachelorettes, the threat I perceive is real.”

Ana bit her lip in thought as she contemplated Elan’s words.  “We’ve little sun left; so we’re better off remaining here for the night.  We’ll keep watch as we always do, to avoid any surprises.  It will be fine,” she reassured him placing her hand on his battle-toned arm.

“Yes, my lady,” Elan dutifully replied.  He gave her a slight nod of his head and left to complete his task.

The camp was set up before the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, and Elan returned with enough firewood to sustain the fire throughout the night.  The weary travelers settled around the crackling flame, and gathered close to listen to Miryam regale them with bardic tales of treachery and triumph.  The warm, glowing flame cast flickering shadows on the faces of the group as images of soaring dragons and playful fairies flitted through their minds.  Later, as the night grew colder, they warmed themselves by the fire and chatted merrily about the day’s journey and the road ahead. 

“I heard Lord Umerick, himself, is going to make an appearance at this year‘s tourney,” one woman said with wide-eyed excitement. 

“Nonsense,” a gruff voice answered sending pipe smoke billowing through the speaker’s mouth.  “Lord Umerick and many of the King’s nights are off battling the Ba’dul at the Alluvian Pass.  They won’t have time for tournaments and festivals this year.”

“D’you think there’ll be another war against those Ba’dul,” a nervous voice questioned.

“Can’t say,” the gruff voice answered.  “All’s I know is we beat ‘em once; we can do it again.”  Several voices murmured in agreement. 

Beyond all the worries of the adult world, several children were running around near the tents giggling and playing.  A small girl with flaming red curls flowing freely over her face ran up to Ana who was listening to the campfire conversations from afar. 

“Lady Ana,” she said with excitement bubbling over.  She was playing with two long sticks, which she swung around as if they were swords.  “I’m a ranger like you, see!”

“I see, Francesca,” Ana laughed recalling the little girl’s name with ease.  “Are you tracking destructive Ba’dul or fighting evil red dragons?”

“Neither,” Francesca smiled.  “I’m fighting icky trolls like the ones in Miryam’s story about you.”

“Well, remember trolls are really tough.  They get better really fast.”

“Really!?”  Her eyes widened.  “What¼”

“Francesca!” a voice called approaching from near the fire.  “Come here now, and drop those sticks.  A proper young lady does not fight.”  The mother scolded the little girl and then turned to Ana. “While I do appreciate your guidance through these horrid woods,” she started haughtily looking scornfully at the forest around her.  “I would appreciate you not filling my little daughter’s head with such nonsense.  This life may be just fine for you, but I do not want it for my Francesca.  She’s well-born and will be a proper lady and marry well when she’s older, not traipse around the forest fighting beast.”  She turned dragging Francesca with her. 

Ana was left speechless.  She looked after them in dismay.  Elan who had heard the encounter came over to her.

“I could teach her the correct way to address you, M’lady,” he said placing his hand on the hilt his axe with mock seriousness.  He graced her with one of his rare smiles.

“Thank you, Elan; but I fear that might scare the other travelers,” she answered returning the gesture. 

“Don’t let her get to you, Ana,” he whispered as he headed to his watch post to begin his watch.  “She’s just jealous.” 

“Oh¼ is it what that was.  It seemed like thinly veiled disgust; but thanks for trying to boost my spirits,” Ana said still watching the woman scold her pouting child. 

Ana sat introspectively by the fire as the others began retreating to their tents. “Nonsense,” she scoffed to herself.  “Where would Lady Hesidysne be without such nonsense?  A small noble in an even smaller town.  There would be no visits to the crown city, no trips to the Seravian Seaside.  Her job wasn’t nonsense.  It was hard work; and moreover, it was necessary.  

“Good eve to you, Ana,” Miryam’s pleasant voice interrupted Ana’s contemplations.  Miryam had long been Ana‘s closest friend, and Ana could not remember seeing her without her cheery smile.  Her rosy cheeks always glowed with a joy of life that brightened rooms when she entered.  She brushed back her short blond hair with a flick of her pinkish fingers showing off her rounded half-elven ears, and her blue eyes narrowed into thin slits as she smiled at Ana.  “Perchance, is something bothering you?”  Her elven flowed fluidly with the barest hint of an accent.

Ana sighed.  “Miryam, why do I do this?”

Miryam looked at her trying to discern about which action she was talking.  “Well, the fire is warm, and provides light.  I imagine you sit in front of it to warm yourself and keep the dark away.  I’m not sure what purpose the pout serves,” she added.

“Very droll,” Ana answered unenthusiastically.  “I’m talking about my profession.  Why do I fight against the conventions of the kingdom just to be ridiculed by those I’m helping?  I could be back in Amaranthe surrounded by luxuries beyond my desires, attending dances at court, ‘marrying well’¼”

“And being miserable,” Miryam finished.  “Fate builds homes for all of us, Ana; and though some are not as extravagant as others, they bring us joy if we accept them as where we’re meant to be.”

“But look at me.  I¼”

“I see you, Ana.  Perhaps, it is you who does not see.”  Miryam took Ana’s short sword and held it so Ana could see her own reflection in it.  “Look at yourself,” she said warmly.  “Men desire you.  Women envy you, and children imitate you.  You‘ve even captured the heart of Sir Arathyn.  Half of the women in the kingdom would give up their daughter’s dowry for his affection.  I find myself warming in his presence.”

Ana laughed as Miryam pretended to fan herself. 

“I don’t have Arathyn’s heart, Miryam.  It’s all positioning.  I’m but a token to him.  And the rest is just flattery.  Appreciated, but¼,” Ana started.

“It’s not just flattery, Ana.  You’re beautiful, intelligent, and strong.  You have power over your future.  You’re not like the other women here.  You’re future holds more than caring for babies and waiting on men.”

“That shows strength too.”

“Aye, it does; but it lacks the adventure of your life

“I sometimes feel like leaving the adventure behind.”

“Thank the stars you don’t, Ana.  We’d be lost without you.”

“Thank you, Miryam.  Your kind words mean much to me.”

Miryam smiled again at Ana before retreating to her tent.  Ana looked at her reflection in the sword, which stared back with inquisitive green eyes.  Her dark brown hair danced across the delicate features of her elven face hiding her gently pointed ears under her long, loosely-curled tresses.  She wrinkled her nose as she examined the smudges left on her silken skin from the day’s journey; her full apricot lips formed a subtle pout as she wiped her face with her sleeve.  She re-examined her image and smiled thinking of what Miryam had said.  Standing, she slid her sword into its sheath and retreated to her tent to sleep before her watch.

“M’lady!”  A brusque voice woke her.

“Yes,” Ana answered startled.  “What is it, Elan?”

“There is rustling outside the camp perimeter.”

“Have you investigated it,” Ana asked as she donned her armor and weapons and followed Elan from her tent.

“No, M’lady.  I await your orders.”

Ana stopped as she exited her tent.  The delicate hairs on the back of her neck stood painfully on end and a familiar tightness clutched at her chest.  She could sense the evil surrounding the camp and feel the eyes watching her.

“Elan, wake the travelers,” Ana said in barely a whisper still staring into the forest.  “Take them down the southwest passage and circle around back to the westward trail.    Keep them moving,” she stressed, “until you reach the nearest town.”

“Anastriana, what are you going to do,” Elan asked with concern.

“I’m staying here,” Ana said resolutely.

“Then I stay too,” Elan protested drawing his double-headed axe from its holder.

“No.  You need to lead them to safety, and you’ll need the distraction, Elan,” she said quietly.  “Please, go quickly.”

“Ana,”

“Now, Elan,”  she commanded.

Elan gave Ana a last pleading look before turning and running towards the tents.

Ana gazed into the darkness of the forest at the edge of camp.  She inhaled deeply taking in the scents around her searching for a clue as to whom she was about to face.  The redolence she had basked in earlier was now tainted by the mephitic scent of evil.  Ba’dul were in her forest.  Their odor was undeniably recognizable and one that she had been familiar with for years.  She had been learning that smell and how to defeat its owner since she was a child.  Her eager swords found her hands.  Behind her, she could hear the fearful whimpers of the travelers comforted by Elan and Miryam as they led them quickly to safety.  Ana began backing towards the narrow pass to follow behind them when the first of many hideous heads broke through the darkness.  They were encircling her heading towards the trail behind her.  Ana stood her ground, and the Ba’dul stopped in front of her.

“Gluwmen, Swheta,” yelled a voice in the Ba’dulish tongue.

Ana stared at the speaker with cold hatred.  His skin was a sickly shade of green.  His teeth were blackened with decay; and his eyes, close set and yellow, gave no hint of compassion.   

The Ba’dul yelled again, this time in broken syllables of the common tongue.  “Move, girl!”

“I understood you the first time,” Ana snarled.

“Yet you stay.”

“You will leave this place,” Ana commanded speaking fluent Ba’dul.

“You are nothing, girl,” he said with a jagged grin. “no match for Gruk.”

“You won’t live to regret your impudence, Gruk,” Ana replied.  Her eyes narrowed as she steeled herself for the coming assault.  With brutal swiftness and frightening accuracy, the Ba’dul fell upon her in a barrage of attacks.  She barely had time to answer one attack before another club or meaty fist would be hurled her way.  Ana grimly realized that she would not be able to maintain such defense indefinitely.  Refusing to give in to hopelessness, she threw herself deeper into the fray hoping to even the odds before she tired.  Ba’dul after Ba’dul fell at her feet enclosing her within a ring of blood and broken bodies, but she could feel her muscles begin to burn with fatigue. Her breath was coming forth in short ragged puffs that filled her mouth with the essence of iron and ripped at her drying throat, yet still, too many stood.   Gruk’s teeth formed a wicked smile under his pale grey-green lips as Ana collapsed to one knee in exhaustion.

“You tire, elf,” another Ba’dul laughed cruelly.  “You die, and by Lurm’s club.”

“Not before you,” she panted thrusting her swords upwards through his startled maw.

Gruk’s eyes widened with furious realization, and his nostrils flared with rage as he watched Lurm slump over.   “NO!”  he screamed as he turned his fury on Ana.

 Ana panted looking up at her imposing opponent through strands of drenched hair, “You have lost.  They are gone,” she replied referring to her long departed group. 

Gruk swung at Ana with his massive club.  She blocked with a high cross block of her two keen swords, but her parry left her open to his next attack.  His foot flew forward catching her square in the chest with an overpowering blow, and Ana was sent tumbling backwards landing awkwardly against nearby tree; her swords flew from her hands.   She tried desperately to regain her focus, but time was against her.  Gruk was upon her beating her mercilessly with his club with the rest of his troupe watching from behind him with amusement.  She could no longer endure the pain and lost consciousness knowing that the sight of this Ba’dul would be her last. 

Gruk stood sneering over Ana’s limp body.  He listened intently for the sounds of the group of people escaping him knowing he would be punished for allowing them to flee.  “Graaaaaa!!!”  he shouted in frustrated anger.  His hairy green hands reached for Ana to exact his vengeance on her.  As he lifted his meaty fist to strike her again, the sound of thunderous hoof beats pounded into his ears.  He turned in time to see a gleaming sword swing towards his outstretched hand, but his reaction came too late.  With a “swish” through the air, Gruk’s severed hand fell dully to the ground.  His pain-filled scream frightened the other Ba’dul who began to back away from the armor-clad rider.

The knight dismounted his horse standing between Ana and her attackers.  He stared at the slowly retreating Ba’dul through his shining visor.       

“Who is responsible for this?”  He said in a threatening tone pointing at Ana who lay unconscious against the tree.  His voice was distorted into a godlike echo through the closed visor. 

A large Ba’dul emerged from the brush assuming the now vacant command.  He walked past Gruk who laid writhing on the ground and answered the rider defiantly.  “Me, Xarn, knight.”  He grunted in common.  The knight turned to face him.  Even though he was tall for an elf, he was dwarfed by the towering Ba’dul.   He was, however, not intimidated by Xarn’s size.  He lifted the visor on his helmet.  His azure eyes narrowed in displeasure.

“I am Arathyn of Amaranthe, paladin of the First Order, protector of the Kingdom of Alturia.  Tell me quickly what business you have with this girl and why you have trespassed in our lands,” he demanded.

“I not answer to you, knight.  I answer to Master only.  I will kill you; then finish with her,” Xarn answered snarling. 

“So be it,” Arathyn replied lowering his visor.

Xarn swung his heavy club overhead aiming for Arathyn’s helmeted head.  Arathyn lifted his sword high.  His muscles rippled with strain as the club slid down his blade and glanced off of his armor denting it slightly.  He continued his swing, fluidly arcing his gilded two-handed sword over his head and towards Xarn’s exposed neck.  Xarn raised his club to block the blow allowing Arathyn to quickly change directions plunging the shimmering blade deep within his attacker’s soft underbelly.  Xarn’s face filled with a look of startled fear as he fell to his knees.  His mammoth club fell from his hands, which reached frantically for his rapidly emptying stomach.  Blood and bowels spilled from the mouth-like slash as his life, likewise, flowed from him.  He collapsed face first into the muck of blood-moistened dirt landing next to the still, handless form of Gruk.  The others peered warily at Arathyn who stared impassively at them through his blood-soaked helmet.  His sword, still held in the air, gleamed red in the moonlight.

                The remaining Ba’dul came out of the shadows to defeat the knight that had disposed of their leaders.  Arathyn shifted his sword readying himself, awaiting his eager attackers. He was prepared to deliver them a swift and violent death.  They charged him hoping their superior numbers would compensate their ineptitude, but he proved to them otherwise.  The first one to reach him fell quickly at his feet as Arathyn impaled him on the end of his sword.  The large Ba’dul still held his axe high as his knees buckled beneath him.  The two remaining flanked Arathyn, one to either side.  One, with a nasty scar stretching from the corner of his eye to the bottom of his chin, attacked low as the other stockier one went for Arathyn’s broad shoulders.  Arathyn jumped to avoid his scarred attack while trying to fend off the stocky one with a block of his sword.  Without his feet beneath him to anchor him to the ground, the force of the Ba’dul swing threw him skyward.   He landed roughly a few feet away from the Ba’dul a bit dazed but unharmed.  He struggled in his heavy armor to quickly get to his feet, but the Ba’dul saw their advantage and rushed at him.   The stout Ba’dul jumped at him trying to pin him to the ground beneath his weight.  Arathyn rolled out of the way slicing at the Ba’dul’s throat as he went.  The crimson stream that spurted forth told him his sword had aimed well.  The scarred Ba’dul faltered in his step as he saw his last comrade fall.  Arathyn climbed to his feet.  His expression showed no rage save that which burned behind the composure in his eyes. 

He slowly lowered his sword as he watched the Ba’dul slink away.  As the hulking foe faded into the night, Arathyn removed his helmet and looked solemnly towards Ana with recognition.  As he kneeled on the ground to examine his friend, the pound of hurried footsteps reached his ears.  He turned to see the last Ba’dul throw himself at him in an internecine attempt to defeat him.  With speed gained from his battle honed reflexes, Arathyn hurled his sword at the barreling Ba’dul stopping the charge in mid stride.  The scarred Ba’dul fell to the ground with a dull thud; Arathyn’s great sword still protruding from the creature‘s monstrous head.  Arathyn stood and walked over to the body to retrieve his prized weapon.  He placed his foot on the scar that marked the Ba’dul’s head steadying it and slid his sword out from its unnatural sheath. 

He turned back to Ana as he wiped the blood from the weapon.  Around her were strewn the bodies of the other Ba’dul that she had slain.  “Always the hero, Ana,” he sighed tiredly.  His short, blond hair was unruffled despite the fight he had just finished, but his blue eyes revealed his weariness from the days of travel and the battles he had endured.  A faint scar was worn just below his left eye as a testament to his years of defending justice.  Sheathing his sword, he, again, bent over Ana to examine her wounds.  “You nearly got yourself killed this time,” he said to the unconscious figure lying below him.  He laid his hand on her forehead chanting reverently to Ullr, his god, for the power to heal her wounds.  He felt Ullr’s essence flow through him and watched as some of Ana’s wounds began to mend.  Though he tried, he could not maintain the concentration he needed to heal her completely.  He was too fatigued from the happenings that night.  “That will have to suffice for now,” he said remorsefully carefully lifting her into his arms and gathering her fallen weapons.  He mounted his faithful, grey steed, Leressi, protectively cradling Ana with one arm, and spurred the horse to carry them to safety.