It's been a while since I last posted anything on my novel, but I've managed to continue writing, and here is chapter 4!As per usual, all reviews, comments, thoughts etc. are all very welcome because I really want to make this novel the best it can be.
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The trumpets rang out loud and clear, their noise slicing through the hubbub on the on looking crowds, their voices falling away as the notes of the crescendo reached their peak.
The two great gates slowly swung outwards, no sound made as they efficiently cut through the early afternoon air. The crowd’s attention was now solely focused on the gates, which seemed like relief for the Minos – yet they didn’t quite understand what would happen next.
King Tyros II stood rigid in the archway, his face solemn as he looked out at his people. A tremendous cheer rose up from the crowd, radiating out like a fantastic shockwave of adoration. The elderly king was adored by the people; he was regarded as the greatest king the human kingdoms had ever had. Yet as he stood, atop his war chariot, his eyes stretching out to reach every member of the crowd, there was a sense of age emitting from him. He was four hundred and eighty four years old, the longest serving king in the history of the human kingdoms. A great feast had been held only four years previously, a great celebration of the fact that he had surprised the previous record of four hundred and eighty years by his father, King Tyros the elder, who had passed on the secret of his own old age to his son only weeks before his death.
In the early years of the human kingdoms, the people had been weak. Ruled by a stream of continuously changing leaders – for there were great divisions between various religious factions – the people had struggled to hold back the tide of dwarfish attackers that had met them on the ineptly named Beach of Death, when the first human settlers on the island of Tamahand had landed some nine hundred and seventy years ago. The settlers had sustained great losses, for although they outnumbered the Dwarves by more than four to one, they did not possess the same weapons and determination. The Dwarves themselves had warned the other races of the island of the rumours of the coming threat – a race that lived only for the destruction of all others, but their words counted for little, as one by one the other races of Tamahand turned their backs to the shores, content and smug. It was because of this, that the humans were ultimately victorious, there tyrannical manor driving the Dwarves from the Isle and setting down their reign of tyranny for centuries to come.
Now, nine hundred and seventy years after the first humans set foot on Tamahand, King Tyros II, the second king of the united human kingdoms, stood before his people. The roars of the crowd still ringing in his ears, he raised a pale hand, calling on his people to be silent.
‘Loyal citizens of Dragonhead!’ he shouted, ‘You are here today to witness a landmark moment in our history. Today is the day that I can say we have whipped out the last resistance to our rule over this Island!’
From his position in the slave line, Bártak stared in disgust at the king. His anger and disbelieve welling up in another torrent of flame. How was it possible – possible for some people to have such a deep and dark hatred of all others?
‘Bring forth the prisoners!’ King Tyros II ordered, waving his hand haphazardly in the direction of Bártak and his companions. His gesture seemed to reinviger the crowd, reawakening them to the fact that the Minos were there. Shouts and jeers rang out at the Minos as they were brought forward in front of the King, their captors forcing them to bow down at his feet.
Bártak risked a glance at Tolko, his only real friend in the group, yet he was downcast, the despair once more radiating from him. He had given up all hope, yet there was still a glimmer of hope inside Bártak. He wasn’t sure how it still existed, for he had endured so much since is capture, yet Bártak was determined to cling onto it, to never give up completely.
The King surveyed his new slaves with an air of disgust, his nose upturned as his head swept from one end of the line to another. Suddenly, without warning, the King threw out a hand, his index finger quivering as he plucked out one of the older females from the line.
‘That one!’ He shouted his voice shrill and full of malice. ‘She doesn’t look healthy to me.’
The female in question gave out a small squeak, her face contorting in fear, her eyes dashing from side to side in some futile attempt at finding an escape. Bártak knew it would be impossible – even if she broke free of the chain, the crowd would push her back, or worse still swallow her up, for their faces where full of cruel hatred, dark black eyes watching on with deep and malicious cruelty.
‘Kill her!’
The Kings words rang out like a sharp knife, cutting into the crowd as it sucked in its breath.
‘Please! No! No!’
‘Silence!’
The female was reduced to silent babbling, her head shaking in shock. Bártak’s anger threatened to overwhelm him, yet he knew he had to keep his cool. He couldn’t risk anything. None the less, his heart ached at what was about to happen.
The Crowd bawled and cheered as the female was untied from the chain, and brought forwards right in front of the kings chariot. He in turn looked down at the Minotaur, her eyes sparkling with one final plead for help.
A soldier stepped forwards, his long sword drawn out in front of him as he approached the helpless kneeling prisoner.
Bártak had hoped it would end quickly, but heartbreakingly it did not. Drawing back the sword, the soldier went to behead the female, the sword blade flashing as it arched downwards towards its helpless victim. Misjudging the swing of the blade, the soldier swung down into the back of the head, cleaving apart the skull. A pitiful gasping moan erupted from the female’s mouth, blood spewing forwards in a torrent of sticky fire. The crowd recoiled in shock, faces turned away as the sinew, bone and brain tissue spat from the back of the head. Raising the sword again, the soldier aimed a second stroke, the female still barely clinging to life. Quickly and efficiently, the soldier dispatched her, ending the torture she had endured. A chilling silence fell over the area, the wind dying to an empty level. Bártak stared in horror, his eyes glued to the mutilated corpse of the dead Minotaur. How could these people be so heartless? So ruthless and unforgiving? Fresh anger manifested itself deep inside his veins, threatening to boil over and unleash itself like a dreadful torrent of fire and destruction.
The King glanced down at the body, his face twisted in a kind of malicious grin. After a few moments, he signalled to his driver. The chariot wheeled around, the axles straining as it turned a complete one hundred and eighty degrees – an then, as swiftly as it had arrived, it departed back up the stone walkway back into the city, the two great wooden doors swinging shut behind it.
Chapter 5 and 6 are nearly ready for submission.