Death's Warrior Chapter 2 (Part 1)

***Please note that this is my NaNoWriMo Rough draft and I am not done with the whole story yet. I have taken into account what has been said in reviews of my first chapter but I have not edited anything yet (per NaNoWriMo rules of no editing). That being said, I don't usually read over what I wrote so it will be really messy and sometimes redundant, but I am getting too excited to not put something of this up on this wonderful website. Please enjoy, give suggestions, do whatever you want, but it is definitely a ROUGH DRAFT :) Happy Reading!***

CHAPTER TWO

“My Lord?” Someone asked. The King’s eyes flew open and he suddenly sat back up from where he had been resting his head in his hands. His mind had to, once again, take in his surroundings. The king had wanted to call a meeting with all of his advisors, not just the three who constantly stood by his side, but many were busy with their own duties and this issue required an immediate answer. He had dismissed the messenger to the healing ward and requested that he be brought to speak before them again the following day after he had been given a full night’s rest. His lady, the queen, sat beside him as always, eyeing him inquisitively. However, she was not the one who was speaking.

“We’ll need to send several units of reinforcements today in order to reach the wall in time,” said Captain Alterdale. “They are still settling in and so we might be able to catch them off guard and-”

“Off guard?” Interrupted Danabhir, leaning across the table, completely incredulous. “Captain, to immediately send troops to the wall will be what they are expecting. Secondly, there is no such thing as reinforcements- by now, there is no one left to reinforce. The wall is breached, taken, gone.”

“That does not give us the right to ignore it. This is not a simple game, this is a threat.” Alterdale replied. He was on the edge of his seat, leaning across the table. Behind him, a tapestry was abruptly swept aside as one of the servants appeared from behind it. The tapestry was covered in a layer of dust and hung down the wall. It fadedly depicted the royal family tree of those who had ruled before the present king. There was an open spot for him at the bottom, beneath his father whose spot had been blackened by charcoal. Such was the tradition when someone was disinherited from the crown.

A map was being spread out in front of the king and his advisors, drawing his attention which wandered too easily, back to the matters at hand. “Thank you Alicia,” the king said, nodding his head in her direction before she curtsied and disappeared back behind the intricately woven artwork and down the hidden servants’ hall behind.

He always made an effort to learn all of his servants’ names. It was an example and a standard that had been set by his ancestors before him. He could still remember the kindness with which his grandfather had done everything, so different than his son who swung his fists too often to not be called a tyrant.

He had sat on his grandfather’s lap in the throne room, staring into those kind eyes that he still looked up to when the importance of being a king was thrust upon him. “One day you will be king,” his grandfather had said, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiled and poked the child in the stomach, tickling the boy until he giggled and turned his tears into laughter. “You will rule with grace,” he added, standing him up on his knees and ruffling his messy hair. “You will rule with a kindness and an understanding greater than those before you, and-” he had paused, throwing his finger dramatically in the air, making the boy smile even more. “Most of all, you will never use your fists to get what you want.” Here, the young prince looked down in shame at his bruised knuckles, frowning. He had been forbidden to ride his horse that day, despite the fact that it was storming, and took his anger out on a suit of armor that decorated one of the halls. He had only been following the example he had seen his father set many times before, only it wasn’t usually a sculpted piece of metal that got the brunt of his anger.

He recalled his chin being lifted up, preventing further tears from falling down his face at memories of his father’s violence and instead filing them with the wisest words the young prince had ever heard. They rang in his ears still. “There will come a time once you become king that you may have to use force.” His beloved grandfather had said. “When this day comes you can swing your fists and brandish your sword until your heart's content, but that is not today, nor is it tomorrow. That day may never come, or it may come the moment you finally wear the crown. However, even on that day you must be a strong leader and not lose your humanity. You must be peaceful and kind, understanding and never seem controlling or to be feared by those who trust you or you might lose them. Your father may believe otherwise, but he does not have the makings of a king like you, Alexander. He will never be king so long as I live because his humanity has left him.”

Humanity. Have we finally lost it all? Alexander thought, turning his attention back to the map before realizing that he was being stared at again by his advisors.

“My Lord?” Asked Castragus, the head of the royal guard. “Are you well?”

The king brushed off his question with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine, thank you Castragus,” Alexander replied, sighing and standing up. Suddenly all of his advisors were standing as well, eyes attached to him. “No, please sit,” he said, motioning back towards the table before he began to pace. The room was small but there was enough space for him behind his and the queen’s chairs along the wall.

“Then, your opinion, my lord?” Castragus asked again, his eyes carefully following his king as he paced back and forth.

Alexander paused, tilting his head and seemed to consider something. “Ask the question again. Your exact words, please.” He clasped his hands behind his back, standing still but now studying the plush carpet beneath his feet. He enjoyed testing the his advisors in this way. They knew that he understood each and every word they spoke, but these little mind games intrigued him and kept him from getting too bored with the constant runnings of his kingdom.

Castragus cleared his throat and glanced at the others before speaking again. “If the Brink Wall has truly been taken, are we not at war?”

There was a low grumble from around the table before the king slapped his chair, causing all but Dhanabir to jump. Alexander leaned on the chair and ungentlemanly-like rocked it back towards him, balancing on his own heels as he did so. Then he let the forelegs slam back on the cold stone floor and proceeded.

“Gentlemen, I present to you our problem!” He shouted. This met with wide eyes and silently held breaths. Resuming his pacing and speaking lower, but still with the agitation that had so suddenly come from him, the king pressed on further. “Yes, the Brink Wall has been taken, thus breaking our treaty. We are now faced with two options and only one choice. We can either ignore their invasion and allow their intrusion to continue, breaking the people’s trust in our ability to protect them and possibly have revolts throughout the land, or,” he paused, creating and stretching out the silence in the room. “We fight back.”

The silence was not broken at his statement, it only stretched out further and further for several moments while everyone took in the severity of the words before Dhanabir spoke out. “From what you are implying, my king, it seems as though you have already made your decision,” the elder said none too lightly, inclining his head and crossing his arms. He was certainly the most relaxed in the room as he leaned back in his chair.

“I have,” Alexander replied, looking again at his hands, hating the words that he had to say next. “Gentlemen and my lady queen,” he spoke slowly, nodding to both respectfully before continuing. “We are now at war with Incardia.”

~*****~

As night enveloped the castle, something else moved among the shadows. Not on the grounds, no. He was in his realm, the forest, on the edge and allowing the trees and brush to cloak him from any guard on their rounds. His wings ruffled against his pitch black hair, their small feathery and leathery undersides weathered by the ages. A soft breeze that always blew on him ruffled his dark mane and shifted his forelock so that it tickled his nose. He snorted and stomped one of his hooves. Frustration. What his soul searched for was not here. He would come back, he knew. Something important was soon to happen, the fabric in between the worlds was beginning to haze again. Faint whispers carried themselves on the wind, speaking to him of a time short to come, a cycle completed and restarting. No, he did not know who he looked for, only that he should be looking.

Looking here.

But who was not here?

He made a step forward, his charcoal black hoof breaking into the light of the low moon before he stopped himself. No, not tonight. He will not search tonight; he will wait. He has waited three hundred years, what is another night? But then again, his soul yearned for something here, something precious and untouched, new yet unwieldy. Perfect.

He stomped his hoof again, attempting to take out his frustration with it. Things such as these took time, precious time, but time nonetheless. He will wait, perhaps the dawn will bring what his soul yearns for with it.

~*****~

Kastia marveled at the stars above her head, they seemed so much brighter down here in the valley than they did by the castle. Perhaps it was all of the oil lamps and torches burning for the guards on watch that blotted them out. Either way, Kastia could feel a calm over her that she only got when she was beside the forest.

She caught herself staring at the dark green silhouettes that the thick trees cast against the night sky. Something about it seemed welcoming to her, even though the forest was taboo, forbidden, shushed when the word was brought up. The townspeople seemed ashamed that it was there, trying their best to ignore it, as if they could change the fact that it existed. Of course, there were stories, mostly of men never returning from their hunting trips. However, there was one who made it back with the prize buck of the season. He was joyfully met and brought back, shuffled through the streets by a cheering crowd, but by the time he had laid the dead deer down on the butcher’s table it turned to dust before their eyes. Never again would a man enter that forest, and never again would the forest be accepted where it stood.

Kastia wrenched her sight away from its calling silhouetted form, once again noticing the pleasant feel of the swaying motion of the horse beneath her and of the returning, pouring rain on her skin. The cabin was in sight now, only the moonlight reflecting off the windows gave proof that it was there. Pax’s ears perked up, he seemed to know that a peaceful stall lay waiting for him, but Kastia forced him to walk the last long length, as much as he wanted to run. He had done so much for her already and she wanted to continue to marvel at the vast universe above her head.

Perhaps somewhere up there gods spoke to each other about the kings that ruled their world. Did they truly have control? Perhaps it was fate with divine intervention, or perhaps no fate at all. Could one choose their own way in life?

“Best not think about that now,” Kastia mumbled to herself, looking down at her hands which were entwined in her steed’s mane. Pax acted as if he hadn’t heard her, although his steps quickened as they neared the cabin. A small stable was hidden behind the last copse of trees in between the moon-glistening lake and the forest.

The stables came into sight as did the shimmering lake and pax dove into an unexpected canter, forcing Kastia to grab his mane and cling for fear of falling off. The mud and water splashed behind them and he threw his head in the air, spraying more water in Kastia’s face. Suddenly lightning flashed above her and Pax reared as its resounding crack deafened her. She never felt her hands slip from the reins nore her feet leave the stirrups, She only heard an overbearing ringing in her ears and only saw the blinding streak that cut her vision behind her eyelids. Somewhere behind her consciousness she could tell that Pax had galloped off, no longer concerned with the stables that had awaited him. Kastia could feel the water soaking through every inch of her, but as she moved to get up, black covered her vision and she remembered no more.