Chapter 00: Prologue

Prologue

 

Kagain Blackturner, a man standing around six feet, with deep midnight blue eyes, approached Dyorn Andros, a gracious looking man of a meager five foot nine inches, intelligent eyes of an amber colour, sitting on the throne of Dragonia.  As Kagain approached the throne, he bowed low to the ground, his daughter following his lead, did the same.  "Sire Andros, according to tradition, a long standing king, as yourself, most usually has had a queen by his side.  Therefore, I find it in the best interest of Dragonia to offer you my only daughter, Alora, to be your wife, and queen.  Seeing as you have not chosen, nor looked, for one."

Dyorn considered the request, but found his thoughts wandering back to the woman he met at the inn.  A mercenary in search of a job, she stood about 5'5 with bark brown hair and electric yellow flecked blue eyes not to mention her outstanding personality.  "Kagain, you are a high standing family, and your daughter is quite beautiful." He looked towards Alora, seeing her blush at his comment, bringing a soft smile to his face.  “I believe I have a wife chosen, and I must gracefully decline your offer."

Kagain sighed, not used to being rejected, especially from Dyorn.  “Milord, we have been friends our whole lives, will you not reconsider?”

Dyorn tried to focus on the situation at hand, but his thoughts again wondered towards the barmaid.  “I am sorry Kagain, I know we are great friends, but I must decline the offer.”

Kagain glared at him.  "Sire Andros, how do you know that the wife you believe you have chosen will accept?  Alora is willing to marry you, she has dreamed of it for her whole life.  Besides, if you decline my offer and the wife you have chosen declines, who will be the mother of your heirs?  Who will stand by your every decision?  Who will help you keep a sane mind?”

“Kagain, you know good and well that I am able to make my decisions, and rule with a sane mind.  Besides, Gorec has been with me from the beginning, he keeps me straight.”

“Dyorn, it is not the same, and most definitely not what I meant.  Gorec is a great friend, but he can only provide certain comfort.  A queen can provide you with any comfort you should need.”

“That I understand, Kagain, but I have made my decision.”

Kagain sighed again.  “I have no choice but to accept your decision, no matter how much I disagree.  I tell you now Dyorn, this is one of the greatest mistakes you have ever, or will ever make.  You will regret this day, and this decision."  He pulled at his daughter's arm, and led her out of the throne room.  He took a second look, debating on going back in and giving the Emperor an ultimatum.  He thought better, and turned to leave, his wife having already led Alora out.

Dyorn stood, anger welling inside of him, his eyes burning red.  “Sir Kagain.”  Kagain turned to look at him from the doorway.  “I see your point, but have a sane mind in making this decision.  I have not made a mistake here, Kagain, you have.  You have laid a threat to the king.  More importantly than threatening the king, you have also threatened the kingdom.  For that, you shall learn what pain is.  GUARDS!  Arrest that man.”  Dyorn looked to Kagain.  “Sir Kagain Blackturner, you have been charged with treason, and are hereby sentenced to death.  Tomorrow at midday your sentence shall be carried out.”  He then turned to the guards.  “Do not let this traitor out of your hands, or your hands will be hanging on the wall!”  Seeing the guards nod, and drag Kagain off, he walked away from the throne.

"Gorec, I am stepping out for a while, take control for the time being.  I shall most likely return before daybreak."  He walked off, his cloak, a crimson red trimmed in black; grazing the floor and moving from side to side with his gaunt steps.  Gorec took a seat on the throne, and prepared to deal with the problems of the kingdom. 

Dyorn, on the other hand, went back to the inn.  As he entered, a clumsy peasant ran into him, almost knocking him over.  The peasant looked up, and quickly got on his knees.  "I am sorry, milord.  I was not watching my step.  Please forgive me, I meant no harm."

Dyorn looked to the peasant.  “Do not fret your mind.  Go to your home, and return to work.”  The peasant nodded, and hurried out of the tavern, with the harvest upon them he did need to return to work, and he had an awful feeling that Dyorn would send a guard on him, or plant a dagger in his back.

The innkeeper saw Dyorn walking in.  “Good eve my good king.  May we get you a drink?  Food?  Companionship?”  After the keep said that, a small grin crossed his face.

Dyorn looked to the man.  “Ale and a leg of lamb will do me over for the night kind sir.”  He nodded, and Dyorn took a seat, awaiting his ale.

A serving lady approached him, with his ale.  As she got close, she lost her footing and spilled the ale over him.  “Oh!  A thousand apologies milord.”

Dyorn stood angrily, and looked at the serving woman.  “YOU CLUMSY WENCH!  Your apology is disregarded.  Fetch a towel, and another mug of ale, if you wish to keep your job.”

She looked up, and her jaw dropped.  “My liege!  If I had known it was you there I would have been a thousand times more careful.  Please accept my apology, I beg of you.”  Dyorn considered this, and nodded his head, slowly.  “I shall return with the towel and your ale.”  She ran off in a hurry.

Dyorn sighed, and took his seat again, mumbling all the time.  The wench returned and handed him the towel, setting his ale on the table.  Dyorn cleaned off his clothes.  “Bring my food, and this time, watch where you step!”  She nodded and walked to the kitchen.  He took a sip of the ale, and realized that she looked a bit familiar.  She returned with his food, and set it on the table before him.  “Thank you for the food, and for not spilling it on me.”

She blushed a bit, and then walked away.  As she was about four feet from him a regular drunk turned, as if to leave, but instead grabbed her by the waist, and forced her into his lap.  “You’re my wench for tonight!”

She fought free, and suddenly his hands fell off, and his body burst into flames.  “I am not your wench, nor will I ever be!”  Dyorn looked on, and his jaw dropped.  She walked off and into the kitchen as if nothing had happened.

“Wow.  I haven’t seen anyone with that much power since the Mage Wars.”  He finished eating, and drinking his ale.  He went to leave, but went to the kitchen first.  Sitting in the corner was the lady.  “Excuse me, miss?”

She looked up at him and gasped audibly.  “Yes, milord?”

“What is your name?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard my question; I wish to know your name?”

“I…. me…?  I mean, um, I am Lyra Ciencaster.”

“Lyra Ciencaster.  As you know I am Dyorn Andros, it is a pleasure to meet you Lyra.”

“I am happy that you have graced me with your presence.”

“Lyra, how much do you get paid here?”

“Five gold a week, plus any tips.”

“Five?  Lyra, I will pay you twenty gold a week, plus room and board, if you come and work for me in Castlelake.”

“You want me to work for you?”  She asked skeptically.

“Yes, why else would I have requested it?”

“Well, I had this man, by the name of Kagain Blackturner come here and offer me a job, only as a cruel joke.  So I thought that all nobles were like that.”

Dyorn shook his head.  “No, only he is.  I do want you to work for me.  If twenty is not enough, then I’ll pay you forty.”  She opened her mouth, to protest that twenty was more enough, but he saw this as a move to barter.  “All right, I’ll pay you fifty a week, with room and board.”

She looked again, and this time said outright.  “I would be honored to work for you, sire.”

“Please, you are now my personal servant, call me Dyorn.”

“Yes milord, I mean Dyorn.”

“Meet me outside the inn, with all your possessions.  I shall tell the keep of our deal.”  He went out of the kitchen, and Lyra ran and collected her things, waiting for Dyorn outside.  “Good keep.  I have hired your kitchen wench by the name of Lyra.”

“But sire, why would you want Lyra.  She is not as good of a servant, or wench, as the others.  I am sure you would like the abilities of my most talented, Skie, over that of Lyra.”

Dyorn pulled back his fist, and in a matter of moments it flew forward hitting the keep square in the nose, a sickening crack echoed throughout the bar, the keeps nose broken.  “I do not like having my decisions mocked.  I have hired Lyra, and that is that.”  He looked to the keep to see if he was to protest again.  “Good, now.”  He dropped the gold for his meal and ale on the bar.  “Have a nice night.”

 

Later in the night, Kagain sat in his cell, chains rattling, his mind racing trying to figure out a way to get free.  “How do I get out of here?”  He thought for a second, and then got an idea.  “Of course.”  He mumbled something in the oldest form of language known to Dragonia.   The power of the spell radiated throughout the cell, and within moments the chains melted.  Without a sound the shackles fell from his wrists, ankles, and neck.  He walked up to a wall, and mumbled another spell; the wall disappeared, and as soon as he was through appeared again.  “I am free, now to plan my revenge against Dyorn and all of Dragonia!”  Kagain ran off, back to his house.