The Higborn Legends: Shadows of the Past (Prologue)

    The setting sun hung low in the sky, casting the last of its dying light over the high castle walls, as swollen black clouds loomed above. Thunder rolled in the distance like an echoing war drum even as the first drops of rain began to fall to the blood coated flagstone below. The bodies of some twenty men and women littered the floor as the final strokes of battle played out.
    The scene would have made most quell in fear and disgust, yet Aldric Blackthorn sat upon his high-backed seat and watched with a broad smile upon his handsome face. This was more than he could have hoped for. The soldiers before him fought with skill and grace, cutting down their foes with a precision he could not have dared to dream of.
    Beside Aldric stood Mateus Harker, the captain of Aldric’s late father’s royal guard and Adlric’s childhood teacher. It was he who had gathered the four soldiers that now fought so vealiantly for their kings favor. As always, he wore the armor of his position; heavy plate mail crafted of black steel and a the blood red cloak which bore the Blackthorn family seal, a hollow black circle with five curving points extending from its outer edge. His eyes were on the battle as well, his face as impassive as stone and his shoulders squared. He wore no weapon for he, just like Aldric and the soldiers before them, had no need of mortal blades.
    They were, each of them, a member of the strongest Highborn race, created by the warrior god Porellus in the darkest of times; the Warforged. Their strength was their shau’rin; weapons born of their very souls, brought into existence by the force of their will. They were weapons that no mortal blade could hope to match, containing the power of pure destruction and death. These were Aldric’s people, his subjects and his brethren. Yet they were a people currently divided.
    It was a point of shame to Aldric that those who lay dead and dying before him were Warforged as well. Members of the group that called themselves the Loyalists, they had been captured nearly a month ago attempting to infiltrate the capital city of Kingsglenn. It would have been easier, Aldric thought to himself, if they had simply acknowledged the error of their ways and sworn their allegiance to the throne. Yet they had refused and, thus, had earned themselves the sentence that was no being carried out.
    Not a quarter of an hour ago they had been led into the couryard, more than two dozen prisoners who had shambled and dragged their feet, on their way to what they were sure was a public execution. Aldric could still recall the looks of confusion on each of their faces when they had found themselves facing, not the gallows, but instead four soldiers standing before the king of Porellium and his general.
    “You have all been found guilty of aligning yourselves with the rebel group known as the Loyalists,” Aldric had told them, his voice echoing in the near empty courtyard. “The penalty for such is death by hanging, as I am sure you are all aware. Yet, you king is merciful and generous. I offer you this chance to avoid death, should you prove yourselves worthy of life.”
    He had paused here to watch the effect his words had on the prisoners. Many of them had shown hope upon their faces, others disbelief. One thing was common though amongst all of them, they were now hanging on each of his words, desperate to learn how them might live.
    “Before you are four of the best warriors my kingdom has to offer. I have been told that they can handle any challenge that is presented to them. So here is my challenge to you all; fight and, should you survive, you will be granted a full pardon and released at the borders of my kingdom. Refuse to fight, and the hangman shall have you. What is your answer?”
    A stunned silence had answered his question at first. Disbelief was painted on nearly every face before him as his words began to sink in on the Loyalists. Shortly after, a murmur had begun to spread across their ranks, building on itself like the sound of a beehive swarming to life until each of them were shouting and stamping their feet. Weapons sprang into existence as each side drew forth their powers, readying themselves for the coming fight.
    With a mighty roar the first wave of Loyalists charged forward, raising their weapons to attack. They crashed upon the four soldiers before them like the ocean waves upon the rocks. Screams rent the air as they were cut down in short order, their bodies falling to the flagstones below them as their comrades watched on in shocked disbelief. Only a few short seconds into the battle and nearly half the Loyalists lay dead upon the floor, their blood spreading across the gray stone like a lake that had overflowed its bed.
    Now, after several minutes of battle, it had come down to this; four Loyalists remained, each one matching off against one of the four soldiers. They were spread throughout the courtyard, measuring up their opponents and circling each other as they waited for the perfect moment to strike. In times like these, just before the final strokes of a battle, Aldric could always feel his own power stirring within himself. It was like a warmth that bubbled and spread throughout his body, filling his mind with a blinding excitement that threatened to overtake his senses and cripple the control that he constantly exercised over himself. Indeed, even the air itself seemed to hold its breath as the storm momentarily calmed and seconds stretched into an eternity.
    With a blinding flash that turned dusk to mid-day, a fork of lightning cut across the sky above the castle and spurred the warriors into action. Dollan Al’Farris was the first to strike down his foe, charging forward and burying his heavy, double-bladed battle axe into the chest of his enemy. Following through with the strike, he cleaved the Loyalist clean in two, spilling his innards upon the blood-coated floor. As he turned towards Aldric, another fork of lightning lit his blood-splattered face and showed the thrilled smile he wore. His lust and love for battle was what had earned him his spot on this team and Aldric could see those emotions painted on his face now.
    Moments later a heavy thud drew Aldric’s attention to a second pair of combatants. Osias the Golem, so named for his large size and emotionless demeanor, stood over his foe, his spiked kanabo embedded in the man’s torso. Aldric watched as blood frothed and bubbled at the Loyalists lips as he gasped desperately for breath that would not come. His body shivered and shook as his lungs filled up with blood and he stared up into the cold and blank eyes of his killer. As the last glimmer of life faded from the Loyalists eyes, Osias wrenched his weapon from the mans chest and rested it on his shoulder, turning calmly to face the final two pairs of combatants.
    Aldric followed his gaze and found a most unexpected scene; the third pair of combatants had yet to engage in combat. They stood a small distance from each other, still as statues as they both silently dared the other to attack first. The soldier was small and clad entirely in black, from the cloth slippers he wore to the cowl that exposed only his eyes. In his hands he held twin daggers, short and thin-bladed, while his opponent wielded a massive broad sword. It seemed unfortunate for the soldier that he should be at such a disadvantage in reach but Aldric was not ready to count him out just yet. This was a man he knew of, not by looks for he had never seen the mans face but, instead, by reputation. He went by the name of Seraph and, although he was not technically considered a soldier, his name was whispered in hushed conversations whenever there was talk of great warriors.
    He was an assassin. In fact, he was the assassin. The only one that Aldric’s father had trusted when all other avenues had been closed to him. Deadly and silent as a shadow, he had been responsible for some of the most high profile assassinations during Sarus Blackthorn’s reign.
    Aldric watched with baited breath as the Loyalist finally raised his sword and charged forward. In the blink of eye, the man lay dead upon the floor as his life’s blood spilled from twin holes in his neck. Aldric’s eyes widened in shocked disbelief, his mouth hung open in a silent O and his mind tried desperately to reenact what had just occurred. He had been unable to follow the speed of Seraph’s movement, the killing blow having escaped him entirely, and even now he was unsure if the man had even moved more than a step from his original position.
    “By all the forgotten gods,” he murmured, looking up at Mateus. “Did you see…?”
    “No, my lord,” Mateus answered him. “I don’t believe even the Loyalist realized what happened.”
    Glancing back at the dead man by Seraph’s feet, Aldric realized Mateus might be right. His face was still twisted in the snarl of his final attack. There was no shock or despair upon his face and, Aldric suspected, he had likely died before even realizing that he had been slain.
    The clash of weapons drew Aldric’s attention away from the dead man and pulled his eyes to the final combatants. The Loyalists seemed to have the upper hand at the moment, his curved scimitar cutting through the air and pushing the soldier back with each attack. Illari Wavestrider, the only woman on the team of soldiers, danced and twisted gracefully as she parried each attack with her sea-foam green trident. She was beautiful beyond words; sharp featured with bronzed skin, raven black hair that hung luxuriously down past her shoulders and every inch of visible skin painted with the curving and swooping lines of the tattoos that marked the third high clan of the Warforged.
    It had been a surprise to Aldric that Mateus had selected Illari for this mission, not because she was a woman, but because of her position. She was the next in line to take power of her clan once her father died. She was widely regarded as the greatest treasure and fiercest warrior the Wavestrider clan possessed. Even after Mateus had selected her, it would have been well within her influence to refuse the spot. Yet here she was, battling fiercely against an opponent who seemed to have her on the ropes.
    Aldric’s heart skipped a beat as he saw he foot slip in a pool of blood, throwing her off balance and crippling her guard. Her opponent took the opportunity and lunged forward, his blade cutting a wide arch that eventually passed right through the space where her neck should have been.
    Here was the grace that Illari was known for. What should have sent her sprawling and ended in her beheading was nothing more that a nuisance to her. She had corrected her balance and spun away from the killing blow, leaving her enemy unguarded and completely baffled as to what had just happened. With a flash, her trident cut through the air and pierced the man’s throat, the barded tip of the center blade extending from the back of his neck as his garbled scream died in his throat. With a mighty tug, Illari yanked her weapon to the side and severed the man’s head, showering herself in a spray of blood that rained from the bloody stump of his neck. Even as his body crumpled to the floor, his head falling and rolling away into the shadows, Illari turned and raised her weapon to Aldric in salute.
    “It would seem you have accomplished the task I set before you, Mateus,” Aldric said, standing from his seat and waving for the four warriors to approach his raised platform. “These four, with your leadership, shall do splendidly for the task I have in mind.”
    “I live to serve my king,” Mateus answered. “Though my job should have been much easier if you would have shared any of the details of our mission with me. It is no small feat assembling a team when you have no idea what you will be asking of them, or what you will be facing. Do you not remember the first lesson I taught you, my young king?”
    Aldric turned and half-smiled at his old teacher. He normally would have never allowed one of his subjects to talk to him as such, but Mateus was the one man whom Aldric relied on to be straight-forward and not mince words. It was a quality that had earned him less-than-overwhelming favor with many of the clan leaders, but Aldric found to be an invaluable commodity. In a world where people smiled through their teeth at you and whispered their dissent behind closed doors, it was a balm to have one like Mateus by your side.
    “Never enter a battle without first knowing who your enemy is,” Aldric answered him. “I remember perfectly. But the walls have ears and the secrecy of this mission is of the utmost importance. I no longer have the luxury of trust which has not been earned. Trust me, you will understand soon enough.”

            *    *    *    *    *    *

    It was long past midnight by the time Aldric and his soldiers had been filled in on the details of their mission. It was even longer before they were outfitted with the necessary equipment and had been sent on their way. The hallways and corridors of the castle were dark, save for the light of the moon that struggled to pierce the clouds and the forks of lightning that came every so often. No matter though. Aldric had walked these hallways so often that his feet carried him along his path with little need to think. That was good, for Aldric’s mind was other places.
    In the last month, life had changed so much for him that he often found himself wandering the halls of the castle late at night, lost in thought and often finding himself far from his bed chambers with no idea how he had arrived there. Just four short weeks ago his father had died suddenly and mysteriously. Though there had been no wound upon his body and no trace of poison, he had been found stone dead in his private chambers in the prime of his life. Aldric had taken the news as best as could be expected for a boy of seventeen who has just learned that he is now the king of an entire nation. In truth, he had nearly fallen under the pressure.
    The funeral ceremonies had been a blur of other clan representatives paying their respects and honoring him as their new king. They had come from all across the inner territories, all those who had remained faithful to the throne. Yet his father’s body had barely been laid to rest before the clan leaders were making demands of Aldric, asking what his plans were, if any, to deal with the issue of the growing Loyalist armies.
    The Loyalists. Just the sound of that name made Aldric’s blood boil in his veins. Loyal? Them? Their loyalty, like all Warforged, should have been to the throne. To Aldric’s father, Sarus, when he had been alive and, now that he wasn’t, to Aldric. But no! They swore allegiance to another family. A family who had ruled before the Blackthorns. A family whose bloodline no longer even existed. The Fairwings.
    If you believed the legends, which Aldric firmly did not, at the end of the second age the gods had sacrificed themselves to seal the evil that had once plagued the world. Before doing so, they had named those who would rule over their children in their absence and Porellus had named the Fairwings. It was all that was needed for them to rule for as long as they had.
    But twenty short years ago their rule had ended. Those clans who had watched as the bloodlines of the Warforged became blurred and diluted banded together, demanding that the Fairwings step down and allow a new clan to lead. Of course, the Fairwings had refused and war consumed the capital city. When the dust had finally settled the Fairwings were no more and Sarus Blackthorn sat upon the throne of Kingsglenn. His first order of business had been to hand down a new edict, declaring the Warforged superior to all other races and stripping the rights of all those who were not of their bloodlines. The kingdom watched as the other Highborn races were chased from the land while humes, those who had no Highborn heritage to speak of, were forced to choose between slavery or death.
    Next, he gathered the heads of all the clans to him and offered them the chance to swear their fealty to the new throne. Many were quick to take the offer, some due to the promise of riches and lands befitting their titles while others agreed out of fear of what would happen to their families should they refuse. Yet there were those who had refused to accept his rule and banded together to form the group now known as the Loyalists.
    In the twenty years since the Loyalists numbers had grown and they had gone from being a mild nuisance to a threat to the security of the inner territories. But soon all that would change. If all went according to plan, and Aldric believed it would, the Loyalists would soon be dealt a blow so severe that they would have only two choices left to them; surrender or die.
    Aldric finally arrived at the door to his private chambers and pushed the doors open, slipping inside and shutting the doors on the rest of the castle. It was here that he was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief and truly relax. None were permitted to enter his chamber without his permission and it was the one place in the castle where he was free of the demands that were constantly placed on him. It was a large room with all the very best that Aldric could ask for. A massive bed sat against one of the walls, covered in squashy pillows, soft furs and, most nights, occupied by whatever beautiful maiden Aldric had wished to take to bed with him. For a moment Aldric considered simply falling into the bed and letting sleep overtake him, but reminded himself that there was still business to attend.
    On the other side of the room was a large fireplace, a roaring fire crackling away merrily inside of it to keep the chill of the storm away. Above the fireplace hung a large mirror of burnished silver. Aldric caught his reflection in it and scowled. He hardly recognized the man he saw. His face was covered in the stubble of nearly a week without a proper shave and his hair had fallen out of the intricate braid that he normally wore it in. His face was drawn and his eyes had dark shadows around them, evidence of the long days, and even longer nights, that he had been putting in recently. He promised himself that, come tomorrow, he would get himself properly presentable again and, perhaps, take the day to feast and drink and enjoy some of the newest young women he had seen around the castle recently.
    He passed the fire and came to a large desk that sat before a pair of glass-paneled doors. The doors, which opened unto a balcony that overlooked the entire city of Kingsglenn, were currently shut tight against the storm. The windows rattled within their panes with each crack of lightning and boom of thunder. Looking out into the night, Aldric was unable to see even the edge of the balcony the rain was falling so hard now. Mateus and his soldiers would have a hard first nights journey.
    He turned his attention to the desk and looked down upon its intricately carved surface. A carefully crafted map of his entire kingdom was laid across the face of the desk with each major city and landmark labeled. In fact, this was once his father’s desk and was the only thing that Aldric had chosen to keep. The city of Kingsglenn sat in the east of the kingdom, with the inner territories stretching out around it. He traced a finger of the tiny letters that labeled the city and smiled to himself. As his eyes moved into the west though, his smile faded and was replaced by a deepening scowl.
    He stopped when he had found the city that he most hated in all his kingdom, Gavin’s Stand. It was this city that was the home of the Loyalist movement. It was infuriating, to know exactly where your enemies lay yet be unable to strike them. Gavin’s Stand was known for its famous wall, which stretched all the way from the frozen northern mountains to the southern sea. It had withstood countless barrages and was easily the most formidable structure in all of Porellium. Aldric scratched one of his fingernails over the slightly raised line that marked the wall and imagined the day when that wall would crumble before his forces.
    Pulling his eyes from the wall, he moved them further into the west to the area that was a more immediate concern for him. A long range of mountains which made up the southwestern border of his kingdom reached up from the table top, their peaks as jagged and twisted on the map as they were said to be in real life. The Black Spine, as the range was called, held his gaze as all the stories surrounding them flooded his mind. They were said to be the most treacherous range of mountains any had ever dared to explore. The rock was as black as the darkest night and as jagged as the teeth of a dragon. The caves that ran through them were dark and twisting, easy to lose yourself in and near impossible to find your way out of. Yet even these things did not compare to the beasts that were said to roam those mountains. A shiver ran up Aldric’s spine as he thought back on the stories he had heard of those creatures and he quickly pushed the thought from his mind.
    A noise behind him jarred him back to reality and caused him to jump. He spun and drew forth his power, summoning his shau’rin, a long polearm with a thick blade at its end, to his hands. From out of the shadows of a nearby corner stepped a figure, cloaked in voluminous robes of black, with his face hidden in the inky shadows of his hood. With a steadying breath, Aldric lowered his weapon and forced himself to calm down and regain his composure.
    “It’s not entirely wise to sneak up on a Warforged, Gideon” he said, trying to keep his voice steadier than he currently felt. “You might find yourself missing a limb one day if you keep that up.”
    A wheezing noise issued from the hooded man that Aldric could only assume was laughter. Ignoring the laugh, Aldric dismissed his weapon and made his way to a large wooden cabinet nearby. He opened the doors and removed two crystal glasses and a large bottle of amber liquid. Pouring a generous amount into each glass, he replaced the bottle and offered one to his new guest.
    “No,” Gideon said in his wheezy voice before turning away. “I cannot stay long. My Master has other jobs for me to attend this evening. I merely wish to know how the… audition went.”
    Aldric sighed and replaced one of the glasses, took a long sip of his own drink and screwed up his face against the burn of the alcohol before leaning back against the edge of the fireplace.
    “All is well,” Aldric replied. “When can I meet this Master of yours? I don’t like working with people I haven’t met.”
    “In time,” Gideon answered. “Your men were clear on their orders?”
    “Yes,” Aldric answered, growing impatient with all these questions. “They know what they are to do and they understand the consequences should they fail.”
    Gideon laughed his wheezing laugh once more and turned to face Aldric properly. Even with the fire burning before him, Aldric was surprised that he could not see past the shadows of his hood to the face within. “But do you know the consequences? Do you understand what shall befall you if you fail to live up to your end of the bargain?”
    Aldric bristled at the thinly veiled threat. The crystal glass he held shattered in his hand as his temper, which had been bubbling just under the surface for the last few weeks, finally broke free.
    “You dare to threaten me!? To threaten the king of the Warforged? You and your Master… You may have brought me the right information but that does not mean that you may threaten me! Perhaps I should call my men back? No! Better than that… perhaps I should send them word to simply kill your precious…”
    He never got a chance to finish his sentence. The words choked in his throat as a terrible change took place in the room around him. Although the fire still burned beside him, the air now carried a winter’s chill. The darkness of the night seemed to thicken around him, pressing in on him until it felt as though a thick ooze had been poured over him. As the shadows thickened and grew, Aldric saw shapes begin to move within them. Terrible shapes of creatures that looked as though they belonged in a child’s nightmares. The creatures slithered and crawled and stared out of the darkness with horrible dead eyes.
    He turned his gaze to Gideon and cowered before the man who had seemed to grow in his fury. Power seemed to radiate from the man and it carried a horrible sense of malice and hatred that pressed down on Aldric, forcing him to sink to the floor. Two red points of light, like small flames that had been captured in his eyes, burned in the recesses of the hood and held Aldric’s gaze. Weakly, Aldric tried to draw forth his power but felt it retreat from his grasp, as though his shau’rin itself refused to face the enemy before him.
    “You will do no such thing,” Gideon said in voice that dripped with venom. “My master has laid his plans for far too long for a worm like you to set them in ruins. It is a shame to me that I should stoop so low as to enter into a bargain with one such as you, yet my Master commands it and thus I obey.”
    Aldric flinched as he felt something wet and slimy touch his arm. Looking to the side he saw a tentacle sneaking from the shadows and attempting to wrap itself around his arm. He pulled himself away from it and closer to the light of the fire which now seemed to be shrinking in on itself, dwindling before the strength of the darkness.
    “LOOK AT ME!” roared Gideon, forcing Aldric’s eyes back to those two tiny points of red light. “You have had but a taste of my anger and I promise you, mine is nothing compared to that of my Masters. Remember our bargain, King of the Warforged, and you will be rewarded. Betray me… and your fate will be sealed.”
    In the blink of an eye the night returned to it’s former state; the air warmed and the light of the fire regained it’s previous strength. The shadows weakened and the creatures that had been moving within them vanished. Reaching up with a trembling hand, Aldric wiped away the cold sweat that had broken out on his forehead and pushed himself to his feet.
    “Wh… What was that?” he stammered, stepping back and putting distance between himself and Gideon.
    Gideon’s wheezing laugh echoed from the depths of his hood once more as he turned and strode towards the distant shadows of the room.
    “Remember our pact, Aldric Blackthorn. I will be in touch.”
    With that, Gideon stepped into the shadows and vanished.

Author's Note

any constructive criticism is welcome

Reviews

[Mariah Kristen]

Your first sentence bugged me a bit. I think it was calling the light "rosy" when you're painting such a bloody scene. As I continued reading there were a lot of typos such as words missing letters or words missing completely. Try reading it aloud and that should help you find most of these minor mistakes or if you feel comfortable have a friend read it aloud to you. This should also help in those adjective heavy areas.

After I stopped looking for each individual mistake, I started to enjoy the prolog more. I think that the combat was well done. I could picture what each person was doing. I also liked the conversation between Gideon and Aldric. That exchange is what makes me want to read more.

[RobbieT]

I liked the story and where it was going quite a bit. I'd be interested in seeing how you develop your world and characters further. However, found a few spots that were very adjective heavy. Although adjectives can add detail to a story, it is better to leave some things up to the reader's interpretation. For example in the first sentence you say "The setting sun hung low in the sky, casting the last of its rosy orange light over the high castle walls, as swollen black clouds loomed above." You could leave out "high", and "black" or "swollen" and it would make the sentence flow a lot better.

[Jeffrey Allen]

Thanks for the review. It's greatly appreciated.

[RobbieT]

No problem! I wasn't lying when I said I'd be interested in seeing where this goes. Keep on writing!

[Jeffrey Allen]

Well I just posted the next chapter a few hours ago so please feel free to check it out. Hopefully tomorrow I'll fin time to look over some of your writing.