Chapter 2-Leve'ron

In which a general finds himself twisted up in fate.

Leve'ron stretched his white speckled wings strait up behind him, elongating the muscles on his back beneath his heavy armor. The dry heat of Cassan had given him slight sunburns on his delicate wingtips. He turned, hearing someone approaching behind him on his rocky perch overlooking the impending desert. “I can't believe you just let him go my Hakka'an, he will surely tell his superiors about our approach.” Bailka; Leve'rons Lieutenant General advised, trotting up beside him. His griffin’s claws screeching, scratching the hard rock beneath them.

“I see your concern Bailka,” Leve'ron answered using his name instead of his military title for emphasis. “I wanted them to know we're coming. The scout was nothing, he has only seen half our troops he will report an incorrect count to those Caasani dogs.” Bailka nodded wiping sweat from his brow, flapping his own chocolate brown wings, creating a breeze. “I'm not used to this blasted heat, the quicker we deal with these mongrels the better.” Leve'ron answered resting his head on his hands letting his wings shift naturally down. “It's sad it's come to this, innocents having to die to drive a reaction.”

“The Emperor has been spoiling his young doves too much in his increasing age.” Bailka retorted, “This wouldn't have happened if Heavatha had showed it's strength before now, we could occupy half this continent.” Leve'ron startled lifting his head back up, “War? Is that what you want for our country? The Emperor has worked his whole life keeping his descendants peace for our people, mind you not just our race. He cares for all people Bailka. Anywhere war wages there is death, disease and famine. Not just for soldiers, but for children, mothers, elders. It is sad that we must do this, even if they are cowering dogs. I don't want to hear anything more comments about the Emperor is that clear?”

“Yes my Hakka'an, I shall see to the troops now.”

“Good, you have my leave.” Bailka saluted, left hand over his heart. Then bowed stiffly from his griffen, turned an galloped off. His griffin dark also, seemed to blend in seamlessly with his own brown wings. Leve'ron's Army had just crossed the border from his homeland of Heavatha. Turning their  backs on rocky mountains and sky cities, and facing the evergreen forests and dry grassland deserts of Caasan. A week earlier there was an attack on a small farming city near Alexiun, his soldiers had been to late. They had been alerted of a Cassani party near the borders of Heavatha days before, they just hadn't taken it seriously enough. The whole town was burned down, bodies strewn everywhere, wings brutally hacked off their backs. Hakka'an Leve'ron grimaced folding his own speckled wings closer around him. This was too far. Stealing from caravans and raiding military camps was one thing, but massacring a small farming town? The Heavathan's and the Cassani have always had border skirmishes, along with bad blood going back decades even before the carving out of Elephante valley. This was unacceptable. He had asked the High Emperor Fraa'han for leave of his army to counter this atrocity in the capitol city of Cassan named Cyncada. Fraa'han had agreed unhappily, sending out orders hours later. Leve'ron would go strait for the capitol. He was not a wingless dog to kill women and children. He wanted seasoned warriors to make up for the blood that was spilt. What they had done was the most sacrilegious thing you could do to a Heavathan, cutting of ones wings for trophies. The custom had all but stopped since the 3^rd reign of their beloved Emperor's Fraa'han's bloodline, but his life was coming at it's end with no male heirs to be seen. He indeed had twelve healthy daughters from the same queen, he was a faithful man and a good one. Why the gods chose not to bless our country with not a single male heir, one will never know. The surrounding countries knew this information, their boundaries and treaties would come in question with the end of his bloodline. New alliances would need to be made, and the Emperor knew that all too well. Leve'ron was very close to the High Emperor. He had been raised in the palace as a squire since childhood in the Capitol Gabrine. His actual home was the city of Hollow Wynde. Leve'ron's parents were one of the oldest, most regale, and richest bloodlines. Which is why his parent's had sent him away when he was only four years old to court. He had four siblings, Leve'ron had met only a handful of times when they would visit him in Gabrine, all male. His parents were very blessed. Leve'ron had excelled in almost all subjects, but military tactic's was his forte. After many long years of training, and schooling his intellect and charisma had lead him to a fast track up in court status and favor. Ending with him becoming The Hakka'an Dinn of the Heavathan army, and an arranged marriage with the eldest Emperor's daughter Princess Cless'tal. Leve'ron couldn't say he was in love with her. Yes they had partially grown up together running around with all other eleven siblings and other court children. He also hadn't spent much of his adolescence with her because his training and duties took so much time. Even the times he had seen her his heart had not felt the thudding of interest, as other girls had made him feel. The Emperor had asked what Leve'ron thought of Cless'tal before he had told him about the arrangement. Leve'ron hadn't known what to say. After a long silence, of them standing in his audience chamber the Emperor starting talking, saying how friendship grows into respect, which grows to affection and finally blossoms into love, lust shouldn't be an issue. Cless'tal was not an ugly woman, the Emperor had stated. He could see her beauty, even if he was biased. Leve'ron had agreed if only to please the Emperor. The offer made sense after years of being asked to accompany the Emperor on many a royal business, and court hearings. Leve'ron was the closest person to being a son the Emperor had, and the most promising. Which also explained the betrothal. There had not been a queen since the dark reign of the last one. No one really liked to talk about what had happened. Leve'ron barely knew himself, it had been a good two hundred and eighty five years ago. What he did know was the country was still hesitant to have a queen on the thrown. “Hakka'an!” Leve'ron looked up from his troubling thoughts to see all white scout swooping down from above from his eagle mount, he landed shinning ivory armor clanking, “There's a handful of soldier's coming down from the north. Looks most like a bargaining party.”

Leve'ron nodded, "Did you let them see you?"

The scout shook his head, "No my Hakka'an."

 

"Ok, Come with me we'll gather negotiation party." Leve'ron twisted around his pegasus and trotted back down into camp. Soldiers were bustling about putting out fires, putting on armor. They must have heard the news about the soldiers. As he approached Bailka's tent Leve'ron could hear giggling, then a small smack, then more giggling as the tent flap opened a golden winged Heavathan girl stepped out, reddening as she noticed Leve'ron, wrapping her loose threadbear robes closer around small frame. She bowed, mumbled, "Hakka'an." and fled.

“Bailka!” Leve'ron loudly said, a shaggy brown head peaked out from the tent, then stepped fully out, “Hakka'an.”

"Taking care of the troops personally I see." Leve'ron grinned lopsidedly.

Bailka stretched,"Eagle rider's always need a little bit more hard work."

the Scout coughed, Bailka smiled wider.

“I need you to gather up the ambassadors and band seventy-seven, this scout informs me there's a party of soldiers coming from the north.”

“Yes Hakka'an.” Bailka bowed and called for his mount, “I'll meet you at the north edge of camp.” He nodded, straddling his griffin mount and taking off. "Scout." When there was no answer Leve'ron turned, the scout had was gone. Leve'ron crinkled his brow, he must have though he was dismissed with Bailka. Terrible protocol, he must have been form the eastern part of Heavatha. Leve'ron dismounted, handing the reins of his Pegasus to his squire, Fre'han swooping into his tent. The camp was partially hidden behind a rocky ledge. He had about five thousand mounted soldiers and seven thousand foot soldiers. All sky worthy. The problem was holding heavy weapons while flying with out tiring quickly. Only the strongest flyers where chosen to go without mounts. Leve'ron shuffled through orders on his crowded ebony desk, then picked up his broadsword which was tilted against the side unceremoniously. He held it lightly in his hand examining the gold gilded hilt. It was shaped in the likeness of a dragon. Inlaid for eyes was peridot. The sword had been presented to him by the priestess's of the ancient ones in the temple of sorrow wind. The temple was located on one of the highest peaks in Gabrine. It had been carved into the top rock, black granite inlaid inside to cover the floors and walls. Scroll's stated the temple was built long before written word, so Heavathan's didn't know exactly who had built it. They only knew its purpose. You could tell it was very ancient from the smooth way the granite flowed from room to room. Walls worn from many hands and feet over centuries. Priest and Priestess's presented the sword in a ceremony located in a echoey grand room. They sang prayers and blessed the sword with good fortune, luck and protection. But as he was leaving the hall after the procession had left leaving him for his personal prayers, the high priestess ushered him aside, leading him to a quiet hallway. She uncovered her white low hood looking at him with pale green strange but knowing eyes, she shuddered suddenly, grasping for him looking scared. He reached his arms out grabbing her from falling she was shaking so terribly. As he held her she suddenly stopped shaking and whimpering, her hands turned to vice grips. Head snapping up she stared strait into his eye's. The priestess eyes changed to pure dark blue, her hands searched for his face as she rasped, "Leve'ron of good grace, I have seen things that shall come to pass, wary my child you leave on this day on a blood letting crusade. Your life shall forever be altered. She will bind you in torment to a life of wishing and wanting, sadness but also ultimate unknowable happiness. Don't let them break her we need her! You must go! You must bring her the blessed sword, it will show her the way! She will be what truly must be save this corrupting world. You must free her! You must free them! You must!" She kept going growing louder and louder, "Who? WHO? must I save!" Her eyes rolled back and the shuddering started once again her voice rising in pitch. Priests came running down and carried her shaking body away. Acting like they knew what was going on but not sharing the secret. Leve'ron was left standing there staring blankly down the marble hallway, He then noticed a piece of soft yellow paper had been shoved into his hand, a crude drawing had been done in what looked like blood. Two snakes intertwined eating a sun surrounded by four simple swords were scribbled crudely. Leve'ron blinked away the crazed memory still looking into the mesmerizing semi precious eyes of the sword. He had tried asking other priestess's about the paper but they were silent, almost as if they didn't want to get caught talking about it.

As Leve'ron set the sword down remembering he needed to be at the north edge of camp he noticed a rumbling sound, like a distant heard trampling animals. The noise grew louder and faster almost at an isntant shaking his tent making books fall from his desk, and canteens tinkle from hangers. His tent flap burst in, it was Han'roka his third in command, “The Caasani are coming in fast with boar and elephant mounts Hakka'an!”

Leve'ron shot up sheathing his sword and grabbing his shield, “Blow the horn Han! You know what to do gather the ranks!” Han'roka ran out whistling for his mount, Leve'ron did the same tearing through the front of the tent jumping on his landing Pegasus, while his Fre'han handed him his war horn, whinnying they took off. How could the scout have not see a huge melding army charging! Leve'ron would have to deal with this scout later. If he even survived the battle. Leve'ron could now see the dust rising and the thick massing swarm of enemies coming in towards the ridge as he climed into the sky. Two flying mounts flanked his left and right, while he hoped hundreds of others trailed behind. Random solders were taking flight joining the ranks. Leve'ron whistled twice, signaling to draw their weapons. Echo's of his commands rang through the air as they flew drawing closer above the trampling hoard.

“Ohhh looks like we've broken your pretty wing, pigeon.” Laughed a burly sounding Bal'zadu. Leve'ron heard more laughter after the degrading remark, then felt crippling pain as a prodding object touched his crunched wing. Tears welled up flowing down the sides of his face. The battle was one, he had given mercy to the last survivors, gathered up the running mounts, and sent out medics to tend to the wounded. And just As he was mounting to ride back to see what was left of camp the ground started shaking, cracks appearing suddenly in the ground turning into massive dark pitted crevices swallowing piles of bodies and braying animals. Heavathan soldiers started taking flight away from the earth swallowing land. Grotesque creatures came up from the depths crawling from cracks. It didn't matter if it was Heavathan bodies or Cassani. Massive seeping mouths spooned in soilders, crunching bones ripping sinew. Long clawed hands grabbing wings and ripping, tearing, destroying anything in their path. Those damn Cassani had enlisted the help of the Foryea or in their native tongue the Bal'zadu. Those cursed summoners must have cost them their whole treasury. The Cassani must have realized they couldn't fight the Heavathan by themselves, he should have guessed. Now he was trapped in a cage like a sickly, squished, molting songbird. Leve'ron figured they'd be bringing him to the capital as hostage after they hadn't killed him. He coughed, then wheezed trying to draw in more air for fear of passing out again. His captors were definitely not merciful. Bal' Zadu's usually were not. They had a queer from of Cassani they spoke. Appearance wise most had blood crusted bandaged arms, legs, torsos, and faces, most of it was not from battle. Oh, and they also twisted horns growing from their foreheads. The bigger the horns the stronger in the magics you were. The Bal'zadu summoned powerful creatures and demons from objects, but it had a cost. At first your veins turned black showing through your skin, then crisped and burned, spreading like a never healing wound over the body originating from the arm they chose to touch the summoning object with. Summoner's were very taboo in almost every culture. Have the Cassani sunk so low as to call upon the fallen Foryea? Leve'ron brooded hoping that at least his young squire, Fre'an had escaped the slaughter. Maybe Han'roka had fled early. He had always had a bit of chicken in him. If Leve'ron hadn't tried to fight he could have escaped, curse his overbearing pride! Leve'ron coughed again from anger, at least he had taken down a good four score of those b******s. He had just been over run with exhaustion, his mount being long dead, he missed a block that had broken his wing almost in two. The pain was almost unbearable. More unbearable was the fact he had lost, not just the battle but oh so many men. The barred cart they had him imprisoned in ran over a bump in the road jarring his wing. More laughter erupted from the mounted captors has he cried out in pain. Other major wounds kept seeping and leaking blood, one especially from his right upper arm. If he didn't get aid soon he would die from blood loss. Though they had thrown dirty linens in already wine red, dragging through the bars leaving trails of little crimson rivers behind in the rocky dirt path.

 

The battle had lasted two days, ending on the beginning of the third day. The caravan of carnage as he thought of it was coming upon high noon, the heat crisping the ends of the clotted linen. His mind felt crispy. Leve'ron felt his mind slipping, He saw waves of heat swirling off into the distance. Almost hear his skin burning, and sweat coming from his pores. The swirling heat waves turned into translucent dancing girls, following his cart taunting him with sensual wispy dances. His wings felt fried on the places that were touching the hot iron in the sun. He must look like a fat turkey trying to be stuffed into a swallows cage, feathers poking out at odd angles dragging on the ground through the bars, Leve'ron mused his mind wandering further. Clouds broke off turning into chubby faces whispering down it seemed to him, but he couldn't quite make out the words. Staring frustratingly at the murmuring clouds he noticed a bird of prey swirling above his cage. It slowly descended wings fluttering, landing lightly on its taloned feet grasping one of the top bars. It peaked it's bright blue, golden eyed head inside cocking it slightly. Leve'ron struggled reaching out with his left hand, the hawk stretched meeting his hand halfway, closing it eyes seemingly enjoying the caress. He let his hand fall away as the hawks eye's opened showing not gold now but a sea foam piercing green. Had they been that color the first time? Confused he looked again seeing that it had started gagging, coughing up something. With a thud a solid bronze ring fell on his abdomen. He grasped the object in his palm curling his fingers tight around it. The hawk blinked on last time eye's golden once more, straitened and took off, rattling the hot iron bars. Leve'rons strength was ebbing quickly, he looked for the hawk flying away but couldn't make out anything, except for fuzzy still whispering clouds.

Wet cool air speckled the side of his face unexpectedly, surprised he furrowed his brow noticing they'd stopped moving. A loud snort, then another wet air breeze made his eye's come back from the skies. A snout of a large animal he didn't recognize was squeezing its head inside, flaring it's nostril's taking in his strange sent.

“What you be looking for general?” A woman's voice asked from the saddle of the snorting mount. Her R's rolled slightly in a strange but rich accent. When he didn't say anything, she hopped off the mount slinging her arm around its neck peering inside at him, “Hey, pigeon you don't look so good. Those Yuma demons really melded you up.” She purred touching his feathers. She stood and shouted out, “Heeeyyyy! We need some wata over here, and bandages you peachacks! We don't need the general dyin' on us before we reach Cyncada.” She jangled some keys drawing out one, unlocking the cage door quickly swinging it open. She crawled inside, crouching in front of him. Her horns were massive, grassing the top of the cage rattling the bars. Her arms where covered in linen wrappings keeping the corrosiveness of her summoning at bay. Turning the Foryea grabbed a water canteen along with a worn leather bag. She scuttled forward holding out the water, “Water? I promise I didn' put anyting strange in it.” When he didn't move, she leaned closer. Her sent mulled over him like a delicate breeze, she smelt musky, dark, with a hint of flowering poppy. Her many rings clinked against the tin canteen, pushing it closer to his sun burnt lips, “Water?... veinac?” She prodded using the Heavathan word for water before pouring the sweet liquid down his parted mouth, it dribbled down his chin and streamed down his chest. Which didn't matter, because after pouring half the water down his throat she poured the rest over his body and wings, removing the dirty bandages and scrubbing away the dried blood from his wounds. “Tsk, you are stupid, peachack, to fight so long. You are lucky I am good heala'.” Leve'ron grunted as she unwrapped the contents from the leather satchel smearing stinging cloudy poultice, on his open wounds. She then took out long dried leaves sticking them to the poultice. Leve'ron twitched as she pulled out a small knife and bled below the massive wound on his left arm, squeezing around it flowing the bad blood into a small bottle. She stopped the full bottle with a cork, stowing it away. She must have seen the question in his eye's, she smiled and said simply, “Good poison.” then went on back mending his broken body. Her hands were rough and bandaged, but practiced. Popping bones back in place, stitching, plucking. “Unclasp your hand.” Leve'ron started, he hadn't realized he was clenching it closed, “Well, open it pigeon.” He relaxed his hand rolling his fingers slowly out, the bronze ring stood out against his palms creamy complexion. “What is this?” Her eye's grew wide as she picked it up, twisting it around in the glinting light. She looked at him incredulous, her eye's betraying her, “Where in the thousand levels of hell did you get tis?”

“Rever! Wha' you be doin! Fiddlin with his tingy? We don need him so healed dat il' flap his lil' wings an fly away!” Her head shot towards the yelling Foryea, shoving the ring down inside her top. “Ottie! you stupid son a b*****d! Go play with ur tingy!” She turned back to leve'ron gathering her things and shoving a small green cube into his hand, “Take tis when the pain peaks, i'll be back...general.” she crouched scooting back out giving Leve'ron one more questioning look before closing the cage door and calling her mount, “Come Zeal.” The beast gave one last snort, turned and followed its master. So it was real. Not just a fever dream. Leve'ron thought shifting his mending body, finally able to move. The pain hit then, the searing itching pain of healing. Leve'ron shoved the green square in his mouth. Gagging he swallowed it, feeling its effects numbing his mouth and throat. The numbness spread quickly. His head lolled, eye's dropped, Leve'ron fell into welcome drugged slumber.

Author's Note

I know its a bit choppy for now, is it intriguing enough? Will you keep reading?

Reviews

[TLK]

You have to be really interesting in a fantasy world to take stuff like this: " The custom had all but stopped since the 3rd reign of their beloved Emperor's Fraa'han's bloodline..."

At this point, I'm not sure who Leve'ron is, and how this characters fits in with the prologue and chapter one. I feel you would get more readers if you took the 50s Fantasy Magazine route to telling the story. Important characters like Elric (written by celebrated author Michael Moorcock) were first encountered by readers in short stories. The world was created slowly and carefully, in small parts, through these stories. It made it very accessible to the reader, and the focus on one character kept the whole thing going at a good pace.

So, I'd say, focus on a small part and get the reader to invest in that. After this point, you can expand. (Then again, I have a deep hatred for long-form fantasy, because I read Lord of the Rings twice as a child to try to discover the magic in it. I realised, belatedly, that there wasn't any for me. That is two months of reading I will never get back).

Finally, characters speaking in a stereotypical patois -- “Rever! Wha' you be doin! Fiddlin with his tingy? We don need him so healed dat il' flap his lil' wings an fly away!” -- tend to rip people out of a fantasy world. Keep the language plain and, if you come across characters (e.g. Gollum) with linguistic tics, keep them logical and self-consistent. But if they remind the reader of other fiction too much it will take them out of the one you are creating.

[scswenson]

Thank you for your criticisms, I'm impressed that you red it and don't even like fantasy! -I hope that you at least liked some of it!