• Part I Shineldia

    Prologue

    A raven soared above a peaceful land. Rising higher and higher it looked out upon a blossoming world. To the east the sun was just beginning to rise, but the raven needed not the light it brought to see the world around it. The three realms rose up from the oceans, stark differences from the rolling expanse of water between them. To the west: Henshire, the realm of the humans. It was mainly gentle, sloping foothills and plains. The sun didn’t reach there yet and on the coast the inhabitants were not yet stirring.

    To the north was a far different land: Garnesh’Gareck, land of the trolls. It was barren, having suffered a plague many centuries before. Sparse shrubbery dotted the landscape near the coast, just as parched and cracked as the land farther inland. Finally to the east was a forested region of valleys and steep mountains. Furior, the elven lands, was perhaps the least known to the other realms. The elves kept to themselves, and in many cases in the human realm were considered a myth.

    The three realms had little in common other than the mutual peace they kept. If one invaded another, the two others would take arms against the perpetrating realm. That had not happened since the last Great War many hundreds of years before. There was a common language between them, correctly named: the Commons. The elves spoke either Lishea or, in the case with priestesses and druids, the Language of the Ancients. The trolls spoke Darenin, their shamans included. The humans apart mostly used the Commons. They were a primitive race, knowing little of magic and the gods. They knew little of the other races since Man was nearly wiped out in the first Great War.

    The raven flew on. In the far southern regions of the world lied another realm. Unknown to the races, the City of Mist lay hidden. It was inhabited by the Gods and Demi-gods. It was here that the raven landed, dropping to the arm of a visiting demi-goddess, its master.

    The forest queen lowered her arm and whispered to the raven. The bird told her all it knew through its mind. The goddess looked towards the sky with a grim face. The report was not good. The realms knew little of what horror was to come. Knew little of the task at hand. The forest mother turned on her heel and hurried towards a large temple. She fairly ran down the aisle of statues, all of them of a Hunter or Huntress. Upon reaching the end of the aisle she bowed in front of a man who gave off the aura of authority.

    “The time is now, the war that is to come will be little but a distraction to the tragedy beyond it. The angel readies herself, though I don’t know when or how she will strike,” she said to the figure.

    “Has the one been born?”

    “Yes, to the Wuren family. She was born along with a twin brother. It is undecided which is the destined one; though, the girl already shows the signs. We shall have to wait until they are older, and then we will know.”

    “You have done well. Go now, tell the nymphs to bestow their gift at her first moon. We will pray she is the one who can keep it safe. I entrust upon you the duty of watching over both of the younglings,” the figure said. He moved towards the demi-goddess and embraced her. In a final word of departing, he spoke softly in her ear. “Be safe Brynvain, my love.”



    Chapter 1

    Darkness still covered the land when work began in Falen S’acath. The inhabitants bustled in front of the great hall making preparations for the royal wedding feast. Fruit was gathered and placed in bowls. Meat roasted on open spits making the whole town feel famished just by the smell.

    Finally the moment arrived and the people, elves, gathered in the large wooden hall. I sat in a chair towards the front to watch my sister Ashien walk down the aisle. Ashien was fairly young, being only in her fourth decade. She was the only family I had known for much of my life, my parents having been murdered by a gang of humans on an ambassadorial mission. I still held fury toward the humans. I, in fact, was even younger than she, being only in my third decade, and though she had risen to queen-ship, I was General of Arms. My life had been devoted to the study of military tactics and practices since before I could
    remember. But this was her day, not mine.

    My chestnut hair was pulled back behind my slender pointed ears and held by a silver clasp in the shape of a lily at both sides. My pale face was accentuated in vibrant green robes. The robes themselves had a low scooping neckline with a beautiful pattern embroidered in silver thread around it. My torc, on which the emerald given to me by the tree nymphs hung, stood out against my pale slender neck. My hair was covered in a net of pearls woven in silver thread, and a thin veil covered my face. My belt was a strand of pearls interwoven with emeralds. The crown on my head was of the same make.

    “Shineldia?” came a voice from the crowd. I turned to see my sister’s chamberlain shoving his way through. He was a small, slightly pudgy man with spectacles over his hazy gray eyes. “Your sister,” he trailed off gasping for breath, “Your sister wishes to see you.” I nodded and excused myself from the hall. My sister’s room was a large chamber. She stood staring out the window at the mountains with a pressing look of grief on her face.

    “What troubles you so Ashien?” I asked simply as I stepped into the room. My sister turned to me. Her golden hair was pulled back as mine was and was plaited by a similar net although hers was of blue topaz. The crown across her head was a strand of diamonds and topaz interwoven in an intricate design. Her robes were a darker green than mine and over her set she wore a cloak of blue deeper than that of the deepest seas. An iridescent glow seemed to emanate from her beauty, and I wondered at how she could look so sad.

    “Oh I feel such agony Shineldia. Agony. I don’t even know why. Something terribly wrong is about to begin Shineldia,” she said embracing me. I felt her tremble and I held her tightly.

    “It’s just your imagination,” I said simply, “come now it isn’t proper to keep your anxious people waiting,” I finished, ushering her out of the room. She followed me meekly to the doors of the hall, where I left her and slipped back into the din awaiting me.

    As I slipped silently to my seat via the shadows of the far wall, my sister’s face brightened visibly from the look it held in her room. She walked proudly down the center aisle, smiling widely. Illiyick, who was a noble but not an arranged choice, shifted nervously from foot to foot. He was tall, even for an elf, and had jet-black hair. His eyes were a light amber. He was wearing a pair of white breecs and a silver embroidered tunic with his sword strapped soundly to his side. The priest, Anoch, began the ceremony. It proceeded without halt, several people in the audience crying softly. There was a ringing in my ears, an annoying buzzing behind that. I could fell the hair on the back of my neck rising. Something was not right. I tried to ignore the feeling, telling myself that all was well, but was unable to. I tried to focus my attention back to the altar, where Ashien was now raising the ceremonial goblet to Illiyick’s lips.

    At that moment the blast of a great battle horn made us all jump. The doors of the hall were thrown open and gasps flew around the chamber. Facing us was rank upon rank of men, armored magnificently in bronze plate armor and bejeweled swords. Upon their breasts was a black symbol showing a dragon curved into a multitude of knots, seeming to have no beginning or end for the dragon was shown as eating its own tail. The symbol seemed familiar, but I couldn’t bring it to the top of my mind. Their faces gave off the look of battle-hardened men, and the faces of our soldiers showed off uncertainty as to whether or not to fight or flee.

    “Surrender and not a life will be lost,” came a loud voice from the front rank. Their leader stepped forward and I gasped. At last, the meaning of the crest came to mind. The man was Krangtok, a minion for the human Lord Dernhillean. Dernhillean was known for his cruelty and hatred toward the elves and even the trolls. I smirked thinking, I would like nothing more than to kill him right now. I looked around and, seeing that none of our soldiers took arms against him, jumped from my seat. I seized the sword from the nearest one and yanked it from its scabbard. Several of my soldiers followed suit, but not near enough.

    “Men! Enough of this, arm yourselves!” I shouted.

    “Ah Shineldia. What a wonderful surprise. Now not only will Dernhillean be pleased that we have captured your pitiful er… settlement, he will also have word of the great General Shineldia’s death,” Krangtok replied laughing, though I noticed a nervous twitch of his mouth..

    “Dernhillean should know better than to break the peace with the other realms,” I said glowering. The rules of the realms were well known, but these seemed to be dangerous times. I relied upon the idea that the other elven and trollish kingdoms would come to our aid.

    “What do you plan to do? Stop him? Ha! Not a chance,” Krangtok replied.
    No sooner than the words were out of his mouth he fell face forward, blood pooling around him and my dagger protruding grotesquely from his neck. Our soldiers raised a victory call and following my lead rushed the gaping, leaderless men. They fell back and I slashed two off of their horses as I ran from the cover of the hall. Spinning in the spot to face my next adversary, I shouted to my sister to get the doors to the hall closed to protect those of us not fighting. A group of three turned on me as I delivered the order and, as I whirled about trying to block all three of their swords, one of them slashed for my shoulder in a feint. I went to block it and another swept for the opposite arm. The blow came as an icy pain lancing up my arm. I yelped and fell to my knees holding my gashed arm. I could see the victorious grin on the face of the man who struck me as I glanced up. They came for me, swords held high. I rolled, stopping beneath one of their horses. With a desperate cry, I reached up and grabbed the rider’s sword arm, yanking him from the saddle. With that I swung myself up and took to striking the others down. My sword was coated in the deep red blood of our enemies, and the buzz of war shot through my veins. War was not a pleasure, but victory was, and I could feel victory coming.

    Their ranks dissolved and dissipated, and many more fell before our gleaming blades. The call for retreat sounded from among their confused men. We stood panting and assessing the damage as the remaining enemies ran from the eminent death pursuing them. Scouting parties were already mounting up; they had attacked us, and we were not about to let the survivors go back to regroup.

    “General, you’re injured,” came a voice from behind me. I turned to see Halien looking at my arm with concern on his face. He was a young man for the rank he held, but I appreciated having someone closer to my age.

    “Worry not,” I said facing him, “collect all the wounded and get them sent for healing. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I finished turning away. Halien saluted me and turned on his heel, shouting orders to a group of our elves. I was turning around already to hunt down my three leading commanders. There were things in need of discussion. The old priest Anoch came to me and muttered three simple words that would change my life forever, “It has begun.”