Elfdaughter
March 2nd,2003, 09:21 PM
I'll try and post at least a chapter up each day.
In the Dragon’s sight
Chapter One
First Sight
It was silent. The reeds swayed gently in the soft, caressing breeze, and a river flowed beside them, lazy in the evening warmth. Beyond them, lay a forest, shadowed and cool. The silence was broken every now and again by the chattering of the birds in the tall, strong oak trees. A boy; no more than 15 or 16, crawled out of the reeds and lay panting on the ground, tears streaming down his face, and his pitiful sobs sending the birds flying.
He was slender but strong, and his long, soaking, silver hair clung to his back. His eyes were bright blue, and as fierce and as turbulent as a sea in a storm. After a while he stood, his face streaked with mud, and ran deep into the forest. He ran and ran, brambles whipping and tearing his legs, until he could run no farther. He sank to a convulsing heap, on a patch of grass, damp and soothing, his body and mind racked with pain. At length, he fell into a fitful sleep, as he went over the day’s happenings. In the west, beyond the forest, back the way he had come, a red glow began to fade. Baltimir slept, and dreamed of what had happened.
Baltimir was asleep when the first cries came. He woke to see his mother leaning over him, stroking his face. She had not done that since he was a child, and he immediately knew that something was wrong. As soon as she saw that he was awake, she withdrew her hand. Tears were streaming down her face as she told him to leave the village at once, and to take the safest route. He stood up, leaving behind the safety and warmth of the sheepskin blankets, and stared at his mother, questioningly. Her face was calm, but her soft brown eyes belied her sorrow. She gently, and quite calmly, told him that Orcs were coming, and that she just wanted him to be safe whilst the men took care of them.
“Will you come with me?” Baltimir asked her.
“No, my son, I am old and slow, and two attract more easily than one. No, you must go on your own.” she replied. As he started to run, he heard her saying, “Take care, my son, and may Almera and his Great Lords protect you.”
He stretched and stood up. He looked about him, but did not recognise any of the trees or bushes. He felt a rumbling in his stomach, and went in search of food. He went deeper and deeper into the forest until he finally came to a clearing. The sun warmed his face, ferns gently stroked his legs, and the scent of bluebells drifted around him. In the middle of the clearing was an enormous mound, and on top of the mound were two pillars of white stone, and behind them was a great stone table. Suddenly, a brilliant light appeared between the pillars, and bathed Baltimir in a golden glow. He immediately felt refreshed, and his sorrows were wiped from him. The light subdued, and a mighty voice, seemingly touched with gold, said,
“Welcome, Baltimir, Son of Adam. Welcome the Chosen one, blessed by Almera, Tarva, and Alinvil!” At this a great cheer went up, and Baltimir saw that creatures of all shapes and sizes were sitting at the stone table. “Come closer, my son.” The noble voice said, and Baltimir went forward up the hill.
The mighty voice belonged to an even mightier creature. It stood between the pillars, seeming to be both fierce and gentle at the same time. Its feathers were soft and golden, yet its talons, and beak, were hard and sharp. Baltimir would have been afraid, were it not for the gentleness in its eyes. Baltimir had heard of these types of birds, but had never seen one before. He had even doubted their existence. Yet here was a real, live, Phoenix! According to their legends, the Phoenix ruled the supernatural animals of the woods and forests, the Centaurs, Unicorns, talking beasts and so on.
“Come, Baltimir, eat and feast. Then you must rest, for tomorrow is the Great Council, and you are to be there, as it is of you that we speak. And now,” he addressed the creatures gathered before him, “prepare the feast, and show our young guest where he is to sleep. Drink, eat, and make merry!”
“Oh, most magnificent Phoenix, I am most deeply thankful, for I am cold, tired and hungry, although less so for seeing you. But, how did you know my name?” The Phoenix laughed, a deep rich laugh, and replied,
“Do not worry yourself, my son. I know many things, and your name is the least of them. But we should not talk of this here. Such things are best left until tomorrow, and the council, for tonight is a night of feasting and laughing. Come, your place is ready.” The feast was extraordinary. There were so many different animals, yet all seemed to have their fill. The Dwarves, Elves, Wizards, Centaurs, Unicorns, Nymphs and Dryads, Fawns and talking beasts all sat together at the stone table, laughing and joking. Course after course of dishes came, and course by course they disappeared. Hay and oats (for the Unicorns and talking horses) roast chicken, pork, beef, and the most wonderful gravy appeared from thin air, along with strawberries and cream, chocolate and ice cream, and all provided for by the Wizards. Wizards are well known to be able to produce the most delightful food just by magic. (They are, however, terrible cooks if asked to produce something without magic. The saying “Too many cooks spoil the broth” certainly applies to them!)
The feasting, songs and story telling went on well into the night. Baltimir felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier as the moon reached her highest point in the sky, and soon he could not keep awake any longer. Two pairs of gentle, but strong hands lifted him up, and carried him to a tent, where they laid him down on a bed so fine he seemed to be floating on air. It was, in fact, made of soft downy feathers. Warm and contented, Baltimir slept soundly. The next morning, a horn blowing outside his tent woke him. He crept outside, into the gentle warmth of the early morning sun. The tents had been pitched a fair way away from the stone table, to allow the council to go undisturbed, and so Baltimir could see the council gathered around the table, but he could not hear them. He went forward, up towards the slab of rock. As he reached it, he saw the Phoenix, who nodded to him, and pointed to the empty chair beside him.
“Soup and celery! We need a strong warrior for this task! Who knows what dangers he will face? My Lord, we cannot use a young village boy!” A Dwarf was saying. His face was partly hidden by his huge fiery red beard, and a cap covered his head. His mighty war axe lay before him on the stone table, and he gripped it as he spoke. “What say you, Stormrider? Do we use this… farm boy?”
“Connax!” cried the Phoenix. “Stormrider is a Centaur, a prophet, and a stargazer. We shall hear what he has to say, but in good time, and only when he is ready.” Stormrider was a Centaur, human to his waist, with the body of a horse, and all respected him. He had a kind and gentle face, and his hair was white, though not with age, and he held up his hand as he replied,
“The time is ripe. Tarva and Alinvil have met in the halls of high heaven.”
“But we need a hero!” cried Connax
“Why else does your ‘farm boy’ go clad in armour, and girt with sword? The time is ripe.” Stormrider replied. Baltimir felt slightly stiffer than he usually felt, and when he looked down, he saw that he was dressed in silver armour, with a sword around his waist. Connax still did not seem to accept Baltimir. Then there were the introductions. There was Breymar, a young, talking, white Wolf, who sniffed Baltimir and accepted him, Mekilno, a woodland Elf and a good shot with a bow and arrow. He, like Baltimir, was tall and slender, but strong. His hair was long and coloured like the sun, and his eyes were the deepest blue. There was Silver, the Unicorn, and Connax the Dwarf and Stormrider the Centaur.
From the camp came the faint sound of a horn blowing.
“Quick! To the camp!” shouted Breymar, “Someone is attacking!”
“BACK!” cried the Phoenix “Let the prince win his spurs!” To Baltimir he said, “Go to the camp. Protect my people, and earn your place.”
In the Dragon’s sight
Chapter One
First Sight
It was silent. The reeds swayed gently in the soft, caressing breeze, and a river flowed beside them, lazy in the evening warmth. Beyond them, lay a forest, shadowed and cool. The silence was broken every now and again by the chattering of the birds in the tall, strong oak trees. A boy; no more than 15 or 16, crawled out of the reeds and lay panting on the ground, tears streaming down his face, and his pitiful sobs sending the birds flying.
He was slender but strong, and his long, soaking, silver hair clung to his back. His eyes were bright blue, and as fierce and as turbulent as a sea in a storm. After a while he stood, his face streaked with mud, and ran deep into the forest. He ran and ran, brambles whipping and tearing his legs, until he could run no farther. He sank to a convulsing heap, on a patch of grass, damp and soothing, his body and mind racked with pain. At length, he fell into a fitful sleep, as he went over the day’s happenings. In the west, beyond the forest, back the way he had come, a red glow began to fade. Baltimir slept, and dreamed of what had happened.
Baltimir was asleep when the first cries came. He woke to see his mother leaning over him, stroking his face. She had not done that since he was a child, and he immediately knew that something was wrong. As soon as she saw that he was awake, she withdrew her hand. Tears were streaming down her face as she told him to leave the village at once, and to take the safest route. He stood up, leaving behind the safety and warmth of the sheepskin blankets, and stared at his mother, questioningly. Her face was calm, but her soft brown eyes belied her sorrow. She gently, and quite calmly, told him that Orcs were coming, and that she just wanted him to be safe whilst the men took care of them.
“Will you come with me?” Baltimir asked her.
“No, my son, I am old and slow, and two attract more easily than one. No, you must go on your own.” she replied. As he started to run, he heard her saying, “Take care, my son, and may Almera and his Great Lords protect you.”
He stretched and stood up. He looked about him, but did not recognise any of the trees or bushes. He felt a rumbling in his stomach, and went in search of food. He went deeper and deeper into the forest until he finally came to a clearing. The sun warmed his face, ferns gently stroked his legs, and the scent of bluebells drifted around him. In the middle of the clearing was an enormous mound, and on top of the mound were two pillars of white stone, and behind them was a great stone table. Suddenly, a brilliant light appeared between the pillars, and bathed Baltimir in a golden glow. He immediately felt refreshed, and his sorrows were wiped from him. The light subdued, and a mighty voice, seemingly touched with gold, said,
“Welcome, Baltimir, Son of Adam. Welcome the Chosen one, blessed by Almera, Tarva, and Alinvil!” At this a great cheer went up, and Baltimir saw that creatures of all shapes and sizes were sitting at the stone table. “Come closer, my son.” The noble voice said, and Baltimir went forward up the hill.
The mighty voice belonged to an even mightier creature. It stood between the pillars, seeming to be both fierce and gentle at the same time. Its feathers were soft and golden, yet its talons, and beak, were hard and sharp. Baltimir would have been afraid, were it not for the gentleness in its eyes. Baltimir had heard of these types of birds, but had never seen one before. He had even doubted their existence. Yet here was a real, live, Phoenix! According to their legends, the Phoenix ruled the supernatural animals of the woods and forests, the Centaurs, Unicorns, talking beasts and so on.
“Come, Baltimir, eat and feast. Then you must rest, for tomorrow is the Great Council, and you are to be there, as it is of you that we speak. And now,” he addressed the creatures gathered before him, “prepare the feast, and show our young guest where he is to sleep. Drink, eat, and make merry!”
“Oh, most magnificent Phoenix, I am most deeply thankful, for I am cold, tired and hungry, although less so for seeing you. But, how did you know my name?” The Phoenix laughed, a deep rich laugh, and replied,
“Do not worry yourself, my son. I know many things, and your name is the least of them. But we should not talk of this here. Such things are best left until tomorrow, and the council, for tonight is a night of feasting and laughing. Come, your place is ready.” The feast was extraordinary. There were so many different animals, yet all seemed to have their fill. The Dwarves, Elves, Wizards, Centaurs, Unicorns, Nymphs and Dryads, Fawns and talking beasts all sat together at the stone table, laughing and joking. Course after course of dishes came, and course by course they disappeared. Hay and oats (for the Unicorns and talking horses) roast chicken, pork, beef, and the most wonderful gravy appeared from thin air, along with strawberries and cream, chocolate and ice cream, and all provided for by the Wizards. Wizards are well known to be able to produce the most delightful food just by magic. (They are, however, terrible cooks if asked to produce something without magic. The saying “Too many cooks spoil the broth” certainly applies to them!)
The feasting, songs and story telling went on well into the night. Baltimir felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier as the moon reached her highest point in the sky, and soon he could not keep awake any longer. Two pairs of gentle, but strong hands lifted him up, and carried him to a tent, where they laid him down on a bed so fine he seemed to be floating on air. It was, in fact, made of soft downy feathers. Warm and contented, Baltimir slept soundly. The next morning, a horn blowing outside his tent woke him. He crept outside, into the gentle warmth of the early morning sun. The tents had been pitched a fair way away from the stone table, to allow the council to go undisturbed, and so Baltimir could see the council gathered around the table, but he could not hear them. He went forward, up towards the slab of rock. As he reached it, he saw the Phoenix, who nodded to him, and pointed to the empty chair beside him.
“Soup and celery! We need a strong warrior for this task! Who knows what dangers he will face? My Lord, we cannot use a young village boy!” A Dwarf was saying. His face was partly hidden by his huge fiery red beard, and a cap covered his head. His mighty war axe lay before him on the stone table, and he gripped it as he spoke. “What say you, Stormrider? Do we use this… farm boy?”
“Connax!” cried the Phoenix. “Stormrider is a Centaur, a prophet, and a stargazer. We shall hear what he has to say, but in good time, and only when he is ready.” Stormrider was a Centaur, human to his waist, with the body of a horse, and all respected him. He had a kind and gentle face, and his hair was white, though not with age, and he held up his hand as he replied,
“The time is ripe. Tarva and Alinvil have met in the halls of high heaven.”
“But we need a hero!” cried Connax
“Why else does your ‘farm boy’ go clad in armour, and girt with sword? The time is ripe.” Stormrider replied. Baltimir felt slightly stiffer than he usually felt, and when he looked down, he saw that he was dressed in silver armour, with a sword around his waist. Connax still did not seem to accept Baltimir. Then there were the introductions. There was Breymar, a young, talking, white Wolf, who sniffed Baltimir and accepted him, Mekilno, a woodland Elf and a good shot with a bow and arrow. He, like Baltimir, was tall and slender, but strong. His hair was long and coloured like the sun, and his eyes were the deepest blue. There was Silver, the Unicorn, and Connax the Dwarf and Stormrider the Centaur.
From the camp came the faint sound of a horn blowing.
“Quick! To the camp!” shouted Breymar, “Someone is attacking!”
“BACK!” cried the Phoenix “Let the prince win his spurs!” To Baltimir he said, “Go to the camp. Protect my people, and earn your place.”