The Verse of Estoria

Chapter 1

         The quarry, the Dalmecians, my grandma, and this God-forsaken heat is all I’ve ever known. Slaving away day and night, I’ve gotten used to life here. I thought that nothing was going to change until that fateful day.

         A pick slams into a rock ejecting pebbles that bounce off the sweaty arms of a young chestnut skinned man huffing in labor. He rubs his dry thumb against the smooth surface of the boulder to check for metals and sighs in frustration when he comes up short. He leans against the stone to ease his pounding chest and cool his dry mouth. With his arms and legs feeling like noodles, he tilts his ax against the large rock and grabs the furry pouch strapped to his waist. He places his parch lips around the opening of the bag and throws his head back to gulp down its contents. He then pours the clear liquid on his short black hair to cool his hot, aching head while it flows down on his shoulders. He takes a few moments to stare at the soldiers patrolling the walls above him to wait for his beating heart to settle. Then he picks up the pickaxe to resume his work.

         However, a firm hand grips his shoulder. The young man turns around and notices an old woman wearing a crimson woolen scarf over her head with a gray and brown overcoat that went down to her ankles. Her narrow but sharp eyes pierce through the heart of hardened warriors and her the steel-colored hair strands escaping from her scarf provide proof of her longevity. The harsh conditions of the quarry didn’t abate her spirits.

         "Hold on, Drake," she says with an impatient voice as the young man steps away from the boulder.

         He inhales the rose and mint scent from her scarf as she steps up to the boulder. He observes his elder place her brown hand onto the rock and takes her stance. Her sandal scoops up dirt on her dry feet as she balls her hand into a hard fist and pulls back.

         “Ha!” she shouts, before bashing the large rock into pieces with just her fist. A boom shoots through the quarry and sends light vibrations on the ground.

         The clattering of raining rocks follows soon after as the old woman stands up straight and exhales a slow, dry breath. As violent as the event was, the workers continue their labor as if nothing happened.

         That’s Grandma Griselda as usual. Her strength isn’t as frail as her appearance, which often confuses me. Why hadn’t she escaped if she had this much strength? But I resign myself not to ask her about that. She’d break me if I did. In fact, If I had to choose between fighting her and an army of Dalmecians. I’d pick the army any day.

         “Grandma Griselda,” the young man complains and rests his tired arms against his hips. “I told you I was going to handle that boulder.”

         “You took too long!” she snaps as she shoves past him with her arms behind her back, I don’t have all day. We have a lot of work to do. Let’s go; we need to train. “

         They pace towards the gray walls patting themselves of the dust gathered on their clothes. Their footsteps disturb the resting laborers. Looking up, Drake can see soldiers atop the wall lowering buckets of dirty water with a long rope to the eager crowds. Like crabs in a barrel, they pull and fight one another to be the first in line to receive their share of the liquid.

         “Get back in line!” a soldier yells while firing warning shots at desperate violators cutting in front.

         With a scowl, Drake turns his head away from the event and instead, comments on his grandmother’s attire.

         “Grandma?” he asks, “Why are you wearing such a thick coat in this heat? You can pass out from heat exhaustion if you’re not careful.”

         “I’m cold,” she answers as she continued walking, “Now stop asking questions and keep moving.”

         The young, chestnut-skinned male follows his grandmother to a dingy, lime green tent near the corner of the quarry. The senior woman reaches in the cotton tent and pulls out two beaten sword sticks and tosses one to Drake. He catches the weapon and swings it from left to right to test its weight.

         “Sparring time,” Griselda says as she holds her sword to her side, “Show me what you learned.”

         Somewhat tired, Drake inhales the air as he places both hands at the end of the wooden sword. He plants his boots in the dust, charges forward and performs a vertical slash at his opponent. Griselda side-steps the attack as Drake stumbles with his weapon whooshing past her. Recovering from the trip, he turns around and launches another upward swing, but the old woman uses her sword to knock away his attack and whacks the young man on the butt. Sharp stings travel up his lower spine as he rubs his aching butt cheeks before turns around to face her again. His grandmother paces towards her grandson with her sword at her side and beckons him with her free hand to continue. After the aches in his butt settle, he charges again. He leaps into the air, flips over his grandmother, lands on his feet and performs a downward swing. However, his grandma raises her walking stick above her head without even looking and stops the assault with a loud knock. Drake’s eyes widen in disbelief as he took a few steps back.

         “You’re too predictable,” Griselda scolded as her shifts her feet to face him, “Stop relying on cheap and flamboyant attacks just because you think it’s cool! Your enemy will not be impressed!”

         Drake nods his head as he tastes the sweat dripping down from his narrow brown nose. He wipes his nose and squeezes the end of his stick. Then, feet push off the ground towards his elder and performs a swooping strike towards her lower body. A loud clap resonates as the woman halts his assault mid-swing. Thinking ahead, he takes his stick, places the palm of his free hand on the end of his practice sword, and thrusts it forward. Scrapping his wood against hers, he aims for the old woman's gut.

         Although the woman uses her strength to change the thrust trajectory, the jagged edge of the wooden weapon scrapes her side.

         “That's more like it,” she says as she uses the palm of her free hand to strike him in the chest.

         Drake’s breath jets out his mouth as his body launches straight back. He crashes into the concrete wall and falls flat on his face in a loud grunt.

         “Hey!” a guard shouts from atop the wall, “Stop fooling around down there.”

         Gripping his throbbing chest, Drake catches his breath and struggles to regain his footing. When his grandmother steps up to him, she shakes her head and says, “You need to pay more attention! You don't know if your enemy is carrying a hidden weapon, special ability, or verse. Battles are unpredictable and unforgiving. One element of battle that changes can make the strongest and experienced warriors weak and amateurish.”

         His mouth dries from his constant huffing, and his legs tremble from exhaustion. He tightens his aching muscles to stable his battle stance as he holds his sword at the ready. Drake concentrates on his grandmother's movements as she holds her sword down at her side.

         Drake shouts as he dashes ahead and thrusts his stick forward towards his opponent. However, the woman steps forward, plants her sandal on the soil and attacks. The old woman raised her wooden sword to hit Drake on the head, but Drake spins around before she could make her move and performs a reverse diagonal slash at her side with his black boots skidding on the ground. Griselda, taken aback by Drake’s quick maneuvering, changes the path of her swing and strikes his weapon so hard that it breaks it in half. The loud snap didn’t faze Drake as he pushes her cane aside with his arm and points the sharp end of the broken wood at her neck.

         “And most importantly,” she continues looking at Drake and lowers her weapon back to her side, “Never give up.”

         With his heart pounding against his chest, he drops his weapon and plops down to a knee. Sweat drips from his curvy brown chin as hot air rushes in and out of his nostrils.

         “Grandma,” Drake says with his arm resting on his leg, “What’s the point of all these training sessions? It’s not like we’re going anywhere with these walls around us.”

         “Stop sounding weak,” the old woman snaps as she walks towards him, “Nothing lasts forever! These walls are nothing, but straw compared to what’s out there. I’m teaching you how to deal with what’s outside these walls which can pose a far greater danger than you could imagine.”

         “If that’s true, Drake says as his huffing calms, when do we leave?” he asks.

         Just as the woman opened her mouth to answer, bells ring throughout the quarry reverberating off the walls.

         The thudding sounds of picks and shovels mingle with the high ringing bells and dashing footsteps of the hungry mob, making their way to the black iron gates.

         Drake sighs as he stands to his feet and pats the dirt off his black trousers and red tunic.

         “Lunchtime,” he mumbles under his breath, “The worst part of my day.”

         “Go get your dear, old grandma something to eat, would you?” she requested.

         “Sure,” the young man replies in a sullen tone as he heads towards the gates.

         Drake kicks up dust as he trips over a few tent pegs trying to reach the eastern walls where everyone in the quarry gathers for their rations.

         There, the sweet smell of fresh bread incites the crowd to push and shove to be the first in line. Drake moves away from the group and observes the commotion with his arms folded and the look of disgust on his face. The chains behind the gate rattle as the armored guards grunt to pull the iron barricades open and two soldiers push wooden carts of yellow, dry bread in from the entrance. As the crowd attempts to descend on the food, several foot soldiers with gray and silver shields rush from the rear of the carts to the front. Together, they stand side by side and form a metal blockade to stay the starving slaves. Metal boots skids against the concrete as the Hounds push the crowd away with their human-sized shields. The desperate workers lift their fists in the air, shouts, bum rushes and kick the large shields as the guards shouted in unison, “GET BACK!”

         As the soldiers struggle to tame the hungry mob, in walks a large, dark-skinned man with a black beard and a bald head. His black cape drapes over his white armor and greaves as he passed the gates. The spikes on his pauldron and the insignia of a ferocious hound on the back of his cape made Drake frown. Blood rushes to his head as the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His teeth clench, the veins in his hands pulse as he balls them into a fist and glares at the stern officer.

         Lunchtime. There’s not a day goes by where I wish they’d just throw the bread from the walls. Instead, this turd of an officer goes out of his way to treat us like scum each and every day. Sometimes I wish I could break him like grandma broke that boulder.

         Wishful thinking, I guess.

         The brute looks around at the begging crowd as they held their hands out for their provisions. The officer grins as he grabs one of the morsels of bread from one of the carts. He rips off half a piece, places it in his mouth, and chews it in front of the people. Then he drops the other half on the ground, steps on it with his white greaves and scrapes his heel left to right to flatten the piece even more. Afterward, he reaches down, picks up the grimy bread with his gloves, and observes it while he finishes chewing his morsel. Then, he tosses the food into the crowd like a frisbee and a small group scurry for it.

         The Dalmecian officer walks to the side of one of the carts and with a loud thud, kicks it over. The contents spill onto the ground, and the man in charge does the same with the other wagons before he exits. As he left, he rotates his fingers in the air, and the soldiers moved out. The rushing throng ravages the toppled carts and piles around it like feral beasts. The mind-numbing hollers of starving men and women rip through the quarry as they tear the bread into pieces devouring them on hand before anyone else stole it from them. Before long, multiple fights break out among the bickering lot as they scramble to keep the food away from anyone else.

         After a few minutes of cursing the Dalmecian soldiers under his breath, he comes to his senses and unfolds his arms to his side.

         “No food again today,” he says as he steps off back towards his tent, “I’ll just dig up the reserves.”

         However, a loud tumult between a soldier and a female slave interrupts Drake’s plan.

         The Dalmecian soldier removes his helmet and snatches a young woman holding a loaf of bread in her hand.

         “Give it to me!” he shouts at the woman

         “No! the woman replies as she struggles to get free, I’ve been working all day for this my children need this!”

         “You don’t deserve it! You’re the traitorous people who murdered the queen. Now let go!” The man shouts and strips the loaf of bread away from the woman.

         He smiles as she stares hungrily at the loaf he just taken and opens his mouth to eat.

         However, the woman slaps the man’s hands and causes him to fumble the loaf. The woman snags the bread and tries to escape, but the man seizes her by long brown hair and yanks out his sword.

         “Now, you will die!” He shouts as he raises his shining blade in the air for a killing blow.

         Drake breaks out into a full sprint, throws his shoulder forward, collides with the Dalmecian and knocks him off his feet. Drake stumbles and falls on his backside while the woman escapes with her bread.

         “Hey!!” The Dalmecian shouts rising to his feet, ready to give chase.

         However, Drake rushes and stands in front of the soldier in defiance.

         The man glares at him and clenches his sword in his hand.

         “You’ll pay for that.” He says, aiming his sword at him.

         As Drake braces himself for a fight, he feels light, ethereal vibration surround him.
Then a loud thwomp freezes the man in his place, and his eyes widen in shock. He grunts and descends face-first in the dusty ground with Griselda standing behind him.

         “Grandma?” Drake says, standing straight up.

         “Why haven’t you gotten bread yet?!” She says, stepping over the prone soldier.

         “Grandma! What did you do?” You gotta run, or someone’s going to see this.

         “Ah, nothing is going to happen,” Griselda responds. Go and fetch me some bread.

         “Okay,” Drake says as he steps off away from her. However, he stops for a while taking notice of everyone around them as they walk between them, unaware of what transpired.

         I’ve always noticed that Grandma had some unique ability to hide things from people. It happens all the time with our training sessions and other things the guards would reprimand us for. Though I don’t know what it is, I never asked as it did give me a touch of freedom from the Dalmecian’s prying eyes. And why was that guard fighting for her food? Doesn’t he have enough food for himself? Either way, it didn’t work out too well for him.

         The sun descends towards the horizon, leaving its orange and red residue in the once blue sky while all the slaves disperse. The guards signal with the bell for everyone to return to their dwellings. Meanwhile, Drake sneaks off to the corner of the east and north wall and makes sure that no one follows him before squatting down and digging a small hole in the dirt with his fingers. His fingernails collect dust as he claws away at the soft mound of soil until he finds a small, black, muddy linen bag. The young man pulls the string lose that sealed the top and removes two half-moldy pieces of bread. Drake’s grumbling stomach almost makes him dig in, but he observes the flat portion, picks off the mold with his fingers, and clears the excess debris away. In secret, the young man takes the bread and brings it to his grandmother.

         “Hey grandma, I’ve got us some food,” Drake whispers as he kneels by the lime green tent.

         Griselda climbs out of the dusty tent and places an old, tattered blanket on the ground. Drake sits next to her on the soft fabric and shares the stale bread. The two sits under the evening sky devouring the morsels while staring into the distance. The young man sighs as he reflects on recent events while his grandmother removes the red scarf from her head and places it between them. As the workers settle in their ruddy tents for the day, the guards on top of the walls change posts for the night shift.

         “Grandma?” he asks as he bends his leg and places his slender arm on his knee.

         “What is it, son?” she replies as she crosses one leg over the other.

         “Who is the queen, and why are we paying for her death?” he asks, “Aren’t we part of the Dalmecian Empire?”

         The woman looks at her grandson with her narrow eyes, looks up at the neon sky, and takes a long, deep breath.

         “Son,” she says as she begins speaking, “Out in the wild, a deer can lose her fawn to a ravenous wolf but will continue its life as if nothing has happened. A buck can lose his doe to hunters and goes on to find another to continue his legacy, forgetting the comforts the fallen doe gave him. Creatures understand loss and know how to cope with it well, but this is not the case for the higher races of Endina. The loss of a child, a loved one, or something important to them can have devastating effects on societies. Some will lose their purpose or even find new ones. Some dedicate their lives to destroy others or preserve what little they have.”

         Drake turns his head towards Griselda with a perplexing look on his face.

         “Well, I don’t think it’s fair to make everyone else suffer because of it,” he answers.

         “It seems that way to you, now” Griselda replies as she uncrosses her scrawny legs and stretches them across the light blue quilt, “But the person who suffers the loss sees it differently.”

         “I don’t get it,” he says as he turns his head away.

         “Someday you’ll understand,” she says with a faint smile.

         “Did you lose anyone close to you?” he asks as he looks back at his grandmother.

         Griselda’s head lowers in silence as Drake watches her face turn to sadness.

         “Yes,” she replies, “I lost someone very dear to me because of my selfish ways.”

         She places her hand on her heart as she closes her eyes and sighs, “I’m paying for it to this day, hoping that one day, he’ll forgive me.”

         “Who?” Drake asks with a curious look on his face.

         “It doesn’t matter,” the old woman says as she dusts the bread crumbs off her coat and stands to her feet, “What matters is your training. You must be proficient with the sword, or you will have very little chance of surviving”

         Drake scoffs at her comment and turns his head away.

         “Doesn’t matter” he answers with a dismissive wave, “We’re not getting out of here anyway. We’re walled in the quarry with the soldiers’ boot on our necks. They want us to work until we drop dead! I can’t fight Dalmecian soldiers alone, and the rest of the people don’t have to will to fight.”

         As he spoke, Drake feels a warm caress on the top of his head. Drake looks at his grandmother smiling at him.

         “Drake. She says. Although you may be imprisoned, it won’t last forever. The path of life rewards those who are willing to do whatever it takes to make a change. It doesn’t matter where you are so long as you are willing to fight for what’s right, you will find your way.”

         “I know I may be hard on you.” She continues, but that’s only to bring out the best in you. The world outside these walls will bring its challenges, and I want you to be ready when the time comes.

         Drake smiles.

         Grandma. She may be rough and mean at times, but I know she cares. But I can’t help but feel that she’s…hiding something from me. I never was one to pry, but deep down, I felt that there was something more- something significant.

         Griselda turns around, pulls open the cotton flap that covered the entrance to the tent and enters.

         “Get some rest, we have our duties to fulfill in the morning, and we must train some more,” she says over her shoulder.

         The young man groans and takes off his boots to let his sweaty, stank feet air out. Then, he curls up in the dirty, light blue sheet his grandmother made for him and watches the traveling stars in the velvety skies.

         The wooing night winds rattle the stone walls surrounding him as the breezy air settles on the moonlit grounds. A green leaf floats down and lands on Drake’s face during his star gazing. The smell of dead leaves filled the air as he catches a green leaf in between his fingertips. He lowers his arms to his side and looks back up at the stars. His weary, almond-hazel eyes twinkle with awe as shooting stars zoom across the velvety sky. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, turns over on his left side, and falls asleep.

         Suddenly, a loud explosion followed by an rumbling earthquake startles Drake and everyone else out of their slumber. In haste, the young man scans the area and notices the shattered concrete debris on the ground as people scurry away. From there, he watches a monstrous black dragon head with razor-sharp teeth, glowing purple eyes and smoke coming from its front nostrils enter the camp. The foul stench of hot breath replaces the autumn scent as everyone trembles at the sight of the behemoth. Distant cries from atop the wall resonate through the quarry as the soldiers carry torches to assemble themselves.

         “ALTERNEAN ATTACK!” A guard shouts as he rings the alarm bell.

         Drake, blinking in disbelief, stares at the dragon and ponders whether this is a nightmare. His feet freeze in place while screaming slaves dash past him.

         The creature releases a bone-chilling growl that shakes its dark, emerald scaled throat and reveals its sharp white teeth under the pale moonlight.

         Coming back to his senses, he runs towards his grandmother’s tent where she slept, yanks open the flap and finds nothing but brown covers and white rags hanging over her empty cot.

         “Grandma?!” he calls out as his head spins around looking.

         Meanwhile, the Dragon gave an ear splitting roar that makes everyone cover their ears and fall to their knees, including Drake. Afterward, human-sized, reptiles with axes and swords, flood the quarry when the behemoth backs out from the breached wall. The violet tint of their glaring pupils and large, web feet with long claws and long, spiked tails resembles the dragon. Drake's eyes fill with horror as he watches them grab and slam innocents on the ground. The swords and axes of the butchering hoard pierce the backs of the people and silence their screams while the few survivors, stagger and rush to the gates of the quarry for protection.

         Drake, looking for his grandmother, runs through the camp, and rummages random tents. While he searches, a middle-aged man wearing a dirty, wool, tattered, beige shirt and holey trousers grabs the young man from behind, turns him around and pulls him close.
“Please!” the man asks with tears in his eyes, “I can’t find my daughter! Please, you have to help me save her…”

         A spinning ax pierces the man’s back, and he falls into Drake’s arm. The copper smell of the fallen grows stronger as the man bleeds out in front of Drake.

         “Please,” he says with his last breath, “find my daughter.”

         Drake removes the bloody weapon from his back and lays the man down on the ground.

         Hearing screams of men and women alike, he looks up at several lizard-men busily maiming and killing fleeing villagers.

         Anger wells up in Drake’s hands clenching the ax in his hand, his eyes narrow and his nostrils inhale the murderous scent hanging in the air. His Ire leads him into action sprinting towards the chaos. Testing the weight of his weapon, He shakes the ax and swings it a lizard-man who’s stomping a man on the ground. His ax sinks into its back and the Alternean wails in a loud shrill. Blood ejects from the impact point, and some of it falls on Drake’s arm. The rotten fish smell makes him nearly hurl as he feels the cold red substance cover his hand. With a firm kick to the back, Drake yanks out the ax and runs up to the next Alternean who turns around snarling with his sharp teeth glowing under the night sky. The Lizard-man performs a downward swing, Drake side steps and counters with a vertical swing that finds its way in the creature’s scaly side. With a loud shrill creature raises its ax in a last attempt to kill Drake. Struggling to pull the shaft buried deep into the creature’s side, the wounded lizard raises its blade in the air for a killing blow. Drake halts the downward swing by grabbing its cold scaly wrists, and a struggle ensues.

         Muscles tighten and tremble with a constant burning as Drake does his best to hold the creature’s ax at bay, but its overwhelming strength causes the blade to inch closer and closer to his head. Looking at the hatchet buried in the creature’s hip, Drake kicks the edge in deep expiring the human-sized reptile to the ground.

         Gasping in exhaustion, Drake collapses on his butt and sees the horrific scene unfold before him. Blood soaked victims lie motionless on the ground as the screams of the living deafen his ears. The gusts of people bolting past him brush his face as he struggles to his feet.

         What’s happening? Who’s attacking us? Why are they attacking us? This isn’t supposed to happen? Where’s grandma?

         A fleeing woman snaps him out of shock as she grabs him by his shoulder and forces him away. He runs towards the iron door at the eastern entrance where dozens of crying people pile up at the gate. They beat against the metal gate, begging the Dalmecians to open the door.

         Caught between the sweaty, blood scented crowd, Drake squeezes between people shouting and screaming in search of his grandmother. He halts when he hears the sudden jovial shout from the crowd as the rattling sounds of the gates lift.

         However, as soon as the barricade lifts, hails of arrows swarms in from the opening, injuring and killing dozens of escapees. The screeching crowd disperses in multiple directions as scores of archers fire their metal bolts upon at the fleeing populace. Like the sounds of whistling birds, arrows penetrate, impale and kill anyone that stood in their way. A man, with numerous projectiles protruding from his chest, falls on top of Drake. His eyes widen when he notices the fear in the dead man’s lifeless eyes. Drake pushes the man off and witnesses the onslaught of the survivors by the Dalmecian archers’ steel bolts.

         They want us dead too? What for? What did we do to them? Stop. This isn’t right. Stop killing us. Stop killing us!

         STOOOOP! Drake shouts.

         Standing to his feet, Drake balls his right hand into a tight knuckle and snatches a random rock near him. As he grips the rock like a pitcher and extends his dominant arm, a dragon swoops down from the sky, kicks him hard in the back and knocks him to the ground. With dull pain running down his back, Drake rolls over and watches the enemy draw his silver sword. The weapon shined under the moonlight as the creature lifts its high over Drake's head. As the blade comes down, it is set ablaze in hot orange flames. Drake rubs his eyes and stares at a Dalmecian wearing a long, black hooded robe with silver finger guards on his hands. The man writes, INCINERATE In the air in blazing letters and the enemies looming around him and Drake erupt into orange flames under the night sky. The hilt of the scorched dragoon’s sword falls to the ground, and the young man grabs it. He shakes it to test its heaviness and rushes towards the soldiers. One soldier sees Drake from the corner of his eye, aims his crossbow and fires bolts at him. Drake shifts his body, evades the incoming projectiles and performs a vertical slash on the archer’s chest. The Dalmecian soldier screams in agony as crimson ejects from his open wound. When he falls to the ground, Drake stops, pants and inhales the burnt, bloody air into his nostrils and tries to break from his enraged trance.

         Another soldier notices the sword in Drake’s hand and rushes towards him. Drake, regaining his senses, steps back, and avoids the enemy’s flurry of punches. With a series of shoulder shoves and tricky footwork, Drake performs multiple slashes on the soldier and with his free left hand, he punches the man to the ground. As he raises his sword to deliver the final blow, he notices a dragoon standing on top of a sobbing teenage girl.

         Drake leaves his defeated foe and sprints towards the young woman.

         However, another Death Hound steps in front of Drake and slugs him so hard in the chest that the impact knocks his blade out of his hand and sends him flying. Drake, skidding to a halt, grips his pain-ridden torso and prepares his mind to witness the young woman’s demise as the dragoon raises its long spear. Out of nowhere, a muscular, balled officer with white armor, holding a massive steel sword in his left hand, walks up behind the creature and performs a diagonal slash at the beast and slices it in half. Soon after, the dragoon crumbles into ashes and scatters in the wind. When the imposing man turns about, his black cape sways towards the butchering army ahead of him. He scribbles, “THUNDER,” and the words appear in the sky. They glisten purple amid the darkness and bolts of black electricity crack through the air from the glowing letters in rapid succession. The crushing and crackling of black lightning strike the invaders. Each target explodes into ashes as bolts hit each assailant with incredible accuracy. The powerful volts, like homing missiles, trails all the enemies reducing them into ashes that rain onto the battleground. The verse dispatches all the dragoons and brings their invasion to an end. Soon after, the lightning fades into sparks of electricity that ascend to the skies.
After witnessing the bizarre event, Drake, in a blind rage, retrieves his weapon and attacks the man in the black cape. He swings his sword downward to kill the Dalmecian, but the muscular, iron-clad decorated officer extends his left hand and catches Drake’s sword.

         “You’re a brave idiot,” the man says, with his head down, in a deep and gruff voice.

         Drake feels the grip of the man’s hand snatching him by his red tunic raising up him in the air. He examines the grimace of the brown man that reveals his crisp, ivory teeth and inhales the coppered stench coming from his breath. The soldier, wearing gauntlets, shatters the young man’s sword into pieces and crushes the remaining steel shards into dust.

         “Do you know who you are pointing your sword at? General Arbaroll! Head of King Ryzor’s fifth regimen.”

         “Why are you killing us!?” Drake shouts.

         “Hmph! You should know.” Arbaroll says. The king condemned you and everyone here to death should your enslavement ends. Justice for the Queen which was killed by someone here in this village.”

         He places the tip of his blade at Drake's toned chest and gives the young man a devilish grin, “Don’t worry, you will join them in the afterlife.”

         Then, from nowhere, a blazing ball of blue and red fire plunges near Arborall. The man leaps away, releases Drake from his grip, and shields his face from the flying embers. The young man falls on his rear and scurries backward. Moving on the palm of his hands, he puts a great distance between his body and the ball of fire. The scorching flames of the comet dissipate to reveal a middle-aged, caramel-skinned beauty with long, black hair wrapped in a tight ponytail. Her boar hide dress, split into a top and a skirt, reveals her, hourglass figure. Her steel shoulder blades and breastplate glistened under the pale moon and drew attention to the red and black under armor covering the upper half of her body. Her short skirt and snake-skin leggings display her long legs, but her metallic greaves cover her knees. The fiery crystalline sword in her hands releases streams of flames that encircle her entire body. She throws the long crimson scarf hanging from her neck on the ground and glares at the officer. After exchanging glowers with her opponent, she turns her attention to Drake.

         “You,” she says in a robust voice, “Gather your belongings and leave this place.”

         “No,” he replies with a firm head shake, “I’m not leaving until I find my grandmother!”

         “She’s safe!” the woman answers, “Leave! Your journey is beginning, and it’s time for you to go.”

         “I don’t think so,” Arborall says as he saunters towards the woman, “I will not permit any slaves to walk these lands free. Both of you will die here, by my hands!”

         The woman turns her head towards the brute, bends her knees and rushes forward. She raises her flaring sword and swings it at her enemy. The swordsman performs a reverse diagonal swing, stops her attack and creates sparks as his sword clanks with hers. The man spins around and aims a vertical slash at her slender waist. The woman shifts to the side and performs an all-out multiple slash attack. As her sword travels across the officer’s body in rapid succession, abrasions of fiery molt appear on his armor. The metal on his arms steams as he retreats, but her spin-kick cracks his face and sends him crashing into the wall. The officer, after creating a small crater with his bulky torso, falls to the ground. Drake watches the warriors in awe as their swords dance during their battle. The woman inhales a deep breath and keeps her hands from shaking as she points her blade in her opponent’s direction.

         Arborall, after fixing his jaw, plants both of his hands flat on the ground and pushes up to his feet. He takes a deep, long breath and wipes away the sweat and blood from his eyebrows. He scowls at the lady warrior as he retrieves his edge from the earth and stands up straight. The lady dashes forward places both hands on the flaming sword and thrusts at him. However, the man uses his blade as a shield and stops the assaults in a blazing clash. The woman tries to push past the commander’s defenses but didn’t make any gains. The enemy’s giant edge, however, turns bright auburn and melts down because of the overwhelming heat coming from the woman’s crystal blade. As a last-ditch effort, the warrior leaps away tosses his searing sword aside and draws a metal crossbow from his back. Then, he aims and fires his bolts at Drake.

         The woman, watching the arrows travel in slow motion, ceases her assault, sprints with unrelenting speed, extinguishes her fiery weapon and stands in front of Drake. She wails in distress as the shocking shafts pass through her upper chest and rest in the top portions of her back, close to her right arm. Drake catches her in his arms as her body slopes to the ground. The commander laughs aloud as he places another pointy, silver shaft in his metal crossbow and pulls it back with his two fingers. A satisfying grin etches across his face as he steadies his hand so that he wouldn’t miss. However, the injured warrior maiden writes the word INCINERATE in the air with her left index finger. Beads of sweat ran down his cheeks as the feel burning word produces steam that transforms into a stream of thin flames.

         “Ahhhh!” The man shouts as streaks of flames, consume his right arm into a pile of ashes. The crossbow in his hand drops to the ground and disintegrates into a puddle of orange liquid as he stumbles about holding his cauterized wound. He wails in agony as he runs away through the iron gates before they slam shut.

         Drake cradles the woman in his arms as she trembles from the wound in her back. Sweat covers her face as her body starts to shiver. Drake, examining the woman’s eyes, senses her distress as he reaches for the silver bolt in her back and yanks it out. The woman screams as Drake tosses the blood-tipped projectile away. The woman grabs the end of his red tunic and holds him close.

         “Who are you?” Drake asks, “Why did you save me?”

         The woman looks up at him with her dying, eyes, and flashes a weak smile.

         “I always knew that it would come to this,” she says, “That’s why I spent all these years training you here in this quarry.”

         “Grandma?” Drake exclaims as a single tear rolls down his right cheek.

         “I’m so sorry,” she says as tears ran down hers, “I hid a lot from you, and I don’t have time to tell you everything.”

         The woman coughs several times as Drake recognizes her rosy mint scent.

         “Listen,” she began, “You must travel to Estoria and protect it from disaster.”

         “Estoria?” Drake asks, “What-What are you saying, Grandma?”

         “It is where I am from and where you must go. These lands are dying, and it's causing everyone to despise and mistrust each other. You must be the one to restore them to end their suffering. The power I have will find you, and you must use it to fix the mistakes that I’m dying for.”

         The woman raises her weak hand and caresses his wet cheeks as she looks into grandson’s watery eyes.

         “Be strong,” she says, “I know you can make it.”

         Afterward, her hand drops, her eyes close, and her breathing stops.

         Drake cries fountains of tears as he held her close and inhales her cherished scent for the last time. Then, her body illuminates and dissipates into tiny bright, red sparkles that scatter into the sky, leaving her red scarf in his arms.

         On the night of the full moon, inside the quarry, here in my arms, my grandma died protecting me. The one who watched over me after so many years left me with few answers. I was afraid, not just of dying but the unknown. I’m a slave with no friends, no family, and nowhere to live. What do I do?