The Verse of Estoria

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

         Drake, wiping the sweat off his face, silently stands over his defeated foe. White smoke rising to the air with the smell of sulfur, ebb from the sword and dissipate in the sunlight. Pondering Arbaroll’s final words, he scratches his head in sheer bewilderment.

         I just avenged my Grandmother, and now I’m left with nothing. No food, no place to call home and no idea of where I should go. Famine? Well, it certainly would explain the conditions inside the quarry, but I always thought it was because they hated us. When did it start and how long has this been going on? Whatever the case, it can’t be good.

         “Well done.” A voice spoke behind Drake as he hears a slow clap behind him.

         “Who’s there!?” He shouts as he spins around kicking up dirt.

         Darkall saunters up with a devilish smile, wearing his high-ranking garment clapping his pale hands before placing them behind his back.

         “No need to be so jumpy…Yet” Darkall says, “I was just congratulating you on your victory against Arbaroll. Especially in his true form. As to be expected though”

         “What do you want?” Drake says as he steps back and clenches his sword.

         “Hmm,” Darkall says as he tilts his head, staring at Drake with his thumb and finger on his chin, “Well, I guess I’m here to help you.”

         Looking at him gives me the chills. It may be his pale skin or his devilish grin, but something about him seems off. I don’t know if it's him or me, but it’s as if I know him from somewhere. At least my body does… I am trembling, and my skin feels itchy.

         “I doubt you’re here to help me,” Drake, feigning confidence, says aloud.

         “Your skepticism is well-founded Drake Ryft. Darkall says as he lowers his hand down to his side. I am going to slaughter you with the edge of my blade but not before I have a little fun with you first. Call it a game if you will.”

         “Not interested,” Drake replies.

         “Hmph!” Darkall scowls. “You really don’t have a choice in the matter. You are tasked with finding Estoria, aren’t you?”

         Drake’s eyes widen in shock upon hearing Darkall’s words.

         How does he know about Estoria? In fact, how does he even know my name?

         “Who are you?” Drake demands.

         “I am Darkall. High lord of the Dalmecian Empire second to King Ryzor himself.” He says as he bows himself.

         Darkall raises his head, gives off an evil smile.

         “Now that introductions are out the way,” he continues. “I have some information about Estoria if you dare to look for yourself.”

         “I don’t trust you,” Drake says, maintaining his distance from the High Lord.

         “A right attitude to have,” Darkall says. “But don’t you think it's strange?”

         “What?” Drake says.

         “Griselda is your grandmother, isn’t she? Did she bother to tell you about your mother and father?”

         Drake is silent.

         He’s right. I asked a few times about my parents, but all she did is dismiss the question for the sake of training or some other activity. My grandma was big in teaching me skills and techniques, but purposely kept me in the dark for a lot of things. Still, I trust her more than the person standing in front of me.

         “If your curiosity overcomes your suspicion, travel East along Owe Road for a days’ journey to Belle City. “You may find an answer there. But be on your guard.” He says with a chuckle. “I will personally inform my king on your escape, and you will be a fugitive. So, I recommend you prepare yourself for the worst.”

         Then flickering blue sparks pop on the tip of his pale index finger, and he writes TRANSMIT in the air in electrifying blue letters. Then he vanishes in a flash of lightning.

         Drake’s guard drops as he slumps forward from relief. The uneasy feeling leaves him, albeit the experience did disturb him.

         “What the hell was he?” Drake says. “Ughh!” He says as he places his hands on his shaking sweaty forehead. “So many questions with no answers. It feels like I’ve been blind my whole life.”

         Then a growl shouts from the pit of his stomach as it protests its starvation. Drake places his hands on his stomach and groans.

         “Uh oh,” Drake says. “Before I find answers, I better find some food first. But first…He sighs. I have to pay my respects.”

         Later that evening, under the amber skyline, Drake crafts makeshift memorials from rocks and branches taken from the forest. Drake makes crosses and holds it together with leafy vines. Managing to make at least a dozen, the young man positions them in neat rows. However, he makes a more significant memorial in front that is taller than the rest. He reaches into the red tunic feeling the crimson scarf with his fingers and pulls it out. Like a ribbon, it waves in the cool breeze and places the cotton fabric to his nose. Smelling the now faint rosy mint aroma, a wave of nostalgia hits him as he looks up at the wooden cross and fights back the tears in his eyes.

         “Remember when I made ten? During those days, I had to carry stones back and forth all day while being harassed by soldiers. One particular time a guard kicked me in the back, causing me to spill my stones all over the ground. I got upset and uhh… threw a stone directly into one of the guard’s face. Of course, I didn’t realize that there were two other guards and they ganged up on me. I was beaten to a pulp and left nearly dead. Afterward, you picked me up, carried me to the tent, and nursed me back to health. And you said to me something I’ll never forget. Rage defeats its owner, but discipline defeats armies. I didn’t listen at the time because I was angry and sad. That night you woke me up and took me to the top of the wall to visit the three men who beat me up. You had me watch as you effortlessly knock all three of them out without breaking a sweat. You even made them apologize and surrender their bread to me. That was the best gift you’ve ever given me. Ever since you’ve been hammering everything you knew into me. I hated it at times, but I understood that you wanted to make me strong.”

         Drake falls to his knees, breaks into sobbing tears.

         “I never wanted this. I never wanted to live like slaves. Never wanted to live hungry most of our lives. I never wanted to see you killed in my arms before I had a chance to know you. But you’re gone now, and this is all I have left of you. If you think that traveling to Estoria will stop all of this pain and suffering. Then I will do everything in my power to get there.”

         Then Drake dries his tears with the scarf, wraps it around the cross, and ties it in a graceful knot leaving both ends dangling in the wind.

         “So, rest easy Grandma,” Drake says. “I will make it there and fix everything, no matter the cost.”

         Drake then kisses his two fingers and graces the wooden cross. Turning around, he stares into the forest and takes a deep breath and starts walking away.

###

         Far East, in the winter region of Dalmecia southeast Salatia sits King’s Ryzor’s castle. There, water drips from bare frosty trees as precipitation of flurry rain float down from the sky. A bone-chilling wind cut through the towers making the guards shiver in their plated armor. High on the lookout, the men wipe their runny noses with their sleeves and paid no attention to the black and white Goshawks that rested their talons on top of the polished marble gargoyles surrounding the castle. The cryptic, yet purpose design of the Gothic exterior of the royal palace discourage the prying eyes of newcomers.

         On the interior, bear rugs dye in deep crimson-carpet the cold, cobble-stone floors and crystal chandeliers dangle from the ceilings of the den, feasting hall and hallways leading to the throne room. Grand displays of the castle’s coat of arms grace the corners of the palace vestibules that welcomes guests to the castle courtyard and outdoor garden. In the center of Life Garden rests a massive water fountain of a beautiful woman drowned by a dragon. The frosty weather froze the statuette, along with the garden Willows and Rowans. The dead solitude seemed perfect for one visitor because no one visits the palace garden during the fall and winter months. A tall, muscular dark brown-haired man sits on the rim of the fountain looking down at the still water. His rough reflection on the frozen liquid distorts when the snow falls on top of it.

         Darkall stands silent hiding under the shadow, glaring at the King rubbing his thumb on the side of his pale index finger.

         King Ryzor The Cold Tyrant. He comes here alone with his thoughts and stares at his reflection in the fountain. Looking at him, he seems like an innocent child that reminisces on good times. But don’t be fooled; he’s as ruthless as it gets. Mass enslavement, strict control over food leading many to starve and anyone who dares to oppose him are met with a swift death. The only thing separating him from his cruelty is his children and that god-awful mood swing he gets when he remembers his dead wife. Sometimes I wish humans would just simply replace the ones they lose. It's not like there’s a shortage of them anyway. Instead, they delve into this melancholic depression that just never ends. Ugh! Disgusting. No matter, after 20 years of tearing down this miserable country, I’ve finally found him. All I need to do now is wait.

         “Come on out Darkall,” Ryzor says in a deep calm but authoritative voice. “I can feel your presence ever gnawing at mine.”

         The grey cloak lord walks out from behind a pillar and into the soft raining snow and bows his spikey head towards him.

         “Lord Ryzor,” Darkall says. “Your keen intuition far surpasses that of any verse mage in Dalmecia.”

         “Don’t flatter me Darkall; your presence alone is unsettling enough to scare a war tiger away.” He says as he stands on his boots and yanks out a white handkerchief to dry his wet hand.”

         “Give me your report. I have important matters to attend to.” Ryzor says.

         "Yes, your highness." Darkall says in a slight bow. "The Alterneans have discovered the Quarry mines within Debt Forest and have launched an assault."

         “They’re a bit late,” Ryzor says. “We’ve drained the mines of any traces of metal not too long ago. I take it that the slaves have been dealt with?”

         “Yes, sire. Although one managed to escape.” Darkall says with his head bowed, hiding his gleeful smile.

         “One?” Ryzor says. “What concern do I have with just one escaping? He probably won’t survive the famine anyway.”

         “He managed to kill Arbaroll. Sire.” Darkall says.

         “The Cugarian!?” Ryzor says with a shocked look on his face. “I find it hard to believe he was defeated by a slave.”

         “Although fierce,” Darkall says. “Arbaroll was consumed with petty emotion, which often distracted him from the larger picture. That is what lead to his demise.”

         “Be that as it may.” The King says. “I can’t have a slave who defeated one of my finest commanders roam my kingdom unopposed.”

         “Do you wish for me to eliminate him, sire?” Darkall asks.

         “Hmm.” King Ryzor ponders, folding his arms and placing his finger and thumb on his stubbly chin. “I don’t want to divert precious resources chasing after a slave. Do what you must, but your other duties take priorities.”

         “And what of the invading force to the west?” Darkall says. “With a dragon appearing at the quarry I would imagine they’ve decided to use their main army.”

         “I’ve left that matter to my children,” Ryzor says. “They should be finished wiping up the remnants shortly. In the meantime, I want you to divert some supplies to the tri forts. If they are going to use their main force, I’m sure they’ll attack their first.”

         “It will be done, my lord,” Darkall says as he spins around and walks out of the snowy courtyard.

###

         Drake travels along a moonlit beaten path as an orchestra of high-pitch cricket chirps fill the woods around him. The beaten trail leads to the edge of the forest where he could see the moonlit plains. He looks up in the skies to see the glimmering stars. Looking ahead, his eyes peer over the open grassy plains rustling against the calm winds along with the distant flickering torch lights far into the horizon.

         “That must be where Belle City is,” Drake say

         He then winces in pain as the scars on his arms disturb his moment. The red crimson on the lacerations now dry, Drake stands upright from the tree. Then a sudden yet different type of sting causes him to slap the side to his neck in pure reflex. In the palm of his hand, he sees a small bumblebee hairy and with a luminous rainbow bottom. He then looks up, and see many more of these glowing bees buzzing around the tree he leans on. Swatting several of them that attack him with his hand, Drake walks around the tree to see a stringy hive giving of an ever-changing rainbow color glow hanging off a branch.

         Glowing bees dance around the hive in a display of elegance that changes from blue to green to red and purple. Drake then sees some colonies throughout debt forest that creates a network of hives bees travel between. As Drake watch, the bees dancing around the hive, all fly towards another hive dancing around it. Drake reaches up and touches the stringy colony with his finger, and feels a thick syrup covering it. Some of the clear ooze stuck to his pointer and he places it in his mouth.

         Whoa! This is really sweet. Way sweeter than the moldy bread inside the quarry and there’s a lot of it here too. How can there be a famine when there’s this much of it all over the place? I’m taking the hive with me for later.

         Drake then picks the hive from the branch and runs his finger along the curve stringy colony and devours the honey. After he eats the sweet, thick liquid, his arm becomes numb and drops the silky settlement onto the ground. Drake blinks his eyes in repeating succession with a look of confusion and panic on his face.

         “What!!?” Drake says as he stumbles backward before falling down on the ground as his entire body numbs. His eyelids close as the transparent, syrupy substance from the hive seep onto the leafy foliage.

         Later on, in the next day. An echoing boom startles Drake back to consciousness. Drake raises his fluffy head up from the ground to see a plume of black smoke rising into the air from a distance. Several more earth rumbling explosions shatter the peace in the forest as a shock wave sweeps across the ground kicking up leaves and twigs. Drake rolls to his feet, hiding behind a tree to notice violent clashes between two armies on the flat grassy plains. Drake tries to shift to another tree only to fall flat on his face.

         “What happened to me? I can’t feel my feet?” Drake says as he kicks his feet, trying to regain feeling.

         He manages to stand to his feet and starts limping towards the edge of the woods. There he can hear shouting men stomping the grassy plains south of Debt Forrest. Drake wipes his dirty face with his forearm as red fireballs arch across the blue sky and fall into a charging group of men exploding into dust and debris flinging them all directions. The men were bareback with black leather straps across their chests with axes and shields in their hands. They charge towards a formation of Dalmecians clad in their black and white armor. Standing in a line formation, they march with spears and shields ahead of them. Black hooded verse mages in a line formation behind all write FIREFLING with their fingers causing balls of fire to launch into the sky towards the charging army thinning out their ranks with dirt scattering explosions. Before long, black smoke covers the wild men’s side of the battlefield as they crash into well-arm and organize Dalmecians. Sounds of clanking axes bash against the metal shields as the bareback army tries to break through the moving formation.

         FORWARD!! A stern battle voice shouts behind the formation as spears pierce the guts of their foes. The Dalmecian men begin to trek forward, forcing the wild men back and killing those who wouldn’t. They step over the fresh corpses on the field while maintaining their formation.

         “They don’t have a chance,” Drake says as he sees the wild-men dying one after another against the marching formation.

         “RETREAT!!” A man shouts waving his ax in the air. The wild men cease the charge and start their evacuation. However, the barrage of fire-flinging verse mages strikes those who turn to run cutting off their escape.

         Drake crepes to another tree fixing his eyes on the warring armies, and he comes across a being wearing a cloak with a beige hood standing with its rough hand on a tree observing the battle.

         “Tsk! Useless idiots!” The creature says in a scratchy voice.

         A snap of a twig causes the thing to spin around to where Drake could see his yellow lizard eyes. A black shroud covers its face under its hood that Drake’s eyes cannot pierce through. Then, gold brown leathery dragon wings spring from its back and with one flap take to the sky.

         “He looks like the ones who attacked us at the quarry,” Drake says.

         A scraping sound of an unsheathing sword causes him to turn around and dodge a silver blade that cracks into a tree. Drake falls on his backside and recovers to face his attacker. A woman turns her raven hair in frustration and yanks her sword from the redwood. With her fierce eyes and a feminine battle cry, she charges Drake with her clanking metal grieves and swings her sword. Drake shifts his body left and right to dodge her attacks but soon falls on his backside due to the numbness in his feet.

         “Crap!” Drake shouts as he rolls away from a downward thrust cutting his arm, reopening his wound. He stands to his feet and grips his blood soaking arm and leaps away from another swing.

         “Hey! What are you doing?! I’m not in the war!” The young man shouts.

         The woman clenches her teeth in indignation, pointing her sword at Drake. The black and white armor she dawns fits well on her slender body with sheaths on both sides of her hips.

         “Who were you speaking with then, huh!?” She says, stepping towards the young man.

         “We didn’t even talk!?” Drake explains as he takes a few steps back.

         “Then you must’ve escaped the quarry” she surmises.

         Drake is silent as he lets out dry air from his mouth. He looks to his left and right to see if he could escape, but she assaults him again with several more swings of her silver sword. Drake side steps, and shoulder charges the woman knocking her on her side in a leaf scattering drop. Then with his finger, he burns FANE in the air, and his red-hot ruby sword appears. Drake takes the sword’s hilt and rotates the blade with his wrist.

         The woman yanks her second sword from its sheath and charges towards her foe, unleashing a flurry of fast-moving blades. Sparks fly from colliding blades as Drake tries to parry a few whiles on the retreat. Then her body twists for a roundhouse kick that strikes Drake in the face staggering him backward.

         “Ughh! Ok, this is happening.” Drake says to himself. As he rubs the stinging pain on his slender chin.

         “She has skill. And those two swords are keeping me on the defensive. WHOA!!” Drake shouts as he ducks below a dual swing that swoops through the air. Drake backflips to dodge more attacks and parries two more swings she throws at him.

         “Alright, Drake says as he tastes the sweat running down his nose.” Grandma trained me on this….

         Drake remembers one particular training session from when he was a few years younger with Griselda back in the quarry.

###

         His sword is knocked out of his hand, and it falls on the stone-littered ground.

         “OWW! That’s not fair.” Drake says, rubbing his hand.

         “You’re not doing it correctly,” Griselda says, holding a wooden stick at her side.

         Then she holds up her stick and performs two swings in rapid succession.

         “That’s how you do it she says, repeating the action.” Then again horizontally and again vertically.

         “A precise double swing that’s meant to halt an enemy’s relentless assault. She continues. “Not just flailing the sword around in a predictable fashion. Now try again! We’ll be here all night until you learn how to do it.”

         “Ughh, come on Grandma,” Drake says as he slouches forward to pick up the wooden stick.

         “Remember the name of this attack as it will keep you alive.” The old woman speaks. “Double tap!”

###

         “Double tap,” Drake says as the hilt clicks with his firm grip. Warm air flows into his nostrils and rushes out as he bends his knees and digs his boots into the soft brown soil.

         The warrior maiden’s hair flows with the wind as she dashes towards Drake with her dual swords. She swings her dual blades in rapid succession to cut her opponent down, but Drake double taps a few of her strikes knocking her swings off course. Taken aback by the technique the woman hesitates for a few moments before charging again. Her blade cuts down a falling leaf as it travels towards Drake’s neck, but it meets with Drakes blazing hot sword in a violent halt. Drake pushes her sword away and deflects the next swing from her left hand. Drake steps in closer to her where he can smell her vanilla perfume and shoves her hard chest plate, causing her to stumble backward. Drake then turns his body and Double taps one of her retreating sword swings cutting the blade from its hilt. The edge whirls through the air and thuds into a nearby tree. The woman throws the silver hilt to the ground and attacks with her remaining sword. She holds her swords parallel to her cheeks and runs forward for a thrust attack towards Drakes' gut. Seeing the attack, Drake raises his scabby arm and catches her hilt clenching hands beneath his armpit and slides to a halt.

         Drake gives a surprising smile watching the woman trying to jerk her arm away from his firm hold. He twists his body, breaking her grip off her last sword as it spins in the air. Drake completes the turn with a burning vertical swing the slices the metal blade off its silver hilt. Drake then points the tip of his sword in the weaponless maiden’s face. Her heavy breaths with her blinking eyes of shock and trepidation envelop the beauty as she stares at Drake’s stern look and steady hold on his fiery sword.

         The woman turns her eyes away from Drake’s intense gaze as she stood frozen in defeat. A worrisome shake overtook her body out of fear of what he may do to her. But Drake relents and lowers his sword to his side.

         “You shouldn’t go around attacking people who are not armed,” Drake says.

         The woman stands silent for a few moments, turning her gaze back into Drake’s sweaty face.

         “If you don’t want anything from me, then leave,” Drake says. “I won’t do anything to you.”

         As proof, Drake dismisses his sword as it shatters into red sparkling glasslike pieces.
The woman then kneels down and picks up her two silver bladeless hilts from the dirt and wraps them in her arms close to her bosom.

         Lowering her head in silence, she then stands aright.

         An eternity passes to Drake as he stares at the woman looking as though she was figuring out what to say.

         “You’re welcome,” Drake says, motioning with his arm.

         “What’s your name?” She asks, looking him into his fierce eyes.

         I’m not entirely comfortable giving her my name, but hopefully, she’ll return the favor if I tell her, Drake says to himself.

         “Drake Ryft.” The young man says.

         "I am Princess Celta of Dalmecia Third Daughter of King Ryzor."

         Drake’s stomach sank upon hearing her name as his mind fills with regret.

         Oh, Crap!

         “Drake of the Ryft. I, at this moment, recognize you as a mortal enemy of the kingdom.” She says. “My armies shall forever nip at your heels, and my swords will remain pointed at your back. Enjoy this brief victory while you can. For when I return, I will claim your life!”

         Then the woman flees towards the battle-worn plains where he sees a sparkling tear fly off her face.

         Drake raises his head as he leans against a redwood with his hand covering his face.

         Princess. The first time I make it outside the quarry and I run into a Princess. A PRINCESS! I have to be careful if I’m going to survive all of this. Crap! I told her my name too. I need to get away from here.

         Drake then walks back to the edge of the forest and picks up the fire beehive he almost forgets. From there he finds the road mentioned to him earlier and makes his way towards Belle City.