Tarc'tias Chap. 1

         D'Ärias Clarion stood frozen amidst hundreds of footsoldiers near the front line of the army. His stony face flickered slightly with annoyance at the nervous shuffling around him as men contemplated their near fate. Some fingered useless pendants of uncaring pagan gods, murmuring prayers under their breath. Others checked armor and weaponry, running skilled, experienced fingers over the polished blades, tightening and readjusting leather armor, latching and unlatching pieces of plate mail.Chain mail, leather lined with studs, iron breastplates, and spiked helms were all customized to fit the needs and personality of their owner. no Royal insignia graced the armor, only the small, black raven of the Mercenaries Guild.
         Their restlessness drew the occasional furtive glances from the Royal Army in their tight formations, standing, for the most part, as statues. One could almost read the contempt in their faces. Individually, the Mercenaries were excellent fighters, but order and discipline had never been a priority for the Guild. However, King Alberdrane had no need of order from his hired men. He simply needed men filling out the ranks, with enough nerve to fight rogue barbarians.
         D'Ärias' quick eyes scanned the silent battlefield, the calm before the storm. Before dawn, the troops had beendeployed to this area, the uphill side of a large meadow. The front line stretched across, then curved back into the forest at the ends, in the vague shape of a bow, in order to avoid flank attacks. Cavalry waited silenty on the northeastern flank, waiting for the enemy. Archers stood just inside the treeline behind the footmen abd beyond them, out of sight, were sorcerers, elementalists and monks. Occasionally the was heard overhead the sounds of massive wings clashing against the sky as dragonriders patrolled the area.
         The rising dawn revealed a low mist hovering above the meadow and wisping away into the trees, gently muffling the footsteps of messengers and scouts. Light was just barely rising; the sun had not yet peeked over the horizon and birds gathering their breakfasts in the meadow were skittish, keeping well away from the soldiers.
         A group of officers rode their horses at a trot along the front and the Mercenaries assembled themselves into a formation that held some resemblance to order. Far back in the mists across the open expanse there could be heard the cries and chants of rogue wizards preparing spells. Behind Alberdrane's men, his own magic-users did the same. D'Ärias braced himelf.
         Flashes of light flared in the mists across the field, swiftly becoming small balls of fire or arrows crafted from light. Slingstones that levitated themselves sped out of the mists. All these smashed into the shock troops at the front line, felling men, scorching their neighbors. Screams of wounded and dying ripped through the air, breaking the tense silence.
         D'Ärias chuckled to himself when the blasts ceased. The barbarians had very little talent in tactical skills. The initial magical assault, and likely those following, was targeted toward random individuals across the line. A good tactician would have sent the magic in bloques to key points in the line, then immediately would have sent soldiers directly into the area to drive a wedge and seperate the enemy. As it was, men died and the line was inperceptably thinned.
         Dark-furred hunting wolves and lithe stalker cats rushed out of the mists, fangs bared, snarls errupting from their throats. Closely behind them came the barbarians, men covered with blue tattoos and hideous scars. Their charge was wild and disorderly, but ferocity fueled them.
Animals outdistanced men swiftly and drove into the regathering line, claws and fangs ripping and tearing. The sheer weight represented in the attack effectively brought down the center of the first line. D'Ärias moved foreward, waiting for the human enemies.The wolves and stalkers avoided him, and he saw no reason to take advantage of their skittishness. Animals did not fear D'Ärias, but they knew and respected him as a wolf respects a pack leader, occasionally challenging him to see if he is still strong, but generally staying out of his path. He had a reputation with animals.
         So D'Ärias waited for human enemies as his companions battled the predators. The barbarians' screaming charge grew closer. A horn sounded somewhere behind D'Ärias, and in response a line of spikes was raised up by men who had been hidden in the tall grass. The barbarians, unable to stop their chrage, nor the charge of those behind them, were impaled on the spikes and the charge was broken up.
         As they milled about, trying to bring the spikes down and climb over their fallen comrades, Alberdrane's archers poured arrows into them. The few who though to raise shields didn't have the skilland discipline to protect themselves and their neighbors.
         At last the deadly barrier was broken apart and trown to the ground. The rain of arrows ceased and they began to move forward again, more slowly, cautious.
         Large fireballs flew from the forest and crashed nto the advancing men, throwing bodies through the air, scattering burning human torches, and setting the dry grasses ablaze. The barbarians weren't halted, but that was never the purpose. The fire had been directed into certain points and the blaze effectively seperated the rogues into groups of no more than a legion.
         The sun peeked over the low trees in the east, directly behind Alberdrane's army. As the barbarians squinted against the sun, cavarly, no more than a quarter troop, lept the flames and galloped along their front line, trampling and slashing. The passed, leaving the rogues to regroup, but a second quarter swept into them. As the barbarians reformed, they looked for a third, but it was the first who hit them from the opposite direction.
         When the cavalrymen had disappeared into the mists and smoke, archers rained more arrows into the wandering barbarians. From whithin their midst came a cry of rage, a warcry which spread quickly among the ranks. In the furious frenzy the charge was revived, and with nothing to further impede them, the barbarians collided with the royal troops with a deafening clash of blade against blade and shield and armor.
         D’Ärias Clarion clasped his broadsword and stepped into the fray, slashing to the left and right, driving alone deep into enemy ranks. He had once told an acquaintance that simply surviving had become a dull game for him. Fear of death was a dark creature that, like those of the animal kingdom, skirted him to visit other men.
         The warrior reveled in his strength and speed, both superhuman. Men who had seen him fight could have vowed that, not only his sword, but his arms and upper body became a blur of motion and the dull shine of his armor. These men, of course, later contributed this illusion to the chaos and confusion of battle.
         D’Ärias could feel the speed within him as he battled. He held his ground on a small rise, twisting and spinning, allowing his enemies to come to him. Soon the barbarians learned to give him wide berth and he was given a moment to pause amongst the bodies of his enemies. He kept his shield raised as he surveyed the battle.
         He felt like grinning, but the rush of his adrenaline was slowly ebbing away, replaced with the pain of soreness and minor scratches. He grimaced.
         The battle went well. Archery had slowed as the footmen drove into and mixed with the barbarians, The cavalry had driven two wedges on either side of the field and magical attacks were exploding into the rogue wizards who had revealed their position with a wild explosion of untamed magic. On the flanks the three dragonriders were sweeping from the sky, scattering men and beasts with large claws. The barbarians fought back with all they were, but their ferocity and blood lust was dwindling. The battle was going well indeed.
         D’Ärias’ quick eyes caught a flash of color amidst the dull blues and grays, and hazy crimson of the battle. He looked to see a young sorceress wearing a sun-red gown that nicely flattered her slender form. She fought near the front, using a dagger and minor spells to cripple opponents, rather than kill them. D’Ärias wondered briefly why a sorceress would be at the front instead of with the others. As he watched her twirling and slicing, leaving behind a trail of moaning men clutching hamstrung legs or toeless feet, a large group of barbarians converged on her.
         D’Ärias moved closer for no other reason that that he felt something he had long held to be a dangerous feeling: curiosity. The young woman, for no apparent reason at all, intrigued him. As the enemy closed in on the girl, she looked almost casually for an escape. When none presented itself, she plunged her dagger into the blood-soaked ground and rose with a twirl, arms stretched to either side of her body, fingers pointing straight out.
         The barbarians were thrown through the air to land heavily on the ground some distance away. They were unharmed save for the lack of breath from their collision with the ground, but none came near her again.
         D’Ärias Clarion now had reason to be curious. In all his life he had only seen that spell done once, and never in this world. The girl, seeming to sense him watching her, glanced up at him, and for a moment their eyes locked. Memory came rushing back to him...

          Snow lay in drifts across the narrow pass, making trouble for the two travelers. However, the sun was bright and the sky cloudless, taking some of the edge from the iced air. D’Ärias Clarion, a boy of fifteen, reveled in the sun and snow, throwing the white powder into the air and romping about. His companion, an elderly man, with hair turning from gray to white, burrowed deeper into his fur coat, muttering about children having far too much energy than was good for them.
         “Oh, come now, Uncle T’Ärial,” the young man laughed. “Tis a beautiful day!”
         “Do remember where you are, lad.”
         D’Ärias sighed as one who had been given a lecture many times. “I am in Tarc’tias, Uncle. It is a place ‘fraught’ with danger and one must be on one’s guard at all times.” He laughed. “Really, Uncle. You have lived here for millennia, and even you are still alive! It can’t be all that dangerous.”
         Uncle T’Ärial sighed. “I have kept you safe these past years, in one of the only safe places in this accursed world. Your mother and I searched for decades to find such a place. But now you are away from anything that is safe. You are in the open, in Tarc’tias.”
         “I understand, Uncle. But we are leaving this place. Shouldn’t we be rejoicing?”
         “Yes, we should.” His uncle paused, a faraway look in his eyes and D’Ärias knew that secretly he loved Tarc’tias, for all its dangers and mysteries. T’Ärial blinked, his silver eyes once again flitting about, looking for unseen danger. “But we are not safe yet. Not yet.”
         “But we will be,” D’Ärias said with the confidence of youth. His uncle smiled and they continued their struggle against the piled snow. They reached the summit of the mountain and began their journey downward. After only a short time they came within sight of a rock wall and a cave. T’Ärial smiled, a touch of sadness tinting his eyes.
         “That is it.”
         “That?” D’Ärias was confused. “That’s just a cave. We’re looking for a portal to another world.”
         His uncle chuckled. “You imagine grand things, but often the simple are the most powerful. That cave is the portal to another world.”
         They began to move toward the cave, but a wisping sound buzzed through the air nearby. T’Ärial whipped a small blade from beneath his coat looking around. “Jibbdars.” D’Ärias had no weapon and inched closer to his uncle. “What are Jibbdars?”
         The elderly man ignored the question. “When I tell you, run for the cave and dive inside. Don’t look back, I will be right behind you.” The boy nodded. The Jibbdars continued to swirl around, invisible forces that whispered horrible things to one another. D’Ärias looked this way and that, trying to find the source of the terrible sounds. They stayed just at the edges of his eyes, iridescent white forms, flitting this way and that. T’Ärial touched him in warning, then stabbed the blade into the ground, twirling upward, scattering the Jibbdars and flurries of snow with magical energy. “Now!”
         D’Ärias sprinted toward the cave, sidestepping tumbled Jibbdars, white masses of claws, fangs and spikes. He dove into the cave and white light overwhelmed him. The light held for a second, then became darkness. He opened his eyes to see a summer landscape far different from the one he had been in. A single cold moon shone in the warm sky. He looked around for his uncle. The old man never came through...

         D’Ärias blinked and the girl turned back to the fight. He had never since seen his uncle, nor had he found a way to get back to Tarc’tias. But one day he would.