Eregion Chronicles I - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 -

"Uhn..." Malen Rehnsprite slowly rose from his pallet on the floor, and blinked at the light filtering through his bare window. The sun had only just risen into the sky, but he was accustomed to waking this early. He had to; it was the only reason his father and brothers kept him. He stretched, still yawning. He'd been kept awake last night by his dreams again, and as such was a bit tired.

His dreams had become troubling as of late; filled with such darkness and hatred, such feelings of pure malice and envy, that he'd nearly woken up screaming the night before last. I wish, he thought, I knew what they meant. He clothed himself quickly, dressing in a tunic a size too big for him and a pair of trousers that sorely needed mending at the knees. His clothing was whatever his father saw fit to give him, as were his belongings. As such, his small room, little more than a closet, was quite bare, save for his few other pieces of clothing, and two books that were too tattered to be read by anyone save for himself, as he'd spent hours pouring over the volumes, making sense of the ripped and stained pages. One was a work of fiction, about a great sorceress who saved the realm she lived in through her cunning and wit; the other, a non-fiction account of the religion of the realm, something Malen barely bought into, but did because doing otherwise would have him flogged by his father.

He stomped his feet into his work boots, sighing at the worn feel of their interior. They rubbed at his feet terribly, leading him to sneak hot water into a tub in his room at night so he could soak away the soreness. His life was one of toil; wherever his mother had gone after his birth, his father and brothers blamed him, and took a toll on him daily, as they had since he was old enough to work. He did most of the work around their small farm, while his father drank and his brothers went out to the neighboring city of Stonegate and caroused with the money he earned them. He, on the other hand, was always hard at work for fear of a flogging, and never left the confines of their farm.

He paused for a moment, and walked to his window, looking out at the sun as it rose into the sky slowly. I know there's more out there. His thoughts took this route often, longing for freedom and even adventure in the wide world he knew existed. But I'll never see it. I'll be stuck here until Father dies, or I do. He sighed again, and stepped away from the window slowly, exiting his small room to go out onto their farm, and begin his work. As he left, he thought, Perhaps tonight I'll sneak off to the shed, and work with my sword and shield some more. That helps the melancholy, sometimes.

--------

"MALEN! Where is my supper, you brat?!" Vicktor Rehnsprite, the owner and proprietor of the Rehnsprite farm, bellowed into the kitchen from the table in the main room. "You're late with it AGAIN!" At the table, Gregory and Tomas, Malen's brothers, sniggered without pretense of concealment. They loved it when Malen got in trouble; sometimes, their father even let them flog him instead of doing it himself.

Malen, on the other hand, began working faster in the kitchen. He did everything in his power to avoid the beatings that sometimes came anyway, and as such had become rather quick at cooking and cleaning. He finished ladleing the soup into bowls, and took up the plates of meat and potatoes that were the dinner for his father and brothers. He carried them carefully out to the table, and placed a plate in front of each of his family members. "Apologies, Father. It shan't happen again." He bowed on his way away from the table, but didn't back away fast enough to avoid the backhand slap from Vicktor. The blow sent him sprawling across the floor, as his father was muscular from years of farm work, and years more of masonry before that.

"You're damn right it won't happen again, Slug!" Vicktor sneered down at Malen, using the nickname that had become his favorite. "If it does, I'll break one of your arms to give you an excuse." Gregory and Tomas sniggered again, as was their usual way; they rarely had anything intelligent to add to the berating of Malen. Gregory, being only a half-brother, hated Malen for his mother; he leaned back in his chair, and said, "Tomas, you think he could be any stupider? Angering Father like that." Tomas, who was Malen's blood brother, sighed and leaned forward onto the table. "Yes. He could be you." Gregory sneered at Tomas, and said, "Who's stupid?"

Malen dragged himself to his feet, groaning softly before replying, "Yes, sir. It won't happen again." He knew his father was telling the truth, and that it wasn't just idle threats. He also knew that if his father broke one of his arms, he'd be berated harder for not working just as fast as before. It wasn't a situation he could win; he'd been in it before. He knew from experience. This experience drove him to return to the kitchen, and prepare the second helpings he knew would be soon requested. Toiling away all day for these slobs...is almost more than I can bear!

--------

The night was dark, and had lain heavy on the farm for some time. Malen stood in the shed, a crudely-shaped and heavy wooden sword and shield in hand, panting from the exertion of working with them. It was a release, to him; coming out here when he could sneak away, and working himself to exhaustion with these imaginary weapons of his own crafting. I must be ready, if the time comes to fight. And it may; one never knows for sure when they are safe or in danger.

He hefted the shield, and readied the sword into the stance that had become familiar to him from years of practice, shield in front of him and sword held low behind him in his left hand. He stepped forward, and brought the sword forward in a quick upward swing, the tip whistling through the air with the speed of the strike. In his mind, an imaginary creature, one of the monsters that were so feared in the southern reaches, fell with a bloody gurgle to his stroke. He brought the shield around and up, as though to deflect a blow, then stabbed with the sword, seeing again a creature fall as he retracted his 'blade' from it's gut. He grinned, and resisted the urge to laugh. If only I wasn't practicing this in vain; I'll never leave this farm. Never.

The thought was enough to drain the energy from him, and allow the fatigue of the day to catch up. He dropped the sword, and let the shield slide off his arm, the canvas straps barely catching on the contour of his hand. He sat down heavily in the straw that lined the floor of their shed, and sighed, placing his head in his hands. "I'll never escape," he muttered aloud into the empty shed, unaware that his words were heard by someone.

Standing outside the cracked door to the shed, Tomas sighed. He knew his brother was unhappy, this was for sure. Unfortunately, after their mother's departure to parts unknown, nothing could be done about it; their father was a changed man, almost a savage. To disagree with his treatment of Malen, who he viewed as the reason for his wife's leaving, was to invite trouble. Tomas, however, had a slightly different view. Malen was more like their mother than he was; shouldn't he do his best to keep that part of his mother happy and successful? He should. But now isn't the time to act, he thought. Slowly, he walked away from the shed, leaving Malen there with his depression. Soon, though, little brother. Soon.

--------

Unbeknownst to either man, a dark figure lurked in the woodlands just beyond the edge of their humble farm, his eyes glowing in the moonlight. He turned to his erstwhile companion, and smiled. "Sovelia, aea ti. Rotù yalese." He clapped the other figure on the shoulder once, and it departed, fleeting into the forest on silent feet. The dark figure turned back to the farm, and said, "Soon, chosen one. Your rescue draws neigh."

--------

Malen awoke groggily, and looked at his window. Again, the sun was rising. He stood slowly, and found his clothes. Strange dreams again, last night. Who were they...? His dreams had been less ominous, but had contained a strange folk, fair-skinned and beautiful, dancing and singing and beckoning to him. He dismissed it quickly; dreams were seldom important. But he couldn't shake the feeling of something important coming, something...big. He dressed, and went out to busy himself on the farm once again. I'll never escape here. No folk that wonderful would want a farmhand like me anyway.

--------

Outside, within the woods, the figure watched Malen go about his day, cloaked in greens and browns that made him all but invisible to human eyes. He looked down at the slip of paper he had been brought by a scout just moments earlier, and sighed. "I had hoped this would not be...but the Goddess grows weaker. The monsters of the south grow powerful, and restless. They move." He looked up at the farm again, and saw Malen carrying a bale of hay, his father shouting at him from the porch of their house. "You are needed, son of Valeri." He sighed. "Tonight shall be your rescue...or your death. I know not which." He settled into his place, checking his blade to be sure it was clear, as well as the spare on his other hip. "Yarè ioli naliese...and with her voice, comes fate..."

--------

Malen sighed, and sat down at the cleared table. His father had retired to his den, as well as his brothers, for a talk about the farm resources and funds. Malen always found it strange that he, who knew the most about their land, was never included in these talks. But then, he wasn't really a man. He'd accepted this; he was a slave, a dog for them to load their work onto. Though he did notice that today, Tomas had done his share willingly, and had even helped out. Something about his smile when asked...it was different than before. He ate his food quickly, being as famished as always. Again, he ate thanks to Tomas, who had left most of his food on purpose. He rarely got to eat his own cooking, but when he did, he always found that it was quite good. He ate a forkfull of mashed potatoes, savoring the texture and taste as best he could. It was then that he heard an odd noise from the den, and before he could react, the door burst open and his father came out, cursing. He stopped, saw Malen eating, then roared, "Insolence!" and threw his balance book at him.

The book struck Malen square in the head, and knocked him out of his seat. He was stunned by the blow and the fall, and was helpless as his father came up and kicked him in the ribs viciously, once, then twice more. He could feel his body giving, ribs cracking under the assault, but could do nothing; the pain was incapacitating. "I'll teach you to sneak our food into your belly, you ingrateful little bastard child!" Vicktor reached for his belt, and Malen heard the unsheathing of his father's dagger. He knew this was the end, but could do nothing about it. Three things happened at once, then, and Malen would understand none of it until much later.

The first was Tomas stepping forward and grabbing his father's wrist. "Enough, Father! He has suffered long enough for a crime he did not commit. Mother left of her own accord, because her wanderlust was killing her. Not because of Malen. I cannot stand by and watch you destroy the last thing we have left of her, the child who is truest to her memory." Vicktor stood staring at his middle child, his eyes near to popping out of his skull. It was then that the second thing happened; a crude and chilling horn blast played on the outskirts of their farm, and hell erupted.

The door to their home burst open, and in stepped a nightmare. Horns, black as the night sky, curled around it's head. Fangs as long and sharp as daggers filled it's mouth, which opened with a guttural roar. Held in one hand was a pitted and bloodied scimitar, it's curved blade glinting sharply in the lantern light of the house. It pointed at Malen, who was still stunned on the ground, and said, "Char'rok! Ek tu holk'ra!" It raised it's blade, and headed for Malen, chuckling low in it's throat. It was then that the third and final thing happened.

The back door burst open as well, and in stepped a legend from the mists. It shook a hood off it's head, revealing a face that was fair and pale, with ears longer than a normal persons, and slightly pointed. From within the folds of it's cloak, it drew a long blade of gleaming silver, the metal seeming to add light to the room. The creature changed it's focus immediately, and cried, "SYLVAAN! Sylvaan ek ptagn!" The man just grinned, and flowed nimbly around the table and into a stance, the blade held pointed out next to one ear. "Yes, monster. An Elf. Now leave, or die." His voice was like fire contained within ice; cool and calm, yet burning with ageless power. Malen was no longer stunned by his blow, but was entranced by the man who had entered their home, as they all were.

The creature lunged at the elf in vain, as before it even got close, the elf had sidestepped nimbly, and brought his silver sword through the creature's midsection, cleaving it in two easily. The creature gurgled, then fell in two directions, it's innards spilling across their wooden floor. Vicktor chose this time to act, roaring, "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" before lunging at the elf with his dagger. The elf easily caught Vicktor's wrist, and twisted, a look of hate in his eyes. "You could never harm me, you who harms his children." Vicktor's wrist snapped like dried twigs, and he fell to the ground with a shriek of pain. Gregory was at his side at once, glaring up at the elf with hate and wonder.

Tomas helped Malen to his feet, asking, "Are you alright, brother? Can you move?" Malen shook his head, and grunted, "Ribs. Broken." As if in response, the elf hurried to Malen's side, and said, "Hold still, son of Valeri. I will mend your wounds, though it will feel strange." The elf rested his hand on Malen's side, and closed his eyes. The glow started at the elf's core, but spread out along his body to his hand, then into Malen. He felt cold, at first, and felt the pain ebb in the face of that cold. He then felt heat, burning heat that wended its way into his very marrow. When the elf stepped away, Malen stood on his own, healed completely of his wounds. The elf smiled, and said, "All is well again. But, the time has come, son of Valeri. Your destiny is neigh." He drew a second blade from his belt, and extended it to Malen. "You can fight, I have seen this. Now is the time."

Malen took the silver short sword, looking at it carefully. He couldn't believe anything at the moment; he'd gone from nearly killed at the hands of his father, to nearly killed at the hands of a creature; now he was being handed an elf-blade, by a living, breathing elf. He swung the blade once, the blade vibrating through the air somehow, resonating with something deep within him. The elf smiled, and said, "My name is Breon. I will escort you out of here, and to the nearest Elf-home, Vanolis. There is a company out there fighting the creatures that have come hunting your blood." He headed to the front door, looking out. Malen listened closely, and discovered that he could hear the sounds of combat, steel against silvery steel, coming from the farm. He rushed to the door, ready to go out, but Breon stopped him. "Wait, my young ward. You are not yet ready to face as many as would confront you now. Let our soldiers and mages handle the worst of it." Malen waited impatiently, staring hard into a growing mist to see the battle.

It was when he felt a nudge against his arm that he turned around, and saw Tomas standing there, a steel sword in hand. "I'll fight too, master Elf, if it pleases you. This is my brother, and I shall see no harm befall him again. For too long I went with my father's torture of him. This is how I will redeem myself, by serving you in his protection." Tomas fell to a knee, his blade held vertical in front of him. "My blade is yours, if you wish it."

Breon smiled, and nodded, saying, "Stand then, Protector. And come with us, for it is time to leave. You, too, shall be a guest of our hall, as a son of Valeri." Breon stepped smoothly through the door, and into the mist, with Malen and Tomas following close behind.

They walked slowly through the mist, stepping over the bodies of fallen monsters of varying shape and size as they headed off the property of the farm, and into the woods. When the breached the mist, Malen saw standing there a company of about ten elves, all as tall and fair and wonderous as Breon. Malen was speechless. Standing in the back, a cloaked and hooded figure said something he couldn't catch. Breon responded in kind, and the hooded figure stepped forward, approaching Malen. When it reached him, it dropped it's hood, and Malen's breath caught in his throat.

Long white hair flowed over her shoulders, and framed a face fairer than any Malen had ever heard of. Her eyes were like sapphires containing sunlight. She looked him over, and shook her head. "Iye ati. This can't be him." Her voice, clear and as fluid as water, sounded incredulous. She then sighed. "But...I feel the resonance." She turned around and walked back to her place, saying, "He is the other. Ipence! Vanolis teriani!"

Breon smiled, and said, "That is Breya, my sister. She led us here; she felt you waiting. For now, though, move with us, and move quickly. We return home, to Vanolis. All will be explained there." Breon gestured into the woods, and started moving, Malen and Tomas following and wondering exactly what they had been drawn into, and if it was too late to decline kindly.