The Land Of The Lost: Prologue

Ages ago there was free, open passage through the Gateways of Life and the world flourished.  The Gateways were portals that lead to different worlds and even different dimensions.  The beings that walked among us were strange and beautiful.  Each had their own special talents and they contributed society gladly.  Then, times began to change and they were seen as monsters that harmed instead of friends that helped us.  They began leaving this world and all that is left of them are stories passed down from grandmother to grandmother.  One of the most wondrous tales that are still told today is about a race of people who called themselves Ellisande.  And even the favorite tale among those tells of their first capital built.  It is hidden deep with in a mountain range far to the east.  They say that is where the sun starts its day so that it can look upon the wonders of that grand city.
I personally believe that those stories are all well and good however they fall short of telling what has actually happened to that city and those people.  You see, I have traveled to that place, hidden high in the mountains.  I have seen the survivors of that race and the ruins that the city has become.  I have walked through the fallen gates and have studied the ancient guards that represent the balance of power with in that culture.  If you wish to know, on the western side of the gate stands the Lady of Justice.  She is tall and serene, her face stern and knowing.  She carries a set of tilted scales in her right hand and a large tome that is engraved with a faded language in her left.  Her eyes hold the light of compassion, laughter and love.
Her partner is on the east and he is more foreboding.  He is wearing simple clothes that might be seen on any typical hunter.  He carries a sword on his hip and there is a quiver of arrows on his back.  At first glance he appears to be a jolly and welcoming fellow, but at a second glance his eyes are cruel and wary.  He is ready to slay any who would do harm to his lady or his city.  He is called the Warden and if you mean no harm then you will be safe in his embrace.
With in the arches of the gate and in the shadows of the sentinels, the long winding streets and broadways begin.  I suppose at one time the city was a wonder to see but now it is crumbling to dust.  The roads themselves can tell that the majesty and splendor of their town has faded.  They curve around dry, dusty fountains and avoid large, spacious gardens filled with weeds.  These roads skim quickly by once grand and flowing buildings carved out of the stone that have only turned to ruble and unsafe ground.  It is almost as if the road has a destination in mind and it is in the center of the city.  There all of the roads congregate and in their mist stands a large open space.  It descends with many steps and benches enough to seat thousands and ends at an empty stage.  Only now, instead of thousand of people gathered, there are only a few hundred.  Instead of grand seats and marvelous clothing for the guests there are only a few benches that haven’t toppled and the audience is clothed in drab working clothes suited for farmers and peasants.
Looking at the faces of the people who now live in this faded glory, you can see that life has been rough.  Bodies are lean from poor harvests and clothing is much mended.  Families no longer sit beside each other for the women sit to the left and the men gather on the right.  The only joy in this place are the children, heedless of their futures and only looking in the present, chasing each other and playing with a few filthy dogs, in need of a good bath.
The people have gathered here for only one reason.  They wish to forget their troubles and listen to the one last talent that they have among them, story telling.  They hope that they will be lucky tonight and the stories will flow.  That is the reason why they gather here every night, for a chance to forget their present and to relive the glories of their past.  Their hope is high.
Back at the top of the arena stands a lone figure that slowly descends down the steps.  At first, the people down below don’t notice him until a young lady glances up and points in his direction.  He is wearing the same plain clothing as the rest of the village however he is leaning on a tall staff and there is a plain, silver circlet resting on his head.  As he continues towards the stage he sees all of the ruins and tumbled stones that now will become part of his audience.  He notices that the sun is setting in the west and that the lights that were placed throughout the city so many years ago have begun to shine in the twilight.  Sadness fills him as he realizes that those lights are the only things left in this city that still are as they were and he wonders when they too will begin to fade.
Finally, he reaches the stage and lowers himself onto the chair that has been placed there for his benefit.  His body has never been so agile since his run in with the wild dogs and now his long hair is completely silver.  He is the last talent left and there is no one for him to train.  Soon, the relief he can give to the villagers will fade from existence, just as every other gift has.
Almost before he can get completely settled the children all rush to his feet and start clamoring for his attention.
“I wish to hear a story about dragons!”
“No! Please, may we have a love story sir?”
“Hah! Love stories are for babies and girls.  Tell us about battles!”
“And adventures!”
“Heroes!”
The Teller of Stories raises his hand for silence.  He smiles and the adults behind try not to laugh at the children’s eagerness.  He waits patiently and the children begin to fidget, wondering why he hasn’t started yet.  He scans the children and his eyes rest on one young boy sitting at the far back of the group of children.  He beckons for the child to come closer but the boy hesitates.  He is an orphan that has been taken in by an old widower who is no longer even well enough to be able to sit and listen to the stories.  The boy has promised the old man that if the teller arrives tonight he will remember all that he can and will repeat the story for the gentleman.
Slowly the boy stands and makes his way for the stage.  He is constantly watching the children around him, waiting for a foot to trip him or a hand to push.  The children, however, are too stunned that the Teller would pick such an outcast to choose what type of tale they will be hearing tonight, not to mention that the Teller would willingly touch him.  Too many strange things happen when that boy is around, so it is best just to avoid him.
The child reaches the stage and stops just out of reach of the Teller, always waiting for the words of rebuke and the mocking laughter to strike him.  Instead, the Teller just smiles and motions for the boy to sit on his lap.  The boy does so and the Teller asks
“What is your name?”
“Andrae”
“I’m glad to know you Andrae.  What story would you like to hear?”
The boy sits quietly for a moment, thinking about what will be the best answer.
“Can you tell a true story?  One that has magic?”
The Teller frowns.
“A true story, eh?”
Andrae nods nervously.
“Well, I must think of a beginning.  I do not believe that ‘once upon a time’ will work, nor would ‘a long, long time ago’.  That start is too run down.  Hmm… I know, how about ‘not that long ago’?  That should work.”
Looking out over the crowd the Teller sees that he has everyone’s attention.  The children are staring wide eyed and opened mouthed and the adults were faring little better.
“Not that long ago our nation was large and strong.  Our royal family had a say with what happened in the rest of the world and our country spanned over many seas and islands, both large and small.  We were rich and everyone spoke of the Ellisande with wonder and awe.  Our armies were undefeated and our population was numerous.  Then all of that began to change.  Strangers poured out of the Gateways of Life and demanded that we surrender to them.  Our king and queen laughed at the request and refused to answer the missive.  It was not long before these strangers attacked our land and the army was called out to defend our nation, confidant in their success.  It was not long before we realized our folly and were driven farther and farther back into our nation.  Finally the king sent notice to the queen telling her to flee with their young daughter to the fortress of Aldan Mor.  He would meet them there.
Now Aldan Mor is located on the black cliffs that meet the sea not far from our hidden stronghold here.  That fortress has never before fallen, even in the direst of times.  At its back are the shear cliffs and the raging sea, each waging in a war that will decide who will stand a little longer than the other. In the front, there is a steep climb and a great need to avoid the jagged rocks and hidden pitfalls that lead up to the fortress.  The fortress itself has high walls with no open faces, and a large barred gate, forbidding entrance.  If they would defeat the enemy, it would be here.
The journey to Aldan Mor was filled with dangers and threats so the queen had a regiment of her royal guard to accompany them and they managed to reach the fortress in relative safety.  They arrived just in time.
The king and his army were just on their tails and the enemy even closer behind.  There was no time for their allies to gather and send back the invaders, so the king made his last stand at the foot of their last hope.  The battle lasted for only one day and our entire army was slaughtered, the king taken and brutally murdered before the walls of the fortress.  There was little hope of rescue and the people prepared themselves for a long siege.
Deep with in the fortress the queen paces her chambers.  The infant princess is asleep in her cradle, her nurse standing watch close by.  The nurse is very young and could easily be mistaken for a page.  Her long, dark hair is braided tightly to her scalp and her figure is very slight and slim.  She is dressed in simple clothes; soft, knee high boots, warm, thick breeches and a flowing tunic, tightly secured around her waist.  Also around her waist is a simple, leather belt, attached to which are her dagger and a small pouch.  Around her shoulders is a long, hooded cloak and at the foot of the cradle sits a pack just short of being too heavy for her to lift.
She is young enough that she has never set foot in Aldan Mor before.  The royal chamber is so different from the luxuries that she has gotten used to at the capital.  There are fewer tapestries to warm the walls here and the ones that are hanging tell stories of bloody battles and horrible sieges.  There are no windows carved into the walls made of cold, black stone.  The only openings are arrow holes that let in horrid cold drafts of air.  Even the bed is little more than a cot and the only warmth is coming from the small fire on the opposite side of the chamber.
She notices, however, that the queen seems more at home among these trappings than she ever did at her other residences.  Her highness, despite the dire hour, appears more at ease in her own breeches and tunic, instead of the fancy gowns and elaborate hair styles seen at court.  Granted, the queens’ clothing is much finer than her own and even the black dye of mourning seems more vibrant than the browns she herself is wearing.  She suspects that the queen would be beautiful, no matter the clothing, what with her jet black hair, charcoal grey eyes and finely sculpted face.  Ah well, such is the fate of royalty.
There is a heavy pounding on the solid wood door and the captain of the queens’ guard marches into the room.  He performs a cursory bow and quickly approaches the queen.  He too is no longer wearing the trappings of court and instead looks like a rogue who does not belong.  He is wearing sparse leather armor over a shirt that the nurse cannot tell whether or not started out as white or if it was always a grey dingy color and smelling of sweat.  Even his breeches look well worn and badly mended.  The only things that he has taken great care of are the boots on his feet and the sword at his hip.  On his back there is a quiver of arrows and she suspects that his bow is somewhere nearby.
“My lady, your orders have been carried out.  Myself and a handful of other men are prepared for our mission.”
“Then I have done what I can to secure our future.”
The queen stops at her daughters’ side and smiles sadly while lifting her from the cradle.  She wraps the infant in another blanket and gently kisses her forehead before handing her over to the nurse.  Then she turns and faces the captain.
“You have your orders.  Follow them and do not fail me.”
“Lady, I will not leave you here.  It is my duty to ensure that you are well protected.”
“Protect me for what?  That screaming hoard holding our own gates against us?  Will you protect me well enough that when they breach our gates they can take me and destroy the morale of our people just as they destroyed our army?”
“Then do not stay here.  Flee with your daughter.  We can protect two just as easily as we can protect one.”
“You know in your head why I cannot come with you, even if your heart is trying to sway your decision.  I must stay and destroy this enemy before it can consume everything we hold dear.  I am he only one left who can rally our people for one last stand.
The queen turned away from her captain and walked towards the fire.
“Please, dear friend.  Do not make this harder than it already is.  You are the only one I trust to keep my daughter safe.  You must keep her alive.  She is our only hope.”
Waves of frustration poured off the captain as he shakes his head.
“As you wish, your majesty, there I go.”
Turning towards the nurse he says,
“Come now, there is little time.”
He heads for the door and leaves the chamber, caring little if he is followed.  As the door closes behind them he hears the queens’ last words.
“Thank you.”
He does not stop, or even slow his stride until he rounds a corner.  There he pauses long enough to see if the nurse, with her precious burden, is following.  Satisfied, he continues down the passageways, always heading towards freedom.
As the nurse struggles to keep pace she barely notices the fortress surrounding her.  It was built of the same black stone that is in the royal chamber and the corridors are very narrow.  At this time of night there are very few people about and after what seems to be an eternity, they reach their destination.
They are now standing in an open courtyard with only two exits, one where they came from and a small gate just across the yard.  The captain looks over the five men he had hand picked for this mission and nods his head.  He turns to the nurse,
“Hand me the princess.  You are going to need both of your hands free.  Are you certain you can do this?  We cannot slow down and wait for you or carry you if you fall.  You don’t keep up you will be left behind.”
She nods, “I have been climbing cliffs for as long as I can remember.”
He hand the infant to one of the men with a pack on his back made specifically for holding the princess.
“Fine, let’s go.”
Once again, the captain turns and heads towards their final destination.  This time he is tailed by six shadows instead of one.  When they reach the gate, the captain glances at the guards standing watch and leave the last standing stronghold of his people. As the last and only refugees leave the city, the guard closes the gate and salutes to his captain for one last time.
The group continues forward and quickly reaches the cliffs and begins their descent.  The climb is treacherous but there is a full moon and a cloudless sky.  Those are blessings for the climb but, in the end, will make this mission only more hazardous, for they will not be able to use the boats that have been moored at the beach below.  The enemy has ships in the waters and the night is to clear to escape without detection.  So they must go over land and around the army at the gate, heading for the forest beyond and a glimmer of safety.
They reach the beach with out mishap and pause long enough for the nurse to check on the princess, who is sleeping peacefully in her pouch.  Now they will continue southward and curve around the sleeping beast to reach the forest.  After what seems like hours, they finally reach the cover of the trees and turn sharply to the west and their allies.
Suddenly, the sky is filled with lightning and the ground quakes with explosions.  The men all duck under the tree to find cover and the nurse heads for the captain, who has remained standing, watching the sky in the direction from which they have just come.  The noise and light do not last long and the night returns to its peaceful waiting.  The captain draws his sword and kneels on the ground, as though he his giving reverence for a fallen hero.  Finally he stands and motions for the group to continue forward.
As they re-gather any supplies that might have dropped in their haste, the nurse approaches the captain.
“What was that?  Did the enemy just attack the fortress?  There are no clouds in the sky; those lighting strikes couldn’t have come from nowhere.”
“They didn’t, but that is no longer our concern.  We must keep moving.”
“But what if the queen needs us?”
The captain turned and faced the whole group.
“The queen is beyond our help now.  We need to focus on seeing the princess to safety.”
The nurse sputtered in surprise,
“What do you mean ‘the queen is beyond our help now’?”
He looked at her for a moment and quietly stated,
“Her majesty is dead.”
And the infant princess began to wail.