Fractured Reality (v2; Chapter 1)

Fractured Reality

Chapter 1

January 17, 2339

Giryal, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms

         Parry. Riposte. Repeat.
         Tanza Sharn's thin longsword flashed quicker than even she could detect, its silver sheen the only sign of its existence. Her adversary, an enchanted practice dummy, was made to be able to retaliate with reflexes equivalent to any user, but it once again hung its head and bowed to acknowledge her latest win.
         As the dummy recovered, Tanza wiped her hand across her forehead, sweat soaking into the sleeve of her undershirt. Her already-dark grey tunic was further darkened with perspiration, and golden hair splayed wildly at her back. She decided it was time for a break.
         As she sheathed her gold-and-ruby-encrusted sword, she didn't notice another presence enter the room. A black-robed figure slid in behind a stone pillar of the training room, stealthily gliding between the others before it reached Tanza. A slight movement of the wrist, and a short, curved sword appeared in its hand. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, it took a slash at the back of Tanza's neck.
         Her reaction took the figure by surprise, spinning around, unsheathing her sword, and catching the slash with the curved golden guard of her longsword. The figure, now revealed to be an older man as he pulled off his hood, grinned crazily as Tanza bent the sword downward, facing the flat of his blade toward the floor. Edging her blade backward along his, Tanza kicked a metal-toed boot upward into it, forcefully freeing it from his hand and sending it skittering across the stone floor. Her blade made its way quickly to base of his neck, unwavering, less than a millimeter from his uncovered skin.
         She smiled.
         Before the Blademaster could retrieve his blade, the two friends broke into a bout of laughter, and Tanza pulled him in for a tight embrace.
"Father didn't tell me you were returning so soon, Master!" Tanza exclaimed, patting the older man's back roughly. She stepped back, then frowned. "It is unlike you to allow me to win so easily."
"I'm a battleworn and weary old man, Tanza," he replied, chuckling heartily, "And we both know I rarely return announced." He put an arm over her shoulder and led her to the door, picking his blade up on the way out and returning it to its sheath on his belt.
"So? What news from the front lines? Have we made any further progress against the barbarians?" she asked, the final word dripping from her tongue like poison.
"I'm afraid not, child. They are resilient, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to make headway," he said, scratching his gray beard, then added: "It was far easier when we had the element of surprise," to which Tanza nodded.
         They made their way out of the training room, entering the main room of the Palace. A servant, formerly standing by the doorway, quietly attended to removing their belts, taking their weapons to their rooms. They continued.
"I assume Father wants us for dinner, then?" asked Tanza, breaking the silence. The Blademaster grunted, and she sighed. "I wish he would quit with the dramatics. You've been a friend to the family for your entire life, surely it isn't necessary."
"Let the man have his wish in his own palace, Tanza, he deserves as much. Wars take tolls on men that must be balanced with expensive wine and lavish food! Besides, I was told it would only be close friends at the table."
         They made their way up the staircase, the exposed stone walls casting shadows from the light of the luminous orbs placed intermittently along them. Tanza bit her lip quietly, a thought nagging at the back of her mind. As they reached the top step, Tanza grabbed the Blademaster's arm and tugged it.
"Master, I have a question."
         He raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Please, ask."
         She toyed with the thought for a moment, then sighed.
"I know the answer already, but I feel I should ask regardless. Why can't I join you on the battlefield, Master? We both know that I am the best bladeswoman in the Fourth Kingdom, aside from you. I've been training for it since childhood, and I should be a-"
"Silence, child" said the Blademaster, putting his hand to her lips. "You are not on the battlefield because your father loves you too much to let you travel to your death, and you will respect his decision."
"Bu-"
"Enough. There is no place for you on a battlefield such as ours. Conventional swordplay does not apply in battle against them, and without knowledge of magic, you would be killed." His eyes narrowed slightly, then he added, "Expediently. And you would do well to remember how your mother's death affected your father. Now, void that thought and do not pester him about it." He moved his hand and began to walk again, but he did so with less gusto.
         Tanza's blue eyes flashed with anger, but she said nothing. How could she not remember the effects of her mother's death?          The King had been reclusive for months on end. He never came from his chambers, he ate very little, and avoided contact with everyone, even Tanza herself. It was the worst time in his life, and Tanza knew that very well. But it had been bad for her, too.
         Quietly, though, she swallowed her anger. Her Master - As he almost always was - was right. Tanza knew nothing of magic, and the tales of the barbarians' strange weaponry were terrifying enough to frighten even some of the most skilled mages. However, that didn't quell her desire. She yearned to test her skills, to fight against the enemies of the Kingdoms alongside her friends and allies, but she was the sole heir to the throne of Fourth Kingdom, and she knew that that alone kept her from going.
Tanza and the Blademaster entered the dining hall to the smell of the Blademaster's well-known favorite dish; the charred meat of a domestic animal known as a gib. They were large, hairy beasts almost the size of a horse, their meat notoriously thick and tough. This particular gib had been charred and glazed. It shone brightly in the room, and it dawned on Tanza that she hadn't had any food all day. Servants lined the back walls, dressed in the King's colors of green and gold, with the exception of the chef, who wore white. They stood quietly at attention, ready to remove dishes and serve food.
         The table in the center was extremely long, intended to seat many, many people. However, for the return of a lifelong ally, the King had made an exception; only his closest friends would be sitting in on this feast. Laying on top of the table on the far side sat the gib, and plates with goblets of wine were set in five places, various other foods scattered about. Dion Sharn, King of the Fourth Kingdom, sat at the end of the long, polished wood table. He smiled warmly at the Blademaster, standing to wait for the man to finish his long trek to the other side. Dion's fur cloak was draped over the back of his chair, and he was wearing a dark green tunic with ornate golden designs and a dark leather belt. His crown, a round, golden circlet that was small and inlaid subtly with emeralds, sat encircling his head. His grey hair and beard looked haggard and disheveled, but his blue eyes danced with happiness and his wrinkled face couldn't have looked more youthful.
"My old friend," he said, opening his arms for an embrace. The Blademaster accepted it, patting the King roughly on the back. "I trust you haven't bothered Haroden too much about his adventures, Tanza?" he asked, giving her a subtle grin.
         Tanza smiled sheepishly. "Not so much that he would be unable to handle it, Father."
         Dion nodded, then gestured widely to the food set at the table. Taking another glance, Tanza absorbed the rest of the food: A platter of roasted nuts, green vegetables of various types, and reddish gravy, all available in copious amounts.
"When will the others be joining us, Dion?" asked the Blademaster. Shuffling and nervous whispers emanated throughout the room, and Tanza found herself smirking. Blademaster Haroden was one of the few who could get away with calling the King by his name.
"Soon, Haroden. Everyone is busy - Elena is tracking our expenses for the war, Arlon is... Actually, I've no idea where Arlon is," the King replied, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.
         The Blademaster chuckled. "No doubt off somewhere with that girl of his. I swear, Dion, it was a risk taking on someone so young as your political advisor."
"I still hold to the belief that his intelligence and cunning outweigh his... Numerous flaws," he said. Dismissing that, Dion gestured for an aide. "We will be beginning without the others. Tell Yulard he has my gratitude for preparing the meal as quickly as he did," he said, then addressed the rest of the aides, "You are all dismissed. Thank you." He turned to the table quietly, rubbed his hands in anticipation, and reached out -
         The double doors to the dining hall slammed open. A tall, red-haired man entered. He was dressed in a green tunic with a lighter green undershirt, a yellow cape billowing behind him. Grinning from ear to ear, he hurried to a seat by Haroden, followed by a woman with long, black hair, dressed in similar attire. They took seats opposite each other at the table.
"Apologies for my lateness, I was forced to let Elena ride with me. Her precious stallion Allister is being re-shoed," he said, rolling his eyes at Elena, the black-haired woman.
"If I didn't have him re-shoed, he'd catch hoof-rot, and we both know that means crippling pain," she said, glaring at him.
         Dion raised his hands to calm them. "Silence, friends. We are celebrating the return of a good friend, after all," he said. "However, after dinner, there is another matter I must discuss with the three of you," he gave Tanza a glance. "I'm sorry, Tanza, you will have to retire for the night after dinner."
         Tanza nodded calmly, but immediately became suspicious. It was not normal for her father to send her away during discussions, unless they were extremely private or confidential. Whatever Dion had to discuss with them, it was clearly important.
         The food lasted quite a while, but five people can only make small talk for so long. They joked and laughed, drank wine, and jovially enjoyed one another's company. However, eventually the conversation became stale, and Dion leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin on his hands. "Tanza, I believe it's about time you get to sleep."
         Finishing up her meal, Tanza stood. She said goodbye to Elena, Arlon and Haroden, then excused herself. After Dion was satisfied that she was out of earshot, he took on a more stern expression and turned to address the three who were left in the room. Arlon got comfortable, setting his booted feet on the table.
"You are my closest friends and allies in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms, and though I know you will not willingly admit it, it is obvious now that we are losing this war. Our battlemages are unable to push back the constructs of the barbarians, and we are being slowly but surely overrun on the coasts of Teracia."
         The group took a collective breath. Not a single one of them spoke.
         Dion continued.
"The other six Kings, as well as the Regnitor of the Elven Empire, are running out of reserve troops. We are being overwhelmed with casualties. As we are in dire need of assistance, and no amount of praying to Foi or Mylo will help," he said, sighing deeply, "we have decided to restart the search for the dragons."
         Arlon's feet slipped from the table. Elena's placid expression slipped, her mouth agape, but Haroden remained silent and unwavering.
         After letting the silence fester, Arlon finally spoke.
"Dion, surely this is a jest. The dragons have been asleep, possibly even extinct, for centuries. They left during the time before even the Seven Kingdoms. Before even the Empire," he said, "Some say they never even existed!"
         Dion cradled his head in his hands. "I know, Arlon, but what other choice is there? Our numbers are beginning to dwindle by the day, our magic can't compete with the sheer numbers of their constructs, the e-,"
         Elena raised a hand. "We understand, Dion. I'm sure Arlon meant no disrespect. But is there anyone to spare for such an expedition, with our troops and resources as strained as they are?"
"I have asked the other kingdoms to provide us with competent men and women for the journey. Haroden himself has provided us with a skilled soldier, and - while it is only heresay as of now - I've heard whispers that the Empire will be supplying us with a fledgling Paladin."
         Haroden raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "I hand-picked our contribution to the expedition. My nephew, Darlos." He finished the last sentence with a slight smile.






Author's Note: I fully intend to continue this story, and will be posting updates repeatedly. It is a long project that I hope to get to novel length, so bear with me while I get it up to par. Please feel free to review and critique now, just, y'know, be gentle. It's my first time.