Legends of Marithia: Book 1 - Prophecies Awakening: Uncut and Extended Second Edition (4 page)

A tall figure slowly materialised from the
darkness. It wore a crimson hooded robe and had a small dark wooden
chest in its hands that rattled heavily with the sound of coins.
The hood hung low and shielded the face of the figure inside it,
but there was something painfully familiar about it, and a wave of
uneasiness overcame Vartan. This was evidently not the first time
that they had met.

Calm yourself... this is only a
vision,
thought Vartan.

An old wooden table bearing various marks of
wear sat alone in the darkness. The figure hesitated for a moment
before walking towards the table cautiously. It slowly began to be
illuminated by brighter lights which revealed the intricate golden
artwork on his robe. The chest he held bore the royal crest of
Greenhaven.

That’s not possible! Those chests are only
given to—

Yes, young knight, your eyes do not deceive
you.

Another figure approached with much haste
from the darkness, and Vartan felt sick to the stomach at his
presence. The new figure swiftly pulled his hood back from his head
to reveal himself and spoke quietly but forcefully. “It is all
here. You are well-compensated for your troubles.”

That’s Derian! I should have known.

“That may be so, young prince. As you know,
she will be well-protected and this brings a certain element of
danger
which our kind does our best to avoid. What of the
royal guards?” asked the mysterious man.

Derian's eyes narrowed at the man. “I’m sure
you can handle some
guards
, can’t you? Or should I seek out
someone else for the task?”

“Your words are unnecessarily sharp, young
prince; doubting our abilities is an unnecessary wounding of our
reputation. I hear many whispers of a loyal knight who leads them
on this journey who has a particular
talent
of disposing of
demons. What do you know of him?”

Derian sighed loudly, reached into his robe,
and snatched a white scroll bearing the royal marks of
Greenhaven.

“Here is a map of the surrounding lands; it
details where Helenia will be traveling. Worry not of the knight,
as I already have a plan for...
dealing
... with Vartan. If
you somehow manage to kill him yourself, it would save me a lot of
trouble and would land you the role of military advisor to me as
your new king."

Derian unrolled the scroll on the table and
pointed out the exact location of the ambush.

"This is where I suggest you attack them. If
all goes to plan, and you perform your duties without hesitation or
incompetence, then the king’s famed knights won’t be around to
protect him. Without the knights, we won’t have a problem. Now get
to work and prepare. It’s time for my
precious
sister to
have a little unfortunate accident.” Derian laughed darkly.

The man scoffed and snatched the scroll from
the table. "We don't question the jobs we are given; we only
question the payment. But I now see why your cold heart is truly
worthy of Kassina's affections."

Derian grabbed the man roughly by the throat,
and brought him close to growl in his ear. “Never forget who you
are talking to! Did you bring me my special request?”

The mysterious figure forced away Derian’s
hand angrily, reached into his coat, and slowly drew out a tall,
dark bottle of liquid.

“
Never
lay your hands on me! I am not
one of your servants, and your moods have been unpredictable of
late. The next time you grab me will be your last. I hope you
appreciate how difficult it has become to fulfil your
requests
. People are beginning to grow suspicious of the
disappearances…”

“Vartan!
Vartan
? Whatever is the
matter with you?” asked Arman, who now stood from his throne.

Vartan drew another deep breath as his mind
hazily returned to the present as if he was a sobering drunk. His
head felt like a struck bell from the connection with the dragon’s
mind, and he brought his hand up to his forehead in a useless
attempt to ease the throbbing pain within.

Helenia stood confidently to address the
room, but the look of concern on her face worried Vartan. “Father,
the attack is not the fault of Sir Vartan. If he hadn’t protected
us with his own life, I might not be here at all. By the gods, just
look
at him! He is clearly hurt. I suffered only a scratch
and I am here to tell the tale of the ambush. Isn’t that what is
most important?”

Arman turned his attention to his daughter
and sat back down on his throne.

“My dear Helenia, you speak out of turn. Of
course we are all relieved that you have returned to us. But until
you have been asked to speak, I strongly urge you to display one of
our most practised virtues—patience,” replied Arman.

Helenia sat back down heavily at her father’s
reprimand. Her face reddened and her nostrils flared.

Arman turned to Vartan and cocked his head
slightly. “From Helenia's reports and from what I know of you, you
fought with honour, Vartan, and that I would not doubt. However, I
simply cannot excuse the fact that Derian had warned you of a
planned attack, and you chose
not
to heed his words."

The king stirred in his chair, "What else am
I to do? This is a failure of your sworn duties as a knight, and
therefore you simply must be punished. I cannot be seen to have
laws for some and differing laws for others. Therefore, failure to
heed such a warning carries serious consequences. You
knew
this the day you were knighted.”

Derian glowed with delight, a conniving smile
dancing its way from ear to ear.

This was his plan for me all along?
thought Vartan.
Then I truly have nothing to lose. I must try to
warn the king, no matter what the consequences are.

“Your Highness, I received no such warning
from Prince Derian. Surely with your wisdom well beyond your years,
you can see clearly when you are being fooled. Can’t you see that
the
prince
longs to sit in your place as King of
Greenhaven?”

Vartan shifted his gaze to Derian and pointed
in his direction, his face turning grim as he growled the words of
his accusation. “King Arman - Your Grace. It pains me to be the one
to tell you that your own flesh and blood is the traitor, and that
the gutless coward sits right beside you. His lies taint this very
room, and poison your royal blood with his corruption and
betrayal!"

Vartan smashed his fist into the ground in
anger, the force of the blow sending shudders through the walls of
the room. “Will it take the death of our beloved princess to make
you see that Derian wants
you
dead?”

The prince’s calm smile turned instantly to a
vicious scowl as he exploded from his seat. His voice broke and his
body shook as he screamed, “These are all lies! How
dare
you
accuse me without a shred of proof of this supposed treachery?”

He turned to the king. “Father, I demand that
Sir Vartan be reprimanded immediately! I would never harm you, and
if granted permission, I would kill Vartan myself for simply
uttering these words.”

Arman gestured gently with his hand for
Derian to sit back down before returning his gaze to Vartan. “I am
afraid you have left me no other choice, Sir Vartan. However, your
service to my throne is well-recognised by us all, and as such I
will show you an appropriate amount of leniency. Guards, seize him.
You are hereby banished from the city of Greenhaven, and are never
to return. If you choose to ignore my order, you will face the
executioner. May peace be with you always.”

Two towering guards approached and pulled
Vartan up off the ground, marching him out of the throne room and
towards the gates that led out of Greenhaven. His mind again filled
with the dragon’s powerful words.

"My king! Remember my words!" cried
Vartan.

Until we meet again, young knight… You are
very brave indeed.

Meet again? Who and what are you?
thought Vartan. His thought echoed in his mind as if it had been
suddenly emptied.

The golden walls shook ferociously as Nymira
launched herself off of them to dive freely into the humid air. She
stretched out her wings to glide gently toward the earth before
flapping them hard to begin her long flight back to Trahoterra, and
a huge gust of wind blew past the guards escorting Vartan.

One of the guard's eyes widened as he
blurted, “What in the name of Marithia was
that
?”

After a long pause with no answer, they both
shrugged it off and continued on, letting the bustling sounds of
the busy city drown out their concern. As they reached the main
gate, other guards already had a horse prepared for Vartan, and
sacks packed with supplies. A crowd had begun to build from all the
commotion, and people stopped what they were doing to watch Vartan
being taken to the waiting horse.

“Sir Vartan, you really must leave Greenhaven
immediately, as we have to follow King Arman’s orders. But know
that you leave the city with honour.”

Vartan nodded appreciatively to the men and
swiftly mounted his horse as the main gate was gently lowered by
its heavy chains.

“Vartan, you forget your armour,” said two
guards in unison, displaying friendly smiles.

One of them held up his bloodied silver helm,
and the other threw him a shiny new sword. He caught it with his
right hand and brought it up to his face to admire the gift. Vartan
tapped the blade against his helmet in customary acceptance and ran
his fingertips over the weapon. The sword was still warm to the
touch, and felt strong, but agile.

This is not the sword I thought I would
leave Greenhaven with,
thought Vartan as he let out a
submissive sigh.

Vartan cocked his head and asked, “This is a
sword of
immense
quality. May I ask what I have done to
deserve this honour?”

The closest guard looked around to ensure
that nobody else could hear them and whispered, “We heard of your
ambush, and that your sword was damaged beyond repair in battle
defending Helenia’s life. It must have been quite a fight to have
wrecked a sword of Greenhaven. We trust that your replacement
weapon will serve you well in your travels.”

“What are your names?” asked Vartan quietly,
sheathing his new sword.

The guard lowered his voice and spoke with
haste. “We are Aidan and Stenwulf, royal guards to the throne. If
you hadn’t accompanied Princess Helenia on her journey, it would
have been
our
duty to be alongside her during the ambush. I
fear that, unlike you, we would not have had the abilities to make
it back alive. Consider our debt paid."

Turning toward the crowd, Aidan slapped
Vartan's horse, pointed at the gate and cried, "Now begone, as fast
as your horse can carry you!”

“I won’t forget your kind deeds, Aidan and
Stenwulf. I pray that we meet again,” said Vartan.

He roughly slid his helm back over his head,
put his sword’s leather strap gently over his shoulder and rode as
hard as he could out of Greenhaven’s gate. Looking back over his
shoulder, he saw a furious Derian watching him closely through the
throne room windows.

It had all happened far too quickly, as if it
had been a freak whirlwind that had torn apart his structured and
carefully planned life.

Helenia, when will I see you again?
he
thought.

Vartan left Greenhaven with a troubled
heart.

Chapter 2: Humble
Beginnings

“
Darkness comes, whether
or not we choose to acknowledge its existence. Events are taking
place that will tumble down like an avalanche to wreak havoc on our
peaceful world; even
I
do not hold the power to alter these events on
my own.

Our kind has long awaited this
moment, to once again honour our sacred alliance. We are not
familiar with the pain of mortality, but that is not to say that we
are unable to perish. We rely on the world to flourish for our kind
to exist; for if it were to fall into darkness, then we would sadly
crumble alongside it.

One life can stop it all from
taking place, and it is this life that we watch closest, however
fragile it may be. If we can prevent the foreseen events from
unfolding, then we all have a chance to survive, together. Every
end has a beginning; it is these events, which have been written
into our memories, that help us understand times to come.”

(King Karven of the Dragons)

The sun sank deeper into the
horizon as its warm rays gently caressed the earth in preparation
for night. Leon relaxed in his old rocking chair. The sweet sound
of wood creaking created an innocent ambience in the calm
afternoon. In his hand was a piece of freshly cut oak, and with
each precise stroke of his carving knife, it came a little closer
to its intended shape. He led a peaceful life, tending to his many
farm animals and growing food to trade for much-needed supplies at
the local markets.