Salatis and the Dark King preview.

[kircr]

I would love some constructive criticism and comments if anybody has the time. Also what age group young adult/ teenager etc: Thank you )

The Gods

There are scriptures found within a magical kingdom called Veneficus that talk of a time long ago when the Gods had created the earth for their own pleasure and behaved as children. For millennia they walked its lands in blissful silence, bathed in its vast, deep, empty oceans and ate the fruits that had grown in its lush, fertile soil. There was no time and no need for such things as greed, sin or war and the world had never been covered in anything other than contentment. Stars were born and then died, yet the Gods did not look up to witness the heavenly spectacle. They were immersed in the earth’s beauty and there was nothing the Gods desired that the earth could not provide. That was until even this was not enough and over time they grew bored of the emptiness surrounding them, deciding it was time to create life. This life spread across the lands and filled the depths of oceans taking many different, wondrous forms and again the Gods were content. They loved their creations as much as the earth itself and soon they became infatuated with one form of life in particular. They were a versatile creature a God named Ignis had called mankind and he had created them in the God’s own image. Many found mankind to be infectious and were drawn to their enthusiasm and ability to overcome adversity. Some Gods even began to integrate and started families, which did not sit well with all the Gods tearing a divide between them. This divide then developed into war with thunder ripping the skies, the ground shaking in terror and flash floods causing disease to devastate the life on earth. The majority of the Gods could not accept this unholy integration and wanted mankind destroyed so they could claim the earth once again as their own. But Ignis loved mankind and would not allow such a fate to befall them. His defiant stance saved his creation from oblivion and the decision was made to leave the earth, allowing mankind to live on. This still not enough for Ignis who did not want to leave his wife and unborn child and when he and others refused to ascend a bigger compromise had to be made. Any God who wished to stay could do so and keep his or her powers, but in return they had to sacrifice eternal life. This meant once their life had run its course, they would return to the heavens and cut their ties with the human race. All involved agreed and the gates to the heavens were opened. The Gods who wished to leave ascended and the Gods who stayed lived long and happy life’s eventually dying of old age and returning to take their place amongst the stars. Each of the Gods as they died left behind one last gift for mankind and Salatis being of the same blood as Ignis ‘God of the Dragons’ had powers that he was completely unaware of…until now.

Chapter One: Saxeus

It had been over half a century since anyone from the Lazamerian alliance had venture this far south of the great wall, and it seemed hard to believe the dead lands had once been part of this vast Empire. The derelict towns and villages Salatis and the legions had marched through were like ghosts...shadows of their former selves, with all the once beautiful homes bearing the scars of long forgotten battles. Bones lay where lives had been ended, trees and brush had reclaimed the roads, and vines run wildly out of control. The wind in this desolate place never seemed to tire and would whistle as it entered the cottages, with the rotten doors creaking and slamming as if shut by the spirit of an overzealous child. It had been almost 100 years to the day since the Zephantian Empire had violently expanded; conquering all lands without mercy and 30 less since the Dark Kings army of Dredgers had reached the Sustantivian borders. The brave legionnaires of the time fought with courage and died with honour for the Empire, but all would have been in vain if it was not for the protection afforded to its lands by the great wall. The Dark King and his army had for a decade tried relentlessly to overrun and destroy this last beacon of hope for mankind, but the great wall stood firm and the alliance remained.
Silence then fell over the land and two generations passed, with no sign of the Dark King and his unholy warriors. He was gone and the memory of his bloody and brutal campaign had all but been forgotten, fading into myths and legends that were often dismissed and only taken seriously by those who knew better: until now. The beast had again awaked and the Dark Kings army had begun to probe the alliances defences in preparation of an all out attack. This escalation prompted the Lazamerian Empires war council to act. They convened in Lazamer’s capital Inperium and called its legions to arms, determined to give the Dark King a bloody nose and send him crawling back under the rock from which he came. Lazamer and all 4 other alliance members had advanced with 25000 men to the north of a fort called Kapici. Its name in the old language, translating loosely into ‘the gate keeper’ and it had taken the large body of well trained legionnaires two weeks to reach its walls. The march had been hard with the temperature slowly rising as they moved further south, but the mood of the camp was confident. Everyone seemed to be laughing, sharing jokes, somewhat unconcerned with the imminent battle that loomed on the horizon. That was everyone except Salatis who was sat by his fire, slightly more apprehensive of what lay ahead. His thoughts were in a dark and lonely place as he struggled to believe he would have any significant affect on the war and he was still unaware of the great powers he possessed.
His extremely excited nose sparked into life, disrupting the doom and gloom that was trying to engulf him and the angst of war was pushed to the back of his mind if only for a while. The crackling of fat burning over a spit and the strong smell of meat swirling in the air around him was responsible for his sudden change of focus. His stomach moaned and groaned, as if it had never chewed on a decent meal and he quickly got to his feet; following the smell to its source. His plate filled, he returned to his fire and sat alone on the hard parched ground, eating the meat which had been cooked to perfection. It made him think of his home in Saxeus. His village was to the south of Inperium and was like any other within the Empire. It had a Town Hall for officials to enforce Lazamerian law and a village square for local trade. It had a baths and a library which could be used by anyone of any standing within the community and it also had a small amphitheatre for visiting legionnaires to show off their skills. This was Salatis’ favourite place as a child and he spent many a day with his father sat in the crowd wishing he could one day be a legionnaire of the Empire. His thoughts then moved to his father - Hedric. He missed him very much. He was a great cook and had to be with Salatis’ mother, Helena dying minutes after giving birth. Hedric’s love for Helena was deeper than any spoken or written words and he had chosen never to take another wife, concentrating on raising Salatis to be all that he could be and more. This made Salatis’ guilt at his mother’s death sit even heavier on his heart. As a child he would spend hours listening to his father’s stories of their life together and watching the joy on his face as he mentioned her name. Salatis dreamt of her even when he was awake, wondering how his life would have been with his mothers influence and wishing he had spent just one day in her arms. There was no doubting Salatis missed the tender touch that only his mother could have provided, but Hedric did not shirk any duties as a father and gave him enough affection for both of them. He believed strongly in honesty and respect; something he had instilled in Salatis from a young age, always saying it was these traits that made a man great. Sticking to his father’s code however was not always easy, but he did his best, only bending them occasionally and ever so slightly.
The cottage where he had lived from birth was still as clear in his head now as the day he left: the grey stone walls covered in vines protecting it from the elements and a beautiful thatched roof with a chimney to allow a fire on cold winter nights. Nearly everything within it they had made together. His childhood could not have been more perfect and he yearned for a reunion with his father to thank him for everything he has done. The food his stomach had earlier demanded slowly filled and warmed his insides causing his eyes to become heavy. His memories painted a strong picture of home and he fell asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of better... simpler times.

“I will strike you down evil King,” he shouted to his father. His father was tending their vegetable patch, but always gave him his time.
“You will never defeat me boy,” he replied in a deep voice; blocking his blow. His father as always played the role of the Dark King and his giant frame dwarfed Salatis, casting a shadow that blocked out the sun.
“I am Lagos the mightiest warrior to live and you will die on my sword,” Salatis boomed with his 10yr old voice. Salatis struck out again causing the Dark King to parry and threw his free arm towards his enemy hoping magic would flow from his hand.
It did not and the Dark King laughed.

 

[manuscriptx]

Found the text ok; LOVED the title

(......the dark king part )

I skimmed through each paragraph; seems well written; not much in the way of riveting, thought provoking or stimulating. I get the sense it's just another tale of mythical mythology. Gods, ghosts and a landscape they used for their own purposes. I wouldn't necessarily believe Gods ever call anything home since they can go anywhere throughout the universe.

The line you used had me wondering;
" The derelict towns and villages "?

Derelict makes me think of " dereliction of duty " not a place that's been long forgotten and discarded ( unclean unkept, dusty, broken withered ).

If you want to describe a sleepy hollow town that's been empty, used up and forgotten. I'd suggest you play at as such with straight words; nothing fanciful like " derelict ".

But that's just me.

 

[Alix]

Didn't grab me. Sorry. I found the writing style a bit forced. By that, I mean that the descriptions were flowery and did not flow as well as they could. This line in particular:
"That was until even this was not enough and over time they grew bored of the emptiness surrounding them, deciding it was time to create life."

was too verbose. You lost me here. I stopped actually reading and started skimming.

The idea seems sound enough, the writing needs some polish. Good luck.

 

[kircr]

Thanks for the input. Yep I understand where you are both coming from. The fact I took little notice at school may explain my poor punctuation. You have hit the nail on the head really with the start not carrying enough weight. I have sent the first 3 chapters off a few times and this is my problem. I wanted to build up his character before I began the quest, which means my better work is not being seen. I may restructure the chapters and flash back to his school years as the story grows. I will also put some more work into my grammer. I will put a couple of the later chapter on and if you have a spare few minutes i would like you opinion.
Thanks again )

 

[kircr]

Chapter Three: Fort Kapici

The Lazamerian advance had been slow and sun was directly in front of the legion obscuring their view of the enemy stronghold up ahead. From dawn their path had taken them over grey, gravel hills and down steep loose slopes, before they moved on to flatter ground. This was great news for their thighs, but not for their health with open pits of spitting lava and thermal vents randomly covering the landscape. The land before them was just how Salatis would have picture hell on earth and every so often he could hear a scream as a legionnaire got caught too close to a pit of lava as it belched out molten magma. The moment the melted rock touched their flesh, it turned to bone and the bone turned to ash. It sounded a horrifically painful way to die, but it was also over very quickly judging by the length of the screams. They moved clear of the unworldly stretch and Salatis felt his body relax. He pulled out his water and took a sip before pouring a small amount over his eyes.
“TAKE COVER,” Lagos commanded urgently, seeing through the blinding light as a volley of arrows rained down from the formidable stone fortress. Salatis glanced to Lagos and followed his eye to a group of rocks that could not have been put there by anything other than a hand. They were markers for the enemy archers and the legion had just walked into range. Eager to please and live, he knelt behind his small round shield and tucked his arms in tight wishing it was just that little bit bigger. His breathing was loud and erratic and it was all he could hear, as he waited for the steel tipped arrows to fall. Their journey from his enemies hand took what seemed like an age and the wait left him with an uncomfortable urge to lift his head up and have a quick look. An urge he was thankfully able control as the arrows located his shield. Most glanced off harmlessly, doing nothing other than transfer their energy in to a harmless vibration, which petered out as it reached his core, but a few struck true and pierced his shield; one missing his eyeball by inches.
The arrows then stopped and the air became still as he waited with baited breath for any pain to follow... it did not. He was unscathed and he peered up from behind his shield, seeing the soldiers around him who had not been so fortunate. Several were laid dead with blood pumping from their wounds. One was flat on his face and the arrow had been pushed through his body as he fell to the ground. Another had an arrow which had entered his face. The fatal wound was horrific, but it was the young soldier closest that affected him the most. His eyes were open and he looked to be staring directly at him as if he could see into his soul. Salatis did not know the boy, but he felt an immense sorrow and Tristan flashed into his thoughts. He was somewhere on the battlefield and he hoped he had not suffered a similar fate. Noise interrupted the moment and loud screams filled the air, echoing across the plain. Some were the confident war cries of commanders leading their men on a charge and others were the shrieks and whimpers of the injured or dying; desperate for help. Blocking out the noise, he brushed his sword along the face of his shield, snapping the arrows as he strode forward with his sword in hand. His legs were heavy, but he kept his pace high and jumped over his fallen comrades, making a conscious effort not to look them in the eye for fear of recognising anyone and having to stop. He could not afford to, his job was to stay tight on Lagos until they reach the dead ground...
“INCOMING.” This time he did not need the warning and had already adopted the position. It was as if he had heard the order before it was spoken. The soldier next to him was not so quick and several arrows entered his body from leg to face. He died silently, if you ignore the muffled groan as he was killed almost on impact. His lifeless corpse on the cracked, dry surface was just another image to haunt Salatis’ dreams.
“FORWARD.” The command caused him to leap to his feet. He was so close to the hill and the protection of its shadow that he opened out his stride in a desperate attempt to cover the final few yards. That extra demand on his lungs forced them to expand to capacity and he felt his chest press against his armour as its rigid frame refused to concede any ground. If he had only to think of himself he probably would have slowed and risked facing another volley of arrows, but he was determined to stay with Lagos and he reached the base of the hill without a second to spare as his legs gave up and he fell to his knees. His lungs depleted and aching for air, he threw his hands into the dirt and whispered a prayer, thanking the Gods for their protection. Their attack was far from over, but with sweat dripping into his eyes he removed his helmet and fell on to his back.
“Salatis get your helmet back on,” Lagos ordered. Salatis had by some stroke of luck been place in the legion as his body guard, but he often felt like his child. He did not truly know why he had been given what was usually a more seasoned soldier’s role and mistakenly thought it was because of his skills with a sword.
“Ha-ha, you’re an idiot,” said the voice in Salatis’ head. “You never learn.”
“Shut up,” he muttered back silently to his invisible tormentor. The voice he heard was his weakness. It was one that all men have had to endure at some point in their life. Most men however did not name theirs. Salatis called his Nuto and Nuto had a knack of speaking his mind whenever he suffered doubt, fear or had the urge to do wrong. He did not know as with most men that it, Nuto was a test and all that stood between him being ordinary or being a hero. It is a man’s ability to control the voice and the fear it carries with it that creates a legend. He turned to check on Lagos who was stood giving commands to a group of section commanders. You would not have known he had just spent the last few hours running in desert temperatures. Lagos had no magic. He could not throw men with his mind. He could not turn a man inside out with his thoughts alone, but he had still become a legend amongst his people. Standing at well over six feet tall and built like a God, Lazamer’s greatest military leader had no equal. His face was worn with every line telling a story and his shaven head added to his fearsome image.
Lagos moved to the top of the hill to work out his legions approach and it gave Salatis some time alone with his thoughts. They had not even taken the fort and he was already worrying about what lay beyond. He had been quick to dismiss his fear of Kapici. He knew it was guarded by mortals, who had been forced to protect the gateway. The Dark King did not want to be loved by his subjects; he just had to be feared and Lagos knew this offering their commander an opportunity to give up the fort without bloodshed. He refused as Lagos expected knowing if they did not give a good account of themselves their families would suffer the consequences. Once past the fort their enemy were going to be more aggressive and the Dark King’s main forces were said to be the stuff of nightmares. They were called Dredgers and had the strength of several men. Salatis usually would not have taken any notice of such stories, but the Sustantivian’s were adamant they were true. They claimed the Dredgers were once soldiers who had fought against the Dark King and as their lands fell and Zephantia grew, he used magic to dull their mind and create an army with superior strength that would not question his command. Whether this were true or not only a handful of men had ever been sent south of the great wall and come face to face with the Dredgers and only one of them ever made it back. That man was Lagos and Salatis knew this, but could never work up the courage to ask him of his tale.
As terrifying as Dredgers were, they were not his only concern. There were other stories of witchcraft and dark magic which were often told when Zephantia was spoken of and he had suffered many sleepless nights leading up to the conflict trying to convince himself the stories were nothing but myths. His nightmares and Nuto were saying otherwise.
“Salatis; are you ready to move?” Lagos asked as he returned from his observation point.
“Yes sir,” he replied.
“What of our numbers?”
“40 dead sir,” came the reply from one of his section commanders. Everyone bowed their head in memory of the fallen and the image of the young soldier flashed into Salatis’ mind. He felt a pang of sadness make its way through his body knowing the boy’s mother and father would soon have their life’s turned upside down and hoped his own father would not one day be receiving the same grisly news. Lagos pushed his map out on the ground in front of him and quickly began to point out the locations and routes his section commanders needed to take.
“I want sections one, two and three to go to the east wall and stand ready. Use the dead ground to your advantage, the enemy must not be aware of your presence,” he paused and lifted his head to ensure he had everyone’s attention. “Remember we are not the only legions attacking this fort. Send out runners to inform the other commanders of our location.”
“YES SIR,” was the crisp reply.
“Sections four, five and six we attack head on. I want the ladders to the front.” Lagos was now in his element; confident and full of vigour. “As the sections on the east see our ladders going up; I want all archers to commence firing. Focus your fire along the edge of the north facing wall, this will provide cover while we breach the fort. When the wall is taken; sections to the east close in. Is my instruction clear?”
“YES SIR!” roared the commanders in unison. The section commanders quickly dispersed to pass their instructions down the chain of command.
“How are you Salatis?” Lagos asked.
“Fine sir,” he replied still haunted by images of the dead. Lagos could read his mood and had seen it many times before. His face was carrying the same look of despair all young legionnaires carried as they struggled to make sense of what they had witnessed.
“You have come a long way Salatis; Hedri...your father would be proud,” Lagos said trying to change his sentence and hide the fact he knew his father by name.
“Thank you sir,” he replied re-running the moment through his head.
He couldn’t have said my father’s name?
He defiantly did, his memory argued convincing him to ask Lagos how it was so. He opened his mouth to speak and spotted a smile on Lagos’ face. It didn’t look right. Lagos had never shown any kind of emotion, none that Salatis had seen. He had never seen anything other than a steely determination and as quickly as the near smile appeared it was gone. He had replaced it with his war face and drew a line under the moment with a firm slap on his back, making his way to the head of their final assault, before Salatis had the chance to say his piece. Lagos scanned his legion to his left and then to the right. Everyone was in position, waiting for him to give the command and he wasted no time grasping his sword and pointing it towards the Gods.
“FOR LAZAMER,” he cried as he stepped over the brow of the hill, lacking any fear of the enemy. The legionnaires let out their reply in the form of a long sustained roar and Salatis moved himself in to position on Lagos’ shoulder, keeping his eyes open for any danger to his commander’s life.
This in itself was no easy task.
Lagos may have been in his mid 40s but he still moved like a new recruit and was always a few paces in front of him.
“Who is protecting who?” Nuto said sarcastically, at around the time Salatis had been thinking the same thing. He chose for once to ignore the comment and stayed focused on his task. It was not often he was able to force Nuto back to where he had come, but there was no time for doubt and he needed complete concentration with Lagos’ life in his hands. The terrain under foot was tricky being uneven and rocky and there was little cover for Lazamer’s attacking force to use. The defending army had cleared a decent sized area around their position, leaving only burnt stumps to hinder their progress and making the last few hundred yards the most dangerous. Salatis was now within a hundred yard of the wall and close enough to hear a badly trained enemy commander give the order to fire. It was a nice pre warning and the volley of arrows was wasted.
Minimum casualties
“Keep their heads down,” Lagos ordered his archers. They did as they were asked and their arrows were lethal; striking down any enemy who dared to show his face. One of their victims fell from the wall and came extremely close to falling on Salatis’ head, with only his quick feet avoiding an embarrassing end to his short career. The ladders under the archers cover were moved into position and as commanded the sections out to the east opened up with deadly accuracy. You could hear screams as the enemy were caught completely by surprise.
“ADVANCE,” Lagos bellowed, leading the charge up the wall. Salatis raced to the ladder behind him and climbed over the top without anyone trying to open him up. This was mainly due to the protection of Lagos’ blade.
“What’s your role again?” Nuto asked with a snigger, never missing his chance to chip away at his self belief. Salatis again quietened his tormentor and quickly slay two enemies with a sweet combination of moves. He was still young, but there were not many who wielded a sword with his skill and grace. The legion took minutes to breach the fort, enemy bodies littered the floor and they secured their position with little loss of life. Salatis made his way to the eastern wall and signalled the sections below to close in. Lagos was busy barking out commands between kills and did not allow the attack falter.
“SALATIS TAKE THE EASTERN WALL.” He did not hesitate and screamed at the defending soldier ahead of him, half hoping he would turn and run.
He did not.
He just stood perfectly still and stared at Salatis who was as equally rude and stared back. Their standoff seemed surreal and it gave him a chance to weigh up his opponent. He was an archer and he looked ragged with his clothes hanging off his bones as if he had just been dragged from his bed. Salatis worried they were about to become friends charged towards him, with his shield up tight for protection and the archer lacking a sword of his own instinctively threw his arm over his shoulder and grasped an arrow. It was the archer’s only option, but it was never going to be enough. Salatis was already lunging at the evil soldier’s core and his sword slid through his cheap, weak armour with ease. It was a valiant effort by the wicked archer of Zephantia, his arm was fast and his arrow was loaded, but he never had time to bring it to bear and the arrow harmlessly flew over Salatis head, disappearing into the distance. The soldier’s life was ending, but he did not die quietly and let out a painful cry which forced their eyes to meet. The dying man captured his soul. He could see every detail in his face and realised that he was a far cry from a Dredger. The archer was not some evil beast as he would have liked to have perceived him; he probably was not even a trained soldier. He was just a man, maybe with a family, and sorrow entered his heart. The realisation on the stricken soldier’s face that his life was ending hit a part of Salatis that hurt. His expression was one of pain and he could feel it. His father had once said killing a man was not to be taken lightly and he now knew what he had meant. Blood began to drip from the soldier’s mouth as his life faded and the bond between them felt strong, cut short and broken by the men behind who did not allow Salatis’ impetus to slow. Their momentum forced the soldier backwards and off the wall into the court yard below and they continuing their drive along the eastern wall, surging forward as one. No one could escape their drive as they spanned the two metre width of the stone walkway and the majority of their victims died falling from height rather than on the end of a sword. The walkway was cleared and a rush of blood that always accompanied a battle was still working its way through his veins, as he turned to look over the distance they had travelled. He afforded himself a smile as he savoured the moment, and a glance down to the court yard at the life’s they had ended dulled his excitement. His reputation amongst the legionnaires behind him may have grown, but Nuto was less than impressed.
“Some protector you are,” Nuto snapped. He did not disagree and knew instantly what he meant. He had left his commanders side and frantically searched for Lagos finding him working his way along the western wall. Lagos’ had given him the command to take the wall, but it was one he should have ignored. Behind him were 30 of Lazamer’s finest, still full of adrenalin and awaiting his orders. He needed to get to Lagos and his decision had been made.
“TO THE GROUND,” he commanded running down the uneven stone steps towards the waiting soldiers. The enemy at the foot of the steps were going to be a much tougher nut to crack, with decent armour and sharp swords instead of bows. He would not have cared if it was the Dark King himself he was about to smash full tilt into. He just needed to reach Lagos and as the two forces crashed into each other the sound of armour coming together caused his ears to ring. For a moment he lost his senses and if it was not for the image of his father pushing into his thoughts and clearing the confusion, he would have been a foot shorter, with the eager soldier before him about to perform a decapitation. The soldier still came close. The tip of his blade scraped Salatis’ cheek as he took a step backwards to avoid the strike, and in the same motion he sliced upwards catching the soldier under his chin. His chin split in two and the soldier’s feet lifted off the ground. He was still alive and looking up at Salatis, waiting for his sword to finish him, but he did not have time. The soldier was no longer a threat. Stepping forward Salatis grinded his foot in to the downed soldiers face as he blocked, jumped and slashed his sword from left to right across the chest of another enemy. The mortally wounded soldier screamed like a woman giving birth and fell hard smashing his skull open on the uneven cobbled floor. His body twitched for a second as if his soul were trying to force its way out of his flesh and he lay in a pool of his own blood. The kill which moved Salatis into double figures was ugly and he would probably have again let his guilt get the better of him, but the second he finished the kill he realised using the full swing was a mistake. He had left himself wide open to the soldier following in behind and the soldier could not believe his luck as he raced forward chopping down at him, hoping his strike would split him in half. Salatis’ could do nothing apart from listen to Nuto choosing to die a snivelling coward. He closed his eyes and in the time it took for the sword to come down he had accepted his fate and prayed the blow would be painless. Luckily the Gods had decided now was not his time and over his left shoulder a sword came in to block the kill. It took him a split second to realise the sword no longer had his name on it and his legs had bent waiting for the impact. He opened his eyes and a surge of anger forced its way out of his flesh as he roared and extending his legs, stepping into the face of the luckless soldier. His advantage was his helmet as it crashed into his enemy’s unprotected soft skin, and his nose cracked as he staggered backward clutching his face. He was now unarmed and became an easy eleven, as Salatis put two hands on his sword thrusting towards the injured soldier and swiftly ended his life. He slumped to the ground and Salatis pulled his sword from his dead body; not giving him a second thought.
From that point on their enemy were on the back foot. They had panicked and were in full retreat with Salatis managing to register his twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth kill before having to stop and take a breath.
He caught a glimpsed of Lagos.
He was fine and Salatis watched in awe as he forced his way across the west wall, bodies falling either side of him with his support 10 metres behind and unable to keep up with the pace. Breathing steadied, he moved across the yard heading towards his commander and Nuto was now lecturing him on his lack of composure.
“He does not need a protector, he does not need you. He probably should have given the job to someone up to the task.” Nuto was still rattling on and doing a great job of destroying his will to live, as he became aware of an archer who had seen Lagos exposed on the wall. The archer looked like he had just won a spit roasted pig at the Lazamerian games and nobody else was close enough to stop his attempt on Lagos’ life. Salatis with no time to lose broke into a charge and closed in on the archer as he loaded his arrow and zeroed in on his prize. He was still too far away to kill the assassin and was not going to make it. The archer had already drawn back his bow and Salatis raised his sword arm in desperation. He only had one chance to save Lagos life and he grasped the sword with two hands, before spinning around and releasing his grip on the hilt. Lagos blissfully unaware of the archer’s intentions was still swinging his sword, creating a bloody mess when by chance or Godly intervention he turned towards the threat and watched as Salatis’ sword entered the archer between his ribs. It was a killing blow, but was also a fraction too late as archer released his arrow.
Salatis’ body went numb and he followed the arrows flight with dread as it homed in on his childhood hero. He did not have time to react and the arrow struck, taking him to the ground. The breeze stop and everything fell silent as his eyes refused to accept what they had just seen. He had just let down Lazamer’s greatest warrior, and guilt ripped through his body as his mind raced over all the things that he should have or could have done differently. Arriving by his side where he should have been when his killer struck, he fell to his knees unable to speak. The only noise that his mouth wanted to make would have sounded like scream with plenty of despair, but before it was released he noticed the arrow in Lagos hand.
He had caught the damned thing.
Unable to celebrate until Lagos gave him a response, he grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard.
Lagos slowly opened his eyes.
He was alive and Salatis helped him to his feet full to the brim with relief. The fort had fallen and the gates were now opened as the other legions started to flood into the court yard below. Lagos gave Salatis a wry smile and moved into full view of the courtyard with his chest out proudly proclaiming:
“TONIGHT WE FEAST.” The place erupted with cheer and the chant of Lagos’ name drowned out any other noise. The men recognised his greatness and Salatis look into the crowd at the thousands of soldiers’ cheering their victory. Not all however were celebrating. He could see many of the commanders refusing to clap and were visibly vexed by the adulation he was receiving from their men. Lagos may have been a hero to the masses, but a few silently would have enjoyed seeing him fall and would have gladly been the one to stick the knife in his back. Eventually the cheering subsided and the men set about following Lagos’ command. Pigs were roasted and beer flowed like the great waterfalls of Sustantivo. This was a great opportunity for the men to celebrate their victory, toast comrades lost in battle and of course get drunk. Fires lit the sky and the smell of meat roasting worked its way through the air, causing Salatis’ stomach to moan like a soldier who had not been paid. He sat himself close to the tent set up for the war council, where the commanders would be discussing their next move into Zephantia. It was always nice to keep in the loop and he had a feeling that the get together was going to be a bit feisty. All five members of the Alliance, 25 commanders in all were going to be present and would definitely have something to say. As predicted, the discussion did not take long to become heated. Many of the commanders were furious at the way Lagos took the fort. They felt that they had been embarrassed in front of their men and that Lagos had planned this to be so.
“What would you have me do?” Lagos asked the commanders who had questioned his approach. Karl, as always, spoke for the Sustantivian contingent. Their race was bred for war and death in battle was an honour.
“The fort was not yours to take Lagos. We lost many brave warriors in the attack on Kapici and they have died without honour.” Lagos knew Karl was a close ally and chose his words carefully.
“My friend, I acted swiftly because the opportunity presented itself; I would expect you to do the same. Our actions saved many lives and I will not apologise for that.” He took a few paces towards Karl. “I will however apologise if you believe I tried to undermine your or any other commander’s’ authority. This was not my intention. The victory was not mine; it was ours.” Lagos’ words were as always wise and they seemed to satisfy Karl as both men locked arms in a show of respect. Juan, a Raison commander interrupted, not willing to let the matter lay.
“Fine words Lagos, but that is all they are. We have for too long stood in your shadow and the Raison commanders have had enough. We are not willing to be your lap dogs any longer.” Juan was an awkward looking character that had the look of a weasel. His facial features were far too close together, leaving him with an exaggerated forehead. He only came up to Lagos’ neck and his build was slight. The fact he spoke out at all, meant he was confident he had the backing of the 4 other Raison commanders. He certainly was not brave enough to confront Lagos alone. The Raison people were a well educated race never making a decision which had unfavourable odds and facing Lagos alone defiantly fell into the ‘have not got a chance’ category. Salatis seeing the tension in the room sat forward in his seat and waited for Lagos to run Juan through. The room fell silent as Lagos considered his options. His strike did not come from his sword, but his tongue was just as sharp.
“How many men did you lose today Juan?” Lagos asked forcefully. The room stayed quiet; everyone aware of what Lagos meant and Juan’s body language reminded Salatis of a child that had been told no.
“Because we lost no one; you question our honour?” he snarled grabbing the hilt of his sword, looking behind him for the support of his countrymen. One of his fellow Raison commanders put his left arm by his side and white energy formed in the palm of his hand.
He had magic
Karl spotted the threat and stood with Lagos, followed by many other commanders wanting to show their allegiance. Salatis joined them and waited for the place to turn ugly, but Lagos stayed calm and moved towards Juan who immediately took his hand off the sword.
“Do not test me Juan, we are here to fight our enemy not each other.” He waited for Juan to say the wrong thing. Juan as expected used his head and stayed quiet, not liking the odds. The other Raison commanders seeing Juan lose his nerve took a less aggressive stance and the warlock closed his hand, smothering his magic. Lagos serenely moved back to the table as if the last few minutes had not happened and he focused the meeting onto more pressing matters. Top of the agenda was the Swamp of Despair. From childhood all young boys and girls were told bed time stories of the creatures that lurked in the swamp said to have been created by evil itself. True or not, the stories were definitely unsettling a number of the commanders, and Salatis decided at this point to fill his stomach rather than his head.

 

[kircr]

Chapter Ten: Forest of Sogno

Salatis’ father’s memories had really lifted his mood. Seeing his mother warmed his heart and knowing his father had been in the arena when he defeated Fenderal was important. The loss of control over his powers, however, did concern him and he hoped he would not suffer as his father had on that day. Wasting no time, he formed up the men and they moved toward the forest. On approach, they could feel it drawing them in like a boat caught on the outer edges of a whirlpool. It looked so inviting and for the life of them, they could not understand why Sogno was feared so. The birds in the sky were in full song and Salatis looked up to find them. It seemed peculiar that all the noise was coming from behind them and concentrating hard he focused on the trees in front of them.
“Why is it so quiet? Maybe we should go round after all.” Nuto said causing a moments doubt in Salatis’ mind. Hundreds of birds were in the sky and not one used the trees to nest. Already questioning if he had made the right decision, but still being pulled he entered the forest, not sure of what to expect with the men close behind.
It looked like any other forest.
To the eye it was pleasing and Salatis felt a warm sensation work its way over his body. He stepped on the dried twigs underfoot and they snapped, but their sound was dulled. Sogno’s silence was eerie, but, at the same time, comforting.
“Open up the pace,” he ordered. Heinricus took to the front and did as he asked as they began to cover the ground at a good rate. Salatis could not help looking around and taking in the forests beauty. His breath had become heavy. He was not tired, but the trees smelled so sweet and with every breath his thoughts became lighter.
What was Aleris worried about?
His mood was relaxed and he was becoming more confident of success. He had seen nothing yet to fear and that fact alone suddenly gave him the feeling that something was not right. They had only been travelling for a short time and already he felt his concentration lacking. Other doubts then started to force their way through the calm. They had not seen any wildlife since entering the forest. Sogno seemed an ideal place for many types, but none had chosen it as their home. The pace slowed and Salatis put his eyes to the front. Heinricus was staggering from side to side. It was only slight, but from this distance, it was evident.
“Heinricus.”
He did not reply.
“HEINRICUS, pick up the pace.” Salatis watched him shake his head, as if to come out of a dream.
“YES, SIR,” he replied groggily. Once again, he opened his stride and they had been traveling for some time, but none of them could have even guessed as to how long. The distance had been traveled as blur and he turned to check they had no stragglers. Amor had lost his sword and was walking without a care.
“Amor, are you okay?” He looked at Salatis, but his gaze was dream like.
“Can you not hear it?” he said calmly. “It’s beautiful.” His eyes wandered off and he was looking up at something no one else could see. Salatis ordered the front to stop and everyone closed in.
“What can you hear?”
“The trees,” he replied. Salatis looked toward Tristan for assurance and he saw Tristan too was struggling. His face was relaxed and he looked to be in a trance.
“Wake up,” Salatis said, shaking Amor hard and the soldier came back into his eyes.
“We need to get going. Heinricus, take the front.” Heinricus did not reply. Salatis and the others looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is he?” Salatis barked, trying hard to conceal the doubt that was building within him.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” Nuto added not helping matters.
“He must have kept going,” Amor replied frantically. The men were now worried and Amor had lost all control of his emotions, crying out for his brother.
“Every second we waste is bringing failure closer to our door. We must continue. If we move now, we will catch Heinricus. Letholdus, take the front. Let’s get moving.” Salatis turned to move, but only Tristan and Fenderal followed. He realized the whole group had not responded and he saw the glances moving between the men. Amos was still shaking and visible upset, but his eyes had become glazed again.
“We need to turn back,” demanded Letholdus, urging the men to speak up.
“If we turn back now, our quest is over and the Lazamerian alliance will fall,” Salatis replied. He hoped some emotional blackmail would make him see sense.
“I have a wife and children, like many of the men here. Like Leif had. I do not believe Sustantivo could ever fall,” Letholdus snapped. His body language said enough. Letholdus had defiantly made up his mind and anything Salatis said was going to fall on deaf ears.
“I have no time for argument. My path leads to Veneficus. Anyone who wishes to turn back can with no shame.” Letholdus stepped forward.
“I will turn back. This forest is cursed and we will not make it through. I will die on the end of a sword, not in this place.” His comment of Lief’s death was evidence to Salatis he had lost the men’s confidence and he made up everyone’s mind for them.
“Fenderal, I need you to take the men back to the legion and tell them of our journey. There is no sense in losing anymore men to this forest. I will go on alone.”
“I will not leave you,” Fenderal said defiantly.
“There is no time to waste. I have made my decision. You must return.” Fenderal did as you would expect of all Sustantivian soldiers and followed his command.
“Yes, sir.” He threw a look of disgust at Letholdus as he grabbed Amor and assembled the men into some sort of order. Everybody was soon ready to move except Tristan, who was still standing at Salatis’ side and he knew no words would change his best friends mind.
“Are you sure?”
“There is no chance I am leaving your side.” His decision was made and Salatis grasped arm with Fenderal.
“God be with all of you,” Salatis said, hoping they would get clear of the forest and they would all make it back to Darkwater.
“God be with you,” Fenderal replied. Salatis and Tristan threw their armor and swords to the ground on the move and broke into a sustainable run. Their only focus now was getting out of these damn trees and there was no turning back.

Now somewhere deep in Sogno Salatis’ thoughts were only of sleep, as his body lost energy with every stride. He turned to check on Tristan and his eyes were half shut. Salatis knew how he was feeling and noticed even Nuto had gone quiet. His eyes had never felt so heavy and the ground under his feet felt so soft. Trying to fight the urge to just have five minutes rest, he scanned the trees ahead still hoping they might get a glimpse of Heinricus.
What was happening to us?
His tired thoughts started to play tricks on him giving him the feeling they was being watched.
“There,” Nuto said drowsily spotting what looked like a silhouette. Salatis turned to look and whatever Nuto had seen was gone.
“Shut up,” Salatis replied out loud. Tristan awoke from his gaze and had heard him shout.
“I did not say anything,” he said. His face was one of a man who had not slept for days.
“There,” Nuto said again. Salatis turned and it was gone, but this time he was sure he had seen someone. The image was unclear, but it looked like it was a man or a boy. He lifted his head fighting its weight on his weary shoulders and spotted a small body of water in the distance.
“Tristan look…up ahead.” He did not acknowledge the words. “Tristan?” he repeated grabbing him by the arm to ensure he had heard him.
“Can you hear the voices?”
“Yes. Do not listen to them. Whatever evil this is will not break our resolve. Too much rides on our journey.”
“I don’t think I can do it,” Tristan replied. His mind was close to submission. Their labored jog turned into a labored walk as they approached the water’s edge and Salatis prayed it would do the trick.
“Come, let us get some water and be on our way.” He tried to sound confident, but Tristan knew him too well and was probably aware of Salatis’ true mind set. He moved to the water and fell to his knees, hoping the water would have the effect they desired. The water was so clear and still. It looked perfect and he leaned in to take a drink.
“Rest,” said the soothing voice of a reflection in the water that was not his own. He jumped back, startled at the unexpected image. It was the old man he had caught a glimpse of earlier and he looked behind him to see if he was there, but he was not. Slowly he edged forward and looked again. The old man’s image had been replaced with a more familiar face, but not as fresh as the one he was used to. He could see it was not just Tristan who was struggling. He lowered his body down to take a drink and his eyes closed before he reached the water. The shock of the freezing pond as his head submerged awoke him and he turned to check on Tristan who was asleep.
“Tristan, wake up,” he demanded. He had not even made the water’s edge and Salatis dragged him closer, throwing water into his face. His eyes opened, ever so slightly. “Come on, we have to continue,” he urged dragging him to his feet. Time had now become irrelevant. Every stumble Salatis made was due to his eyes closing rather than the terrain under foot and their pace had become sluggish. His mind tired and drifted and his eyes began to wander.
The trees looked so inviting.
Their branches swaying in the breeze and the yellow leaves glistened like gold mixed in with the lush green back drop of the canvas. His eyes looked away to avoid the trance being put upon him and they were drawn down to the base of the trees. They were all shaped in a way that was begging him to rest and even though he was standing up right and moving, his eyes started to close. He could hear the trees; they were like nothing he had heard before and were softer than silk on his skin.
“Salatis…Salatis, we need you,” the trees said softly. The voice was so sweet and soothing and he could feel his muscles relax. He fell to the ground with a thud and the shock awoke him. He turned to check on Tristan, but he was no longer with him. He was gone. The realization he had lost his friend caused him to feel fear for the first time since entering Sogno and he wearily got to his feet, scanning the ground behind him. He urged his legs to retrace their steps and find his friend, his brother, but his body refused.
“TRISTAN…TRISTAN!” he stood shouting desperately. There was no reply and he was alone. Unable to think straight and with fear taking control he was finding it hard to stay positive and not surprisingly, Nuto shared his disapproval with Salatis’ decision to ignore Aleris’ instruction. The only thing Salatis now had was his survival instinct and it told him to run.
“What’s that?” Nuto said spotting something out of the ordinary before them. There was something on the ground and he stumbled over and brushed the leaves aside.
“It’s a hand,” Salatis said, answering Nuto’s question. Moving closer to examine the hand, he saw that it was still attached to an arm. His eyes followed the arm, which was covered by roots and through a gap in the roots; he could make out a face. It was a man, motionless as though dead, but his face was showing contentment. Stepping back in horror, his mind was in meltdown trying to figure out what was happening. He felt his movement mimicking his thoughts as he moved around irrationally and he staggered to a tree. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something else.
It was another body.
It was also being enveloped by the roots. Images then started to jump out at him and he could see bodies everywhere. He knew he had to get moving and Nuto agreed. Running with renewed vigor, his only thoughts were of failure. If he did not make it through the forest, thousands would die and Lazamer could fall. Losing all feeling, his legs went past fatigue and were now running from memory. He was drifting in and out of dream like states and he could feel his mind giving up. The sweet voice of the trees was in full flow and he begged the Gods for the strength to see it through, but Nuto had already submitted to the hypnotic sounds of the forest. Salatis stumbled for the last time as he lost his footing on the rough terrain and smashed his head against the base of a tree. The blow sapped any fight he had left and he knew he was finished as he rolled over, defeated and cursing the ground where he had tripped. The thought of never seeing his father again forced him to struggle to his hands and knees and he crawled, willing his limbs to move forward in one last attempt to delay failure.
Is this how it is to end?
“I love you, Father,” he said weakly as his eyes closed and he fell, throwing his hands forward. His body lay lifeless on the ground and his fight with Sogno ended.

 

[DomCav95]

Hi There,

Yes I did enjoy it and I found that some of it I could relate too in a rather strange way, there are some punctuation issues here and there, but apart from that it's interesting, I'd love to know where you're going to take us next!

Feel free to take a look at my work too, I'd appreciate the feedback! and as for the age range, I'm sixteen!

 

[kircr]

Cheers for the review. After having some good feed back I have begun to improve the story. I agree my punctuation needs work and I just hope I can do the story that is in my head, justice on paper.