Would you read a book based on these first few pages? Chapter One The Steward Returns Home Rorhan Oaklore was quite an ordinary young man of seventeen years. He lived in the Kingdom of Atoria; specifically, in the town of Hearthwind, one of the Great Seven Cities and the second largest settlement in the entire realm behind only the capital of Steelcrest itself. It seemed quite a simple childhood for Rorhan; his days were spent much like any other. He played with his friends, sword-fighting and rescuing ‘princesses’ from the great towers they made from trees. He learnt to swim and fish along the nearby rivers and was even taught to work a bow in the woods a dozen leagues to the east of Hearthwind. Through all these memories as a boy, Rorhan always remembered having Jory at his side; his brother to whom he was two years senior. Every adventure he played out, young Jory was beside him, squiring him into battle and bearing the wooden logs they used for swords. It was a simpler time. Rorhan and Jory Oaklore were orphans; with both their parents deceased, the two boys were handed into the care of a man named Avery Harswyth who was Lord Governor of Hearthwind, and whose only superior was the King of Atoria himself. Lord Avery raised the boys from the time when Rorhan was only seven years old; he cared for them with all his heart and even permitted them to call him ‘father’ when they were in private. Having no children of his own, Avery had begun to love the boys as if they were of his blood. On his seventeenth birthday, Rorhan was named as Lord Avery’s personal steward and in that moment, he knew his training had begun. As months went by, his wooden logs were replaced by a real blade of steel; his crusades to the high branches of Buckthorn Trees were replaced by actual journeys to the nameless villages and townships that surrounded Hearthwind. It is here where this tale begins; four months since Rorhan was made steward, upon returning from his latest travels… # Rorhan sat atop his courser, gently rocking back and forth as the column of riders made its way along the riverbank. He was dressed in fine garb, a silk tunic and clean beige breeches. A silver cloak hung down his back and splayed itself across his horse’s rear. The day was warm, summer was just beginning and Rorhan knew that many hotter days would soon be coming. Beside the young steward rode Lord Avery himself, clad in mail and armour, the man looked half ready to enter battle. Rorhan however, he looked too well-groomed with shoulder-length hair of dark auburn neatly combed to his shoulders, his face clean-shaven and eyes of cerulean that still glimmered of youth. They rode beside a thin riverbank, the water barely moving fast enough to disturb the lily-pad clusters that sat atop it. To their other side the dirt rose high, forming somewhat of a wall at the top of which, old, sagging trees hung over them and provided a cool shade. Rorhan looked up and through the canopies of leaves, he judged that it was almost midday; the men-at-arms riding with them would undoubtedly wish to stop. It had been two weeks since they had left Hearthwind and Rorhan desperately wished to return home before the day was out. They’d been touring the nameless villages, ensuring its citizens that their needs were being catered for and that Lord Avery governed them also, not just his city of the Great Seven. There were still two more townships to visit when a rider found them. He informed the lord that the city had received a message from Steelcrest, the royal capital. The crown prince was riding for Hearthwind with important news. “Come on men!” the lord-governor shouted across his shoulder to the riders that guarded him and Rorhan. It had been a long journey so far and the men-at-arms were tired and weary, each of their faces desperately begged for a break in the ride. “We should reach the city by nightfall!” he continued to shout. “With any luck, the royal prince is riding slowly. Hopefully he won’t reach us for another day or two yet!” “Hopefully!” Rorhan deliberately emphasized simply to annoy his guardian. He laughed as the dirt track they rode along began twisting away from the riverbank. Much to his dismay however, Lord Avery simply smirked and carried one. “Why would the crown prince be visiting us anyway?” Rorhan decided to ask, it had been itching at his mind ever since they received the news. “I mean, Steelcrest is thousands of miles from here, surely a letter could have carried the information just as well, no?” Lord Avery shifted in his saddle; he ran a hand across his bald head and coughed. “No, Prince Tyargon is not the only person coming,” he spoke quietly. The messenger who found them must have told Lord Avery more than Rorhan knew. “Half the royal court has been dispatched,” the lord told him with a serious glare. “People have been sent to each of the Great Cities, they apparently all bear the message.” Rorhan was shocked, never in all his youth had he been left out of Lord Avery’s councils. He knew the workings of Hearthwind better than any other and the lord was well aware of it. “Do you know what’s going?” he asked blatantly. Lord Avery shook his head. His neatly trimmed beard of white made him appear older than he was, the look of sheer overwhelming pressure and anxiety in his eyes were no help either. He looked Rorhan in the eyes and grimly smiled. “I only know this…” he began, hesitating for a moment. “The last time that the royal court was used as a messenger service, the entire kingdom went to war with the centaurs.” Rorhan’s jaw dropped. “No,” he whispered, partially to himself in disbelief. The Centaur Rebellion was famous in the history of Atoria, millions died and a hundred million more were injured. As far as Rorhan knew, Lord Avery was one of the few survivors on the side of men. “But… but… the centaurs won!” Rorhan exclaimed as if the lord didn’t know. “We gave them the land they wanted! What good would another rebellion do them?” “I’ve not a clue,” the lord admitted in response. “It may not even be the reason for this royal visit, but precautions must always be taken.” He said at the same time as he reached for the sword that hung by his side. Rorhan noticed and looked down to ensure his own blade was safely close at hand. # They arrived back at gates of Hearthwind an hour before sundown. The portcullis was still raised and half a dozen guards had been posted on either side of the gates. Lord Avery led the column through to the greeting of quite a few hundred villagers. The market square was overflowing with people, it appeared that news of the royal visit has spread quickly and everybody wanted to know what it was about. The men-at-arms with Rorhan and his lord were the first to dismount. They each carried a circular shield and formed a guard around the two still-mounted horses. Rorhan waved, he was happy to be home and the crowd shared his joy. The men-at-arms stopped the people from pushing closer yet nothing could be done about the overwhelming noise. Rorhan spurred his horse forward slowly, gently trotting through the crowd, Lord Avery followed him in suit, unsure of what else to do. Much to his pleasing however, a rider came galloping down the main street; a thin, twisted, ivory horn was tucked beneath his arm. Lord Avery took it with a look of relief, blowing hard and sending a low, long blast of noise across the courtyard. He raised both arms and the noise began to falter. The people loved their lord, they loved Rorhan also and they would listen, regardless of what was said. “Thank you for this welcoming return, dear friends!” the elderly lord boomed his voice across the square. “I know you must be eager for this royal visit…” a surge of cheering emitted through the crowds once again. Lord Avery again raised his arms. “If I knew the reason behind, I would most certainly tell you all! For now however, I ask for patience!” Rorhan gazed across the faces of the hundreds of villagers and slightly smirked. Lord Avery may have been loved, but even he couldn’t ask patience of a group waiting for the crown prince.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Jul 2013 09:56:19 +0000
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