Slowly the sun rose over the open plains of Algaria, cascading its light upon the emerald carpet which spread upon that even ground. Birds flew in the air, singing their pleasant songs, while the cattle herds chewed hungrily upon the field's vast grasses. Bees went flying around to the few flowers, taking their nectar for honey. The today looked like it was going to be a beautiful one.
Herding cattle was the main occupation of those who lived in the land of Algaria, and the head herdsman took his job seriously. He trudged through the fields, checking each and every cattle as he came to it. His life was so centered around the herd that he could probably name each and every bull or cow by his or her own actions. He was checking for predators, such as bears or wolves. This was normally the watchman's job, but he never really trusted the watchman on right now. Infact, there was a good reason for this, as the watchman was asleep next to a rock not too far away from him.
The watchman was actually a boy about 13 years of age. He wore a slightly ragged tunic covered by a sheep-skin coat. His hair was sandy blond, and his eyes were the deepest of blue. However, one could not see his eyes at that point, as his eyelids were firmly shut around them. The herdsmaster sighed softly, as he walked up to this youth. Placing his hand on the child's shoulder, he shook him several times.
"Kid!" He said as he shook the boy. "Wake up!" Slowly, the boy awoke from his daydream. He lookd around slowly, rubbing his eyes to clear them from the dew which hung upon his lashes. He then inclined his head up towards the herdsmaster who was towering over him.
"Yes sir?" The boy asked. It wasn't really much of a question, as he knew what he was doing wrong. Of course, he could not act as if he had known it, or the herdsmaster would have gotten more upset.
"What am I going to do with you Kid?" replied the herdsmaster mildly. "You fall asleep when you watch the cattle, you can barely cook. You aren't all that strong, and you don't ride a horse all that well." He sighed softly to himself. Although he had a high ranking job, he was not one of those who came down upon his workers. "Remind me, why don't we send you to the army?"
The question was relevant. Most boys his age who did not show any particular talent that was needed back at home were sent for army training.
"Well..." the boy with the sandy locks began, "As you said, I am not all that strong. However, I do play the flute decently well, which provides you people with entertainment during dinner."
The herdsmaster smiled slightly. The boy was right on both accounts. He couldn't send such a weak child to the army, even though the kid was decently fast. Also, supper would never quite be the same without that kids flute...
"Oh just leave your post, I will go find someone else to do it." The herdsmaster sighed softly. The kid might as well leave, he wasn't doing anything at his post anyway besides sleeping. If he got someone older to do it, they would do a better job.
"Thank you, sir", said the child. He then got himself up, and began to walk away from his herdsmaster.
"Oh..", the herdsmaster called after him, "If you see Setton, tell him that he is on now. He might be sleeping so wake him up."
The Kid turned around slowly to nod back to the herdsmaster. Then after that brief gesture, he headed back towards the camp.
Being cattle herders, they had to have a camp which could pick up and move once the cattle needed to graze elsewhere. Therefore, they lived in fabric tents which were easy to take down and put up. Even though their camp was not a fancy camp, but it wasn't a poor one either. They had sufficient food and drink, enough to live comfortably. From the canvas tents one could usually smell fresh baked bread or possibly grilled meats. There was an ale brewery towards the center of the camp, ale being extremely important to the Algars. The camp was seperated by class, family and job, the most important being closer to the center. The warriors who protected the camp from Agnarack attacks lived closer to the outside, while the others lived in the middle.
Setton lived towards the outside of the middle area, since he was strong and could help the warriors if need be. His tent was yellowish in color, perhaps because he failed to take care of it when it needed cleaning. As the Kid walked inside, he could smell the damp scent of ale, which Setton had obviously had the night before. Clothes were strewn everywhere, and Setton was sleeping blankly upon his bed, just like the herdsmaster said he would be.
Slowly, the kid walk to up Setton, and gently shook him in an effort to wake him. Setton rolled over a bit, groaning something like a young child. Finally, the kid got impatient, and he just opened the front flap of the tent. Light poured in all over Setton's face, waking him almost instantaneously.
"Hey! What was that for!" Setton cried out as he tried to adjust his eyes to the sunlight. Once he could see, Setton looked around the room for his waker. The kid was standing near the door flaps, pointing out to the fields.
"The herdsmaster told me to wake you," the kid said in defense for himself. It was not unknown that Setton often thought himself more important then people like himself, and so he tried to be polite as possible. "He sent me to tell you that it is your watch."
"Kid!" Setton spewed from his clenched teeth, "You expect me to believe that! What time is it anyway? What day is it!"
The kid looked at Setton cautiously. He was already off to a bad start, so he had to now pick his words correctly. "Its 2 hours after sunrise. If you don't believe that the herdsmaster sent me to get you, why don't you go ask him yourself?"
Setton glared down at the kid, his eyes almost burning like fire. He quickly got himself up, and walked out of his tent with a huff. Briefly he turned around and threw a sharp glance at the kid. "Make yourself useful! Go get me breakfast kid!", he said with a superior tone. He then took off for the fields.
The kid let out a sigh, as he kicked the blanket from his way. It wasn't just Setton that treated him this way. Almost every person in the camp treated him like that. There were only a limited few who treated him normally. Also, he didn't know why people had to call him "Kid", which is such an ugly word. It was only fitted to the young goats that roamed the pastures along with the cattle, and the last time he checked, he was not a goat. He had a name of course, and it was not an unpleasant name at that. It was "Garriel", although he had no idea where it had come from. His parents had moved from their camp leaving him there alone when he was 3, so he never really got a chance to ask them why he was named it. Actually, he usually didn't tell people his name, because he didn't want people like Setton to use that knowledge against him. For example, if someone did something to Setton, he would not be able to say "Garriel did it", because he didn't know his name. Rather, Setton would say that "The kid did it". Now that helped Garriel a lot, because there were about 40 kids in the camp who Setton called "kid". So it was very useful.
For all of Garriel's knowledge, there were only three people that knew his name. The first of these three were his two best friends, Mikkal and Sabre.
Now, Mikkal was a Mimbrate Arend. If anyone knows Arends, they know that they tend to be couragous, strong, emotional, and unfortunately, not all together so bright. Mikkal tended to run into situations head first, not knowing what was going to happen, or rather what could happen. That gave him an exciting feel to be around. He would lead they way into misadventures on the plains, which could either end up in fortune or in disaster.
The one who got them out of those disasters was his other friend, Sabre. Sabre was a Drasnian, a spy by race. He was extremely quick witted, and although he was not as strong as Mikkal, he could oftentimes get them out of the jams that Mikkal got them in. He also usually knew the secrets and plans that the superiors were planning, and how to get around them.
The trio roamed around the plains during the day, usually passing their times with misadventures that Mikkal led them into. For example, there was this one time that Mikkal saw a wolf in the distance, and he picked up a rock from the ground, turning to his friends.
"My friends, it seems we have a foe within our grasp. Prithee we go and smite his head with this rock, perhaps the wolf shalt run and leave thy master's herd alone?"
Sabre drew in a long breath. He knew that Mikkal was too devoted right now to stop him. He glanced at Garriel for a second, then turned back to their friend, who was preparing to rush the wolf. "I don't think you should that, Mikkal."
The Arend turned before he went charging, to face his Drasnian friend. "Why doest thy say so?"
Sabre sighed for a second. It was sometimes hard to explain things to Arends, perhaps because they were so couragous that they thought nothing could hurt them. "Well, you only have a rock, but that wolf has some long fangs. It might not be wise."
Mikkal looked at Sabre throughfully for a couple of seconds. He then turned to Garriel. Garriel tended to act as a link between the two, always understanding both sides of the arguement, making him the one to always close it. "I think Sabre is right. It might be better for us to go get the others."
Mikkal had a look of disappointment in his emerald eyes. He dropped the rock from his hand, as he gave the wolf a long and steady glance. "You have not yet escaped mine grasp, foul beast. I shalt be back with others for thee."
Garriel and Sabre looked at each other, chuckling under their breath. Garriel then reached forth his right arm, and placed it on Mikkal's shoulder. "Alright, lets get the others."
That is basically how all the adventures were. Mikkal, being a Mimbrate Arend, always thought that fighting was the solution, that they should take care of the problem with their fists. Sabre always thought things through and usually got them out of the jams way before they started. Garriel was just there, along to have a good time, and to eventually take them home again.
Of course, being three friends, going around the plains making trouble wasn't the only thing they did. They acted like the normal kids their age, play fighting with each other, although it was usually Mikkal and Garriel who did that. Sabre like to go on the side with the other wily kids and wager. He was awefully good at that too.
There was only one other person in the world that knew of Garriels name, who was not one of his best friends.
Every Erastade, a old man came riding into town on a horse. He had a long white beard, and eyes that looked like they were thousands of years wise. He wore a dirty and ragged tunic, and boots that hardly ever matched. He looked like he was a vagabond, someone who only went around in search of food.
To his side, there rode a beautiful woman with golden tawny hair. Her face was perfect, without a flaw. She was by far the most beautiful woman that Garriel had ever seen. She always wore long gowns that seemed to glimmer with a light of their own. It always seemed that the woman was a countess, and that the man that rode with her was just a body guard, or perhaps an entertainer.
However, Garriel liked the man far more than the woman. The man with the long white beard would sit down every Erastade, and tell the people in his camp stories. They were legends and tales about times when the gods were still upon the planet, watching over their people not in just spirit, but in full body as well. He told them of the great Orb of Aldur, that shined with a blue radiance, and actually had a life of its own. He told them of how the Evil god Torak had snuck into the tower of Aldur and stole the orb from his brother. He told them the tale of the long war between Torak's people, the Agnaraks, as well as the people of the other gods. He told them of how Torak was the one who made the seas by raising the Orb against the land. And he finally told them of how the Orb had maimed the Evil god on the side of his face, and never let him touch the itself again.
He told them of the time when Belgarath the Sorceror took King Cherek and his four sons deep into the tower of Torak, to reclaim the orb from the now Mained Dragon God. Belgarath led them to the tower were they kept the Orb, and then Riva of Irongrip picked the Orb up from the pedestal on which it lay.
Finally, he told them of the most recent times, when the line of the Rivan King had been reborn with someone named Belgarion of Riva. How Belgarion had killed the maimed god with the sword of the Rivan King. He told him how Belgarath took Belgarion some others around the world after Geran, the heir to the Rivan throne, who was kidnapped from the castle. Finally, he told them how Belgarion had chose his succesor as Child of Light, and how the holy Seeress of Kell had chosen the Light as the path for the universe to follow.
Then the old storyteller would go to the side, and almost motion with Garriel to come and sit with him. He talked to Garriel, about his life, about his friends, and about how people were treating him. Of course, having the storyteller like him so much got older people like Setton jealous, and they frequently attacked Garriel verbally after the storyteller had left.
Even though the storyteller always told the same story every Erastade, it always seemed to be like a new one. Garriel always anticpated his arrival with joy, as talking with the storyteller and his wife (who would have known?) was one of the happiest things he did.