Stroke of Twelve

By TheBrokenWarrior

Prologue

Cendra woke up one night to the sound of angry shouting. A familiar fear clutched at her heart, as she realized the voice to be that of her father. She crawled out of bed, groping through the dark until she reached the stairs. A faint light glimmered against an opposite wall. Attempting to creep down the steps without being heard, she was startled at the sound of a loud slap, and she heard the voice of her mother give a small cry. A shadow moved quickly across the source of light.

As Cendra crouched against the wall, shaking, her father's angry footsteps stomped across the room towards the stairs. Torn between the desire to help her mother, and dread of the retribution she would receive if she attempted to do so, she did what she always had before: she turned to flee.

She was too late. A hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Struggling for a moment, she gave up and stared at her feet, unable to meet the gaze of the one who held her.

"Well look what I caught," her father said, his breath in her face. It smelled of alcohol. "What are you doing spying on me and your mother's discussion?"

"Dad, I'm sorry!" Cendra choked out, wincing as his fingernails dug into her skin. "I didn't mean to, I - I swear. It's just I needed a drink-"

"Liar," he accused her, "Wicked, rebellious girl. You should be grateful for how merciful I've been to you. Instead, you repay me by lying, sneaking around my back, and betraying me." He shook her arm viciously. She fought back tears.

"What do you mean, betraying you?" she exclaimed, voice breaking, "I've never done anything to harm you in my life!"

"How dare you say that to my face!" he exclaimed, "I know that you were about to run to the neighbors and stain my reputation with your lies. Get back to bed, before I think better of it and give you the punishment you deserve!"

He shoved her towards the stairs. She ran up into the dark, and stumbled into bed. Her pillow was soaked with tears by the time she fell asleep.

.

.

.

Chapter I.

Of the many legends the people of Endomia tell, there is one they hold very dear. The truth of it is doubtful, and the telling of it varies from town to town. Some parts of it are incredible to believe, but so often in history things take place that many deem impossible, that it would be a hard task, to know for sure the difference between truth and fiction. There are some elements, though, that remain the same in every telling, and these are taken as the most accurate version.

The war had been going on for more than two generations, and in the minds of the fighting peoples the purpose to the wounds they dealt and received had long been forgotten. Great countries had fallen to pieces, and the shattered remains fought constantly with one another. It is no wonder that the many grievances on every side only served to increase the hatred and distrust every man held for his enemies. The battles grew more and more confused, the land began to lose every trace of civilization, and the men were reduced to brute savagery merely to survive.

It was during this dark time that a single man determined to turn the tides and bring peace to the land. His name was Berin, and he tried to remind the people of their dignity and right to a peaceful light, and to show them that he could lead the way to one. The few around him who had the sanity to think bitterly scoffed at what they saw as a fool's dream. To the despairing people, words of peace and hope were merely a mockery to their suffering. At first they ignored him. Soon they grew to hate him. But as he persevered, a new feeling awakened in their own hearts, an emotion they had never had the courage to feel. Following this feeling, they began to hope in him.

Around Berin many united in an ever-growing force of warriors. Deftly and with luck that never seemed to run out, their leader crushed the resistance of the enemies. The few who survived his blows turned and followed him. He was unstoppable. Through the many trials they faced, and the impossible odds they went up against, he brought them victorious at last. Together, they raised up a kingdom, and called it Indomita, The Unconquerable.

Over four-hundred years the name underwent a lot of change. The kingdom was now Endomia, though people attributed the same meaning to it. Of course, a lot more than the name was altered over time. It would seem the citizens of Endomia could not keep their happiness for long. Though the noble family possessed the same blood as the legendary Berin, they seemed to possess neither his strong will nor his invincible luck. Many of the common people were discontented, and rebellion threatened to break out every day. A chance meeting, or a stray remark - those often had more meaning than it appeared. Secret organizations had sprung up, composed of members from among the common people as well as the nobility. The aims of these groups varied. But there was one thing for sure: the people were unhappy with their lives, and they wanted the rulers of the land to take responsibility. If the King would not do his job, then they would just have to replace him with someone who would.

Cendra tried not to worry about those sorts of things. She had too many other things to think about. There was the lack of healthy food in the house, the constantly empty stomach. These she could suffer without complaints. But then there were her two little brothers, who suffered as well, and they certainly felt no shame in crying over the unfairness. There was her mother's ill health, and her constantly increasing sick spells. And hanging above her head like the ominous feel of a thunderhead was the memory of her father. That, perhaps, was the worst of all.

Two years before, he had gotten unusually upset over some new decree of the King. More than happy to take out his anger on those around him, he had gotten into an argument with Cendra's mother, a usual pastime of his. What was not usual of him, though, was what happened afterwards: namely, that he walked out the door, and was never seen again. It had been a dark night and he had been drunk when it happened, and people came to the conclusion that he had fallen into the deep river nearby and drowned.

Cendra would have liked to believe them, but she couldn't. Though she had never understood her father, and had hardly known him beyond his drunken rages, she couldn't picture him drowning in the deep, swift waters of the Himintar. No one had known anything about her father before he moved to town and met her mother, and she often wondered what had been in his past - and most importantly, whether he had gone back to it.

What with all these problems, Cendra didn't have time to worry about rumors of rebellion and war. While she could hope that nothing serious would take place, there was nothing she could do about it. She had suffered enough in her life, and so she tried to take advantage of the temporary peace and not to trouble herself about things beyond her control. She never knew when some new blow of Fate would knock her down again.

Little did she know how hard Fate was about to strike her.

Author's Note: I hope you like the first chapter of Stroke of Twelve. I had to give a lot of background, so there isn't much action, but the plot will be developing more in the next chapters. Feel free to comment on what you liked and disliked about this. I would be extremely grateful for any feedback, especially if it helps me improve! :) Thanks again!