Daring to Dream
Prologue
In the ancient scriptures of Tash, there was a clear divide between the fate of the faithful in the last days of the world and those of the traitors. In glory, the faithful would help Tash to crush his enemies and then follow him into paradise. Whereas the treacherous that turned against the great god would be crushed by his power in the final battle and thrust into a pit of endless fire and torment.
Sometimes on sleepless nights Harradin Tarkhaan had sat pondering this pit and wondering about the end of the world. He had long questioned what so horrific a place would be like, where there was no end to the horror or pain.
And all he could think of was the field of battle.
In Calormen, war was idealised. Young boys grew up on the image of what a wonderful thing it was to fight for one's country and victoriously vanquish the enemies of Tash. To become a warrior was to truly be a man. He had frequently repeated the words of the poets and wondered at their truth.
"To die for one's country is a treasure greater than the most precious jewel."
He whispered them now on the battlefield, staring around at what truly seemed to be the darkest place on earth.
In front of him, hundreds of men fought for their lives in the Tisroc's great army. Horses reared and brought their hooves thundering down, cracking skulls. Arrows pierced through armour, breaking bone and tearing flesh. The cries of the wounded and dying mingled with the war cries of the living, creating a cacophony of hell that assaulted the ears.
With practised ease, Harradin urged his destrier to the top of a hillock, staring about for his squadron. To his left, he caught the colours of his province and called loudly,
"To me, all soldiers of Callidar province! To me all those who fight in the Tisroc's name, May he live forever!"
Men appeared all about him, their dirty faces weary but filled with the light of battle. One soldier raised a stained hand to point out a sight in the distance,
"My Lord, the enemy are converging on the Tisroc's guard."
Harradin turned his stallion hurriedly and saw in an instant what the enemy were attempting. The Tisroc and his guard were high on a hill overlooking the battle, but the enemy were converging upon him in two groups – one from the east and one, the south. The aim was clear – to split the Tisroc's men into two groups and leave him open to attack.
Wrenching his stallion around with a loud roar, he bellowed to his men at the top of his voice, "Way! Way to me, men of Callidar Province! Follow me all men loyal to the Tisroc, may he live for ever. Charge!"
As a breakneck pace, he led his men through the small valley and up towards the enemy. As clear as a knife slicing through butter, they cleaved a hole through the enemy's line and scattered their troops. Quickly burying his spear in the skull of one soldier, Harradin looked for the Tisroc. Their ruler's guard had been able to fight back the assault from the east and thankfully, it looked as though the enemy were turning to flee. In a single moment, the call to retreat was heard and the enemy started to pour from the field, making it every man for himself.
To stop them pursuing, Harradin bellowed at his men and managed to rally them before unnecessary blood was shed. "We go to the Tiscroc!" he shouted and galloped off to his general, awaiting their orders.
After pursuing the enemy to the great river, the Calormen army was assembled in a great horse shoe, all facing a cleared space in the middle. On his chariot, the Tisroc stood to the cheering of his army for many minutes, before he lifted his arms for silence.
"We have won a great victory today!" he shouted, "In the name of Tash, we give him all the glory for this great and worthy victory, for it proves the right of our claim over this barbarian land and its king! I knew that when we went against Ulvar we would be victorious and now here is our proof! Here is their king, the once celebrated warrior, Darnen!"
The defeated king was at this point shoved forwards, bound in chains and bloody faced. The army cheered and jeered at the defeated man.
"But who am I going to give the highest honour this day, you many ask?" the Tisroc continued. "Well, there is a Tarkhaan among you whose bravery and brilliant leadership saved my life. I therefore call for Tarkhaan Harradin to come forward and present himself."
The soldiers of Callidar Province roared their approval as Harradin cantered on to the field. His heart beat wildly against his chest as he realised what he what he would be asked to do. But he could see no way out. He dismounted and bowed low to the Tisroc.
Their ruler raised his arms for silence and turned to Harradin with a gracious smile. "For your great courage, Tarkhaan, I present you with my sword. I bestow the honour of executing this coward and one of our greatest enemies upon you, worthy and couragerous Harradin."
Harradin felt helpless. He struggled to find the words as he stared at first his ruler, his victorious army and then the ruin of a man upon the floor.
He took the proffered sword and considered its weight. It was more trinket that serviceable weapon. Heavily inlaid with useless jewels that affected the balance and speed with which it could be wielded. A typical ceremonial blade.
He turned to the defeated man before him and felt his blood pounding in his ears. Every rule of fair and just battle, honour, and true nobility - railed against this action. To kill a defenceless man was the act of a coward, not a knight.
Unable to act, he turned to his king with a sombre expression. "Oh great Tisroc, may you live forever, but I cannot fulfil the act that you have commanded of me. To kill an unarmed and bound man goes against every rule of nobility and honour. Ask me to perform any other task for you and I will gladly fulfil it, but not this."
The Tisroc's expression darkened. "You would humiliate me in front of my entire army?" he demanded, "when I have given you the honour of executing our greatest enemy?"
"In any other manner, my lord," Harradin pleaded. "Let me meet him on a field of battle, or in close combat. I cannot strike down an unarmed man."
His ruler glared at him. "I command you to fulfil my will."
Helplessly, Harradin proffered the sword to his king. "I cannot, oh great and powerful Tisroc, do with me what you will. For I cannot obey your command."
The Tisroc's face flushed scarlet with rage. In one motion, he snatched the sword from the victorious commander's hands and brought the blade sweeping down. He beheaded Harradin Tarkhaan with one clean sweep.
"Hear me!" He bellowed at the stunned army. "So die all traitors who fail to fulfil the will of their ruler on earth. I am the Tisroc, chosen by Tash to rule our great nation! Defy me and face the same fate as this traitor!"
On every side, the Calormen army roared its approval.
Author's note: I apologise for the violence of this prologue – but it sets the scene of the story.
Daring to Dream is set during The Horse and His Boy and explores life in Calormen and Tashbaan for the normal, working class people. I am trying to create a realistic portrayal of life in Calormen society, so this will be quite a detailed, in depth look at the traditions and style of living in Calormen that I picture. All constructive criticism is gladly welcomed!
Thank you for reading,
Breeze.