WARNING: This is Book 2 in a series. If you have not read "The Breaking of Time" please use my profile to find Book 1 "The Breaking of Time" in the War of Imprisonment Series.
Thank you, and good reading!
Prologue: Forged with Blood and Iron
Near Midnight, October 27th, 249 Restored Kingdom Village of Hera
"Life hardly improved for the boy after his punishment. The public shame of being flogged before the garrison left him reclusive and tormented. But, in time, the tale of his actions at the ranch and in the Forest Temple spread throughout Lake Town and the whispers and gossip of the people slowly turned to the boy's favor. His comrades' view of him soon improved from 'a bad omen' to 'a young soldier with promise.' True to his word, the Lord-Marshal trained the squire intensely; encouraging him to release his anger and frustrations through his exercises. Captains Russell and Viscern also took part in his training – when they were in camp. Russell was a peerless broadswords-man and fearsome duelist. He quickly took it upon himself to teach the boy everything he knew about the brutal forms of infantry combat and defense. Viscern guided the squire onto the scout's path: Archery, Horseback Riding, Stealth, Observation, and Survival in the Wilderness." Finished the elder.
"A fortunate young man." Replied Ulric, when his story teller paused to sip at more wine, "Even despite the flogging – so few are given such opportunities to learn all of the marshal skills!" The old lore-master stared at him curiously for a moment, "And I wonder, Sir Ulric, of those talents – to which are you most skilled?" he asked. But the dark visitor was not interested in revealing anything more than his name to the old man. "Oh, I have dabbled in each, but become master of none." He answered, evasively, "Now please, the legend." He pressed, eager to return to his tale.
The old man turned briefly to his left and found that his grandson, Renju, had already fallen asleep – resting his chin upon his chest and snoring softly. "Perhaps, my good knight, we could retire for now hmm? I am no longer a young man… I'm afraid the curtain of sleep is drawing over me." he said, courteously to the warrior, but in his heart, the old man still trembled in fear at this strange swordsman and how he might react to this delay. Hours earlier, he had dealt harshly with the would-be thief Blot and even managed – through some trick – to take Renju's knife from his hands without the Innkeeper realizing it.
The traveler however, did not react harshly. He gracefully folded his hands and rested his elbows upon his knees. He leaned forward and carefully studied the elder before answering, "You are right, of course, grandfather." He said -his voice distorting slightly and growing deeper, "You are old and becoming very tired much earlier these days." He sounded far away now, but the rumbling deep voice echoed over to the elder in the foggy darkness. "You should sleep."
Sudden fatigue came over the elder. His arms fell limp at his sides and his head became very heavy. His heart seemed to beat harder and struggle against this power, but his body was quickly falling into numbness. "T-this… is not… not right." he managed to mumble, before he rolled to one side and fell onto the floor. The feeble old man seemed to have been taken by a severe case of drunkenness or some terrible illness, but he had hardly finished a second glass of wine. "Sleep grandfather," the deep voice boomed over him, "sleep… and dream." The old man fluttered his eyes open for one last glance upward before losing consciousness. Above him, flickering in the haze of his frosted sight, hovered two glowing orange eyes, glaring down at him.
The fire, the tavern, even the terrible storm outside faded and the elder was carried through several strange and dark dreams. "This boy…" came the terrifying voice, "was different." Lost and struggling to remember himself, the old man simply answered, "So the legends say."
"But WHY?" the voice demanded, "Why was this boy favored… by the gods?"