The Isenhawirr Chronicles

Book 1: The New King

Prologue

King Vladimir stared with cold and heartless eyes across the landscape of Alagaesia. He was of Dwarvish kin; he had been elected by all of the Beor Mountains as the official king of dwarves. But Vladimir hated the fact he ruled only a small portion of Alagaesia. So he planned to overthrow the King Aregan in war, and that was no matter, for Vladimir came heavily prepared. He had the finest warriors at his disposal, laden with the best weapons in the Beor region; steel-forged axes, swan-feathered arrows, sharpened dirks, etcetera. No way on the plain face of Alagaesia could that foolhardy Aregan overthrow his massive army.

Never.

He kept falling into his fantasy daydreams when Admiral Arfdwar came to him with the latest update

"Sir, we are approaching the Ramr River fast. We await further instructions."

Vladimir was quick to respond. "Follow the river up to the town of Bullridge. Then follow the direct route down until you reach Uru'baen."

"If I may politely interrupt, my Lord," said Arfdwar. Wouldn't we obtain more ease traveling to Uru'baen from here?"

"I have my reasons," said Vladimir in a guttural tone. "And I have chosen not to reveal those reasons openly, Admiral."

"Yes, my Lord." And with that, Arfdwar retreated quickly to resume command over the Lord's armies.

Vladimir started to peer intently at the blackened sky. The Star Tyrenus should be perfectly aligned with the rest of the stars of Moon Astrus, he thought. That, in dwarven philosophy, meant good luck.

Half an hour later, they arrived at the small settlement of Bullridge. Thousands upon thousands of beady eyes stared expectantly at Vladimir. He would have to respond.

"Ackatt!" he yelled in his guttural voice. Following many guttural voices yelling "Ackatt!" his gargantuan army turned toward the iron gates of Bullridge and started hacking with immense strength with their axes on the iron. More frighteningly, their plan seemed to be working. Small chips, then large chips of worn iron started to fall to the ground as the dwarves continued to hack at the gates.

Vladimir surveyed his soldiers with a practiced eye; he had been surveying them since he assembled his soldiers at Farthen-Dur. Then, with an immense creaking sound, the metal lock fell toward the ground as the gates opened slowly, revealing a quaint postcard-perfect town in front of Vladimir. He smiled vilely, showing his rotten, blackened, and cracked teeth.

"Vemo wardfor!" he yelled. He soldiers started to march into the town, trampling anything in their path. Their small and darkened eyes stared ahead of them intently, as if waiting for the whole settlement to surrender their precious little town. That would ease our pain, thought Vladimir. We've been traversing Alagaesia for approximately a month this night on foot, my god. Show some goodwill, Bullridge! That would make it all the more easier.

Suddenly, a knight, laden in diamond-forged armor with an intricate design of a bull on it, on a proud horse, reins gripped tightly in his strong hands, rode in front of the dwarves. Aregan has reached the border of my temper. Time to relieve him of his position.

"Sto…," said the man. But that was all he could utter before a dwarf struck him directly in the stomach with a swan-feathered arrow. He fell off his steed, his shoulder making an immense CLANG as it contacted with the ground.

Vladimir smiled vilely again. "Ackatt! Ackatt the tyci of Ridgebull! Avele all for adde!"

The gargantuan roar of his army signaled they were ready. Their walk turned into a sprint, after then a run as the army traversed into Bullridge.

Vladimir laughed a throaty, guttural laugh. First Bullridge, then Uru'baen. He paused. Then, Aregan.

Chapter 1: The Wilds of Du Weldenvarden

Isenhawirr Goodspell traversed the small patch of land between Ceunon and Du Weldenvarden in a quick and easy sprint. Isenhawirr's ego drove him on the hard and trying run. He was particularly strong on the perseverance level; he would never give up on a task.

Isenhawirr was paying a much needed visit to his blood uncle, Xandalf Goodspell-Bluntstaff. The aged mage was old and frail, but his magic enabled him to continue his life in Du Weldenvarden. A very convenient source of life, magic.

After a short while, Isenhawirr crossed into the woodland realm of Du Weldenvarden; his heart was pumping with an immense thump! each time. He was panting in large gasps of breath, wet sweat pouring down his face like the Ramr river. But he had reached his destination: a small glade, in the middle of it a driftwood house resided.

"Uncle Xandalf!" he cried in joy as he saw the old mage on the small deck attached to his cottage.

"Isenhawirr!" Xandalf said, a smile making it's way through his lips. "I didn't expect you here for at least until fall!"

He stared at the large amount of sweat plastered to his body.

"Did you run all the way from Carvahall?"

Isenhawirr let out a short, enjoyable laugh.

"No, I was with Arena in Ceunon. I just decided, for my particular enjoyment and health, that I would sprint off to see you!"

"Well, it is good to see you, my boy," said Xandalf, wrapping Isenhawirr in a tight hug.

"Uncle Xandalf, how are politics working out in Du Weldenvarden?" Isenhawirr inquired.

"Sadly, my boy, many residents of settlements such as Ellesmera, Ilia Feon and Kirtan, have gone poor. All of Alagaesia have already fallen under the Depression King Vladimir had forged by raising taxes."

"He is a rotten and arrogant man, Vladimir. He succeeded in being as fetid as King Galbatorix, in my particular opinion."

"I agree with your opinion, Uncle. Not to change the subject of the matter, but I need to inquire, where is Aunt Lilia?"

"Lady Barkwood?" said Xandalf in a loud and jolly laugh.