Chapter One: The Orb of the Earth
Lukhan, the lore-master adviser to the King, woke with a start. It was beginning...
The Princess, Sara, Swan-Princess of the Moon and Stars, would be kidnapped. And only the Light Warriors, prophesied to return at the world's greatest need, would be the only ones worthy enough to save her.
Dawn creeped into his room inside the Dream castle, as the old mage fumbled with his slippers. Lighting a candle on his oaken desk, he stared, absent-mindedly at the flickering flame, silky wax melting off the sides of the candle. His dream was coming back to him, and the riddle that accompanied it flickered in his mind:
"One is found, in the city under the Light,
Ancient is the Warrior, who comes from the Blight,
Another from where wild rose grows,
And the last, dark may he be, is right under your nose."
It was as if Alanni, the sea goddess, had come into the night and whispered the riddle into his ear as he dreamt. And only he would be able to find these Warriors, wherever they were. Mercy, what confounding tasks have you given me, creators of all in this world?
The sun's slithering rays crept from the balcony to his room, piercing the dark shadows hiding. If the Warriors were to arise, it meant that the Alatari were on the loose. And Lukhan, the lore-master and mage, would have to find those prophesied to save the world.
Tranmankand. The City of Thieves.
Sun, sand, and thieves plagued Tranmankand, like no other in this age. Once, it had been the proud fortress built at the height of the Conerian Kings. Wonder and amazement filled all who came to travel down dusty miles to see its great walls, which suddenly appeared in the sea of blistering sand and sun. The walls had never failed to protect itself from armies of Sand-Imps and wandering bandits. But now, the City Under the Light was now left to its own guard, abandoned by the Kings of the Moon and Stars.
The sun's deadly rays scorched the city, north of the Dream Kingdom, in the sandy deserts of Sind. Light burned Tranmankand's sun-baked roofs and walls, and her cobbled streets were buried under a sea of neverending sand. It was invading the ancient city, burning and tormenting her people.
Outside the city walls, a flurry of sandy dust was raised, as glints of six riders, pacing their steeds at moderate speeds, approached the city's high mud and stone walls. The tower guard looked, squinting his eyes to look at the crests on the cloaks of the six riders. Coneria knights, by their white and red cloaks, with a design of a crescent moon and stars above a sword and clouds. The cloaks flapped in the dry wind, fine embroidery marking them as members of the Dream Castle Guard. The King's Own. The sentry on the tower shouted, once, and the two massive doors, made of the finest oak wood imported from Provoka, opened.
Six dusty horsemen, their cloaks swaddled in sand, their light armor rusted, walked in, as the Commander of the City Guard looked, his face wrapped under the impression of nonchalance. But concern was poking out of the mask: none had traveled so far, from Coneria, to visit the City of Thieves, unless it were the tax collectors Tranmankand so hated. But these men were soldiers.
Their features were solemn and dark, with pale complexions under dark brown hair; their air of nobility and honor was not arrogant, but, like true knights, mingled virtue and humbleness. Their breastplate armor, though rusty, looked robust and beautifully crafted, covering only their torsoes to maxmize flexibility. The finely crafted helmets on their head still reflected off the sun's beauty, each with a crescent moon and stars carved on the sides.
The man leading the knights dismounted, his horse snorting as if lacking in water. He nodded to the commander.
"Where do you come from, riders?" The commander asked, slowly, without the sharpness northerners were known for.
"From Coneria, my friend. My name is Captain Alyn As'yan."
"And mine is Commander Taxu Bes'tan. Of the City Guard." He looked at the horses and other men. "Your men and steeds are fatigued from the long dusty rides in this desert wasteland. If they proceed to the barracks, they will find refreshments."
With a nod from their captain, the men and horses left, leaving the two officers at peace.
"You are wondering why we are here, Commander Bes'tan?"
"I would like to know. Conerians have rarely ventured to their northern fortress, nowadays, unless-" Bes'tan's eyes twinkled with a smile, "-taxes are yet to be collected."
As'yan sighed. "It is our folly that we cannot defend ourselves, much less our fortress in the north. My apologies, Commander, if we rushed into your city with haste and arrogance."
"None taken. May I ask why you are here?"
"A certain man of interest."
"A fugitive?"
"No."
"Who, then?" Bes'tan's anger was spiking. These southerners tested his patience.
"A man of interest. I cannot say, Commander. These are far troubling times. We have not the time to waste. We must find him, and we would appreciate your actions if you and your men can-"
"If cannot even tell us who this man is, our help is to no avail," Bes'tan interuppted, angrily. His swordarm lingered to his scabbard.
"Perhaps a monetary donation will help?" As'yan said, wearily, pulling out a bag of fat Gils.
"I cannot be bribed!" Bes'tain cried, his hand on his grip of his sword.
"Fine." The Captain said flatly, stripping off his gauntlets. "You wish to know?" As'yan looked at the Commander hard in the eyes. "This man is one of the Betar. One of the Light Warriors."
Bes'tan's sword dropped to the ground, metal reverberating across the sandy floor.
Dank and dark, with pungent, strong smells masking anything else, Tranmankand's alleyways were no different than any other city's. It was here a youth, light haired, and wearing a jerkin of leather, stood, his back on the wall of the Jolly Barmaids Inn and Tavern. He bit an apple, ivory teeth matching his handsome features. His skin, well tanned from the endless sun, matched his equally bright, brown eyes. He was a con man, a deceiver who smiled and dug his hand into the unprotected pockets of rich merchants. A thief.
As he ate the apple, one hand absentmindedly stroked an orb that hung on his neck, supported by a coil of black twine. A glowing swirl of volcanic rock and bubbling earth was forming inside the darkened orb, like it often did when the youth rubbed it. As if it were predicting the future, it stopped its oozing of lava, as soon as the back door of the Jolly Barmaids opened.
A young girl, with a divulging dress, black curls falling merrily on her white, silky face, poked out, her happiness magnified a thousand times as she hugged the young man.
"Jakk! To what do I owe this most surprising surprise?" Her lips formed into a scarlet smile, contrasting beautifully with her ivory face. She backed away, still smiling innocently.
"What are you doing here?"
"To only glimpse at your pretty face, Peach." The thief was looking at the girl's magnificent bosom.
"Ah, 'tis something you often do now, Jakk Skyaar," she said, inching towards his ear. "There is a man, a rich merchant, who is staying at the Barmaids for tonight. He will be in his merry-making at a rich lord's house this evening. But you can can be in his room. 102."
Jakk felt a small object clink into a pocket. A key to the man's room.
"As always, my lady," he said, mocking a bow. As he lowered, the orb, glowing and yet darkening in ways of intensity, hung out, exposed. Peach, eyeing the mysterious orb with hypnotized look, reached out for it.
"Jakk, what is-"
Swiftly, Jakk recoiled back, one hand savagely grabbing the girl's slender wrist, the other brandishing a hidden knife from his sleeve.
"You are not allowed to touch what does not belongs to you," he hissed.
"You are hurting me," she said through sobs, as Jakk's hand clenched harder around her wrist. But suddenly, as out of a broken daze, he let go, reflexes automatically slipping the knife into sleeve as his other hand freed the girl's wrist. Peach rubbed it, her face half angry and surprised. Swiftly, she gave him a good kick.
"You are not my master, Jakk Skyaar, nor am not your doll. Don't-" she emphasized this with another kick, "-ever-" another kick followed, "-do that again!"
Jakk winced in pain. Bloody women...
"Peach, I'm-" Jakk searched for the right words, still in shock. "I'm sorry. I'm not myself anymore."
The girl sighed. "It's not the first time this has happened, Jakk. What's wrong?"
The man looked at the girl, almost ready to tell. But instead, he shut his mouth, and closed in, entrenching her with a tight hug. "Tonight Peach, I will bring you diamonds and pearls. I hope they will make up for whatever I have done."
And with that, he stalked away, leaving the girl fussing with her hair before she went into the inn. Thieves worked only at night.
He checked his chronometer, a present from his sister. Where ever she was now. They had been born almost a minute apart; she was the older of the two. Never had he looked at her before, having been separated at birth. Never had he seen his father either. They were torn by the Imp wars, when armies of the creatures had ravaged the lands, splitting apart familes, wives from husbands, sons from fathers, and brother from sister. Jakk's mother had reared him until her death when he was ten. Then, he was a street urchin, in this damnable city. And the only thing to remind him of his divided family was the watch, given to him by his mother, with the words From the love of your sister, we can never be separated.
As if. As if those words meant anything to Jakk. He sighed, putting the chronometer away. That was a past life.
Tranmankand's day were long, and it was long past supper before the light had fully fled from the darkness. Silently, he walked into the Jolly Barmaids Inn and Tavern. Loud sounds, of cackling, drunken men trying to soothe many a girls to bed, and of maids, giggling, filled his ears. Thank the Tari that Peach worked during the day, when things were much quieter. And none of these foul beasts of men are lurking around...Jakk thought, one hand firmly ready to grip his hidden knife. It would look suspicious if he went upstairs immediately. No, he would have a drink before he started to the merchant's room. He sat on a stool in the corner, trying to not to arouse any suspicion. And doubly so, as there was two men, soldiers from the South by their garb and gear, that were alertly sitting in the bar. Jakk spied them out of the corner out of his eye, but as he was asking the tavern master, Dunn, for a gin tonic, the two soldiers moved, eyeing him and then whispering.
It was nothing. They noticed me because I am not drunk, unlike everyone else. It cannot mean anything! But slowly, the image of Peach crept into his mind. Had she betrayed him, told someone of his deeds and actions for the past seven years? No, she could have not. He sipped his tonic once it arrived, rubbing his orb for luck. I might need it tonight. The soldiers left him alone.
He crept out of sight, and then, nimbly climbing the spirling wooden stairs quietly. He took out the key, as he remembered the rich merchant's lodgings: Room 102.
Yes, it was here, he thought, inching towards the door with the number on it. He put his ear to the door, and listened. No one there. Good. Now, he put the hand on his on the brass knob, inserted the golden key into the hole, and slowly and silently opened the door.
A soldier sat patiently by the fireplace. Peach stood by the bed, looking frightened. The man turned around, smiling.
"So, you are Jakk Skyarr. Peach has told many good things about you." His sword was undrawn. The thief looked from the man to the girl, eyeing silent words. You! What is going on here! The thief turned to run.
The two soldiers from the tavern faced him, also smiling innocently, though their hands were by their swords. These mens were Conerians, and by their cloaks, the King's Own!
"You cannot pass, my friend," one of them said.
"Whence...whence do you come from?" Jakk asked, breathlessly. It was over here. They had caught him...and the rest of his days would be in a dank cell.
"We come from the Dream City. Do you not know, Jakk?" The man from the room smiled oddly again, looking for something on the thief's neck. Peach, a frightened expression on her face, nervously looked over the burnished shoulder plate of the officer's armor.
"He said they won't hurt you, Jakk. I had no choice but to trust them! I..." she trailed off, looking intently at the orb on the youth's neck. "They said you were one of the..." She fell silent again, as the man gave her a sharp look.
"You are to come with us, Skyarr. But introductions must be made. My name is Captain Alyn As'yan, of the Coneria Guard. My men and I will escort you to the Coneria. It is a ten day's ride there, and I suggest you prepare for the journey."
Jakk nodded, still stunned and shocked. There is no escape. But what are they wanting from a common thief like me?
"What-" Jakk was cut off rudely by one of the soldiers. "We must leave quickly. Make haste and gather the necessities of this journey. Come, I will escort you." The soldier, his red and white cloak fluttering as he moved, gestured to the young man, half his age.
"Am I to be executed for my crimes?"
"Executed?" As'yan smiled. "Nay. But your crimes shall be avenged once we get to the city. Nay, my lad. First, you are meeting the King."