Arnoan woke just at the brink of sunrise, awakened by an unknown sense which twinged in warning and anticipation. He heard something scrape in the kitchen, probably his mother cooking, just taking the pan off the fire grill in the early hours of the morning. He lay there for a while, uncomprehendingly viewing the world around with his sleepy mind.
After a few minutes, his mental acuity increased and with a flood of thought came the events of the day before yesterday. He cringed at the thought of leaving his home, perhaps even forever, but his excitement of adventure returned and with it, questions.
He would try to probe them for answers of what they were talking about yesterday, especially about this Draemor character, though he knew that eavesdropping on them was wrong. Still, he had a right to be told on everything that concerned him.
Suddenly, a wave of strength rushed to him, abolishing his remaining wariness and alerting him to an unusual presence inside the house. Puzzled by the sudden sensation, he ignored the feeling of danger.
He pushed himself up from his bed and went to wash himself in the small bathroom. Then he began to walk to the kitchen, hungry for his food. But as he approached the door, he noticed that everything was unusually silent and there were no aromas of cooking that usually wafted from the kitchen.
His instinct again gave him a prickling warning, and he started to creep back to his room. He had been taught the hard way to listen to instinct more often, like a sixth sense. Last time, he had ignored it at the first warning when he had been in the woods. It probably would have been his end had he not listened for the second, when a Gralm, a carnivorous animal the size of a bear with the mouth of a shark, had nearly ambushed him.
From his room he retrieved his bow, knife and a quiver of six arrows. He checked the hallway before silently proceeding to the hidden back entrance, used only in times of danger. He would not meet the enemy, if there really was one, on their own terms.
He had only used the back entrance when he was eight. A group of bandits had ambushed their home and they were forced to sneak out the back while Uncle Freor gave them a good fight from his vantage point on the outer terrace, which he had barricaded. It was the only time he had seen his uncle as a serious, sensible person other than the incident at Aallane.
He emerged from the plant overgrown door, which was the same colour of the brick around it, and jumped into the clumps of green foliage that surrounded the house, the last line of hardy vegetation until the yellow sandy wastelands of the Dividing Desert.
He crawled through the plants, making only a small rustle, until he could see the front of the house.
His instinct had served him well. Outside the house was his mother and a battalion of strange soldiers equipped in shiny armour adorned with crimson and bullion colours.
They were not any warriors he had ever seen. All the Durandor soldiers who had passed Aallane had worn white armour with blue capes billowing out behind them and their battered armour was not nearly as shiny as those of these men.
He unconsciously assessed the situation with the mind of a hunter against a group of prey. Calculatingly, he still listened to the voice of instinct in his mind and surveyed the area, taking headcounts of all the soldiers.
Shandris was sagging between two of those soldiers who supported her with their burly arms. She looked like she had been knocked out as there was a purple bruise on her forehead, but he was mistaken when she looked up. Looked straight into his eyes, as if she knew he were there. But soon enough, she bowed her head with weariness.
On the ground were about seven soldiers who had been killed, during what must have been a brief fight, probably when his mother had tried to escape. But how did she kill so many? Even with her extraordinary fighting skills, it just did not add up.
She was in the midst of about thirty soldiers in a standard military parade formation, a column which stretched out to accommodate three men in each row with her about five metres outside the line. A dark haired man stood before her, speaking to her with a guard of seven soldiers behind him, before loudly ordering five soldiers to check the house again. Arnoan's uncle was nowhere to be seen.
After a minute, the soldiers came to report back. 'Nobodie' there, sir. It's as emp'y as this forsak'n desert', the leader of the five said in the light accent of the west.
The dark haired man then turned to captain, a balding soldier of tall height, and said 'Draemor told me there would be two others. They should be around here somewhere and they cannot hide forever in the desert. Spread out and search for them, but get your men clear of the house. I will flush them out first.'
The soldiers followed the captain's orders as he relayed them. They marched, Arnoan calculated, roughly about two hundred and fifty paces more away from the house, in a discipline rarely seen in any but the soldiers of the Royal Army of Durandor. It would have been impressive to Arnoan, if not for the reason they were here.
The man, who had stopped at roughly the two hundred metre mark from the house, then turned his gaze upon the house. He lifted his right arm out in front of him and made a curious motion.
Light seemed to gather on the palm of his hand, growing in size and increasing in luminosity, until it looked like a miniature sun. Arnoan could feel the heat from it, even five-hundred metres away behind thick scrub. The soldiers that were next to the man did not even flinch.
He turned his palm forward and the ball of light seemed to hover for a second before shooting at a remarkable speed at the house. There was no sound to speak of, only a white blur across his vision.
Arnoan saw the light hit the front of the house, and put his hands to his ears as an earth-shattering explosion rocked the world.
He instinctively ducked lower as he lost his vision in the brilliant white light. Flying red-hot fragments of the house sped through the air around him, a few searing him with close contact. The plant life and the sloping ground protected him somewhat and Arnoan was not directly hit.
As the explosion faded, he looked up. Around him, the plants had been shredded. The man was unharmed, and stood in a sphere of ground unmarred by neither soot nor debris, as if there had been an invisible shield around him.
'Spread out and search for them,' he said to the soldiers. 'Come out and surrender and she will not be harmed!,' shouted the man into the air around him, his voice amplified tenfold.
Before Arnoan had time to think, he was grabbed by the shoulder by someone from behind. He struggled as the man roughly pushed him over to face him.
His assailant wore the common garb of the desert dwellers, with a sword and knife sheathed at his belt. He looked vaguely familiar under his shadowy hat. 'Uncle?,' asked Arnoan, eyeing the face beneath the hat with his eyes partially blinded by the burning sun.
'What are you doing, you fool! Come on, we can't let ourselves get caught,' Freor whispered rapidly before motioning Arnoan to follow him. They made their way out into the open desert and hid in the occasional shrubbery they found. With Arnoan's green forest attire, they would be easily spotted in the daylight.
Arnoan was half expecting a shout of surprise and then quick pursuit from behind them, but none came. He could only hear the crackling of fire, growing distant behind him as he left the place he had called home for all of his life.
Freor quickly led them north into a hidden pathway which seemed to lead them into a craggy valley which Arnoan in his youth had explored frequently, though he had never found the path.
The valley itself could not be seen from the house or the path; it was too low and too far away, but Arnoan knew it was there. Meanwhile, the daylight dragged on with the scorching desert sun high in the air.
After a couple of leagues and as it started to get dark, Freor slowed his pace and brought them to stream inside the valley, enshrouded by a couple of trees and extensive foliage.
He then spoke to Arnoan, the first time since their flight. 'This is where we will make camp. Prepare a fire and refill the water skins I brought. Once we've had dinner, we'll talk,' said Freor.
Arnoan did so, while his uncle made camp and prepared the meat he brought out of his pack.
They cooked the meat on the pans Freor had also brought, and ate it in silence. Arnoan was miserable and angry at Freor. His world had collapsed around him in a few minutes and he had refused to tell him why.
His home was destroyed, his mother imprisoned by some warlord and he had been left completely in the dark by the people he loved most.
As they finished dinner, Freor fetched a pipe from his pack and lit it. Once he was finished, Arnoan glowered at him and said 'so, uncle, would like to tell me why I this all happened? Or are you going to keep me ignorant to the things that got my mother captured by a warlord and my home completely destroyed?!'
'Peace, Arnoan. Don't let your temper control you. It is not my fault that these things happened, so do not presume to judge me. I, like your mother, was trying to protect you from elements that would rip you apart'.
But Arnoan wasn't finished. 'I have a right to be told of everything that concerns me, Freor! And of this protection you claim to be doing, how can you protect me when you yourself were nearly captured along with my mother! How am I supposed to be protected when I'm so uninformed of the world I'm supposed to go into?!,' shouted Arnoan.
Freor sighed. 'I suppose you can't be kept ignorant like this. You're right. It may have been wrong for us to keep you unaware of the things that would harm you, but our intentions were good. We were trying to make you ready for a world rampant with cruelty and destruction. We were afraid you would rush into it if you knew,' he said.
'Rush into what?' Arnoan asked. Freor did not reply for half a minute, smoking on his pipe before answering.
'Arnoan, I made a promise to your parents a long time ago to protect you at all costs. There are some things that would endanger your life if you even knew about them. I cannot tell you everything just because you demand it. But I will tell you what you need to know,' he said.
'Who is Draemor? And what is happening in Aollane?' asked Arnoan without thinking. Realization came into Freor's face, before changing into sudden anger.
'You eavesdropped on us two nights before, didn't you?' Freor whispered, his face contorted into a calm simmer of rage.
Arnoan gave a slight nod, painfully aware of shame he would have caused his mother had she been here.
'You know as well as I how disgraceful it is to eavesdrop on a private conversation. You have lost the right to question me at all.'
Arnoan flushed at this statement, partly because he was disgusted of himself and partly for Freor for stating this flaw.
'But, under the circumstances I will dismiss it, so you can at least make up for it,' said Freor.
'Will you answer my question,' said Arnoan in a lighter tone.
'Very well. You don't know the history of the creation of the kingdom of Durandor and the provinces, I presume? Settle yourself down. It's a long story and I don't want to stop.'
Freor took a moment before starting.
'It all started five hundred years ago. A time of peace had begun after the conclusion of the series of wars that marked the destruction of the old council that had ruled the continent of Ioradas for nearly one thousand years in an iron grip. The lands of the future kingdom of Durandor were among those ruled by the council.'
'The council killed and tortured thousands of people during their rule, for they were malicious and hateful of all the people they governed and only lusted for power with which they could dominate.'
'The council had seized power in a revolution against the Emperor Illyrian, last of the Ioradas dynasty. The council had preached peace to convince the people to overthrow the "corrupt" Emperor as they stated.' 'But the wily councillors actually turned the people against the benevolent Emperor and Illyrian was killed by execution when the capital of Daornost was taken in a revolution, the size of which I think will never be seen on this continent again. In only the span of a few hours, this council of tyrants had the lands from Daornost to what is now Soltaic under their control.'
'The council then wasted no time to exact their authority on the people who were their subjects. They controlled half of the continent that is now called the Ioradas, while the other half was controlled by a number of small warring nations that would soon be conquered by the nation of Tiiarri, now known as Rael. But inevitably, even that land was soon conquered by the Council.'
'Though the councillors had extended their own lives by nine hundred years, their greed was boundless. The councillors lusted for power even greater than that of what they had and sought this by opening a portal which would lead them to places around this world. If they accomplished this, they would gain supremacy of not just this continent, but the whole world.'
'But before their plan could be put into action, the leader of one of the greatest rebellion factions at the time, stationed in the province of Aollane, found out via his spies and as quickly as he could gave resistance to the United Armies of the Council.'
'His name was Zaor and he was one of the Taron who sailed here from across the ocean. Taron, as you have heard in legend of course, did not originally come from this world, and nobody really knows how they came here, but they look exactly like a normal man except for their intimidating height and strength and they are renowned for their magical abilities, far greater than the normal human Ability wielders.'
'Zaor had lived here for about a thousand years and had lived in that time a hundred years of peace before the council came into power.'
'His kind was oppressed by the council because of their natural magical abilities and most of them died out in the first decade of their rule. None of the council was strong enough to go up against the Tarons, but they found alien artefacts that increased their power tenfold and this is what really brought doom to the Tarons.'
'It is rumoured that the race that created the artefacts were enemies of the Taron, in a war long ago for supremacy over this world, which the Taron lost, but that is another story.
'Zaor went into hiding and bided his time to eventually make a resistance from the few Tarons that had survived and the humans who hated the Council for their misdeeds.'
'When he found out about the Council's plans, he contacted the rebel leaders of the whole continent and united them. He then devised an attack against the council stronghold at the capital city of Daornost, where the councillors ruled from the province of Delagore.'
'But he was waylaid in his own plans by the leader of the council, a powerful magic wielder named Draemor. Draemor grouped his armies in a defensive formation around Daornost, while the other councillors made ready the portal, using a genius named Taolfas.'
'Draemor himself went to the last meeting that was to be held by the rebel leaders before the attack and killed most of the human leadership. How he got in, nobody knew. But the rebels were in disarray and Draemor was on the verge of winning total supremacy.'
'But Zaor somehow managed to group together the tattered rebel army, of which so many had deserted after the deaths of the rebel leaders, and staged the attack. He met the armies of the council in open battle on the plains of Delaoran, outside Daornost.'
'But the councillors succeeded in opening the portal, but through the portal was a place they had not expected. It was a dark place; it is said, full of nightmares and invisible horrors, a place not of this world.'
'Draemor knew in his experience that it was dangerous walking into this place, but he also knew from the books left by the Cartographer of Taraol, who had instructed them in the making of the portal, that a great artefact lay beyond.'
'It would give power beyond imagination to the wielder, though what kind of power, no one knew. Not even the Cartographer knew if this object existed, only that he had studied this other place and saw by the extreme warping of the Universal laws and power that a vast secret was beyond.'
'Draemor left the castle tower where the portal had been constructed. His colleagues, though, were enticed by the lies of power they saw in the portal and one by one, walked in.'
'They disappeared from this world forever and Draemor is the only one who is left of that order. After the destruction of the councillors, the portal then started to expand and would have consumed the world by now had Taolfas, who had constructed the portal machinery, not intervened.' 'The poor man destroyed the gateway at the expense of his own life at the hands of whatever was contained there, and in the process the whole capital city was obliterated as well as the battling armies beyond.'
'Only a crater was left, though the deeds will never be forgotten. After the defeat of the council, their lands split up into three authorities. The Empire of Rael, ruled by the Rael dynasty, the Kingdom of Durandor and The Delagore Protectorate.'
'Zaor disappeared, and few can say whether he is alive or not. Draemor rose back up from the scraps of his command three hundred years later and even now is alive, causing havoc in Ioradas, as you well know of course' concluded Freor, puffing on his pipe once more.
'How could a war last a thousand years? Its impractical, for any megalomaniac' Arnoan asked disbelievingly, still digesting the information.
'You will have to ask Draemor, or perhaps Zaor and the motivated people who craved for an end to oppression.'
'But why is Draemor searching for me? And how could he commit all those atrocities, if he wanted to conquer the continent? Isn't it better to have the population on your side?' asked Arnoan.
'All will be answered in time, Arnoan. And for one thing, he kept the population mostly silent of his deeds. Only a few people found out, and they were quickly silenced,' replied Freor 'But for now it's late. It's time for you and me to go to sleep. Goodnight.'
Freor proceeded to crawl into his tent. Arnoan waited by the fire for a moment, digesting the information he had been given. After a few minutes, he doused the fire and crawled into his own tent.
Suspicions whirled around his mind as he drifted into the peaceful, warm realm which was sleep. His mind was plagued by worries, but nothing was more prominent than Freor.
How did he know about all this? Who was he to say? Why am I supposed to be protected and from what? Arnoan felt that he had been dropping into a world where nobody would help or explain anything to him.
To Freor, he was just an ignorant child, an inconvenience; Arnoan swore that he could see it in his eyes whenever he talked with him. But he would show him how wrong he was. Soon…
A wolf howled far in the distance as he drifted off to sleep.