Horace, a wily old warrior who served Valor when King Lucius was only a newborn. Drake, a boy barely past manhood but wielded the pike with ease and skill. Caria, a female hunter who acted as scout and spy. Jan, quick of foot and quicker of blade. Sir Losarch, a knight whose heavy great-sword spelled doom for any enemy. Mord, a sorcerer of dubious arts but certain loyalty. And lastly, Oriad and Sadria, twins who were the youngest of the heroes but most certainly not the least in swordplay.
The eight heroes were commanded by their dying king to flee Valor and gather those who would follow. While their walls would fall today, Valor would never truly be vanquished even if only one soldier of Valor still stands as ordered King Lucius as he lay dying on his throne. Slain by the Valor's dread enemy the Corrupt.
Sir Losarch and Horace had led the rest away. No one else in Valor heeded their call to flee. They cursed the eight heroes for abandoning the king and Valor, labelling them cowards and traitors and defectors to the Corrupt. Some stood in their way, and it was on that fateful day that Valorians slew one another.
The eight, when safely out of reach of the terrible battle, each swore by the crown and sword of their late king and by their ancestors, they would one day return and erase the Corrupt threat from not only Valor, but from all the land.
Those eight oaths were destined to be fulfilled, but not all of them.
Drake pulled off his helmet and scratched his stubbly chin. He sat on one of the rock outcroppings and sighed. Eighteen long years it had been. Eighteen years of hard training and journeys fraught with peril. Eighteen years since Valor had fallen. Eighteen years since he slew his best friend in front of the sacred statue of Bodin, Valor's patron god. Now, he and his friends were close to the end. There was one last obstacle to their goal.
Horace stood on a small hill that allowed him to survey the outlying land in front of him. While his beard was white and his gait slow, he was still the warrior he was so long ago. His strong eyes looked back at the seven others that he had journeyed with. Each had scaled, or in Mord's case, levitated onto one of the many pillars that dotted the ruins that were once Bodin's temple. Drake remained content in his place of the small rock outcropping. They were close, so very close.
Jan stood on the foremost pillar and had a clear view of the land. He enjoyed the cold wind on his scarred face. It soothed him so, calming him. The wind jingled his sword and it slapped him gently on the thigh. The movement led Jan to tighten his sword straps. The small adjustment served to take his mind off the next daunting task ahead of him and the rest of the Valorians.
Mord knew from reading his many scrolls that the place before him was the Valley of Strength. Once it housed the barracks, arena, smithy and other military places of Valor. Now, it is a shade of its former glory. Mist still clung to Valley of Strength. Ghostly shapes of ruins and looming shadows faded in and out of his vision. Even with a spell of enhanced sight Mord could not pierce the mist. This is not good, this will not go well, thought the sorcerer.
Caria, as always, had her bow strung and ready for her to loose an arrow at any ambusher foolish enough to attack the heroes. While her keen sight did not detect any immediate threat, she could not see what lay beyond the mist. It troubled her greatly. She called to Horace, "We must proceed with caution! I cannot see and I think even Mord could trace a path through this mist!" Horace nodded an acknowledgement while Mord let out a dismissive snort. Caria turned back to face the mist and frowned.
Oriad commented to his sister, "Sari, we have come far." Saria agreed, "Aye. Losarch and Horace have led us well." Oriad was tossing his knife and catching it, a nervous habit. Saria asked, "Ori, what is wrong? Is something troubling you?" Oriad caught his knife one last time and sheathed it. He smiled to his only family and said, "I'm fine, Sari. We can only do our best in the coming storm."
Sir Losarch stroked his beard thoughtfully. If the message was correct, the Guardian was not one, but seven in the Valley. Perhaps the twins could take one while the rest of us fight the others one-to-one, mused the knight. He shook his head. That was foolish. The message did not mention who or what the Guardians were. To wander blindly into the mist would be foolhardy. Should he send Caria and Mord into the Valley? No, that would not work either if one or two of them were lost. Sir Losarch looked towards the mist again.
He stared for a moment longer when he paled. The Valley of Strength did not have structures as tall as the towers of Valor. Yet he spied shadows that were just as large as the towers. He had a feeling he knew what the Guardians were now. Horace must know about this, resolved Sir Losarch. To Hell with the consequences of sharing the contents of the message with the others. This was vital to their quest. The knight hurried towards Horace.
From WriteWorld
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